#because she’s a ducking child who resented that i had more than one close friend

[butyoudowanttowrestle]

“not to be insane but-“ *expresses a normal emotion i feel shame for*

[soulmate-game]

Useful Part 2

fluff with a little hurt and comfort. If you want answers as to the lack of angst, look through my recent posts for an explanation. 

—* — * — * —* —* 

“Wait, you have a WHAT?” were the first words that the rest of the Gotham-based vigilantes heard when they finally were able to track down where Damian had gone. Dick looked over at Bruce, who was noticeably tense. No surprise there, the man had just found out that he had a second biological child. One who was apparently a superhero already, without his intervention, and also apparently had a tragic background in the League of fucking Assassin Assholes. Not to mention that Damian’s track record with meeting siblings wasn’t great, even if this one wasn’t actually new to him. Nobody had any real fear of Damian relapsing on his no-kill rule, they knew he had matured far too much to be at risk of killing for something as immature as sibling rivalry anymore. 

But there was still fear. Because this new Wayne was an Unknown Factor, and as a rule the Bats hated Unknown Factors. And they had no idea what the relationship between the two had been before they had been separated, or what it would become now. 

“That wasn’t Damian’s voice,” Dick helpfully pointed out the obvious. Bruce only frowned, doing his best (and failing) to hide his anxiety about what they would find. Silently, the group inched forward to the edge of the abandoned building they were on top of so that they could look over at what was happening. What they saw was a girl, presumably the same one who had been in a ladybug onesie and had fearlessly begun to ask them to leave Paris— until she had laid proper eyes on Robin and fled, that was. That girl was sitting down next to an unmasked Damian, who had his arm around her shoulders and let her lean into his side. He even smirked cheerfully at her question before continuing to speak to her. 

“A dragon-bat. I knew you’d love hearing about him, I’ll introduce you when you come visit the Batcave. His name is Goliath,” Damian admitted smugly. Despite the familiar attitude and pride behind his words though, his spying family couldn’t help but notice that he kept periodically rubbing the girl’s (they really needed to find out her name) shoulder in reassurance. None of them missed the tear tracks on both of their faces, or how red the girl’s eyes were. Clearly they had missed something big. 

But nobody wanted to try to figure that out yet. This scene was too precious, too breathtaking for them to interrupt just yet. They had never seen Damian this vulnerable around someone outside of their little circle before, someone from the Time Before Bruce, no less. Most of the time, only Nightwing was able to see this side to Damian. And usually the roles were reversed, with Damian being the one consoled. They had never seen him in the position of the comforter before. The pillar of support. 

It really cemented just how far he had come. 

So they watched silently as the girl flinched, pulling away a bit and hunching in on herself. The laugh she let out was small and overflowing with self-degradation. 

“You make it sound as if the rest of your family actually wants me to visit,” she replied sourly. Damian gently cuffed her over the head, frowning. 

“Two things,” he held up two fingers from his free hand. “One: They will. They accepted me, and I was— well, you remember how I used to be. Once they actually meet you, and process the fact that there’s another Wayne now, they will bombard you with more welcoming than you will know what to do with. Two: It’s Our family, Marinette. Not mine, ours.”

Well, at least they had a name now. But it seems like they had bigger issues now, like Marinette’s clearly damaged sense of self. Jason and Tim traded knowing glances; it wasn’t hard for them to guess where, or how, she might have been damaged enough to think so lowly of herself. 

They watched as Marinette shook her head. 

“I don’t know. It’s one thing to try to… to get to know you again. We used to be close before… everything,” she haltingly argued, voice small and frail and uncertain. But she never once looked away from Damian’s eyes, trying to convey as best as she could what she was feeling. “But they’re different. They don’t have any reason to trust or like me, Dami. And I’m bad at, well everything, but especially,” she waved her hands frantically as if indicating the whole situation they were in. “I mean, listen to me! I can barely articulate right now, and I’m talking to someone I’ve known my whole life! I’m a mess. Nobody wants a mess.” 

It was Damian’s turn to snort, and he pulled her right back into his side. “Please. If anything, that’s exactly the type of child Father goes looking for. We’re all a mess. Especially Father, trust me.” 

“You’re just trying to make me feel better,” she accused suspiciously, but sank into his sideways embrace anyway. Damian chuckled. 

“No, I’m being honest. He’s terrible at emotions, not that I really have much room to talk. We all are pretty bad with them. But he’s the most obvious when it comes to that issue,” Damian smirked over at his sister conspiratorially. “For example. He still tries to tell people that he works alone, and pushes people away because he has this intense desire to protect, but doesn’t know how to say “I don’t want you to get hurt, stop worrying me,” so instead he says “Go away, I don’t need you,” only for us to see through that nonsense and remind him that the amount of people in his team is in the double digits already. He doesn’t want to admit he cares about us and is vulnerable—”

“Sounds familiar,” Marinette teased with a watery grin, startling a short laugh from her twin. He nudged her a little roughly (but not to roughly) and playfully glared at her. Marinette just giggled.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied with a grin before waving his free hand in dismissal. “Anyway. Another example. He has no idea how to tell a stranger, “hey, I’m your father and I will not reject you. In fact, I’m completely willing to adopt you right this moment and whisk you away to Gotham and relative safety and hire an entire team of therapists to help you and buy you half the world if you asked for it,” so instead he and the rest of our emotionally constipated family just lurks on the edge of a building in broad daylight eavesdropping on us and expects us not to notice.” 

“Wait what,” Marinette’s gaze instantly whipped up towards the sky, taking only half a second to locate the aforementioned eavesdroppers. Everyone except Bruce at least had the courtesy to duck down and pretend not to be there when they noticed she had seen them, leaving Batman standing seemingly alone on the concrete roof. Marinette blinked once. Twice. Then turned to Damian. “I’m gonna blame the fact that I didn’t notice them on emotional turmoil, because there is no way I’ve gotten THAT rusty.” 

Damian smiled, but didn’t laugh. He knew that was a deflection to try and distract from Marinette’s quickly resurging self-consciousness. Her hands were already trembling again, and the fear from only minutes ago had resurfaced. The insecurity. He could practically see the words “I’m not good enough,” written in her irises. 

“You’ll be fine,” he whispered, standing up and pulling her with him. “If anyone has to worry here, it’s me.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Marinette whisper-hissed right back, eyes wide in disbelief and confusion. “You’re— You! Mister Perfect!” 

Damian rolled his eyes, and his self-deprecating smirk matched the laugh Marinette had given just a few minutes earlier. “For the League, maybe,” he shrugged. “Never the Wayne family. Which is why I know you’ll be fine. If they put up with everything I’ve done and still call me one of them, they’ll accept you with barely a second thought.” 

Marinette’s next argument was cut off by the sound of a dozen soft footfalls stirring up dirt not far ahead of them. The BatClan had landed from the rooftop. 

Marinette gulped. 

But if there was one thing— one thing she still remembered from her days as Marie Al-Ghul, it was how to fake pride and confidence. She straightened her shoulders automatically, lifted her chin, and pulled away from Damian’s supporting arm around her shoulder. Damian let her. 

A little bit of old resentment flared up in him as he saw Batman walk up close enough to comfortably talk with them. Resentment that he no longer held onto, but that had haunted him nearly every night of the first two years he spent with his dad. The realization that maybe his twin was the one that was meant to be a Wayne. Marie had the blue eyes, the compassion, the more specifically detective-oriented mind. The calm head. Sometimes. Marie was exactly who he imagined when he thought of a naturally born member of the BatClan. Stubborn, clever, morally just. She had risked immediate death just because she refused to fight him, for crying out loud. Because she didn’t want to hurt the boy who used to be her best friend. The only ally she had ever had, growing up. 

Meanwhile, he still had issues reigning in his anger sometimes. He had too much blood on his hands, he was more of a battlefield tactician than a long-term strategist. Still stubborn, but also completely unaware of the pain he brought others with his words or actions a lot of the time. He used to be such a rage fueled little demon, and thinking about how his sister fit the classic Wayne outline more thoroughly than he did had made him destroy more than a few practice dummies in frustration. 

But now, looking at Marinette trying so hard to appear strong and proud when he knew she was still so shattered inside, relief overpowered the old and dull resentment. This was what she needed, he could sense that easily. She, just like him all those years ago, needed Bruce and the others to start to heal her and reforge what the League had badly molded. 

“... Marinette, I suppose?” Damian nearly facepalmed at his father’s awkward attempt at a conversation starter. Marinette herself was clearly too keyed up and overthinking things to even register any amusement at the lame attempt, merely nodding with an overly serious expression on her face. 

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Monsieur Wayne. Or that’s my name nowadays, that is,” She stumbled a little in her response before clenching her fists and forcing herself to continue as calmly as she could muster up. “My birth name was Marie Al-Ghul.” 

Bruce’s eyebrows visibly furrowed underneath his cowl. “Was?” 

“I…” Marinette finally looked away, shame creeping back onto her face. “I was explicitly told that I was stripped of the Al-Ghul name and would be killed if I ever dared lay claim to it again. So I not-so-legally changed it. And I was later adopted.” 

Several sharp gasps or the hiss of breath through teeth bit through the quiet breeze. Nobody was necessarily surprised, Marinette could see it when she looked through her eyelashes and examined the winces and sympathy on the faces of the vigilantes before her. Batman’s shoulders were stiff, as if someone had paralyzed only his shoulder blades. 

“And the people who adopted you?” Batman pursued. Marinette couldn’t read his tone very well, but it sounded vaguely angry so she quickly raised her hands in a placating gesture and her eyes widened significantly. 

“They’ve been amazing! They don’t know anything about my past, or who raised me, but they are endlessly patient with me. I mean, honestly! Sabine caught me when I was trying to steal one of her gold bracelets in Hong Kong— and I know I’ve never been as good of a combatant as Dami, but I’ve always been better at sleight of hand and stealth so honestly that’s impressive— and she saw my dirty eight-year-old face and for some reason decided, ‘yeah I want this one as my daughter’ and roped Tom right into it and next thing I know they somehow tailed me to my hideout? I still don’t know how the hell they managed that, but Tom had a huge plate of steaming buns and I was so hungry and suddenly it’s two years later and I’m adopted and we’re on a plane to Paris—” Marinette threw up her hands. “I still don’t fully grasp what happened sometimes.” 

She belatedly seemed to realize that she had just gone on an entire breathless rant at the speed of sound, and slapped her hands over her mouth before lunging into a deep bow. “I apologize! I spoke horridly out of turn!” 

To her surprise though, she was met with a soft laugh instead of a scolding. She jerked in surprise, whipping her head up only to see Batman holding a hand over his chin to hide his large grin. It only took another second for the boys behind him to laugh a lot LESS softly. Nightwing strolled over casually and swung an arm around both her and Damian’s shoulders, playfully nudging her brother with his knee. 

“I think she fits right in, don’t you little D?” 

“Of course,” Damian scoffed, though his eyes were playful. “She is a Wayne by blood. She ‘fits in’ more than you strays.” 

“Dami!” Marinette whipped back to him and puffed out her cheeks. “That was uncalled for!” she barked. Damian held his hands up in surrender. 

“Relax,” he said as soothingly as he could manage. “They know I’m joking,” he dropped his hands and a knowing smirk took over his face. “And besides, now you’re relaxed so my plan worked,” Marinette could only blink at that. She… did feel more relaxed, actually. “Also. I told you you’d be accepted easily. They already consider you one of us.” 

“Wha— there’s no way—” she frantically looked at each of the older men around her, but each of them just shot her a smile or grin and a short nod. Her shoulders and jaw both fell, and it broke a little of everyone’s heart. 

Marinette looked so utterly shocked, bewildered to be accepted as if it was still something profoundly foreign to her. And there was that disbelief in her eyes, that distrust that screamed that she expected some sort of lie here. That told that she thought this would all crumble away at any second. If anyone had any reservations about bringing her into their inner circles, it vanished right that moment. She needed support, or she’d crumble away and they all knew it. 

“How about we start by talking about the situation with Hawkmoth?” Red Robin spoke up, walking forward to stand beside Batman. “I assume that’s a little more in your element?” 

Damian silently vowed to thank Tim later for that. In a silent, completely anonymous way of course. Couldn’t have Tim thinking they were friends or something now, could he? Marinette instantly straightened up and nodded, her confidence returning with a little more sincerity this time. 

“Yeah. Yeah, let me transform again. It’ll be easier to explain.” 

—*—*—*—*—*

It was three weeks later, on Marinette’s third now-weekly visit to the Batcave, when the question finally came up. Jason had asked to spar with Marinette for the first time, having seen her in action as Ladybug and wanting to test the girl when she didn’t have superpowers to rely on. Damian hadn’t been down in the cave to warn him, and the result was Jason’s gut sinking as Marinette scrambled as far away from him as she could, eyes wide and chest heaving in the beginnings of a panic attack. 

“Shit,” Jason muttered before he quickly knelt down and did his best to talk her down, to calm her until her breathing slowed and her pupils were back to normal. It wasn’t long afterwards that Marinette started hugging herself, refusing to look at him. But he wasn’t going to just back down, he wanted to solve this issue. If even the mere suggestion of a spar was enough to set her off, he needed to figure out why and fix it. 

So he carefully lowered himself so he was sitting only a foot away from her, resting his arms across his knees casually. 

“Sorry,” he apologized. “Didn’t think it would be a sore subject. That’s on me.” 

Marinette just shrugged, but didn’t answer him. She just buried her face in her arms and took a shaky breath. 

Jason let the silence linger for a while before trying again. “Does this have to do with certain Asshole Assassins?” 

That startled a slightly hysterical bark of laughter from her, and she had to wipe away a few tears when she raised her head and finally turned it in his direction slightly. Not enough for her to be looking at him,  but just a subtle turn to show that she was listening and speaking to him. “Yeah.” 

“You know, you never told us why you got disowned,” Jason tried to make his words as casual as possible, but wasn’t surprised when Marinette still stiffened and took a sharp breath. He didn’t push. The stage was set, and he’d wait until either she took the opportunity to open up or told him to leave well enough alone. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and her foot tapped on the ground a bit. Clear signs of her anxiety around the subject, and Jason’s hopes vanished a little. He would probably have to wait longer for her to be ready to share.

But, to his pleasant surprise, he was wrong. She took another few minutes to gather her thoughts, but she did eventually open up to him. 

“I refused to fight Damian,” she admitted. “It was… We were seven. It wasn’t supposed to be a fight to the death, but it was a very important spar. We were using live weaponry, and we were told to fight until we couldn’t anymore. Whoever fell first would be relegated as a mere soldier, and have to fight for status like any other assassin in the League. The winner would officially be named as G— as Ra’s Heir. I didn’t want to fight, because I knew Damian would win but I also knew that it wouldn’t be as easy as Ra’s probably expected if I gave it my all like he wanted. I knew both Damian and I would be heavily injured if I did as he asked, and it wouldn’t be worth it. If I misjudged anything, any single hit, I could have accidentally injured Damian permanently and ruined his worth in Ra’s eyes, and that wasn’t an option. I didn’t care that throwing the fight was as good as giving up my life, because at least I could be sure that Damian kept his. I could make sure that he was treated well, or as well as anyone could hope for in the League anyway. I could, with only a few words, make sure he became indispensable. Ra’s and Talia never liked me as much as Damian anyway, I figured… I figured it was nobody’s loss,” She swallowed heavily, clenching her eyes shut. “I was always just the spare. The extra. Damian was their crown prince, the one with actual value. Even to me. I saw him, and I saw everything I wanted to be. I… I tossed down my weapons and let him stab me, because I figured I owed it to him for being such a failure in comparison to him. That I owed it to him to do everything I could to make things easier for him, since I was just an unnecessary obstacle—” strong arms wrapped around her, and she turned to sob into Jason’s chest as he just silently held her. 

“Idiot,” Damian whispered, making Marinette jump. Her twin sat only a few feet away, though only Jason would have known when exactly he had gotten there with them. He shook his head at her. “I never would have gotten as far as I did without you,” he whispered, looking up at the cave ceiling. “You were the only real rival I had. When you left, everything was either too easy or nearly impossible, nothing was the same as trying my best against someone who was just as good as me. And when I got here and met the others, I didn’t think any of them were worthy of taking your position, you know,” he scoffed a bit as he got lost in his memories. “That’s why I hated Tim for so long, I think. He reminded me of you so much that I wanted nothing more than to punch him for daring to replace you—”

“Heh, the Replacement twice over, huh?” Jason joked. Damian chuckled with a small eye roll. 

“Plus, he just has a really punchable face,” Damian added, trying to distract from the emotion behind everything he had just admitted. “Part of me thought you were dead. The other part refused to believe that. And seeing Tim and how some of his mannerisms were the same as yours,” Damian shrugged a little. “It stung. Especially that second year, when I started to regret that you never had the chance to come here and join them with me. Meet them with me.” 

Marinette sniffled. “... Who are you and what have you done with Dami? He’s never this sappy.” 

Damian flicked a pebble at her head with a good natured glare, successfully diffusing the serious air a little. Marinette wouldn’t ever be normal, and it would take a while before she was no longer fragile, but she could get there. Especially now that her bridges with her brother had been mended, and and a whole new family had cropped up to help support her. 

She was glad Damian had convinced her to try, again.  

[shepherds-of-haven]

So I follow MANY interactive fiction blogs and I just have to say that you're my favorite by a long shot because I just love answers that you give in response to hypothetical scenarios and AU's for your characters. Like you actually put in effort and give well-thought out answers, so I thank you for that. As for AU's I have one of my own if you don't mind please. What would be the RO's for a murder mystery a la Cluedo? Bonus points that they can't leave the mansion for extra chaos. Thank you!

Ah, thank you so much for your kind words! 💖 I'm lucky to be a part of such a great community of talented creatives and kind, genuinely awesome people! Interacting with readers is such a pleasure, even if I do fall behind on messages and such I'm so sorry

I'm in North America, so I was genuinely like "what on Earth is Cluedo" gkljglfdjgd only because it's called Clue where I'm from! But I, uh, never played it, so I'm just going to go off of my knowledge from Knives Out 😂

SETTING: a Southern Gothic mansion in an undisclosed location, owned by a woman only referred to in jest as The Autarch by her adopted children. It is a stately manor, richly furnished and glittering with wealth, though imposing and dark-windowed during storms.

CONTEXT: a powerful and wealthy tycoon referred to only as "The Autarch" or "The Iron Lady" was once feared across the country for her ruthless business dealings and formidable empire. In her middle age, a mysterious experience and the sudden death of her husband caused her to have a change of heart, abruptly abandoning her empire to her only son and devoting her life to adopting six orphan children. However, stopping her business dealings did not completely change her personality: she was a hard, unforgiving woman, and her relationships to her children (now all grown) can be described as "strained" at best.

In her declining age, the lonely Autarch in her high mansion somehow came to befriend a psychic by the name of Mimir of the Silver Eye. Only the servants were witness to what was said between them, and even then, they never had the full story. The most that anyone knew was that the Autarch began to express more interest in resuming her business activities again, to the disconcertion of her only biological son, Enik, who had helmed the empire on his own for the last twenty years. Meanwhile, Mimir moved into the mansion to keep her older friend company, and to help advise her on matters both business and personal.

One stormy night, the Autarch calls all 7 of her children back home in order to discuss matters of great importance, including her decisions about her will. Some came eagerly, and others with great reluctance--there were arguments had that were years in coming, and there were private talks between siblings who hadn't interacted in years. But the matter that the Autarch was keen to discuss was postponed: the storm knocked out the power in the mansion, and all turned into bed, sleeping fitfully in rooms they'd abandoned decades earlier.

They never discovered why the Autarch had called them to their old haunting grounds, either, for in the morning, she was found with a knife buried in her heart.

CHARACTERS:

- Riel Syndran. A world-famous private detective and consultant famed across the world for his ability to solve any mystery, no matter how old or tangled. He is known for being comfortable with ruthlessly manipulating interrogation subjects and suspects in order to extract the truth and solve his case no matter what; this obsession and willingness to massage the rules--although he claims the truth is his only goal, above all other things--is what makes him unsuitable for conventional police work, but his results speak for themselves. He arrives on the mansion's doorstep mere minutes after the Autarch is found murdered and is claimed to have been hired by an anonymous party, casting suspicion on his timing and the pre-planned nature of the death. His signature move is being recognized by various people as "the detective who solved the Apple Killer case" (or some other famous case of his) and replying in irritable tones that it was actually "the Orange Killer case, but you were close". He abhors smoking and has doctorates in body language analysis and psychology, as well as a law degree, and is gifted with a photographic memory. He picks invisible lint off of his sleeves while he thinks.

- Blade Bronwyn. An FBI agent (think Agent Cooper in Twin Peaks) who has been in the town of Old Haven investigating a string of serial killings across the country. He hears about the murder of the Autarch from the local police and arrives at the manor a mere hour after they were alerted, keen to investigate the murder as part of his ongoing case. He plays the straight man to Riel's more eccentric detection methods, and is seen more as a serious, by-the-books rule-follower determined to get answers. The suspects in the manor find him to be emotionally-insensitive, blunt, and grim-faced. He has a better sense of smell and sight than Riel does, as well as more combat experience, and is the only person in the manor acknowledged to be carrying a weapon. He takes his coffee black and very strong.

- Enik Goldenson. The Autarch's only biological child and the oldest. He was granted full control of her holdings and business empire when she retired in order to focus on raising her new family. He has made his disdain of his adopted siblings very clear, not least because he resents having to share his future inheritance with them. He has historically been a bully and cruel towards his mother. Rumor had it that he was once studying to become a priest. He has avoided returning to the mansion ever since Trouble knocked his lights out at fourteen years of age. He was once briefly engaged to fellow heiress Lavinet Naveen, who eventually spurned him, finding him "repulsive." He has the most bad blood among anyone in the family and is considered one of the prime suspects in the Autarch's murder, as it was possible that she may planned to cut him out of the will. Blade places his suspect status as RED while Riel believes he is at an ORANGE: Enik may be far too clever to kill his own mother under such suspicious and bloody circumstances.

- Trouble Alder. The first of the Autarch's adopted children, he was once an urchin running a street-fighting racket on the streets of New Haven. He was nicknamed Trouble for his surly temper and quick ability to get into fights and settle things with his fists, necessitating being sent off to a military boarding school in an effort to curb his violent tendencies as a teenager. He is extremely protective of his other adopted siblings, and while he resented the Autarch in his youth, he has begrudgingly come to respect her more for taking him in as an adult. He now works as a decorated sniper in the military and is working to earn his pilot's wings. The revelation that he kept military weapons in his room casts suspicion on him as a murder suspect, though Riel quickly dismisses him as not being a good enough liar to get away with it.

- Tallys Ironwood. The second of the Autarch's adopted children, she made her hatred of the old woman very well known, and had an even poorer relationship with her than Enik did. Tallys's parents were victims in an accident caused by one of the Autarch's manufacturing plants, and she has always felt that her subsequent adoption was mere lip service to atonement for the Autarch, while she would have rather stayed with her more impoverished aunts and uncles. She ran away multiple times in her youth and has not spoken to the Autarch since she was 18. Her overt hatred and reluctance in coming back to the mansion casts suspicion on her as a murder suspect. She has a degree in plant science and works as an environmental activist, particularly targeting products and campaigns by Enik's company, creating unspeakable friction between them.

- Ayla Aescar. The third of the Autarch's adopted children, nothing is known about her biological parents. She was adopted from a neighboring country and has since returned to it as an adult, making an effort to reconnect with her origins and culture. Her relationship with "the old woman," as she calls her, was more neutral, though it comes out that the Autarch frequently bailed her out in secret whenever Ayla ran into trouble, such as trespassing on Jalis government grounds. Nominally, she works as a photographer for a travel magazine, but secretly, she is an investigative photojournalist looking into various covert practices by the Jalis government. This brings up a question of whether the Autarch's killing was political, and whether it was actually meant for Ayla.

- Chase Trinaeste. The fourth of the Autarch's adopted children, it's joked that he was intended to replace Trouble when he was sent off to boarding school due to having a more charming personality and sweeter face. However, he ended up being the most troublesome one of the bunch, having multiple run-ins with the law from a young age and displaying various tendencies towards larceny, grand theft auto, and more. He had no shame about stealing and pawning off valuables from the mansion and was a well-known skirt-chaser, leading to constant stress in their household about what he was getting up to when he snuck out of the house at night. At eighteen, he disappeared from the mansion, and no one has heard from him in the intervening years since. He completely ducks any questions from Riel or Blade about what he does for a living, leading most to conclude that he has gotten himself deeper entrenched in the criminal underworld. This has cast obvious suspicion on him and his involvement in the murder, as he was known to steal from the Autarch herself. He seems to feel some measure of loyalty and possibly remorse towards his adopted siblings, but hides it well under a polished veneer of charm and casual swagger.

- Briony Stormbreaker. The fifth of the Autarch's adopted children In a dramatic fashion, she was discovered as a young child swept away in a huge flood caused by a storm, with no ability to communicate (or seemingly remember) anything about where she could have lived or who her family was. She was subsequently adopted by the Autarch and is one of the few who had a fairly good relationship with her, always expressing gratitude for giving her a home and family (though this brought her into conflict with siblings like Tallys, as she usually tried to defend the Autarch when she wasn't there to speak for herself). She was the sibling who always tried to unite the others, and their constant arguments and conflicts constantly broke her heart. She was an easily-upset child who tended to be babied by Trouble and Chase, but after constantly bullying from Croelle and Enik, she toughened up and began taking martial arts classes, abruptly displaying her own ferocious temper and violent streak as well as unusually powerful physical strength. She currently works as a passionate public prosecutor. She was heard conversing with the Autarch privately with raised voices, on the night of the murder, and is known to sleepwalk during violent storms. She even had a phase with an imaginary, sword-shaped friend as a child, as well as repeatedly claimed that she's seen ghosts in the manor. This perceived paranoia has led some to wonder whether she could have harmed the Autarch in her sleep. As Riel says, "It's always the nice ones." Blade: "Not in my experience." Riel: "Not in mine, either, but in some continuity, it must be true."

- Croelle. The last of the Autarch's adopted children. He was by far the most anti-social and troubled part of the family, refusing to speak to those he deemed beneath him and breaking Trouble's arm in a disturbing display of dominance as youths. Unlike Enik, his cruelty is more ruthless and matter-of-fact, the way an animal might treat another animal, rather than pointed and manipulative. Regardless, he was a terror to all of the other siblings, and he was eventually thrown in juvenile detention (and later prison) for killing members of a gang, seemingly in self-defense. However, he never cared to divulge the full details of the story, and has been serving his sentence ever since. No one besides the Autarch knew that he was coming until they arrived at the manor. Croelle claims that he and the Autarch had been exchanging letters for the last few years, and that he has begrudgingly allowed her back into his life, which was why she decided to invite him to this gathering upon his release from prison. However, there is currently no evidence that any such letters exist. As an adult, he is currently quieter and more mellow and has shown no particular proclivity towards violence, but there is always a sense of danger lurking in his eye regardless. His social skills have not improved by much. He is considered one of the absolute top suspects for the old woman's murder. His feelings on his adopted siblings or really anything are extremely unknown. He keeps asking everyone about free will, which annoys everyone except Riel.

- Shery Acquell. A longtime maid for the Autarch and one of her closest friends and confidantes. She alone has been caring for the Autarch in her declining health, ensuring that she has been receiving the proper medical care and dietary attentions, and even reading her books in the evenings. Their closeness has led some to speculate that the Autarch may have bequeathed a part of her inheritance to the maid, or that perhaps Shery was motivated to ingratiate herself to the Autarch to attain said inheritance. She was the last person to see the Autarch before her death, knows something about what transpired between her and Mimir, and ultimately reluctantly admits that she believes in the ghosts that Briony has seen, too.

- Halek Prince. The manor's live-in chef. He is one of the few non-family members staying in the mansion the night of the murder, and suspicion is cast on him when his cooking seemingly gives Ayla, Briony, and Red an allergy attack, leading some to posit attempts at poisoning. Mimir claims to have seen him in places where he shouldn't be or even couldn't be, and he is generally someone viewed as a good suspect for the murder. Riel thinks something else is going on here.

- Red Antiqua. Ayla's journalist partner who accompanied her to the mansion, partly to serve as a buffer for the family awkwardness and partly because he was curious to learn more about the reclusive Autarch. Nominally, he is a travel writer, but secretly, he is working as the same kind of investigative journalist that she is. His secret photographs of the manor prove to be a key piece of evidence in uncovering the murder suspect. He is forced to be confined to the manor, the same as everyone else, to prevent information leaks or runaways. He uncovers a secret doorway in his room and is too curious not to duck into it...

- Caine Tavadon. The son of the manor's groundskeeper, he is often seen with his dog, peeping into the windows of the manor because he's incorrigibly nosy. His witness statements lead Blade and Riel to key footprints on the grounds. He claims to have seen a strange figure staring down at him from the windows of the mansion before.

- Prihine Naveen. Enik's current fiancee, she accompanied him on this odious visit to his mother's manor and is a witness in the proceedings. Although they can barely tolerate each other, their shared ambitions for wealth and power keep them together as a polite though distant couple. A file in the Autarch's study reveals that she has been watching Prihine for some time and discovered that she was having a secret affair. The file indicates that she planned to tell Enik face-to-face, leading others to speculate that Prihine may have murdered the old woman in order to preserve her engagement. Enik remarks that there was a period of time where Prihine was not in bed.

- Lavinet Naveen. Prihine's older cousin, and Enik's ex-fiancee. They've technically known each other since they were children and were schoolmates at the same prestigious institution. The Autarch and Lavinet's father initially had designs to marry the two to forge a powerful alliance between their business empires. However, Lavinet quickly backed out of the engagement, finally admitting that she couldn't stand Enik and would never marry him. Although this has generally caused relations between the two families to become frosty, she has strangely remained on good terms with the Autarch herself, who always admired Lavinet's chutzpah and steely will. (This was just another reason for Enik to hate his own mother.) Lavinet was free to come and go to the manor as she pleased, and dropped in on the Autarch once every few months, as her family's manor is nearby. She only recently discovered that her own cousin, Prihine, is now engaged to her ex, and rushed over on the night of the murder in order to dissuade Prihine from the marriage or convince the Autarch to put a stop to it. This led to a four-way argument (between Lavinet, Prihine, Enik, and his mother) of epic proportions, meaning that Lavinet is not clear on suspicions of murder, either.

