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yumeyooa · 3 years

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bippity-boppity bloom: act one | todoroki shoto

—everyone knows the story of cinderella, saved by a prince and a glass slipper. but what if the true hero wasn’t the prince, but rather the fairy god mother? todoroki shoto has been suffering under the hands of his wicked family his whole life, yet everything changes when he meets you: a fairy forced to take care of him as punishment. will the odds be in your favor? or will everything go down from here on out?

➢ pairing: todoroki shoto x female! reader

➢ word count: 15.2k+

➢ love letter: henlo!! i am late but this is for @milktyama ‘s once upon an alternative universe collab!! originally this was supposed to be a one-shot, but i eventually realized that it would be better if this was split into two! although most of the romance comes in the second part T_T i hope you like it and let me know what you think!!

➢ taglist (send an ask to be tagged): @loveinhaikyuu @mirakeul @strcwberrieswine @kunaigirlx44 @maxzinn @faewraithsworld

navigation | anime masterlist | act two

Magic was a curious thing.

Since the dawn of time, people have used magic to describe the unknown, to give meaning to the things they could not explain. That quarter you lost suddenly showing up at your feet? Magic. An electric jolt shooting through your veins after coming into contact with another? Magic. Flowers blooming amidst the cold winter? Magic.

No matter where you went or what you did, magic was everywhere. It hid itself from the world, waiting in silence for those who would come to know the beauty of it. Those who would cherish it with all their heart and soul and would never abuse it for their own selfish gain.

To the rest of the world, magic was something they could only wish to find.

But the true secret of magic remained hidden in the arms of those who could wield it.

“Don’t tell me you’re pranking someone again?” An exasperated sigh calls from behind you, and you turn around, startled to find a young man with deep violet hair haphazardly framing his face. He was staring at you with an unimpressed look as if he had gone through this exact situation plenty of times in the past, and from the way you sheepishly smile back at him, he probably had.

“Me? Pranking Someone? Why I would never!” You exclaim, faking innocence as the man gives you a knowing look, causing a groan to fall from your lips as you heave a sigh, throwing a playful glare back his way.

“Oh, come on, Hitoshi!” You whine, rolling your eyes in fake annoyance. “What harm can one prank do? It’s not even that bad!”

“Must I remind you what happened that one time you decided to prank Elder Aizawa?” You freeze in your place, looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights. “He nearly convinced the council of elders to have you banished to the human realm! Do you not understand how grave that could have been?”

You remain silent, sulking. As much as you hated to admit it, your best friend had a point. To fairies, being banished was like a death sentence. Without any support from the all-powerful tree of life, a fairy would wither away and die just like that. It was scary to even think about it, and you were lucky that Hitoshi had somehow managed to save you from that terrible predicament.

From the very beginning, you had always been considered a peculiarity amongst the other fairies. Whereas they were graceful and elegant, you were clumsy and awkward. Where they excelled in soft chatter and gentle smiles, you reveled in chaos and the undignified.

You were an outcast amongst the fairies, but you honestly couldn’t blame them.

Fairies were the keepers of magic, after all. They were expected to uphold a particular image befitting of being wielders of the most sacred entity provided by the tree of life. Fairies were supposed to be noble and delicate. They were supposed to hold their heads up high as protectors of the supernatural. That very image, however, didn’t suit you at all.

You never understood it. Why did they take pride in being so uptight? It was boring. There was no freedom in upholding the elegance of their kind through every single thing they did. They seemed so bare as if being a fairy sucked all the life out of them. Which was ironic, considering they were supposed to be protectors of the tree of life.

“—(Y/N)? Are you even listening to me? Hello?” You snap out of your trance, looking at your friend who was staring at you with a nonchalant look on his face. Hitoshi has always been a rather unique character, even to you. He didn’t explicitly fit into the stereotypical image of a fairy, yet he was never ostracized for it. It was as if he was an exception— an anomaly from the harsh judgment of the fairy realm.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You ask, trying to come off as if you were paying attention when in all actuality, you weren’t. Hitoshi sighs, rolling his eyes playfully as he ruffles your head, messing up your hair in the process, causing a grunt of protest to fall from your lips. He sits beside you on the ledge you were perched atop on, staring down at the crowd of fairies below.

The two of you were apprentices to the council of elders, helping them ensure that there was order amongst the fairies. Order was essential for the protectors of the tree of life because, without it, chaos would ensue, and the world, no, the entire universe, would fall apart. The council of elders was the supreme government of the fairy world, and to be an apprentice to even one of them, was a great honor and responsibility.

You just hated all the expectations that came with it.

“What kind of prank were you supposed to play this time?” Hitoshi asks, humming as he stares up at the sky above you. You stare at the wand in your hand, puffing your cheeks in disappointment at the realization that you wouldn’t be able to pull the prank off anymore.

“Nothing much,” you mutter. “Just wanted to test out some new spells I learned the other day, and I figured why not test it out on some… unsuspecting figures.”

“(Y/N),” Hitoshi says, voice stern as if he were a mother reprimanding his child. You huff, pout forming on your lips. “You know that if any of the other elders were to find out, they’d have your apprenticeship stripped away. What would you do then?”

You stay silent, the truth in Hitoshi’s words stinging painfully, more than it should. He was right. Shunned away from your family since your coming of age, the council of elders was the only one who had accepted you, albeit reluctantly. No fairy wanted to be associated with an outcast after all. It would only tarnish that pure image they had crafted into perfection, and as prideful beings, they couldn’t have that.

If it wasn’t for Elder Yagi, the most influential fairy in the realm, then you would have been left for dead. Elder Yagi was the definition of the perfect fairy. He wasn’t just delicate and graceful on the surface; he was kind and compassionate within. Although many disagreed with his views on accepting those who didn’t fit into society’s expectations, they could never truly go against him. Because that would be like going against the very essence of fairies, after all.

So they kept their malice and disdain a secret, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, and if you weren’t careful, then their next victim would be you.

“The elders are calling for you,” Hitoshi says out of the blue, causing your blood to run cold. You stare at him with a shocked expression on your face, and you couldn’t deny the fear that was beginning to bubble within. “Elder Aizawa sent me to look for you. Said they requested your presence immediately.”

There’s a solemn look on Hitoshi’s face, and you can tell beyond the surface that he’s worried. Being called upon by the council of elders meant only one of two things to a fairy: it was either they were to be punished, or they were to be rewarded. And you had done nothing of the sort to deserve a just reward.

You chuckle, looking down at your lap, not knowing what to say. You didn’t understand why what you did was so wrong. Why were they trying to punish you when all you wanted was to bring life into this otherwise dull place? No matter how hard they tried to hide it, some fairy children enjoyed your pranks, and the thought of bringing smiles to their faces was what kept you going.

You just didn’t expect to get severely punished for it, though.

“Thanks for telling me, Hitoshi,” you say, standing up, a fake smile plastered on your face in an attempt to seem as if his recent news didn’t bother you as much as it did. “Guess I better get going then, wouldn’t want Elder Aizawa to scold me for being late again.”

Hitoshi remains silent, staring up at you with an unreadable expression before letting out a sigh, standing up and ruffling your hair once more. “Stop putting up a brave face, idiot. It doesn’t suit you.” You want to protest but can’t find the courage to do so, remaining silent as the smile falls from your face. “Come on, I’ll accompany you there.”

Shocked, you look up at him, features clearly showing your surprise. “What?” He asks, scoffing. “You really think I wouldn’t accompany you to your death? You know that I’d kill to see it happen in front of my very eyes.”

You know he’s joking, trying to lighten up the mood because the nerves running through you are too much to handle. But even so, you’re grateful for it. Despite not being outright honest about it, Hitoshi still cared. He had cared for you ever since you called out one of the other fairies for calling him a disgrace the moment you first met. He had stuck with you through thick and thin and had been the only fairy to believe in you, aside from Elder Yagi.

And you couldn’t be any more grateful for it.

“Weirdo,” you call, a genuine smile forming on your lips, Hitoshi reflecting his own, albeit his was a lot less noticeable. You take a deep breath, trying to calm down the nerves that were thrumming deep beneath your skin, and nod to Hitoshi, the two of you teleporting just outside the auditorium of the council of elders.

You had always hated the auditorium. It was a dark and scary place, dimly lit, with all of the elders present atop a high porch, staring down at you like you were some inferior being to them. Whenever you were in the dark room, assisting the elders in their work, you always felt the paranoia creep up against you, begging you to just run and leave the room, even when there was no immediate danger present.

That was the effect the council of elders had always possessed since the beginning— intimidation. And you hated them for it.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the raging waves of nervousness that were thrashing wildly deep inside you. You’re shaking. You can see it in the way your hands shiver as you reach out to place a knock on the wooden doors, hesitating.

“You’ll be fine,” Hitoshi whispers, a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here, yeah?”

It’s comforting. Hitoshi isn’t one for words and prefers to show his care through subtle actions, but you know he means well. Taking another deep breath, you give your best friend a weak smile, knocking on the doors, heart heavy.

Like magic, they open, and a deep “come in” calls out to you, causing you to gulp as you nod one final time to Hitoshi before entering the auditorium, with a hopeful heart dangling on the edge of light and darkness.

The Council of Elders truly had a knack for intimidation, you think to yourself as you stare up at the seven fairies that governed the world you had come to know. They sat atop their seats (which looked more like thrones, in your opinion), staring down at you with glares on their faces.

While you had expected their hostility towards you, as you didn’t exactly have the best reputation amongst their apprentices, you were surprised that even Elder Yagi, your mentor, and father figure, was looking at you with a disappointed gaze. What was going on? What had you done wrong?

It’s then, amidst your confusion, that your eyes land on another figure present in the room. The very presence of this figure makes your blood boil in anger, and you try to suppress it with deep breaths, closing your eyes to calm yourself before meeting eyes with the said figure.

Neito. Oh, how you despised the man. Neito was one of your fellow apprentices who served the Council of Elders, specifically Elder Sekijiro, who was in charge of the vanguard— the elite force of fairies that specialized in defense, ensuring that there was peace and order in the world.

While it was an honorable position, Neito was not an honorable man in the slightest. Ever since you had met him, he had been mean and downright evil, taunting you every chance he got. He was the very reason you had gotten into trouble, multiple times, with the council. He was your mortal enemy, your archnemesis, the man you wished would fall into a puddle of shit and never come back the same.

If he was there in the room, then it only meant one thing. He had ratted you out or had made up some ridiculous story to use against you.

Typical.

Oh, how you wished you could wipe that ridiculous smirk off his face.

“(Y/N),” a voice booms and your eyes turn up to meet Grand Elder Nezu, the elder amongst all elders, the wisest and most potent fairy ever known (much to the disbelief of everyone else, as compared to Elder Yagi, Elder Nezu looked weak. But, you supposed, you shouldn’t judge someone based on appearance alone).

“I bow towards the Council of Elders,” you greet, bowing in respect. Your heart thrummed nervously within you, not sure what to think of this summon. What were they going to reprimand you for this time?

“Are you aware of the reason you’ve been summoned here today?” Grand Elder Nezu asks, looking at you with calculating eyes. You gulp, not knowing how to proceed, but figured that in a situation like this, honesty was the best policy. “Unfortunately, no, Grand Elder,” you reply, eyes cast down in respect. “I have an idea, but even so, I am still clueless to the true reason as to why I’ve been summoned.”

“Ha!” Neito exclaims, scoffing. “Look at how shameless she is, Grand Elder. Pretending to not know when she knows exactly what she’s done?”

“I beg your pardon?” You ask, feeling yourself get annoyed the more Neito stood there all high and mighty as if he were some chosen one. “I speak the truth, elders. I truly have no idea why I’ve been summoned….”

“Lies!” Neito accuses, pointing a finger at you. “How can you be so shameless after attacking me?”

You pause, blinking slowly as you try to process the ridiculous claim Neito had just presented. You? Attacking him? As much as you despised the guy, you knew that attacking another fairy was absolutely forbidden for an apprentice of the council of elders. You weren’t stupid.

“Attacking you?” You ask in disbelief. “When have I ever attacked you, Neito?”

You watch with cautious eyes as Neito smirks at you, eyes taunting as if you had played right into his trap. He grabs the hem of his dress shirt before pulling it up to reveal a massive bruise on his torso.

“You did this,” he accuses, and you can tell he’s faking it, although judging by the harsh glare you’re receiving from Elder Sekijiro, his act is actually believable. Were the elders really that vulnerable? “You attacked me because you were jealous of my achievements!”

You gape at him, not believing your eyes at the pure monstrosity that was the situation you were facing him. What kind of story was this? There was no way that the council of elders actually believed him, right? Their view of you wasn’t that bad, right?

“(Y/N),” Grand Elder Nezu calls, eyes stern. “Is this true?”

“Of course not, Grand Elder!” You exclaim in protest. “What reason do I have to be jealous of Neito?”

“Don’t listen to her lies, Grand Elder!” Neito says. With the way he was acting, you swear he could get an award for being the worst and best actor of all time, and you yourself weren’t sure how that was possible. “In fact, the question we should be asking is what reason does she have to not be jealous of me? She’s an outcast. She’s been shunned by society for so long. Everyone knows she hates my guts— although I do not understand why as I’ve been nothing but nice to her— so why would she not want to sabotage me when she sees me excel?”

Scratch that best actor award, you think to yourself. The darn idiot deserved an award for being an expert manipulator. If you didn’t know better, if you weren’t sure of your truth, you would have been swayed by his words, second-guessing yourself and questioning whether or not you did attack him. But unluckily for Neito, you were one stubborn fairy, and you wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“You? Nice to me?” you say, seething, much to the shock of everyone in the room. “Grand Elder, what Neito is saying is absolutely preposterous! Yes, it is true that I hate his guts, but that’s because ever since I’ve been an apprentice, he’s made my life a living hell! And besides, this apprenticeship is all I have. If I do anything to jeopardize it, I would have nowhere to go; I’d basically be dead. Why would I risk it because of one person? And Neito, for that matter!”

You honestly didn’t mean to let your emotions slip like that. But you couldn’t help it. It infuriated you that the council would be willing to believe Neito. Neito who had everything, who had a choice to leave or not, who had a family to return to. Neito who didn’t understand how much pain you were going through, how much torment plagued your heart. He didn’t and would never understand. That’s what privilege does to a person.

“Grand Elder—” Neito begins, and you swear if he spits any more lies, you would genuinely launch at him and smack him in the face. But before you could make a move, the Grand Elder raises his hand, causing silence to settle in the room.

“—Enough.” Grand Elder Nezu’s voice booms throughout the empty room, causing the two of you to halt in your banter, bowing in shame and obedience. “The council has heard both sides and are appalled by the disgrace exuded by both fairies, especially you young Neito.”

You can see the way Neito clenches his fist, glaring at the ground below him, and you can almost imagine the way he thinks the floor is your head, glaring daggers at it for causing him to be criticized by the grand elder of all fairies. But that was the least of your concerns, as you can feel their disappointed glances lying on you as well.

“For your misconduct, both of you will receive punishment. However, young (Y/N), because of your alleged behavior and misdeeds, we will have to take extra precautions to ensure that this does not happen again.” You can feel your heart beating rapidly within your chest. What kind of punishment was he going to give? You hoped you weren’t going to get banished because you couldn’t stand the thought of not having to see the people you cherished ever again.

But whatever the council says, goes, and no fairy, no matter how powerful they were in society, could deny their final verdict.

“For your punishment, young Neito, you will be serving under Elder Aizawa until the Purification Ceremony next fall.” From where you stood, you could see Neito jolt up in fear, eyes pleading with the Grand Elder silently, as if he were begging them to give him any other punishment instead.

Elder Aizawa was the dean of the academy all fairies were expected to graduate from. And, as a dean should, he was incredibly strict and was known for ruling over his apprentices with an iron fist. Amongst all the elders of the council, he was the one most hoped to avoid serving under, and if you were sent to serve under him, then it meant that you had done something extremely bad.

Although, sometimes you could hardly believe those rumors, considering Hitoshi himself served under Elder Aizawa. But perhaps that was because the said elder treated Hitoshi like he was his own son, much like Elder Yagi did to you.

As much as Neito wanted to protest, to exclaim how preposterous it was for a fairy from the noble family of Monoma to not serve through the vanguard, he couldn’t. The elders’ eyes pierced through him, and it was incredibly nerve-wracking once he felt the menacing glare of Elder Sekijiro on him. Even his own master thought he deserved to be punished. What a shame.

With his head bowed low, Neito grits his teeth, bowing towards the council. “I humbly accept this punishment bestowed upon me by the Council of Elders and pledge to fulfill it until I am deemed worthy once more.” His words contain malice, and you can tell he was trying to control himself from lashing out and making the situation even worse. It was a blow to his pride, after all, that he would get punished after trying to bring someone ‘beneath’ him down.

Just as he’s about to take his leave, he stops beside you, and it almost feels as if he’s glaring at your soul, cursing it for the things you’ve done to him, although reality has proved that you’ve done nothing wrong. “Just you wait,” he whispers, low enough for only you to hear. “I’ll get you back someday,” and then he leaves, closing the wooden doors shut behind him.

The silence that envelopes the auditorium is uncanny, you think to yourself. Maybe it was because you were still getting the chills from the words Neito had whispered into your ear. Or perhaps it was because of the unreadable yet at the same time uncomfortable stares the council was throwing your way. Either way, the silence made you want to drown. To hide in the comforts of your room and stay there until the coast was clear.

“Young (Y/N),” Grand Elder Nezu begins, and you gulp, hoping for the best yet expecting the worst. “As for your punishment, you will be reassigned to another group of apprentice fairies under my guidance— the god fairies.”

What?

...God Fairies?

Grand Elder Nezu smiles softly at the look on your face before clearing his throat and continuing, trusting that you would be able to keep up with him. In his eyes, you were a rather intelligent fairy after all. Strange, but brilliant nonetheless.

“The God Fairies are a special elite force of apprentices under my supervision. It’s composed of fairies deemed problematic by the standards of our society and utilizes their uniqueness to serve our realm for the better good.”

You wanted to scoff. Rather than an elite force, it sounded like a group of slaves forced to listen to the Grand Elder, with an even more severe punishment dangling above their heads. A suiting sentence disguised as an honor.

“I know what you’re thinking, young (Y/N),” Grand Elder Nezu says with a knowing look. “However, this elite force is infinitely more important than any other group in the fairy realm, as they help sustain our influence over the humans.”

Confused, you look up to him, a million questions dancing within your eyes. Influence over humans? What exactly did he mean by that? Back at the academy, the older fairies had always taught you that humans and fairies never, under any circumstance, interacted with each other. It was forbidden. Interacting with humans was too dangerous as they were greedy and vile beings who would only seize magic for their own selfish gain should they even catch one whiff of it.

Magic was not meant to fall into human hands. That was just the way the world worked. So why was the Grand Elder telling you otherwise?

“The God Fairies help ensure that the humans’ belief in magic remains strong,” Grand Elder Nezu continues, even though you were still trying to comprehend what he had said prior. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Being the Grand Elder had numerous responsibilities involved, and those responsibilities waited for no one, not even him.

“You see, young (Y/N), as the years have passed, we, the council, have come across an alarming discovery,” you look up to the council tentatively, choosing to merely listen as trying to process their words in real time was proving to be complicated. “The tree of life that we have grown to cherish for over a millennium has weakened.”

A soft gasp leaves your lips, and rightfully so. The tree of life was the lifeline of the fairies. It was literally their world, giving life to everything they had ever come to know. The tree of life was what made fairies, fairies, providing them with their gorgeous translucent wings and copious amount of magic to have every other supernatural being out there jealous.

If it were to weaken and somehow die, then that would mean the end of the fairies. And that was a thought even more terrifying than the prospect of banishment.

“Fear not, young (Y/N),” This time, Elder Yagi decides to speak up, sensing the inherent panic and fear in your eyes. Elder Yagi always had a knack for reading your emotions, much like Hitoshi. Sometimes you wondered if that chalked up to you wearing your heart on your sleeve for everyone else to easily trample over, but that hadn’t been the case the more you got to know Elder Yagi and Hitoshi.

They both took your heart within their arms and cherished it like it was their own, even if the way they showed that care differed and was sometimes unnoticeable. Elder Yagi’s words, masked by his usual patriotic smile, were his way of comforting you when the going got rough. And for that, you would forever be thankful.

“We’ve discovered a new way to harness the magic we fairies so desperately need,” Elder Yagi continues, his smile never leaving. “And that solution lies in the humans.”

The moment the word human leaves Elder Yagi’s mouth, Elder Aizawa sneers in disgust, rolling his eyes, and from the opposite side of him, you can see Elder Sekijiro do the same. It wasn’t something new. After all, with the divide and disdain of the fairies towards fellow fae who wouldn’t live up to their noble standards, their disgust was only further amplified with the knowledge that other inferior beings, such as humans, existed. Even with their inferiority, they were beginning to push the fairies to the brink of a calamity with how much they were destroying the order of nature.

So you understood that there was an even greater prejudice towards humans, and you could feel nothing but sympathy and agony, knowing precisely what it feels like to be on the receiving end of such animosity.

“The humans,” Elder Yagi continues, not paying much mind to the disheartened expressions on his fellow elders’ (with the exception of the Grand Elder) faces. “Surprisingly, have an innate source of magic within them, much different from our own.”

Confused, you look up at the kind elder, allowing yourself to show a little emotion with the way he looks down kindly at you as if he were a father talking towards his child. Elder Yagi had always guided you when you felt lost amidst the noble fairies that served under the council and was more than happy to help you with whatever you needed.

Yet, currently, Elder Yagi was the main source of your confusion.

“When a human begins to believe in the supernatural, their innate magic ability awakens and pours out of them like waves, and when they sustain that belief? That innate magic becomes stronger.” It’s a revolutionary discovery, in your eyes. Humans had always been thought of as useless. But more than that, the council had constantly reminded the fairies to stray away from them, as no one knows what hidden malice the humans could have, despite the disbelief of your fellow fae.

“This is why we have formed the God Fairies, to ensure that the humans’ magic will be sustained and harnessed for our survival.” Elder Yagi looks at you, and you feel yourself flinch at the serious glance on his face, something that you knew wasn’t usual for the strong fairy. “Do you understand, young (Y/N)?”

The only thing you have the courage to do at the moment is nod, not trusting the thoughts that were lit ablaze in your mind, chaotic and unhinged. You knew that if you were to speak, your words would have most likely enraged the council as you currently had no control over them.

“Good.” Grand Elder Nezu says after a few moments of silence. “In line with this, we will be assigning you, young (Y/N), to a human. Your punishment, or in this case, mission is to ensure that you’ve collected enough magic to sustain a family of fairies the same size as Young Neito’s.”

Your eyes widen, and you divert your attention towards Elder Yagi, begging him to say that the Grand Elder’s words were not true. But when you see Elder Aizawa sport a sinister grin from the corner of your eye, you feel your heart sink. As much as you hated Neito, he was a powerful fairy who came from a highly influential family within the realm. It was the reason why he was in the vanguard. After all, his family’s influence has been his threshold throughout the days you knew each other.

And for a family as prominent in magical combat as his, they needed copious amounts of magic. An amount that you were sure couldn’t be collected by one fairy. In fact, the powerful fairies of the realm often sourced their innate magic directly from the elders themselves, a privilege that not many were able to enjoy.

This was a punishment, after all. Great. Just Great.

“I understand, Grand Elder,” you say after finally composing yourself. You can feel the dread gradually sink in, and your mind races with worry at the thought of having to go through the daunting task. “I will do as you desire. For the glory of the fae.”

You can sense the satisfied yet cunning smiles of the council, pleased with your decision, and you heave a sigh, unsure of what the future could have in store.

You could only hope that you wouldn’t be screwed over in the process.

The human realm was fascinating, to say the least.

When you first stepped foot on the lush forest of the realm, just on the outskirts of a bustling city, you couldn’t help but feel amazed. No amount of preparation from the elders or your friends could truly prepare you for this moment.

For the past few weeks, Grand Elder Nezu and Elder Yagi had been preparing you extensively for this mission. They briefed you on the does and don’ts of a fairy entering the human realm, bragged about other god fairies who had succeeded in securing a sustainable amount of magic for the fairies, and just boasted.

There was no comfort nor reassurance from either elder, which you had expected from Elder Yagi, but as you had come to find out, it seemed as if your father figure was still disappointed in you, causing your heart to sink. Did he really believe that you deserved to be punished?

You couldn’t even get this heavy feeling out of your chest. The worst part is that you couldn’t consult your best friend, Hitoshi, at all about this matter. Hitoshi had no knowledge of the god fairies as he had been a devout apprentice under Elder Aizawa’s care. He had no reason to know about it, he was already doing great, and that thought made your stomach churn.

You desperately wanted to confide in him, to spill your fears and anxieties for him to hear. No matter how insufferable Hitoshi was, he was a great listener and a great friend.

Gosh, you haven’t even spent one second in the Human Realm, and you were already feeling sick to your core.

At least the view made it better.

The council of elders had decided to assign you to a human living in the Musutafu Empire, nestled in the far east of the mortal realm. The Empire was drastically different from your own simple abode back in the fairy realm. Whereas yours was deeply rooted in nature, theirs was thriving on industrial roots.

You couldn’t explain it, but the way they structured their buildings and houses was beautiful. It was a whole different style from what you were used to back home, with high walls and rowdy streets. The people were smiling, clad in clothing that was tight yet loose at the same time, with a ribbon wrapped securely around their waists. Far different from the flowy garments that you had back in the fairy realm.

As you made your way to the capital, marveling at all the new sights that were capturing your eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder what the human assigned to you was like. Would he be stuck up like all the fairies you had come to know? Or would he be kind, much like Elder Yagi and Hitoshi were? The curiosity burned deep inside you, and you found yourself brimming with excitement at the thought of meeting him.

Your mission was fairly simple if you could take away the fact that you had to harvest an impossible amount of magic. You were to watch over a selected human, who the council deemed had the potential to unlock their innate magic and help them when they most needed it.

Almost as if you were someone who granted wishes, was what Grand Elder Nezu said. Granting wishes was the most effective way to strengthen the human’s belief in magic, allowing their own to flow out for the taking. Of course, there were other ways, such as haunting the humans or causing supernatural disasters that didn’t make sense. But such methods were unbecoming of fairies, and you couldn’t help but groan at the thought.

Haunting seemed fun, after all. Almost as if you were constantly playing a prank on an unassuming human. You would have killed for that to be your punishment instead.

But no. You were stuck with granting wishes, albeit not as often, as showing too much magic mind taint the human with greed and desire. Something that no fairy wanted.

Checking on the special compass that the elders had given you prior to your journey, you make your way towards your assigned human, gaping in awe at the view of the capital down below you. Of course, with the magic you held, they wouldn’t be able to see you as you had concealed yourself prior, but you wished they could. It would have been fun to see their shell-shocked expressions. Maybe that was a more efficient way of harnessing their magic?

Or, rather than being an efficient method, it was most likely going to be a one-way ticket to banishment from the fairy realm, aka an express ride towards death, something you wanted to avoid at all costs.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you spot the house of the human the elders had assigned to you. It was big, much larger than your own humble cottage back in the fairy realm, yet, even so, it didn’t compare to the ginormous estates that lay north of the house, almost as if it belonged perfectly in the middle.

You gasped at the tranquility of the mansion, almost as if you had once again been transported into another world. It was almost as if in this home, time stopped, and peace overflowed. You perched yourself atop a sturdy branch, looking around and admiring the view.

But peace doesn’t last for long because all of a sudden, a slam rings through the air, and you watch curiously as a large man, who oddly enough looks similar to Elder Sekijiro, although that was probably a figment of your imagination, there was no way the frightening elder would actually be in the human realm, stumbles into view.

The large man looked pissed, you noticed, as he dragged something behind him, and it’s only till the large man threw whatever he was carrying harshly unto the tree you were perched on did you realize that what the man had dragged wasn’t just a thing, but rather it was a person.

You gasp, heart breaking at the sight of the young boy. From where you sat above him, you could tell that he was covered with bruises all over, with a ghastly scar covering one of his eyes. The poor boy looked so weak and frail that you wanted nothing more than to steal the boy away and tend to him until he could stand on his own two feet one more. It was cruel. Was this the doing of that man?

