#which isn’t helpful when you’re broke and living through a recession!

[tenofmuses]

Free Witchcraft Resources for Beginners

A couple months ago I made a post shouting out the fact that witchcraft doesn’t require any money to get started (or to be practiced, for that matter), and I had a few people ask me about what they can do that’s free, especially as a beginner, so I wrote up this post. I was lost and broke when I was getting started with my craft, and it was really difficult to find tips for beginners that weren’t just “buy these things!” I’m hoping this will be useful for people who are looking for a place to begin.

So. You’re interested in witchcraft and would like to find out more. Maybe you keep seeing those “crystals/herbs/books/etc. beginner witches should have” posts, and you’re frustrated, because you want to begin your practice, but don’t have the money for those supplies. I was once in that spot, and even now that I’m five years into my practice, I have rarely purchased any of the supplies witchtok deems to be fundamental. Here are some places you can begin instead. Let’s get started!

Info continues below.

Foundations

By foundations, I’m referring to things that aren’t explicitly witchcraft, but that I have found very beneficial within my own practice.

1. Before anything, I recommend asking yourself a simple question: why do I want to practice witchcraft, and what do I hope to get out of it? You may not know for sure yet, and your answer will likely change over time, but having some intentions going in can be helpful when you’re in the early stages of research. When I was starting out, I felt very overwhelmed by the amount of info out there, so if you have a bit of an idea of what you’re specifically interested in, that can be helpful to get you going.

2. Meditation: not all witches meditate, but a lot of the skills you develop through meditation can be helpful within witchcraft. You can try out secular meditation (apps like Balance and Headspace, as well as Insight Timer—the former has a mix of secular and spiritual meditations), or you can find a witchcraft-specific guided meditation on YouTube. For neurodivergent folks out there, I recommend looking into active meditation, which I’ve found to be quite beneficial for myself.

For me, it’s always important to remain grounded when I’m doing any spiritual practice, and meditation is a good skill you can work on to help with that. I also find that having a background in meditation can be really helpful later down the line when/if you are attempting visualization and/or astral projection, witch’s flight, and so forth.

3. Journaling: another thing that isn’t specifically witchcraft-related, but is an important skill to harness, on my opinion. To me, it’s crucial to be in touch with what I’m feeling (especially when it comes to doing spellwork), and journaling is one great way to do that. If you’re stuck and don’t know where to begin, look up witchcraft (or general) journal prompts on here or somewhere else. A lot of the ones that come up will be shadow work, which can be intense, so only do what feels comfortable for you.

I’d also like to note that automatic writing/drawing is an entirely free option if you’re interested in communing with spirits or deities. Essentially it involves getting into a trance-like state (usually in a dark room only lit by candlelight or similar—this is to avoid distractions) with a piece of paper and pen, and you write or draw everything that comes to your head without thinking about it. And then you go back and see what sort of messages you may be receiving. It’s a bit hard to explain and I’m not very experienced in it myself, but it’s something worth looking into if it sounds interesting to you!

4. Look at what you have, instead of what you don’t: a lot of beginner witch resources will list specific items that you should have, without really explaining why. And without that knowledge of how/why having an item is important, you might find your Must Have crystal sitting unused on a shelf somewhere. So instead of focusing on the items you want or feel like you should have, look at what you do have. Are there plants or herbs in your house/yard that you feel drawn to? Do you have a collection of cool rocks and stones? How do these items make you feel?

For me, a large part of my craft is my belief in Animism (the belief that all living things have innate spiritual qualities, like a soul, spirit, or specific energy) and this can play into the way you interact with the natural world if it’s a belief you also subscribe to. Try and feel the presence of a plant to see if it gives you any specific feeling. It does? Great! Now you have a correspondance for that plant. And it’s even better than the correspondances you’ll get in a book because it’s based on your own personal connection and intuition. That’s what is most important.

5. When in doubt, use your intuition. You might find a source that says cinnamon should be used for protection. Another will say it should be used for abundance spells. What matters the most is what you think about an herb/plant/stone/colour, or whatever else you may utilize. I recommend to start keeping a list of what you associate these things with. It can take awhile to build up a personalized list, but once you have one, it’ll be a lot more useful than what a correspondances book says to do.

6. Scour your pantry and get cooking: are you wanting to try out a spell but you haven’t bought the ingredients? Look in your pantry. You may be surprised by how many commonly used witchcraft herbs you find in there. And if you have been starting to associate certain herbs or spices with specific feelings or energies, that’s a great way to get started with creating your own spell.

You can do a spell in many ways, but when I was starting out, one of my favourite ways was to incorporate a certain herb or spice into food I made. Say you’re making a soup and maybe you want a bit of protection, so you add some ground pepper with the intention of that pepper protecting you as you stir it into the soup. Same goes for any other ingredient you’d like to use. A little intention goes a long way!