- Mimir. The psychic who somehow came into contact with the Autarch and began to convert her to the ways of the supernatural. She has been the Autarch's closest friend and confidant for months, even going so far as to move into the mansion. Many point out the obvious designs on the Autarch's inheritance and possible sinister intentions for taking advantage of the older woman, especially since no one but Shery knows what Mimir has actually advised the Autarch to do. However, Riel points out that there has been no traceable financial irregularities when it comes to Mimir; the Autarch doesn't seem to have paid her for her services, only providing Mimir with food and a roof over her head. The psychic speaks in extremely cryptic tones and lapses into trance-like states. Riel in particular scorns her for her supposedly psychic abilities, insisting that she is a fraud, until she comments on aspects of his past that no one could possibly know, shaking him. She is a prime suspect for the murder until it's discovered that Mimir insists on being locked into a windowless room, only being released by Shery in the morning, to protect herself from the ghosts that haunt the grounds...

[robininthelabyrinth]

noncon-anon🔪🔪🔪...2!: Regardless of how much jealousy he holds toward his half brother, Meng Yao never expected or wanted to have Jin Zixuan on his knees before him. Certainly not like this, at least (his half-brother wrapped in chains, in the middle of the Sun Palace’s main hall, with Wen Ruohan and who knows how many other people watching) but he hadn’t been expecting Jin Zixuan to get captured either, and if this is what he has to do to remain in the Chief Cultivator’s favor, then so be it; may the gods forgive him for this violation of his kin (...and maybe if he puts on a good enough show, Wen Ruohan will let him keep his half-brother alive).

ao3

warning for adult content (full warnings on ao3)

Meng Yao had spent years not thinking of Jin Zixuan as anything other than an obstacle in the way of his ultimate goal – his father’s recognition, himself as the heir and eventual master of Lanling Jin – and he bitterly resented Wen Ruohan for trashing all that effort.

It was impossible to keep the image of Jin Zixuan that he’d had in his mind before: the spoiled, arrogant princeling in the same make as Wen Chao, less a human being than a statute of gilded gold, all fancy clothing and flawless appearance.

There was nothing of that now.

There was nothing arrogant about the frightened young man on his knees in front of him, chains carved with suppression arrays wrapped around his body – they’d been designed for a much stronger cultivator than he, Wen Ruohan’s mind lingering too often on his chief-most enemy in the war, Nie Mingjue, and Jin Zixuan was as helpless beneath them as a lamb, shivering in blind terror at being taken away from all he knew dear. His retainers had all been taken off to the Fire Palace or killed where they knelt, their corpses dragged off leaving smears of blood on the ground, and only he remained.

Meng Yao’s envy.

His brother.

His mother had always wanted to give him a brother, he abruptly recalled, and hated Wen Ruohan all the more for making him remember it. Her womb had closed after him, such that she couldn’t try for another even if she’d wanted to, but she’d day-dreamed about him making friends with the legitimate sons her sect leader – that was how she always called him, her sect leader – would undoubtedly have, pointlessly giving him advice on how to make friends with them, impress them, make them like him.

Not – this.

Never anything like this.

“Look at the gift I got for you, Meng Yao,” Wen Ruohan said, smiling. “A twin from another womb, born on the same day as you, but unlike you planted in the legitimate belly and so hoarded like a treasure – I would wager that you wish you could peeling his skin off and wrap yourself in it, wear it back to Lanling Jin.”

Meng Yao smiled. “Sect Leader Wen does me too much honor. This lowly one does not deserve such a gift.”

We may be born on the same day, but I’m three years older than him, and my mother isn’t a disgusting vicious old hag like Madame Jin. How dare you compared them.

“And yet I have chosen to give it,” Wen Ruohan said, brooking no disagreement as always. “You do such fine work in my Fire Palace, Meng Yao, with strangers who have never looked at you twice – I cannot wait to see what marvels you will accomplish with a target that you actually abhor. Which of your fine instruments will we try on him first? Should we break his spirit by removing his sword hand, or cut off Jin Guangshan’s hopes along with his balls?”

He laughed, endlessly amused by himself.

Meng Yao smiled along – mother wanted me to be his friend – and mentally ran through his options as fast as he could. He couldn’t risk angering Wen Ruohan, not when the other man held the entirety of the Nightless City in the palm of his hand, not when the only thing keeping Meng Yao himself out of the Fire Palace and strung up on his own instruments of torture was the quality of his service.

“I will of course not disappoint the Sect Leader,” he says smoothly, and pretended to ignore the way Jin Zixuan flinched, with his face so similar to his own, to the face his mother had loved so foolishly. “Only…”

“Only?”

Meng Yao ducked his head bashfully. “Sect Leader is too generous to me, it makes me go beyond myself; I start to think of things I should not. When I was young…ah, but it does not matter.”

“Don’t equivocate,” Wen Ruohan ordered, but his attention was caught, as Meng Yao had intended. “What were you going to say?”

“It’s only that when I was young, my mother would tell me stores of Lanling Jin,” Meng Yao said, and hated, hated, hated Wen Ruohan for making him have to share such things. “Her hope was that my father would accept me as his recognized son, but failing that, she had always assumed he would take me at least as – as a servant for the one he already had.”

He didn’t need more than that: Wen Ruohan got it right away. “And so once you were rejected you dreamed of the opposite, is that it?”

“It would satisfy this lowly one’s most fervent dream, Sect Leader.”

Wen Ruohan smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile – it was full of hidden dangers. “Ah, Meng Yao, you dare to dream so high! There’s only one problem with your suggestion that I see. This well-born child, this treasure of Lanling, what possible servant could he make? His hands are so clean and soft, he would not be able to do manual labor nor even sweep your floor. What possible use could you make of him?”

The answer came to Meng Yao at once, and he hated himself this time even as he responded with a pleasant smile: “Well, Sect Leader, in the absence of any other use, I could always have him serve me in bed.”

Wen Ruohan burst out laughing, caught by surprise.

He loved the idea, of course, as Meng Yao knew he would. Wen Ruohan was a man with esoteric tastes; he enjoyed torturing and humiliating his enemies, and the prouder the man the more he longed to ruin them. Even within the time Meng Yao had worked in his Fire Palace, he had seen Wen Ruohan offer a brother his family’s freedom if only he would forcefully take his sister’s purity, which the unfortunate man had done, weeping piteously all the while.

Yes, Wen Ruohan loved the idea, and because of that, Meng Yao had a chance of saving Jin Zixuan’s miserable life that he’d only need to later end, if he was to truly achieve all of his desires.

He would, too. He wouldn’t hesitate to end Jin Zixuan’s life if it served his ends.

Just not - like this.

My mother wanted us to be friends.

“Very well,” Wen Ruohan said, waving his hand. “You may have him as your bedwarmer.” Meng Yao had not even begun to salute in thanks when he added, “But before you accept such a gift, you should try it out.”

Meng Yao was not so foolish as to let his smile freeze. “Here, Sect Leader?”

“Why not here? It may as well be witnessed.”

Like a marriage, he meant, and Meng Yao hated him.

“Of course, Sect Leader,” Meng Yao said, and this time he completed the salute, bowing deeply, and made his way over to his hapless younger brother who was shaking like a leaf, just as unable to flee.

Meng Yao knelt before him and began to open his clothing, taking a moment to lean forward and hiss in his ear, “Keep your mouth shut. Play along and you will live; resist and you will die.”

It was neither threat nor reassurance but merely fact, but Jin Zixuan clearly needed the words – needed to think that there was someone here on his side, however illusionary the sensation was.

Whatever he was thinking, it worked.

Jin Zixuan stopped trying to fight and submitted as best as he could, even if he couldn’t help but flinch any time a new piece of flesh was exposed.

He was quivering like a quail, and Meng Yao sighed and reached for his half-brother’s cock, making him squeak in an undignified fashion as he started stroking it.

“Is that entirely necessary?” Wen Ruohan asked, sounding bored.

“I intend to get plenty of use out of him, Sect Leader,” Meng Yao replied, his tone equally bored as if this were merely a chore even as Jin Zixuan’s cock unwillingly started swelling up beneath his palm. “If I tear him up the first time I bed him, I’d have to stitch him up and wait for him to heal before I can take him again, lest I want to risk his death. And there’s only one legitimate heir, isn’t there?”

Wen Ruohan chuckled. “I suppose so.”

“Besides,” Meng Yao continued, because he knew he had to keep Wen Ruohan’s interest. “There’s some fun in this as well: look how responsive he is, getting hard for me already. He’s tied up in chains and bared for half the world to see, and all he cares about is his dick.”

“Reasonable, for a son of a pleasure-lover like Jin Guangshan,” Wen Ruohan agreed, and he sounded much less bored now. “Your shared father.”

“Our shared father,” Meng Yao agreed, and reached down with his free hand to open his own robes, pulling out his own cock. “Would you like to see how similar we are?”

He lined himself up next to Jin Zixuan – they really were similar, in both look and size, and Wen Ruohan laughed as Meng Yao shifted over to pleasuring them both at the same time. Jin Zixuan had his lips pressed tightly together, but he couldn’t help the little whimpers and mewls that broke free now and again, nor the way his hips bucked up under Meng Yao’s skillful work. He wasn’t the first man Meng Yao had pleasured like this, and, if anything, he seemed almost unexpectedly inexperienced.

Meng Yao would have assumed that Jin Zixuan, as Jin Guangshan’s son, would have had his fill of brothels by this age, have fucked every hole in every way that whores offered for sale and then some, but perhaps his jealous bitch of a mother wouldn’t let him.

Certainly it didn’t take very long before he was coming helplessly in Meng Yao’s hands.

“Did you like that, brother?” Meng Yao asked him, and Jin Zixuan looked at him in betrayal. “You came so quickly – you liked having your brother’s hands on you, didn’t you? The same blood as yours. They say mine is less pure on account of your mother being born in a palace and mine in a brothel, but in the end it seems that you’re the one that turned out the whore.”

Jin Zixuan’s face was red and flushed, but he didn’t say a word, didn’t resist as Meng Yao pushed him down and spread his legs, merely grunted when Meng Yao slid fingers slicked up with his own come into him one a time.

“You’re tight here, which is to be expected,” Meng Yao continued, aware of their audience – the one on the throne being the only one that mattered, although there were plenty of guards watching avidly as well. “I doubt anyone’s ever made use of you before, unless our shared father has even more interesting tastes than I thought…”

Jin Zixuan flushed even redder and shook his head furiously.

“No? Then let your older brother be the first.” Jin Zixuan’s body was involuntarily relaxed after his orgasm, and Meng Yao was in a hurry, knowing that he couldn’t draw this out too long lest Wen Ruohan grow bored – he stretched him roughly, making as much space as best as he could, then put his cock at his entrance. Before he did anything more, he reached over and grabbed Jin Zixuan by the hair, forcing him to bend forward so that he could see Meng Yao’s cock about to breach him. “At the brothel, they say a woman always remembers her first man. They say it’s because her body shapes itself to him, molding the inside to accommodate him, never to be the way it was before – making her the perfect fit for his cock and no one else’s, no matter how many others she might one day take. I’ve heard the same is true for men. What do you think, little brother? Are you ready to take me into you? Are you ready to watch as I turn you into something fit only for me?”

Jin Zixuan couldn’t tear his tear-filled eyes away.

Meng Yao pushed in, and Jin Zixuan whined, high and loud, pathetic. It didn’t stop Meng Yao at all, pushing in inexorably – Jin Zixuan was hot and tight, about what he’d thought he’d be, same as anyone else. There wasn’t any magic to incest, no matter how much it got Wen Ruohan off.

(It got Meng Yao off, too. But he’d be a very poor whore’s son indeed if he didn’t know how to separate business and pleasure - and this was a performance. Would he say such ridiculous words, words that no one would believe if their dicks weren’t hard, otherwise?)

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he said, because he knew Wen Ruohan liked to hear it, and maybe also because he liked the way it made Jin Zixuan have to turn his face away in shame. “You really were a virgin, weren’t you? Look at you, giving yourself to me like a bride on her wedding night, taking me all inside of you. What a good little bedwarmer you’re going to be.”

He settled in all the way, hips pressed against warm flesh, and enjoyed the sensation of Jin Zixuan futilely clenching around him in an attempt to get him out.

“I’ll teach you all the tricks to please me,” he said, starting to rock back and forth, moving in and out. “Every morning you’ll present yourself to me to use; every evening too, and if I get bored during the middle of the day I’ll use your mouth. Once I’ve gotten you properly broken in, I’ll rent you out to anyone who asks – I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Make you the good little whore and me the master, make you earn on your back that gold you’ve always worn as if you deserved it.”

He was thrusting in earnest now, Jin Zixuan’s legs around his waist, and to his amusement it looked like Jin Zixuan was getting hard again. It wasn’t really a surprise, a natural reaction to the strange and confusing sensations he was enduring, none of which said anything as to whether or not he was enjoying himself at all, but Meng Yao dropped his hand onto Jin Zixuan’s cock yet again.

“See, you’re halfway to a whore already,” he mocked. “Getting hard on big brother’s cock like a good boy. Good and obedient – you’re going to come with my cock inside of you, and belong to me forever.”

Jin Zixuan was whimpering, tears streaming down his face, but it still didn’t take long for him to come.

Meng Yao finished shortly after.

He allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the sensation, and then pulled out, pulling Jin Zixuan’s leg up so that Wen Ruohan could see the come dripping out of his abused hole.

“Well done,” Wen Ruohan said, clapping. His eyes were avid. “Well done indeed. As always, Meng Yao, your craftsmanship is exquisite. You may keep him – although perhaps another show might be in order, soon enough.”

“Of course, Sect Leader,” Meng Yao said, and snapped his fingers for a guard to take Jin Zixuan to his room. Sad and miserable and pathetic, but still alive – just as he’d promised.

Naturally, the situation of keeping Jin Zixuan as his personal pet wasn’t tenable in the long run, and so it was only a few days later when Meng Yao kneeled in front of Wen Ruohan and said, “Sect Leader, I have an idea for something we can do with Jin Zixuan.”

“I’m listening,” Wen Ruohan said lazily. “What do you have in mind?”

“I have left him alone and isolated in my bedchamber these past few days, growing increasingly nervous and paranoid,” Meng Yao said. “I propose to allow him to ‘escape’ with some information to deliver to Sect Leader Lan, who will believe his peer well above he might believe some anonymous sender of notes. And he, in turn, will pass the information along to Sect Leader Nie…”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes lit up in immediate interest, as Meng Yao had expected. He was always keen to hear any word about Nie Mingjue.

“I believe this mechanism will allow us to lure Sect Leader Nie into a trap,” Meng Yao said. “And then…”

He let his eyes drift over to the chains that had so recently housed Jin Zixuan.

“Do as you suggest,” Wen Ruohan ordered at once. What did one little Jin Zixuan matter to him, next to the possibility of gaining a Nie Mingjue?

Meng Yao saluted and left. It was settled, then – Jin Zixuan would be let go and make his way back to the Great Sect’s side of the war, they would both put this unfortunate incident out of their heads, and life would carry on as if nothing had happened.

(Years later, when Jiang Yanli coaxed Jin Guangyao into a bedroom where Jin Zixuan waited, shivering in a completely different way, it finally occurred to him that he hadn’t told Jin Zixuan that that was the plan, and also perhaps that the other man lacked his own talent for compartmentalization – but in the end it all turned out all right anyway, even if it did mean he’d need to revamp his plans for conquering the Jin sect to find a way to keep his new pet alive in the long run.

Damn Wen Ruohan. It was all his fault!)

[blossom-hwa]

To Bloom in the Night - JOOCHAN

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

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

Pairing: Joochan x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au

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

Word Count: 24.4k

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

To Spin a Yarn | Golden Child Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

(It had happened once already.)

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

And curses and death.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joochan?”

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

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

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

No.

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bomin pokes his side. Someone said his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joochan raises an eyebrow. “Slightly?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only he could inspire such life.

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

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

Your spoken voice is as beautiful as your song.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

“Not in that way, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alone.

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

Already he knows it will be a sleepless night.

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

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

No use.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t stop.

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

And not just them.

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

Y/N.

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

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

You know.

You know.

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then what would they do to you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

He swallows. “Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

“Your Highness!”

Why did he ever think he could outrun Jangjun?

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

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

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

Hopefully, they won’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if you’re afraid of him?

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

And you freeze.

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

He disappears into the shed. The door shuts.

Alone with you, Joochan is struck with two realizations.

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

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

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

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

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

Since when did he learn to inspire such terror?

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

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

Even if it hurts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Most?”

He lifts his head. “I’m sorry?”

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

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

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

“It’s just you,” Joochan snaps.

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

“Your Highness?”

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

You bow your head. “I apologize.”

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

Good thing Bomin has always been a good actor.  

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

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

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

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

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

Joochan does not want to test that out.

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

Until a bouquet of roses is delivered to his room.

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

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

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

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

Then, almost as an afterthought:

You have a beautiful voice.

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

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

You have a beautiful voice.

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

It feels nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joochan flushes again. Was he that obvious?

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cock your head, listening cautiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joochan has never opened his mouth faster.

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your pain is probably even more intense.

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

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

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

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

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

“I apologize.”

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

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

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

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

You raise an eyebrow. “Hm?”

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

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

“Joochan.”

“Your Highness.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that a challenge, Your Highness?”

“And if it is?”

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

. . . . .

Joochan thinks you might have underestimated his stubbornness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joochan’s cheeks burn. “What –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your Highness?”

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

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

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

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

“No.”

His jaw drops. “You –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

“You look happier,” Bomin remarks one afternoon.

Joochan looks over. “Do I?”

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

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

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

Joochan blinks. “Glad about what?”

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

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

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

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

“Something like that,” he lies.

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

. . . . .

Except, apparently, he doesn’t.

. . . . .

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

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

“Joochan.”

Jangjun?

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

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

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

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

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

He stays silent.

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

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

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

Bomin?

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

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

“Something like that.”

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

And right now, Joochan hates that.

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

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

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

“Because we care about you!”

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

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

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

“Joochan –”

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

And Joochan snaps.

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

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

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

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

Joochan laughs into his hand. “You too?”

“… What?”

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

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

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

“From us!”

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

Bomin’s mouth snaps shut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But how –”

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

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

. . . . .

Joochan doesn’t know what to do about you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like you’re waiting for something in reply.

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

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

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

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

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

He feels at peace.

. . . . .

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

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

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

Yeah. Normal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then dinner actually comes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great.

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

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

Bomin will definitely be teasing Joochan about this by tomorrow.

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

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

She stiffens. “I – you heard us?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

It makes his stomach curdle a little inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither does Joochan. 

. . . . .

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

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

Need a lullaby?

Your voice almost soothes him to sleep on the balcony.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s never hated it more.

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

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

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

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

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

No.

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

Sleep well.

Joochan lies awake for at least another hour.)

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

He’d know that face anywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The right person’s song.

The right person…

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

Oh. Oh, gods…

“I agree,” he replies softly. 

Only he thinks that the right person was you.

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

The right person.

The right person…

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Joochan is in love with you.

And you might be in love with him.

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

And this gardener is in love with him too.

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

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

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

“Joochan.”

He blinks. “Jangjun?”

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

“I –” Joochan frowns. “What?”

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

Joochan’s eyes widen. “How did you –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “Okay.”

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It matters to me,” Joochan protests.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the rose bush is out of control.

. . . . .

On the fifth visit, Jangjun finally says something.

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

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

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

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

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

Jangjun frowns. “The gardener? Why?”

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

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

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

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

Joochan only hopes he isn’t too late.

. . . . .

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

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

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

How it could have slipped.

Slipped.

How –

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

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

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

Was there a time when he wasn’t singing?

Oh.

There was – that last time –

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

“But what?”

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

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

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

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

In a heartbeat. In a heartbeat.

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

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

He’ll do it.

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

His father searches his gaze. “Request granted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joochan explodes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m going with you.”

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

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

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

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

No.

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

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

“I’m a weaver.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” Joochan manages.

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

“So why leave now?” Bomin asks. “You could still stay – I mean, if we’re the only people who know –”

“Daeyeol knows too,” Jangjun says. Bomin starts at the name of his personal guard. “He knows, and he told me that some of the higher ups have been getting suspicious of… things. My unknown parentage. Why I’m so good at sewing.” He scoffs. “Like only commoners can be good at sewing. But yeah. No one will care how loyal I am if they find out I’m a weaver, so I’m going to have to run off at some point.” His jaw sets. “I might as well go along with you.”

Joochan has to try hard not to cry. “Thank you.”

“Don’t be a sap.” A sliver of the old Jangjun comes back in the scowl that paints itself across his face. “Bomin, you could come with us, you know that right?”

He shakes his head. “No, I need to stay back. If both of the princes disappeared, there’s no telling what our parents would do.” Bomin swallows. “Who knows. Maybe one day, when they’re gone, you might be able to come back.”

That would be a dream.

“Thank you, Bomin,” Joochan whispers.

His brother squeezes his hand in response.

“Well, that settles it.” Jangjun snaps his fingers before Joochan can do something stupid like cry. “Get moving. We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

. . . . .

Joochan does not like the prisons. He’s been there before, but every time, the mildew smell and darkness make him want to hurl.

The fact that you’re in here, though, spurs him on.

Jangjun makes quick work of the last guard, slamming the handle of his sword into his head. The man crumples to the ground. Joochan stands over another unconscious man, peering forward into the darkness. “Down the hall?”

“Yeah.” Jangjun looks down at his arm. “Oh, come on.”

“What happened?”

“Just a scratch.” Jangjun waves him off. “Go and find them. I’ll stand guard here. There should be one more left, two at most. You can handle it.”

Heart in his throat, Joochan turns towards the dark. Several torches flicker light onto the stone walls and he takes care to remain in their shadows as he creeps down the line of cells, eyeing the guard standing at the end.

One shot. One chance. Joochan takes another step. Another –

The guard turns around.

For a moment, they only stare at each other, eyes wide. Then Joochan leaps forward.

Metal clangs. Armor crashes. Joochan whirls, dodging a metal-covered fist before slamming his sword against the side of the man’s helmet. He crumples to the floor.

Joochan experimentally prods the body with his foot. Breathing, but unconscious. Good. He plucks off the ring of keys –

“Joochan?”

He spins around at the sound of your voice and meets your gaze, face thinner, eyes wider, but still you. Still you.

“Y/N,” he breathes, rushing forward. His fingers tremble as he tries one key after another, all the while trying not to cry. What did they do to you? “Give me a second, we’re getting you out.”

A key finally clicks and Joochan drops the ring, pulling open the cell door and letting you fall into his arms. He holds you close as you shake against his shoulders, chest heaving, not crying yet but the small sounds in your throat make it seem like you’re close –

“We need to go,” Joochan whispers, squeezing you one more time. “Come on, Y/N.”

You lift your head. “Where are we going?”

Good question. Joochan doesn’t even know. Just away, away from the palace, away from everything…

“We’re running away,” he says. “Both of us. And Jangjun.”

To your credit, you take it without question, only nodding and pulling back. Joochan wants to hug you again, but there’s not time. “I guess we should go, then.”

. . . . .

Bomin meets them as they emerge from a dark passageway, immediately pressing a bag into Joochan’s hands. Something rattles inside. “Money,” he says. “And hair dye. You need to get rid of that pink.”

He wraps Bomin in a hug. “Thank you.”

“Live a good life, yeah?” Bomin pats his back, hand steady even as his voice trembles. “I’ll see you again.”

Joochan blinks back a tear. “Definitely. Tell Jaehyun, okay?”

“Of course.” And with that, they separate.

Joochan only hopes that another meeting will come to pass.

Jangjun leads them down endless halls and passageways, some even Joochan doesn’t know. All the while he holds your hand, pulling you forward anytime it feels like you’re faltering, and in the end, Jangjun pushes open a last door and you burst into the early evening, a floral scent in the air. The gardens. 

He looks around. 

Meets a familiar face.

Shit.

“Joochan?” His fiancée takes a hesitant step forward, eyes flickering between the three. Your grip tightens on his hand. “What – where are you going?”

Jangjun looks at him. So do you.

He says nothing.

Her eyes widen. “You’re running away.”

No one needs to confirm it. Their clothes, the bag on his shoulder, the weapons strapped to his and Jangjun’s waists say everything.

“Yes,” Joochan finally says, lifting his chin. “I’m sorry.”

Her expression sinks, though she puts a smile on her face. “I understand.” Her gaze shifts to you. “You were never in love with me. It was obvious.”

The ache in Joochan’s heart grows even stronger. “I –”

“It’s fine.” Her smile takes on a semblance of mischief. “If it doesn’t hurt your ego too much, I was never in love with you.”

Joochan almost laughs. “I figured.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Her lips turn down slightly, a little wistful. “Shame, though. I think we could’ve been friends.”

“I think so, too.” And it’s true. If they hadn’t been forced into all of this…

“Well, I never saw you. Not even a glimpse.” His former fiancée begins to turn around. “Don’t mind me, just walking in the gardens.”

He calls her name, just before she fully turns. She looks back. “Hm?”

For a moment, Joochan falters. This could go very wrong.

But he decides to take a chance.

“Find Bomin,” he says. “Tell him I said he could tell you everything. Donghyun, too. And for what it’s worth…” He swallows. “I really am sorry.”

“Things rarely go according to plan.” She smirks. “Our parents should’ve thought of that first.”

They really might have been friends. Joochan tries not to think of what could have been as he follows Jangjun between bushes, helping you through trees, crawling under fences until they reach the edge of the forest that borders the palace.

Jangjun plunges in, but Joochan pauses. Looks at you. Even gaunt, thinner from weeks of prison, you are radiant under the rising moonlight that filters between the trees.

You smile at him, squeezing his hand. “Ready?”

So many times, he’s been asked that question before balls, before events, before arranged marriage meetings, and every time, though he said yes, his real answer was no.

This time, however…

“Are you two done being saps?” Jangjun hisses from further into the forest. “Hurry up!”

Nothing is certain anymore. He might now technically be a fugitive. But tomorrow is a new day, and though Joochan is on the run, he’s with you. 

And he’s free.

Joochan smiles at you, ignoring his guard. “Ready.”

Together, you slip into the night.

. . . . .

The palace called it kidnapping. There was a manhunt for months, search parties looking for a gardener and a royal guard, the prince’s alleged kidnappers. Many thought it ludicrous, however, that a mere gardener and a guard who had been known to be loyal to the prince for years would attempt something as ridiculous as this, and simply left the palace to fumble through its affairs in the wake of the disappearance.

The former prince himself dealt with assassins sent after his partner, bounty hunters charged to bring him back (dead or alive, he learned, it didn’t matter – if he were dead, at least no one would have to deal with him anymore). The guard lured them all away. Together, the three plunged further into the country outskirts until there was no trace left, not even of the last assassin who had been sent to take care of them all.

This is where the story should end, with two black-haired brothers and a gardener settling quietly at the edge of a forest. Yet though the words now come to close, the world still remains.

The end of one story, after all, is only the beginning of another.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for a certain trio + a prince back at the palace)

[avengerscompound]

It’s You and Me - Chapter 9

It’s You and Me: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x  F!Reader

Word Count:  1556

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Mentions of past abuse

Synopsis: You and Clint Barton go way back.  Since you joined the circus as a child, he took it upon himself to keep you away from the people who really wanted to hurt you.  For years the two of you danced a line between dark and light.

When he chooses light the two of you go your separate ways.

Fifteen years later he tracks you down.  Those feelings the two of you shared never went away, but now he is not only an Avengers but a single father.  Can the two of you make it work after all this time when your lives have gone in such different directions?

A series told in flashbacks and current day.

Chapter 10: Now

You had fallen into a slightly uneasy truce with yourself.  The part of you that had been adamant that you not fuck up any kids’ lives had been soothed down by the part that was really enjoying being back with Clint again.  Some things made it easier to compartmentalize.  Children weren't by default terrible and the problem you had was never hating kids.  It was hating your childhood.  Besides, if there were any kids you were going to love instantly it would be Clint’s.  Maybe it was never going to be in a motherly way, but they were his and you loved him.

Clint seemed to be making sure you never got put into the parenting role.  You were never the babysitter or decision-maker when it came to things they should or shouldn’t be doing.  If they wanted to go out for ice cream he’d decide if they could on his own and then ask if you wanted to as well, instead of asking you what you thought about the idea.  That made things easier too.  It meant you could avoid the step-mother role even if it did occasionally haunt you.

Cooper, Lila, and Nate seemed to take to you dating their father pretty well.  They were good kids generally speaking, but the concern that they might see you as a step-mother worried you.  The two older two definitely seemed to treat you as an entity in the house that they needed to be aware of.  They didn’t come to you to ask for things, but they didn’t straight up ignore you.  They’d say good morning when they saw you first thing and goodnight when they went to bed.  If they were getting themselves a snack they might ask if you wanted some and they’d make general conversation about music or tv shows with you.  However, it wasn't the same level of excitement as when they were with Natasha Romanoff, who they were very close with, or the same level of deference when Ebony was in the room.  You hoped that didn’t mean they resented you, or they thought you didn’t like them.

Nate, however, seemed to be completely different.  He’d seek you out more and want to share things with you, like what his favorite toys were or the pictures he’d drawn.  He’d come and sit on the couch with you and flop himself against you.  It was a little scary considering how you felt about everything.

Clint kept pushing for you to join the Avengers, taking you to the Tower and ‘randomly’ having you bump into people who would then lecture you about using your abilities for good.  It had the opposite effect than desired.  The longer the lecture went the less you wanted to be subjected to further lectures about anything ever again.  You still kept going in - partially because it was funny to see how frustrated Clint was when you’d say no, but mostly because now you were burned, you were very interested to see where this data you’d helped steal went.  Not that they’d tell you anything.  You weren’t an Avenger, so you weren’t privy to that kind of information.  It seemed to have something to do with the circus people, and you were curious to know why none of them had approached you about their underground dealings.

That was all for weekdays though - unless it was the end of the world, Clint was home on weekends.  That didn’t mean you were free from him trying to recruit you.

“So you’re just not gonna get a job?”  He asked.  He was sitting beside you on the couch with Lila sitting in front of him while he put her hair in a halo braid.  There were some half-formed plans about going out in the afternoon, but everyone was just taking their time.  You were eating cereal despite it being 11.30, Cooper was still in his pajamas, and Nate was hanging upside off the side of the couch with only his underwear, a t-shirt, and one sock on.

“Maybe I already have a job,” you teased and he looked at you with his eyes narrowed.

“You don’t, do you?”  he asked.

“No.  I don’t,” you agreed.

“The Avengers have really good medical, and a great 401K,” he said.

“Yeah because no one ever lasts long enough to cash out,” you snarked.

“She doesn’t have to be an Avenger if she doesn’t want to dad,” Lila said.

“Yeah, Clint,” you agreed.  “Listen to your daughter.”

“Gee, thanks for your help, Li,” he teased.  “You should see her though, she can shoot an arrow while doing a handstand while riding a horse.”

“You can do that,” Lila said, sounding bored.

“Wow,” you deadpanned.  “Ruined the only cool thing I can do with your over achievement.  Thanks, Clint.”