You look up, and it’s only then that you notice a few more children looking at the scene below you with different expressions on their faces. There were about three of them; two boys and one girl. The tallest and assumably the eldest had an unbothered look on his face as if he couldn’t care less about the poor boy who had just been thrown into a three. The second boy, with snow-white hair, sported a sadistic grin as if he were enjoying seeing the young boy in pain. And the girl? The girl, who looked so sweet and innocent, held eyes of pure disgust as she clutched her teddy bear tighter to her chest, almost as if she were glaring at the young boy.

Was this the kid’s family?

“Shoto!” The large man, whom you had deduced to be the father, screamed. You flinch at the loudness of his voice, intimidation flowing out of him in waves, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You look down, heart hurting at the sight of the young boy cowering in fear, but he still kept a brave face. Well, as much as he could do in that situation.

“You dare disobey your brother?” He continues, tone raising more and more as his fists clench. “How many times have I told you to listen to your siblings? They’re much older, stronger, and smarter than a little piece of shit like you. Heck, even Fuyumi, who’s a girl, is much more dignified than your pathetic ass!”

The more words fell from the man’s mouth, the more you wished to hex him with forbidden magic. Although doing so would only make your punishment worse. The elders were strict about black magic, after all. Anyone who even showed a little bit of interest was considered a threat and was sent to conduct punishments almost immediately. It was cruel, but you were on wit’s end because nowhere had you seen a vile man like him.

“It’s true, father!” The second sibling says, the sinister grin on his lips only growing. “I had asked Shoto nicely to help with my chores because I wanted to get more practice in for the royal knights’ examination, but he had the audacity to retaliate with the excuse that he already had chores to do.” The kid scoffs, rolling his eyes in the process. “He barely does anything in this house, yet he’s a burden to those of us who actually are? Father, he deserves punishment!”

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach as if you were getting deja vu from this situation. The look on that kid’s face painfully reminded you of Neito, and you couldn’t help the gut feeling that made you believe that what the kid was saying was far from the truth.

“Shameful!” The father says, raising a hand to slap the young child to the side, and you gasp in horror wanting nothing more to interfere, yet the Grand Elder’s words ring harshly in your ear. There needs to be a balance. He had said. It would plunge the realms into total chaos if more than one human discovered the reality of magic simultaneously, especially those with foul intentions.

You couldn’t reveal yourself, not yet, at least. Yet, at the same time, you wanted to curse the elders back home, for they had assigned to you a child who was literally experiencing hell on earth and only gave you limited movement to help.

You watch, feeling the tears threaten to fall as the damn bastard of a father lands another punch towards his son, to the point where he begins to cough blood. Your eyes widen in horror as you hear the other children’s cheers. Why were they like this? Weren’t they family? Why were they treating one of their own like he wasn’t? He didn’t deserve this. He was only but a child!

When the father was finally finished with his rain of terror, you couldn’t help but release the breath you were holding in. Finally, it was over. But as if he couldn’t get any worse, the father towers over him, blue eyes boring into his kids. “If I see any of these bruises and wounds healed,” he whispers just enough for only Shoto to hear, but with your heightened senses, you couldn’t help but listen in. “Then you will get a beating far worse than this one. Do you understand?”

The kid nods weakly, not having the strength to communicate properly, causing the father to glare at him harder. “You are a disgrace to the Todoroki name, Shoto. Never forget that.”

And just like that, he leaves, the children following closely behind with mocking looks on their faces. The second sibling even goes so far as to spit on his youngest brother, causing you to clench your fists in anger, wanting to teach that kid a lesson. What kind of twisted personality did he have? Why was he treating his family like this? You just couldn’t understand.

When they finally leave, leaving the young kid on the rough ground, wallowing in his misery and pain, you find it in yourself to come down and take action. What action, you may ask? You weren’t quite sure yourself, but every fiber in your being was begging you to do something to help the poor child.

You kneel beside the beaten-up boy, weaving your hand through his dirtied hair. The boy looked like he hadn’t even been given an ounce of care throughout his life. How could this be? Wasn’t a family supposed to love each other? But you knew yourself that not all families were like that, only the lucky ones.

The world, no matter what realm you were in, was cruel and cold to those who didn’t fit in, to those that made them feel sick. Within your heart, you knew exactly what the young child was feeling, although only to a certain extent as it could never compare to the feeling of getting beaten up by the people you were supposed to love on a day-to-day basis.

But you too had been abandoned, you too had been ridiculed, and you knew how much that pain could carry through the rest of one’s life. The pain never truly goes away. It would only get buried, waiting for the moment it could come back to life. And if that pain was prolonged? Then that would only make things worse.

So you decided, with a firm grip on your heart, that until you had to leave, you would be there for this child. More than punishment, more than a duty you had to fulfill, you would be there for him until the very end.

That was a promise.

Todoroki Shoto had never known love.

For as long as he could remember, ever since the day he was born, his family had hated him. For what reason? He couldn’t quite comprehend, but now that he was a bit older, he understood to some extent.

His birth had caused his mother to die.

It was something that his family reminded him of every day. Whenever his brother, Natsuo, forced him to do his share of chores, he would always add in a snarky remark saying how it was the least he could do since he took his mother away from him. It hurt, but he couldn’t argue. It was the truth, after all. Him being born into the world had caused their own mother to leave it. It was only natural for his family to hate him.

From what he had heard, his mother was a very kind woman. With the same snow-white hair that covered half of his head, Todoroki Rei was known to be an angel. She was kind, always selflessly showing her love, and in turn, everyone loved her for it. She was the life of the party, even though she was frail, and never failed to make everyone around her smile. She was what one would consider the embodiment of good.

And Shoto had taken her away from them.

Everyone in the Todoroki household hated him, even the servants. How dare a useless child like him take away their mistress? How dare he live on as if nothing was wrong when he was the very reason that the light of the Todoroki household dimmed out. He was a despicable child in the eyes of everyone else, one that never deserved love.

So they fed him moldy bread and spoiled milk, rotten fruits, and water that was clearly full of filth. They wanted him to die, to pay for taking their mistress away from them. And no one in his family ever stood up for him.

His eldest brother Touya never even spoke to him. It was as if he was actively trying to ignore the kid. Whenever Shoto went up to talk to his brother, he would simply pass him by as if Shoto didn’t even exist. Yet whenever Shoto would catch peeks of the family eating a nice supper over the dinner table, his brother was actively engaging in conversation, causing an arrow to go through his heart at the realization that Touya truly did intend to ignore him.

His second brother, Natsuo, was no better. The only difference was that he actively tried to make Shoto’s life a living hell more than it already was. Natsuo took all his anger and grief out on the young child with snarky remarks and condescending tones. There was even a slap on the cheek every now and then, to which he would complain that it was Shoto who assaulted him, even though it was far from the truth. And everyone would believe him. Because who would believe the words of a child whose birth meant the death of another?

Then there was Fuyumi, his only sister. She sported that same gentle nature as his mother, according to the house servants, yet to Shoto, she was a wicked and cruel child. She was petty, treating Shoto as if he were a slave. When her favorite tea was too hot for her liking, she spilled the scalding hot drink all over him, soon after berating and slapping him for letting the said liquid fall onto her plush carpet. It made no sense, but Shoto could never complain. Fuyumi was the darling of the family, after all.

But his father? He was the worst of them all.

Todoroki Enji was a curious man, to say the least. As one of the leading figures of the oldest families of the Musutafu Empire, his very presence brought tremendous waves of awe among the masses. The Todoroki family was one of the most revered families in the whole empire, and everyone had always looked up to them, seeing them as the perfect family.

But Todoroki Enji had taken that image of perfection into heart, and it showed through the things he did behind closed doors. Rei’s death hit him the hardest, not because he was heartbroken that his other half died, but rather it was because that image of perfection had been broken into pieces, and he loathed it. He hated the pitiful gazes of the masses, as they stared at him as if he wasn’t the perfect being they needed him to be. It enraged him to no end. And the only outlet of this burning rage was the cause of all this brokenness, his own son.

Everything Shoto did angered him. Even taking a breath angered him. Every action, look, and word that came from the young child infuriated the head of the house, and he couldn’t help but take it out on him. Treating Shoto like he wasn’t a child but rather an enemy on the battlefield. Every day he would ruthlessly beat Shoto up until he felt satisfied, leaving Shoto battered and bruised with no chance of recovery. It was terrible, something anyone with a heart would hate, yet all those who resided in the Todoroki Mansion thrived on his misery.

So yeah, all his life, Todoroki Shoto had never known love.

But when he feels a hand gently caress his face, brushing his dirtied hair off of his face and running a thumb over his bruising cheek, he wonders if maybe this was it. Whoever was touching him had such a gentle and soft touch, a touch that he’s never felt before in his life. It was warm, far different from the cold caresses of his family. He wanted nothing more than to stay in the comfort of this warmth. But what if this was just a figment of his imagination?

He opens his eyes slowly, bearing through the pain and heaviness that came with it, and his gaze meets yours, and he’s blown away.

Your eyes look at him with sincere kindness, one that Shoto has never seen before in his life. He’s only been alive for a few years or so, and he can tell that this was what was right. Not his family, not the servants treating him with extreme hostility. No, you, a stranger he had never seen in his entire life, was already treating him way better than the whole world would ever treat him. And it had only been a few seconds since his eyes met yours.

“W-who…” he stutters, blinking wearily as if he wanted to get a closer look, but you shush him with gentle whispers, continuing to weave your hands through his dual-colored hair that looked stunning under the sunlight, even if it was smeared to no end.

“Shh, don’t speak, child,” you say, motherly instincts that you were unaware of surfacing. “You are injured. Speaking will only make it worse.”

Shoto nods, staying silent as you continue to run your fingers through his hair. Suddenly a surge of warmth rushes through his body, and he watches amazed as the pain from his father’s beating slowly goes away, even if the bruises didn’t disappear.

“There, that should do the trick!” You say, smiling brightly and voice cheery in an attempt to console the young child. Shoto slowly sits up from where he laid on the hard ground, looking at his hands in awe. How did you do that? How did you make all the pain disappear?

“I apologize,” you say, looking sheepishly at Shoto once you noticed he was staring at his arms in awe. “Your father mentioned that he would hurt you even more if your injuries are healed, so I’m only able to make the physical pain go away, but the wounds remain. I hope that’s alright.”

It’s more than alright, Shoto thinks to himself as he looks at you in awe. Shoto had never felt this alive before. It was as if his energy was restored and multiplied as if the numbness that had accumulated from the years of beating had vanished without a trace.

“Thank you,” he finally says, not having the courage to spill his heart out in fear that you would take his feelings and crush them in the blink of an eye. If Shoto were to be honest, if anyone else aside from the people he had come to know were to berate him more than he already was on a daily basis, then he would truly crumble.

“But… who are you?” He asks, finally coming to his senses. “Why are you here? It’s dangerous. If father finds out, then you—”

“—Do not worry child, I will be fine.” You’re doing better than expected despite the rapid beating of your heart from how nervous you were. You really hated this motherly image you were exuding, wanting nothing more than to be as carefree as you usually were, but first impressions were important, and you had to time things just right.

You smile, looking at Shoto with the kindest gaze you could muster, patting him gently on the head in the process.

“I’m your fairy godmother, after all.”

“F-fairy g-godmother?” Shoto asks, clearly confused. You giggle at his perplexed expression, amused. It was fascinating how the child still seemed to be as innocent despite the harsh realities he had been through. He was a strong human, you supposed. And quite an adorable one too.

“Yes, child,” you say once more, standing up and bringing Shoto up with you, although he stumbles, legs weak from being on the ground for too long, but you’re quick to catch him, giggling once more at the flustered expression on his face.

“I’m your fairy godmother,” you repeat, lines poised and precise like you had been trained to from the Grand Elder. “And as your fairy godmother, I’ll be here to make sure that your pain will be more bearable until you can fly free on your own.”

“Fly?” The young child asks excitedly, eyes beaming. “Will I be able to fly someday?”

“Not in the literal sense, child.” You giggle, the tiny human bringing the weight of the world off your shoulders. It was refreshing to interact with him. Perhaps this was why parents decide to have children. They were oh so loveable when they were young. You could only hope that the pureness of his heart wouldn’t be tainted even further by the harsh reality of his family’s disdain.

“But you’ll understand what I mean very soon,” you say, kneeling down towards his level. “And until then, I’ll be your wings, alright?”

It’s clear that Shoto doesn’t understand a word you’re saying, but that’s alright. He doesn’t need to understand at the moment. He just needs to believe. And from the pure amazement and wonder in his eyes, it looks as if he’s already on a one-way track towards it.

“Now, child, before I send you off, you must remember something very important.” You say, tone a bit sterner as Shoto gulps, nodding his head and turning his full attention towards you. His concerned and slightly worried look on his face makes you want to break your facade and laugh along with him. But this truly was an important matter, and if you didn’t drill it into his brain, then your mission would have been all for naught.

“Under no circumstance, must you tell of my existence to another soul, do you understand?” There’s uncertainty in the child’s gaze as if he doesn’t truly understand the weight of your words, but he nods nonetheless, agreeing. “Not your father,” you continue, hoping to make your point a bit clearer. “Nor your siblings, nor any stranger that you come across. You can’t reveal my existence to anyone, understand? This is a secret between you and me. Can you keep it?”

A beat of silence passes the two of you as Shoto lets the words sink in. He truly doesn’t understand why he can’t tell anyone else about you. It didn’t make sense to him. Weren’t you supposed to make his pain more bearable? Then why couldn’t you do that in the form of mending his relationship with his family? It saddened Shoto because in the few moments you had spent together, in those few minutes he got to know you, Shoto already considered you a friend. His first friend, in fact.

Why couldn’t he show you off?

Maybe it had to do with the fact that you, too, would get punished by his father if he were to reveal your existence. His father was a terrifying man. If he wanted something, then he would get it, no matter how difficult it was to obtain. His father held himself in high regard. And anyone who didn’t fit his standards was considered worthless and useless. If he were to find out that you were associated with him, the failure of the family, then who knows what his father would do to you?

He wouldn’t allow that. He couldn’t allow that. You were the first person to show him kindness, and he couldn’t just let you slip away. That would break him to the point of no return.

“Sure,” Shoto mumbles shyly, a bashful smile forming on his lips. If you didn’t know any better, you wouldn’t have guessed that this child was frequently beaten up by his family, much less hated by them. He seemed like a great kid, who needed a friend to stand by him, and although Grand Elder Nezu and Elder Yagi had strictly advised you against being too attached to your assigned human, you couldn’t help it.

Who were you to ignore such a loveable child?

You smile, the sternness gradually leaving your face, and raise your hand towards him, pinky pointing out. “Promise?” Shoto looks at you before his eyes dart to your outstretched finger, bewildered and unsure.

“This is a pinky promise,” you say, realizing that he didn’t understand what you were trying to do. “When we link our pinkies together like this,” you continue, intertwining your pinky with his and locking them together. “Then that means our promise is sealed in stone and can never ever be broken.”

You give Shoto a small smile, your other hand reaching out to pat his head gently, while Shoto looks at your intertwined pinkies in awe and admiration.

In his haze, you finally stand up, your heightened senses hearing angered footsteps approaching, and you look worriedly at Shoto, hesitant to leave.

“I have to go now,” you say, heartbreaking at the way his expression falls from his face, replaced with a disappointed one.

“But don’t worry, I’ll be back.” You’re quick to reassure him, waving your hands frantically as you give off a sheepish smile. “I’ll be back when you need me the most,” you clarify, panic rushing in as the hurried footsteps become louder.

“Promise?” Shoto asks, stretching out his own pinky to you, reflecting what you had just taught him. This catches you by surprise, but you’re quick to smile, intertwining your pinkies once more.

“I promise,” you genuinely whisper, watching with mirth in your heart as Shoto looks up at you with a warm smile of his own, eyes looking at you tenderly as if he were sending you off.

And just like that, you vanish, much to Shoto’s shock, as the sliding door behind him slams open, and a servant comes out storming towards him angrily. But honestly, Shoto couldn’t care less.

Even as the servant berated him and dragged him harshly back into the mansion, Shoto couldn’t help but feel all warm and giddy inside. He had made his first friend.

And that was more than anything he could ever ask for.

Ever since your first meeting with Shoto, you had begun to grow closer towards the abused child, feeling a connection start to grow.

Of course, you didn’t show yourself to him as often as you wanted to, as you had your own limitations. Because as the council had told you before your departure, they were watching. And that was a frightening thought to ever take for granted.

It was too risky to put your personal desires over your duty at the forefront, so you had to work your way around the rules laid down by the Grand Elder. You had to be sharp, had to show your support and friendship in other more mundane ways so Shoto would continue to believe.

You were still a fairy on a mission, after all.

Harnessing magic wasn’t a one-time thing. If it were, then the council would have easily done it by now. The truth of the matter was that cultivating the magic out of humans required time, effort, and care— a feat that was far too tedious for the council to partake in, which was why it was up to the God fairies to carry it out.

As the relationship between a god fairy and their assigned human continued to grow, so would the amount of magic present within the human. Once it got to its breaking point, then the god fairy would immediately harness it, marking the end of their relationship and causing the human to never believe in magic again.

It was a cruel process but one you couldn’t avoid as it meant your life or death. But the more time you spend with Shoto, the more your resolve seems to break, and you begin to question whether or not you could actually pull through with what you were meant to do.

The door slides open, snapping you away from your train of thought, and in walks Shoto, a new bruise forming over his right eye.

Even if you couldn’t show yourself on a daily basis, you still made your presence known to Shoto through small acts of magic, ones that wouldn’t be considered overboard by the Grand Elder. You would have followed Shoto everywhere he went, watching his every move and ensuring that he was safe, but in a way, it made you uncomfortable.

And you couldn’t stand seeing the way his family and servants treated him. It was too cruel. You were sure that if you spent any second longer seeing his siblings ridicule him or his father punch him, then you would lose control. And everything that you had worked desperately for would have gone to waste, which was why you distanced yourself from the young child whenever he was around others. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help it. It was for the best; you tried to convince yourself. You were doing the right thing.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t help him at all. As Shoto quickly makes his way to his worn-out futon, wincing in pain at all the bruises his father had given him from the day’s beating, you couldn’t help but fuss over him, immediately reaching out to take the pain away in your invisible state, external wounds remaining.

“Fairy Godmother?” Shoto calls out weakly, feeling the pain leave him gradually as warmth replaces it. His eyes feel lighter, and he finally works the courage to open them fully, only to be met with his dark room. You were still invisible. You hadn’t shown yourself just yet. “Are you there?”

You wanted to respond. You desperately do. But the weight of your duty weighs heavy on your shoulders, and you hesitate, unsure whether or not you would reach out to him. You two were close, that was for sure. Throughout the few months of your ‘friendship’ with Shoto (if you could call it that), you had come to know just how precious the child truly was. Even after all the hardships and suffering that overcame him, he was still bright and innocent, something you never entirely understood, but you supposed that was what made Shoto… Shoto.

“Fairy Godmother?” Shoto calls out again, this time a little more desperate. His eyes dart around, trying to find you, but you were nowhere to be seen. All he wanted was to see you again. Sure, you had in some way, shape, and form always made your presence known through your kind acts, but it didn’t feel complete. It was as if Shoto was talking to a ghost, and he didn’t want that. He wanted to speak to his friend, the one person who made him see the light in what seemed like a never-ending darkness.

“Please,” he whispers like a prayer, hoping that you would show yourself. “Are you there?”

You couldn’t take it. This was torture to you. You knew you would get reprimanded either way, but as a fairy tasked with the responsibility of taking care of this child, you had to do it. He was practically crying out at this point. What kind of soul wouldn’t help him?

“I am here, Shoto,” you say, finally revealing yourself, and you feel yourself wince at the tears of relief that slip past the young child’s eyes. “I am here.”

Almost immediately, Shoto lunges at you, wrapping you in the tightest embrace he could muster. Was this real? He thought to himself. Were you actually here? This wasn’t a dream, right? What if you left him for good? He didn’t think his heart could handle that.

“You’re here!” He whispers, nuzzling into your stomach, giggling. “You’re actually here!” How could a child be so precious? You wonder to yourself. He was so innocent and pure. Why was his family hurting him like he wasn’t? From the time you had come to know Shoto, you could tell that he was a kind soul. He didn’t deserve any of the pain inflicted by his family. He deserved nothing but love and happiness. You just wished you had the authority to give it to him.

But alas, even with your freedom came chains that sought to bind you to the harsh realities of the world.

“Yes, I am, Shoto,” you giggle, running your hand soothingly through his hair, knowing how much comfort it brought the young child. “What is it that you need?”

“Nothing really,” Shoto replies after a while, merely basking in your warmth for as long as he could. “I just wanted to see you again.”

If Shoto were, to be honest, he was afraid that you were merely a product of his own imagination. His family often mocked him for it, calling him delusional in every way they could. Delusional for thinking he was loved; Delusional for thinking he deserved to be loved, and more so delusional for thinking that he could actually receive love from his family.

He was raised to believe that in one way or another, he was delusional, so somewhere deep down inside him, he thought that maybe you were a product of his delusions too.

But here you were, smiling down at him with such tenderness and care that Shoto knew you were anything but a delusion. He smiles brightly, the pain from earlier slowly melting away in your presence, and he drags you with his little hands towards his small, worn-out mattress, encouraging you to sit.

You follow him, eyes frowning at the state of his mattress. This was no way to treat a human being. Even back in the fairy realm, although it was clear that many were not fond of you, they still gave you common courtesy and respect as any other living being should. What Shoto’s family was doing to him was horrible, and you wish you could bring him out of it.

“Could you tell me a story?” Shoto asks out of the blue, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. “A story?” You repeat, unsure if you heard him correctly. Shoto nods, moving to lift a part of his mattress off the ground to reveal a hidden pile of storybooks that you never knew existed.

“My father doesn’t let me read,” he whispers, fingers darting over the dusty covers. “Says I’m not worthy of it.” Your hands clenched into fists beside you as you tried not to let your anger show, but Shoto could feel it slowly dripping off you in waves. “It’s fine, though,” he says, trying to reassure you that he wasn’t as affected by it as he truly was. “I’m used to it….”

A beat of silence passes the two of you as you look at the solemn gaze on Shoto’s face as he continues to run his fingers through the cover of the worn book longingly. With a sigh, you gently take Shoto into your arms, catching the young boy by surprise.

“You don’t have to hide in front of me, you know?” You say, seemingly scolding the child, but your tone was light, a small smile making its way to your face. “Friends don’t hide things from each other.”

From where he sat in your lap, Shoto looks at you with a bewildered gaze on his face, as if he were mesmerized. You simply smile at him, taking the book gently from his arms and opening it to the first page.

“I’ll help you learn how to read,” you say, finally clearing up your actions. “Isn’t that what you truly want?”

Shoto doesn’t say anything, but you can tell from the tears that are about to fall from his eyes that this was indeed his genuine desire. It pained you. Reading was something many took for granted, but as you see the absolute joy on Shoto’s face as he brought his attention back to the book in excitement, you realize that this was a gift.

You had the power to help this child beyond magic. And that was something you would use to your advantage, no matter the consequence.

You just wished that you would have done a better job at keeping it lowkey. Because as you guide Shoto in reading the story he had picked for the night, You don’t notice the gap between his door and the wall, a result of Shoto not closing the door properly from his weakened state and as a result, a young girl was standing on the opposite side of the door, eyes widened in horror and disgust at the sight she was seeing.

This wasn’t going to go well.

The next few days, Shoto honestly felt like he was in bliss.

No matter how horribly his family and servants treated him, nothing could shake the happiness he felt within his heart. Perhaps it was amplified by the fact his father had left the mansion for a few days to attend to his duties in the royal palace. Although he still had to face harsh treatments from his siblings and the other servants, at least the beatings became scarce.

His family was much too cowardly to carry out the same severe beatings his father gave. Which meant that he could enjoy his time with you even more than he should.

He had just finished his chores, ones that the servants were supposed to do, but in their vanity, they forced him to do it, going beyond their status as mere servants and dropping all their responsibilities as a child, sporting faux innocence whenever Shoto had tried to bring it up to his family.

But when he did, his father only got angry, beating him for lying about such matters, insinuating how he was insulting him because it was Enji who handpicked those servants, meaning an insult to them was an insult to his father.

So Shoto learned to take everything in a stride. To just do whatever the servants wanted him to do otherwise, he would get an even more severe beating from his father, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs.

But that fear was a thing of the past, as at the moment, Shoto was happily skipping towards his room, excitedly thinking of what story his fairy godmother would teach him about today.

Truly, like her title, Shoto’s fairy godmother was a blessing sent from the heavens. She was kind, patient, and never berated Shoto for any mistake he made. She would never do that to him, she told him one day when he had asked. It was just too cruel.

So this was what kindness really felt like, Shoto realized once the words slipped from her mouth. Growing up, Shoto was taught that his family’s actions were one of kindness, with insults such as ‘you should be grateful father was kind enough to keep you in this house when you should have been thrown out into the street already.’ being thrown at him left and right.

He had always hated kindness because of that. His family’s kindness made him feel sick, made him want to curl up into a hole and die, yet his fairy godmother had shown him the light. His fairy godmother had shown him that kindness wasn’t supposed to make you feel horrible. It was supposed to make you happy. It was supposed to fill your heart with love and affection that you wanted to give back tenfold.

What his family was doing to him wasn’t kindness at all.

Even more so when he stopped in front of his room, confused to hear a commotion inside. His gut feeling told him to run away, to hide, and never show himself again. But he couldn’t. His room was his safe haven, the only place where he could truly escape from his harsh reality, and if something ever happened to it, then Shoto wouldn’t know what to do.

He hastily opens the door only to feel his blood run cold. There standing in his room were his father, Enji, and his sister, Fuyumi. The moment they heard the door open, his sister turned to him, fake tears in her eyes, ones that Shoto knew everyone believed. Because in their eyes, Shoto’s sister was innocent, even though he knew that she was a devil in disguise.

“There he is, father!” Fuyumi exclaimed, pointing towards him accusingly. “The thief!”

Thief? Shoto wondered to himself. Why was he a thief? As far as he knew, he hadn’t stolen anything from anyone, much less his sister. Why would she accuse him of being a thief?

But he didn’t get the chance to ponder on it deeply, with his father turning towards him with deep rage lacing his eyes. Why was his father here in the first place? Wasn’t he supposed to stay in the palace for a few more days?

“You imbecile!” His father rages, stomping towards him. Shoto whimpers trying to back away, but his father was bigger and stronger than he could ever be and caught up to him quickly, holding him by the collar of his rags and throwing him across the room harshly.

The impact causes immense pain to course through Shoto’s body, and he’s sure he could feel a rib or two of his break from the pressure. There was liquid running down his face, was that blood? Perhaps. He was in too much pain to process what was happening.

“First, you kill your mother,” His father says, slowly making his way towards him, intimidation falling off him in waves. “Second, you act like an entitled brat to everyone in this house,” his words make Shoto flinch, knowing in his heart that none of his words were true. “And third,” Shoto’s father says as he finally stands in front of him, eyes glaring into his with severe malice. “You dare steal something extremely valuable from your sister? Have you no shame?”

With the little strength he could muster, Shoto looks up at his father, eyes weak and hazy. “Steal?” He whispers. “I didn’t steal anything….”

“Lies!” He hears his sister exclaim, sobbing hysterically. If Shoto didn’t know that his sister had two sides, he would have believed that she was genuinely upset. But that wasn’t the case. She was making things up. And this time, her act might actually cost his life.

“You stole the storybooks I got from mother!” She accuses, holding her teddy bear tighter to her chest, hateful eyes glaring into his.

Storybooks? Shoto asks to himself, eyes darting around only to find the pile of storybooks on the ground— the same ones you read to him every night. A fire burns inside him, something that Shoto had never felt before. The audacity his sister had.

“Y-you,” he stutters, coughing from the pain. “You threw them away! I don’t steal them. I found them in the garbage!”

“That’s not true!” His sister fights back, and Shoto can see the way her eyes dart around in shock, not expecting him to actually speak up. “Why would I throw away something I received from mother?”