He pulled a face at you and was just about to say something when his phone rang.  He stuck a bobby pin in Lila’s hair to hold it in place as he answered.  “Yeah? - No, but I can’t… Fuck!  … Are you shitting me right now?  Ebony is off today.  I think she went… no, I get it.  Yeah.  Okay.”

He hung up the phone and got up.  “Gotta go in.  Can you watch them?  It’s an emergency.”

“What?  But Clint…”  You argued.

“Dad, you haven’t finished my hair!”  Lila yelped.

“You can finish it, right?”  Clint said to you as he grabbed his keys and tried to evade Lucky who was now dancing around his feet.

“Clint!”  You yelped.

“You know I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have to,” he said and kissed Lila on the top of the head and then you, before blowing a raspberry on Nate’s tummy.  The little boy squealed and fell off the chair in a heap.  “Thanks, sugar.  I’ll owe you one.”

“The biggest one ever!”  You shouted as he ducked out the door.

Lila sighed and started to unwind her hair.

“I can do it,” you said.

She rolled her eyes.  “You sounded really excited about the idea.”

You flinched.  “I’m sorry… it’s not… I’m not… I can do your hair.”

She looked at you like she was trying to get a read on you.  “We don’t want you to be our mom either you know?”

“Lila!”  Cooper scolded.

You ran your hand down your face.  “I know.  I know… that’s… that’s part of the reason I’ve been the way I’ve been.  I don’t not like you guys.  If anything it’s because I like you a lot and I hate that you lost your mom.  But I don’t want you to think I’m trying to be your mom or take her place.”

“Well, good,” Lila said.  “We don’t want that either.”

“You want me to do your hair and I’ll be real with you?”  You asked.

She nodded and moved into position.  “So here’s the thing,” you said, as you started taking up where Clint had left off.  “Me and your dad… we had pretty crappy childhoods.  The people who were supposed to care for us - they hurt us instead.  And I guess… your dad decided that when he grew up he’d have a family and make sure they never got hurt the way he was.  But I decided that I didn’t want to risk ruining any kids' lives.  We ended up breaking up and going our own separate paths and they went just like that.  I never had a family and he got married and got you guys.  But now we’re back in each other's lives and I care about your dad.  I always have.  And I am really scared that that’s gonna mean you guys get hurt and I’ve been trying really hard to just… let you be so it won’t be me that hurts you.”

“You really never wanted kids?”  Cooper asked.

You shook your head.  “Not because I don’t like them though.  I think you guys are awesome.”

“You can be our friend if you like?  We have a mom.  She might have died but she was still our mom.  But we also have an Auntie Nat and an Auntie Wanda and an Auntie Kate and an Ebony.  You can just be whoever you are,” Cooper suggested.

You smiled and laughed softly.  “You’re pretty smart, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Cooper joked.

“Friends then?”  You asked.

“Yeah, friends,” he said.

Lila nodded.

“Okay, but here’s the thing,” you said.  “There’s a thing that friends have that adults in charge don’t.  You’re allowed to tell me off.  Okay?  If I overstep, or I do something that upsets you, you can tell me. I won’t be mad and because friends can’t punish each other the way your dad can.  Right?”

Lila turned her head and looked at you. “Right.  Okay.”

“I’m sorry I’m dating your dad,” you said lamely.

She laughed.  “No, you aren’t.  But that’s okay.  He… it’s been a while since he’s not just been faking being happy.”

You smiled and went back to fixing her hair.

“You should tell us about the criminal stuff you’ve been doing if we’re friends,” Cooper said.

You started laughing.  “I’m sure your dad would love it if I told you about that.”

“Come on,” Cooper begged.  “You said we have to tell each other stuff.”

You laughed harder and shook your head.  “Okay… where should I start?”

// NEXT

[popculturebuffet]

Top 20 Animated Episodes of 2020 Part 2 (#10-#1)

And we’re back.. The first part is HERE, which includes the first 10 and my thoughts on this past year in animation, so we can cut the long intro and get right into it. This is the best episodes this year had to offer in animation, and it’s , without meaning to, at least a third bojack horseman. On with the show. 

10. I Am My Monster (Steven Universe Future)  “We all had Steven when we needed him, but the only person who's never had Steven is Steven. He's always been there for us, so... how can we be there for him now?“ Oddly “The Future”, a finale I did really truly enjoy.. is not on this list. Really good episode, it’s just Future was easily one of Steven Univereses best season, tightining up the pacing without loosing what made the series feel special and really digging into some of more unhealthy aspects of steven’s life. And while the future is good and certanily the needed epilogue.. this episode is the climax, the cumilation of EVERYTHING Steven had done and gone though and something fans sadly saw coming and just had to simply watch, unable to help as Steven slowly lost himself. Previously on this list we saw him hit rock bottom and it only got worse: He went to home world, attacked white diamond due to his pent up trauma and once again ingored attempts to help him, this time from the diamonds and spinle, angrily refusing to listen to his own words she she sang Change at him.  This only got worse in the briliant and sadly edged out of the list “Everything’s Fine’ A really damn painful episode where steven tries to assert he’s okay and act normal.. only he cant and he destroys everything around him, and even repeats pearl’s text trick from a single pale rose with a pained voice message to connie saying to help steven. But the pressure of the LONG overdue intervension and the fact it came too late.. means steven confsses his recent sins.. and instead of taking them for twhat they are, spur of the moment acts caused by a toxic influence and a fuckload of ptsd and unreseovled issues with white that while certanly not okay are symptoms of a larger issues takes it to mean “Im a fraud”.. and thus he horriingly corurpts.  So here we are as Greg, Connie and the main gems all gap ein horor as Steven has corrputed himself, reduced to a monster whose not even malcious just.. sad.. so full of self loathing he can’t function and at risk of STAYING like that. And the relization hits hard.. and hits everyone who joins in hard. The auxilery crystal gems soon join but attempts from both groups to stop Steven do nothing. The diamonds arrive.. and not only are saddneed by what htey’ve doned but equally powerfless to stop him.  Everyone breaks down, blaming themselves for not seeing this sooner and for speding YEARS piling their issue on the kids, everyone ready to give up as they loose the person they care about most.. except one. Connie proves to be the hero of the episode, rallying the others with the above, pointing out Steven would happily help them if he could.. and that’s the problem. He’s spent his whole life fixing other peoples problems and focusing on that.. but never had someone to be HIS Steven. Fighting him’s not going to work.. he needs to know he’s loved... in the end the final battle of the series is not some struggle of life and death.. but of love. What wins the day isn’t a fight, though our heroes various powers do come in hand to restrain steven.. but it’s all of them, one by one telling them they love him in easily the most tearjerking moment of the series, cumilating in connie softly playing a kiss on his nose... and it’s this that FIANLLY frees steven from his self made prison.. finally realizing h’es not alone and that no matter who or what he becomes.. his family loves and forgives him. While we REALLY needed the next episode to wrap things up after this swell of emtitions. this was the climax the series desrved: after spending 6 seasons trying to help everyone ELSE and fix their issues he never should’ve had to.. it’s eveyrone else who gladly pitches in to fix steven’s own issues, to help HIM when he’s at his lowest point like they’ve been, and make it so he can FINALLY heal and finally find himself once and for all. IT’s one of the finest episodes of the series and easily the best of future. 

9. The Perfect House (Close Enough)  “I’m this close to connecting garfield, TO JESUS”  This one’s just really funny, charming and creative. Simple as that.. I could move on but eh i’m a wordy bastard. Once again we’re focused on Emily, this time as we find out an endearing hobby of hers: She likes visiting open houses and fantasizing about affording a better place she likely never will afford, one with trash can nooks, a kitchen and a living room that are fully seperate, and indivudal bins for tea and sugar... and when it’s pointed out she dosen’t drink tea it’s only because she has nowhere to put it.  But after Josh and Candace get them thrown out, if adorably so, Emily is forced to face reality... i.e. Alex, in one of the series finest gags, in his underwear with conspiracy boards trying to connect garifled to jesus and having a jug of his urine around for some reason. Did I mention I love this weirdo because I do. Brigette is painting in the ktichen.. using her body as the canvas, though in a bikini because the show wasn’t streaming only yet. You’ll have to wait a season for possible boobs. Naturally this just stresses her out so she goes to visit more houses while Josh vows to buy a family bike, a large circular bike for the whole family, as an activity because of course he does and of COURSE he also has a recurring issue of being mocked by some random kid about not having one. 

So she escapes and meets dave and caitlin, a husband whose family life is miserable and a child star who got emanicapted and they quickly form a psuedo family to look at open houses.. only to, as if to remind you what show your watching, instead end up in a tgif sitcom... and trapped in a styigian void, with only Emily desperate to get out. Also she’s been missing three days and Josh has some thoughts on that and goes after her.  Naturally given she’s crashing in on her fake sitcom family, this oly has him seen as a plot element, and Emily’s attempt at cursing and everything she can , while hilarious fail.. but the climax is what makes the episode and what inches it slighlty above quack pack.. which itself was fucking awesome. Instead of FIGHTING the format... Emily is forced to play into it, and realizes a cheesy moment of emtional honesty is what’s needed. She apologizes to her fake family, saying their nice but she has to face the world and to josh and much like Donald, seroiusly this episode was made years ago and there’s no way in hell frank knew about it, she just needed an escape but it’s more healthy: instead of wishing for a life she never had Emily just wants a break from the life she does for five minutes. She’s happy where she is, with her loving husband, wonderful daughter, impulsive but still carring best friend.. and well okay maybe not Alex, there’s somethihng really wrong with him, but as much as I love the guy I admit he’s not for everyone. I’m also a borderline feral man covered in hair who wants people to know i’m smart. I get him. 

IT’s this that sets her free.. and we get another amazing gag as Dave’s family shows up and Dave chooses the fantasy.. though instead of this being thorughly pogiant it’s just “classic dave”. COmplete with title sequence. And of course it ends on a family bike with Emily getting those tins from Josh. Their relationship.. is REALLY what makes both this show and this episode in paticular work. Here while Emily screws up, it STARTS innocently enough, simply faking being a family and spirals into tgif because while this show isn’t, possibly, in the regular show cinematic universe, it’s defintely in the same multiverse. She just wants some peace of mind from a chaotic life, but dosen’t resent her husband or anything.. he just frustrates her sometimes which is fair. But he’s never portrayed as an abusive asshat which you think would be a low bar to clear but.. you’d be suprised. Point is it’s a wonderfully weird and somehow still unique despite being one of three tgif parodies this year. Seriously that shit is a goldmine. It’s how Dashieel Driscoll got half a season out of full house and a good chunk of a very special epsiode as a whole out of it. Though a certain incident helped. 

Point is good show, jolly good show... and ew’ll be right back with the rest afte the cut

8. Agony of a Witch/Old Bodies, Young Souls (The Owl House) “You always thought you were better than me! That I could never Beat you at anything! “  “I AM Better than you!” “Then WHY WERE YOU SO EASY TO CURSE?!”  The Owl House was a show I took WAY too long to catch up on after missing the second half of season 2.. minus Enchanting Grom Fright which I caught first run and we’ll get to that story shortly. Point is my procastnation did me dirty here as this show , which was already fantastic just got better and better, cumulating in this epic, heartdestroying, soul punching, beautifully animated finale that takes everything the show has built up thus far, blows it up in some places and uses it to beautifully end in others, leaving us with a new road for the future.  So yeah naturally it’s been a long ride as one of Owl House’s strength.. is that no episode is filler. No really, each one has a purpose great or small in the larger narrative, and every major arc has been expertly paced and crafted, bringing us to this point. The only major arc or plot thread left out is Amity, and that’s honestly for the better. Make NO mistake, she’s a great character.. but like fellow great Donald Duck, she was left out because the episode had a LOT of emotional stuff going on, a lot of plot to fit in, and a lot to do and it’s simply better for her character and for the moment’s she’s bound to have in response to well.. everything happening here, to let it breathe next season rather than try to shove it into an already stuffed two episodes.  But this episode is one long string of payoffs, and payoffs creating more setups: So all season Eda, our loveable witch, has been grappling with a curse that turns her into an owl beast, one that’s been getting worse as far back as the mid season finale Escape from the Palisman. She’s been needing more and more elixer to combat it, a harrowing parallel to some real world diseases: Sometimes your meds can only DO so much to combat something actively killing you.. thankfully this time.. not speaking from personal experince.  And Luz finds out soon into the episode as Eda makes a cloak of witches wool, which can deflect powerful spells, to protect herself.. only to black out and go owl just as she’s saying she’s fine. Like most parents would Eda hid just how bad things have gotten and it’s gone from needing just one bottle of elixer to needing their entire suply, and even that barely worked. Despite her mentor’s assurances, Luz is now PAINFULLY aware her mentor is on borrowoed time... not helped by the fact the coven attacked earlier that morning and she finds out by finding hooty playing tea party with them, meaning Eda is outgunned, outmanned and while Lilith failed, again.. the emperor can now easily find her himself and send whoever he wnats and however many people he wants to fetch her.. and Eda can’t use too much of her magic or else.  So while Eda and King, touched by how much Luz has changed them, decide to throw a suprise party with King making a big cake to jump out of and Eda using witches wool she intended for herself to make her a cape. Meanwhile as you’d expect Luz.. is plotting a dangerous and life threatning mission: with a field trip to the Emperor’s Coven that day, one she was going to sit out because you know they hate her second mom for dogmatic and vile reasons the episode fleshes out, she finds out they have an artifact called the healing hat that can seemingly heal anything.  So she does what Luz does and comes up with an impulsive plan to heist the thing.. but for once her impuslivness isn’t played for laughs. Her mother figure is slowly sucumbing to a fate worse than death, for once instead of just acting rashly because Luz.. she’s doing so because she KNOWS, that she has no other choice. Nothing else in sight and she’s smart enough to know that if Eda had a cure she’d of told Luz about it. Even if it was dangerous or required a sacrifice or something Eda would’ve just left that part out.  But the trip serves a few other purposes besides getting Luz where she needs to be for the plot that makes it work: it elaborates on just what the emperor’s coven is like and WHY Emperor Belos gets away with everything: He claims to speak for the titan,  the giant dead monster whose body makes up the boiling isles and who, as Luz has discovered, is the source of the magic there. So when he bloodily, I mean it’ sa kid show so they dont’ say so but given how violent this one is i’m asssuming bloody, took power, he claimed they were doing magic wrong, killed any hertiics and set up the rigid coven system. It explains just WHY the boiling isles limits themselves, gives the whole thing a creepy dogmatic religion vibe.. something that i’m REALLY suprised disney let them get away with as they had to fight for gays in the series.. but at the same time shouldn’t be because hunchback of notre dame exists and Soul , released the same year, was a big gamble against the bible belt. So their not afriad of religious groups.. but they ARE afraid of homophobic groups.. which have a lot of overlap. 

Point is it’s a good storytelling device.. and cathartic given i’ve been playing Fire Emblem: Three Houses as I finally bought it with some christmas money. Good game, probably will talk about it in the future, not the point here. 

The point is that the visit gives us some worldbuilding that helps show just how much of a threat the coven is and why their so intent on capturing Eda. We also finally meet belos, god emperor and man tired of Lillith’s shit and giving her till twilight to get Eda.. or presumibly die. I mean he dosen’t say it but he sure is implying it as loud as he can.  That’s when things go pear shaped for Luz who finds the hat.. and LIlith who has found her barganing chip to lure Eda to her, which works as well as you’d expect and leads to the best figh tin the series thus far and one of , if not it’s best scene; A duel between edith and lilith. And while they fought back in Covention this time  it’s not a petty squabble between siblings masquerading as one trying to capture the other.. it’s  fight NEITHER can afford to loose. Eda can’t loose her protege and Lilith will loose everything, dying at best being cast out of the coven at worst, if she fails not to mention loosing what she feels is her only chance at saving her sister.  But it’s also VERY clear Lilith is groosly outmatched, and while no slouch herself Eda’s constant bragging about being “the most powerful witch on the boiling isles”.. is entirely backed up. Lilith barely is able to hold herself and only gets ahead by using a child as a shiled, going even lower than her sister. However the stress of this, the build of having been the older sister of someone who constantly outshined her then turned entirely against her, finally causes lilith to snap.. and reveal the curse is her fault. Cissy Jones delivery here.. is jsut perfect, showing a mixture of rage and pain, showing that she’s spent YEARS hiding this, years resenting her sister for constnatly being better desptie working harder and doing the right thigns. Even when she’s trying to HELP Eda, genuinely trying to undo her mistake as we find out and as we’ve seen genuinely sees the emperor as the wise and benevlolent god he portrays himself as.. she can’t let it go. SHe can’t see past her own bitterness to see her sister is right and if she could just let this go and work on Eda’s terms instead of forcing Eda into her world, then maybe it wouldn’t of gotten this bad. Maybe she could’ve told her. 

Eda takes it about as well as you’d expect, and Lilith.. uses this to threaten luz’s life and force eda to use up her magic to save her, leading to the series most heartbreaking moment and Wendy Mallick’s best acting so far as she bids her appretnince a tearful farewell. Luz RIGHTFULLY and angrily lashes out at lilith calling her a monster while Lilith takes Eda and urges luz to go home... and after a tearful ending with king realizing something’s deeply wrong.

So thus next episode after a history lesson from king and some suprisinging caution as he KNOWS what Luz is up against.. Luz still decides she dosne’t care. Eda’s sacrificed herself, to Luz it’s her fault she’s in this which while KINDA accurate missues some fine points such as her sister’s stubborness or the fact had lilith not shown up she could’ve taken the hat. And the fact LIlith saying the hat was junk was pretty unreliable. What i’m saying is maybe the child shoudln’t blame herself for being kidnapped while genuinely tring to reach the same goal. 

But Lilith soon learns to her horror her sister was right. While Belos restores Eda’ss sentience even fully owled.. he has no intrest in helping her, eveyr intrest in publicly petrifying her, and not even the slightest hint of remorse at betraying lilith this deeply. After all her faith in the man.. Belos spat in her face and told her to like it.  Meanwhile Luz goes on the warpath, and we see just how far she’s come.. and WHY Belos is probably so restrictive with magic and put it on such a tight leash: we see that with her natural power and just a handful of spells, the four she’s pciked up over the season, she easily curbstomps the conformotrium staff, gets to Eda fairly easily.. and fines sshe can’t free her and eda wants the door destroyed so whatever Belos wants with it, he can’t have it. Luz heads home, ready to destroy the door.. onlyt of ind two things. her magic dosen’t work there.. and Lilith followed her and grabbed king. After a breif fight and Luz angrily and rightously confroting the asshole, wish she was in Eda’s place.. Lilith admits luz’s right and gives her backstory: That her insecurity was so great that on the day before a duel with Eda to determine who got into the emperoror’s coven, she curfsed her own sister, with no idea it’d last this long or get this bad. And with no idea Eda had lost intrest in it and WILLINGLY gave her sister teh spot.. It’s very clear despite her masssive flaws that will need to be adressed.. lilith never stopped caring about her sister, and it took all this to make her realize that trying to fix the mistake on HER terms without including her sister.. instead has almost cost her it.  So Luz and King relucntnatly take her help, though the other two are quickly capatured when theyt ry to get to hte exceution platform and thrown in the cage with Eda.. which dosne’t help the coven’s reputation as gus and willow try to make a case for Eda. Meanwhile we get the SECOND best fight of the series as Luz challenges Bellows.. and it’s UTTERLY chillling and while he’s had scenes before this it’s here we get the true scope of who he is ..and that like eda the god complex is something he can back up. Whlie Luz proves just how strong she’s gotten by keeping up with him it’s barely, and it’s clear from the moment go, and one of the series best shots, with Belos creeply materlizing behind her before announcing “sure, i’ll play” that this is a game. She’s no challenge to him and he simply wants to see waht she can do and is mildly impressed if a tad annoyed at her actually damaging his mask. But with Eda, King and Lilith’s lives in the ballance the only way Luz can save htem.. is to give him waht he wants. 

Thing is, just like Lilith, just like everyone has, good an dbad all season.... Belos undereesitmated luz.. who left fire runes on the door, willnig to sacrifice ever seeing her mom again if it meant keeping him away from her. While he has no invasion planned whatever it is CANNOT be good. Luz saves them, and Eda flies them off with Belos saying the titan dismissed them. Also that Belos has a big penis.. super huge, size of a tractor that one. Yeah that’s the ticket. 

But we get  a happyish ending as LIlith does what she should’ve done a long time ago and apologizes, and Eda starts to fogive her, brought on by King earlier standing up to her as whle he’s not happy with her either, he realizes from her story she’s not a bad person.. just a very messed up one who couldn’t own up to her mistakes. One who belivied in the wrong person to fix her problem and finally takes repsonsiblity and part of the curse into her. So with the sequel hook of Eda having lost her internal magic power but still being able to use glyph’s like luz, we also find out the Emperor has the door and a mysterious masked minon,.. who i’m fairly certain isn’t amity only because it’s too obvious. This is simply how you end a season: It’s engaging, heartbreaking, well animated and pays off EVEYRHTING so far while setting up the season to come. It’s going to be a LONG wait till next time, mid-this year.. but I can wait. The high from this one’s going to last a while. 

7. Good Damage (Bojack Horseman)  “ That means that all the damage I got isn't good damage. It's just damage. I have gotten nothing out of it and all those years I was miserable was for nothing. I could have been happy this whole time and written books about girl detectives and been cheerful and popular and had good parents, is that what you're saying? What was it all for?! “

Bojack Horseman is one of the best shows of the last decade, and an important one to me. it was the first one I watched when we switched to all streaming. I really related to Bojack and his struggles with depresion and self loathing.. which backfired given he’s a much worse person than me and while I could relate, I also compared myself too much to a character who in retrospect is both far worse  and has FAR MORE issues than I do and diffrent ones at that outside of the depression and self hatred.  The point i’m framing is that the series and I have a complicated relationship and that coupled with how bad 2020 was meant it took until a few days ago to finally finish it, almost a year later. But I cannot deny how good the show is: it has faults, a bit of reptititon in some character arcs, casting a white woman as a Vietnamize-American woman (something both Ralph Paul Waskerberg and Alison Brie have apologized for to their credit), and .. I can’t think of a last one. They never brought Ralph back? Yeah let’s go with that one what the fuck there. So I felt I owed the show one last round and it payed off as the final stretch, while easily the hardest to get through due to covering the collapse of Bojack’s life, is easily one of it’s best. 

But before the fall, we get Good Damage, which instead of focusing on BoJack focuses on Diane, said asian woman voiced by a white lady, neurotic writer and Bojack’s best friend, who has moved to Chicago to be with her boyfriend guy, a chill, charasmatic and likeable buffalo cameraman. Things are going better than they ever have: she’s in a supportive relationship and thanks to her antidipresenants, while still her loveably neurotic self, is now not obessing over shit as much and is solving her problems with applomb. Even the weight gain from her meds, which she dreaded in the previous half of the season.. has insteead only made her look healthier and happier, and more beautiful than ever. 

The only problem is she can’t write her long promised Memoir, which Princess Carlolyn, her former boss, agent and loveable pink cat and single mother, has promised to a lot of celebrities. She TRIES, she puts lots of work into it, keeps trying to sit there but nothing comes out. And what makes the episode truly great is how this is presented. Bojack is no stranger to beautiful, visually diverse episodes, Stupid Peace of Shit being a notable example and one similar to this one but uniquely great in it’s own way, but this one is easly the bes,t using a squiggly crude style to show just how chaotic and uncomfortable diane is and how stuck she is. She’s TRYING, but she just can’t make her life’s story into anything GOOD, she can’t get the words out which as someone whose had reams of projects I never startd, even to this day and who has genuine trouble writing fiction.... I related to this like all hell. But even people who have never had an intrest in writng can just get the feeling thanks to the wonderful writing and animation, from cameos by the rest of the cast to Diane’s father showing up as a goblin to the word boxes showing what she’s writtne it’s just a treat.  But what centers this amazing visual represtnation is Diane’s internal struggles as an encounter with a rude sales person leads her off on a tangent..and to Ivy Tran, a teen detective whose upbeat, optimstic, and in a great bit outlines who she is in jsut the right amount, and solves mysteries in a food court. It’s a genuinely good idea, one I honestly think could support it’s own series... seriously get on that Ralph-Bob. Get on that. Point is it’s good.. but Diane’s so hung up on what she SHOULD be making, she can’t see what’s right in front of her, despite guy saying the passages are good.  Things come to a head when Diane makes a huge mistake and goes off her meds.. which from experince never ends well: for the entire episode she’s been under the impression she can’t write because of them.. only to be proven HORRIFYINGLY wrong. It’s a  VERY necessary aseop: that your medication will always be with you and that going off it suddenly, or blaming it for writers block not only isn’t true but is DANGEROUS. Diane spirals, cries and her writing gets dark and full of self hate. It’s then Guy proves just how fucking majestic he is: he figures out what’s going on after she tells him, and helps her get to bed so she can rest, puke whatever she needs and they’ll talk about things after she takes her meds again and gets her head on straight, when she’s in a good place to do so. As someone with mental illness.. ti’s nice to see a character who not only supports someone fully, but knows how to handle it. Instead of a shitty third act breakup like many shows would do guy stands by her.  He does however step SLIGHTLY over the line, if iwth good intentions and reason and send Princess Carolyn the Ivy Tran pages, because as he puts it he made an executive decision.. and when Diane is a bit annoyed by that as it does sound a tad douchey, he rightly points out she was in a really bad hole of a place, stuck in a loop doign something that even before going off her meds was clearly hurting her and going nowhere, and needed SOMETHING to snap her out of it, and did so not to hurt her or because he thought he knkew better or , like her ex husband, because he was oblvious to her needs; he did it because it was the hard but necessary thing to get her to seee she had something special and that she dosen’t have to constnatly tear herself up by diving into past traumas because of some internal obligation. 

Naturally Diane dosen’t take it despite Princess Carolyn not only being impressed but PREFERRING the ivy pages, as she was genuinely unaware Diane had something so happy and charming in her. While Diane is worried about it when the two end up meeting in person, we soon find out why: If all the damage she went through wasn’t “good” damage, things she could writ eabout and use later.. what was it for? Could she of just been happy this whole time? Did she waste her life. And in a rare moment betwen the two PC helps Diane walk it back, explaning that she can do what she always wanted: write something that makes someone like her feel not alone. That she dosen’t HAVE to make her life story into something complicated, just make what makes her and other people happy. Something PC’s daughter could enjoy one day. So Diane finally accepts that maybe there’s something else for her.. and then we get a segue into the next episode with bojack having a panic attack and pasing out but that episode, good as it was didn’t make it so moving on.  We also check in with Penny, the daughter of an old friend of bojacks who he nearly slept with and is stil haunted both by the decision and a drunken later visit to apologize... which isn’t helped remotely when max and page, two reporters inovlved in teh subplot that tears bojack’s life apart, start hounding her. While they have good intentions, exposing Bojack’s connection to Sarah Lynn’s death, the two’s methods still come off as creepy, following a, at this point , 21 year old girl whose been through ENOUGH home. While the two aren’t terrible people their actions.. are.. while getting hte story ismprotant is it truly worth genuinely harming this person. And penny wonders if she SHOULD air her story.. she ends up not.. but only because her mother, while lettiner he decide, poitns out it may not be worth all the pressure and possible trauma it digs up,especially since Bojack is getting what he deserved anyway. IT’s a decent subplot tha tties up a loose end but really makes our journalist characters feel like assholes for again, basically stalking and harassing a young woman who didn’t want to rehash the worst moment of her life. Otherwise top notch stuff. 

6. Heart (Parts 1 and 2) (She Ra and the Princesses of Power) “Don't you get it? I love you! I always have! So please, just this once... STAY! Stay. “

Now we get to the gays winning.. and to one of the best series finale in recent memory. And given the other two titanic shows ending, one of which we’ll get to’s ending in a moment, last year, it’s a huge compliment. Heart is how you end a space opera... with big wonderful speeches, great payoff, a huge climax.. and a beautiful cathartic kiss paying off the relationship at the heart of the series that ends up saving the universe.  So let’s just go ahead and crack open that pinata: The kiss.. was easily one of the best moments of animation this year and, at a time when the quarantine was starting, misery was spreading, and things looked pretty damn bad, having a major animated show, one of the biggest of the last few years, climax with an emotional moment between two women, one the series had been setting up since day 1... it was a huge step foward for gay representation in children’s animation, and warmed my big bi heart. And it’s not just good because of that: the fact it’s a giant pile of representation is wonderous, but it’s because it’s also well baked into the show. This is the conclusion of both their character arcs: Catra finally realizes Adora will not abandon her and her leaving the Horde was not choosing them over her.. it was simply doing the right thing. So instead of running or trying to escape she’s grown enough to fight for what she wants and fight for a future with Adora.  Adora meanwhile finally overcomes her martyer complex, her determination, especially after Angela’s death, to make sure no one else is gone and she’s the only one that suffers and looses. To make sure there’s nothing else. It’s Catra’s confesssion that FINALLY gets it through her thick skull that she dosen’t have to be alone or bear anything alone.. she’ll always have someone with her to do that.. and even before Catra.. she’s always had friends for that. She dosen’t have to be alone. So the two embrace and it’s fucking beautiful..and gives adora the full power of the doomsday device they went to shutdown in the first place, restoring the planet.. and allowing her to destroy horde prime’s fucking soul. I just want to reiterate that because it understandably got lost in the shuffle of the gays winning, but our heroine fucking tears out the main villian’s soul.. and it is SO damn satisfying given what a truly repulsive , irredemible, asshat Prime was. So the two finally get a future together, a chance to build and to stop letting the past define them. It’s wide open.  But while that alone would probably net it on this list but it’s damn good otherwise, an epic final struggle between our heroes and the horde for the fate of not just their planet but ALL of htem as Prime prepares to finally wipe everything else out in egomanical genocide. There are just.. tons of awesome moments in this one: Bow and Glimmer’s suprising but welcome love confession, Seahawk annoying mermista into fighting her chip, the people of etheria fighting back.. and the reason they do is easily the second best moment of the episode. With the chips down, not literally, and things looking bleak Bow hyjacks Prime’s egoamnacial hologram.. and broadcasts for everyone to fight, to fight back, and to END THIS. After spending most of the series as the one trying to keep his friends together, the glue of everyone.. it’s bow’s heart, courage, and voice, the one that lead his friends through some rough times and severed as reason when they needed it most wether they listned or not.. that frees the world and with Entrapta turns the tide at long last. It’s just a hell of a moment.  And the only other moment equaling it is Hordak freeing himself and deciding he is his own man, he made himself tha tway for better and worst and kills prime, at least before adora finsihes the job with the badass “I am HORDAK and I DEFY your will. “ It’s just a wonderful, epic finale that pays off most of the shows major arcs, gives our heroes a MUCH deserved happy ending after spending their lives at war, and let it be said one last time, gave gay representation in children’s cartoon one hell of a win.

5. Nice While it Lasted (Bojack Horseman) 

“ No, I need to tell you... thank you... and... it's going to be okay... and... I'm sorry... and... thank you... “

Back to back finales here and honestly both are REALLY close in quality, both satisfyingly paying off their series. But both take equal and opposite routes: Heart is an epic finale in scope size and impact... while Nice While it Lasted is a very stripped down character piece: there are other characters in the background but after the intro the only voiced characters in each segment are Bojack and one of the main cast, each one both showing how much said relationship has evolved since the show began, and giving Bojack time to reflect on his possible future. I say possible because one of Nice While it Lasted’s best aspects it that there’s no real concrete ending for Bojack. Ther’es still closure: after his life emploded and he nearly died, more on that in a bit, Bojack ended up in prison, offically for breaking and entering but unoffically for all the shitty things he did with him glumly accepting it. So one year later he’s out thanks to Princess Carolyn for her wedding, sober again thanks to prison and even started his own acting class at the prison he’s geninley invested in, inteding to continue it once he gets out. But otherwise.. his future’s in flux. HE’s sober for now, but he’s painfully aware that could change again, his friends while, with one excpetion, still having a place for him in their lives, have moved on, and his career is on the upswing again despite being a pariah a year ago because as I mentioned earlier and as PC brilliantly puts it

So he could become a better man, get his career back, make amends for what he did and stay sober.. or backslide and fall down into the same traps he always has. It plays into an aseop the series has always preached: There are no real endings, life just goes on. Even for the rest of the cast hteir lives aren’t over.. their just in a good place.. maybe bojack will, maybe he won’t. Tha’ts up to the indvidual viewer and I like that. While ambgious endings can be frustrating and I get while some preferred the more concrete if still somewhat ambgious ending of a view from halfway down, I feel this fits the series better: Bojack, like the end of every season is moving on to something new, but this time we don’t know what, and that’s okay. IT’s time for us to move on.  Well okay not from this entry as each vingette deserves some praise: Our first has Mr. Peanutbutter pick up Bojack from prison, and even get him a new suit.. and then another one offscreen because predictably for his life BOjack got meatball all over it. He also calms our hero down when he wants to go back to jail, letting him know it’s okay and he’ll be there for him.. unless his friend Erica shows up but what are the odds... 1:1. But what’s nice about it is while Bojack still makes jabs, it’s clear he’s gone from truly hating and resenting PB for being the betterversion of him.. to truly seeing the guy as one of his best friends, his jabs having gone from hurtful and bitter to wry and warranted. I mean they were warranted a lot back then too he’s just a lot softer about them. 

At the wedding Todd and Bojack finally reach some form of understanding after years of awkwardness, the two having reconclied but not being really remotely close or in each other’s lives hardly anymore after Todd’s understandable blow up at Bojack in “It’s You”. Here Todd has Bojack rush him to the beach to cary him on his shoulders.. to watch fireworks because he could tell he was overhwelmed, the two having found a rhtym again, with, like with mr peanutbutter, Bojacks jabs being a lot friendler and Todd having a respect for his own needs while actually being present for bojack instead of ignorant of how bad things were like he was at the start. He even helps BOjack see even if he DOES replase.. he can get right back on the horse, couldn’t resist that one sue me, and as the hokey pokey says turn himself around. 

After, in one of the best payoffs of the series, finally trying Hondedew and finding it’s not so bad, Bojack dances with PC, admittingh e half hoped he’d have to help her go thorugh with it before the two run through the scenario, and PC expresses some honest fears with bojack helping her showing how the two hav egone from a horribly stiffing relationship.. to two close friends who are probably stuck with one another for life. Sunk costs and all that. And if bojack does want to act again she knwos some people. But for now PC finally really has everything she ever wanted:: A daughter, and a loving husband in judah. 

Finally we have the most painful of the group because of course the Bojack finale wouldn’t be all sugar and would have to punch us in the gut. Bojack finds Diane again who hasn’t talked to him.. because he called her the night of his near death/sucidide and due to putting the blame on her due to being high out of his mind, made her feel like it was his fault during the 7 hours she could reach no one and thought he was dead. Diane is hurt, feeling betrayed that bojack promsied he’d be fine then possibly left her with the pain of his death on her concious forever. Thankfully she’s doing fine, as she’s now married guy and Ivy Tran is a huge success and probably a series now.. but it’s abudnantly clear her friendship with Bojack is over.. but even this bittersweet, and necessary, seperation, as Diane has moved past LA and Bojack needs to stop relying on her and stand on his own two hooves, still warms the heart as she thanks him and lets him know i’tll be okay, and endugles him in telling her one last story, a rathe rfunny one about prison movie night bfore the series ends on the melancholy and apporriate song mr blue as the two gaze out and they see each other and we see them for the last time. 

4 The Wasteland (Infinity Train) 

“I'm as good as dead, and if my last act is to bring you with me, sliver, I can't imagine a better way to go!” “Well, I can! “

So from a bittersweet ending to holy shit that’s depressing, we have our only entry from Infnity Train on the list. That’s not to say the series did bad this year. Season 2 was easily the series finest hour, taking the framework from season 1 and crafting a gripping story of a teenage mirror person who just wanted to live without assholes trying to kill her for what she fundementally IS, and be recognized as a person, with the help of a magical deer and a more optimstic teen grappling with his peer pressure issues.  The series was still undoubtly silly with a parasite voiced by Bill Corbett, wonderfully so, and again a magical deer named Alan Dracula, long may he reign, it simply deconstructed the nature of the train and thus opened up the floodgates. By giving us a denzin who, after years of being someone’s reflection in both senses of the word, just wanted to live and how that clashed with the train and the racist assholes she met alnong the way, from the ones who wouldnt’ stop trying to kill her.. to humans who considered her as nothing more than a plaything at best and something to get rid of at worst. While Season 3 was not bad, if a bit way too strcuturally messy and trying to do too much at once, Season 2 still handled the same issues but in a much tighter frame storywise.  And that’s why only one episode made it: Most of the episodes, espicially the later ones, are pieces of a large whole, with the show being heavily seralized. Which while a great approach intended for streaming, also means it was hard to find a chapter that worked that well on it’s own, steven universe future had similar issues. But I did and the wasteland is easily the darkest, harshest and most intresting episode out of the batch.  The episode opens at MT’s darkest hour: The apex told the mirror police where she is, Jesse is gone, and MT is now running for her life from the sadstic assshole and his spinless partner who want her dead just for existing.. gee can’t imagine why a bunch of assholes refusing ot acknolwedge other peoples opinons, rights or even existance was a big topic last year.. or this year. 

So while Mace, the main mirror cop, manages to handcuff her MT manages to throw him under the train. THe result is her trying to escape the train by wondering i’ts vast desert, forced to drag Mace along as he taunts her, bleeding out slowly from you know being bisected by a train. It’s a really moody peace as Mace mock’s mt’s dreams of escape and justify’s his own selling out, while MT pokes holes in that: he was so desperate to not nonexist.. he’s willing to kill others who just want the same. IT’s a damn hard watch but fuck if i’ts not compelling. 

And the climax is what makes it. MT finds out she can’t leave the bounds of the wasteland, as it only projects so far and after escaping the ghoms ends up back on the train, with Mace, not long fo rthis world trying to kill her.. so we get a 13-14 year old GRINDING HER HORRIFYING ABUSER UNDER A TRAIN WHEEL. Just jesus.. I mean I kind of get HBO Max’s point that MAYBE this is a bit much for kids. I mean i’ve seen other really dark stuff but holy fuck a man died.. and we see his blood splatter. But it’s this horrible, harsh moment that makes the episode.. as is MT”s reaction.. not one of triumph.. but of exaustion and horror at what she’s done, before steadying herself to prove him wrong. A hard one to write about but damn it was good. 

3. Enchanting Grom Fright (The Owl House)  “Dear Luz, will you go to Grom with me- Amity”  Now we THANKFULLY get to something lighter: the gays winning.. again. Coming out during pride month, phrasing, and only a month after the she ra finale we got this delightful episode. As I said earlier I watched this one first run: while I was super behind, I couldn’t resisit to the point I watched it before that week’s amphibia. I was that curious what was going to happen.  See as i’ve given out about quite a lot.. and I mean a LOT, Disney dosen’t have the best track record with gay representation: they don’t do horrible sterotypes or anything.. but they also don’t do much of anything for the most part. Alex Hirsch has outright spoke about how much he had to fight just to get Blubbs and Durland firmly together in the finale, and how the symbols for the love god were widdled down to just male and female. And around the time this episode came Disney was coming out of a REALLY bad batch of pr stunt gay representation: They made a big deal about the first gay x in an x having gay characters in avengers endgame, star wars: Deep Hurting and onward.. but these were cameos AT BEST, with the endgame one being so minor I genuinely didn’t realize the character was talking about dating a man and only found out afterwords. Sure Ducktales had gay dads, which is awesome and always will be.. but none of the major cast was allowed to be openly gay. I mean we know webby and lena are gay but hell if disney would allow that.  But miracoulsy.. shockingly and wonderfully.. Disney DID mange to finally just say fuck it and let some big gay rep in, something so obvious it can’t be ignored and that actually features the main character and one of the most major supporting characters. And what do you know, the good press and pats on the back outweighed the bad. It’s almost if giving up homophobic markets in exchange for doing the right thing.. is a GOOD thing while also being profable. Who’d a thunk. Point is via sheer perstiance, Owl House creator Dana Terrance got to not only make her lead bi, which Terrance herself is, but have her love intrest be a girl. And I find it genuinely wonderful that gay, bi, pan and what have you children can watch this and say “tha’ts me and this is okay”.  But even minus Owl House saying gay rights.. the episode is just REALLY good and part of it is who it focuses on. Amity easily has the most character devleopment out of the cast going from someone who walls herself off from everyone, revels in her superiority.. to slowly opening up to heroine Luz, realizing Luz is not a bad person and that Amity herself dosen’t have to be, and right before this starting the road to patching things up with her former best friend willow. Allt hrough this said friendship had been prettty, prettyy, prettyyy gay. And that’s wonderful obviously, but part of why I watched this was while I HOPED they’d get to be couple.. I wasn’t convinced since see a fucking bove. But I was happy to realize that oh my god I was wrong, the gays won all along. 

So with Amity a better person she’s naturally syampthetic when sh’es put front and center at hexside’s prom equvilent which while having a dance, gromprosals and a disco ball tha’ts also a sentient being, becuase boiling isles, it also has the queen or king forced to fight a horrifying monster that manfiests as your greatest fear. And, as we find out towards the end.. Amity’s is being rejected by Luz, having her love letter, which she fails to deliver due to running into luz.. and co (which is my faviroite gag of the episode and the adorable smiles gus and willow give in response are what make it). And . it makes sense. When you stop and think about it.. Luz is the best thing in her life. She got her to change as a person, genuinely cares about and adores her, just wants to be her friend and thinks the world of her. Given her siblings, while trying to be better, are two disaster bisexuals who just stopped a lifetime of untietonally harsh bullying and her parents are controlling asshats who made her abandon her best friend at a young age and she sees LILITH as a mother figure, just let that sink in given a few entires back.. yeah.. no wonder sh’es utterly terrified of rejection. Poor baby. 

Of course WE know Luz wouldn’t. Luz may be many things, including oblvioius to thte freaking obvoius as this story line has revealed, but shes not cruel and even if she said no, which I higlhly doubt she would, she woudln’t be a dick about it. But being surrounded by cruel assholes for some time has made Amity a bit paranoid so Luz volunteers to sub in to both genuinely help her friend.. and to prove to eda she can do this. Eda is also chaperoning. and looks neat in a suit, while King and Gus get a wonderful b plot of mcing the dance with the egotisticl king having issues with stage fright. I will get more into that when I review the episode proper, come back in a month for that.  But yeah while Luz does well when the time comes, and while sadly not wearing her otter suit does wear a wonderful tuxedo with a tutu.. she has her own repressed issues to adress as Grom takes the form of her mother, as Luz has been nursing guilt over not telling her the truth about what’s going on. Luz runs, and Amity ends up facing her fear to save her crush and the two get a wonderfully romantic, and desturctive dance together as they face hteir fear, untie as one and kill that motherfucker... well okay i’m not sure grom can die but it’s gone for now.  The dance sequence.. is easily one of the best scene’s all year, beauituflly animated and painstakingly planned out, with wonderful music.. it’s just awesome and what takes the episode ove rthe top, with the two perfeclty in synch as they take grom out in less than a minute. Also king become prom king and queen, he is best of both as Luz’s own personal issues put a damper on things. Also someone’s been writing her mom. 

Overall just a perfect episoe and a perfectly gay episode of one of the best shows going right now. Speaking of a perfect episode of one of the best shows going right now, tha’ts also on disney. 

2. Escape From the Impossibin! (Ducktales)  ”We have to keep them safe” “But not like this!”  So from some emotinal torment mixed with some lovely shipping, we get a whole buttload of emotional anguish but with a robotic scrooge and the time loop room and the time loop room and the time loop room, and time l...

As I said in part 1, Season 3 is easily Ducktales best so far, having far better pacing, character ballance and bolder and more intresting stories than ever before. While the first two seasons are still excellent, this one has taken everything great and honed it and no episode shows off just how great this season is than this one.  This one takes place in the fallout of “Let’s Get Dangerous!”, with the family dealing with finding out FOWL”s not only still alive, but is run by Bradford, head of scrooge’s board of directors former shush agent as we’d find out later, and asshole, who knows all their secrets. And given Scrooge is mildly paranoid on a good day and Beakly is extremley paranoid on her best day, it’s done a number on both as they’ve split the family minus launchpad, who just had a whole episode so fair enough, up: Scrooge has taken Della and Louie, wiht their see all the angels schtick, to test out his new security, while Beakly and Donald are securing the house while Beakly has webby throughly test the boys.  Neither side goes well. The bin ends up locking our heroes out due to Scrooge’s password being changed, and forcing them to work past it. Louie rises to the challenge, as does della.. but as they beat a robot versoin of scrooge, because of course the final test would be a robot version of scrooge, Scrooge is instead of triumphant at not being dead, incredibly depressed and furious. Because when told he’s scrooge mcduck he tellingly replies “AND WHAT IF THAT’S NTO ENOUGH’. For once.. Scrooge is SCARED, up against someone who knows his every move and is one step ahead, iti’s how it’s always been, no matter what he’ll do, he’ll always loose and Bradford will always win. I REALLY need to watch spies are forever, point is he’s scared and Bradford PROVING the point by revealing he was behind it and taking over the robot dosen’t help. Our heroes win though in a damn impressive action sequence, but as it turns out.. it was just a distraction.. but we’llg et back to that.  The other plot though is whyt his is so high. While the first plot is a fun romp with deep eomtional consequences.. the second plot is decidly far darker.. it still has some good bits as webby terorizes the boys and easily one of the best in the season when she horrifying imitates dewey, but its’ only when she does finally attack she realizes she’s taken it way toof ar. She’s terrorized her brothers, caused huey to break his leg and then turn her away when she tries to help.. all she’s done is turn them AGAINST each other and they can’t win this way.  Beakly strongly disagrees and clealry lost in her own paranoia and fear, prepares to attack huey.. and thus Webby steps in... leading to one fo the most heartbreaking and tense fights in the series as grandmother and grandaughter fight one on one but both are outmatched.. but Huey and Dewey, despite everything, refuse not to help their sister and help pull webby up, with Webby panickidly realizing something’s VERY wrong and her granny usually isn’t like this when sparring... and is also chasing them. This leads to the roof, in a rainstorm no less, and Webby relcutnatnly ready to fight even though she clearly knows she both can’t win.. and dosen’t want to anymore. Despite her wilingless to scrap, fight and train.. Webby dosen’t WANT to hurt her granny she just wants to help her. Thankfully, the boys attempt to stop this, while failing horribly, catches donald’s attention as he catches them, ntocies what’s going on and furiously refuses to let this go on. While Beakly tries to ignore it and fight..s he instead slips and despite everything, the rest of the group rescue her, with Webby impressing on her grandmother that they aren’t fowl. They wont’ win acting like them and tearing each other apart.. they need to be the family they are.  But if all that wasn’t enough turns out.. yeah, Bradford’s thing was a distraction and with the rest of the group distracted with Beakly, that meant his plan went off without a hitch: all the missing mysteries have been taken by FOWL, in a masterstorke that ties both plots together and brings what seemed like isolated adventures on their own in a tagnetally related plot into the fore. Everything so far has built up to this.. and despite the loss.. the family, having been through a dark night of the soul, is ready to fight back. They want the rest of the mysteries? Their going to have to fight clan mcduck in their elment. And it’s been glorious so far. A tense, well paced, hard hitting episode, this one’s a winner. and almost got #1.. ALMOST. But as much as I tried to not go with the obvious chocie, the one with tons of press and praise and that’s graced tons of best of lists... I had to go with what was honestly the best. So...

1. The View from Halfway Down (BoJack Horseman)  “Oh BoJack, there is no other side. This is it. “  This episode was my main reason for catching up with the series and finishing it off once and for all. Awash with praise and hype I was curious about this one.. and my curiosity paid off. This is easily one of if not hte best episodes Bojack put out in it’s storied run: it’s creative, impossible to look away from and devistating: in short it’s the show in a nutshell.. and it’s a hell of a view. 

Previously as mentioned before Bojack’s life blew up and he lost just about everything, from his friends, though as the finale bared out only one of them stayed away for good and for good reason, his only family in hollyhock, his house, even horsin around. He had nothing left.. so high on drugs and in his old house he passed out at the end of last episode.. and we wake up here with a recurring dream as Bojack has a dinner party at his mother’s house, another wonderful performance from Wendy Mallick. Everyone there is someone Bojack knew who died: his former best friend he betrayed Herb, Sarah Lynn his former child co start turned washed up 30 something he let die, Courdory, a co star who died trying to get off david caradine style, Crackerjacke, the uncle he never knew who die din the war and his parents, distant mother Beatrice as mentioned and his father, who is in the body of his hero secretariat who comited suiccide in this unvierse due to getting banned from racing, as that’s the kind of weird shit dreams do. Also Zack Braff, who has no real conncetion to bojack but still died during that time Mr Peanutbutters house sunk into the earth and his ex wife Jesscia bIel formed a death cult.  The group play a game of best and worst, lay into each ohter and have some really intresting conversations with Bojack confident of when it’ll end: before the show their always mentioing. But this time, it’s diffrent.. Bojack is there for it so we get a trippy and horrifyimng stage show as Bojack watches the various people one by one vo into a black door, allt he while bojack coughts up sludge and is persued by it, unaware where he was before this. Sarah Lynn gives one last song, a reprise of a song from previous in the series, Courdroy does a ribbon dance and zack braff gets on roller skates. And bojack has a frank conversation with his dad, with his dad/secretariat revealing he DID care but was just so filled with loathing he coudlnt’ admit it to his son and thus was an abusive ass.. and then reveals to bojack he’s not waking up and bojack horryfigngly see shimself, drowning ina pool. And while he frantically, heartbreakingly tries to flee... he can’t. There’s no exit for him. As herb tells him, this isn’t the afterlife, this is his brain making sense of his last moments, and ther’es no way of knowing if he’ll get rescued, no way to do anything but watch.. watch as his father secretairat shows suicide in all it’s horror by letting it know he wouldn’t of done it if he knew “the view fro halfway down”, a horrifingly haunting poem that sells just how bad it was. As beatrice and crackerjack also go we’re down to herb who introduces bojack... before going in himself, claming there is no other side. Bojack tries not to go genle and runs, and in a horrfying sequence is surronded by the ooze as he tries his damndest to escape.. but in the end he can’t. As herb said.. he can’t do anything about this. So speaking to his min’ds version of diane he accepts he probbaly won’t be coming back and we hear a monitor as we fade out. While we know it’s not the end now... there’s no way of telling then. 

The View from Halfway Down is a haunting, beatuflly animated, masterwork, taking 6 seasons worth of communinity and regret and shoving it in bojack’s face in an intresting way, while bringing back characters we thought we’d never see again for one last go round. It was patcually nice to hear LIn Manuel Miranda and Wendy Mallick again,, and Kristan Schaal is always great. The show ALWAYS had a horrifying habit of having it’s penutlimate episode be an utter gutpunch that broke you, with the finale picking up the peices and offering some hope.. and this was no exception. They literally saved the best for last, and it was worth the wait. The view from halfway down may be gahstly,.. but the view of this episode is hauntingly beautiful. 

So that was the list, and it was.. a lot taking 2-3 days to finish all together over both parts. But it was worth it and hopefully we can get back to some regular stuff later today. For now, thank you for reading, and hopefully i’ll see you somewhere in the sunset. 

[mischiefandspirits]

Bloodlines (2 of 3)

After receiving a vague warning from his mother about his cousin and Richard, Damian goes looking for his runaway ward.

Part of Batkid and Robin

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

“Someone’s in the house.”

Damian paused, one foot out the door of the car. He turned to Jon to study him.

If it was a Bat, Jon wouldn’t have said anything so he could see how long it took Damian to notice. If it was Kon or Lara, he’d already be telling them off for breaking into their house. No one else in his family would have broken in and neither would most of their friends. If Jon didn’t recognize the person or considered the person a threat, he’d be worried. For most anyone else, he’d be annoyed.

He wasn’t worried or annoyed though, which only left one person.

“Stay here,” Damian sighed and got out.

Jon grunted, still staring at the house with enough fury that Damian was surprised his heat vision hadn’t activated.

Once inside, Damian dropped his keys into a dish on the entryway table then hung his jacket on the coat rack. “You know Jonathan doesn’t like it when you show up unannounced.”

“With your alien’s powers, I never should have made it inside without his knowledge.”

He came into the living room to see his mother sitting in an armchair, a pair of teacups waiting on the table next to her. “I asked you not to call him that. And it’s about being polite, Mother.”

She hummed and grabbed her cup. She tilted her head towards the chair next to her as she said, “He is never going to approve of me and I am never going to approve of him. This is something I have come to terms with so I wish you would as well.”

He ignored the invitation, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. “You only don’t approve because he doesn’t have any more interest in providing me -- and therefore you -- with an heir than I have in obtaining one so he won’t help you convince me to allow your scientists our DNA. You should just come to terms with the fact you’ll never have a grandkid.”

“But I already have one,” she said into her drink.

“What are you talking about?” he growled, marching into the room to loom over her. “What did you do?”

“Calm down, my Baby Bird, I haven’t done anything. You know I wouldn’t do that without your permission.”

“After what you did to Jason, how can I be sure?”

She sighed and placed her drink back on the dish. “This isn’t what I came here to talk to you about and, unfortunately, I don’t have time to debate with you as I have to cull another uprising of the Council of Demons. When was the last time you spoke to Richard?”

Damian frowned at the change in subject. “Why do you care?”

“The Demon’s Followers are gathering.”

“Have they joined forces with the Council?” That didn’t make sense. Mara was all about gathering power for herself and she wasn’t foolish enough to think she could use them for her own gain then betray them without facing serious consequences. “And what does this have to do with Richard?”

“So you really haven’t been paying attention to the boy’s antics.”

Damian bristled. He’d been watching as closely as was possible without risking Richard discovering the invasion of privacy, something he knew would surely drive the boy away forever. “I ask again, why do you care?”

His mother stood, brushing nonexistent wrinkles from her pants. “I suggest you look into what the boy has been up to. Perhaps ask your pet, I know he’s been hounding Richard.”

Damian opened his mouth to argue, but his mother just pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before slipping into the hall. “And tell your cousin that should my grandson face significant harm, the League will wipe her little organization from existence.”

“Mother!” He followed her into the hall, but she was already gone. He didn’t bother to give chase, knowing she wouldn’t tell him any more than she already had.

“What was that all about?” Jon asked, coming through the front door.

“I’m not sure.”

Oh, he could certainly put the pieces together.

Mara was up to something, something that could put Richard in danger, but what could she be up to that would put her on the Teen Titans’ radar? His team was efficient, but they didn’t handle the type of secretive things the League of Shadows or Outsiders dealt with. The kind of things the Demon’s Followers dealt in.

There was also his mother’s descriptor for Richard. Saying that his mother wasn’t fond of his family was an understatement. She absolutely loathed Tim and Duke, more than even Damian had during those first few months after he’d been brought back to life, and the Council’s interest in Tim had only aggravated her feelings for him. She was more neutral about Cass and Jason, but she saw his sister as a stand-in child that his father should have rid himself of when his true child arrived and she saw Jason as his and his father’s pet street trash. For her to not only claim his ward as her grandson, but to also place him under her protection was… out of character. They had never spoken about Richard before, what with her going dark due to the Council’s actions during his father’s absence followed by his feelings towards Jason’s death and resurrection, but Damian had assumed she’d feel no different for him than Jason given his circus heritage.

“Are you going to go talk to Richie?”

Damian shot his partner a look.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re giving him space. It’s been over a year, though, D. I think that’s enough space.”

“He has to come to me. If I force myself into his life -”

“He’ll resent you,” Jon finished. “Okay, but he’s got that Bat stubbornness you’ve all somehow managed to inherit from Bruce despite the fact most of you aren’t actually related to him. Richie’s not going to make the first move. So if neither of you reaches out…”

“I don’t have time for this,” Damian muttered, heading for the door to the basement. “I need to figure out what Mara is up to and if the Teen Titans can handle it on their own.”

“Bats,” Jon huffed and followed him down. He stayed on the stairs, though, as Damian opened the secret door that led down to the Perch. “Do you want any help?”

Damian paused. “… Not at this time. Somerset will need your focus while I’m distracted. If anything changes, I will let you know.”

“Alright.” Jon drifted up behind him to wrap his arms around Damian’s waist. “Just know I’m here if you need anything. And be careful.”

“I will.” He leaned back into his partner for a moment before pulling away.

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

Red Hood was watching a factory burn when Flamebird found him. The teen had a gun pointed at his head before he could even speak. “Come for the fireworks, Boss-Bird.”

“I don’t want to fight. I need to talk to you. It’s about Robin,” Flamebird said, holding up his hands. He quickly ducked to the side when Red Hood shot at him.

“Yeah, no, you lost your chance to talk about him when you let Bitch-man kick him out.”

“That’s not what happened,” Flamebird said and threw a feather, lodging it in the gun’s barrel. “And it’s not the point. Mother came asking after him.”

That made Red Hood’s anger spike into fury, but at least he paused his attack. “She has even less of a right to talk about Red Bird.”

“Agreed, but I’m not about to ignore a warning about Robin’s safety, no matter who it came from.”

“So now you care?”

Flamebird sighed. “Hood, please, can we at least agree to put this aside for Robin’s sake?”

Hood threw the plugged gun at him. “You’ve got ninety seconds. This better be good.”

“Have you heard of the Demon’s Followers?” Flamebird asked as he grabbed the gun and slowly approached his brother.

“No. They related to your dear grandpa's cult?”

“Sort of. Like the Council, the Followers were a faction of the League that left when Mother took power. Instead of worshiping Ra’s, though, they follow my cousin.”

“You have a cousin?”

“Mara al Ghul, the daughter of one of Mother’s elder brothers. She resents me for leaving the League. She came after me when I was just forming the League of Shadows, but we took her down. The Followers have mostly operated as an organized band of mercenaries since, though Mara’s always looking for a way to gain power or spite me.”

“And you didn’t tell us about this because…?”

“I told Father, and I’m sure Barbara knows, but Mara shares Mother’s opinion of you all -”

“Meaning she thinks we’re trash.”

“- so there was never any reason to involve you.”

“Right,” Red Hood snipped. “And why does this matter?”

“Mother insinuated the Teen Titans have gotten or will get involved with the Followers, specifically with Mara putting Robin in harm’s way. When I asked for more information she acted surprised that I wasn’t already aware and suggested I speak to you. I looked into it and found evidence of the Followers in California, but nothing focused on Jump or the Teen Titans. So here I am.”

Red Hood crossed his arms and turned to leave. “Well, I haven’t heard about any Mara or her Followers so you’re out of luck. I’ll let Red Bird know to keep an eye out, though.”

Flamebird nodded, knowing he wouldn’t get any more out of his wayward brother. “Let him know she might use an alias as well. She has used Maria, Miranda, and Mariam for given names and Raatko, Tate, and Šabaḥ for surnames.”

“Sh-Shabac?” Red Hood said, looking over his shoulder.

“Šabaḥ,” Flamebird repeated slowly. “It means ghost in Arabic. She chose it to pay homage to her father, who went by White Ghost.”

Red Hood stared at him for a moment then pulled a communicator out of one of the pockets on his belt. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“What?”

“Shut up!” He brought one of his hands to his helmet and the red color leached away until only an X remained, the drain revealing a white skull on black. Similarly, glowing red X’s appeared on the back of his gloves and across his chest.

Red X flipped open the communicator and pressed a button on the side.

“What’s going on?”

“I swear, if they lost him again…” Red X muttered as the communicator rang.

“X -”

“Who is this?” a voice said from the communicator and Flamebird looked over to see Nightstar’s face staring back.

“Take a guess, Princess. Where’s Red Bird? And if you tell me you lost him to that stalker bitch again, I’m going to wreak bloody vengeance on the lot of you.”

Nightstar scowled, but was knocked out of view before she could say anything by Impulse. “What stalker? Do you know something about Robin’s disappearance? Howdidyoucallus? WhydoyouhaveaT-Comm?”

“Bloody. Vengeance,” Red X growled and Flamebird grabbed the communicator before he could destroy it.

Impulse gasped as he came into view, but he ignored her. “What do you mean Robin disappeared?”

“I, uh…” Impulse glanced between him and someone offscreen. She mouthed, Help!

The screen’s view expanded to show the rest of Robin’s team.

Virus was vibrating, the edges of their body going to static. Nightstar was glaring up at him, eyes glowing. Impulse was still gaping and Wonder Girl looked startled as well, but was working to hide it as she stepped forward.

“Flamebird, this is unexpected. What are you doing with Red X?”

“We’re looking for my baby brother!” Red X growled.

“X, calm down,” Flambird said and the boy flipped him off. “What can you tell me about Robin’s disappearance?”

“Why do you care?” Nightstar asked, eyes narrowing further.

Flamebird breathed out through his nose as Red X snorted. “Knew I liked you, Princess. I’ll make your death quick.”

“I received information about a dangerous group of mercenaries in your area. There may be a connection. What happened?”

Virus leaned towards Impulse and whispered, “Are the Teen Titans going to work with the Flamebird?”

“I think so. This is so cool! Do you think Batgirl will be there?”

“Or Nightwing!?”

“We can hear you, dorks,” Red X huffed and the two flinched, Virus ducking behind Nightstar and Impulse blushing. “Just tell us what happened to Robin!”

Wonder Girl cleared her throat. “Well, last night Impulse and Robin were on a date at the boardwalk.”

Flamebird blinked.