Shoto was about to retort, but suddenly, a harsh sound rang through the room, and Shoto feels an excruciatingly painful sting on his cheek. His father had slapped him hard.

“How dare you,” he says, voice low, concealing the pure unadulterated rage that was about to burst forth. “How dare you take our kindness for granted, you son of a bitch.”

“We clothed you. We gave you shelter and food, and this is how you repay us?” He spats, hands clenched into fists. “After everything you’ve done to our family, you continue to disgrace our family name? What a despicable child you are.”

Pushing Shoto down to the floor, Enji raises his hand, ready to land a punch. “Shameful.” He lands a blow. “Disgusting.” He lands another. “Thief.” This time his father hits his broken ribs, causing Shoto to cry out in even more pain. “Murderer.”

Tears fall from Shoto’s eyes as the pain continues to flow through him, bursting through every punch. Was he really a murderer? Was he really that bad of a child? If so, why did they make him stay? Why couldn’t they put him out of his misery?

He wished his fairy godmother was here. She would probably make things better than they were now. She would make all the pain go away and then pat his head like she always did as she read him another story. He had never been as happy as he was whenever she read to him. But who knew that happiness came at an awful price?

Fairy Godmother, Shoto prayed in his mind as his father continued to beat him, letting out all his anger onto his body. Where are you? He was sure he looked like a mess, probably not even human anymore. But he couldn’t care less. He just wanted his fairy godmother by his side.

She said she would be there when he needed it most, didn’t she?

Suddenly the pain stops, and all Shoto feels is numb. He opens his eyes to the best ability, only to see his father stop midair with someone’s hand holding into his arm. He turns to the side, wincing in pain, yet it’s worth it because he finally sees the person he’s been waiting for.

His fairy godmother had finally appeared.

“Who are you?” His father shouts, screaming at the fairy. Her face is hardened, eyes glaring back at him with such hatred that it could honestly mirror his father’s.

“None of your business,” she spats before forcefully throwing his father to the other side of the room, landing with a harsh thud.

She walks towards him, a menacing aura surrounding her, but just before she could approach Shoto’s father, his sister immediately runs to defend him, glaring with genuine tears in her eyes.

“Who are you?” She screams, shaking. “Why are you attacking father? Father has done nothing wrong! You should be attacking that… thing! He’s the bad one here.”

Her desperate cries leave a bitter hole in Shoto’s heart as he feels nothing but despair. He had always hoped that beneath all the harsh words of his family members, underneath all their cruel punishments and glaring eyes, they would still have room in their hearts to care for him, even just a little bit.

But no, they didn’t even see him as human. And that hurt way more than being called a murderer.

“First of all,” you say, voice ice-cold, causing shivers to run down everyone’s spine. “Shoto isn’t a thing. He’s a human being. He’s your brother. What kind of person are you for not even acknowledging that?”

“He killed my mother!” Shoto’s sister screams in protest, holding her ground. But her words only cause your gaze to harden as you grab her in the shoulders, and she shakes under your terrifying stare.

“Listen here, young lady,” your voice booms through the room. “Shoto didn’t kill anyone. Your mother’s death was not his fault. Just because you can’t accept the fact that your mother is not on this earth anymore doesn’t mean you can treat your brother like he’s the scum of the earth.”

His sister falls silent after that, not knowing what else to say. She sniffles, and as gently as you can, you push her to the side. She was still a child, after all. No matter how vain she was, she was only a year or two older than Shoto. And you were not one to inflict pain on children or anyone for that matter.

But this had gone too far. And you couldn’t find it within yourself to stand on the sidelines any longer.

“And you,” if possible, your voice becomes even more ominous as you approach Enji, who sat on the ground, groaning. In his weakened state, he glares at you, having the audacity to continue spewing nonsense from his mouth.

“Don’t you know who I am?” He threatens before you can continue to speak. “I am Todoroki Enji, the right-hand man of the Emperor of the Musutafu Empire! If his majesty were to find out of your crime, then he would—”

“—Punish you to the depths of hell.” You say, cutting him off. “I’m not a fool, Todoroki Enji. I know that the only reason you sheltered Shoto was so the Emperor wouldn’t find out your crimes. Otherwise, you would have thrown him onto the streets.”

Enji can feel his blood run cold, the truth hitting him like harsh waves the more they fall from your lips.

“The Emperor is a kind and just man, and if he were to ever find out that you were treating your child this way, then he wouldn’t hesitate to sentence you to death. You know that more than anyone.”

Silence befalls the room as everyone soaks your words in. Shoto doesn’t understand. What were you trying to say?

“You know better than to punish Shoto for killing his mother. He didn’t do anything wrong. Todoroki Rei was already weak and frail after giving birth to the little young miss over there, yet you still insisted that she bear you a child, and when she refused, you threatened her.”

A gasp falls from his sister’s lips as the gravity of your words swirls up into a tornado in Shoto’s mind. Was this true? Was he truly not to blame for all of this?

“Lies,” Enji mutters under his breath, low enough for only you to hear. You stay silent, allowing the man to form his thoughts, yet that proves to be fatal as after a beat of silence passes, the man glares at you, taking a broken piece of the wall and swinging it your way.

“Fairy Godmo—” Shoto calls, distressed and scared, but it proved to be for naught as in the blink of an eye, the heavy debris vanished, and you stood there, wand in hand, glaring once more at his father.

“What?!” His father exclaims, finally taking his stand. “How were you able to do that? That should have killed you!”

You smile, grin sinister and dark, far from the gentle warmth it usually portrayed. Shoto was scared. His brain couldn’t comprehend what was happening. But what he did know was that he didn’t like any of this one bit.

“Magic,” is all you say, lifting your wand to cast another spell. “Magic is what made me do this to you. And magic is how I’ll make sure that you suffer the same hell Shoto has gone through.”

Horror fills Enji’s eyes as you step closer. But just as you’re about to release your spell, the door opens, revealing Shoto’s second brother, Natsuo, whose eyes widened at the sight in front of him. On instinct, he grabs the wooden sword he had brought with him from his training and lunges at you just as your magic bursts forth, tackling you to the ground.

And a scream fills the air.

Everyone looks, startled at the sight. When the chaos finally comes clear, to the family’s dread and your glee, your spell had managed to affect Enji, but not in the way that you had hoped.

Instead of the core of his body, you had hit his eyes instead, a nasty scar forming over it, burning the flesh, and causing the man to tremble in pain.

Well, at least he would know what Shoto felt when he got his scar.

You stand up, dusting the dirt off your clothes as you make your way towards Shoto, ignoring his shell-shocked brother, who was staring at his father writhing in pain. You probably look like a mess at this point, totally different from how you usually appeared, but that was the least of your concerns.

You had to ensure Shoto was alright. He had gone through so much after all.

You couldn’t stand it. How could you stand watch when Shoto’s father was basically killing the poor child? Shoto who was pure and innocent. Shoto, whose only desire in life, was to read. He didn’t care for freedom or revenge. He just wanted to live normally.

You couldn’t find it within yourself to let his family trample over those dreams any longer.

You finally approach him, getting ready to kneel beside him and take him in your embrace so you could take the pain away. How much pain must he have gone through? You wonder. His body was battered and bruised, looking as if he was merely a shell of the child he once was. It was too cruel, and you could only hope that you’re magic would take even a bit of that pain away.

Because the child deserved to smile.

But just as you’re about to reach out towards him, a bright light shines through the room, and from that light comes a figure, one that causes your whole being to momentarily freeze in shock and fear.

Elder Yagi stood there in all his glory, robes and wings perfectly accentuating his features, truly presenting himself as the most powerful fairy in all the realm. His eyes were placed into a frown, and he stared directly at you, disappointment evident within him.

You had screwed up, and now you were going to pay the price.

“Young (Y/N),” His voice booms, loud and proud like how a fairy should be. “For breaking the Fairy Code by revealing the existence of magic to humans other than your godchild and for using said magic to unlawfully harm the human race, you are hereby sentenced to banishment from the fairy realm effective immediately.”

You stare at the elder you had come to know as a father, pleading with desperate eyes for him not to do this to you, but he pays no mind, waving his wand, causing binds to form and wrap around your body.

“No, please!” You scream in vain, begging. “At least let me heal Shoto. Let me do something for him!”

“You’ve already done enough!” Elder Yagi screams. It’s the first time you’ve seen him so angry, and it scares you. Where was the kind fairy you had come to know? Why was he acting like this? “The Council will take over.”

And light flashes once more through the broken room, and just like that, you’re gone, leaving Shoto behind.

Shoto blinks blearily, everything passing by in a blur. What had happened? What was happening? He wished he had the strength to get up and take a stand for himself, but he was quite literally beaten to a pulp. He can’t feel the strength in his arms anymore, and just that very thought scares him.

The only thing that comforts him is the soothing lullaby of darkness, trancing him into a sleepy state, and before he knows it, Shoto passes out.

Not knowing that from this point onwards, his life would change forever.

The light shines through the curtains, and Shoto wakes up, blinking.

He stretches his tired limbs and sits up, yawning. Why did he feel so tired? He’s never felt this weary before.

He gets out of bed, heading towards his bathroom, looking at the mirror. When he does, however, he’s suddenly flashed with a vision of him, beaten into a pulp and unable to stand up, and he gasps, but that vision slowly fades away, and Shoto’s regular reflection comes back.

What was that? Why did he look so… dead?

Surely that was a figment of his own imagination, right? Surely that was his mind playing tricks on him, right? Sure, his family did beat him from time to time, but they would never treat him that badly, right?

Shoto shivers, desperately shaking his thoughts away, as he slowly makes his way to the kitchen, hoping to snag some food while the servants aren’t looking.

On his way, however, he bumps into his father, who glares at him. Shoto looks to the ground in shame, not knowing why this particular meeting made him more frightened than usual. He should be used to his father’s beatings by now, but why did he feel so scared?

“You,” his father says, and Shoto halts at the menacing tone in his voice. “Look at me.” Shoto does as he asks, and looks up to his father, eyes widening at the sight of a ghastly scar mirroring his own on his father’s face.

Did he always have that scar?

His father stares at him as if he were examining him. For what reason, Shoto wasn’t quite sure, But it made him extremely uncomfortable, and he could only hope that his father would let him go soon.

“You should be grateful I’m in a good mood today, brat,” is all his father says, glaring harshly at Shoto. He doesn’t say anything more than that, choosing to leave towards the direction of the dining room, leaving Shoto behind in the hallway.

That was it? He asked himself. He wasn’t going to punch him? That was weird. But he paid it no mind. As his father said, it was his lucky day.

Yet as Shoto continued to head towards the kitchen, there was an itching feeling scratching the back of his head, telling Shoto that there was something wrong. That something was missing. It felt like there was a missing piece to the puzzle, which confused Shoto because, as far as he knew, everything was completely normal.

But he couldn’t ignore that thought. It nagged him throughout the day, telling him that this wasn’t right.

The problem was, Shoto had no idea what exactly was wrong.

#once.upon.an.au #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academy x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki shoto x you #shoto x you

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fridayfirefly · 3 years

Text

The Art of Debate

Read on AO3

Written for Timari January Day 29 - Debate Competition

@timari-month-event

Marinette had always had a gift with words. The ability to use her words to convince people to do what she wanted came naturally to her. At the age of five, Marinette convinced her kindergarten teacher to take their whole class to get ice cream. At the age of thirteen, she joined her first debate team and was a crucial part of the winning debate that got her team third place in Regionals. Two years later, she was the captain of her high school debate team, and they were competing all over France. Two years after that, in her last year of high school, Marinette's team qualified for an international debate competition that took them all around the world. The championship debate, between Francois Dupont Academy and Gotham Academy, was to be held in Gotham.

Marinette had faith in her team that they would win. The team of ten debaters practiced every afternoon for months, led by Marinette and her co-captain Lila.

Lila had been an unexpected addition to the team, given that Marinette and Lila had gotten off to a bad start when Lila first joined her class. However, after witnessing Lila so thoroughly convince the class of a lie so outrageous that Marinette could hardly believe that anyone with half a brain would see right through it, Marinette realized that Lila's skills could be put to good use. Marinette offered the Italian girl a deal. If Lila joined the debate team and promised to never use her lies to cause direct harm, Marinette would no longer call her out of her harmless lies. Lila agreed, and quickly became one of their key debaters.

Over time, Lila started lying less and less, as she realized that she didn't need to lie to make friends. Two years after the first joined the debate team, Lila stayed after practice and offered Marinette a deal. Lila would never lie again if Marinette made her co-captain of the debate team. In full faith, Marinette agreed. She had seen the change in Lila and knew that there was a chance that they might even become friends.

"How's practice going?" asked Marinette as Lila joined her at the front of the classroom. Marinette was going over the paperwork for their upcoming championship debate while Lila was running practice. Their team members were hard at work: Aurore and Mireille were debating net neutrality, Kagami and Ivan were debating the right to own firearms, Sabrina and Nathanial were debating the morality of abortion, and Max and Marc were debating the ethics of medically assisted suicide.

"It's going well. I have everyone partnered up, working on either the affirmative or negative position. Then they'll split into either the research group or the public speaking group, based on what skills they need to improve on."

Marinette smiled. "We're going to win this, I just know it."

Lila gave her a devious smile back. "As if I would let us lose."

---

In the hallway of the Gotham Grand Hotel, outside of the ballroom where the debate tournament was being held, Marinette fed US dollar bills into a vending machine. "Diet coke is... A7." Marinette pressed the button and waited as the machine refused to give her the drink. "Are you serious?" sighed Marinette.

"Need some help?" asked a dark-haired boy in a sweater with an iron-on patch reading Gotham Preparatory Academy Debate Team. He was cute, in a nerdy kind of way. Nerdy wasn't Marinette's usual type, but she could see the appeal with the boy in front of her.

"I gave the machine my money but it won't give me my drink, and my debate - our debate, actually - starts in just a few minutes."

"I'll let you in on a secret. You aren't supposed to shake it, but if you do it anyway..." the boy shook the machine, and Marinette's diet coke tumbled down into the tray below.

Marinette smiled. "Thank you! I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng, by the way. I'm co-captain of the team from Françoise Dupont."

"Timothy Drake, but you can call me Tim. I look forward to seeing you debate."

"Thanks, you too." Marinette watched as Tim turned and left, jogging to catch up with one of his teammates, a blonde girl who glanced over towards Marinette with a knowing smile on her face. Any other day, Marinette would have spent a little more of her attention on Tim, but today she knew she had to focus. Marinette had a debate to win.

---

"We live in a world facing an incredible number of challenges. However, there is one challenge that often sticks out among the rest as the most pressing issue, with much debate over its severity. Is climate change the greatest threat facing humanity today? Collège Françoise Dupont, you will be arguing the affirmative. Gotham Preparatory Academy, you will be arguing the negative.

Kagami and Max went up first, two excellent debaters, and while the students from Gotham were certainly good, they were no match for Kagami and Max. Kagami had the self-assured confidence to never show any doubt about the validity of her claims and Max had the raw knowledge to win any debate through the sheer amount of factual evidence he could bring to the table. The first round went to Kagami and Max, giving Françoise Dupont a strong start.

As Marinette high-fived Kagami and Max, she caught a glimpse of Tim out of the corner of her eye. He was staring at her with a look on his face that Marinette couldn't quite decipher - confusion or frustration or some mix of the two. Either way, Marinette didn't particularly enjoy being stared at. She met his eyes and stared right back, narrowing her eyes. Tim looked away, a slight flush to his face. Marinette was left feeling more confused than anything else. Why was Tim staring at her, and why with such an odd look on his face?

Three more rounds of debate followed, with wins alternating between Collège Françoise Dupont and Gotham Academy. The schools were tied two and two by the final round, but Marinette couldn't quite stay focused on the debate. The only thing she could focus on was Tim. Watching him in her periphery, Marinette could see him having a heated exchange with one of the girls on his team, the blonde that Marinette had noticed earlier.

"Focus, Marinette!" hissed Lila. "This is the final round, and you and I are up."

The announcer stepped up to the microphone to announce the topic of debate. "This topic has been in the news a lot these past few weeks, with the introduction of the Superhero Registration Act. Though most news sources consider it unlikely that the bill will pass, it raises the question which you will be debating today: Should the government have a larger role in regulating the actions of vigilante superheroes? Gotham Preparatory Academy, you will be arguing the affirmative. Françoise Dupont, you will be arguing the negative."

Marinette shared a look with Lila, who was already smirking. "No way we lose this one," Lila mouthed.

Marinette nodded, narrowing her eyes at the opposing team. Even if Tim was cute, there was no way she was losing.

The affirmative started the debate, meaning that the team from Gotham spoke first. Stephanie Brown, Tim's blonde teammate from earlier, began with a lecture about a lack of accountability associated with vigilante justice. It was a flimsy argument if you knew where to poke holes in it. Luckily, that was what Marinette was best at.

"It's been universally accepted that superheroes are a necessary part of our current culture. The one job a superhero has is to save as many lives as possible. How are they supposed to complete that one job if there is constant government restriction and intervention? We've all watched for years as superheroes operated outside of the government - this is because superheroes don't need to be regulated. In addition, I would like to ask: in what way do superheroes need to be more accountable? Our world has seen time and time again that the superhero community keeps itself in check. When one superhero starts to stray from the path of good, they are held accountable by their fellow superheroes."

The debate continued, back and forth between Marinette, Tim, Lila, and Stephanie. With bated breath, Marinette waited for the results of the round to be announced.

"The final round goes to... Collège Françoise Dupont!"

"We did it!" cheered Marinette, as she got up to congratulate her teammates. She celebrated with the rest of her team but still couldn't shake her odd feeling about Tim Drake. Something wasn't right with him, and Marinette was going to figure out what it was.

There was a celebratory banquet after the competition, in which the awards would be given out and the organizers would give their speeches. As Marinette entered the banquet hall she was Tim slip out of the banquet hall and into the hallway at the other side of the room. She made the snap decision to follow him, maneuvering herself through crowds of people until she got to the right exit.

As Marinette turned down the hallway, she caught Tim whispering into his phone in the hallway. As soon as Tim caught sight of her he quickly hung up his phone and shoved it in his pocket. Marinette approached him, eyes narrowing. "Why were you staring at me?"

Tim glanced around to see if anyone else was around, then blurted out, "You're Ladybug."

Marinette froze. That was not what she expected to hear. "I- I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"You're the Parisian superhero, Ladybug. It all makes sense - black hair, blue eyes, same approximate height and weight. You're incredibly passionate about superheroes - that's what tipped me off in the first place. To top it all off, you're from the same school that Ladybug has a nearly instantaneous response time for dealing with akumas that arise out of it. I didn't see anyone on your team who fit the profile of Chat Noir, but I guarantee that if I were to snoop around online I could find a picture of you with a blonde-haired green-eyed boy." Tim's rapid-fire analysis left Marinette with no chance to refute his claims.

"You figured all of that out during our hour-long debate tournament?"

Tim nodded slowly. "I'm a bit of a detective, myself. In fact, compared to some of my other detective work, figuring out that you were a superhero was easy."

"You're the first person to ever deduce that I'm Ladybug - including my friends, parents, and Chat Noir himself - and all you have to say for yourself is that it was easy?" exclaimed Marinette.

Tim shrugged awkwardly, seeming to have no words to defend himself. Or perhaps it was because he didn't trust himself to say anything, because he had already revealed more than he had intended to. At that point, Marinette started to make her own deductions. The ease at which he had figured out that she was Ladybug. The fact that he had alluded to making other deductions comparable to figuring out Marinette's Ladybug secret. His knowledge of Ladybug - a minor superhero from across the globe - to the extent that he knew not only her approximate height and weight but her reaction times for akumatizations in different areas of Paris. The pieces started coming together in Marinette's mind. Her eyes narrowed as she accused, "You're a superhero too, Timothy Drake. Or, at the very least, you've worked with superheroes before."

Tim took the accusation even less gracefully than Marinette did, shaking his head rapidly as he backed up a few paces. "You have no idea what you're talking about. I have no idea what you're talking about. Me? A superhero? No way!" Tim ended his babbling with a nervous laugh.

Marinette smiled pleasantly, pleased with herself. Although it wasn't ideal that a stranger knew her secret identity, she now knew that Tim wouldn't be spilling her secret to anyone, not when Marinette had the exact same dirt on him. "I'll see you around, Tim." Marinette whipped around and started to walk away.

"Wait, wait, wait! Marinette!" Tim called out.

Marinette tried to suppress the smile on her face as she walked back into the banquet hall. She was beginning to like Tim, and she could tell that this wouldn't be the last she saw of him. Now, all she had to do was get on even footing with him. Perhaps, by figuring out his secret identity. Which, Marinette figured, wouldn't be too difficult. After all, how many superheroes could Gotham possibly have?

(Cut to: Marinette, back at her hotel room, trying to tell the different members of the Batfamily apart. "How do they all have black hair and blue eyes? How is that even possible?")

#maribat #timari #timinette #timari january #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Tim Drake #one-shot #miraculous ladybug fanfic #fanfic #my work

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salsadips · 3 years

Note

Love your work❤️❤️ I’m not sure if you write for Rafe but I you do, how about number 79 with him?✌🏼

To the beach - Rafe Cameron

I know you requested this such a long time ago and I'm sorry that I never got to it, but I haven't been on this app for so long and I just recently rewatched the show and wanted to write this<3

Prompt 79: "We'd make such a badass couple"

Prompts

Summary: you convince Rafe to go to the beach with you while you’re both as high as you can be

Warnings: drugs, swearing, violence (just a little fight were sexy Rafe kicks ass), a little sexual but nothing dangerous;)

Not my gif, creds to the owner

You had always been close with Sarah, ever since you'd met on the playground when you were both five. That meant you'd been to dinner at her house a hundred times and slept over at least a thousand times. Sarah was your best friend and the two of you were rarely seen without the other.

It wasn't until about a year ago that you'd started noticing Rafe Cameron, Sarah's older brother. He'd always been around and he loved to make fun but you'd never seen him as anything more than Sarah's annoying brother. Last summer though, you'd suddenly realized how good-looking he actually was. It had been like a wake-up call for you. One day he was the same he'd always been, and the next he'd walked out to the pool where you and Sarah had been tanning, sending a wink your way, as he often did because he was a tease, and then jumped into the water, looking extremely good. You remembered the way he'd pushed his wet hair aside once he'd reached the surface again, and the way his muscles had tensed when he'd pulled himself out of the pool.

Since then you'd been aware every time Rafe had entered a room and somehow the smirk and winks that couldn't get to you before, now made your knees weak. You hadn't told anyone about this newfound discovery of yours though and it was a secret you intended to keep. It wasn't like you wanted to go anywhere with Rafe, he was your best friend's brother, but you couldn't help sneaking a peak of him from afar from time to time.

Currently, you were in Sarah's room, getting ready for a party. It was a party Topper, Sarah's annoying and overly protective boyfriend, had gotten you and Sarah invited to. You knew a lot of the people who were coming you just didn't know the guy throwing the party. His name was Toby if you remembered correctly, and apparently his parents were out of town for the weekend.

When you arrived at the party, Sarah quickly disappeared somewhere with Topper. He was probably showing her all the things he didn't want her to drink or touch or do. You rolled your eyes at the thought. Sarah knew you weren't Topper's biggest fan, but you never voiced your opinion of him.

You wandered around by yourself for a while until you found a group of people that you knew. You sat with them for a while, laughing and drinking more than you should, until you were pretty wasted. You must've sat there for about an hour when Rafe came and sat down beside you. You weren't surprised to see him, Rafe had always been where the party was.

The sofa you were sitting on was small, so Rafe and you were close once he'd squeezed down in between you and a girl named Carla. Carla was beautiful in such an annoying way. She was the kind of beautiful that made her get all the attention and she never even tried hiding how much she enjoyed it. She knew she was gorgeous and she would always use it to make a big drama. And even though she scooted closer to Rafe the minute he sat down, carefully tracing a finger down his arm while she spoke with a flirtatious tone "hi Rafe", his attention was solely on you.

"Wanna try this?" Rafe asked you as he pulled out a bag of pills from his pocket. You'd taken drugs before, but never with Rafe, and though you knew it was a bad idea and Sarah would kill you, how could you say no?

You starred into Rafe's eyes as you sank a pill. He smirked as he took one as well, before smoothly draping his arm around your shoulders, leaning back on the couch. "Get out of here" Rafe demanded Carla, who'd been looking at you and Rafe with surprised eyes during your whole interaction. She huffed and made a dramatic swing of her hair before walking off towards the kitchen.

You smiled, no one dared stand up to Rafe Cameron. You had no idea why he was there with you, you figured he had lots of other people to do drugs with, but you didn't mind. You casually leaned into him, trying not to make it look like it was intentional, and waited for the room to start spinning.

It surprised you how fast the pill worked. Soon your body relaxed the way it only did when you smoked weed, but it was different from that still. It was like your limbs weighed a hundred pounds, but you still had all the energy in the world. You had a hard time describing the feeling, all you knew was that you liked it.

"I'm gonna go for a swim" you announced after you'd gotten used to the way your brain worked while under the effect of the drug. You rose from the sofa and almost fell to the floor, but Rafe caught you. "Thanks" your words came out blurry as you took Rafe's hand and led him towards the exit. Once you passed the kitchen and kept heading for the front door, Rafe pulled your arm back. "Pool's this way" he pointed to his right. You laughed at him as if he'd said the dumbest thing in the world.

"I don't wanna go in the pool, I wanna go in the ocean" you deadpanned as if it was obvious. "And how will you get to the beach?" Rafe laughed while slowly pulling you closer to him. "You have a bike don't you?" You raised your brows whiled tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. You looked at his lips, lingering them there for a moment before you looked back into his eyes. God, he was so hot.

When he didn't protest, you turned around and started walking again. You immediately spotted Rafe's bike once you were outside, and you ran towards it, excitingly placing yourself on it once you reached it.

"I'm a bit too drunk to drive," Rafe smiled as he reached the bike as well. "It's never stopped you before, come on" you insisted.

It didn't take long for you to convince Rafe to take the two of you to the beach. After all, he wasn't the most responsible person on the island, so after a promise that oh yeah, you'd most definitely be skinny dipping, Rafe was all for it.

Your hands were snaked around Rafe's waist as the wind was blowing through your hair. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of being close to Rafe while driving through the night. The moment was ruined though when you felt your phone buzzing in the back pocket of your pants. You released your grip from around Rafe and pulled out your phone, it was Sarah calling. Instead of answering though, you went to the camera on your phone and took a couple of pictures. Your brain was pretty clouded though, so you chose to listen to the only current reasonable part of your mind, and put your phone back in your pocket before you dropped it.

It didn't take long for you to get to the beach, probably having something to do with Rafe driving way over the speed limit, but life was too good for you to care at the moment. Rafe stopped the engine of his dirtbike and you laughed, kissing his neck once from behind, before jumping off the bike and running towards the water.

Rafe had to take a minute, he was more used to the drugs, so it took a bit longer for him to get affected by them. He was just thanking God or the universe, or whoever the fuck was in charge, that he'd managed to drive here with a somewhat clear mind. The drugs slowly crept in on him now though and when he spotted you laying in the sand, laughing, some ten meters in front of him. There were absolutely no cons for him to go join you.

When you were laying in the sand with your eyes closed, you swore it felt like flying and you couldn't stop laughing. You questioned if you'd ever experienced anything as extraordinary. While Rafe was locking his bike, two guys approached you, drunk and curious as to what you were doing. You didn't notice them until they stood right above you, looking down at you. You opened your eyes and raised yourself in a hurry but your forehead collapsed with one of the guys' noses and you fell down again. You couldn't help but laugh, not even feeling the pain.

"What the fuck! I think she broke my nose" the guy called out. "Dude, chill, I barely bruised it" your laughter had died down to giggles as you rose from the ground. "Shut up! It fucking hurts" the guy raised his voice slightly, but you kept laughing. "I'm sorry, really, it wasn't even on purpose" you blinked repeatedly, trying to see straight.

"Hey! Who the fuck are you?" Rafe roared as he approached you, having finally noticed the guys. "Your girl almost broke my nose dude, fucking bitch" the guy yelled out. It was like Rafe had a switch that went from decent to aggressively angry in a matter of seconds, and he lunched at the guy. His fist landed right in the center of the guy's face, so hard you were able to hear the bones crushing. His nose was definitely broken now. The guy stumbled backward and his friend, who'd been quiet until now, immediately jumped forward, but Rafe grabbed his fist in the air and hit him in the stomach. The guy hunched forward in a cry of pain.

Both guys soon regained strength and though their punches were sloppy due to the obvious intake of alcohol, they managed to get a few good hits at Rafe seeing he wasn't really in his best state either. Everything happened so quickly you barely got to react before Rafe was in a boxing match with two strangers. They hadn't even done anything, why did Rafe freak out?

You didn't wonder for long before you ran to Rafe's side and kicked one of the strangers in the balls, making him instantly fall to the ground. Rafe hit the other right across the jaw and the strength of the punch made him fall to the soft sand as well. Both guys laid whimpering on the ground and Rafe pointed a demanding finger at them, "do not call her a bitch, you fucking losers" he roared before he grabbed your hand and walked in the opposite direction.

Once you were a couple of meters away his demeanor completely changed again, as he looked back at the guys and started laughing. "We'd make such a badass couple" he announced as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders for the second time that night, and pulled you close.

You couldn't help but smile, did he really just say that?

Your brain didn't get a lot of time to overthink what Rafe had just said though before you looked at the ocean and remembered why you were even here in the first place. You smiled like a little girl who'd just gotten a candyfloss and ran towards the ocean. You threw off your shirt while running and stepped out of your pants as you reached the water, wasting n getting in.

You were only in your underwear, but it wasn't nearly as cold as you'd feared. You dived under, getting your hair and face wet, and when you resurfaced two things happened. One, your brain immediately cleared up from the fresh sensation of water in your face, and two, Rafe was standing right in front of you.

You giggled, "wasn't it worth it? Driving all the way? A pool can't compare to this."

Rafe didn't answer, he just looked at you. He was determined to kiss you. He barely registered what you were saying, because all he could think about was kissing you. So he did just that.

Taking you by surprise, he walked forward, grabbed your face, and smashed his lips onto yours. It didn't take you many seconds to realize what was happening and you snaked your arms around his neck, eagerly pulling him closer.

What was even happening? Why would he even want to kiss you, you were younger than him and Sarah was your best friend.

In the back of your mind, you knew this was only for one night and that Rafe was the fuckboy of them all and you were probably just a fun challenge for him, his sister's best friend. But you didn't mind, you were just gonna make tonight last as long as possible and you knew you'd have no regrets in the morning.

The water stopped at your waist, which meant it reached Rafe just to the top of his hips. His hands moved from your face, down your waist, and down to your butt, giving it a squeeze. You gasped and he smoothly sneaked his tongue into your mouth. He grabbed your thighs and lifted you. Your legs wrapped around his waist and the kiss turned rough and heated. His hands stayed on your thighs, holding you up, while his thumbs traced small circles on your skin.

Truth was, Rafe had wanted to kiss you for a while. He had always thought you looked good, but recently his eyes had opened to how good-looking you actually were. God, you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

There was no sound other than the gentle waves and the sound of your mouths moving against each other. Rafe pulled your legs tighter around him and your hands moved to his hair, pulling slightly. You both let out a moan, swallowing each other's sound. You couldn't get enough, it was like you needed more, faster.

There was no way you were having sex with Sarah's brother though. She was never gonna find out about this, but if she did, she would might be able to get over a kiss, but she'd never forgive you or Rafe if you slept together.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, Rafe let go of you and you separated yourself from him. You couldn't help but smile.

You looked up at Rafe who was smiling down at you, moving his hand to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. You tilted your head, certain that this came close to the best night of your life. You broke the silence after a couple of minutes.

"Hi Rafe" you mimicked Carla's high-pitched voice from earlier and you both started laughing. Rafe shook his head, a smile still playing on his lips as he leaned down and kissed you once before grabbing your hand and you walked back towards the shore.

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roguishredaxion · 3 years

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My BnHA AU List

Sorry for the length. Fics that are currently available to read have links. To those of you mentioned in this post, I wanted to make sure people knew where the ideas originally came from. (And you’re all awesome anyway!)

Can't See The Forest For The Trees - Genderbent Midoriya Izuku who became a vigilante known as the Forest in Musutafu. Has been operating for five years dealing mostly with information gathering and dispersal and some smaller situations that crop up on the streets. Todoroki Shouto is on patrol in the area and takes an interest in the unknown vigilante after she helps out with a situation where he got in over his head. AO3

A Piece of Patchwork (Improperly Placed) - AU where Izuku and Aizawa swap places in canon. Izuku fights the hero system to become the first quirkless hero, graduating alongside Present Mic. He gets called in to help in a situation where the villain has the ability to steal quirks, five years before the start of canon, providing part of the back-up team for All Might. Part 1 is the battle against All for One, part 2 is an alternate ending to the fight. Part 3 is Izuku learning to use One for All, which was forcefully given to him by All Might at the end of the battle. Part 4 is the other half of the role swap, where Aizawa grows up alongside Bakugou and is trying to get into UA. AO3

The Fallacy of Greatness (AKA Tenth, in my files) - AU where the whole first year class of UA in canon is born 4 years later than in canon. All Might encounters a 10 year old Izuku who asks if he can be a hero. Even after rescuing Bakugou and proving his heroic spirit, All Might elects not to give One for All to a child as young as Izuku. Izuku, desperate for someone to believe in his dreams, realizes that he has to be his first believer and decides to take matters into his own hands and prepare for a future in heroism on his own. AO3

The Capture Scarf Caper - Based on an idea from @terrible-my-hero-academia-aus Izuku finds Aizawa's capture scarf discarded in an alley and takes it home. He figures out how to use it and becomes so proficient that it accidentally gets mistaken for a quirk. Deciding to capitalize on the strange bias he's come up against, he uses the capture scarf to get into Class 1-A. Unfortunately, this means his teacher is the original owner of his scarf. Suddenly his deception is a lot more desperate and precarious. Meanwhile, Aizawa is trying to figure out why his instincts are telling him to pay such close attention to this anxious kid. AO3

The Better Part of Valor - Suspected Traitor Izuku AU a la @gentrychild. After Aizawa discovers one of Izuku's hero analysis notebooks, he drags Izuku to an interrogation room trying to get him to confess to being the traitor in UA. Izuku comes to realize that several of his classmates were also made aware of this theory and have been feeding information on his movements to their teacher for a while. Betrayed, he starts to pull away from class, falling back into some of the same habits from middle school to go unnoticed and fall off of people's awareness. At some point, his classmates realize that he's no longer staying in the dorms, they only ever see him in class, and All Might is the only person he will voluntarily interact with.

Civil Disobedience - All Might doesn't track Izuku down after the slime incident, but Bakugou's parting words cut far deeper after the day he's had. Realizing that everyone talks about how great of a hero Bakugou will be, Izuku comes to the conclusion that he wants to be the exact opposite of what Bakugou is. He elects to become a villain who goes after and exposes corrupt heroes. Adopting the username Wasureta for his villain work, he collects information on heroes who aren't performing their job as they should and releases it to the court of public opinion, taking away the support that has kept them from being exposed before this. As he digs deeper into the cesspool of rotten heroes, he manages to collect enough information to rake Endeavor over the coals and ends up with an interesting new follower. Dabi, meanwhile, is shocked by the ruthless but polite teenager he found when he tried to find Wasureta and he's not sure if he's impressed by what the kid has accomplished on his own, or horrified by the scope of what he controls.

Hunting Prometheus - There is another quirkless student attending Aldera Middle School, but she wasn't born that way unlike Izuku. When she was seven, her quirk was stolen from her by a man with a smooth voice and a forgettable face and she's been existing in a state of carefully cultivated rage since that day. Before, she never even considered becoming a hero. Now her only goal is to become a hero so she can find that man and punch him in the face. (OC fic, obviously)

Lost Stars in an Indifferent Universe - Leverage AU, five parts, origin for each member of the team. Izuku is told to be realistic and he tries to be following his disastrous encounter with All Might. But realistic means that he has already exceeded the life expectancy of quirkless individuals, acknowledging the fact that no amount of studying or work will let him join a remotely helpful career, and he is stuck living with his mother while he wastes away as a janitor at a nearby middle school following the completion of his high school education. When he returns to a tall building he hadn't managed to convince himself to jump off of yet, he finds that the abandoned space has been taken over by a black market of sorts and gets folded into a world of grey morals and an underground economy based on merit instead of quirk. When he becomes aware of an illegal quirk experimentation operation and tries to blow the whistle, several attempts are made on his life in order to shut him up. Instead of disappearing, he gets angry and decides to collect a team to strike back and prove the shady shit the lab is up to. (Izuku=Mastermind, Shinsou=Grifter, Hatsume=Hacker, Shoji=Hitter, Eri=Thief)

Love and Other Things Not Bound By the Laws of Time - Mr. Peabody and Sherman AU. Nezu adopts a young Midoriya Izuku whose mother died shortly after he was diagnosed as quirkless. Determined to show his new son that one's quirk or lack thereof means nothing in the grand scheme of things, UA's principal develops the WABAC machine to travel through time and prove just how capable people were before quirks manifested. He indulges Izuku's passion and curiosity, encouraging him to look into as much or as little as he wants on any subject. It becomes clear that, while not supernaturally intelligent, Izuku is a genius whose ability to make connections and strategize is by far his greatest asset, especially as he still holds onto the goal of becoming a hero.

The Quiet Revolution (collab w/ my sister) - The Todoroki siblings need therapy. Instead of getting that therapy, they decide to meet up for dinner every Saturday night, begin a tradition where they burn their father in effigy each week, accidentally start a highly successful Minecraft YouTube channel, and generally cause the downfall of the existing hero system through the power of networking.

You Can Tell What I Am By The Lines In My Skin - BnHA/Naruto AU. Naruto dies in his own universe and is reborn into the My Hero Academia Universe as Midoriya Izuku. He remembers who he was, but his chakra, which followed him into this life, is always out of reach. He trains as best he can to keep up his regular ninja skills but can't break through the barrier separating him from his chakra. He still meets and trains under All Might. When he receives One for All, however, the sensation that fills him is entirely familiar. It breaks through the barrier as though it isn't even there, and settles inside like it's always been there. Honestly, he had been missing the angry furball anyway, so he was glad Kurama managed to follow him to this world. With access to his chakra again, the world is about to discover just how effective one shinobi can be in a world of heroes.

War Games - (Inspired by RogueDruid's Hero Class Civil Warfare and others similarly inspired by it.) A year-wide hero class exercise is announced. Bakugou is announced as the Hero leader while the villain leader's identity is kept secret. Izuku knows it's him before the letter appears in his room. The students are allowed to pick whichever side they want, but most choose the hero side, which has won the exercise every time it has been run. This year is no different. Todoroki realizes that Izuku is the villain leader and signs up with him. Izuku goes and recruits Momo and Monoma to his side. Then, after consulting the rules, he folds in Shinsou and Hatsume as well. Monoma plays decoy villain leader and attempts to collect a few more people, but they've already signed up for the hero side. Izuku, without explicitly saying that he's signed up with the hero team, gets folded into the hero strategy sessions since no one expected him to make a different choice. He proceeds to get "taken out" in the first villain assault, and most people don't realize what's happening until it's far too late.

Life's A Game (And I'm Player One) - AU in which Izuku realizes that he does have a quirk but can't tell anyone about it because a) he can't prove it and b) it could be dangerous if he talks about what he can see. His quirk, which he privately calls Stat Check, freezes time just for him in order to open up what looks like a video game character bio that explains a person's quirk, as well as containing vital statistics. It only works in person or on unaltered photographs with a person's face or a distinctive enough feature to identify them. As he gets older, more tabs are added to the bio, and he starts to notice signs above certain people's heads telling him what level he needs to be to fight them (he stops seeing these after receiving OfA, until he sees AfO in Kamino Ward). In pictures, only the first tab is available unless he took the picture while time was frozen, in which case all the tabs are accessible. Because of this, he has accordion folders filled with photographs of people instead of analysis notebooks.

Of Unpainted Fences and Raw Ingredients - Smart Izuku AU. He has been writing essays about hero society, morality, and several other issues since before UA, but he doesn't realize how much people are paying attention to them until the essays start becoming required reading for certain classes. Meanwhile, the teachers are desperate to get in contact with him, not expecting that the essayist they have been gushing over is sitting near the back of the class, trying not to blush.

In A Mirror Darkly - Aizawa is out on patrol with Shinsou and Midoriya when they are attacked and the boys are apparently obliterated by an enemy quirk. The rest of the class attempts to help Aizawa, but he blames himself for their deaths. It doesn't help that he keeps seeing flashes of them in the mirror out of the corner of his eye and could swear he heard one or both of their voices in the middle of the night. Meanwhile, Shinsou and Midoriya are stuck out of sync with the rest of the universe and can't communicate with anyone except Aizawa, and only through mirrors. Izuku figured out that they have maybe two weeks before they waste away since they can't interact with anything being stuck in this in-between space. The only way they can get out is for Aizawa, who was there when they de-synced, to touch them and bring them back in sync with the rest of the world.

Guerilla Tactics - Vigilante Class 1-A AU. After the slime villain debacle, Izuku runs away from Bakugou and the heroes. He literally runs into Todoroki Shouto and they commiserate about how the heroes have failed them. Realizing a bit late exactly who Shouto's father is and why he's trying to run away, Izuku offers to come up with a plan to help him get away cleanly. (This is sort of the worst timeline, where most of the good teachers aren't employed at UA, Nezu is not the principal, and the HPSC is in charge of almost everything.) The plan they come up with involves Shouto failing the recommended exam, then disappearing the day results arrive home. Izuku, meanwhile, attends the regular exam and sees how the whole points system benefits those with flashier quirks and easily aimed egos. He gets to talking with a lot of hero hopefuls and sort of steals them out from under UA when their applications are rejected. They move into an abandoned sector of outer Tokyo and start working as vigilantes. Dadzawa makes an appearance, as if summoned by the horde of teenagers with no form of parental guidance to speak of.

No Rest for the Wicked (Or The Damned) - Person Of Interest AU. Instead of apologizing to Izuku when he asked if he could still be a hero without a quirk, Inko points out the other ways he can be a hero, by building the things they would need to fight crime. Figuring that one of the main problems with villains is that no one knows when they're going to attack, Izuku creates an intelligent program that can assess a high volume of data and extrapolate when and where a villain attack will take place, and who the villain will be. When his mom is killed and he's badly injured in an attack his AI predicted, Izuku realizes that no one is taking his information seriously because he's quirkless. He decides to take matters into his own hands and reaches out to an unlikely helper. Dabi doesn't know why this kid decided he was the best option to stop a lot of the more violent crime he somehow knows is going to happen, but he promised and then delivered Endeavor's fall from grace, so he's willing to see where this goes.

Binary Stars - Slight Megamind AU. Before their respective planets were destroyed, Izuku and Bakugou were placed in small space pods and sent towards Earth. Bakugou's people were warriors who looked enough like humans that they intermarried (unbeknownst to humans), thus bringing about the first quirks. Izuku's people, however, are survivors. Their planet was populated by predators so their greatest asset was their ability to camouflage themselves. As Bakugou's people often hunted Izuku's people, they gained a sort of sixth sense for them, which is why Izuku's very presence pisses Bakugou off. (All for One is from Bakugou's planet. He was exiled for stealing power. The last power he stole was what he gave his brother, and the brother always resented him for getting them both sent away.) Izuku still receives OfA, and is the first of his species to have a quirk/power like that.

The Wings of Icarus - Spy AU. Todoroki Shouto works for Yuuei, an espionage agency run by his father. He's been training practically since birth, no thanks to his father, and is second in the spy business only to a person known as Icarus. When something goes wrong on a mission, he is rescued by a short man with freckles and deep green eyes shortly before he passes out. He is found at one of the entrances to Yuuei with a note from Icarus to the tune of "I think you lost this", making Shouto the only person to have actually seen Icarus. Meanwhile, Nezu is running a small but successful info brokerage out of a bakery with three kids he picked up off the streets years before: Izuku, Shinsou, and Hatsume. Codenames: Icarus, Psyche, and Daedalus, respectively. Nezu is known as Zeus.

Dark is the Night (Momo is Batman: version 1) - Based on an idea from @terrible-my-hero-academia-aus . Momo loses her parents in a villain attack when she's eight. She throws herself into her studies in earnest, determined to be a hero. In the meantime, however, she has a hard time ignoring all of the hardship she sees on the streets, all of the crimes that go unanswered. However, to duck the vigilantism laws and disguise her identity, she wears a suit that covers every part of her body (think Cassandra Cain as Batgirl) because no one would assume that someone with a creation quirk that needed exposed skin to function was under it. She produces everything she needs at home. Aizawa notices that there's someone off about Yaomomo, something fake. It isn't until he runs into her on patrol that he figures something out.

Used to the Darkness (Momo is Batman: version 2) - Based on an idea from @terrible-my-hero-academia-aus . Bruce Wayne was reincarnated as Yaoyorozu Momo. She remembers everything about her previous life, but she has adapt all of the fighting training she knows to her new female body. The intelligence and detective skills are useful in this new world, especially since a good portion of logic and deduction has fallen by the wayside for the majority of those in law enforcement. The quirk is something else to get used to, but it's highly effective at producing materials of various things needed for vigilantism. She's interested to see how far she can take the limits of the superpower this universe had given her. At the very least, she's more than capable of recreating the gear she had. Even though her parents haven't died in this universe, she still ends up going out at night and trying to help in whatever way she can. Upon meeting and befriending Todoroki Shouto, she realizes the good she can be in this universe. She attacked the corruption in Gotham wherever she could. Why shouldn't she be able to do the same here? The night is still dark and the people who hide in it are the same cowards they've always been. It's about time someone reminded them that the dark hides more than just their actions.

A Rose By Any Other Name (AKA the Haruhi AU) - Based on a prompt found on @rayshippouuchiha‘s blog. Midoriya Izumi is having trouble staying in uniform after starting middle school because her bullies have decided to step up the abuse a little bit and keep burning them. She had three sets of uniforms, and all three are burned by the third day of classes. What's more, the nurse doesn't have any spare girls uniforms and her teacher insists that she needs to be in uniform and not in her gym outfit. Since the nurse does have a boys uniform that would fit her, Izumi elects to follow her teacher's instructions and shows up in a boys uniform as she doesn't care as much about the clothes she's wearing as she does about following what her teacher said. Cue a gender identity crisis. AO3

Nothing But The Truth - Izuku is hit by a truth quirk while out on patrol and Aizawa is made to babysit him until it wears off. Although he tries to avoid more sensitive lines of questioning, Aizawa asks about his analysis notebooks and ends up accidentally learning about One For All, Izuku's life prior to receiving it, and what his Problem Child's true goals regarding heroism are. (Might become a series with this as a oneshot, or a multi-chapter story as originally planned.)

Panacea - Izuku has a hidden quirk his whole life, one that people didn't even consider could be a quirk. He has a super-powered immune system, and it can and will treat damaging quirks as an infection to fight. His burns from Bakugou's quirk heal faster and faster, emitter quirks used on him start to be less effective after the first couple of times until they don't work at all. He has the ultimate cure in his blood and no way to share it. And then he receives One For All, a powerful stockpiling quirk with a secondary aspect that makes it capable of passing from person to person regardless of heritage. Izuku doesn't realize it, but his invisible quirk got a free pass to start changing the world, one touch at a time. (Possible Dad For One) (Just had the stupid thought that Izuku's quirk is basically Cure For All)

Prototype - While getting scolded after the Slime Villain incident, an underground hero known as Prototype shows up and forces the other pros on the scene to back off. They then walk Izuku home (accidentally forcing him to miss All Might's offer). During the walk, Izuku confesses that he is giving up on his dream of being a hero since everyone says it's impossible. Prototype points out that Izuku was the only one on the scene who was thinking about a solution from more than one angle, which is a useful skill for an underground hero to have. They offer to take him on as their apprentice in the underground, promising that if he still wants to be a hero, an apprenticeship would be more flexible and faster than trying to become a hero through one of the heroics schools. They advise Izuku to think about it and discuss it with his mom, since he would probably be spending a lot of time training out of the house and not every parent is willing to let their child basically move in with someone they barely know. Izuku, after talking things over with his mom, decides to go for it, embarking on a totally different journey to being a hero than he ever expected.

Yesterday's Sunshine (A Storm On The Rise) - Based on @hey-hamlet's End of An Era AU in which the mind of a 19 year old Izuku fighting a losing battle against Paranormal Liberation Front and the League of Villains is sent back to his 14 year old body, a mere month after he started training with All Might. He is traumatized and trying to hide the fact that he is shocked to see the people he knows died walking around again, untouched and whole. He's determined to make everything better this time, to keep his loved ones from dying or betraying him in the worst ways. He also needs to try and stay ahead of the people around him, who are trying to figure out why this child who shouldn't have encountered many villains in his life, is so terrifyingly good at putting them down hard. (I'm considering adding an aspect of DFO.)

Searching for Tododeku - Or Five Times Shouto Tricks Midoriya Into A Date and One Time Midoriya Asks Him Instead. Featuring semi oblivious Izuku, Shouto stealth-competing for the title of supreme memelord with Kaminari, and a cameo of Endeavor's crippling addiction to tabloid magazines.

Planar Shift - An All For One-Izuku body swap just weeks prior to a fight that would have left AFO and All Might both greviously injured. Izuku is quick to realize that the person he ended up in doesn't seem to be a nice person (and he tries not to think about what it would mean if the person is in his body around Kacchan) and has a lot more quirks than a person should have. His childhood doctor is there, as is a strange boy with delicate skin, a disintegration quirk, and a love of video games but little else. Then there's the purple mist person who reads as both alive and dead to one of Izuku's new quirks. When he figures out that All Might is trying to track this villain down (and will probably think it's a trick if Izuku tries to explain his situation), he decides that he should get himself, the kid, and the not-dead-but-not-alive person out of there. He doesn't know how long he's going to be in this body, but he wants to be the hero those two need, even if he's technically a villain.

Environmental Damage - Hitman Izuku AU. When Izuku's mother is killed when he's young, he manages to track down the killer but the police won't take him seriously because he's quirkless. Neither will any of the heroes he approached with it. So instead he goes back to the criminal underground where he found most of his information and talks to an assassin who had a soft spot for him. Izuku agreed to become the man's apprentice so he can take out the person who killed his mother himself. After that, he starts selling his services to people who can't get out of bad situations, offering a much reduced rate compared to other contract killers. Then a kid his age with red and white hair approaches him about killing the Number Two hero.

Summertime and Seaglass - Aizawa keeps running into this mute homeless kid on his patrols. He's not sure what to make of him, except that he needs someone to care for him, especially as the nights are getting colder. Treating the kid a bit like an abused and feral cat, he starts taking food with him to offer the kid when they meet up. It's more or less an accident when he learns the kid's name is Midoriya Izuku, a child thought to be dead and burned three years before when he and his mother were caught in a villain attack that was ended violently by Endeavor. Aizawa wants to give Midoriya and all of the other victims of Endeavor's carelessness the justice they deserve, and maybe by the time he's done the kid will let him bring him in from the cold.

The Importance of Being Batman - (Based on an idea from @terrible-my-hero-academia-aus .) Izuku spends a lot of time on forums for quirkless people, getting support and advice from other people like him who don't have a quirk. He gets the attention of an old Admin, Toshinori, and they talk about heroics, pre-quirk comic books, and the importance of representation and symbols in modern media and culture. After failing to get into heroics in the entrance exam, Izuku shifts his focus slightly. Batman didn't have any special powers in the comics, but he was one of the best heroes in his universe. Izuku decides that if he can build the skills, knowledge and (most importantly) money to become his own version of Batman, that would be almost like being a hero. It's time that society learns that 'useless' is a matter of choice, not birth, and even someone who doesn't have a quirk can do incredible things.

#MHA AUs #BnHA AUs #My AUs #BnHA AU list #MHA AU list #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #fanfiction #my fanfic ideas

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blossom-hwa · 3 years

Text

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 – 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)

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vanillann · 4 years

Text

i don’t (james potter x reader)

bare with me i’m trying something new...

congratulations @weasleysflowr for 300!! i’m so excited to be apart of this writing challenge!!

warning: a few swear words and bad angst

word count: 1.4k

I wasn’t a bad person, I was just a good person who did bad things.

I was a good person, I made a gorgeous cake for my best friend wedding, I just left a letter in it confessing my undying love for her finance.

So now I was running the halls of the large venue the wedding was taking place in, looking for the kitchen that held the cake in it, looking for the small box with the figurines of James Potter and Lily Evans. I’d take the letter back and everything would be fine-

“(Y/N)!”

I froze, closing my eyes and taking in a quick breath before turning and smiling at another close friend I would be disappointing soon if I didn’t hurry.

“Sirius, how is James doing?”

Sirius skipped to stand before me, a goofy smile played across his lips. “He’s freaking out about his hair as we speak,” Sirius shrugged, his hand going to his own locks.

“Nothing new.”

I smiled to myself, looking down at my feet with a sad little smile. Images of James breaking brush’s and spending most of his money on hair products because his messy hair couldn’t be tamed.

“Obviously, some things never change,” Sirius hit my shoulder, spotting my eyes with his amazing abilities to psychoanalyze me.

“And you?”

“Me? I’m great,” my voice jumped a minimum of three octaves, catching Sirius's attention easily.

“Great?”

“Fabulous, spectacular even.”

I need to learn how to lie.

Sirius looked me up and down, his eyebrows raised as he slowly circled me like a shark. My heart rate was jumping up, my sweaty hands held close to my chest now.

“You did something, spill.”

Nope, don’t spill.

“I don’t know what you mean Black,” holding my head high, I was careful to avoid eye contact with him.

“Did you pee in the cake?”

A giant boisterous laugh flew past my lips, my hand flying to cover my mouth as little giggles came in title waves.

Sirius smirked, chuckling lightly to himself while clapping me on the shoulder. “Now tell me what’s up,” his words were soft, scared to break the unspoken secret we’ve held for years.

I let my shoulders fall, imagining the small letter stuck between the figure of Lily and James made from melted chocolate.

“Let’s walk, James wanted to look at the sculpture you made of them.”

I felt my nerves go rapid, jumping in action and I kept easy pace with Sirius.

“He can’t see them yet,” my words were rushed, slurred like I had too much Firewhiskey.

“Why?”

I looked to Sirius, my eyes wide as we both subconsciously picked up our pace to the kitchen.

“I wrote a letter to James, confessing everything. It’s in the box with the figurines,” I announced softly, scare someone would hear and tell Lily or worse, James.

“You did what?”

Sirius and I were practically running to the kitchen now, panic in both our eyes as we turned a corner to the large open door of the kitchen.

“It was stupid, I was sad and going insane last night,” I knew it wasn’t an excuse to ruin a wedding, but it was the truth and Sirius Black only ever accepts the truth.

“If you knew it would get to you why’d you make the cake?”

He was right, it was stupid to get that involved but Lily wanted my famous Pumpkin Juice cake and I could say no to those ivy green eyes.

“I’m stupid?”

“Yes, that you are,” he didn’t seem disappointed, but he wasn’t pleased.

We both barged into the kitchen, which was practically empty but for one body who stood before the cake, a body that should be in the dressing room. James stood still with his back to us, slowly spinning to face us with a yellow-tinted piece of parchment held between his fingers.

His bottom lip was held between his teeth, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he slowly looked up to me, ignoring Sirius's presents.

“Please don’t marry her? What the hell does that mean?”

It was weird seeing James as a wave of silent anger, he was also loud and knowing with his anger but this time he stood in one spot and spoke in a whisper.

“I’ll go,” Sirius didn’t want a second, slipping out the door we both came running through seconds ago.

“James-“

“You don’t speak,” he held his empty finger up, looking back down to the note held in his grip.

“It’s selfish, hell yeah it’s selfish (Y/N),” his voice didn’t rise, but the look in his hazel eyes could tell a thousand tale of anger.

“I didn’t mean for you to see it.”

The weak wobble in my voice felt off like I was in an alternate universe. “Then why is it at my wedding,” he took a single step, suddenly backing up to stand where he stood seconds ago.

“Because I messed up.”