Red X snorted. “What? Didn’t know your kid had a girlfriend?”

“His kid?” Impulse squeaked.

“Flamebird is Robin’s father?” Virus asked.

Wonder Girl looked at her team, uncertain, and Nightstar sighed.

“Short answer: No, he isn’t. It’s complicated and not important right now,” she said with finality. “Robin and Impulse were at the boardwalk. They got separated in the mirror maze and no one’s seen him since. We searched the entire area, but couldn’t find any evidence of where he could have gone.”

“Virus scanned the maze,” Virus said. “Impulse was worried Robin’s disappearance was the work of Mirror Master or Reflek, but Virus didn't find any energy anomalies, not even any that would suggest teleportation. Robin just vanished.”

“You didn’t even find evidence of a fight?” Flamebird asked and the teens shook their heads. “Have you faced anyone recently who could have taken out Robin without leaving evidence?”

Wonder Girl shook her head. “We’ve considered that, but there aren’t many of our villains that could who aren’t locked up right now. The only one we considered was, well,” she gestured vaguely, “X. But Nightstar said she had evidence he wasn’t in Jump City at the time.”

Flamebird nodded, well aware that his youngest brother had been taking down a warehouse of drug dealers in Gotham the night before.

“Did you consider White when you went through your list?” Red X asked pointedly.

The teens shared a look.

“White hasn’t bothered any of us since she came back to life,” Impulse said.

“Maybe because she’s been reconnecting with all her minions,” he snorted. “I thought Red Bird said he was trying to track her progress.”

The teens looked uncomfortable.

“Which none of you knew because you all get mad when he investigates her. Of course.”

Nightstar crossed her arms. “He’s obsessed. We -”

“News flash, your teammate is a Bat. Any of your relatives who’ve worked with one of us could tell you that obsession and Paranoia come with the gig. And that’s, you know, ignoring the fact that that psycho is stalking him.”

“Stalking?” Flamebird asked.

“You better hope he’s fine when I rescue him or I'll raze that tower to the ground,” Red X said then snapped the communicator closed.

“What’s going on? Who’s White?” Flamebird asked as Red X grabbed the communicator and shoved it into his belt.

The boy stared him down for a moment then groaned and switched his suit back to Red Hood. “Follow me.”

His brother led him to a dilapidated apartment building. As he perched on a ledge to open a window, he muttered, “I’ll have to burn this safehouse now.”

The apartment was sparsely furnished, just a small card table with two folding chairs on either side and a couch in front of a book-covered coffee table. It was tidy, though. The books on the table were in neat, organized stacks. The kitchen counters were wiped clean and the only dishes that were out were the ones drying on the rack. The mattress that could be seen through the half-open bedroom door was also made to Alfred’s exacting standards despite its lack of frame or box spring.

Red Hood stomped across the living room to a closet door, opening it with a keycode to reveal weapons and ammunition arranged on shelves. He grabbed a tablet off a lower shelf and pulled up a file.

“She’s called the White Woman,” he said, opening an image for Flamebird to see.

The woman was covered from head to toe in a white suit styled after a Komon. The skirt only went halfway down her knees, though, revealing grey leggings that matched the obi around her waist and the hood that hid her hair and neck by connecting the suit to her hannya mask. Like the suit, the mask was primarily white, just with silver teeth, horns, and eyes. She also wore silver boots and gloves along with a matching utility belt over the obi that was designed to look like an obijime. A sword was strapped to her back, though he couldn’t see what kind from the angle.

“She started setting up shop in Jump City around a year ago. Her motivations weren’t very clear at first. Her lackeys stole and she set other villains loose on the city, but there didn’t really seem to be any goal in mind.”

“But she did have a goal.”

Red Hood nodded. “Dick realized she’d been testing the Titans, toying with them. He thought she was planning something for them, like trying to figure out how to take them down so she could take over. He… miscalculated.” He closed the picture and opened a new one from the file. “She was only after one of them.”

The image appeared to have been captured by a security camera. Richard was clearly the focal point, but he wasn’t Robin. The suit he was wearing almost seemed to be mocking the Robin suit. The tunic was still red, but a darker blood-like color that had also replaced the green on his boots and gloves. His belt, cape lining, and tunic’s trim were a dull silver instead of bright yellow and his sleeves, pants, and cape had inverted from black to stark white. His domino mask has similarly flipped colors, going from a black mask with white lenses to a white mask with black lenses. The R logo on his chest was replaced by a silver and black bird’s claw.

“Don’t know a lot of what went down since Red Bird did a hell of a job burying everything, but Robin went renegade for a week or two and started working with White. I thought he had just been undercover, but one of the few things Dick would tell me about his renegade act was that he wasn��t doing it by choice. She forced him to become her apprentice somehow, the creepy bitch. She’s obsessed with him, and would probably still be after him if she hadn’t died about six months back after one of her schemes backfired on her.”

Flamebird frowned as he switched the picture back to White.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where Talia is,” Nyssa had said when Damian had contacted her after he’d found out about Red Hood. “She cut contact with me two weeks ago. Apparently, she objected to my use of the pits. If only you had called earlier so I could have called out the hypocrisy. Healing my niece is a far better use of the pits than fixing your pet.”

At the time, Damian had been so focused on arguing that Jason wasn’t a pet, he hadn’t questioned why Mara had needed to be healed in the pit. Especially one of Nyssa’s, which rarely saw use as his aunt was far warier of the effects of the pits than his mother or grandfather.

“Mara’s the White Woman,” Flamebird said, eyes tracing her mask. It reminded him of the Oni mask she’d worn thirteen years earlier, when she’d first attacked his team. “But why would she suddenly target Jump City?”

“Specifically Dick,” Red Hood corrected. “And beats me. Like we established, none of you al Ghuls give a crap about us.”

Flamebird opened his mouth, to argue that he did care. He cared about his Robin and he cared about his Batkid, no matter what either boy might think.

Then he froze.

“Grandson.”

“What?”

“When she came to warn me, Mother called Richard her grandson,” Flamebird said, turning towards the window. “I don’t know why she’d claim him as family, let alone acknowledging him as my heir, but if she was willing to overlook our lack of blood relation -”

“White could too,” Red Hood finished, tossing the tablet back into the closet and slamming the door closed. It locked automatically as the anti-hero raced after his elder brother. “She’s been targeting Dick to get at you, and you didn’t. Even. Notice!”

“I need to find Robin.” Flamebird pulled out his grapple gun, but Red Hood grabbed his arm before he could fire.

“I’ll find him. You’ve done enough.”

“I have a list of places where Mara might be.”

“And I have a list of places where White might be.”

Flamebird pulled his arm away, but turned to the boy. “Then we can compare our lists and narrow it down.”

“Not happening,” Red Hood growled.

“Ho-Jason,” Flamebird said, setting his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “This is about Richard, remember. Our focus right now should be locating him as fast as possible. You can be as mad at me as you want later.”

Red Hood slapped the hand away. “I’m going to shoot you in the kneecaps when this is over.”

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

For clarification:

League of Assassins: The normal LoA in the comics, ran by Talia (with Nyssa as an advisor when they aren't fighting)

League of Shadows: Dami's team (Flamebird, Nightwing, Abuse, Beacon, Flyway, Nobody, Quick)

Council of Demons: A cult that worships Ra's and seeks to bring him back to life

Demon's Followers: Mara's criminal organization

[doodle-empress66]

Hazbin Hotel: Perma Frost Full Bio

General

“It’s BULLSHIT that I’m down here! Stuck in this ugly ass form! I did the shit I did to SURVIVE! No one has ever watched out for me! So I watched out for myself the best way I knew how!”

- Perma Frost to Charlie

Full/True name: Petra  

Nickname(s) or Alias:  

Perma Frost, Perma

Perm

 The Killer Frost Demon

Kid (By Husk)

Ice Queen (By Angel)

Little Girlie (Niffty)

Young Miss (By Alastor)

Bruja de hielo (By Vaggie)

Gender: Female

Species: Human (formerly), Ice Demon

Age: 14

Birthday: Jan 6th 

Sexuality:   Autochorisexual-Aegoromantic

Nationality: Icelandic

City or town of birth: Vik, Iceland

Currently lives: The Outskirts of Pentagram City

Native language: Icelandic  

Relationship Status: Single  

Appearance  

Height: 5'5   

Figure/build: Slender, somewhat curvy build, with long, dark blue icicle-like fingers. Powder blue skin

Hair color: Light Blue (Normally),   Transparent light blue (when angered or frightened)

Hairstyle: Long and unruly  

Eye color: A glowing icy blue hue that shifts

Tattoos: A snowflake on her back    

Preferred style of clothing: ALWAYS wearing a large hooded jacket/coat that covers the entire top half of her body. Large black snow boats. And navy blue tights

General Past life  

Human Name: Petra (She renounced her last name)

Birthday: 6th Jan 2005

Age of Death: 14

Cause of Death: Froze to death/Blood loss

Death day: 23 Aug 2019

Personality 

Perma is an intense, cautious, volatile, and resentful teenager. She’ll do whatever it takes just to make it through the day regardless of who she has to harm or fight. She loathes adults and doesn’t trust them or their judgement, and always believes they're going to hurt her. Nor does she like being told what to do. So she often gets into a lot of fights with older demons, Perma will at times rush head first into a fight without thinking things through due to being blinded by her violent nature and past trauma. She has little to no friends or acquaintances because of the sheer brute force of her powers, somewhat lack of control and unwillingness to listen to people. Despite being unapproachable most of the time, deep down Perma wants a kind soul to turn to for love and guidance. But, pushes away this feeling due to the bad hand life and death has handed her. 

 History  

Born in Vik, Iceland in 2005, since she could walk; Petra knew nothing but misery and neglect. Abused and mistreated by her egg and sperm donor, growing up in a strange cult certainly didn't help little Petra. Forced to deal with going hungry and cold from the old shredded clothes she was forced to wear. As well as participating in her mother's questionable practices. Her family often took part in the ancient art of Icelandic witchcraft. Writing questionable symbols everywhere in the blood of animals they caught. Reading from old books with disturbing otherworldly images. Even carving up their own bodies as a sign of devotion to some strange dark entity. Petra didn't understand these events but knew only bad things could come from it.

Life didn’t get much better for the young Icelandic when she was set up to be a sacrifice in one of the cult's shamanic ceremonies, she managed to slip away and ran until she arrived at an old rundown village. Only 9 years old at the time. From there, the next 4 years were awful. Petra had to survive on scraps she found in the trash or steal food and clothing from unsuspecting villagers. Years on the street, being treated like dirt from those around her, a child no one wanted around, caused Petra to grow hateful to world and the vile people who inhabited it. No one had any concern for her. No one cared about her. Her life meant nothing to ANYBODY. So after that, the lives of others didn’t mean a damn thing to her.

At 11, Petra committed her first murder. She was low on scraps and slowly starving. Following a frail elderly woman with a bag full of food, Petra took out an ice pick she had swiped from some workers and drove it into the back of the woman’s head. 

Soon after, the dreaded streets Petra wandered were now becoming littered with the bodies of the people she stole from. Little did she realize, these malicious acts were changing in ways that were beyond human understanding. Something malevolent and cold started growing inside her body. Warping her soul.

Two years, this continued...until Petra chose the wrong target. A lanky young man, who looked a few years older than her, was smoking in an alley. Driven by survival, bloodlust and greed to what type of goods the man had on his person, Petra struck with her signature ice pick. Too bad, the man wasn’t unarmed. Nor was he alone. That’s all she remembered from that specific day. And how she wished she just kept walking.

The man was part of a group of sex traffickers looking around for young girls and women to add to their market. And 14 year old Petra was added to that collection.

The following year was a new level of Hell for the young girl. Beaten, abused, used in the most vile of ways by these men and others. Petra resisted at each turn but the suffering increased more and more. Then the vile concoction, meth they called it, they forced her to take each day. Told her that it would make her more “enjoyable company”. Some days and nights blurred into each other. This...drug made her forget the pain, the misery, the horrid existence she was subjected to. But reality came back full throttle to punch her in the face once it wore off. It made Petra feel disgusting and free at the same time. Just like the girls around her, empty shells with blissful smiles on their faces.

  She was right at the edge of just ending it, but the stubborn part of her refuse to give her tormentors the satisfaction. One night, while she was getting prepared for a client, Petra managed to break away and shank one of the guards with an icicle she snatched from outside of a window. That kill was easy, but the second guard managed to let out a shout before Petra rammed the spike into his eye.

Petra rushed out into the winter forest, away from the building she was held captive. Wearing nothing but a pair of booty shorts and a flimsy tank top and armed with a bloody icicle. The traffickers hot on her trail with guns and rope. Each day of hiding, running, and avoiding bullets was made worse with trying to fight the freezing cold. One bullet managed to pierce her side. On that night, Petra finally found a small cave to duck into, her feet and hands black and swollen. She was practically a light blue.

Using the last of her strength to make a small, pitiful fire, Petra packed her bullet wound with snow as a sad attempt to stop the bleeding. She leaned against the cave wall and closed her eyes. Thinking back to all the events that transpired that lead her to this. The memories slowly getting darker and darker...

She woke up abruptly from crashing down onto the ground. The teen shot up, disoriented and looked around. Her eyes fell onto a large sign reading, “Welcome to Hell.”

Sins committed to get into hell: Theft, Murder, Assault, Manslaughter, Prostitution (Not her choice)

Any regrets in what they have done: No...depends 

Likes:  

Doing whatever she wants

Warm food

Parkour

Heavy metal music

Necessary Violence

Beating up adults

Animals

Children

Being left alone

Dislikes:  

Adults

Being touched

Limited freedom

Being told what to do

Guns

Silence

Drugs

Anything sex related

Short clothing

Frozen Food

Fears/phobias:  

Men touching her/being near her

Being tied up

The sight of her own blood

Dark rooms

Cults

Sexual acts of any kind

Being drugged

Favorite color: 

White 

Hobbies:  

Ice/snow surfing

Brawling/Street Fighting

Reading scary stories

Parkouring

Stealing

Talents/skills:

Great at the drums

Ice skating (lol)

Parkouring

Intimidation

Fighting

Very Observant/ Quick Learner

Favorite food(s):  

Skyr (Yougurt)

Harðfiskur (dried fish)

Reykjavik's Hot Dog

Favorite drink(s):  

Slushies

Pineapple Soda

Hot Chocolate

Significant/special belongings:  

Her icepick

Spiked choker

Combat  

Fighting skills/techniques:  

Very good street fighter/brawler

Excellent stabbing and hacking skills

Weapon of choice (if any):  

Ice Pick

Unique Abilities:

Cold Magic- is able to perform a form of magic that allows them to utilize cold, either magically manipulating it

Cryokinesis- can create, shape, move, control, interact and manipulate ice.

Cold manipulation- can create, shape and manipulate cold by reducing the kinetic energy of atoms and thus making things colder

Atmospheric Freezing- an freeze the air/atmosphere itself regardless of air quality, abundant and trace gases, air temperature, etc., allowing her to either convert that air/atmosphere directly to ice or simply super chill it.

Absolute Freezing- can freeze anything, from tangible targets to intangible energy such as fire, or concepts such as time, even a person's mind.

Cold Embodiment- acts as the personification or manifestation of cold in their reality and has limitless control over coldness and can use coldness in different ways.

Cold Breath- able to generate and manipulate cold energy within her in a way that allows her to shape the exhaling of the effect.

Cold Presence- has the ability to project a field that lowers the temperature around her, creating a constant chill.

Cold Weaponry- create or wield weaponry with power over cold, which grants Perma a wide variety of cold-based abilities, including slowing down molecules, freezing a target solid, and limiting healing.

Cryo-Phasing- combines intangibility and ice powers to freeze the objects she passes through.

Cryogenic Bodily Fluids- possesses freezing cold bodily fluids (blood, sweat, saliva, etc.

Cryokinetic Creature Creation- is able to create beings of ice or shape existing ice into wanted shapes and purposes. She can grant the beings varying levels of independence (controlled, automatons/programmed, semi-independent) and existence (momentary to permanent) and delete the creature once she is done with them.

Cryokinetic Claws- can project and retract razor-sharp claws of ice from her fingertips for offensive purposes.

Cryokinetic Combat- able to utilize ice manipulation with her physical combat, allowing her to both create tools and weapons for attack and manipulate the environment for her advantage

Cryokinetic Cloning- can create clones of herself, others and/or objects by using ice.

Cryokinetic Surfing- controls the ice in a way that increases her ability to move and/or maneuver either by granting her abilities she otherwise lack or allowing them to ignore normally needed equipment.

Cryokinetic Regeneration- can use ice to regenerate her bodies with the amount of ice used defining the speed of healing.

Demonic Ice Manipulation- One of her most powerful attacks. She can generate and manipulate mystical demonic ice, which cannot be melted by mortal means, drawn straight from the darkest fears sentient minds have about winter, ice and arctic areas, including the fears of treacherous ice breaking, burying/devouring, damaging or tripping the victim in malicious awareness.

Demonic Ice Breath - able to generate and manipulate demonic ice within her in a way that allows her to shape the exhaling of the effect. These shapes can include bursts, streams, spheres, even a mist of it from the mouth.

Dark Ice Manipulation - More powerful attack. She can create, shape and manipulate the ice of a darker, detrimental nature; that which damages, destroys, and consumes anything/everything she comes across, representing the hazardous destructive side of ice, which in turn ignores most of the limitations and weaknesses of the normal ice. In essence, this is about solely controlling the negative dark powers of ice.

Frostbite- can freeze up any part of an enemy's body where she can turn the tissues and flesh into solid ice making the victim shatter into pieces due to freeze drying, or cause a swelling making it hard to move for the victim.

Frozen Surface- can cause surfaces (often floor) to emit ice/cold, causing ice/cold-damage on anything in contact with her or the ice.

Hail Generation- can generate and project hail.

Ice Aura- can release and surround herself in/with ice/cold for defensive and/or offensive purposes, possibly becoming almost untouchable and granting her various abilities/attacks.

Ice Vortex Creation - can generate spirals/vortices composed of ice. The vortex can be projected as a long ranged attack or as a tornado of ice for both offensive and/or defensive purposes.

Omnidirectional Ice Waves- can release massive amounts of ice in every direction at once for almost unlimited scales. This power allows Perma to dispatch many foes at once and destroy large areas like cities/villages.

Snow Ball Projection- able to launch spheres of snow at targets with varying degrees of force.

Snow Solidification- can solidify or give solid-like properties to snow-based substances with the level of solidity going from loose jelly to metal-like hardness or beyond. Alternatively, Perma can also harden snow to make it denser and harder to break.

Un-melt able Ice- can generate and project snow/ice that is extremely difficult to or cannot by melted by normal means, such as extreme heat or fire.

Weaknesses in combat:  

Intense heat/fire

No control when pushed too far

Turns to solid ice when she goes overboard

Due to her constant chill, she can’t sneak up on people

Strengths in combat:  

Wide and short range attacks

Nearly indestructible ice walls

Hidden demon form 

Wild unpredictable street fighting style

Can create ice creatures, structures, and weapons

Relationships

Past life Relationships

Parents: Unknown 

Siblings: None  

Other Important Relatives: None  

Children: None 

Best Friend:   None yet

Other Important Friends:  None yet

Acquaintances:  None yet

Pets: None  but wants one

Enemies:  

Anyone who tries to mess with her.

Alastor (Frenemy-ish)

Hazbin Relationships: 

Charlie- Put off by her eagerness and determination to redeem sinners. Didn’t trust her at first and kept her distance. Slowly warmed up to Charlie’s kindness and learned to trust her and others.

Vaggie- Disliked her attitude, and authority. Would tick her off with snide comments and constantly freezing her and/or Charlie. Started to bond over their dislike of Alastor and men a bit. Told Vaggie of her life and hardships, now have a big sis/little sis connection.

Angel Dust- Because of his sexual nature, she was terrified of Angel and avoided him. Even freezing him solid a few times out of fear/self-defense. Calm down a little once, she learned that he’s gay. The two became close once Angel shared his own stories of abuse. Also adores Fat Nuggets.

Alastor- Instantly loathes Alastor due to his disregard for personal space and creeper smile. Sees him as a closet pervert and often talks trash about his radio broadcasts and calls him an "a limp dick old man". Perma was unaware of Alastor's reputation, but sees him as a sicko who likes to inflate his own ego and harrass those he sees as beneath him. One of the few demons who doesn't fear Alastor, but that's due to her own ignorance and inexperience. Often tries to start fights with him by crude derogatory comments. Or freezing him.

Husker- Didn't think much of Husk at first, but liked the fact the he's a cat. The two barely interacted until she sang to herself in German and Husk responded back. They slowly began to converse with each other more and more. Husk actually listening to her woes and offering some advice. Vice versa. Due to Husk keeping to himself and respecting boundaries, Perma respects and listens to Husk more than anyone. Calms down whenever he's around. The two soon form a father/daughter like relationship.

Niffty- Was put off by Niffty's persnickety and energetic persona. Also irritated her by the frost she leaves behind. But they grow to tolerate each other over time.

Trivia 

Sin - Wrath

Can speak 5 languages: Icelandic, German, Polish, English, and Dutch. This is due to the men she came in contact with during her time on the streets and while trafficked

The spiked choker she wears was a gift from one of the older trafficked girls. It was the first time she was given ANYTHING nice.

Speaks with a thick Icelandic accent

Her lips are dark  blue from her cold

Given her sexual abuse, Perma doesn’t just hate sex, she’s TERRIFIED of it.

Perma keeps to herself and talks to no one unless confronted. 

She knows nothing about the Overlords or power scale.

She keeps her distance from friendly people. To her, everyone is out to get something.

Perma loves heavy metal, it helps her release the pain and fury she feels

With enough patience and practice, Perma could fight on par with an overlord

She likes animals, they never harm you

She eats warm food, to feel ‘alive’. 

One negative act towards her, no matter how small, can set her off

[p4nkow]

Maybe someday

A few days ago I rewatched this movie I grew up with which is called “Life as we know it” (I highly recommend you to watch it if you haven’t) and it gave me the inspiration to write this one shot. 

Summary: as Lucy and Rami finally leave for their late honeymoon, they ask Y/N and Ben a huge favour — they have to watch over their daughter, Sophie, for one whole week as they’re away. The only problem is that Y/N and Ben can barely stand each other.

Let me know what you think, I’d love to read your comments!

Anxious. Organised. Schematic. Hater of surprises.

If you had to describe yourself with simple, concise words, those’d have been your choices. Everyone who knew you was well aware of the fact that you tended to plan everything. It wasn’t something you liked to do — plan your life in its very details. You just couldn’t help it. Moreover, it helped you to make your schedule clear as well as your mind.

So when Lucy and Rami told you they had to talk to you, the level that your anxiety had reached could’ve been easily imagined. Their party had been awesome — it had given you the chance to meet old friends and to have a little chitchat with those you hadn’t seen in forever.

It’d have been perfect if it wasn’t for Ben.

Oh man, saying that you didn’t get along was not enough. One of the most important things that’d influenced your relationship was the fact that he’d screwed up your first blind date. First and last date, of course. It didn’t take a genius to understand that he had no wish to be there.

Since that day you’d met him quite often — it was impossible not to when your best friends were married and with a one-year-old child. That’s right. Rami had finally summoned the courage to propose to Lucy and now, almost a year and a half later, they had the most beautiful child you’d ever seen.

Sophie Malek was a feast for the eyes and you loved her. Before her you never understood the endless love people showed towards babies, but damn. It was impossible not to love her.

Ben did love her, too. That’s one of the few things that you appreciated about him.

He was just perfect when around her — always caring and careful about her needs. He’d always play with her and the sight of a grown-up Ben playing with duckies and princesses was quite funny. Funny, yes, but cute. Those were the only times when you were in a cease fire. You just couldn’t bring the little Sophie in your war of jabs.

“What’d you guys need to tell me?”

Rami and Lucy exchanged a look and you didn’t like the little smiles painted in their faces. They were pulling a scam on something and Lucy’s words did nothing but increase your suspicions. “Just wait a bit longer.”

Now that the party was over, it was only you, Lucy, Rami and the little Sophie sprawled in the couches of their living room. “How old are you, Soph? Huh?” The little girl had just learned to show her age with her fingers, raising the index finger at her mom’s question.

Lucy was your best friend, your wingman, your partner in crime, the sister you never had. Your friendship had been going on since high school and now she was a mom. God knows you cried your eyes out the day she gave birth.

The unlocking of the door brought you back from your thoughts and you sighed deeply at the sight of Ben. Even though there was resentment between the two of you, you couldn’t deny that he was good-looking. Extremely good-looking. The leather jacket he was wearing on top of his black shirt made him look even more attractive and you hoped he didn’t catch you staring at his black trousers which fit him perfectly. But why the hell did he always wear black?

“I put the garbage out. I hope I guessed right your can.” He didn’t seem to notice your presence as he closed the door behind him, so you just ignored him.

Then he spotted you sitting on the couch right in front of the couple and gave you just a simple nod. Unfortunately there was no room for him on their couch, so he was forced to sit on yours. He made sure to sit as far from you as possible, though.

“You smell so much of feminine scent that I’m about to throw up.”

Ben gave you one of his smirks and you truly wished you could punch him in the face. “You’re just jealous that it isn’t yours.”

“I pity those girls”, replied in kind. Your words did nothing but amuse him and you rolled your eyes.

“Guys.” Thank God Rami saved the situation as Lucy tried to hide her giggles in Sophie’s neck.

“You wanted to talk to us?”

Rami nodded at Ben’s question, surrounding Lucy’s shoulder with his arm. “Yeah, uhm...”

“Do you remember how we never got to leave for our honeymoon, right?”, Lucy came in his help.

“I remember your complaints about it, yeah.”

Lucy’s smile grew even bigger at your words. “We’d organised this big trip to Europe but then...”

“Sophie happened”, Rami concluded.

You remember it clearly, but still you didn’t understand what was their point. When you turned towards Ben for a quick look, you were glad to see that he was just as confused as you. “And?”

Lucy and Rami exchanged another look as Sophie squeezed her duck. “We’d love to do that trip. As a gift for our first anniversary.” Oh no. Now you knew exactly where this was going.  

“’f course you understand that we can’t take such a trip with a one-year-old child.” Ben widened his eyes at Rami’s words. He was starting to understand too.

“So we wanna ask you”, Lucy started saying but she was interrupted by Rami. “We beg you.”

“Yeah”, Lucy nodded. “We beg you to take care of Sophie as we’re away. You guys are the only ones we trust.”

“Shit, man”, Ben murmured as he slipped his fingers through his hair. It was something he did when he was nervous. Right now he was extremely nervous and you just couldn’t believe what’d you just heard.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Lucy narrowed her brows in worry. “Y/N, please. You know we cant trust our parents.”

“And we can’t trust Joe”, Rami added. Sophie limited herself to follow your conversation with a curious look.

You, on the other hand, still had to process their request. So you turned towards Ben only to find himself staring at you, horrified. “I’m sorry”, he said by picking his tongue out, licking his lower lip. “I’d love to do that. Really, I’d love to. But with her?”

“Oh so you don’t believe I’d be able to take care of a child?”

“I highly doubt it, yes. Let’s face the truth, ‘kay? We can barely stand each other.”

“And so what? It’s Sophie we are talking about.” You forced yourself to keep your tone low not to scare the child.

Ben exhaled deeply and quietly murmured something, so you moved your gaze back to the couple. “I’ll do it.” Now it was personal — you had to show that prick that you could take care of a baby, differently than he thought. With or without him.

Lucy’s smile was still uncertain as she looked at Ben. He seemed conflicted as he rubbed his hands, looking at you first and then at Sophie. His shoulders rise and lower as he sighed deeply, starting to nod his head ‘yes’. “Yeah, I’ll do it, too.”

Rami let out a relief laugh and he placed a kiss on Sophie’s head. Trying to ignore Ben, you stood up from the couch and leaned towards the baby. “Come to auntie, Soph.”

The baby reached up to you and you gladly picked her up, meeting Lucy’s eyes while doing so. “I owe you one.”

She surely did.

“Auntie Y/N will take care of you as mommy and daddy are away”, you whispered as you smiled back at her.

Sophie’s attention was caught by something behind you, her eyes widening in excitement. You knew who she was looking at even before turning around. It was crystal clear that Sophie loved Ben almost as much as he did. He gently caressed her cheek with a sweet smile on his face. “Hi, love.”

“Don’t make me regret it.” Your words were nothing but a whisper as you talked to Ben.

His jaw clenched as he fixed his green eyes on yours. “Sophie’s our priority now.”

“Yeah, exactly”, you said quietly. “So work your shit out.”

“Hey, Soph. What a bad aunt is auntie Y/N, right? She even swears in front of you.”

You rolled your eyes at Ben’s words and, making sure that Sophie wasn’t looking at you, you mouthed “Fuck off.”

Day One - Monday

Part of the deal was to move at Lucy and Rami’s place for the entire duration of their trip. It was mostly because you didn’t want Sophie to feel completely disoriented as her parents were away.

You murmured a series of “Huh-huh”, “‘kay” and “Yeah” as Lucy showed you were to find the diapers, the baby bath tub, the meals and the toys. She even revealed you a tip on how to calm her down when she was nervous.

Turns out that Sophie loved the noise of the kitchen hood.

For the whole time Ben chatted with Rami in the dining room, giving a look at Sophie sleeping in the playpen every now and then, and you truly hoped that he’d have given you some help in this. Things presaged nothing good.

“I’ll FaceTime you every night”, Lucy promised.

“You already said that.”

“The emergency numbers are on the kitchen peninsula.”

“I know, Luce. You showed me.” Your words came muffled at her ears as you hugged her. “Do I have your permission to kick Ben in the balls if he misbehaves?”

“You behave.” Lucy wiggled her nose as she giggled and turned towards Rami, who was standing right next to her.

He leaned towards you to give you a hug and he whispered to your hear “You have my permission.”

His words made you giggle and you gained a glaring from Ben. “What?”

“You smell of baby puke.”

You held back a middle finger as you waved at Lucy and Rami who were now walking away.

As their car disappeared from your sight, you silently closed the front door, trying not to wake Sophie up, and then turned towards Ben. “What?”, he asked by raising a brow in a questioning look.

“We need a schedule.”

Ben slowly blinked, giving you a confused look. “’m sorry?”

“Come with me.”

Five minutes later you were both sitting at the stools of the peninsula, one facing the other, with a beer on one hand and the awareness that it was going to be a very long week.

Ben took a sip of his drink as you twirled a marker between your fingers, looking at the blank white board. “Hopefully we’re gonna make it before Sophie turns two”, he commented with a smirk.

Half an hour. You’d been in his presence for half an hour and you already wanted to punch him. Nevertheless you ignored his comment, starting to write on the board as you said without looking at him “I work three days a week: Monday, Wednesday and Friday from eight to twelve. This means that you’ll have to take care of Sophie all by yourself.”