It was true, I messed up big time. I messed up the flower that Lily wanted on the cake, I messed up a few words in the letter, but I messed up a person who meant everything to me.

James said nothing, reading the letter in his hands again. I finally let myself take him in. The messy hair, the suit he took months to pick out, the baby blue tie that hung from his neck even if he wanted red.

He was standing like a God, anger, and all.

“James, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have put that letter there.”

He didn’t yell or scream, simply letting the letter slip from his fingers to the floor of the bright kitchen.

“Why now?”

Good question, why now? Why don’t when we sat at the Black Lake skipping pebbles or in the Great Hall having a food fight. Why did I have to confess at his wedding, while my best friend stood rooms away in a white ball gown.

“I- think because now was the only time you’d be honest.”

Shut up (Y/N), close your trap.

“What in Merlin’s name does that mean?”

“If I told you at Hogwarts you’d lie, tell me you loved me back and we’d be stuck in a loveless relationship. You wouldn’t want to hurt me because I’m (Y/N) (L/N), you’d lie,” I looked to my shoes that ran over the tiles of the kitchen.

“I’d never lie to you.”

“You just did,” a single tear ran down my cheek, pain struck my chest like a lightning bolt struck a tree.

James didn’t dare move, his eyes burned into my head as I lost eye contact.

“Does Lily know?”

I shook my head, guilt flowing with my blood cells as I closed my eyes and took a shaky breath.

“She can’t know, she would feel bad like it’s her fault.”

Lily would do everything in her power to make sure James and I married today. She does anything for my happiness, but I couldn’t take him from her even if I wanted to.

“I know,” his words were shaky this time, almost like he didn’t want to tell me that lie. That stupid lie that would come soon, so that meant I was going to ramble as long as I could to prevent it.

“I dreamed you loved me back last night, we’re happy and had a little boy. His name was Harry, I know you hate that name but I convinced you-”

“(Y/N)!”

I looked up, red-rimmed eyes as I looked to James who picked up the letter. He took two steps to me, our shoulder side by side as he looked to the heavy doors. He lightly grabbed my wrist pulling my hand out for the letter to be placed gently in the center.

“I don’t,” his words were harsh, tire marks left on my heart forever from just the tone of his voice.

He took himself from the kitchen, his head held high as he went to find his friends that would clean up his hair and straighten his tie.

I kept myself in the kitchen, my head hung low as I stood alone to clean my tears and fix myself for the wedding.

I don’t.

The two words echoed from my mouth, flipping the letter to see a little tear droplet that made the ink run.

I do and he doesn’t, a classic sad ending to a story about love I suppose.

another congratulations to ayli for 300!! i will be copying this writing challenge ;)

general harry potter tag list:

@siriusmaraudeers @haphazardhufflepuff @marauder-exe

#harry potter x reader #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #fred weasley #george weasley #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #draco malfoy #james potter x reader #weasleysflowr300wc #writing challenge

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years

Text

Our Little Secret Part 12

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries / The Originals

Series: Our Little Secret

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 //

Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Part 11 // Part 12 // Part 13 // Part 14 // Part 15 (Final)

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 1,376

Summary: Y/N Gilbert tried to put Mystic Falls - it’s problems, and her whirlwind romance with Klaus Mikaelson - behind her after she graduated, but all it takes is one unusual phone call to bring her right back to where she started and into the path of her first love as she races to solve the mystery threatening the lives of everyone in her home town.

Tags: @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce // @april-14-blog // @akshi8278 // @keiko0 // @mylovehes // @your-new-mom // @mikaelson-emma

“I haven’t been back here since graduation,” you voiced, needing to fill the void with something as you made your way through the school, conversation being the best way you could think of to keep everyone awake and alert.

“I remember,” Klaus replied, glancing back at you with careful eyes, checking to make sure you were okay. He seemed to hesitate before speaking again, seeming unsure whether he even should. “I tried to find you, after everything went down, I- you know what, it doesn’t matter now.” He shook his head.

You felt oddly heavy but you forced yourself to remain upright, trying not to think about the weight of the weapon in your hands as you mulled over what Klaus had said, and what he hadn’t. Why had he been trying find you?

“Guess we’re not going to be sneaking up to the roof tonight,” you joked, earning a slight smile. It had always been your secret rendezvous with Klaus, a place where you could just be together, looking out at the stars and the town everythinng else always felt so far away. You’d been untouchable in those moments.

“Simpler times,” he said with a touch of nostalgia, mind no doubt going where yours had. You felt a bit of a pang then, your happier memories replaced by those that followed your sister and friends finding out about your little secret.

“There was nothing simple about it,” you reminded him, remembering your glorious dance at the ball, your nights in a cell, and your goodbyes.

He was solemn and silent for a moment. “I owe you for doing this,” he said honestly.

“You don’t owe me anything,” you reminded him. He hadn’t been the one to ask you to come back here, and even if he had, no one forced you. For all your talk about leaving Mystic Falls behind, you’d do anything to protect the people in this town.

“I do though - I’ve put you in an impossible position, yet again,” he sighed.

“Don’t, I knew what I was getting into then and I know what I’m getting into now,” you insisted, hand going out to his arm as you locked eyes. Unstoppable force meeting immovable object - you were both stubborn as hell, so he knew he wasn’t going to convince you otherwise.

Instead he just nodded, resigning a little but still not entirely accepting your answer, ever needing to shoulder the burden.

“I left so I wouldn’t die here, seems the universe has a cruel sense of humour, because right now there’s no where else I’d rather be,” you said quieter, the thought playing in your head since you’d arrived. Everything you’d done to escape this place, make some kind of normal life, and here you were, sneaking through your old high school wielding a crossbow.

“You won’t,” Klaus told you earnestly, pausing to check the coast was clear as you neared the hall.

“None of us will,” Ric said from behind you, matching Klaus’ tone as he willed himself to power through, the tiredness in his eyes impossible to hide as you got closer to the centre of... whatever this was.

A noise in a nearby classroom had you all on edge, your reaction time definitely slower than it should have been as you prepared to face whatever was behind the door.

Klaus and Ric shared a look, some kind of silent communication going on between then as the students cast nervous glances at one another. Ric took a step towards the door, counting down to Klaus, who pulled the door open on three, ready to attack.

“Dad!” A voice gasped, all of you equal parts shocked and relieved as you found yourselves face to face with Hope Mikaelson.

“Hope,” Klaus exhaled, pulling his daughter into a tight embrace as you lowered your weapons.

Klaus’ eyes were gleaming as he took a step back, checking his daughter over to make sure she was alright before she went to greet the others, who were all equally happy to see her alive and well.

Well, maybe not equally.

You could see the protective way Klaus tensed when Hope hugged Landon, their touch lingering a little too long for his liking as he cleared his throat, Landon jumping back to a respectable distance as Hope rolled her eyes.

She fixed her attention on you. “So, you must be Y/N,” she said. You had no idea what she knew about you, at all, but she didn’t say it with any malice, just... curiosity.

“Yeah, I got your call,” you told her with a faint smile, taking her in for the first time. She was a Mikaelson alright, you could see that straight away.

“Sorry,” she told you, genuinely apologetic, “but so many people were already asleep and aunt Freya said New Orleans was affected too-”

You cut her off, realising she should probably take a breath. “It’s fine Hope, I’m happy to help,” you promised, meaning every word as you look to Klaus for a moment. Even before you’d known the whole town was affected, she was still Klaus’ daughter and he was still... Klaus.

“You just left, you shouldn’t have just left, what were you thinking?” There was a chorus from Klaus and Ric, though you weren’t sure who said what as they reprimanded her for leaving the school grounds. You offered her a look of sympathy, but it wasn’t your place, they were also kind of right.

“I had to find out what we were up against, I had to find a way to stop it,” Hope insisted, carrying that weight of the world burden on her shoulders that reminded you of your twin.

“Did you?” M.G. asked, nervously glancing around. It was safe for now, but staying here for too long wasn’t wise; and you figured he’d seen enough movies to know that.

“Dozens of them came out of the Malivore pit, vampires but... energy draining, they can go out in the daylight too, I think it just drains them more,” Hope told you what she knew which, unfortunately, was pretty similar to what you’d already figured out.

“I can’t be the only one thinking this but they don’t seem... capable?” You tried to articulate, your brain way too cloudy to think straight, but they seemed to understand what you meant. Those vampires had been feral, to magically put a whole town to sleep... “How are they doing this?”

“There’s a powerful witch directing them, or controlling them, I’m not sure,” Hope explained, earning wide eyes from your group. Now this part, you absolutely had not known. Hope continued hurriedly: “She came out of the pit too, she- I think she created them, experimenting on normal vampires and turning them into these... things, and got put into Malivore for it.”

You still weren’t entirely versed on the ins and outs of this Malivore thing they’d been dealing with, but none of that was good news.

“Who? Why?” Josie asked what you were all wanting to know, “and to target New Orleans too...” Something popped into your head, a theory, maybe, a connection made somewhere in your mind, but it slipped away as a wave of dizziness washed over you.

The others didn’t notice, thankfully, but it was only a matter of time before you lost the battle to remain conscious.

“I don’t know, but whoever they are, they’re here at the school,” Hope confirmed, “I’ve been trying to get to the hall, I hid in here to try and come up with another game plan, but there’s just so many of them.” A cry echoed down the halls as if on cue, bouncing off the walls as an icy shiver went down your spine.

“You’re not alone now, we’re here,” Landon reassured her, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. He kept hold, but Klaus allowed it, realising that there would be time later to thoroughly scare the young man and demand to know his intentions for his daughter.

It was an amusing thought, and it was encouraging to know you still thought there’d be a later.

“We’ll do this together,” Klaus said, looking at Hope but addressing the group as you all readied yourself.

“What are we waiting for?”

#klaus mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #legacies #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson imagine #the originals imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #legacies imagine #klaus mikaelson imagines #the originals imagines #the vampire diaries imagines #legacies imagines #our little secret

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runeterrankhaleesi · 3 years

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Hey, Khaleesi! Remember that alternate Ruination link? So here, for @theruinednymph and all who don't understand Polish, I give a translation of the script to English :)

Here's the (more or less accurately) translated version of Marvecc's Ruination. I'm giving you the closest thing to what he said but in English. Sorry for inevitable inconsistencies, typos and misspellings 😅

It is commonly known that for quite some time I've been complaining about the Ruination, I shamelessly admit. But I think nothing I said was unjustified. When the Ruination came to an end, I had sort of a bad hangover. I noticed wasted potential. "So make a better event. If you're so smart!" So uh… let's try!

I may not have plentiful resources as Riot Games do, I am no graphic designer or animator but I know a bit of game lore so I've decided to take it one step further. I've decided to fix the Ruination. It will be a huge test for me, because some day, in five, ten, fifteen or twenty years I'd like to create my own world. My own universe. That's why today you yourselves will judge if in any way, knowing the lore of some world, I am fit for this task.

Welcome dear viewers, I am Marvecc, and today I will be telling you how, in my opinion, the plot of the Ruination should've looked like, or how I would create it.

Let's assume some basics in the making of the plot. Let's leave the cinematic from the season's beginning because it was fantastic, let's be real, and let's leave the regional structure. It's clear that a very important changing element was the characters' journey in a way that everyone could find themselves in their favorite region. Well, maybe not everyone because not all regions had been presented, but the majority of them. So without further ado, let's move onto my machinations.

As we know, the cinematic ended on a ship with the sight of Senna and Lucian, and in my opinion the champions should've immediately headed for Bilgewater it was there Lucian had allies in the fight against Harrowing and it is there the plot of the game "Ruined King" begins. We reach the harbor, Lucian and Senna meet with Miss Fortune, shed light on the situation and she decides it's time to head to the Temple of Nagakabuross on the hill, asking the high priestess of the Kraken - Illaoi - for help. The four of them meet at an inn, discussing the end of the world and the apocalypse of the undead. Everyone is wondering how to stop Viego. What to do to save the world from destruction. It turns out that our conversation was unintentionally being listened to by Yummi - yes, exactly. Yummi - who quietly has been sitting in a corner in the shadow and eavesdropping on what our champions were talking about. Lucian and Mf obviously laugh the cat off, but she had taken notice of the unease of humans and all creatures while travelling, caused by the sudden attack of the Mist. When those attacks had taken place, she was in Freljord with her friend Braum and they'd witnessed the Mist and its abominations slaughter the inhabitants of one of the Freljordian villages. Braum jumped into the frey, trying to protect the people but he was anguished when he realised that he's, sadly, powerless.

Caring deeply for his homeland, he asked his friend Yummi to try and gather some information. And she did. After a while of sitting on a table, she leaped onto the Book, vanished and jumped out of a portal moments later with Braum in tow. You know, it makes sense, they're both friends and Braum understands that now the biggest threat for the Freljord is Viego. Our characters debate on how to stop him. It turns out however, that they don't really have any plan. They don't see a light at the end of the tunnel. How are they supposed to face the might of the undead, having so little force at their disposal? Now, if the power of Nagakabuross and Illaoi, who despise the dead, is some sort of a natural counterpart to the undead, our group heads to the Temple of the Bearded Lady. Illaoi decides it is there they would find the solution.

And curiously enough, Buhru Sentinel awaits them there with Gwen who met him while searching for Senna whom she'd sensed because Viego didn't take the whole fragment of Isolde's soul, which we know from "the Ruination", as she herself also possesses a fragment. Buhru Sentinel has a similar role. He's, somewhat, an introduction, tells us he'd fixed the connection between the base in Bilgewater and the one in Ixtal - of course I'm talking about the Sentinels' bases. His role is of a man who travels with us, a sage of sorts, who stays behind and repairs the links in bases.

Well then. We've been to Bilgewater and we have the means to travel to Ixtal. You may be thinking "Marvecc, okay, but the event started in Demacia". Mind you. I'm making up my own version. Also, Demacia lies, you know, on the opposite side of the known Runeterra and honestly the Mist comes from Shadow Isles, so we constantly, not paying mind to the danger of it, travel to those regions. In the original Ruination, the role of the Mist had been terribly diminished to a substance which just searches for Isolde. I would make it so that we fear the Mist. We fear Viego's army and we flee from east to west, not go to random locations. And obviously we don't go to Shadow Isles just like that in the end where a huge army if undead resides which for some reason can't see us and doesn't murder us on sight.. Of course, just so you know. The Mist can materialise in various places thanks to Vex, as it was shown in the cinematic but a path from Shadow Isles - escape from the Mist - seems more logical to me than braving overtaken regions.

Anyway, Buhru Sentinel also tells us that he knew about our arrival and had sent Rookie to greet us or welcome us to Bilgewater. He wasn't supposed to reveal anything to Senna and Lucian, because Buhru found out about a Sentinel who abandoned his post and didn't really respect Sentinel's rules - you surely know I mean Akshan - and wanted to check what are the intentions of Senna and Lucian.

At the same time in the scriptures of the first Sentinels, Buhru has found information about an ancient prophecy, foretelling the great return of the King of the Dead and his defeat. Now, just a head's up, because I wrote a prophecy:

Darkness of his heart will swallow the world

Nations and countries will not bend the knee

It is not his goal

It is her goal

Obsession of feeling, love is all that matters

No matter how, it only matters when

The dreary King of the Dead beside his Queen

They shall change the future world

Darkness only darkness can defeat

Love can be beaten by vengeance

And Heavens can fell Death itself.

I don't know what it's like, this was my first prophecy, I hope it's not abysmal, but it will be important later on.

Anyway, our whole group debates on how to defeat Viego and it turns out that they don't have a better chance than to rely on the prophecy. The Sentinels don't know how to trap Viego, how to stop him. So far, they only know that he can be slowed down, with relic weapons for instance but not just with them. But eventually, the old Buhru Sentinel interprets that it won't change a thing. For this reason, our group decides to follow the prophecy and travel to Targon, where, as it is stated, Heavens can fell Death itself.

And that's how our adventure begins, where without chances or resources, Sentinels aren't trying to stop Viego from finding the fetters of his wife, but attempt to follow an ancient prophecy of the Sentinels of Light. Let's add something extra from me. A lore accurate expansion to the cinematic about the Ruination. In the cinematic, the locations of Noxus, Demacia and Ionia weren't an accident, in my version that is. Let's add Freljord as well, because we know that something like this has happened there too but it didn't make it to the cinematic. All those places in my opinion were important to Viego. Why he's so powerful also wasn't really explained by Riot Games. I have a good idea for this. Sure, partially thanks to Vex he could cause a global Ruination, but to me a magical aid of a teenage Yordle is a bit too little.

In Demacia, Viego discovered a piece of his wife, the same in Freljord. When it comes to Ionia, he knows that the land is too magically powerful to allow him to freely take over Runeterra and search for Isolde, when Ionia with its primordial magic can challenge him. This is why, in the cinematic, the Ruined King first wanted to weaken Karma, the land itself and its Spirit, while in Noxus he wanted to check something out. He wanted to discover the dark secrets of the Immortal Bastion. Here, let's remember that Yummi is still with us, and let's assume she knew that Vex fled from Bandle City, met Viego and Yummi figured it out when she encountered the Mist, as she sensed Yordle magic within it. She explained to the group that the combination of the King of the Dead and Yordle magic is.. very powerful. That's why our characters decide on a plan consisting of three elements. First is strictly about the game "Ruined King". Illaoi, Braum and Miss Fortune want to head to Shadow Isles as a distraction, to focus Viego's attention on themselves and buy more time. Yummi goes to the Bandle City to mobilize and convince Yordles to help the creatures of the Physical Realm. And this was the second part. For the third part, Senna, Gwen and Lucian set out to Targon. And here our party splits up.

As we prepare for the journey in "Ruined King" we're attacked by Pyke, which makes sense. MF, as a captain, is on his list. Due to the preparations for the sail, nobody notices anything, nobody notices Pyke. But! MF is saved at the last moment only by a strong tornado which knocks the assassin back. It turns out it's Ahri and Yasuo. The tornado gives Illaoi a chance to subdue Pyke with the power of the Goddess. He's a bit brainwashed and decides to assist in the quest. You know, it would explain his odd behavior. The group thanks for the help and asks who the unknown newcomers are - which are Ahri and Yasuo. Ahri explains that she's looking for a craftsman by the name of Melo, which is accurate with her lore, and Yasuo is her bodyguard, which is accurate as well. During the game "Ruined King" we gather resources for the journey, prepare our crew and collect information as Ahri and Yasuo, to find out that the aforementioned craftsman had headed - for reasons unknown - to Shadow Isles. Because of that. Ahri decides to join the expedition but she and Yasuo don't know - Illaoi, MF or Braum (who's very upset about it) haven't told them - the true goal of the quest, a mission with no return. A mission to delay the march of Viego or at least busy him.

I didn't make up what the craftsman's fate could've been because I didn't write that much about it, I just created the basics. We set to Shadow Isles and - not to make an entire plot to "Ruined King", because it's not the goal of this video - our task is to activate the pillars with the defense mechanism of the Blessed Isles, which could lead to the imprisonment of Viego and the Black Mist. You know, like in the cinematic with Thresh. The overall plot of the game would be about it. But this we would find out from the old Keeper on Shadow Isles. From that moment, our party struggles against the abominations of the Mist, Ahri and Yasuo find out about the true goal of the expedition, Ahri gets to know the truth behind her origins and the craftsman, she develops mutual feelings for Yasuo, only for their mission to fail in the end.

The finale is this: Hecarim stands in the way of Braum when he attempts to activate a pillar, Illaoi - using the Goddess' power - begins winning the fight with Viego (initially she was only supposed to stop him). However, she has used so much of her strength that her influence on Pyke weakened enough for him to snap out of it and take her with him to the depths. Viego - having no better opponent - takes control of MF, Pyke, and on the battlefield remain only Braum duelling Hecarim in the distance, and Viego, MF, Pyke - and of course a lot of creatures of the Mist, nothing new - versus Yasuo and Ahri. Suddenly, on Shadow Isles appears Yummi who hastily exclaims that she will save her friends. Unfortunately, Yasuo realises that the cat won't make it on time. He tells her to save Ahri and Braum, while he alone faces Viego, saying - imagine Yasuo's voice - "Time for me to atone for my sins". With a tornado, Yasuo repels the Mistwraiths as Ahri strikes Viego with all her force, which doesn't do him much harm but disorients him enough for Yummi to take wounded Braum, return for Ahri and the last thing we see in the game is Viego running Yasuo through with his blade. And may I remind you, at that time we didn't know yet that being impaled by Viego causes Ruination. That's why the game ends with a scene in which we are certain that Yasuo dies - because "Ruined King" was supposed to come out before the event. Additionally our characters leave to god-knows-where and Illaoi, from what we know, is also dead. A whole lot of cliffhangers.

That's it for the first part regarding "Ruined King". And considering that the game by Riot Forge was going to come out before the event, instead of the cinematic in Demacia, I would release a cinematic which shows Yasuo's ultimate sacrifice, Ahri and Braum on some neutral background, being approached by a stranger. A tiny stranger with a hammer. And the last look at Shadow Isles, Ruined MF, Pyke and Hecarim. And Hecarim asks Viego: "My liege, what now?" And he replies: "Everything is going according to plan."

Let's leave Yummi's plot for now. Let's now move onto the story from the client. Senna, Lucian, Gwen and Buhru Sentinel, who will be our Wayfinder, a person who repairs the links between quarters, head to the base in Ixtal, which happened to be hidden but lies close to an Ixtalian outpost. Of course, Buhru Sentinel - who, for short, we will be just calling Buhru - stays to fix the portal but characters are taken hostage during a scouting mission. Everyone here thinks they are spies from Piltover, which, lorewise, would be correct. In secrecy to talk with us, comes Qiyana intrigued by our presence, to check what the Sentinels do as she isn't so quick to wrongfully judge them. Senna explains that the Black Mist is approaching and they need to take all measures to fight it. Qiyana goes to Yuntal to give them the story of captured Sentinels. No one approves that she talked to them at all and she is about to be punished but the news of the Black Mist and the undead come from the east borders of Ixtal. Yuntal decides it's not the time to dwell on what Qiyana did, protecting the country from the Mist is their priority now. Ixtal's authorities order for as many citizens as possible to be moved to their archology, to have all masters of the elements stand against the Black Mist. Of course, nobody bothered with releasing Sentinels, because why would they? Qiyana, knowing that this fight is pointless, frees Sentinels, committing treason in the eyes of Ixtal's people and flees with them to Sentinel quarters where Hecarim catches up but is ultimately fended off. Buhru managed to make the connection with the base in Piltover. Before heading out, Sentinels find armor and relic stone in Ixtal quarters and allow Qyiana to upgrade her blade with relic stones, put the armor on and join the ranks of Sentinels of Light. Though, her devotion isn't entirely sincere. She knows that if she's the one to defeat Viego, she will have the right argument to seize the rule over Ixtal. Region's finale goes like this: Viego arrives, talks to Hecarim who tells him the news that the Sentinels have a plan to stop him. The last look is at the capital of Ixtal - Ixaocan - and its siege. As we know, Yuntal - the masters of the elements - are very powerful but have thousands upon thousands of foes to go against.

Let's move on to Piltover. The Mist has also reached it but something stopped it from breaching the city. Senna and Gwen, alone in the quarters, discover the closeness between one another, through the fragments of Viego's wife. Senna suspects everything before Gwen does and tells her that Viego did say that Isolde is his world, and this will be his main plan, which Senna knew earlier already but I won't spoil the ending.

In the base in Piltover we encounter Dess and Adda, of course. Those characters I would 100% leave because they have been very nicely done. Senna tells them of Viego's true plan. Dess and Adda mention a long-nonfunctioning device called Zindel's Incognium, which is able to find every person on Runeterra. Making use of the lack of the Mist in the city, the Sentinels go to Heimerdinger who is the only person capable of uncovering the secrets of the device's function. Heimer initially complains about not having time, about having enough of his own things to do but the professor is ultimately convinced by Gwen's positive attitude and pleas. He repairs the device, and it is revealed that Isolde's fetters are still in Demacia, Freljord and Shurima. The party thanks Heimerdinger for assistance and returns to the quarters. Meanwhile, it turns out Viego also knew about the device from one of the souls from Piltover and headed for the city. And, of course, here initially, during the first wave of the Black Mist, Viego was doing reconnaissance. A scouting of the terrain. But he didn't know, didn't find the locations of all fragments of Isolde. Because, honestly, from what I remember it wasn't specified why Viego and the Mist follow Isolde. Okay, we know that it does and that it's linked to Viego's despair but the despair in itself knows where all the pieces of Viego's wife's soul are? I think if it was made in the way that Viego doesn't have full knowledge about Isolde and the location of her soul's fragments it would've been more interesting. Either way, Viego goes to Piltover. And there at the entrance he meets Janna, and discovers it was her using her powers to defend Piltover and Zaun from the Mist at all costs. You know, Mist, and Janna is the Goddess of the Wind. For 20 days she's been keeping the Mist at bay but exhausted, she was no match for Viego who quickly defeated her. However, because Janna is after all a Goddess and not some poorly dressed lady who is just standing and calling tornadoes, with the last bits of her strength she makes an escape. Although Viego is strong, it's not like other champions are trembling in their boots before him at all times. Viego steps into Piltover, finds the device and bumps into Ziggs who left Zaun to see what's happening. And he notices that Heimerdinger repaired the machine and, being his former student - after being Ruined by Viego - betrays the secrets of the location of the fetters. Ziggs, naturally, gets "Ruined" skin. On the other hand, Heimerdinger brings along Vi and Caitlyn to the base to assure safe return and aid. Both Caitlyn and Vi decide to stay in Piltover to try and stop Viego alongside Adda and Dess but once he discovered the placement of his wife, he'd long made his escape and began his search. The Mistwraiths however, remained. At the end we see Thresh who goes around - like in the normal event - gathers power and collects souls from the Mist. Here, Buhru exclaims that the portal is too weak to take everyone to the same place. But it can take us to two places. Either to the base in Noxus, to find out what Viego wanted to discover there, or ti Shurima. The party breaks apart. Senna, Qiyana and Rookie go to Noxus, while Lucian, Gwen and Buhru - to Shurima. We witness a touching farewell between Lucian and Senna, and canonically the Noxus is unlocked because that's where we head first.

We know that there aren't any fragments of Isolde's soul in Noxus but Senna decides to discover Viego's plans. We come across Darius, Draven and Samira who lead the investigation on this case. Why has the Mist suddenly appeared in Noxus? Draven immediately wants to fight the Sentinels but Darius holds him back, seeing that Sentinels mean no harm to Noxus, quite the opposite. They want to discover what the King's deal is. Turns out that Viego, desiring to become unbeatable, already empowered by Vex, seeks a way to make it impossible for anyone to face him in a duel. And to make sure no one and nothing stands in his way as he searches for his Queen. For this reason, the Ruined King descends into the depths of the Immortal Bastion. He finds the demon summoned by the Black Rose. Viego right away kills all members of the organisation and stands face to face with the demon.

Turns out the Black Rose and LeBlanc beckoned it to fight another monster, another demon. She even has a line in the card game: "One monster to end another".

But the demon is unable to leave the chamber it was summoned in. And so, Viego proposes a deal, to join forces with one another and together become invincible. Why is this particular demon so important for Viego? We know that it is as powerful as big is the sum of its allies and Viego has plenty of allies. Plenty of souls in the Mist. Plenty of the dead. Atakhan realised Viego's potential and agreed to his terms. The demon and the King of the Dead merge into one being. Viego's fingers elongate, his armor appears more ethereal and he's wearing the demon's helmet. Viego gets a skin "Demonic King Viego" or something like that. He leaves the Immortal Bastion and comes across the Sentinels. Seeing him, Draven jumps him, after a second ending up Ruined. Viego naturally laughs at this pathetic attempt and flees. The Ruined King becomes pretty much indestructible.

Darius exclaims that he needs to consult the Grand General, while Samira follows the Sentinels. In Noxus quarters she is given a relic pistol as well as upgrades to her blade. Unfortunately, our team has no clue how to get to Demacia, because as I said Buhru is in Shurima with Lucian. Here, Darius proposes a solution in the form of magically modified Drake Hounds, tame towards those who were assigned to them. The Hounds are made for incredibly fast travels and were supposed to be a special tool for spies and messengers. They only nees a. Couple hours of sleep, thanks to which the Sentinels in around a week would reach Demacia.

Here, we completely cut off from the plot of the Sentinels and Rookie. Instead, we impersonate one of Camavor's soldiers who accompanies Viego alongside many others in a journey to Ionia. There are no fetters there but considering this is the magically primordial land, it poses a threat to Viego's plans. The magic of Vastaysheirei - ancestors of the Vastaya - as well as the Vastaya themselves, and all forces and all champions can use the power of the Spirit Realm and challenge him but this won't be possible once Viego conquers and Ruins Ionia. He goes to the Everlasting Altar right away and duels Karma, for her to ultimately fall. The Spirit of the land was corrupted but the duel didn't last five minutes but rather long hours. Karma realised that the King of the Dead is coming for her much earlier too. Shen, Kennen and Akali answer her summons along with Kinkou Order. Irelia stands with them. The champions try to get through to the Everlasting Altar barred by the wraiths but once Viego seized control over Karma, the fight was turned around. Viego descends along with Karma who throws all fighters back with a flick of her hand. Irelia stands up first and to extinguish the Spirit of the land once and for all, Viego impales her, causing her Ruination. Here, we're avoiding an inconsistency - why Sentinel (Ruined in this story) Irelia could fight with her blades.

Viego, Karma and Irelia vanish into the Mist but the wraiths remain to kill the rest. As they're about to die, Yone arrives, who has sensed the presence of a powerful demon, one he'd never sensed before. He felt the bond with the King of the Dead and came to fight him. Yone rescues the group because his demonic blade of Azakana can cut through the wraiths, and the last to fall is our Camavorian soldier, ran through with a spiritual blade by Shen. Before passing, he heard Kennen say that he has a plan to save Ionia and the whole Runeterra.

Next, we move to Shurima. As I said, we have Lucian, Gwen and Buhru here. And just so you know, because Rookie - the person we associate with - is not here, we remain nobody. A passive spectator of the events. Like we have on Shadow Isles, because Rookie, the person we steer, is bot always necessary. Of course we meey Akshan in Shurima Sentinel outpost, he doesn't give a damn and his story is very similar to the one in the client. I wouldn't change it that much because the construction in my opinion was fine but I would split it into two separate segments.

First - similar to the one in the client. And second - in which Viego heading to Shurima, before he claims the fetter, meets Azir and his devoted soldiers along with Nasus who knew about the approaching calamity from Ixtal - honoring the old alliance of countries. Viego decided he doesn't have time for this, knocked everyone aside and moved onward to reach the fetter which he takes. He kills Lucian and takes Buhru but Akshan revives Lucian, while Gwen - by Lucian's orders - hid herself away in the Hallowed Mist. The group meets up with Azir and Nasus, introduce them into the subject, and the emperor sends his most powerful warrior to join the Sentinels and assist with fighting the dead. Azir stays and defends his land from the wraiths. Nasus is given a special weapon in the quarters and Azir gifts him with the golden armor of the elite. Nasus joins the Sentinels and because Targon is nearby, this part of the team heads there.

Let's come back to the first part of the group. Senna, Qyiana, Samira and Rookie reached Demacia. The Mist has already taken the majority of the known lands and reached the capital of the Kingdom as well. The team meets the Dauntless Vanguard by the entrance who don't want to let them in at first but after Senna explains - that this is the matter of life and death and everything going on around - the warriors call for their leader, Garen who quickly takes the Sentinels to the palace where Jarvan and Tianna Crownguard debate what to do next. How to stop the Mist and Hecarim who - according to a published story - was already in Demacia. As a reasonable ruler, Jarvan simply asks what the Sentinels need. Senna switches off for a moment, hearing a small voice of Isolde whispering, telling Senna to find her in the city. She says she wants to stop Viego, which would add up since she'd already warned Senna in one of the stories. After a while Jarvan asks again and Senna replies "We only need time to stop the advance of the Mist". Jarvan promises to give them as much time as possible and sends Shyvana with them.

When the group leaves the palace, the Ruination is raging across the city. Unexpectedly, from a rooftop jumps down Vayne who says she'd been watching them and has parted with Poppy, and that she's ready to help the Sentinels. Senna - knowing where the base is - heads to the quarters and gives Vayne a weapon, accepting her among the Sentinels. As they leave, everyone spots a flock of wraiths and Camavorian dragons as well as Ruined Cadregrin mounted by Viego. Shyvana decides to battle him but becomes Ruined. The Sentinels flee, prompted by Jarvan and the rest saying that soldiers of Demacia will stop Viego but he grew.. bored after a short fight with Shyvana and followed the Sentinels tracking down his Mist leading them to Isolde's fragment. Taking it, Senna once again hears the voice of Viego's wife and the fragment merges with the one inside of her. Viego arrives and says it's impossible. Isolde doesn't want to return to him? What do you mean? What's that about?? While he's shocked by his wife's behavior, the animated colossus Galio grabs him, which gives the Sentinels some time.

Simultaneously, Poppy appears, telling Vayne that she's found what they'd been looking for. You know. The thing from the cinematic. The Sentinels ask about it, Poppy explains there's no time for that. The champions quickly escape, enter some tenement, dead down into the basement where lies the tile engraved with the symbol of the Sentinels of Light. Poppy says it has taken a lot of time to discover all this and put all the clues together. Senna steps onto the stone, activating a passage in a wall where a secret portal to one of the bases was hidden. The entire group goes out into the unknown. Exactly! Into the unknown. We have no idea what's happening to them. I love such cliffhangers. I think it would be an interesting turn of events.

Once again, we're not Rookie and our plot guy is another Ruined soldier of Camavor. Viego heads to Freljord with Vex where they seek the last inanimate fetter. Not much is happening in the Freljord and Viego passes through one, two, three villages. The Ruined King doesn't fight anyone, he doesn't mean to Ruin anyone, he doesn't particularly care about taking the Freljord. He does nothing but search for the fetter. Vex absolutely dislikes it, asks Viego why he's becoming such a lamer, to which the King orders her to be silent. Vex asks again, again and again what's this about until he loses patience. He strikes her and she lands a good couple of meters further away. Viego floats up - with the demon's aid he can naturally - to the young Yordle and tells her she was just a pawn in his game. She was to empower him so that he could spread the Mist all across Runeterra in search of his wife. Vex is surprised that Viego is so prosaic and he strikes her again, once more causing her to fly quite a distance. The Shadow of course stands up to Viego but it has no chance - it is thrown back as well. Viego leans over Vex, calling her naive and says that after all, she can't undo the spell given to him, that he fulfilled his goal and has no regard for her.

Vex runs away in tears with Shadow's aid, saying "This isn't over yet". Viego finds the last fragment but suddenly he bumps into Thresh. The King asks if he tracked down the rest of the living fetters. He doesn't realise that Thresh is changing, because the Chain Warden tries - thanks to the newfound strength - to manipulate his looks as he did before. Exactly how it was in the novel. Thresh says he'd found Gwen in Targon and that's where the undead are heading but sadly.. he is unable to locate Senna.

We move onto the final region that is Targon. Here, Lucian, Gwen, Nasus, Akshan - you know, the entire party from Shurima - reach the base at the foot of Mount Targon. The group locks themselves inside to reconsider their next move. What happened to Senna, is she going to send them some information as to what they'd found in Noxus, what was Viego looking for? To Lucian all that mattered was that his wife had not returned. Nevertheless, the Sentinels decide to stop for the night at the base to rest up and regain strength. In the morning everyone is woken up by the arrival of Senna, Samira and the rest of the party. Lucian hugs his wife, asking what was happening, how she's back. And she is about to reveal to Lucian and others what happened when suddenly they hear someone calling from outside. "Sentinels of Light! You are surrounded! Come out with dignity and without tricks as our goal is one and the same!"

It turns out that before the base wait armies of Solari and Lunari with Diana, Leona and Atreus on the lead. Everyone is shocked by this sight. Leona comes up to the Sentinels, saying that the Heavens told them of a great threat looming. That the time of the world's union has come. This is why - by Leona's orders - the Solari stand side by side with the Lunari in the face of oncoming doom. While in Ionia, Diana heard the will of the Aspect to the Moon to make haste and return. In Targon she met Aphelios who is now in the army of the Lunari - naturally much smaller in comparison to the Solari - and he'd found Diana's weapon, kept it hidden, knowing that the First Light of the Moon would one day return. This is why Diana would have her blade here. Diana returned to Targon and there duelled Leona as the card game implies but both the Aspect of the Moon and the Sun ordered them to cease, unite against the approaching danger. Senna tells Leona of the ancient prophecy, it turns out that Leona knows it and tells the group to climb Mount Targon as soon as possible, as in the face of such a threat truly only Heavens can lend their aid. Solari and Lunari stay to delay the march of Viego.

At the beginning of the path we meet Taric who becomes our guide. Thanks to his powers and help the journey to the top is incredibly short. In the span of one day the Sentinels - thanks to the help of the Aspect of the Protector, which would be accurate with the lore - summit Mount Targon. Taric helps them bypass the Arbiter but at the top there's.. nothing. Gates to Astral Targon, the place where the Aspects reside remain closed. Sentinels go into a panic, what's happening, why is nothing here? And then.. the Mist reaches the peak. The last place of Runeterra not claimed by Viego. Sentinels lose hope but regardless, they are ready to fight. All Ruined champions step out of the Mist. MF, Pyke, Karma, Shyvana, Ziggs and even the old servants such as Hecarim. Yasuo, if you still remember him, and all others. Additionally, Ruined Atreus comes forth - not Pantheon, let's not be pretentious with resurrecting the Aspect of War. Viego exclaims that the vicious fight at the bottom still continues, that hehe underestimated Targon's strength but he managed to win a duel with Atreus, corrupt him and head with a part of his army to the peak. In desperation, Lucian steps forward and proposes Viego a deal. He can have his soul, he can have whatever he wants, as long as he lets Senna and the Sentinels live.

Viego simply laughs, with one swift motion killing Rookie. Lucian goes into a rage and attacks Viego, but barely in a second Viego laughs again and floats up, runs him through and to Senna's dismay Lucian is Ruined. Very pleased with himself, Viego orders his servants to kill the Sentinels. All Ruined champions charge at them. No hope, none. Here, I imagined a scene, like from the endgame. A portal appears out of which jumps Yummi. A positive little aspect, Gwen is happy to see her favorite cat. Yummi brushes dust off of her fur and nose with her paws and says: "You didn't think we forgot about you, did you?" And THEN. From the portal comes Yone wielding his red blade but the other that of a Sentinel and wearing Sentinel armor. Out comes Sentinel Kennen, Sentinel Tristana with her Gunners and Sentinel Teemo. Yes, Sentinel Teemo ·-·

In addition, Sentinel Poppy, Braum, Ahri and Lulu. It turns out that the second group travelled to Bandle City where Poppy and Kennen were secretly members of the Sentinels from the Spirit Realm, from the city of Yordles. That's why Kennen knew to take Yone to Bandle City and knew what to do next. Poppy too knew what to do in the case of Ruination. It's just a little Yordle twist, not to make the entire event too dark. I was also thinking about Corki because he's cinematically the best Yordle and the cinematics with Yordles in general are probably the best but I was afraid I'd overdo it.

Of course, Viego hasn't been expecting the enormous comeback, he orders to destroy the Sentinels. Some champions generally fight with the armies of wraiths but certain duels break out, like Yasuo/Yone where the elder brother strives to save the younger, Taric, as the Aspect's host and the mightiest warrior, stands against Atreus. In front of Senna stands Lucian who is defeated by her. But during this fight Senna sees Viego tearing out a fragment of Isolde from Gwen who soon collapses to the ground. Then, Senna hears a faint voice saying: "Now".

She drops her cannon, runs up to Viego and musters up her whole strength to draw in fragments of Isolde's soul. Viego, to put it shortly, looked at Senna, intending to end her life but in the same moment Taric - having already won with Ruined Atreus - jumps at Viego. Only he stood some chance. However, after a short struggle Viego manages to, not defeat per se, but knock Taric back. Meanwhile we see Teemo who addresses lieutenant Lulu "It is time". And Lulu, as a powerful sorceress - certainly more so than a teenage Yordle - reverses the spell which Vex bestowed upon Viego. In turn, Viego weakens, he senses it, but says that it changes nothing. Because, really, it does change nothing. The alliance of the demon and the King of the Dead is still much more powerful.

Even still, meanwhile, Senna connects all fragments of Isolde's soul in herself. Senna becomes Isolde. After a moment of transformation, Senna's appearance drastically changes. At first, she looks like a spectre. The fighting stops, everyone is astonished. Viego gazes at his beloved and says "My love, you have returned to me at last". Isolde comes up to Viego, embraces him and strokes his cheek. After a while though, out of the Mist she summons Thresh who approaches asking: "Yes, my lady?" Viego is disoriented and asks Isolde how she knows Thresh, and the Warden replies in his charismatic mannerism: "Well, your highness… I have always been loyal. But not to you." Then Thresh holds up a mask which he secretly obtained in Ixtal and hid from the eyes of all. How? If it was a soul fragment, he could easily lock it in his lantern and make it undetectable to Zindel's Incognium. Now, Thresh pulls the jade mask out from his lantern and tosses it to Isolde who absorbs the last fragment. And from a spectre she turns into a horrid monstrosity. Albeit.. with curves and features of a woman. We know Riot doesn't like to exaggerate. Isolde - or Senna - after the change says to Viego that the Ruler of the Dead can be only one.

In despair, Viego stands before his love, not really knowing what's going on but - not to make him a total noob easy to beat up - he decides "So be it". They cannot defeat him because he's too strong. To which, Thresh lifts his lantern and in the blink of an eye begins to absorb the power from the Mist. Remember the demon I mentioned? The more allies it has, the more powerful it is. I think it would be an interesting way to weaken Viego. You know, Thresh drains the Mist, the souls within it, simultaneously taking power of Viego and the demon. He takes pretty much everything. Even the demon. You still might think I made Viego a bit of a noob anyway because in the end he's still defeated but throughout the whole adventure I was trying to paint him as a guy you really should be afraid of. Who really does something to the Sentinels. Here however, he loses. In the end, Isolde using Senna's power drains the remnants of the Mist from Viego like in the cinematic. His servants stand stunned as he kneels in disbelief. Senna comes up to him and he asks her why she's done that.

Here we have a bit of a retrospection. Isolde tells him that despite his great love, the King treated her as his property, he was sickly jealous and Isolde thinks it was because of him she passed in agony. Because of the pain and misery, the gentle woman changed beyond recognition and wished only for vengeance as her shattered soul also suffered unspeakably. Isolde looks at Akshan and tells him to shoot Viego. He hesitates but she says it's the only way to reverse what Viego had done after his return. To reverse the Ruination of the entire Runeterra. To reverse his deeds. He almost shoots but looks at Isolde, asking how she knows this. And suddenly, she changes to resemble Senna more and with her voice she says she's always here. That she's an ally of Isoldeof. It's only to convince the Sentinels and gain their trust. Akshan takes a shot at Viego. He cannot die but the effects of the Ruination recede from champions as well as the Mist releases Runeterra. Additionally, Gwen creates a prison from Hallowed Mist for Viego. Why Gwen, you ask? Let me explain. Powerful magic of every fantasy world is love. In youth, Isolde pouring her feelings into the doll accidentally - she was no mage but certainly a strongly magical character - creates certain magical abilities which made sort of a sentient construct that afterwards, I mean now, without the soul fragment could exist on its own.

Lucian comes back to himself as well, we have a touching scene but this isn't the end. Terrified, Lucian runs up to Senna. He asks how all this could have happened, what they're going to do now that Senna has two souls. Senna looks at Lucian, a tear runs down her cheek and Thresh says: "It is time, my dear". Lucian turns to the wraith and is about to shoot from his pistol. But Senna stands before him. She turns to Thresh "He at least deserves an explanation". Thresh replies, alright but make it short. Senna reveals a great secret to everyone..

In Bilgewater, after learning of the prophecy she encountered Thresh while she went out to get some air. He already had absorbed some of the Mist and could assume human form. He approached Senna and asked her for the way but she didn't know and had no time to react as Thresh caught her with his chains, saying that if she starts screaming, he's going to kill everyone.. in Bilgewater. Senna promised to be calm, Thresh released her and told her how he hates Viego and if they work together, they can stop him. He explained that Sentinels without aid from the dead stand no chance against Viego. He reveals to Senna Viego's plans regarding Vex, the facts about the demon and Isolde. He adds that this is the only way for Lucian to survive. And here, in spite of herself, Senna decides to trust Thresh. She shares the prophecy, the plans of the Sentinels but together they come up with a secret plan of their own.

Thresh convinced that Sentinels's prophecies are worthless and the only way to defeat Viego is to use his weakness against him. Isolde, who - Thresh knows - wants revenge against Viego. And he promises to spare Lucian if Senna absorbs all fragments of Isolde who was unspeakably powerful due to the Ruination, which will cause Senna to have two souls, giving her enough strength to beat Viego. In the end though, the deal was simple. For Thresh's aid Senna promised him the soul of Isolde

Despite his hatred towards Thresh, Lucian understands, Senna explains she did this all to save their love but Thresh grows impatient. Senna takes a couple of steps away, once again changes to Isolde and Thresh begins to drain her soul. It takes a while, everyone is blinded by blue light which fades after a moment. And once it does, we see only Thresh. Without Senna. Thresh becomes even more powerful through the absorption of Isolde's soul. Everyone thought that Senna would remain with them. Disoriented Lucian furiously says that it was supposed to be just Isolde. To which Thresh replies: "Don't tell me that after all the trouble you have caused me I would stop tormenting her.. and you."

Laughing, Thresh knocks back everyone with his chain. With the might of thousands of souls, demon and corrupted by Ruination's paradox Isolde, no one present could be a match for him. Most of the Sentinels fall from the summit of Targon bit Yummi - thanks to her Book - saves all one by one and takes them to the bottom where Diana and Leona wait for them. At the peak there is only Taric. Here I will tell you how I pictured it in my head. Immense power of Thresh thrums in the air and his great plan was truly a masterpiece. Taric attempts to attack Thresh but the host of the Aspect of the Protector is also thrown off the peak. But here we have another twist.

Remember the prophecy? It would be nice if it was fulfilled. Grand, golden Astral Gate. Thresh stares stunned as from the sky descends a creature with blazing wings, donning armor of cosmic stone and wielding twin blades burning with astral fire. Kayle returns to Runeterra. She doesn't have her helmet and her eyes are filled with white energy revealing that she.. is an Aspect. Not just a host. But she herself became the Aspect of Justice. The mightiest champion currently residing on Runeterra. In a split of a second she flies up to Thresh and starts a duel. Still, with all the power he possesses, Thresh is certainly a worthy opponent. The fight between the Aspect and the new King of the Dead is murderous. Sentinels, Solari and Lunari gaze up at the skies, at the peak of Targon in awe, watching the shifting colors as Kale and Thresh battle one another. In any case, Thresh - unwilling to lose so soon and endanger his newfound power - says "This isn't over, Aspect", dissolves like mist in the air and retreats. Unmoved by this Kayle flies down to Lunari, Solari and the Sentinels, announcing that an end must be put to Thresh and his likes.

And here we have a bittersweet ending. Yummi returns everyone to respective regions and Viego is moved to Shadow Isles where he's guarded by previously allied with the old Keeper Yorick, and yes, I know the Maiden wasn't here as a fetter but instead of changing the concept, in my Ruination I'd rather not turn it around by 180°. And Yorick, in truce with Kalista and Maokai, guards the King of the Dead and attempts restoration of the isles. The Shadow Isles are still dangerous and betrayed by Thresh Hecarim, Karthus and the likes want to free Viego and give Thresh a payback. We also find out that thanks to the power of her Goddess Illaoi survived and she stays to watch over Viego as well. Thresh on the other hand, no longer bound to Shadow Isles, travels across Runeterra and quietly, without drawing too much attention enlarges his collection of souls and tries to find a way to win with Kayle. All regions try to stand up after the Ruination. Qyiana tries to become the head of Ixtal, Nasus returns to Azir, Leona and Diana decide to bring peace to Targon together. Braum returns to Freljord, Yordles to Bandle City. Meanwhile, Lucian becomes a shadow of himself. Revenge consumes him in full. Vayne and Yone join him to find Thresh and defeat him. Samira and Draven go to Noxus, Irelia goes back with Karma but here I would expand Karma's plot. That she steps out and chooses solitude, unable to forgive herself. You know, all champions go more or less back to normal. I realise there are a bunch of inconsistencies here, more detail is required, dialogues etc. But making this scenario took me about 3 hours. And those unexplained parts should be clarified and if I was working at Riot Gamespolice, I would say before the event that things left unclear will be resolved in future stories. The event itself I would end with such a cinematic:

Vex, attacked and used by Viego, wandered around Ruined Noxus. Unsure what to do with herself she even considered returning toto Bandle City but she came across a man named Yanuk (Januk? Sorry, for the misspellings, I was writing it without a script xD). The very same who told Ezreal to retrieve the Uloa elixir. A special elixir which could revive a certain person. Ezreal however, tricked him. Vex didn't care what Yanuk had to say but he shouted that she looked like she wished for darkness. And he knows how to give it. Along with Shadow, Vex hearing the plan came back toto Yanuk with the Uloa elixir. Yanuk performs the right ritual which leads to a certain dark event. An ethereal gateway opens. And through it steps out none other than Mordekeiser who ends the cinematic with one sentence. Imagine I am saying this with Mordekeiser's voice. "I will show you… Ruination."

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

submitted by: @sophi-s

Holy shit, that was super long.

I haven't actually read it because I wanted to share this to everyone as soon as possible, but I WILL read it.

How long did this take you, darling? Three days?

But thank you for this incredible translation and thank you very much for your hardwork. I really appreciate you doing all this for us, thank you sophi-s.

#submission #ruination #lol

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myelocin · 4 years

Text

Here’s To Our Maybes | Ushijima Wakatoshi

Summary: Marriage with Wakatoshi felt natural, until, eventually, it didn’t. A story about how love can sometimes be met through those that have been lost.

Characters: Ushijima Wakatoshi, You, + surprise character that has no name sorry

Warnings/Genre: No warnings! Angst, Slice of Life, Fluff(?) but tbh mostly angst

Word Count: 3.8k

a/n: This one is for my late mother, because I have been missing you lately. Hope you read this from the other side.

Click keep reading bc the whole fic is posted <3

You liked to take pride in the fact that most people noticed you took after your mother in many ways. After all, she was the woman who despite lived in a dying body, still had the heart to look at the world with the kindest eyes. Throughout your childhood, you watched her love bloom and nurture the hurt around her. Her hands healing, eyes loving, and heart always—always loving far too much for her withering body to take. And so early on in life, too early, you watch the same woman that you held above the universe quietly pass, an honest “I love you” spoken one last time for a man whose love never measured to a third of what she felt.

Her lips tilted to what looked like a ghost of a smile so you told yourself that you should be at peace with that. But only a year passed before you saw your father hold his new family within his arms, his lips singing praises of so much love and warmth that you couldn’t help but to feel your heart break for the woman who loved him more than herself.

That day you cry in your room, angry at the world, angry at your father, and anger at the fact that she deserved so much more. You remember her words, the ones that told you to “love someone who looks at you like they love you more than you love them”, her kind eyes, and feel your heart ache even more.

The second Ushijima Wakatoshi arrived in your life, the connection with him felt instant. Kageyama, a childhood friend of yours had been telling you about meeting his team because he thinks you would just love them. And true to his words, you did. Less than six months after meeting Wakatoshi, the two of you had already blended your life with the individual rhythm you two held.

Meeting him felt natural, but you learned that loving him felt like coming home. He spoke to you like he would whispering a secret in your ear; gently. He loved you in a way that had you feeling like you were caught in a never ending high. And his eyes. Every day that you were with him, he looked at you in a way that never failed to assure you that his love was absolute.

And he proved his love to you every day.

In the evenings he’d come home late from practice, where you’d sit with him across the dining table watching him eat the reheated dinner you had cooked for the both of you hours ago, he’d let his gratitude be known to you by taking your hands in his and kissing your knuckles. The kitchen would be quiet save for the sounds of Wakatoshi’s chewing and utensils clinking against the plate. You’d be wearing his old volleyball jacket from his university days and in between chewing he’d look at you and comment on how it practically looked like you were wearing a blanket instead of a jacket. You figured you loved the small talk the both of you would stumble on within your day; being an adult and having your own different schedules to finish often meant that you both would just meet when the day ended.

But you took pride in the fact that the two of you found a way to make it work. Wakatoshi was a quiet man, sometimes didn’t understand the jokes you’d pull, or particularly prefer the movies you’d have on during date nights, but his complaints were absent. He’d mumble out that he liked seeing you happy more than caring about the movie, so that comment always had you blushing more than usual.

Wakatoshi spoke to you with the simplest words that seemingly sounded beautiful (from him, ofcourse). You had learned that after waking up next to him for the first time. 6ams in the winter meant that the sun just peaked over the horizon. So the first thing that greeted you in that soft winter morning light was Wakatoshi’s sleeping face inches from your own. You thought he looked beautiful as your hands trailed up and traced along the features of his face; thumbs brushing over his cheeks and the edges of his lips. Winters in Tokyo often felt too cold for you on a normal day, but that morning felt different. And that difference was personified in the way Wakatoshi’s arms somehow brought you closer to his figure, one hand under your pillow and the other resting on your hips. His smile was as soft as the way he spoke his “Good morning”, and “I love you”, and up until now, you can never truly forget or taint the memory of how that warmth flooded you.

So as he opened his eyes and looked into yours, you remembered the words your mom always told you and searched for the answer in his. And the answer came to you as your breath hitched in your throat because within the olive pools of his eyes you saw how the love he held for you igniting, flickering, and flourishing. You could feel the apples of your cheeks strain from the stretch of your smile as you felt the echoes of how hard your heart began to beat.

And in that same winter morning, the way he held you flush against him and whispered his I love yous over and over again—made the cold feel a little warmer.

On the third year of being together, he asked you to marry him on a spring afternoon, so you said yes and felt the telltale signs of tears prickling in the corners of your eyes as he slipped the ring on your finger and looked at you beaming. At first you thought that Wakatoshi looked beautiful under the golden hues of a setting sun, but really, he looked beautiful because the love lit in his eyes looked and felt like the licks of fire on a cold night.

So a year later, the day before you walked down the aisle, you visited your mother’s grave and spoke of the man who looked at you like you held worlds on your palms. Wakatoshi stood beside you, in his hands a bouquet of yellow flowers, and you smiled because a week ago he looked at a photo of a smiling woman sitting by a garden of yellow and asked if it was because they were her favorite.

“We’re doing well.” You say and stare at her name painted gold on her tombstone. Wakatoshi doesn’t let the silence stretch because he stands straight and bows deep next to you.

“Thank you for raising her well. I’ll take care of her from now on.”

And he said the same words the next day as you stood with him under the branches of sakura trees midafternoon. Somewhere in the crowd you could see Kageyama smirk as if to tell you that he planned for the two of you to get married from the start, so you smile. Wakatoshi finishes his vows squeezing your hands in his and you meet his gaze—the presence of his love that lit in his mirroring the love raging, roaring, in yours.

Now that you think back to it, you weren’t sure where things began to shift. The nights where your husband wouldn’t come home until much later that night, you sat in the living room and let your thoughts drift. Being married to him for the past two years have nothing been in short of a blessing.

You still woke up next to him with his hands cradling your face, and he still looked at you in that soft way that never failed to get your heart going, but you felt a little stuck.

“Toshi, have I been too greedy? Am I too much?” You once asked him.

He clicked the TV off and faced you, brows slightly raised in question. “What are you talking about?”

“I feel like I’m being too much.” You reply.

His brows furrow and so he does what he does best and takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles and replying with, “Every day you always make me feel full.” He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear before letting you lean on him. “I love you because you overwhelm me with all that you are, (y/n).”

He meets your eyes and you search for the telltale lick of fire in his orbs. And you see it just barely flickering; you tell yourself it could have been false because your eyes were teary then, but the way your heart roared always left you feeling a bit unsettled. You think back to your mother’s words and try to convince yourself that this may have just been a slight hiccup in the road.