When you looked up at him, his brows were narrowed. “What now?”, you asked in annoyance.

“I want free days, too.”

“I don’t have free days.”

“Yeah, but you go to work. Those ones count as free days.”

Sighing deeply helped you to keep calm. “Okay, then. What do you suggest?”

“Sunday night.”

“I’m not spending a Sunday night all by myself, Ben.”

His smirk was a hint on what his next comment was going to be. “I’m pretty sure that you spent lots of Saturday nights all by yourself, love. When was the last time you got laid?”

“Mind your own business”, you immediately replied.

Ben giggled at your reply and you tried not to stare at his lips as he took another sip of his beer. “And what if I don’t take any other free days? Only this Saturday night.”

His suggestion was reasonable — you bit your lower lip as you thought about it, narrowing your eyes. Why’d he do something like that?

That’s what you asked him. “Why?”

He limited himself to shrug at your question. Not that you were expecting an answer from him. “Fine, then. You got this Saturday night.”

A few moments of silence passed as you wrote on the board and the marker made a shrill sound at every word. “We didn’t think this through.”

Here we go again.

You couldn’t help but throw at him an annoyed glance, sighing deeply as you placed your elbows on the counter and leaned towards him. “Ben.”

“Share the place, both sleep-deprived? ’t sounds like a compelling psych experiment.”

“We cannot draw back now, ‘kay? We’re pretty deep in this.”

His green eyes stared at you for a few moments, still processing your words. It wasn’t a problem of yours if he had an issue with you. Both of you had agreed to do that — how could you say no to Rami and Lucy?

Ben exhaled deeply and leaned towards the back of the chair, moving his gaze away from you. You’d won the argument for now.

There were lots of other things to plan and to write down on the whiteboard and you were about to say it when a little squeak, followed by a little crying caught both yours and Ben’s attention. He gave you a disoriented look and you hurried to stand up, leaving the board still unfinished as you moved in the other room.

“Hi, honey. Hey.” Sophie was standing on the playpen, her beautiful eyes a bit teary.

Ben’d followed you to the room. “Hey, look at the sleepyhead.”

His expression had completely changed — he seemed another person when talking to Sophie and you could barely believe he was the same man who’d earlier told you you smelled like baby puke. Sophie reached up to him and he was about to walk towards her, but you placed a hand on his shoulder and said “Wait, don’t pick her up.”

His brows narrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“Because she needs to learn how to self-soothe.” Ben looked at you like if you were mad.

“She needs to what?” His yes were narrowed and they seemed even darker than usual.

“Self-soothe”, you repeated. “Soothe herself.”

Ben stuck out his tongue and gestured towards you. “And why’d she do that?”

“I read it, Ben. It’s important. Let’s just give it a minute.”

The way he shook his head made you believe that he thought you were nuts; nevertheless, he did as you said. So you were both standing right in front of the playpen, waiting for Sophie to calm down all alone.

But she didn’t, so an idea came up to your mind. “Five little ducks went out one day, over the hill and far away”, you started to sing in an uncertain voice. You looked at Ben with the corner of your eye and he had an amused smile on his face. “Mother duck said, ‘Quack, quack, quack, quack’ but only four little ducks came back.”

“One, two, three, four. Four little ducks went out one day...” Ben’d started to sing along with you as you tried to impress Sophie with your dance moves. “I don’t remember it”, he whispered to you.

Sophie wasn’t particularly impressed by your singing skills, given that she was still softly crying. The sight of her teary eyes’d become unbearable so — unlike what you’d told Ben — you leaned towards her and picked her up. “I think she’s hungry. Yup, I’m gonna feed her. Let’s go eat, love.”

“I though we weren’t picking her up!”, you heard Ben saying as you walked away.

Day Two - Tuesday

Sophie’d fallen asleep in your arms. Her beautiful blonde hair made her seem angelic as she dreamed and you gently grazed her cheek. You didn’t want her to wake up because of you, but it was impossible not to caress her when se looked so peaceful.

Eventually you forced yourself to let her sleep in peace and you decided to get some work done. You’d been highlighting titles over titles for an hour when you heard the front door unlocking.

Shortly after Ben came into your view and you placed a finger on your lips, silently telling him not to wake Sophie up. His eyes immediately went to the baby sleeping in your arms and his features relaxed at that view. Then he looked up at you with an expression that you’d never seen in his face. Not when he looked at you.

But he quickly looked away, carrying the bags into the kitchen before joining you in the dining room.

He sat far from you, but on the same couch. You could feel his gaze following your movements as you tried to get your work done, and when you looked at him you noticed a strand of golden hair that had fallen on his forehead.

“What you up to?” His words were nothing but a whisper.

You gave a quick look at Sophie before turning your gaze to him. “Some paperwork.”

“Right, work.” His tone made you narrow your brows.

And even though the grey sweater that he was wearing made you feel things, you ignored those feelings and asked “Why did you say it with such irony?”

“You run a bookstore.” As if it was an explanation.

“And what with that?”

If Ben’d realised that his words might’ve hurt you, he didn’t show it. “It’s a bookstore.”

“I love my job, you asshole.”

Then you suddenly realised that Ben was just teasing you. The little smirk on his face couldn’t be misunderstood. “Language, love. Last thing we need is Sophie’s first word to be ‘asshole’.”

You shook your head in amusement and even though you were trying so hard not to, your gaze fell to his lips. It’d happened many times for you to think about his lips, how soft they seemed to be. Usually Ben’d dampen those moment with a jab of his or a perv comment just to drive you nuts. But not this time.

“Ben?”

By hearing your whispers Ben moved his gaze from your lips to your eyes. “Yeah?”

You didn’t want to ruin the moment, but you did it anyways. “Do you smell that?”

His brows narrowed in confusion. You nodded towards Sophie, who was still sleeping peacefully, and Ben leaned towards the baby to sniff on her. “Oh my God.” His face twitched in disgust and he quickly leaned back.

“Did she finally—“

“Oh yeah, yeah, yeah. I think she... She sure did.” The expression on his face was hilarious.

“Ben”, you said with an amused smile.

When he turned towards you, in his face there still was a disgusted expression. “What?”

“Don’t be a pussy. It’s just poop.” Ben sighed and you giggled.

But then it was time for you to change her diaper. Sophie laid in the changing table, looking at the two of you with a little smile on her face. The problem was, neither of you had the courage to face all that poop. “Remind me again why we agreed on this”, you whispered.

Ben gave you the typical ‘what’d I say?’ look but said “Because we are great friends and now Rami and Lucy owe us a big one.”

“And because we love Sophie”, you added.

Ben slowly nodded at your words, a tiny smile appearing on his face. “Yeah, we love this little one.”

“And because uncle Benny’s the best”, you started by taking a step away from him. “He’s gonna be the one to change your diaper. Right, Sophie? Isn’t he the best?”

“What?”

“Oh c’mon, Ben.”

Ben threw his hands in the air. “Why me?”

“Why me?”

Ben sighed again. “Let’s make a team effort, ‘kay?”

You just couldn’t say no when he showed you his puppy eyes. Bastard. “Fine”, you gave up. “I’ll undress her.”

As you unbuttoned her bodysuit, Sophie gave you a big smile. “You’re lucky I love you”, you whispered to her and you heard Ben giggle behind you.

When she was finally free from her leotard, you turned towards Ben. “Your turn.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, already. C’mon.”

He stood right next to you. “It’s a weird smell, right?”

“Why do you always complain? Go ahead.”

“Fine, fine. It can’t be that hard, can it?” He gave you a hopeful look and you giggled.

“It’s something you can take off the checklist”, you said as you tried to hold back a laugh.

“Yeah.” He carefully approached his hands on the diaper but it was crystal clear the fact that he had no idea how to do it.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know. It’s not a bra that I’m taking off a girl, it’s a diaper.” The way he underlined the last words made you laugh.

“It’s not a surgery, just undo the tabs.”

Ben’s hands, so big compared to the little Sophie, were now following your instructions. As soon as the tabs were undone and Sophie was finally free from the dirty diaper, the smell came to you even stronger than before. “Oh my God.”

“What’d I tell you?”, Ben asked with a disgusted expression.

“It’s burning my eyes.”

“We have to clean her up.”

“Yeah, I know.” Trying not to throw up, you quickly took Ben’s place. “Can you please me hand me the baby wipes?”

As you gently held Sophie’s feet up not to dirty her and to clean her better, you hurried to get rid of all that smelling poop. “She didn’t eat enough to produce that”, Ben commented as he watched you.

“Stop it or I’ll throw up.” You gave him a quick look from above your shoulder and Ben smiled back at you. “Another one, please.”

Wiper after wiper, you finally managed to get her clean. Yours and Ben’s reaction did nothing but amuse Sophie, who was giggling with the biggest smile on her face. “Are you having fun, huh?”

“She’s as wit as her mother”, Ben whispered.

After getting rid of the dirty diaper and having Sophie clean and fragrant, you picked her up from the changing table. “What do you say, Sophie? You want uncle Ben?”

“Didn’t hear that”, Ben tried to cut himself off.

“I did hear it, though. Go to uncle Ben, my love.” Sophie reached up to him and Ben grabbed her, giving her the biggest smile you’d ever seen. As you tried to tidy up the room, you heard Ben saying as he walked away “Say Uncle Ben. It’s easy, love. B-e-n.”

Day three - Wednesday

The house was silent. Too silent. That’s why you tried to close the front door as quietly as possible — maybe Sophie was sleeping. Or maybe Ben was. All the bags and books you took home from work were long forgotten on the table as you checked every room of the ground floor to find them.

As you walked upstairs the theme song of Peppa Pig came crystal clear to your ears. It was the hint you needed to know exactly where they were.

“Wow, that was a really good episode.” Who was Ben talking to?

But, more importantly, was he really talking about Peppa Pig?

“Y’know, what I really love about Peppa is that even when everything seems to go wrong and they scr— blow, they blow things up, this funny man keeps saying ‘Oh dear’ or ‘Look out’.” His words made you giggle but you tried not to make any noise.  “Auntie Y/N should follow my example, don’t you think? I’m such a good uncle, right Soph?”

You were now standing against the doorframe, watching Ben sprawled on the soft ottoman as he talked to Sophie in a very serious tone, gesturing towards her. The little girl seemed to follow his conversation, letting out little squeaks of excitement every now and then.

“Too bad that aunt Y/N is way better than you.”

Ben turned towards you by hearing your words and gave you a lazy smile. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to hear you talking about Peppa Pig. Oh dear!”

You loved to tease him.

“Oh, shut up.” Despite his words, Ben was smiling in amusement.

You took a few steps towards the baby, kneeling in front of her. “Hi, love. How did uncle Ben treat you, uh? Was he good?”

“I’m the best. Look at her, she’s ecstatic.” Sophie squeaked in excitement, trying to say something as she proved Ben’s point.

“What do you think of a bath? Would you like that?”

Once again, Sophie mumbled some incomprehensible words. They made sense to her, though. “Is that a yes?”, you asked Ben, who limited himself to shake his head as if saying ‘I really have no idea.’

Not being able to decipher Sophie’s words, you took them as a yes. Sophie was now in Ben’s arms as you prepared everything to bath her. Every now and then you threw them a few looks from above your shoulder only to find Ben being completely focused on her, trying to make her giggle by tickling her.

“How was work?”, he asked you as you both waited for the tub to fill up.

You bit your lower lip and gave him an amused look. “Oh, now you care?”

“I was just trying to make conversation”, he quickly replied and shrugged.

His words made you sigh deeply, shutting the faucet and checking the water temperature. “’t was fine, I guess. A bit exhausting. Thanks for asking.”

Sophie loved water. Literally, she loved it. She got all excited when taking a bath and started to spray the water everywhere. Needless to say that both you and Ben were soaking wert as you tried to clean her up. “C’mon, Soph. Just wait for a second”, you almost begged.

“Where the hell is the bloody duck she loves so much”, Ben murmured as he looked for the toy everywhere in the bathroom.

“Language, Ben.”

Ben laughed. Hard. It was probably the first time you heard him laughing like that and you loved that sound. “That’s rich coming from you.”

You mimicked him and gave him a look as you held Sophie. He was sticking out his tongue like he used to do, a proud smile on his face as he held Sophie’s duck. “Look what uncle Ben found, love.”

Sophie became even more excited at the sight of her toy, trying to take it from Ben’s hands when he came closer to you. “Would you hold her? I need to remove all the foam with the shower head.”

He didn’t hesitate to answer “Yeah, sure.” So he gently grabbed her and lifted her, holding her far from his body as he waited for you to wash her.

“Look, Sophie. Uncle Ben’s afraid of getting wet.” If Sophie protested when Ben got her out of the tub, now she was relaxing under the jet of the water.

“I’m already wet.” Dangerous choice of words.

“Then”, you started in an angelic tone. “You wouldn’t mind if I did this, right?” You splashed a bit of water in his face.

Ben was tempted to retract from the jet but Sophie needed to be cleaned. So he bit his lower lip and said in an amused tone “You’re lucky I’m holding the baby.”

“Or what?”

You giggled at the look he gave you and you wrapped Sophie in her bathrobe, taking her from Ben’s arms and holding her close to your chest. “You can’t revenge now. I’m holding the baby.”

“I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.”

You gently rubbed Sophie’s back, leaving a few kisses on her cheeks as you told Ben “Nice movie quote.”

Day Four - Thursday

“Okay, Sophie. I’m almost done, hold on.” The baby food you’d lovingly prepared for the little girl looked nothing like Lucy’s. It tasted good, though. You made sure of it before taking a seat in front of her, ready to feed her.

“She’s not a food critic, she’s a one-year-old”, Ben commented as he watched you. He was leaning against the stool, his arms crossed in his chest as he gave you a sceptic look. Each passing day did nothing but confirm you that he only wore black. The dark hoodie he was wearing was a proof of that.

“She might not be a food critic but sure as hell she doesn’t like my cooking.” And it was true — no matter how much you tried to make her open her mouth and eat her food, she just wouldn’t. “C’mon, Soph. It tastes so good, you’ll love it.”

Ben loudly giggled from where he was standing. “She had the guts to tell you that your cooking sucks.”

“My cooking is amazing. You ate almost half of the roast beef that day at the party”, you protested.

Ben raised a brow. “Did you cook it?”

“’f course I did.” You tried again to feed Sophie but all you managed to do was to get her dirty. You groaned in frustration and sighed deeply.

Five seconds later your attention was caught by the ringing of Ben’s phone. He took it from his pocket and gave a look at the screen before moving his green eyes on you. You raised your brow in a silent question and he bit his lips, walking out of the room and getting the phone out in the backyard.

Sophie finally ate the first spoonful of her meal and as you slowly fed her, your mind started to run wild. Who was he talking to? Was it one of his dates? But then you convinced yourself that it was none of your business.

“Good girl, Soph. Do you like it? Is it good?”, you whispered as you wiped her mouth. Sophie clapped her hands in excitement and it made you genuinely smiled. “Where’s mommy? Say mommy. Mommy”, you repeated slowly for her to understand.

A few minutes had passed before Ben came back into the room. “Did she eat?”

“Just a little bit”, you replied without looking at him.

“She doesn’t like your cooking for real, huh?” Ben was just teasing you but, for a reason that you didn’t know yet, you were pissed at him.

So as you put away the plate on the sink you limited to say “Huh-huh.”

“Y/N?” As you heard him calling you by your name you gave him a quick look. His brows were narrowed in a frown.

“What?”

“What’s wrong?” It was probably the first time that Ben was concerned about you.

You sighed and you turned towards him, drying your hands. “Let’s establish a rule.”

“What rule?” He gave you a confused look.

“The week’s almost over. Let’s spend it peacefully.”

He gestured with his hand while saying “Is that the rule?”

You were starting to get used to the tiny lines forming around his eyes whenever he narrowed them in a confused expression. “No. The rule is that we don’t get to bring dates here in this house. Not around Sophie. I know it’s hard for you to hold on for a whole week, but you’ve got this Saturday night off.”

It was for Sophie’s sake, right?

“Wha— is it because of the phone call?”

You shrugged. “Maybe.”

Ben quickly rubbed his eyes, taking a step towards you. “It was Joe.”

Oh.

You stuttered before saying “It’s the principle that matters.”

“Fine. No dates here.”

A nod is all you gave him as a confirmation before turning towards Sophie. Giving her a better look you said “Ben.”

“Hum?” He followed your gaze to the kid and his eyes widened. “She’s making the look.”

“Yeah, that’s the look”, you confirmed. Not shortly after Sophie started to cry. Loudly and uncontrollably. “Your turn”, you told Ben as you stepped aside.

You heard him sighing as he picked her up, rocking her gently on his chest as he tried to soothe her. “C’mon, be good for uncle Ben”, he whispered as he started to walk around the room.

Your gaze ran over the kitchen and it fell on the hood. “I’ve got an idea.”

Ben limited himself to give you a questioning look and you gestured towards the hood. Still, he didn’t understand. Right, he wasn’t with you when Lucy told you that Sophie loved the noise of the hood. “C’mere”, you whispered as you turned on the extractor fan.

“What are you doing?”, he asked, but he did as you told him.

Now Sophie was softly crying and you tapped Ben on his shoulder, making him sign to lean closer to the hood. The kid’s attention was immediately caught by the noise. Even though she’d stopped crying, her eyes were still a bit teary. It was working.

“Rock her”, you whispered.

Ben looked at you. His green eyes were fixed on yours and you suddenly realised that you were close. Maybe too close. Your chest was touching his arm and his face was just a few inches away from yours. Once again your gaze fell to his lips and for the first time you didn’t care if you were staring at him.

But then Ben cleared his voice and moved his gaze to Sophie. As he gently rocked her he started to sing in a soft voice, trying to get her to sleep “But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.”

You had to cover your mouth not to burst out into laughter. “What are you doing?”

“Everybody loves Radiohead.”

Day Five - Friday

“You went groceries literally three days ago. I can’t believe you forgot all this stuff”, you complained as looked at the shelves.

The three of you had gotten in the supermarket not even fifteen minutes ago and your shopping cart was already full. “’s not like I know what’s on Lucy and Rami’s pantry.”

Ben was pushing the cart without paying attention to what you put in it — his eyes were for Sophie only. She was in a good mood and Ben did nothing but improve the situation by playing with her.

“Does she like peaches?” You gave him a quick look from above your shoulder.

Ben was in a good mood, too, given that he gave you a big smile. Maybe you should go often together to the grocery store.

“Why don’t you ask her?”, he proposed.

Opening a jar of peach jelly, you made her smell it. She wiggled her nose in a disgusted expression and she shook her head. “You don’t like it, huh?”

“Huh-huh”, she replied and her expression made you giggle.

“Told you”, Ben said. “She’s as wit as her mother.”

Sophie smelled at least other three other flavours before picking her favorite — apricot. “Really? Apricot?”

“Apricots are a gift from God.” Ben’s words surprised you.

You had a stupid smile on your face as you said “D’ya like them?”

“I love them.” He underlined the word ‘love’ and you shook your head in amusement.

“Y/N?” Hearing that someone was calling you by your name, you turned your back to Ben to face the stranger.

“Nick?” One of your friends from college — whom you hadn’t seen in forever — was standing right in front of you.

“Wow, I thought I was wrong”, you heard him saying as he hugged you.

You couldn’t tell why, but you felt uncomfortable.

“It’s me”, you said with a nervous smile.

Nick’s gaze moved behind you and you followed him. “Is she—?”

“Huh?”

Nick cleared his voice. “Is she your daughter?”

“Wha— no! No, no. Ehm, she’s Lucy’s. And he’s Ben.”

“His husband”, Ben added with a polite smile.

You parted your lips in a confused expression as he shook Nick’s hand. “He’s not—”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence that Ben asked him “College mates, right?”

Nick nodded. “Yeah. Haven’t seen each other in forever, though.”

“Yeah”, you confirmed. The truth was that you were still trying to process Ben’s lie.

“How long have you guys been married? I didn’t know anything about it.”

Ben smirked at Nick’s question. He moved next to you and put his arm around your shoulders, giving you the biggest smile you’d ever seen on his face. His cologne smelled so good that it almost made you forget his lie.

Did he want to play that game? Fine by you.

As he held you close to him, your arm surrounded his hips and you faked a smile. “Oh, just for a few months. It was a small ceremony”, Ben said with a fake smile and you pinched him. A low, deep groan came from his throat but your actions had the opposite effect you wanted to provoke.

Ben was amused.

Even though Nick was still there, you’d almost forgotten about him. “Oh, it sounds so cool. I’m so happy about you guys.”

Thankfully you both didn’t get the chance to answer him because Sophie started to squeak in excitement at the sight of a dog. You took the chance to slip away from Ben’s grip and you approached the kid as you said to Nick with an apologetic smile “’m sorry, Nick. We’re kinda in a hurry. It was nice seeing you again.”

As Nick walked away you nudged Ben. “Idiot. C’mon, push the cart.”

“Don’t be such a bossy, wifey.”

You playfully pushed him away when he tried to come closer to you and then you asked “What was that?”

Ben smirked. “I was just making sure you wouldn’t bring any dates home.”

Since when Lucy and Rami’s place had become home?

Even though you’d spent the last week together, the grocery store gave you the opportunity to fin out new things about him. Like the fact that he likes cereal with no milk or thwart he would gladly mop the floor a hundred times rather than loading the dishwasher.

Once gotten home, you also found out that he hated making two trips while carrying the bags. And he made it very clear by complaining the whole time.

“What do you want for dinner?”, you asked as you hoped you were guessing right where to put all the food you’d bought.

Ben was taking care of Sophie as you tidied the pantry. His voice came muffled as he proposed from the other room “How about we order a pizza?”

“Yeah, fine.”

Where the hell did Lucy put the mayonnaise?

You were still trying to unload the groceries in the kitchen when you heard Ben’s voice. “Y/N?”

The tone of his voice made you worry. “Yeah?”

“She’s walking.” Maybe you misheard him.

“What?”

“She’s walking!”

The bags forgotten right in the middle of the kitchen almost made you stumble as you hurried to move to the dining room. Ben had his back to you, his arms arms stretched out towards the baby.

Sophie was standing on her own feet and a big smile was printed on her face. “Oh my God she’s walking.”

Ben gave you a quick look by hearing your whispers and you noticed a big, enthusiastic smile on his face. He was genuinely happy and for the first time ever the idea of Ben as a dad didn’t seem too abstract.

“Come to auntie, Soph. Come.” Her attention was caught by you and Ben quickly moved behind her, ready to catch her if she fell.

Step by step, Sophie came to you and hugged you with so much love that you almost cried. You couldn’t help but kiss her and as you still held her in your arms you told Ben “FaceTime Lucy. She’ll kill us if she misses it.”

Five minutes later, the three of you sat on the carpet and Lucy was waving at you with a toothy smile on her face. “Hi my love! Hi Sophie!”

“Where’s Rami?”, Ben asked her. He didn’t want his friend to miss it.

“Ugh”, Lucy gave a quick look behind her, probably looking for his husband. “He’s probably taking a shower. How are you guys? How’s my baby?”

“We’re fine. But you gotta take a look at this.” You just couldn’t hold the excitement in your tone. Lucy was beyond excited at your words — you could see it from her eyes. “Just wait a sec.”

Ben stood up as you gave him a pat on the shoulder and he moved right in front of you, far enough for Sophie to take a few steps on her own. The camera was now turned towards him, showing his arms stretched out towards the baby. “Come to uncle Ben, Sophie. C’mere”, he encouraged her.

Lucy narrowed her brows. “Y/N what—”

“Just wait”, you cut her off. “C’mon, Soph. Go to uncle Ben.”

Sophie’s eyes gave you an excited look and she clapped her hands. She slowly leaned towards the sofa, holding on it as she struggled to get on her own feet. When she finally did, Lucy’s eyes were widened and her lips were forming a perfect ‘O’ before whispering “Oh my God.”

When Sophie started to take little steps towards Ben — who’d the biggest smile on his face as he made sure Sophie wouldn’t fall — Lucy said out loud “Rami! For the love of God, Rami! Come here!”

Her excited tone made you chuckle and you heard a loud thud from the other side of the call. Ben heard it too and gave you a quick, confused look before moving his gaze back to the baby.

Rami was now standing right next to Lucy, his hair wet and his eyes widened in confusion. But then he saw his daughter walking on her own feet and he looked at Lucy with so much love that it almost made you cry.

Inevitably your gaze fell to Ben, who was now hugging Sophie and whispering “You did really good, love. You did great.”

The sight of a sweet, soft Ben made you think about your situation. Maybe, after all, spending all that time together had improved your relationship. Or maybe you were just fantasising.

Day Six - Saturday

It’d been a hell of a night. Sophie cried for most of it and it was impossible for you to understand why, given that she still couldn’t talk. Both you and Ben tried to calm her down with anything, but not even the hood kicked in.

Eventually she fell asleep at 8AM and as she rested peacefully in her bedroom, you realised you might as well stay awake. As you were about to make you a coffee, you heard footsteps approaching you.

Ben was rubbing his sleepy eyes, trying to force himself to stay awake. His hair was messier than usual and the shirt he used as pjs was wrinkled.

“Did you check on her?”, you asked in a low tone. To be honest, you felt like shit.

He cleared his voice and nodded his head ‘yes’, taking a seat on the stool of the peninsula. “She’s sleeping.” His tone was just as low as yours.

Sophie had worn you both out.

“Would you like a coffe?”

By giving him a look from above his shoulder, you noticed he was nodding. “Yeah, thanks.”

Five minutes later you were sitting one right in front of the other, just like the very first day. This time he hadn’t the strength to throw jabs at you, though.

“Thank god it’s Saturday.” His sea-glass eyes stared at you for a few seconds.

The hotness of the cup of coffee was warming you cold hands. “Yeah. We did it, right?”

“Yeah... but I’m never doing it again.”

You narrowed your brows at his tone. “Why?”

Ben gave you a condescending look. “If you haven’t noticed, running a baby’s not like running a bookstore.”

“Are we back at it again?”, you asked in an annoyed tone.

Ben started to gesture. “They’re a mess. They pee on things. They bite and they poop a lot.”

“They’re babies.”

And then Ben snapped. You knew that sooner or later he would’ve, because it was Ben we’re talking about. “I had plans this week. Business meetings. I gave up everything to give you a hand with it and play this part.”

“I never asked you to do it! I never asked for your help. And ‘play this part’? Are you serious, Ben? That’s what this is to you?” Hopefully Sophie wouldn’t wake up. As much as you were both trying to keep your tone low, you were in the middle of an argument.

“We’re living in the same house, watching over a kid that isn’t ours and we’re acting like we’re married but we are not.”

“So you’ve been pretending, huh. Have you been pretending with Sophie?” Bet stuck his tongue out, slipping his fingers through his hair as he usually did when he was nervous or upset. And right now he was both. “No, I love Sophie.”

“So just me, then.” It was destroying you the fact that your words sounded like a whine, but you were hurt.

Ben narrowed his brows in a confused expression and his lips parted. “Y/N—“

“You know what, Ben? I shouldn’t have said yes. I should’ve known that you and I aren’t the ideal pairing to take care of a baby. I knew we weren’t a good pairing at all when you left me alone in my fucking car two years ago.” You finally had the chance to tell him how much he hurt you when he screwed up your first blind date. He had to know how much it had influenced your relationship.

“It’s been two years ago!” He threw his arms in the air.

“Yeah, and look at us now. You could’ve just told me you didn’t feel like it, but no. You had to be a dick.”

“’m sorry if I didn’t feel like going to a blind date a month after I broke up with my long-term girlfriend.” Now he was being sarcastic.

And now you were really mad. “How the fuck was I supposed to know!” Your tone was higher than you expected so you took a deep breath to calm down, not wanting to wake Sophie up. “It was my first date in a year. I never let Lucy set me up for dates but for the first time I did. I did and I regret it. Look how it ended up.”

“I told Rami not to do it.”

“I don’t care, Ben. You could’ve managed it better. All you did instead was calling another girl as you were with me, because all you care about is getting laid.” Even though your tone was low, your words were ice cold.

Ben slowly shook his head, his hurt expression quickly replaced by the one you knew so well. “You shouId get Iaid yourself. Except to have sex, you gotta find somebody who can stand you first.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah”, he muttered as he stood up.

“You know what? Take all the fucking Saturday as your free day because I can’t even stand looking at you right now.”

And he did. The day went by and Ben hadn’t come back yet. You were trying to convince yourself that you could do it on your own for another day. Sophie seemed to understand that your mood wasn’t one of the best and she behaved like she never did before. She even ate all her meal, which was new to you.

Lucy called at some stage in the evening and she showed you the amazing architecture of Florence. It seemed like they were having a good time and there was no point in making them worry, so you didn’t even mention Ben.

But she did. “Where’s Ben?”

You rubbed your nose, trying to find a believable excuse for his absence. “He went to the grocery’s.”

“How many groceries are you guys buying? It looks like you spend whole days at the mall.”

“No, uh — we ran out of ketchup. We’re having burgers tonight, ketchup is essential.”

She seemed to notice that something was wrong — here brows were narrowed and her eyes were giving you a condescending look. Yet, she didn’t say anything and you closed the call a few minutes after.

It was night by now and Sophie was finally sleeping. You, on the other hand, just couldn’t fall asleep. That’s why you spent almost half an hour channel surfing, ending up watching Love Island. In extremis...

But then the click of the look caught your attention and even though you hadn’t yet turned towards the front door, you knew it was Ben. His cologne couldn’t have been mistaken.

You gave him a quick look from above your shoulder only to meet his beautiful, puppy eyes. Even though you were still pissed at him, you couldn’t keep ignoring your feelings.

He sat right next to you, remaining quiet for the first few seconds. It was him who broke the silence. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have said those things” you whispered as you turned towards him.

His elbows were resting on his thighs as he rubbed his hands together. “You were right, I’ve been a prick. I should’ve talked to you back then. You would’ve understood the situation.”

“Yeah...”

“And I’m sorry I’ve been distant all this time. I knew I fucked things up that day in your car and when I realised it I... it was too late. I just wanted you to like me back, but you wouldn’t have. Not after how I treated you.”

“But I did! I still do, Ben.”

And it was the truth. No matter how many times you’ve tried to convince yourself that you despised him and that you just didn’t get along. You liked him.

His green eyes were staring at your lips for the umpteenth time that week, but this time was different because Ben placed his own on yours. His hand was resting on your neck and the softness of his touch gave you the goosebumps. When you leaned towards him to deepen the kiss, his touch became even more secure as he come closer to you.

You’d fantasised many times on how it’d feel to kiss Ben, but now that you were really doing it, it exceeded all expectations.

When you leaned back from his lips, a big smile appeared on his face. One of the smiles he reserved for Sophie only. You snuggled against him, his arm surrounding your waist as he kept your body close to yours.

There were tons of situations yet to be clarified, but you both stood quiet for the rest of the night, bodies close but hearts even closer.

Day Seven — Sunday

Last day. On one hand you were sorry to leave Sophie — you’d gotten used to her habits and rhythms, but on the other hand you couldn’t wait to go back to your old life. 

Scratch that.

You couldn’t wait to go back to your new life with Ben.

“You done? They’re almost here”, Ben told you as he held Sophie.

As you put the duck away, the one that Sophie loved so much and that drove you insane, you nodded your head ‘yes’. “Yeah. The house should be okay.”

And now the three of you were waiting on the porch for Lucy and Rami to come home. Sophie was beyond excited to meet her parents again and she showed it by walking around the house. Ben had to follow her everywhere, given that she wasn’t still 100% steady on her feet.

“Here they are!”, you told Sophie who was walking around the dining room. “Mom and daddy are here, Soph!”

She clapped her hands, making Ben chuckle as he accompanied her to the front door where you were standing. His green eyes met yours as a loud thud came from Lucy and Rami’s car, who were now shutting the doors and hurrying inside.

Lucy’s eyes immediately went to her daughter, who was standing on her own feet right in front of you. She hugged her, kissed her and held her close to her chest as she whispered lovely words. Rami left a soft kiss on her head before looking up to you and Ben.

When he noticed that you were standing right next to each other with bigs smiles on your faces, he narrowed his eyes and smirked. “What did I miss?”

“Uhm — nothing, really.” But the look Ben gave you made you chuckle. Rami was more than sure that he missed a lot, especially when Ben’s arm surrounded your waist.

“Oh wow”, Lucy whispered as she stood up, holding her baby in her arms. “You guys need to fill me in on what happened between you two.”

“Sophie happened”, you said with a sweet smile, looking at the baby who was in awe for her mother.

”Y’know”, Rami started saying. “You’d make great parents. Sophie loves you guys.”

“Yeah”, Ben murmured. “Maybe someday.”

[zoffra]

The Achilles' heel

Kortopi ran almost two kilometers, passing passers-by with ease without even grazing them and jumping against the facades of the building bars.

He arrived at the appointment ten minutes ahead of schedule. He didn't have time to catch his breath when he heard a voice behind him.

'You'll follow me without question. Nod gently if you agree.'

Kortopi slowly moved his head up and down, then froze instantly when he felt the cold barrel of a revolver press against his neck. He swallowed his saliva with difficulty. He was still a child, but in delicate situations, his analytical mind was as good as any of the other members. He was very lucid about the strength and intentions of his opponents.

He's serious, he'll kill me if I try anything

Something disturbed Kortopi's already chaotic thoughts, even more than the threat of being shot in the head.

Wedy wasn't there.

He couldn't make out his face because of his motorcycle helmet, but from his voice, the child deduced that his attacker was a young man under thirty.

They walked for another twenty minutes or so, and then stopped in front of a large motorcycle of a Japanese mark.

.....

The ride had been going on for over an hour by the time they got off the highway. Kortopi was handcuffed like a leg of lamb, but deep down he seemed to enjoy the moment.

The landscape was passing before his eyes like a fast-moving movie and was quite different from the panorama of Meteor city. Fields of wheat, poppies, and blueberries were gradually replacing the concrete towers and skyscrapers of the suburbs. They arrived in the countryside when a gentle autumn rain began to fall, wetting Kortopi's long hair sticking out of his motorcycle helmet.

.....

'Come down.' The young man took off his helmet and his long golden blond hair fell to his shoulders. Korutopi repressed a shiver when he saw his face, marked by a huge burn that extended from his jaw to between his nose and his left eye.

The child hastily looked away when he noticed a silhouette that looked familiar, moving towards them.

'Wedy, next time it's you who's going to do it. I'm not your delivery boy.'

'Lay down, Mello.' She's crouching down in front of Kortopi, taking off her handcuffs, 'Didn't my partner put you through too much misery?'

.....

They took a dirt path lined with pine and cherry blossoms. After walking for several minutes, they came to a small paved courtyard with an extraordinarily carved walnut wood porch.

Kortopi opened his mouth in surprise when they entered the building.

The dilapidated barn as seen from the outside was in fact be converted into a loft in a rustic, uncluttered style. The hall was so large that their footsteps resounded like an echo. The old oak parquet flooring was covered with a brightly colored graphic carpet, and long duck blue velvet curtains draped over the bay windows.

'Matt!' Mello roared from the lobby, and then came down the stairs that seemed to lead to a basement. Within seconds, the man known as Matt came down the central staircase. He was wearing a long-sleeved top with red and black stripes and jeans tucked into his brown boots. The smoky lenses of his glasses were not perceptible to his eyes.

When he reached Kortopi, the young man took off his black gloves and replaced them with surgical gloves, 'Spread your arms and legs.'

A terrible feeling of fear and humiliation overcame Kortopi, sensing the hands of a stranger performing a thorough body search.

'We've to make sure you don't have a wire. Take a deep breath.' Wedy, with his back to him, said this in a strangely compassionate way.

'Nothing to report.'

When the search was over, Wedy led Kortopi to the door Mello had used earlier, 'Time for introductions. Ready to meet the boss?'

.....

Kortopi shivered, his footsteps getting heavier and heavier as he sank into the basement next to Matt and Wedy. They walked down a long corridor, the atmosphere was nothing like the warmth of the ground floor. The neon lights were sizzling, emitting a whitish light reminiscent of hospitals, the walls were rough concrete and a slight smell of dampness pervaded the place.

They reached a large steel armored door that even Phinks would have had a hard time breaking through, and then Wedy knocked.

One knock. Three knocks. One knock.

And the door opened.

Questions raced through Kortopi's foggy mind. He wondered what the leader of these treasure seekers might look like, and felt a sense of excitement in spite of himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mello slumped on a worn-out leather armchair, devouring a bar of chocolate. He wouldn't have seen him if his big eye hadn't been so sharp. The room was plunged into darkness, and the only source of light came from the back of the room, emitted by a gigantic wall of surveillance screens. About fifty monitors were showing scenes of people's daily lives in public places, bars, but also in private homes and apartments.

Kortopi squinted at the light from the screens that hurt him, looking for one that would confirm his theory.

'Ninth column, third row.'

Kortopi turned to the raised voice and noticed a young man from behind with a famished appearance, strangely seated on his chair in a squatting position. The young man turned towards the child, his black half-long hair sweeping across his pale face and his bangs falling over his large black eyes.

When his eyes landed on the viewer, Kortopi's heart missed a beat. And for good reason, two groups of people who were not supposed to meet at all were on the same screen.

Phinks, Feitan, and Nobunaga had displayed their powerful and threatening aura, facing the magician and the puppeteer.

All this could have been avoided if a certain person had not been clumsy.

A few hours earlier, Machi had planned to order a cake for Nobunaga's birthday. She already knew what she wanted, it had been several weeks since she had imagined the piece, working meticulously on the details. She wanted it to be coated with mascarpone, nougatine pearls with a speculoos pastry, the top covered with a thirteen-legged spider in fleur de sel, then thirty candles would cover the whole thing.

The vibrator of her mobile phone brought her out of her daydream and her sweet smile faded completely when she read the contents.

They're drunk. Your turn. Good luck ^o^'

Machi huffed and puffed, and furiously put away her phone, cursing the manipulator, when she saw Shizuku in the elevator. She hesitated for a short moment, but as time was running out, she reluctantly asked her to order the cake.

.....

The troupe had enjoyed an excellent meal at the hotel restaurant when the waiter finally brought dessert.

Machi almost choked on his drink.

Instead of the cake she had imagined, there was a banana cake with two large, shapeless candles on top, almost burnt.

'This is not what I asked for.' Machi grabbed the waiter with such force that she almost broke his arm.

'Machi! Sorry, I couldn't remember which cake you wanted, so I chose Topi's favorite! I wanted to at least please the little one,' the little black-haired girl replied nonchalantly.

Machi loosened her grip and her icy look slipped towards poor Shizuku.

'Machi.'

Deep down, the ice queen knew that Shizuku wasn't responsible for her memory loss but she couldn't help it, she was angry.

Since Uvoguine's death, Machi felt helpless in the face of Nobunaga's plight, which she saw withering away. His suffering, his loneliness, his pain was bursting in ambiance, and she had the unpleasant feeling that she was the only one who understood the evidence.

She resented the spiders for that too. Against Shizuku, who hadn't managed to memorize a simple cake model. Against Feitan and Phinks, if those morons hadn't swallowed the equivalent of their weight in beer at four o'clock in the afternoon, she would have had time to order it herself. But more than anything else, she was angry with herself.

'Machi.'

When the brigade was still on York-Shin, no one knew that she spent three nights in the Goldo desert looking for Uvoguine's body, tracing tiny spikes of Nen that would have survived.

Eventually, she found him. The smell was nauseating, but it didn't matter. She cleaned his body with a damp glove, repaired his bruised limbs, and closed his eyes. Not wanting his friend to rest where the chain user had decided, she dug another grave. Then she adorned it with three flat stones intertwined with her Nen wire. This is what Nobunaga would have wanted.

'MACHI!'

Nobunaga's loud voice finally got her out of her head.

When she turned her head towards him, she was surprised to see that he was smiling at her. It was a real smile, one that came from the heart and made his dimples appear, right at the corner of her thin lips.

Nobunaga put his big hand on the pink-haired young woman's shoulder and gently pulled her against him, whispering in the crook of her ear, 'You've always been there, haven't you?

..........

As the situation seemed to calm down, no one noticed the little drops of sweat dripping from Illumi's forehead, still dressed in Kortopi. And for good reason, if the assassin was trained in all kinds of torture, poisons, and other joyous things, he had a ridiculous Achilles' heel.

The banana.

Illumi was mortally allergic to it. His parents - caring people - tried to make it ineffective on the puppeteer's body, through all kinds of treatments and force-feeding, but nothing ever worked.

Seeing the disaster coming and the spiders getting drunk as pigs, Illumi thought that he would have no better opportunity to escape than this one.

'Grow up, Topi!' The puppeteer didn't have time to push back the generous spoon served by Feitan that the piece of cake was already in the back of his mouth, knowing that the delicacy of a drunken Feitan is worth twice that of a sober Uvoguine.

And it happened.

Illumi took five steps before he regained his appearance. His head swelled like a watermelon making his large eyes look abnormally small, his usually slender fingers had become all puffy, and his slender silhouette settled as if his whole body was retaining water. He didn't die after all. But Illumi wondered if he might not have preferred it when he heard a hyena laughing from behind a column.

'I thought your transformations could last five hours ♥'

[duckyaltalt]

「herman tommeraas & cis male」⇾ mercer, ducky, the junior radcliffe student’s records show that he is a pisces and 21 years old. he is studying business, living in gorham and can be tenderhearted, nimble, compliant & taciturn. when i see him i am reminded of fear hidden behind a stoic stare, bleeding from your nose and from your gums, and the night sky with all its stars, with all its mystery and unknown . ⇽「james & 21 & est & they/them.」

hi :D this is the last of my OG characters ... the next two will b sexy n new bt they wont arrive fr a while bc i <3 need 2 hv a steady pace <3 anyways hes. rly sad so. good luck charlie <3 okay bye :D

TW CHILD ABUSE / DOMESTIC ABUSE / ABUSE, VIOLENCE, INJURY, TRAUMA, MENTAL ILLNESS, DRUGS / DRUG ABUSE / ADDICTION , GANGS.

aesthetic.

bruises; from beneath your eyes to the edge of your jaw, aligned against your stomach and the sides of your waist and the groves of your knuckles. bleeding noses and bleeding gums, spat out teeth, tattoos scarred from improper treatment, a facial scar; jagged and old, now, from above your eye to beneath your lip. worn hoodies and scuffed sneakers, sunglasses inside. the night sky, and it’s many stars, and how brightly they shone during the 2019 blackout, and wanting to be up there, with them. knowing constellations by heart. wishing to be the face on the moon. beer bottles and secret exchanges. dark alleys. fear, through the very core of your heart. fear, hidden behind a stoic stare.

basic info.

full name: donovan mercer

nickname(s): ducky but i’m 95% sure he hates the nickname it’s just. Stuck with him.

b.o.d. - march 15th, pisces :)

label(s): the allegiant, the despondent, the grifter, the malleable, the vacant, etc.

height: 5′11″

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york

sexuality: bisexual bt make it closeted.

pinterest

stats

inspired by: lip gallagher (shameless), freddie mcclair (skins), frankenstein’s monster (frankenstein), fez (euphoria) … that’s it i don’t know any other characters KJNSGLDNVLSDJNFDS

biography.

born in hell’s kitchen to vinny mercer and a mother who ran out of the hospital as fast as she could, as soon as she was able. she’d gone so quick that she’d never given ducky a middle name - just donovan. the younger brother of mercy (shoutout 2 bri)

his father’s the right-hand man of a well known mob boss named lars amaretto, and so, you can imagine the kind of environment ducky (& mercy) grew up in. weapon & drug dealings, interrogations, violence around every corner. a brutal way of living, no place to raise two children.

you can correctly assume that they grew up in a heavily abusive environment, and can imagine the sort of things the two have gone through. ducky was, maybe, the least favorite of their father’s -

- for numerous reasons, and one being that ducky’d always been a sensitive kid. kinder than his brother, and far kinder than his father - kindness is weakness, and ducky was filled with it. too much so, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice. should’ve - but didn’t. and never did, either.

he cried often, and was punished often for it until he learned to stop crying - at least in front of their father, and mercy too, at some point. only in the comfort of his room, with doors locked and blinds drawn closed.

he dreamed, too, dreamt often. he’d been obsessed with outer space since childhood, as long as he could remember. school had once shown man landing on the moon, and ducky wanted that. wanted to be that, wanted to be there, up with the stars, discovering the unthinkable.

but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be.

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. his grades fluctuated frequently, and it’s a surprise that he hadn’t dropped out of high school altogether.

anyways … at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

the plan took months of preparation, paper ripped out from the back of his school notebook and stuffed beneath his mattress, details of his escape from a checklist of essential items to makeshift maps of bus routes to different cities.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip, the entire left side of his face a bloody mess afterwards. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly. corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse.

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

graduated high school and had been on-and-off attending community college since then. he’d miss days at a time, flunk an entire semester’s worth of classes - gpa dropped further and further. wanted to try, but life got in the way. always got in the way.

hadn’t intended on transferring to radcliffe, but their father’d been missing for a few months then, leaving ducky to handle the drugs side of their business in hell’s kitchen - and mercy’d disappeared, too, leaving their branch in lovell completely open. in a split decision - an opportunity, and opening - something he couldn’t miss, or he’d maybe never get the opportunity again, ducky bullshitted a scholarship essay (plagiarism, tsk) and transferred to pick up where mercy’d left.

this wasn’t very well thought out, because that meant there were no mercers in new york - and lars amaretto? not a very understanding man. more of a brute than their father was, by far. to keep a story short - ducky is missing a tooth (molar, luckily, this time) and is … more rough’d up than he’d like to be, for sure. but mercy’s back, now, and he’s still at lovell, at radcliffe.

and that’s enough.

UPDATE: heehaw. mercy is gone & ducky’s still here. feeling a bit lost - dealt with a lot of shit this summer, new wounds and old wounds and just. a lot. started an underground fight club on campus for some extra cash, reasons unknown. being blackmailed by someone named rocky - someone who knows ducky is skimming cash. god. i don’t know ... danger danger danger danger. nightmare-ville. wrapped up in more walls than ever.

personality.

he’s actually very? intimidating? when you first meet him. mercy’s younger brother, with a criminal’s record almost as long as his - a scarred face and a mean resting face. it takes at least five minutes of conversation beyond small talk before it starts to weigh on your mind that maybe, he’s not as bad as he seems.

and - well, he isn’t. but he’s guarded - so guarded. more-so than mercy, because mercy’s quicker to anger, quicker to react, and ducky tries so hard to drown out the noise. but he’s not a robot, and his facial expressions can give him away in a second.

he’s seen what happened when mercy had a glimpse of something good in his life (though, it wasn’t actually good at all - mercy had someone, at least. at the very least) - and how quickly it’d all fallen, and so ducky puts a barrier between him and others. distant, as much as he can be.

it hurts, because ducky isn’t by any means antisocial. he doesn’t hate people - he wants to be normal, wants to have friends and a girlfriend - or maybe even a boyfriend, god - but he’s so afraid. ducky is, by nature, a very scared person. terrified to his very core. he knows there is always eyes on him, and mercy too, and he knows that nothing is worth getting someone else hurt.

you know him as mercy’s little brother, and he’s quiet you know that - but his name is ducky, and you think - he’s not too bad. and he knows this, knows the doubts. knows that it’ll get back to mercy, eventually, that his brother is nothing more but a pussy. so he fights more than he’d like to, against the guilt that buries itself deep within his chest with every thrown fist. he throws up, afterwards, in the garbage can outside. too much to drink, he says, rare grin - because grins are convincing, and grins with bleeding gums are intimidating. he learned that from his brother.

violence makes him sick to his very stomach. he can’t watch horror films, or even action films, without feeling queasy. there’s been more times than he can count where he’d thrown up after a fight, or after an interrogation, usually in private but in the occasional presence of mercy.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be harder - and his hits will be, too. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

he’s still in love with the moon and the stars, and the planet’s - and their moons, too. its subdued, now, though. a silent passion - one that is often not watered, left for rot. he sneaks into engineering lectures, occasionally, or physics - or anything that isn’t business, because he hates his major, but he knows it’s the only chance he’s got to stay at radcliffe. and that’s to follow his brother, to follow his father. a business degree treats you well, teaches you skills you’ll need to know for this type of work.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs, only to leave it in the gorham community fridge with no name, something for somebody who may need it. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing, the result of years of abuse. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy. his room is messy, but still oddly barren. nothing on the walls except for a poster or two, sheets a standard navy blue and a row of empty liquor bottles on his windowsill.

a liar, sad to say. has little experience with. ehem. intimacy, and the bodies of others, but lies often and says that he does. mostly to his brother, but word travels quick - and he’s not nearly as much as a fuckboy as is rumored, having only been with a handful of girls, if even that. it’s better this way - if people know that he throws others away like they’re nothing. sex is uncomfortable for him, he always feels gross afterwards. wrong, sometimes.

he ghosts often, too, if he does get to talking with anybody. the moment ducky feels a spark, something pulling at his poor heart, he ghosts. he develops feelings too easily, too often than he’d like. has left many friendships without explanation, because of this. you know the priest in fleabag season 2? the scene where he comes to fleabag’s house? yeah. tht’s ducky!

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it. it’s his first semester at radcliffe.

pretends he doesn’t care as much as he does. pretends a lot, like there’s nothing soft to him. but a trained eye can see clearly through this. even so - even if you can see that there’s more to ducky than violence and drug deals - you’d still have to break through a dozen walls.

in the rare occasion you get him talking - i mean, talking a lot - he’ll talk about space. ramble off a dozen useless facts about dwarf stars and black holes and all of jupiter’s moons. about a video game he likes, about nothing and everything at all. but as soon as he begins, he stops - embarrassed. apologizes, shuts his mouth, disappears to wherever. anywhere but there.

uuuhhh. god. okay so ducky’s got an addiction to xanax. it’s numbing and it’s better than feeling, and he’d rather this than that and it’s. a Thing. we won’t go further into it. besides that - he does smoke weed, does try out some of their products to make sure it’s not … fucked, for their clients, but otherwise fucking hates drugs. social drinker, but still doesn’t like it a lot. hates beer but drinks it often.

overall just … he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted connections.

clients… first n foremost. he needs people to deal to. i don’t think he handles the Hard Shit like mercy does, but like coke and mdma? works for him.

f…riend..s?… like it’s so hard for ducky to be sincere with people but if you don’t mind like … an emotionally distant man who doesn’t even hit 6′ then maybe? he’s your guy? maybe you can break him down a little? chip away at his cold shoulder?

a close…r friend… maybe not like. the best of friends. but at least one normal friend whose world does not revolve around fucking drugs and violence would be nice for ducky. someone he can be a little soft with, as a treat.

hook-ups… not many, because ducky doesn’t really enjoy sex too much but y’know. that’s just how it is. he do be having needs, tho. KDSJGSHDKLFSE god.

fisticuffs!… someone he got into a fistfight with. multiple people he’s gotten into fights with. he’s probably lost them (on purpose) but - mayhaps, some of them, he did not?

gorham roommate… god… i don’t know what these two cld get up to but! maybe give him a sexuality panic but who knows.

unrequited feelings… there’s probably a few of these. whether people are drawn to his fucking ~mysterious~ demeanor (he just has fucking anxiety, man) or mayhaps. mayhaps he has the feelings.

flirtations… he’s never been in a relationship so i can’t really include exes, but he can flirt with people i’d like to think … when he’s drunk. :-)

ghostees… everybody he’s ever fucking ghosted because he’s stupid and is afraid of both friendship and relationships and romance and platonic? feelings of warmth? so sometimes he panics and ghosts people forever. :) spite!

new yorkians… who are familiar with his family or the business they have there

enemies… god. i’m sure he has a lot of these even without attempting to make them. just like, by association, you know? sometimes ducky hates people because mercy does. sometimes he hates people because mercy likes them. JKSDGDSJGFSNLKF

i won’t lie i’m very tired and am having a Troubled Time coming up with connections please. bare with me.

annoyances… i don’t know if ducky can get annoyed very easily but? thorns in his side? something lighthearted? alternately, something Not lighthearted and then ducky :/ goes rogue JKDNGDSNLFK

idk something soft… literally anything soft. please :) give me something soft and cute :) and peaceful and not stressful :)

something ANGSTY and AWFUL… literally. i don’t know. duality of man.

ok i have been awake fr too long i’m going to bed goodnight.

[altduckyfm]

『HERMAN TOMMERAAS ❙ CIS MALE』 ⟿ looks like DONOVAN “DUCKY” MERCER is here for HIS SOPHOMORE year as a BUSINESS student. HE is 21 years old & known to be TENDERHEARTED, NIMBLE, COMPLIANT & TACITURN. They’re living in GORHAM, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ JAMES. 21. EST. SHE/THEY.

HBDKJFNGDHLFNDJSLK god. this took so long n fr that i am. so sry. bt here is mercy’s wittle baby brother, ducky !!! remember to LIKE this if you’d like to plot !!! i’ve probably forgotten some things in this intro bt alas. i am just human. i am so tired. goodnight IJEBKSGHSOUFNE

TW CHILD ABUSE / DOMESTIC ABUSE / ABUSE, VIOLENCE, INJURY, TRAUMA, MENTAL ILLNESS, DRUGS / DRUG ABUSE / ADDICTION , GANGS.

aesthetic.

bruises; from beneath your eyes to the edge of your jaw, aligned against your stomach and the sides of your waist and the groves of your knuckles. bleeding noses and bleeding gums, spat out teeth, tattoos scarred from improper treatment, a facial scar; jagged and old, now, from above your eye to beneath your lip. worn hoodies and scuffed sneakers, sunglasses inside. the night sky, and it’s many stars, and how brightly they shone during the 2019 blackout, and wanting to be up there, with them. knowing constellations by heart. wishing to be the face on the moon. beer bottles and secret exchanges. dark alleys. fear, through the very core of your heart. fear, hidden behind a stoic stare. 

basic info.

full name: donovan mercer

nickname(s): ducky but i’m 95% sure he hates the nickname it’s just. Stuck with him.

b.o.d. - march 15th, pisces :) (he’s actually 20 right now not 21)

label(s): the allegiant, the despondent, the grifter, the malleable, the vacant, etc.

height: 5′11″

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york

sexuality: bisexual bt make it closeted.

pinterest

stats

inspired by: lip gallagher (shameless), freddie mcclair (skins), frankenstein’s monster (frankenstein), fez (euphoria) ... that’s it i don’t know any other characters KJNSGLDNVLSDJNFDS

biography.

born in hell’s kitchen to vinny mercer and a mother who ran out of the hospital as fast as she could, as soon as she was able. she’d gone so quick that she’d never given ducky a middle name - just donovan. the younger brother of mercy (shoutout 2 bri)

his father’s the right-hand man of a well known mob boss named lars amaretto, and so, you can imagine the kind of environment ducky (& mercy) grew up in. weapon & drug dealings, interrogations, violence around every corner. a brutal way of living, no place to raise two children.

you can correctly assume that they grew up in a heavily abusive environment, and can imagine the sort of things the two have gone through. ducky was, maybe, the least favorite of their father’s - 

- for numerous reasons, and one being that ducky’d always been a sensitive kid. kinder than his brother, and far kinder than his father - kindness is weakness, and ducky was filled with it. too much so, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice. should’ve - but didn’t. and never did, either.

he cried often, and was punished often for it until he learned to stop crying - at least in front of their father, and mercy too, at some point. only in the comfort of his room, with doors locked and blinds drawn closed.

he dreamed, too, dreamt often. he’d been obsessed with outer space since childhood, as long as he could remember. school had once shown man landing on the moon, and ducky wanted that. wanted to be that, wanted to be there, up with the stars, discovering the unthinkable.

but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be.

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. his grades fluctuated frequently, and it’s a surprise that he hadn’t dropped out of high school altogether.

anyways ... at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

the plan took months of preparation, paper ripped out from the back of his school notebook and stuffed beneath his mattress, details of his escape from a checklist of essential items to makeshift maps of bus routes to different cities.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip, the entire left side of his face a bloody mess afterwards. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly. corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse.

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

graduated high school and had been on-and-off attending community college since then. he’d miss days at a time, flunk an entire semester’s worth of classes - gpa dropped further and further. wanted to try, but life got in the way. always got in the way.

hadn’t intended on transferring to radcliffe, but their father’d been missing for a few months then, leaving ducky to handle the drugs side of their business in hell’s kitchen - and mercy’d disappeared, too, leaving their branch in lovell completely open. in a split decision - an opportunity, and opening - something he couldn’t miss, or he’d maybe never get the opportunity again, ducky bullshitted a scholarship essay (plagiarism, tsk) and transferred to pick up where mercy’d left.

this wasn’t very well thought out, because that meant there were no mercers in new york - and lars amaretto? not a very understanding man. more of a brute than their father was, by far. to keep a story short - ducky is missing a tooth (molar, luckily, this time) and is ... more rough’d up than he’d like to be, for sure. but mercy’s back, now, and he’s still at lovell, at radcliffe.

and that’s enough.

personality.

he’s actually very? intimidating? when you first meet him. mercy’s younger brother, with a criminal’s record almost as long as his - a scarred face and a mean resting face. it takes at least five minutes of conversation beyond small talk before it starts to weigh on your mind that maybe, he’s not as bad as he seems.

and - well, he isn’t. but he’s guarded - so guarded. more-so than mercy, because mercy’s quicker to anger, quicker to react, and ducky tries so hard to drown out the noise. but he’s not a robot, and his facial expressions can give him away in a second.

he’s seen what happened when mercy had a glimpse of something good in his life (though, it wasn’t actually good at all - mercy had someone, at least. at the very least) - and how quickly it’d all fallen, and so ducky puts a barrier between him and others. distant, as much as he can be.

it hurts, because ducky isn’t by any means antisocial. he doesn’t hate people - he wants to be normal, wants to have friends and a girlfriend - or maybe even a boyfriend, god - but he’s so afraid. ducky is, by nature, a very scared person. terrified to his very core. he knows there is always eyes on him, and mercy too, and he knows that nothing is worth getting someone else hurt.

you know him as mercy’s little brother, and he’s quiet you know that - but his name is ducky, and you think - he’s not too bad. and he knows this, knows the doubts. knows that it’ll get back to mercy, eventually, that his brother is nothing more but a pussy. so he fights more than he’d like to, against the guilt that buries itself deep within his chest with every thrown fist. he throws up, afterwards, in the garbage can outside. too much to drink, he says, rare grin - because grins are convincing, and grins with bleeding gums are intimidating. he learned that from his brother.

violence makes him sick to his very stomach. he can’t watch horror films, or even action films, without feeling queasy. there’s been more times than he can count where he’d thrown up after a fight, or after an interrogation, usually in private but in the occasional presence of mercy.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be harder - and his hits will be, too. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

he’s still in love with the moon and the stars, and the planet’s - and their moons, too. its subdued, now, though. a silent passion - one that is often not watered, left for rot. he sneaks into engineering lectures, occasionally, or physics - or anything that isn’t business, because he hates his major, but he knows it’s the only chance he’s got to stay at radcliffe. and that’s to follow his brother, to follow his father. a business degree treats you well, teaches you skills you’ll need to know for this type of work.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs, only to leave it in the gorham community fridge with no name, something for somebody who may need it. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing, the result of years of abuse. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy. his room is messy, but still oddly barren. nothing on the walls except for a poster or two, sheets a standard navy blue and a row of empty liquor bottles on his windowsill.

a liar, sad to say. has little experience with. ehem. intimacy, and the bodies of others, but lies often and says that he does. mostly to his brother, but word travels quick - and he’s not nearly as much as a fuckboy as is rumored, having only been with a handful of girls, if even that. it’s better this way - if people know that he throws others away like they’re nothing. sex is uncomfortable for him, he always feels gross afterwards. wrong, sometimes. 

he ghosts often, too, if he does get to talking with anybody. the moment ducky feels a spark, something pulling at his poor heart, he ghosts. he develops feelings too easily, too often than he’d like. has left many friendships without explanation, because of this. you know the priest in fleabag season 2? the scene where he comes to fleabag’s house? yeah. tht’s ducky!