There’s no perfect marriage after all, right?

A month after that incident, you sit in your office during your break and pass the time by watching an interview your husband had the week before. Sitting back, you smile as his face appears on the screen after the commercial Kageyama starred in.

He answers the general questions of “How does it feel to finally win against your rival team?” and “What are your goals for next season?” with practiced ease, a trait of his that never ceased to leave you impressed. He had always been crafty with words and had a way of leaving the normally nosy reporters satisfied with his general answers.

Though this reporter may have been a different case because she suddenly blurts out, “So! How are you and your wife doing?”

The question seemed to have caught him off guard, but he recovers quickly and answers, “We’re doing great. Celebrating our third wedding anniversary together tonight.”

“Congratulations!” She expresses, then continues, “Three years! Are you planning on any kids?”

Unconsciously, you find yourself sitting up and listening intently for what his reply would be. The topic with children have been broached a few times over the years, but he was quick to dismiss it and steer the conversation elsewhere.

On the screen, you could see Wakatoshi pause before answering, “We’re still a bit young and busy. But maybe soon, when we’re both ready.”

The reporter nods at his answer and tells him a final goodluck before moving on to interview Kageyama. Wakatoshi stands beside him and looks at the camera, smiling with practiced ease. But you know better, because your heart clenched at the absence of the flickering flame that used to find home in his eyes.

And because Wakatoshi has a way with his words and actions, you shake your head and think that maybe it’s just the camera and weird angles, so you huff out a breath you had been holding, text your husband an ‘I love you! Can’t wait to celebrate tonight.’ and continue your day.

By the time midnight rolls around, the atmosphere was calm. After coming home from dinner, Wakatoshi suggests the two of you watch a movie, so you reply by pulling out the biggest blanket you could find in your shared linen closet. For the next few hours the atmosphere stays nice and calm as you are leaning against Wakatoshi’s frame with his hands mindlessly stroking your hair from time to time. In between lull moments of the movie (that he picked out this time), you look up and revel in the few moments you get to just look at your husband. At what you assumed was a funny scene, you’d see his eyes crinkle in the way it does when he got particularly happy, and he’d smile before letting out a laugh.

And as he lets out another hearty laugh with his eyes crinkling even further you feel the love inside you ignite even brighter; if you closed your eyes you could just picture it pulsing inside of you.

At this point, he probably felt your stare getting a little intense because he looked down at you, still smiling and kissed the tip of your nose.

“You okay?” He asks.

“Yeah. I like looking at you happy.” Came your reply.

So his smile softens as he brings your forehead to his lips. “I love you, Toshi. Happy anniversary to us.” You say and look at him with the love you have inside you—beaming, burning, raging.

But as he stares back at you looking like his love is just flickering, for now you just swallow the lump in your throat and find comfort in the fact that at least something is flickering.

Love can’t be perfect all the time, right?

It was around three am, and knowing that Wakatoshi was still awake did you choose to finally break the silence.

“What do you think about having kids, Toshi?” You suppose it was a good idea on your part to ask that question now, because you couldn’t imagine what kind of expression was on your face at the moment.

“I think it’s good to have them,” Came his reply after a significantly long pause; though before you could reply he continued, “Just don’t think it’s a good idea any time soon.”

“Why not?” You reply, voice a little more hushed.

“There’s still a chance an international team could scout me and if we have kids now, it would throw off our plans.”

You shifted in bed and faced him in the dark. “Toshi, you know I can’t just leave the country like that right? You know how much I love my job and life here. With you.”

His reply came out in the steady tone you were familiar with. “You always supported me, though.”

Your brows furrowed and you were quick to answer. “I do, Toshi. But when the time comes, we need to make those decisions together.”

Shuffling closer to his form, you blindly feel for his face in the dark and press your lips against his.

“I love you.” You tell him

He hums into the kiss and pulls you closer to him as a reply. It was after his breaths were even and you were sure he was asleep that you buried your face deeper in his chest and thought about how much of a good thing it was to have talked to him in the dark where you couldn’t see the fading flicker in his eyes.

Deep known you knew something was shifting, and your mother’s words couldn’t be helped but flash behind your eyes—so you resort to shutting your eyes even tighter and repeating the assurance that everything would be okay over and over again until you eventually succumbed to sleep.

For the next few months, things for you (at least you liked to think), felt slightly off. Wakatoshi hadn’t mentioned the conversation again and resumed to shifting his focus to addressing the mundane things that for those short moments, it felt like everything was fine.

But it took some time to admit that things haven’t. Because not once has he looked straight at you in the nights you were intimate. You started waking up a little earlier than him and spent those extra minutes tracing the contours of his face, but you knew the moment he was awake because he’d always shift his body, turning away from you. And you knew he was aware that you must have gotten the hint because you turn your back too.

And you were glad you couldn’t see his eyes when he kissed your shoulder to what you think is a silent apology because at this point, you didn’t want to know if that flicker had completely dwindled into nothing. So you shut your eyes and try to fall back asleep; ignoring the roaring of your love fighting to be released inside you.

Early in your marriage, Wakatoshi and you indulged in the habit of dancing to the music that permeated the walls of your flat coming from the elderly couple living in the building next to yours. Neither of you were dancers but a simple sway to the beat and your head on his chest sufficed. Wakatoshi often mused at the thought of the couple dancing simultaneously with the two of you in their own quiet space. You liked to think the same too.

And that night, where the two of you sat in the kitchen table with the familiar music floating in from the open window to your left, you feel that flicker of hope tingling on the palms of your hand. Earlier that day, after your routine checkup, you came home cheeks flushed, and heart happy at the news that in you grew a little life from the love you and your husband shared.

On the train ride home you couldn’t help but to clutch at the ultrasound picture and feel the pricks in your eyes because this could finally fix things.

You sit across Wakatoshi, one hand subconsciously touching your stomach and the other fiddling against the edge of the envelope.

Wakatoshi takes his seat across from you and clears his throat before looking at you. “I need to talk to you about something.”

You smile at him. “I do too!”

The slight wince from you tone breezes right past you because you look down and begin pulling out the photo of the ultrasound to show him; then he suddenly speaks,

“I think we should get a divorce.”

Your eyes snap at him and you push the envelope back down your legs. “What?”

Wakatoshi doesn’t raise his head to meet your gaze so you repeat your question, albeit a little louder. “Toshi, what?”

He sighs and looks at anywhere but you. “We’re not happy, (y/n).”

Your hands grip the edge of the photo a little tighter, but you still keep it down. “Did something happen?”

He still doesn’t look at you. “I’ve been feeling a little overwhelmed.”

“So you decide that a divorce is our only option? Because you feel overwhelmed?”

He grimaces at your tone and faces you, though you could tell he was focusing his gaze on the wall behind you. “This doesn’t feel the same anymore, and you don’t deserve that.”

Your heart sinks to your stomach so you first let the silence settle before you grab his hands and place the photograph in front of him. “I’m pregnant, Tosh.”

He stays silent enough for you to take note that your neighbors play another slow song, so that floats through the open window again.

Gingerly, you take a breath, “We can get through this.”

“I got an offer to play for a team in the States, and I don’t want to take you away from your home.”

“You’ve always been my home, Toshi.”

He stays quiet, so you sigh and then speak, “Don’t you love me enough to fight for this?”

He finally looks at you and you suddenly want to sob. Like before, he takes your hands in his and kisses your knuckles gently. The music still plays and you think back to just a few years ago on a night similar to this the two of you had been swaying to what possibly may have been the same song playing now.

But as he looks straight at you and says, “I’m sorry.” you knew his decision was absolute because in his eyes all you saw were cinders from a dying flame.

So now at thirty years old, seventeen years after she left, you visit your mother’s grave and offer a silent prayer. With you, you bring a bouquet of yellow flowers, her favorite, and a story to tell. Your son, age four, stands next to you holding your right hand. You let go as you kneel down and offer a silent prayer. From the corner of your eye, you see your son do the same, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration as he muttered his own prayers to the woman he grew up hearing stories about.

You sit in front of the grave and begin to tell her that after you gave birth and after the divorced was finalized, Wakatoshi left for the states. Your son perks at the mention of his father and animatedly begins talking about how his dad bought him so much toys that they didn’t have in Japan from his recent visit. You smile as you listen because you were happy that Wakatoshi still found the time to be involved in his only son’s life.

He was right; at that time the both of you couldn’t meet in the middle and find a common ground with the splitting direction your lives were taking.

“Maybe there’s a story for us in time.” He’d told you as he first held your son in his arms. And you nodded, answering with a “Maybe.” Because for now, the future really is just a maybe.

Thinking back to the years you were married, he was someone you couldn’t bear to regret. And looking at your mother’s tombstone you suddenly remember her smile and final words to your father. Like her, you found yourself falling in love with a man who couldn’t return that same love in the end—and along with its end, it was okay. Because she, and you, had given it your all.

For a snippet in time, he had loved you in his own way and looked at you with a fire rivaling your own.

And you truly couldn’t bear to regret him because in the end, he had given you your son. The little boy who woke up extra early in the mornings so he could sneak in your bed and cuddle you before he knew he had to get ready for school. The little boy who drew smiley faces with ketchup on your omelet because “Mama, you need to smile more”.

He has Wakatoshi’s eyes, you think to yourself as he looks at you, eyes crinkling from the width of his smile.

He plucks a yellow flower from the bouquet and shuffles closer to you. “Mama, how much did you love your mama?”

You take the flower from his hands and tuck it behind his ear. “A lot.”

He nods and stretches his arms. “This much?”

You peck his forehead and laugh before mirroring his stance, though stretching your arms a little wider. “Nope. Thiiiiiis much!”

He pouts before standing up and walking closer to you, the flower still tucked in his ear (you couldn’t help but laugh because he looked just like his father), “Well, Mama, I love you, “ he pauses to stretch his arms as wide as he could go, “Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much!!”

And just like that you look at his eyes, the familiar pools of olive, gleaming at you kindling a fire that burned so beautifully that you can’t help but choke up because you remember the words your mother told you all those years ago.

In your son’s eyes you see her meaning, because for the first time you understand what she finally meant and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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siancore · 4 years

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Baked With Love Part 2

Read Part 1 Here

Summary:

Bucky Barnes’ family owns a bakery in a small town. High school has long been over, and Bucky is dying to move to the city to pursue a musical career with his band. And his future looks promising, if he can just persuade his father to let him leave his job behind at their struggling family bakery.

It is no secret that Bucky used to love baking with his father, but things change. He just can’t fathom wasting his life away watching rising dough and hot ovens. With his mind made up to leave, Bucky convinces his father to advertise for a replacement. While interviewing candidates to fill the position he has vacated, Bucky meets Sam Wilson: An easy-going guy who is as eager about baking as Bucky is about leaving. They bond over baking and become close. Love looks like it is ready to bloom between them if Bucky, in his haste to escape, does not ruin it.

A/N: Part 1 didn’t have a lot of interest and I’m honestly bummed about it, but here’s Part 2 for those who did enjoy it. Meet-cute, maybe?

“Come on, Sam!” called Misty as she and Riley waited on the sofa. “How long does it take to microwave some popcorn?”

Sam rolled his eyes and shouted back from the kitchen, “I’m not microwaving it. I’m cookin’ it in a heated pan.”

Riley smiled and Misty got up from where she was seated to make her way to the kitchen of Sam’s grandmother’s house. She leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms. Sam turned to look at her, flashing his bright smile.

“You mean to tell me you’re in here cooking the popcorn yourself?” she queried with a raised eyebrow.

Sam shrugged and replied, “Yeah, of course. It tastes better done this way. I can throw in the sea salt and add as much butter as I like. Trust me, you’re gonna love it.”

“Okay, Sammy,” she replied, pushing off the doorframe and backing away. “You’re lucky I trust you.”

…..

The movie was a quarter of the way through and Misty was begging Sam for more popcorn.

“Please, it’s so good. What’d you do to it? I knew you could cook, but damn. You’re even good at popcorn?”

Sam let out an amused laugh and took the empty bowl from his friend.

“It’s different than waiting to use one of the microwaves at the dorms,” said Sam as he sauntered into the kitchen to make some more of the snack for him and his friends. “That’s one thing I don’t miss about school: Having no place to actually cook decent meals.”

“You must be lovin’ it here, then,” said Riley.

“I am. Got the whole kitchen to myself,” said Sam with a somewhat sad little smile.

The movie was long finished, and the three friends lounged about talking.

“I’ve missed this,” Misty proffered. “Us hanging out together.”

“Me, too,” said Sam. “And I miss school, but I needed to do this. I needed to take this time off. And it’s been good. I’m gonna start looking for work, get settled in, and really make the most of it.”

“Find work?” asked Riley with a frown. “How long are you gonna be here, Sam?”

Sam shrugged his shoulders, tilted his head to the side, and said, “Dunno. As long as it takes.”

“What exactly is it?”

“This feeling inside,” Sam tried to explain. “This feeling of being restless and not enjoying things. It’s like, after Gramma passed away, I didn’t feel the same joy for school or cooking or anything like that. I needed to come back here. I hope bein’ here can help me find the joy again, if that makes sense.”

Misty leaned her head on Sam’s shoulder and then said, “It makes perfect sense, baby boy.”

Sam placed his head against hers and smiled.

“Well,” said Misty with a yawn. “I’m gonna head off to bed.”

“You need me to show you?” asked Sam.

“Nah, I got it,” she replied, looking at him and then Riley. “You two have a good night.”

She walked away and then said, “And don’t be too noisy.”

Sam and Riley got through the first half of a well-watched sitcom before Riley spoke up.

“Sammy?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve missed you.”

Sam turned to look at his ex, proffered a gentle smile and said, “Yeah, I’ve missed you, too.”

Riley returned the grin and then leaned in. His lips came close to Sam’s just before the other man pulled away.

“Woah. Riley? What? What’re you doin’?”

“I – I thought…”

“No,” said Sam as he shifted away.

“I thought me coming here meant –”

“That we were getting back together?”

“Yeah.”

“No. That’s not it at all,” Sam explained, as he stood from where he was sitting. “Nothing’s changed. We’re not getting back together. We talked about this. It was good for a while, but I can’t deal with your clinginess and gaslighting. When I called you out on how you were acting, you blamed me, and that’s not cool. I love you, but we’re not gonna work like that.”

“I know,” said Riley, as he searched Sam’s eyes. “I just thought that with some time apart, we could make it work.”

“It’s not gonna work. You’ve got your issues, and I’ll be your friend, but that’s all I can be. And I’m not here to work out your issues for you, Riley. You understand that, right?”

Riley let his head drop and then said, “I know. I know. I just care about you.”

“And I care about you, too,” said Sam, as he sat back down. “But not like that. Not anymore. I can be your friend, but that’s it. You know that.”

A beat of silence passed between them before Riley lifted his gaze and said, “Yeah, I know. I get it. I do.”

Sam offered a nod of his head and said, “Okay.”

Riley tried to smile back at Sam as he said, softly, “Okay.”

Bucky was excited and pleased that his father had actually agreed to his proposal about hiring someone else to help out at the Bakery. They had put the adverts out and had a decent response. Presently, both father and son were interviewing those who had applied for the job. It was slow going, and, if Bucky was being completely honest, the candidates were not the best.

The first person he interviewed had no experience at all, and while George wanted to help them out with steady work, they just didn’t have the skillset he was looking for. The second interviewee said outright that they didn’t like waking up early. That would be a problem, considering a baker needed to arrive early to start baking. The third had no idea what the job entailed; they were just throwing job applications out into the universe and hoping for the best. The next asked if free pastries were part of the job. The rest were just not right, plain and simple. Bucky was disappointed and his father was tired.

As George cleared away the applications from the table in the back of the bakery. He filed them away and then returned to where his son was seated, head in his hands.

“We tried, Buck,” said George, as he placed a hand to his shoulder. “Sorry, honey. You had a good idea, it just didn’t work.”

Bucky shrugged and said, “Thanks for letting me try. I’m gonna close up and then go hang out with Steve and the guys.”

He then stood and walked out to the front of the shop to lock up.

“How am I ever gonna leave this place?” asked Bucky as T’Challa, Steve, and Okoye gave him sympathetic looks.

“It’ll happen,” said Okoye.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “We’ll find an apartment, soon, and then we’ll be outta here.”

“You know it’s not the end of the world, right?” T’Challa asked.

“I know,” Bucky replied. “I’m just ready to leave. I’m ready for all the gigs we’re gonna play. I’m ready to get out here.”

“True, but we gotta be realistic,” Steve added. “It’ll happen, but it’ll take time. There’s no need to rush.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Stevie,” Bucky replied, feeling crestfallen. “You have options. For me, it’s either stay here and make bread for the rest of my life, or finally try to make this music thing work. That’s it. That’s all I got.”

“Buck –”

“Don’t,” said Bucky as he stood to leave. “I’m gonna go home.”

With that, he made his way toward the exit.

It wasn’t too late by the time Bucky made it home. He searched his pockets for the house keys and then realised his phone wasn’t there. He cursed under his breath and then remembered that he left the device in the Bakery. Sighing loudly, Bucky made his way down to the shop.

He switched on the lights and found the device sitting atop the counter in the front of the Bakery. He leaned against the counter a beat, checked for messages, and then placed the phone securely in his pocket. Out of habit, he walked to the front door to make sure it was locked. Just then, Bucky was startled by a figure on the other side of the door. A friendly face smiled at him and then waved. Bucky vaguely recognized the young man on the other side of the glass. He unlocked the door and then peered out.

“Hey, sorry, we’re closed,” said Bucky, taking in the man’s appearance; he was possibly the cutest guy Bucky had ever seen in his life.

The guy held up a job application and said, “Sorry, but I ah, I heard there was a job going here?”

Bucky found himself staring a moment, before coming to his senses and saying, “Yeah, but uh, you’re gonna have to come back when we’re open.”

“Okay, cool,” said the stranger, flashing a bashful smile.

“Cool,” Bucky replied, at a loss for words and completely struck by the gorgeous face staring back at him.

“I’m Sam, by the way,” the other young man said. “I think I saw you the other day on your scooter.”

Bucky smiled coyly and ran his hand through his hair, “Yeah, that was me. I uh noticed you, too.”

“Cool, well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, man. Tomorrow.”

The pair held one another’s gaze a moment longer as Sam began to back away.

“Wait!” Bucky called out, stopping Sam in his tracks.

“Yeah?” Sam asked, placing his free hand in his pocket.

Bucky cleared his throat and then asked, “Why do you want this job?”

Sam’s face lit up at the question and Bucky thought his heart had stopped beating.

“I just really love to cook,” Sam explained. “Baking especially. I’m going to culinary school, actually; that’s how much I love it. I’m taking a break to sort some things out right now. But I want this job because I can do something I love while I figure things out.”

Bucky gave him a gentle smile and said, “Hey, that’s really nice. We could use someone like you. I mean, it ain’t up to me, but you’re already like a hundred times better than the other applicants.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, dude,” said Bucky as he marvelled at Sam’s pretty brown eyes. “Come back first thing tomorrow and we’ll see what happens.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate the chance. See you tomorrow,” said Sam as he flashed a bright beam at the other man.

“Yeah,” said Bucky as his tummy did a hundred little flips at the sight of Sam’s smile. “See you soon.”

#sambucky #sambucky fanfiction #siancore: baked with love #awww i honestly think this might be a flop :(#i dunno i dunno i dunno #shall post to ao3 later

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hemmingslftv · 4 years

Text

Reuniting // M.C. - chapter two

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: drug recovery and drug use, pregnancy and abortion mention,

Not requested but requests are open

A/N: hi guys! I need to say I’m not too happy about how this one turned out. I had the idea in my mind for so long that I feel like it is so hard to put it into words now. I feel like this isn’t as realistic as I want it to be but I’ve been stuck here and I feel like I owe you a chapter. I may edit this one later or maybe not. Also there may be some typos, I’m sorry about that. Please tell me what you think about it, feedback is very appreciated. Enjoy!

Masterlist

You had spent the last 20 minutes pacing around your house. You didn’t remember a time when you had been this nervous since the day Jake was born. As soon as you heard de doorbell you ran to open the door.

“Hi”, Michael said as you opened it.

“Hey, come inside”, you said feeling a little bit awkward and once you had closed the door you took him on a quick tour around your apartment.

“You and Jake have a nice home, it’s big but cozy at the same time, I like it”

“Thanks! Let’s sit on the couch, I guess I owe you an explanation” you sat facing each other and you took a deep breath trying to figure out how to explain everything that had happened since you two broke up.

“I just don’t really know where to start”, you said, feeling overwhelmed by the situation and covering your face with your hands.

“Hey, you’re shaking. Calm down, it’s just me, okay? You don’t owe me anything, just tell me whenever you’re ready” Michael said as he rubbed your back but instead of calming down you started crying. It wasn’t even a loud cry, tears started to leave your eyes because you finally felt like you weren’t alone in this anymore and you were afraid he would leave again after you spoke.

“It’s fine, y/n, cry it out” he hugged you tight and you stayed in that position for almost 20 minutes until you could speak normally again. It surprised you how familiar his touch felt even after all this time and how it made you feel at home.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sure you have somewhere better to be”, you said as you sat back in the original position and wiped away the tears left in your cheeks.

“Don’t be sorry, this must have been very hard for you. I’m the one who should be sorry. And I canceled everything for today, I really don’t think there’s anything more important than this”

“But you just released an album, aren’t you supposed to be doing interviews and stuff? I don’t want to harm your career in any way”

“Don’t worry about that it’s just one day and besides, I’m in a band, remember? There are three other guys to take care of things. Just relax, don’t think about any of that. This is what’s important now, okay?” you nodded.

“The thing is that it won’t be just a day and being honest I’m so scared you’ll leave after I tell you but if that’s your decision I guess it’s fine, I can do this alone, I always have and I can’t ask you to do anything after almost 3 years” Michael placed his hand on your chin and lift it up softly.

“I’m not leaving, do you hear me? I’m here now. Start from the beginning and just speak, you’ve always been good at explaining things” you took one last deep breath and started speaking.

“Okay. You know I always respected your decision. When you cut me off your life I knew you were doing it because you needed to, it was the healthy thing to do, we weren’t good for each other at that time. And I want you to know that even after everything that’s happened I think you did the right thing so don’t blame yourself. I mean, look at you! You’re more healthy and handsome than you’ve ever been and that’s what you deserve!” Michael blushed at your words and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh my god, Michael! There’s no way you still haven’t gotten used to compliments, you’re a superstar!”

“You know I’m shy! That will never change” he said laughing with you.

“Fair enough. Well, so as I said, this is not your fault, I know you tend to feel guilty about a lot of things and I don’t want you to feel bad about this, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll try not to feel bad”

“Perfect. So, as you told me to and as I’m sure you remember since that was the only time you hadn’t been high in more than two weeks, I packed all my stuff and left your house before you came back from that promo trip” he nodded.

“I went back to live with my parents until I found a new place and then I moved here. I remember it as if it was yesterday. The second night I slept here, when I went to bed I checked my phone as I always do and I had a notification from my period app that said it was late by one week. I thought it probably was because of the stress with the breakup, the move, and everything and so I decided not to think much about it, it wasn’t the first time it had happened.

I kept myself busy with university and I found a job at a bar so I had less free time, I didn’t want to think about us much. It was really hard for me to understand that we were done and I couldn’t call you when I was feeling down or talk to you about things. Also, I had to find new friends and I’m sure all your friends hate me now because I left without an explanation but it was the best thing for you to not have me around anymore so I knew I had to do it”

“I really am sorry about that. I shouldn’t have asked you to distance yourself from them, they were your friends just as much as mine. You must have missed the girls so much, you and Kaykay were practically sisters... that was so selfish”

“Michael, I said it’s okay. I understood why you did it. The thing is that I was trying so hard to focus on other stuff that I was so busy I didn’t realize I never had my period that month. So the next month when the app warned me the next one was supposed to come in two days I literally panicked. I didn’t know who to call because I wasn’t that close to my new friends yet so I just cried myself to sleep on the kitchen floor. The next morning I bought a pregnancy test and, as you probably can guess, it was positive. I can’t put into words everything I felt at that moment. I was terrified because I didn’t wanna go through a pregnancy and raise a child all by myself and also because I hadn’t planned it and you know I always plan everything. I’m not gonna lie, the first few days I seriously considered having an abortion but eventually, I decided I was ready to be a mom and I knew I could financially take care of the baby and give him a great life and you know I always said I wanted kids so I figured it had just come a little earlier than I expected but that it was fine.

Once I had decided I was gonna have the baby I called you, and I knew you weren’t gonna pick up the phone but I said to myself I had to at least try. You obviously didn’t pick up so I called my mother instead and she was the most supportive person ever since the first moment she knew. So that’s how things went I guess”

“Why didn’t you come to see me? You knew I had deleted your number but you could have told me in person”

“Michael you literally told me, and I quote “I don’t want you around anymore, I’m hurting you and that’s the last thing I want to do. I would never forgive myself if things escaleted more than they did last night and I don’t trust myself anymore. I’m gonna get help, I promise. And if I ever feel strong enough I’ll find you and we can try this again. I’m begging you to let me go and don’t ever contact me again. Please forgive me, I love you” and left the house. That was the last time I ever talked to you”

“No, I know that, but I never thought about the possibility that you were pregnant!”

“Me neither, but I was. And all I did was respect your decision”

“You could have come to me, you know I would have taken care of you and the baby”

“I know you would have, and that’s why I didn’t tell you. You needed to focus on yourself so you could be a great dad, and that’s what I told myself”

“But you took away my choice, you decided for me!” Michael said standing up and raising his voice.

“Are you yelling at me right now? You can’t be serious” You stood up too and started yelling back at him too with tears filling your eyes.

“You have no idea how hard it is for me to know that Jake could have had a father but I chose for him not to. I always thought you’d show up someday, you know? Throughout the whole pregnancy and even his first year, every time I got a call from a random number or a knock on the door I expected to find you on the other side. Because YOU told me I needed to give you time to heal and you’d come looking for me when you were ready. So I decided based on your own words that Jake could wait a year for his father if that meant you’d be better for him, for me, and for yourself. But you never showed up. So you don’t get to tell me I’ve taken your choice because this was all your decision”

“I just”

“No, you just what? You have no idea how painful it was to accept you weren’t coming back. And it was even harder because I saw you on the news, I heard you on the radio and every time it felt like I was the bad one for keeping Jake a secret but I had to remind myself that it was you who asked me to literally never contact you again”

“You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry. I guess I’m still processing everything and it just hurts to know that I haven’t seen him grow up and I’ve lost the first years of his life because of the stupid addiction”

“Believe me. I get that. And I am sorry about it but what was I supposed to do? You had finally decided to get help and I couldn’t be the one to ruin that”

“You did the right thing, I’m sorry. I couldn’t thank you enough for everything you’ve always done for me. I’ve thought about reaching out to you a million times but I thought you probably hated me after everything I put you through, especially that last night. God, you should hate me! I convinced myself you had probably moved on and you deserved someone who would treat you better so I tried to forget about you” Michael confessed in a more quiet tone and sitting back on the couch.

“I don’t hate you Michael, I want you to know I forgive you. You weren’t yourself, those were the drugs talking and I know you would have never done any of that sober”

“But still, it never should have happened. Earlier, when you let me hug you, I felt so relieved because I didn’t know if you’d be comfortable with me touching you ever again. I am so deeply sorry” his voice cracked and this time it was you hugging him and rubbing his back.

“We’re past that now, okay?” you said once he had calmed down.

“Does he know who I am?” Michael asked.

“What?”

“Jake. What does he know about his father?”

“Oh, at first I didn’t talk to him about you because I didn’t know what to say but my mother convinced me it was important for him to know from a young age just so he wouldn’t be confused. So I told him you were a musician and that you were on a really long trip but you would eventually come back. My parents have always helped me a lot with him so he has never been lonely and he didn’t ask about you until recently. But the past few months he has been saying he wanted you to come back”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think it is because he’s noticed how in kindergarten most kids have two parents and he has just one around”

“Do you want me to be around, y/n? I mean, I imagine this can be a lot of change, going from single parent to us being two but I want to be there for him. I want to take care of him but I feel like this should be a decision we have to make together, I can’t just come into your lives without permission after being gone for so long. So I’m asking you if I can, please, be in your life again” you stared into Michael’s eyes and you knew he was being sincere, you could tell he really wanted this and how serious he was about it.