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it. it’s his first semester at radcliffe.

pretends he doesn’t care as much as he does. pretends a lot, like there’s nothing soft to him. but a trained eye can see clearly through this. even so - even if you can see that there’s more to ducky than violence and drug deals - you’d still have to break through a dozen walls.

in the rare occasion you get him talking - i mean, talking a lot - he’ll talk about space. ramble off a dozen useless facts about dwarf stars and black holes and all of jupiter’s moons. about a video game he likes, about nothing and everything at all. but as soon as he begins, he stops - embarrassed. apologizes, shuts his mouth, disappears to wherever. anywhere but there. 

uuuhhh. god. okay so ducky’s got an addiction to xanax. it’s numbing and it’s better than feeling, and he’d rather this than that and it’s. a Thing. we won’t go further into it. besides that - he does smoke weed, does try out some of their products to make sure it’s not ... fucked, for their clients, but otherwise fucking hates drugs. social drinker, but still doesn’t like it a lot. hates beer but drinks it often.

overall just ... he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted connections.

clients... first n foremost. he needs people to deal to. i don’t think he handles the Hard Shit like mercy does, but like coke and mdma? works for him.

f...riend..s?... like it’s so hard for ducky to be sincere with people but if you don’t mind like ... an emotionally distant man who doesn’t even hit 6′ then maybe? he’s your guy? maybe you can break him down a little? chip away at his cold shoulder?

a close...r friend... maybe not like. the best of friends. but at least one normal friend whose world does not revolve around fucking drugs and violence would be nice for ducky. someone he can be a little soft with, as a treat.

hook-ups... not many, because ducky doesn’t really enjoy sex too much but y’know. that’s just how it is. he do be having needs, tho. KDSJGSHDKLFSE god.

fisticuffs!... someone he got into a fistfight with. multiple people he’s gotten into fights with. he’s probably lost them (on purpose) but - mayhaps, some of them, he did not?

gorham roommate... god... i don’t know what these two cld get up to but! maybe give him a sexuality panic but who knows.

unrequited feelings... there’s probably a few of these. whether people are drawn to his fucking ~mysterious~ demeanor (he just has fucking anxiety, man) or mayhaps. mayhaps he has the feelings.

flirtations... he’s never been in a relationship so i can’t really include exes, but he can flirt with people i’d like to think ... when he’s drunk. :-)

ghostees... everybody he’s ever fucking ghosted because he’s stupid and is afraid of both friendship and relationships and romance and platonic? feelings of warmth? so sometimes he panics and ghosts people forever. :) spite!

new yorkians... who are familiar with his family or the business they have there

enemies... god. i’m sure he has a lot of these even without attempting to make them. just like, by association, you know? sometimes ducky hates people because mercy does. sometimes he hates people because mercy likes them. JKSDGDSJGFSNLKF

i won’t lie i’m very tired and am having a Troubled Time coming up with connections please. bare with me.

annoyances... i don’t know if ducky can get annoyed very easily but? thorns in his side? something lighthearted? alternately, something Not lighthearted and then ducky :/ goes rogue JKDNGDSNLFK

idk something soft... literally anything soft. please :) give me something soft and cute :) and peaceful and not stressful :)

something ANGSTY and AWFUL... literally. i don’t know. duality of man.

ok i have been awake fr too long i’m going to bed goodnight.

[galemalio]

Title: Rift

Summary: Mickey always blamed himself for the rift between him and Donald. For not being there for Donald during WW2. For not convincing Walt harder to get drafted too. So he tries his best to be a better friend after that. Like keeping him out of trouble by convincing him not to join protests in 2018. Because Disney Studios moves safely in involving itself with political matters. But there are some things Mickey couldn't understand in Donald's world that’s bigger than Disney Studios.  

Author’s Note: After running into so many news about the current events in the US, I’ve always wondered how Donald Duck would react to it. After all, he was “drafted” in 1942 to fight against the Nazis. He would have a far different experience and views from Mickey who Walt refused to get involved with war propaganda.

It was like reasoning with a wall. A feathered, stomping wall.

“Donald, you know how they feel about this,” Mickey still attempted. He ducked. An icebox flew. It crashed right into the living room. More scrapings ensued in the closet where it came from.

He straightened up again slowly, arms crossed over his head. In case more heavy objects decided to defy gravity. “They don’t like it when we get involved with controversies.”

Donald just soldiered past him, his bill pressed into a firm stubborn line. He grabbed the icebox and went to the kitchen. Mickey followed. He watched Donald upend ice cube trays into the ice box.

“You know what Walt would say if he was still alive?” Mickey asked. He didn’t miss how Donald paused. How Donald bashed the ice cubes out of the tray with renewed aggression. The duck flung open the refrigerator door.

“He’d say we’re here to bring magic,” he said louder over the water bottles now being dumped into the icebox. “Donald!” he grabbed Donald’s wrist to stop him from tuning him out. “Whatcha want to do is great and all. But there are other ways to help without complicating things for everybody.”

Donald snatched his wrist away, his eyes burning with weight that was ready to fly off the handle. Instead, he grabbed the filled icebox and turned his back on Mickey.

Mickey’s mouth hung open. Donald was obviously irate. When Donald is irate, he would be ranting. Which would make him more gibberish. Which would make him less understandable. Which would just add fuel to his fire.

But underneath his own confusion, there was a stinging twinge at Donald’s dismissal. He could feel it again. The rift between them. It was beyond the clash of their personalities that had labelled them as an odd couple. A curious disconnect that had stretched for more than 70 years.

Then talk to me, Donald! He wanted to shout. Walt had always said Donald is his problem child. Mickey sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I want to join protests too. I want to do the good. But this is messy.” He went around to face Donald again. “We’ll find another way to help,” he said with a hopeful smile. Hope that he got through to Donald. Hope that Donald realizes the weight they carry as Walt’s children. Hope that for once, Donald would listen.

Donald only walked past him and disappeared in the closet again. Mickey wanted to tear his own ears off. Ever since Donald’s creation back in 1930s, Donald never recognizes Mickey’s responsibility in being in charge -in and out of the set.

“Amy will be harder on you after this,” he said. Amy was Donald’s newest handler. Donald was usually a tired, passive slacker. Until he goes off. After that, it’s a battle of wills with a duck that had mastered bullheadedness into perfection. Eighty years could do that.

Donald didn’t answer. He just placed the first aid kit beside the icebox. Mickey gaped at it. Donald, as a toon, hardly needs that. Toons were pretty much indestructible. “What does Daisy think about this?” Mickey asked.

“She. Un. Der. Stands,” he grounded out, each syllable a heel grinding pointfully on Mickey.

Mickey frowned, meeting his eyes. That was unfair. Here he was trying to communicate with someone who’s shutting him out and he was the one who couldn’t understand him?

I should’ve been there for him, he thought in frustration. Should’ve tried harder with Walt. I could’ve convinced him. I would’ve been there for him.

Should’ve. Could’ve. Would’ve.

Mickey closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Once he had asked Walt why Donald couldn’t just be good. Everything you are, he isn’t, Walt had confided. Everything he is, you aren’t.

“Who are you going with?” Mickey asked.

Donald looked away and his shoulders fell with a huff. In his own Donaldy-way, it was his form of regret. For that, Mickey forgave him.

“I’m going with José and Panchito,” he offered in a gruff non-apology apology.

Mickey tried to ignore the surge of jealousy. Panchito and José have helped Donald from his darkest times after World War 2. Something he nor Goofy couldn’t get Donald out of.

He chastised himself. At least they made Donald smile back in those days when Mickey could only watch as Donald spiralled. Panchito and José could be controversial -smoking and gunning and sleeping around. But the two birds were good for Donald. He remembered how Donald would disappear to Brazil or Mexico at least once a year. Perhaps, even too good.

“They want to be there for the immigrants,” Donald said. Mickey quickly wiped away any emotion his face might betray. He wondered if Donald saw right through his shameful jealousy. He was supposed to be a good friend. Someone who’s purely happy for him.

Donald took his placard from its resting place. His fingers slid down the freshly dried paint, its message bold and clear.

“Mickey… remember when Goofy and I got drafted?”

Mickey startled. Donald never talked about the war. Never wanted to. Mickey placed his hands over his. Just as he predicted, Donald moved his hands away, still holding the sign.

“I wanted to be drafted too,” Mickey quietly said. His ears lowered. “But Walt wouldn’t let me.”

Another closeted flaw he kept to himself. While Goofy was only a posterboy in bombardment squads, Donald was more involved in the war. Aside from the propaganda films, Donald actually served.

But at what cost?

The stormier eyes. The heightened sensitivity to sudden noises. (Grenades, he told himself. It was those goshdarned grenades.) The defeated weariness after there was nothing left to destroy in his fits of anger. The directors thought it was funny. Mickey had trusted Walt.

In a way, Walt did help Donald. He brought him along to his diplomatic missions in Latin America where Donald first met José. Then Panchito. Mickey wished Donald had gotten psychiatric help sooner instead.

“I should’ve convinced him harder to let me get drafted too,” Mickey said, his voice dropping into a whisper. The room seemed to get colder as he pulled out his own confessional like pulling out his teeth with a rusty hook. “It should’ve been us together: Mickey, Donald and Goofy. Like we always do.”

And maybe then, you wouldn’t have to face the war alone, he thought, a bitter taste invading the back of his throat.

Donald dryly stared at him as though Mickey couldn’t see it.

See what?! Mickey wanted to scream. This wasn’t the first time Donald had looked at him laconically like he was a little kid. A little kid who couldn’t tell apart real life from cartoons. Whenever Mickey gave thought about Donald, the duck was stimulatingly, frustratingly a bag of contradictions. Selfish and selfless. Apathetic and passionate. But self-absorbed and aware at the same time?

But he was Mickey Mouse. He didn’t rage or scream. That was Donald’s thing. Instead, he only felt lost. He was usually the one who shows Donald how to be happy. But when did bliss became ignorance?

“You’re his golden boy,” Donald opened the first aid kit and counted the gauze. There was no resentment. No jealousy. Just weariness from living with the facts. “Walt would never be convinced to get you tainted by reality.”

Mickey held his arm as if covering a sting.

“Walt meant well,” Mickey said, he couldn’t help that his tone sounded protesting. “He just didn’t expect...” he shrugged, looking around. Trying to find the right word for the gray that came after. The gray that had colored Donald underneath pristine white feathers. “...Everything.”

There was something distant in Donald’s eyes as he looked at Mickey. Like he was watching a bird fly because that’s what birds do.

“No point regretting what wasn’t done,” Donald said, eyeing the amount of antiseptic in a bottle. Mickey got the feeling he wasn’t only talking about him not getting drafted.

“Donald,” Mickey grabbed his arm. This was it. “I wasn’t there to share what you’ve been through-”

Donald tried to shrug him off, looking confused. “I never wanted you to.”

But Mickey held on. “-and I’m trying to be a better friend-”

“What?!”

“-that’s why I don’t want you to get into trouble.” Mickey could already imagine the internet wars following the protests where Donald, Panchito and José would be seen. With Donald’s temper, probably lawsuits included. The PRs. The paparazzis going nuts. “The executives would let us hold charities. Give donations. Promote NGOs. Be a more positive influence without opposing anyone.”

He squeezed his arm. “Donald, things don’t always have to be messy.”

Donald leaned away. He stared at Mickey so hard, Mickey could almost see the gears grinding behind his eyes.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not your fault,” Donald finally said.

“But Donald-”

“Nope! Nu-uh! You’re not going to make me say it, Mickey!”

“Donald, what’re you-”

“You’re a great friend! There! I said it!” Donald’s face shone firetruck red. “Don’t you dare try any harder or you’ll drive me up the wall!”

Mickey stood there frozen, trying to understand what was happening. Donald only looked at him frustratingly, silently blaming him at the turn of their conversation.

“Does that mean you’ll take up my offer?” Mickey asked in a small, hopeful voice that wheedled through the awkwardness between them.

Donald slapped a hand over his face. Hard. He slowly dragged it over his eyes. Then down his bill. Mickey felt like a kid who had asked an idiotic question to a parent whose patience was running thin.

But instead of throwing up his hands with an “Ah, phooey!” Donald just sighed.

“Mickey… I’ve seen what that hate,” he gestured outside, “had lead to before.“

Mickey snapped to attention. Donald spoke each word slow and deliberate to be understandable over his speech impediment. Donald never had the patience for it before.

Donald picked up his icebox and first aid kit, his sign tucked under his arm. “This is another war and I’m going to fight it.” A shadow crossed his face that Mickey could only imagine what it was. “Before it gets bloody…. Bloodier than last time.”

Before he could walk away, Mickey grabbed his hand. Donald glanced at it before looking at Mickey.

“I can’t be there with you,” Mickey said quietly. Rough with anguish at what he must do. Or rather what he mustn’t do.

Donald only smiled as though once again, he was expecting this. “I know.”

Mickey could almost feel the “child-friendly” bounds keeping him at place. It was what Walt would’ve wanted for him. He tried to smile back.

Donald laughed at his attempt. His smile must’ve looked like he was grinding broken glass under his palm.

“Ah, phooey!” His webbed foot kicked imaginary dust. Donald slipped his hand away from his, looking anywhere but at Mickey’s unbearably conflicted face. “The kids still need you. Away from all of this,” Donald waved his hand.

Mickey just hung his head and Donald thought harder.

“This time, I won’t really be alone,” he finally said. “Don’t worry ‘bout me!”

They suddenly hear a car honk in the beat of the Cucaracha.

Donald’s face lit up with a smile that could challenge the sun. “Panchito! José!” He was gone in a puff of dust. Mickey didn’t need to see them to know that they’re in a happy tangle of hugs with a confusing showering of Portuguese-Spanglish.

Mickey watched them by the door. There was still a rift between them. An abyss that Mickey couldn’t cross. Walt meant so much to him that he would always follow Walt’s wish. Donald had understood that longer. However, above that abyss, there was now a connection firmly taut between them.

He watched them all shout, “The Three Caballeros!” He felt that surge of jealousy again. This time, it was fainter. There was an acceptance with the fact that at least Panchito and José wouldn’t just be there to pick up the pieces like last time. They would have his back.

Donald gave him one last glance and Mickey finally gave him a genuine smile, waving. Panchito and José waved back. They drove off, their picket signs sticking out of their car.

As long as Donald wouldn’t be alone in the other side of the rift, Mickey took comfort that he would be okay.

Author’s Notes: Alright, most of you may not like where Mickey had stood in here. But Mickey is the face of Disney who always do what’s right for his Disney kingdom. He would always choose the pacifist way first until it no longer works. Donald, who has a slight disregard for rules, would’ve set for a more confrontative path.

[adamarinayu]

I feel like babbling a bit about this AU I thought of a while ago but have not mentioned or written or drawn about. Everything below the cut so you can skip it if you want to, this is probably gonna be disjointed as all get-out because I have not organized ANY of my thoughts lol

Mmkay so it’s a Dark Ducks Lite AU, Lite because it’s not too bad (none of the main characters are really evil or anything like that, either) but the world is still a pretty dark world.

Universe: It’s a Magic!Donald AU, which again mixes DT17 with elements of PK. Donald is not a superhero tho. He’s more of an antihero tbh, and he lives almost full time as Paperinik due to certain circumstances. His mask is also different, as he uses it to hide a very identifying mark on his face. Della is alive in this universe and raising her children, and Donald has been missing since he was 7 (~25 years).

Setting: The modern world is a lot different from the one in DT17 or PK. In this world, androids came into being a few centuries earlier than they were supposed to, and magi (umbrella term for all magic users of any type) were exposed to the rest of the world and aren’t an “underground” population anymore. Therefore, there are three different classes of people; Androids, Magi and the Mundane. Androids are currently fighting for civil rights, and Magi are seen in only a slightly more positive light than Androids by the Mundane (the whole “people fear what they don’t understand” thing). 

Characters;

Donald is a Magi from a family of Mundane. He ran away from home after an accident when he was 7, which exposed him being a Magi to his family. Their initial reactions (fear, confusion, disbelief, horror, etc), including his sister and cousins’, is what prompted him to run away, having been a very young child at the time he interpreted their reactions as rejection. He was taken in and trained by another Magi alongside his closest friends Mickey and Goofy. He grows up with a distaste for the Mundane and bitter towards his family, but finds himself back in Duckburg about 12 years before the start of the story, where he meets Uno. He’s lived with Uno at Ducklair Tower since then, specifically the 151st floor inaccessible to anyone snooping in the tower. Although Donald would choose Androids and Magi above Mundane any day, his true loyalties lie with Uno and, therefore, you could say the only side he chooses is his own. He lives almost exclusively as Paperinik, even going so far as to fake “Donald Duck’s” death.

Uno is an Android, created by Magi scientist Everett Ducklair some years before Donald returned to Duckburg (between 5 and 15 years). He lives in the abandoned Ducklair Tower (which he can still connect to and control at will), alone, after Everett was supposedly killed in a witch hunt. He does not like the Mundane because of what they did, and when he first meets Donald he wants Donald to leave his tower. Upon finding out that Donald is a Magi, and not Mundane, he lets Donald stay under certain conditions (and only lets him stay because he thinks of Everett and Everett’s fate). Eventually he and Donald develop a real friendship and relationship, and are each others’ closest friend, ally and confidants. He does not ally himself with any class of people, much like Donald, and instead chooses to ally himself with Donald. He helped Donald convincingly fake his own death.

Everett was a Magi who was attacked and supposedly murdered by supposedly anti-Magi people (in a witch hunt). It’s assumed that the group was made solely of Mundane, but the truth is it was a group made of different people (including Androids and other Magi), and his status as a Magi wasn’t their reason for attacking him. Uno doesn’t know this. Everett is, in fact, still alive, but for certain reasons is unable to return to Duckburg or get a message to Uno.

Della is a Mundane, Donald’s twin sister and mother of Magi triplets Huey, Dewey and Louie. She isn’t yet aware that her sons are Magi. She has a scar on her face that almost perfectly mirror’s Donald’s, received in the accident when Donald was revealed to be a Magi. She and her family spent a long time searching for Donald, but gave up when Donald “died” as it seemed then that it was too late. Her greatest regret in life was not assuring Donald that she and the rest of the family accepted him, even when he’d accidentally hurt her. She chooses not to tell the triplets about Donald, knowing she just doesn’t have much to tell them.

Gladstone is a Magi, Donald’s cousin. His magic is his luck- it’s passive, and most people don’t even put the dots together. Gladstone was present during the accident when they were all seven. When he figured out he himself was actually a Magi, he didn’t fear the family’s reaction as he’s been with them the entire time they’ve been desperately searching for Donald and knows they’d accept him if it ever came up. He believes the triplets should know about Donald, even if they don’t have much to tell them- and even less happy things to tell them- but he respects Della’s choice.

Scrooge is a Mundane, and Donald’s uncle. After Donald ran away, he poured a lot of money into finding him. However, Donald’s mentor kept Donald well away from the world, so none of his attempts even came close to reaching Donald. To this day he refuses to believe Donald is dead. Most people call him a hopeful old man, but Scrooge thinks it’s too convenient- that Donald Duck, missing for over ten years, should suddenly show up without any record, without any trace, dead? He refuses to believe it. He continues to search for Donald, only now it’s less openly and he does it more privately, while juggling his family and his business.

Fenton is a Mundane superhero. He’s been trying to catch Paperinik ever since he showed up in Duckburg, completely unaware that the petty criminal is his employer’s missing and “dead” nephew. He’s also an ally to the Androids, openly supporting Android civil rights.

Gyro is a Mundane scientist and works with Fenton. Much like his colleague, he openly allies himself with Androids. He won’t give someone the time of day if they indicate that they don’t believe Androids to be people. Honestly probably only hired Fenton because he was the only applicant who made is clear he shared these views.

Geena is an Android and the leader of the Androids’ Civil Rights movement. She often calls Donald a friend of Droids, and despite him not being an Android would be willing to die to save him. Her resentment towards the Mundane blinds her to exactly what kind of future she’s leading her people towards, unaware that it is not a future she wants.

Now I’mma just throw down some bullet points because I can

Donald and Uno have a very obvious romantic relationship that neither even try to hide when, eventually, Donald is reunited with his family

Donald’s mentor is an ass and will probably be the big bad of the entire story. She may have also orchestrated the accident that caused Donald to run away, and is pulling so many strings “puppetmaster” doesn’t even begin to cover it. Her name may even be Magica de Spell... *cough*

Donald has a hard time believing that he misinterpreted his family’s reactions to him being a Magi, and the idea that his entire life has been based around a misunderstanding and a lie is hard for him to swallow

I’m not sure what, but something prompts Donald to kidnap Della, Gladstone, Scrooge, the triplets and Webby, and bring them to Ducklair Tower (with Uno’s help and permission, of course). They only know him to be Paperinik, and fear he might be dangerous. They haven’t seen him since he was seven, so when he reveals his identity to them he does it by removing his mask- and revealing the scar he’d received that last day they’d seen him

The above event may be prompted by an unconscious desire of Donald’s to protect his family during a dangerous and chaotic time in the city. Uno goes along with it because, again, he’s on Donald’s side- not the Androids or the Magi or the Mundane’s, but very specifically Donald’s

Of course at some point Donald has to choose between loyalty to Geena (and the Androids, minus Uno) and loyalty to his fractured family, most of whom are Mundane who would get hurt or possibly killed during Geena’s plans. He ultimately decides he wants his family back.

That’s sadly not the end of the conflict. Donald manages to stop Geena’s plans from going through, saving both the Mundane and Androids (the latter of which none of them actually realize), when Everett finally manages to return to warn them about the real threat coming. Donald, of course, recognizes his mentor’s name, and now has a crisis of conscious as he realizes he and his friends, and everyone else who had been taught and trained by her, were being groomed to be her future army. Thankfully, this one he doesn’t have to fight alone

So yeah basically Donald’s life has been really screwed up, so his moral compass, while not completely absent, is a little wonky. He’s a petty criminal in that he occasionally steals, and he messes with people, but he’d never murder anyone or something like that

Uno’s own morality isn’t the best either, here; being designed as an Android from the start, and experiencing so many negative emotions so early on in his existence has led him in a direction where he could easily slip down either the path of good or bad. Although he can definitely make his own decisions and is not, in any way, dependent on Donald (if anything, Donald’s dependent on him), if Paperinik had gone bad Uno probably would have followed him still

Oh yeah almost forgot, after the final battle is over they end up on Grandma’s farm. Della, Gladstone, the kids and Scrooge are reunited with Grandma, and Donald goes to leave with Uno back to the tower when Della grabs him by the raggedy remains of his cape and drags him over to Grandma. Grandma recognizes him immediately and hugs him. It’s quite a moment.

[defenestrata]

erich + ALL (too bad suffer w me)

stares into camera like i’m in the office. thanks realm. i lov having friends on the internets. i’m still figuring out erich’s character bc he was ( and likely still is ) a little bland but what’s under the cut is long so enjoy djhsjhfs

QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCS

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

about half an hour at best, to be honest. and he’s the most patient person in his family. 

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

not easy, not at all. erich isn’t no-nonsense, he just doesn’t have a tendency to open his mouth and laugh. sharp exhales and repressed smirks all around. 

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?

sleeping pills. due to a couple of past incidents, erich has a crippling discomfort in the dark. and he’s also not rich enough to keep the lights on all night. about 1/3 of the time, he doesn’t need artificial medication, but sometimes he does. 

How easy is it to earn their trust?

full and complete ‘i’d die for you and i know you’d die for me’ trust ? near impossible ! erich’s trusted like five people in his life, one of which went missing, two of which were separated from him and the other two that betrayed him. 

How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

his idea of mistrust is pretty black and white. which means that he only decides to lose faith when you do something that stabs him in the back. that’s probably why two people have already stabbed him in the back. maybe one more will.

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

laws are only good for making sure everyone stays out of everyone else’s way. otherwise, miscellaneous laws like piracy and intellectual property aren’t that important to him. 

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

the one particular thing that triggers nostalgia for him is snow. erich’s memory of snow is not separate from his memory of old friends and family. until the point that he didn’t reunite with his fam, he felt nothing but a hollow bitterness. now, seeing snow is a little more calming. 

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?

alright, so for one, for the longest time he was supposed to be an important role model for his sister, younger than him by five years. so he was pushed to start being responsible from a pretty young age. after that he had to be pushed to participate in things at school, which he hated doing because it was all silly and he was bad at arts and crafts. 

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

oh yeah, sure. he has no sanctity when it comes to that kind of stuff. his first swear word has to be shit. but in german, so scheiße. mama was absolutely shooked.

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

unfort, erich has told and continues to tell a lot of lies, some little and white, others less so. the most significant lie he’s told is hiding what really happened while he was on his own from his family. okay, this needs some insight on his backstory jhsjfds but uh to summarise: he was separated from his family, under the guardianship of a stranger for a little while, but got involved in deep web conspiracies and eventually got himself kidnapped and psychologically tortured for a bit but he hasn’t told his fam about it after they reunited. 

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

his pride, damn it. he will never admit he hasn’t understood anything ever, he’ll just nod and try to fill in the gaps himself and i hate him. 

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

try his best to reach it. his parents didn’t raise a quitter. probably just duck into a quiet place if there are too many people around. 

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

he thinks he looks really good in this grey jacket he has, which he’s especially partial to. it’s pretty shit. what he really looks good in are stark colours, especially black and white. 

What animal do they fear most?

dogs. he has allergies. other than that, maybe raccoons. 

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

he rehearses absolutely nothing and dies like a man. however, to be honest, speaking isn’t really his thing, it’s kind of a last resort. he’s much, much more of a listener. that being said, he has the tendency to say things that aren’t socially tactful, but not frequently.

What makes their stomach turn?

later in his arc he’s forced to be a decent protagonist and blackmail the antagonist with what the antagonist loves the most. he doesn’t like being in a position where there’s absolutely no doubt he’s doing something bad. basically if he knows he’s breaking the golden rule, he’s going to be uncomfortable. 

Are they easily embarrassed?

yes. yes. and his friend jamie, another oc, will use this to her advantage until she dies. 

What embarrasses them?

compliments. insults. mentions of his past. just anything that’s about him, being said by another people. he talks about himself, others talk about themselves

What is their favorite number?

what’s the point ?? he has no favourites. 

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

noah fence but he’s a terrible person to ask about this. he’d literally say “familial love is like platonic love but for family” and “romantic love is platonic love but when you kiss”. 

Why do they get up in the morning?

fuck if he knows. first it was because he’d get dragged out of bed by his physical therapist if he didn’t show up. now it’s because he’s being hunted down by an organised crime cult thing.

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?

erich has difficulty making personal attachments to anything, so he isn’t frequently overwhelmed by strong feelings of jealousy. if he is, he has difficulty making anything of it beyond “i am mad. why am i mad. what”.

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?

for the first week erich does try to take some kind of moral high ground and ignore it, but second week leads to bitterness and snideness. although envy is not really a big deal for him. he has a fairly healthy family dynamic once he reunites with them, finances aren’t terrible etc. if i had to attribute a fatal flaw to them it’d be either pride or wrath. 

Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom?

i mean, in theory he’s comfortable because he doesn’t think of it as some super taboo subject. sure, sex. but because he’s been socially constrained for much of his life he’s just kind of bleh about it. 

What are their thoughts on marriage?

marriage is marriage. woop. does he want to get married ? heck no, he’s got shit to do. 

What is their preferred mode of transportation?

the london tube (he lives in london). the organisation of so many lines with all the crossover points is so, so satisfying. 

What causes them to feel dread?

forgetting. names, places, faces, details. especially when he can’t remember if it was important or not. he hates being surprised by events. 

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?

yes. yes. absolutely yes. truth is way overrated in society in his opinion. nothing is really true because everything is subjective. in which case, people can just pick the reality that suits them. if it doesn’t hurt anybody, why bother. 

Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

no. his ideal isn’t as much an image of himself as it is the goal of taking down aforementioned organised crime ring. he hasn’t done that yet. 

Who do they most regret meeting?

i’m so very glad you asked. albert michael strauss, a colleague of erich’s father, who took him in after he was separated from his family, and took splendid care of him — for the first year. after that, he realised that erich was involved in shady business and gave him out to the police without a blink which later led to the kidnapping. yeah, erich wants him dead. 

Who are they the most glad to have met?

kisha and jamie, his physical therapist and her mentee respectively. they were pretty successful in bringing him out of his shell after the torture, giving him support, asking about his family, helping out with finances, and finally even letting him stay with them when he gets evicted later in the story. 

Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke?

if erich’s super comfortable with you he may tell you stories of his younger sister being dumb.  of which he has quite a few. otherwise, if he’s feeling a little prideful, he’ll tell you the story of how he got onto a plane and got off it scot free without a boarding pass or a passport. yes, that did actually happen, and he’s so proud. 

Could they be considered lazy?

no. he knows what he wants and he’s proactive enough to get it.

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?

oh boy, okay so erich rarely does things that make him feel a super genuine sense of guilt. he tends to justify it with ‘it was necessary’. but if something does indeed make him feel guilty he will he haunted by it for days and days. 

How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?

he listens and nods and maybe even quips. if its someone very close he’ll agree to help if needed. he’s got a very impersonal kind of supportive system that i’m still figuring out. 

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap?

i mean provided that a) he trusts someone, and b) cares about them to the extent that he has such strong platonic love that he begins to be confused about his feelings, he’d be in love. but that’s a huge process. so no thanks. 

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)?

not really sksksk he forgets things like a cool person. 

What memory do they revisit the most often?

memories of being locked in a tiny dark room, memories of being kept in a blindingly white, noiseless room. memories of being bombarded with loud and overlapping speeches and music till he can’t even hear his own thoughts. that kind of memory. 

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people?

difficult. his natural cynicism of people emphasizes on their flaws and may even ignore their good points. even with his best friends, he can’t ignore flaws when they pop up. it doesn’t diminish his appreciation of them, however.

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

facts: erich’s sense of self is awful. he is pretty much playing a video game character of himself in the real world, interacting with objects and making observations with little attention on himself. if someone did call them out for being apathetic, cold and/or straight up duplicitous and condescending he’ll go “yes but what’s your point”

How do they feel about children?

okay, kids are a bit of a weak spot with erich, mostly because he has a baby sister. he likes how silly and unbothered about the world they are, it’s very amusing to him. also, objectively, he’s relatively decent at calming kids down and taking care of basic needs. once the mess that is his plot is over he wouldn’t mind having a kid. 

How badly do they want to reach their end goal?

he wants to take down mettugi pretty badly but he’s not passionately blindsided enough to do something stupid. he’s willing to kill but he’s not willing to die. if he plays his cards right it won’t be necessary. 

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?

shrug emoji. it all depends on who he can connect with. 

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS

A) Why are you excited about this character?

i’m excited mainly because i want to break a really gross trope in writing him. there’s this trope of tall, dark, handsome boys with dark pasts that are abusive to their friends and generally flat characters with no real meaning to them. i want a surface level tall, dark and handsome with genuine wit, capacity for sympathy and a moral code skskks 

B) What inspired you to create them?

oh boy long story short i doodled a person on the back of a test paper in ninth grade which gave me an idea for a detached character who hacks in solitude and he’s sort of developed over the years into what he is today. no single thing inspired him. 

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

no, because they’re the protagonist for the first segment of this story.

D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

absolutely not ! draft one erich was much older, and ethnically german. this erich is younger and the son of turkish immigrants to germany. 

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

i think we’re both too detached and awkward to get along and get close, but we certainly wouldn’t have arguments. 

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

frustration because ARGH i’m having trouble getting a hold of him and fleshing him out

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

erich is meant to be a little volatile, but i’m having difficulty defining it very well. also it gets everyone around them to pull away just when they were getting close and that’s frustrating as an author too.

H) What trait do you admire most?

casual sympathy ! erich won’t hold your hand and tell you it’s alright but he will try to cook for you. he also tends to be generous to buskers and the like just because. 

I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?

yes but i do that with all my ocs because they’re so defined by their context and canon.

J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

uh i’m not 100% sure what this question is asking tbh but the way this story is proceeding it’s very much driven by the characters — the story doesn’t make the muses, it’s the other way around.