“Yes, of course. I’d love for you to be Jake’s dad and I’m sure he’ll like you”

“Thank you so much. I promise I will never let you down again. However, I need to say I don’t know how to be a parent. I’ve always been good with kids but they weren’t mine so I don’t know”

“Don’t worry about that, just be you and it will come as an instinct. You know it will take most of your time, right? I mean, this is not like taking Rose for a walk or something, you need to be here for him all the time. If you come into his life you need to promise me you will stay, okay?”

“I promise, I want us to be a family. Do you really think he’ll like me?” Michael asked with a hopeful tone on his voice.

“I’m so sure he will, you two have a lot of things in common”

“Oh, we do?”

“Yep, he loves videogames, just like his father”

“Really?” Michael said getting more and more excited about all of this making you giggle.

“Yeah and he also loves your music”

“He’s listened to our music?”

“Of course! I didn’t say I liked your music because you were my boyfriend, I really love it so I listen to it and also I wanted him to have you a little bit closer”

“That’s so sweet of you, you’re amazing” you smiled at his words.

“Do you know what else you have in common? You’re middle name”

“You did not!”

“Oh yes, I did. I hadn’t even thought about it until I was registering the name but I guess it was the hormones or something and I thought since he didn’t have your last name he should have your middle name”

“Jake Gordon, oh my god poor boy!”

“I know!” you said and you both started laughing.

“So, is it okay if I stay for lunch and I spend the afternoon getting to know him?” Michael asked after a few minutes.

“I think it would be better if I talked to him first. As you saw yesterday, he’s a shy kid and I believe it will be easier for him if I prepare him. You may have to be patient, it takes him a while to be comfortable around new people”

“Oh, that’s okay, I get it, I was a shy kid too” Michael said but you noticed a sad tone on his voice, you could tell he was disappointed he had to wait one more day to spend time with Jake.

You and Michael spent the rest of the morning talking about how your lives had changed these past few years and you showed him pictures and videos of Jake. When it was time he left and you agreed he would come again the next afternoon. You didn’t want to get your hopes up because you had been waiting for this moment so much time it didn’t even feel real but you were too excited about Michael being around you couldn’t help it and you started imagining how things would be from now on.

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || Also on AO3

Chapter 48: Sasha

“Yes, of course. I’ll—I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Sasha disconnects the call and stares at her cell phone for a long moment. She’s worked at the Magnus Institute for almost seven years now, been in the Archives for almost two. She honestly thought she’d lost the ability to be afraid of anything the mundane world could dish up anymore.

But that phone call…

“You okay, Sash?” Melanie’s voice seems to be coming from a long distance away.

With difficulty, Sasha pulls herself together and looks up. It’s just the two of them in the Archives right now, since Martin and Tim are both at lunch; Melanie’s already taken hers, and Sasha will go as soon as one of the others gets back. She’s not really hungry anymore, though.

“I’m fine,” she lies, then stops. They’re trying, they’re all making the effort not to lie to one another or downplay when things are bad. Tim and Martin both know her well enough to call her on it when she does it, and they’re also connected to the Eye well enough to be able to at least get a sense when she does. Melanie doesn’t and isn’t, and it’s not fair to her to keep her in the dark. “It’s my uncle.”

Something in Melanie’s face shifts, and she half-closes her laptop. “Is he sick?”

“No—I don’t know. He just said he has something he needs to talk to me about in person. They’re making an exception for me to come see him today.” Sasha rubs her forehead. “That’s not normal, Mel.”

“O…kay,” Melanie says slowly. “You usually…can’t visit him whenever you want? What, is it a prison or something?”

Sasha winces, remembering that Melanie wasn’t part of the team when she told them. “Yes, actually. He’s in HMP Pentonville.”

Melanie covers her mouth with a hand. “Oh, God, Sasha, why didn’t you shut me up? My big mouth—”

“It’s fine. You didn’t know.” Sasha manages a smile. “But yeah. I don’t know what he’s in for, but if he wants to see me today, and they’re letting me…whatever’s going on can’t be good.”

“Can you, like—” Melanie wiggles her fingers in the universal gesture of mystical bullshit. “—Know what it is?”

“I mean…maybe? I’m trying really hard not to use that outside of…you know, work. I don’t want to risk falling too deeply into it, or—or hurting myself, or someone else.” Sasha sighs. “I think it might be too far away, though. Honestly, I think the only way to find out what’s going on is to go out there myself.”

“Go out where?”

The voice makes both Sasha and Melanie jump. She looks up quickly to see Martin coming towards them, a bag of leftovers dangling from one hand. He looks about like he’s looked since Jon left—tired, worried, and faintly stressed. “Martin, Jesus. Heard from Jon yet?”

“Yeah, did you not see the text?” Martin frowns at her slightly. “I thought he sent it to the group chat.”

Now that she thinks about it, Sasha remembers hearing a slight beep while she was on her phone call, but she didn’t think about it twice. She checks her phone and sees two new texts—one from Jon saying he was changing buses, one from Tim asking what he was changing them into. Rolling her eyes fondly, she sets it down. “No, I—I was on the phone. My uncle called. He wants to see me today.”

“Oh.” Martin’s expression is one of mingled sympathy and concern. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know. That’s what we were talking about. I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t want to…you know.” Sasha makes the same gesture Melanie made a few moments ago.

Martin nods in understanding. “Did you have anything time-sensitive you were doing today?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Then I don’t think Jon would mind you taking the rest of the day off. I know you won’t be able to get to Pentonville and back in the span of your lunch break, and this seems…kind of important.” Martin reaches over and squeezes Sasha’s hand gently. “Let us know if you need anything.”

Sasha smiles and squeezes back. “Thanks, Martin. I’ll keep you all posted.”

An hour later, she’s seated in a room at the prison, jiggling her foot nervously and waiting. It’s one of the small, private rooms usually set aside for attorneys to consult with their clients, which is unusual; normally she has to conduct her visits in a loud, noisy room with a Plexiglas divider between them. A private conversation, on a weekday, out of the clear blue sky? Either something has gone terribly wrong or she’s been lied to.

There’s a familiar whirring sound, and Sasha reaches into her pocket to pull out the tape recorder. She very most definitely did not have this with her when she left; she shut it in her desk drawer before heading out, and it hadn’t been in her pocket when they searched her. She hopes she won’t get in trouble for having it.

As the thought crosses her mind, the door opens and, with a clank of chains, a figure is escorted in. A gruff voice instructs her to buzz for help if there’s an issue, and then the door closes and leaves the two of them alone together.

There’s another clank as the man leans forward, smiling hopefully. “Sasha.”

Sasha smiles back, genuinely pleased but worried at the same time. “Hello, Uncle Wade.”

The family resemblance between them is obvious. Both of them have the same facial structure, the same shape to their eyes, the same skin tone. They’d looked enough alike once to switch places, when Sasha was eighteen and going through a phase and shaved her head. Now, though, after almost a decade in prison, Wade Copper looks old enough to be her father—gaunt, thin, his once-dark hair almost solid grey despite the fact that he’s only in his mid-forties. Every time she’s seen him, he’s tried to smile for her, tried to stay cheerful as he asks about her work, tried to convince her things aren’t so bad for him, but she knows. She can see the weight of imprisonment bearing him down.

Today, though, is different. Today his eyes are sparkling, his smile seems real, and he seems to be barely keeping something contained. She has no idea what it is, but it seems like he’s…excited.

Sudden panic strikes her, and she very quickly throws up those mental blocks Jon Prime has been teaching them. The absolute last thing she wants is to take the surprise away from the man who’s had so few to give her over the years.

“Is everything okay?” she asks instead. “You said we needed to talk and—”

“No, no, everything’s fine. Everything’s fine,” Wade assures her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just had some news for you. It could have—are you on your lunch break? Do we need to—”

“I took the afternoon off. My boss is out of town at the moment, so the three—well, the four of us, we’ve got a new coworker—we’re sort of running things ourselves. When the others found out you wanted to talk to me, they suggested I just call it a day. We’ve got all the time in the world.” Sasha smiles. “What’s going on?”

Wade’s smile broadens. “I’m coming home.”

It takes Sasha a second to process that, and then she sits up straighter. “You’re getting released?”

“I heard back from the parole board this morning. I didn’t tell you I was going up because I didn’t want to get your hopes up, but I had the hearing a few weeks ago. Today I got word that they’ve decided I’m a good candidate for release.”

“That’s—that’s wonderful!” Sasha says.

Wade’s smile slips, just a little. “You don’t sound so sure about that. What’s the matter, Puddle-Duck?”

It’s been forever and a day since he called her that—an old family nickname bestowed on her after her favorite bedtime story, the one she used to beg to be read over and over. She’d trailed after her Uncle Wade “like a little duckling” from the time she could walk, and the “duckling” nickname had eventually morphed into Puddle-Duck. He hasn’t used it since she was about twelve, though, and hearing it now almost makes her cry.

“Nothing,” she says, unconvincingly. “It’s just—there’s a lot going on. That’s all.”

“I won’t be an imposition,” Wade says earnestly. “I’ve managed to save up a bit while I’ve been in here from the work I’ve been doing in the prison library. I should be able to get a place. I won’t be in your way—”

“No, it’s not that at all!” Sasha feels horribly guilty. “I’d be happy to have you stay with me. Of course I would. I’ve got loads of space and—and I’ve missed you so much. It’s just that…”

It’s just that the world might end in a year if they can’t stop it. It’s just that she’s trying to figure out a way to pretend to stop a ritual that she knows won’t succeed even if they do nothing without letting the man who does have a ritual that will work know she knows it. It’s just that she’s developing incredibly invasive psychic powers and doesn’t know if she can live with another person who doesn’t know about it. It’s just that the world is objectively terrifying and she doesn’t know if she can lie about it to the only family she has left or let him believe he’s safe.

“It’s just that there’s been a lot going on in the world since you’ve been in here,” she finally says. “I—I worry that you might—that it might be a lot for you to adjust to.”

“Hey, I raised you, didn’t I?” Wade teases. “If I can handle losing my sister and my parents in one fell swoop, especially to…that, and then turn a six-year-old into a relatively functional adult despite barely having passed my A-levels when I started, I think I can handle anything the world thinks it can throw at me. Bring it on.”

Sasha’s whole body tingles. She clasps her hands together tightly to hide the shaking and focuses very hard on that mental block. There’s something there. A secret. A story. Something in the way he said that has the Eye’s attention and it wants to use her. She can’t let it, she can’t…

“Sasha? Sasha, what’s wrong? Are you—Christ, I’m sorry.” Wade reaches for her hands, manacles jangling, then grunts as the chain binding him to the table stops them halfway. “I shouldn’t have brought that up, I shouldn’t have—are you still having that nightmare?”

Sasha can’t help the slightly brittle laugh that escapes her lips. “I don’t have room for my own nightmares anymore, Uncle Wade. Especially ones in red-on-black binary.”

Wade frowns at her in evident confusion. “What do you mean? Who else’s nightmares would you have?”

Shit, Sasha thinks. “It’s a long story. And I don’t think you’d believe it.”

“It’s you, Sash. I’d believe you if you said the sky was green. Anyway, after what I’ve seen, trust me, there’s not much that’s unbelievable.”

Sasha looks hard at her uncle, then glances at the recorder, spinning away. She should have known. Should have realized that if it’s turning on, there’s something he’s seen. He’s been touched by one of the Fears. And she can’t—she can’t—

“It’s got to do with work,” she finally says. “Part of the Archive job—when I, when I listen to people tell me about something they’ve encountered or seen or, or done, if it’s something that really happened…I end up dreaming about it. I’ve only got a couple, but…it does mean I haven’t had any dreams of my own since I started doing that.”

Wade blinks at her. Softly, he says, “So it is real. I knew it.”

“What, the paranormal?”

“Not just that.” Wade hesitates. “I never—I never told you how I wound up here, did I?”

“No, just—you said it was something to do with you hacking into something you shouldn’t have,” Sasha says slowly. “You never explained.”

“Truthfully, I never fully understood it much beyond what I told you. I don’t even know exactly what I did hack into,” Wade says, a bit ruefully. “I suppose it was the culmination of a project, in a sense, but—it wasn’t intentional.”

“What do you mean?”

Wade takes a deep breath. “The short version? I was hunting a computer virus, trying to trace where it came from. I suppose the path led through something I shouldn’t have been looking at and I got arrested. It fell enough under the Official Secrets Act that they could justify locking me up for it. But I swear, Sash, just like I’ve been telling everyone for years, I wasn’t hacking for secrets. I was trying to save lives.”

“I believe you,” Sasha says, because she does. If there’s anyone in the world she trusts completely, it’s her uncle. And really, this is the most mundane thing she’s been asked to believe in ages. “I just don’t—I don’t understand how tracing a computer virus can save lives. Unless it was infecting hospital computers or something like that.”

“No, that would have made sense.” Wade sighs. “Computer viruses aren’t supposed to be able to infect humans, but…this one did. O-or something like that. I honestly don’t know how to explain it, but…well, if working at that institute of yours is giving you other people’s nightmares, maybe you’ll know better than I do.” He ponders for a moment. “That’s probably a big part of why I got locked up, honestly. I couldn’t explain why I was hunting the computer virus without sounding insane, so I didn’t try. I mean, what was I supposed to say? ‘Yes, Your Honor, I wasn’t even aware of what system I was in, I was just looking for the origin of a bit of coding that killed my entire family’?”

Sasha freezes. The static in her mind gets louder and more insistent. “I don’t understand,” she says with difficulty, rather afraid that she does. He’s right, computer viruses aren’t supposed to infect humans, so if one did…it must belong to one of the Fears. She just can’t imagine which one.

Wade hesitates. “I—I don’t—Sasha, Puddle-Duck, if you don’t—you don’t remember what happened, do you?”

“To Mum and Dad? No.” The doctor said it was to be expected; she was six years old at the time, and it had been a rough experience. She had blacked out most of it, and honestly a lot of her memories from before that point as well. She remembers huddling in a closet with her teddy bear clutched tightly to her chest, hearing her uncle screaming her name, clinging to him tightly after he found her, both of them sobbing as he promised over and over that he would protect her, that he would never leave her, but for the life of her, she can’t remember what she was hiding from. The nightmare she had for years, one that made her wake up screaming almost until she left for uni, hadn’t been specific. She just remembers strings of ones and zeros in constantly shifting columns, blood-red on a black background, scrolling past her vision, but something in the code is terrifying and wrong…

“I don’t want you to have those nightmares.” Wade reaches for her hands again, looking conflicted. “You deserve to know, but…but if your job means that if people tell you those stories, you’ll dream about them too—I’ve had to train myself out of waking up screaming. It’s bad. I don’t want to do that to you, too.”

“It’s not—it’s not exactly like that.” Sasha wonders how to phrase it, then decides, to hell with it. He says he’ll believe her. She might as well tell the truth. It’s not like they’re being recorded by anything other than the spooling tapes, and there aren’t exactly eyes around for Elias to watch through, as far as she knows. She takes her uncle’s hands. “There’s a being…a thing that thrives on fear. I mean, there are a lot of them, but there’s one in particular that lives off of the fear of—of knowledge and secrets being exposed and being watched and all that.”

Wade gives a bitter laugh. “It must love prisons then.”

“In fact, the Institute is built over the remains of the old Millbank Prison, probably right where Smirke was testing out the panopticon design. And that’s the thing. The Institute…kind of belongs to that being. Which means I do, too.” Sasha takes a deep breath. “Sometimes I can—I can tell secrets without trying. I’m not right now,” she adds hastily. “I’ve been working on not…accidentally reading people’s minds or whatever. But the other part of it is the statements. When people tell us their stories and we dream about them? We’re not taking the place of the person dreaming about them. We’re…watching, I guess. Observing. We’re just…there.” She squeezes Wade’s hands. “So if you tell me, Uncle Wade, and I do end up sharing your nightmares, maybe it’ll be better. Because then you won’t have to look at them alone.”

Wade stares at her for a long moment, then nods slowly. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. I’ll tell you. You need to know, anyway.”

Sasha smiles, as reassuringly as she can, and glances at the tape recorder. “Do you want to make this…official? I can do, um, I can do the whole spiel we do at the Institute. Put it on the record. We can do some research, maybe.”

“Will it help?”

“It might.”

“Then…okay. Lay it on me.”

Sasha puts the tape recorder between them and takes her uncle’s hands again. Clearly, she says, “Statement of Wade Copper, regarding a murderous computer virus. Recorded direct from subject, twenty-first March, 2017.” She nods at her uncle. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Wade swallows. “Right. Well, you know I’ve always been into computers. I loved coding and programming and seeing what I could do. One of my favorite things to code up were the games, especially interactive fiction. I subscribed to a couple magazines where people would publish the codes for games they’d developed, and I would put them in and play them. I owned a couple that I bought commercially, too. One of the ones I had that I was most excited about was The Hound of Shadows. The story sounded right up my alley—a proper creepy one—but it turned out to have one of the worst parsers I’ve ever seen, and I struggled to finish it. I was crushed.

“I was looking around for something that was like that but…better? Tried my hand at coding it myself, but you know me, I’ve never been all that at coming up with a story of my own. Did a couple reasonably decent games based on a few of the stories I liked, but it wasn’t the same. Around the time I was finishing up my A-levels, some classmates and I were talking about interactive fiction, and I was complaining about Hound. That’s when one of my mates told me about a game he’d recently come across. He said he couldn’t finish it because it was too scary for him, but he thought I’d like it. It was called The Conqueror Worm.”

As he talks, Wade’s eyes go vacant and his shoulders slack; it’s like the words are pouring out of him independent of his will. Sasha never takes her eyes off him. The story fills her the same way Basira’s did, the same way Tim and Martin’s tale of the Not-Them did, the same way that man with the dog’s story did last week. She’s just aware enough of the situation to feel guilty about it, but she can’t stop him now if she tries.

“I managed to get my hands on a copy,” Wade continues. “As soon as I’d finished my exams, but while I was still waiting for the results to come back, I loaded it up on our computer. My friend was right—it was exactly what I was looking for. Interactive fiction. According to the cover, it was ‘loosely’ based on the Edgar Allan Poe poem, which I’d never heard at that point, but if it was Poe I knew it’d be spooky. The story was wonderful, the parser was the best I’d ever seen. Sometimes it was like talking to a real person—like that one Sergey Ushanka bot you and I spent the evening with when you were eight, you remember?” Sasha nods. “Anyway, I was really into it. The idea was that you were the manager of a theater that was putting on a new play, but something was trying to sabotage it, something inhuman and unholy. Started off normal enough, got creepy right fast. I had this constant sense of creeping dread. I loved it.

“The weird thing about this one, though, was that every so often you’d start to do something and suddenly three pixels would turn red. Always three, two in one row and one in between them in the row immediately above or below, and then they’d switch places a few times before disappearing. At first I thought it was a glitch. Then I realized it was intentional, that it was something to do with commands. I finally figured out that if the pixels appeared, you’d done something right.

“I started tracking the commands and decisions that got the wiggling pixels to appear, then started doing them more. Better. Started getting two, three, four at a time. I was sure it meant I was going to win. By the time I got to ‘opening night’ of the play, I could generally make upwards of ten appear every time I made the right choices. The thing is that ‘opening night’ was the big climax of the game, and there was only one command you could type: ‘The Show Must Go On’. Once you typed that, the play started and you watched to see if you got it right. You wanted to see the ‘play’, but I knew it was a horror game, so I told you to let me watch it first, and if it wasn’t too scary, you and I would play on Saturday. You pretended to accept that, but I knew you were angry. I could hear you yelling halfway across the house. At the time, I kind of thought it was funny, actually.”

Sasha vaguely remembers this now. She was bitterly disappointed—Uncle Wade always let her “help” with his games—so she waited until she was out of the room, then stomped off to the living room where her parents and grandparents were playing a card game and loudly declared that he was the meanest meanie to ever mean. Her mother laughed and said he was always like that, and her grandfather swept her onto his lap and offered to let her be his partner, until…

“What happened then?” she asks.

Wade takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I typed in the command, and I watched. The ‘play’ started, and…there was a voice. Reciting a poem. I guess it was the Poe poem. The ‘actors’ were performing along to the words, but then I noticed the wiggling pixels. One by one, slowly at first, then more and more. They started in the corners, then gradually started moving inwards. But see, amid the mimic rout, a crawling shape intrude. While I was watching, the wiggling pixels crept in an ever-increasing wave towards the ‘stage.’ That’s when I realized it was all the ones I’d been rewarded with for making the right choices. The voice got louder and more desperate-sounding, and then the pixels—I finally realized they were supposed to be worms—swarmed the ‘actors’ and…the screen went red, and then it went black. All the while the voice was still talking. And then it was just the black screen, with the text in blood red, appearing as the voice spoke the words.”

He swallows hard. “I—I looked up the poem. Later. It’s a real poem, ‘The Conqueror Worm’. The plot does follow the…events of the final scene of the game, up to a point. It’s a play, and then a worm—or in the game’s case, many worms—shows up and eats all the actors. The last four lines are…chilling.” He closes his eyes and recites, “And the angels, all pallid and wan, / Uprising, unveiling, affirm / That the play is the tragedy ‘Man,’ / And its hero the Conqueror Worm.”

A chill runs up Sasha’s spine. “I know that poem. He used it in ‘Ligeia’.”

“Maybe. But what got me…what really spooked me at the time, was that the words on the screen weren’t…right. I didn’t know that at the time. I thought it odd. But the voice spoke them, exactly as they appeared on the screen. Instead of ‘The play is the tragedy “Man”’…it said, ‘The play is the tragedy “Guy Copper.”’ The voice even said Dad’s name. I remember thinking that was a creepy coincidence. And then…” Wade takes another deep breath, and there are tears in his eyes. “I heard a noise from another room, like someone shouting. I turned to look, and when I turned back, the words were changing, morphing almost. Computers didn’t work like that back then, Sash, the graphics weren’t—I know you know that. But it was like the name blurred. And then the voice said those four lines again, but with the new name. And the angels, all pallid and wan, / Uprising, unveiling, affirm / That the play is the tragedy ‘Mary Copper,’ / And its hero the Conqueror Worm.”

The memories are starting to come back. A red wash fills her mind, then the screaming, then her mother pushing her away…oh, God. “And the next name—the next name was ‘Marjorie James’?”

“Yes,” Wade whispers. “And that’s when the screaming started. I was screaming, too. I was—I was convinced it was the game, that it was—I kept hitting keys, backspacing over and over, typing EXIT and hitting the Escape key and—nothing worked. It shifted from Margie’s name to Hugh’s, and…I thought about how many worms had been on the screen, how many ‘successes’ I thought I’d had, and I was suddenly terrified. It started to change again, and I—I dove under the table and I pulled the plug. The sound died. The light died. The screaming stopped, all at once.

“I went running and—and I found them. Mum and Dad, Margie and Hugh, all sprawled around the card table. They were all dead. They were—they were full of worms, Sasha. Blood-red ones. I didn’t know if they’d been red before they…” Wade inhales shakily and looks away. The tears are rolling down his face now. “I called 999, I was trying to tell them what had happened, but—but then I realized I couldn’t find you. I shouted at the poor woman to hurry and I dropped the phone and went looking for you. I was terrified that I’d been too late…but there you were, hiding in my closet with your teddy bear. You had blood on your arms and chest, but you weren’t hurt, and I—oh, God, Sasha. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sasha whispers. “It’s not. I wish—I’m so sorry, Uncle Wade.”

They both cling to each other’s hands for a moment, crying silently. Finally, Wade takes a deep breath and frees one hand to wipe his eyes. “Anyway, that’s…I couldn’t really explain it to people when they showed up. Just that I’d heard screaming and…the worms were gone by then, but it was obvious. I told a few lies about how old I was and managed to get them to let me take care of you instead of putting you in a home, and for a while everything was fine. Then…just after you left for uni, I was debugging a computer for someone who’d downloaded a game off an FTP server and picked up some sort of virus. When I went into the code, I discovered a secondary virus underneath the main one and went to dig it out. I thought it was a dead-man switch of some kind—you know, remove the main virus, trigger the second one—so I was going to take that one out first. But then I realized it was just some metadata. I would have just deleted it without a second thought, except that I recognized the words. It was those same four lines, the last lines of ‘The Conqueror Worm’, except that it had a name I didn’t know as the name of the ‘play’.”

Another chill runs up Sasha’s spine. “You’re sure you didn’t know it?”

“I didn’t, but my client did. I asked him about it when I gave him his computer back, and he said it was his girlfriend’s name, she was out of town on a trip. I told him to give her a call, and he looked at me kind of funny, but said he would.” Wade sighs. “I looked her up a couple times. Two days later her obituary popped up.”

“You’re saying—”

“I’m saying that once is happenstance, twice is coincidence. But I kept my eyes open, and a few months later, I saw the words again. Different computer, different name, same results,” Wade tells her. “I started tracing it. It’s a—well, it’s a worm, in the truest sense of the word, but I was sure if I could trace its path, figure out where it came from, I could stop it from spreading. Seven or eight years ago, though, I…guess I went through something I wasn’t supposed to, got caught, and wound up here.” He sighs heavily and sits back, blinking. “And…that’s it. I still call it the Conqueror Worm, but…I couldn’t stop it. It’s still out there.”

“I don’t think you can stop it,” Sasha says slowly. Several things slot into place in her mind. When Tim looked at all of them and described the colors he saw on them, he’d mentioned that Sasha had the same sick yellow-green as Martin and Jon Prime faintly woven over her upper torso, but she had just assumed it was from her encounter with Timothy Hodge, the first night she met Michael. Now she realizes the mark he described is too big to be from a single worm, and that the Corruption marked her much more thoroughly than that. She might have to get Tim to take a look at the tape now that she’s made it, but…she’s pretty sure she’s right. “I think this thing came from—from one of the other fear beings. I’d have to look in the Archives to see if there’s a way to destroy it. There might be, I don’t know. But I do know that you wouldn’t have been able to destroy it on your own. Not without succumbing to the power that it fuels.”

“Sash.” Wade grips her hand tightly. “Are you in danger? If you…belong to one of these powers. Will it hurt you?”

“Maybe. Probably,” Sasha admits. “Someday. I don’t know. It’s—it’s all a bit complicated. I don’t know for sure.” She pauses and reconsiders. “I don’t think it will actively hurt me. But I don’t think it cares if I live or die, in the long run.”

Wade’s face was a study in fear and sorrow. “And it’s from working at the Magnus Institute,” he says. It’s not really a question. “You never would have done that if it wasn’t for me. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know about that,” Sasha says. “Maybe. Maybe not. My project with the EPCC was shutting down anyway, so I don’t know where I would have ended up, but the Magnus Institute was hiring. Maybe I wouldn’t have stayed as long as I did, maybe I’d have looked for another job outside of London eventually, but…honestly, Uncle Wade, as much as I’ve always loved snooping and ferreting out secrets? I think I would have ended up bound to it anyway. At least this way I kind of know what’s going on enough to mitigate the damage.”

Wade shakes his head slowly. “I just…don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Sasha promises, even though she knows she can’t really promise that. But he’s all the family she has left, he gave up his future so that she could have one, and she’ll do anything she can to make sure she doesn’t waste that. “I’ll tell you everything when you come home. When will that be?”

“Two weeks. The first of April. Is that enough time for—I mean, will you be okay if I—”

“Yes,” Sasha interrupts him. “Of course. Tell me what you need and I’ll get it all set up.”

Wade smiles slowly, the hopeful look back in his eyes. He laces his fingers through hers and squeezes.

“We’ll be all right,” he tells her. “Family looks out for each other. I promise, Puddle-Duck, I will do anything I can to protect you.”

Sasha smiles back and returns the squeeze. She doesn’t tell her uncle that she’s grown up a little beyond his ability to protect her, or that she might need to be the one protecting him. Right about now, she really wants to let him wrap her in a blanket and a hug and promise her that everything will be all right again.

She might even let herself believe him.

#leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#ollie writes fanfic #tma #the magnus archives #Sasha James #gore tw #worms tw #prison tw #death tw #slight misuse of beholding powers

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