7. Dedicate your actions, time, or energy: if you’re interested at all in working with deities, ancestors, and other spirits but don’t have the time/space to build an altar—or maybe you aren’t sure how involved you want to be with this part of witchcraft—you can devote an action to the entity. This can be simple. For example, when I worked with Apollo, I would use taking my meds and vitamins as an act of devotion to him. This is an offering. And offerings can be anything you want them to be. They don’t have to be expensive or fancy!

It’s also important to note that you do not need to work with deities or spirits to be a witch. You don’t even have to believe in them. Many witches are atheists or don’t work with any deities at all. But for those who are interested, simple offerings can be a good place to start.

8. Practice energy work: in my view, energy work is the most important skill to learn for your craft, since so many things build off of it. And with energy work, you don’t need to spend any amount of money on it. All you need is yourself, your intuition, and anything else—I mean that quite literally, you can practice feeling the energy of other people, pets, trees, buildings, foods, socks, your favourite pen, and whatever else you think of!

Once you get to know the energy of the things around you, you can more effectively utilize them as tools within your practice (this builds off of the intuition point I made earlier).

For example, as a child I lived in a house that was surrounded by cedar trees. It was a place where I felt very safe. To this day, when I see or smell a cedar tree, I feel safe and protected. You can read this any way you’d like—to me it’s both a spiritual and psychological phenomenon—but this is one example of sensing energy.

As a witch, you can practice that skill and use it to get to know the tools you’d like to use within your own craft (the things that connect to you personally, not what you’re told you should connect with). This isn’t an easy skill by any means, so if it doesn’t come naturally to you, that’s perfectly okay!

For more on this subject, I recommend two books: Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Kimmerer (more on animism in particular) and Psychic Witch by May Auryn (lots of exercises to practice working with and sensing energy).

Where to Go for Learning

After you’ve thought a bit about some of the above, or skipped it altogether if it doesn’t suit you, you’re probably wanting some good resources that will actually tell you how to do the witchcraft thing. But before that, I want to reiterate again that this is your practice, and you should only do what you are interested in. So take what you want and leave what you don’t.

I’m going to point you in three primary directions for learning good information: books, podcasts, and YouTube.

But first, I want to issue a massive disclaimer for the YouTube information (and some books, for that matter). You should not have one sole source for your information. Books that have bibliographies are always the most trustworthy sources. And even though I trust the information coming from the YouTubers I’ll mention—especially because I’ve read similar information in several witchcraft books—don’t take their word at face-value. Be critical of what you’re told. Believe what you believe. This is a skill you’ll learn over time. It can be a bit overwhelming at first, but it will get easier to discern what’s good info vs. bad info, over time.

Before you get started, I highly recommend watching this helpful video by HearthWitch with info on how to vet your witchcraft sources: link.

Books

In my view, books are the Best source of information, period. Anyone can publish an article or video online, but not everyone can publish a book. So there tends to be a bit more reliable info in witchcraft books.

As far as knowing what book you should begin with, there are lots of lists out there for beginners, and I recommend just looking at one of those lists and picking what sounds interesting to you. Take what you like and leave what you don’t.

Most of the YouTubers I’ve listed below have videos recommending books for beginners.

If you’re interested in British folk witchcraft, I started out with Folk Witchcraft by Roger J. Horne and it was a brilliant beginners guide that I recommend to anyone who is interested in that branch of witchcraft.

As always, while you read witchcraft books, be critical of the information you are presented with. Unfortunately, lots of witchcraft books (especially the classic ones) can be rooted in concepts like bioessentialism, colonialism, and racism. My recommendation is to not take any author’s word as gospel and to use your critical thinking skills when reading witchcraft books.

Where I live, books are EXPENSIVE. And when you’re just starting out in your practice, you might not have the money or ability to go out and buy a book just yet. Maybe you’re still unsure if witchcraft is right for you. Or maybe you’re in the “broom closet.” Whatever the reason, here are some free places to find books.

1. The public library: a bit obvious, but a great resource to look at, because you never know what your library might have. Libraries are the best. And entirely free!

2. Library apps like Libby or Overdrive: especially helpful if you don’t want to bring home a physical witchcraft book, or if your branch doesn’t have any copies of what you’re looking for. You can also get some audiobooks on there.

3. Archive.org: aka the web archive. Entirely free and entirely legal, this works as an online library service where you can check out a book for a bit of time right from your computer. Sometimes you can download PDFs as well. I’ve found a lot of my favourite witchcraft books on there, so if you have a specific title in mind, search it there.

YouTube

First, as a bit of a caveat before recommending you to watch YouTube videos on witchcraft: in my view, books are the best source of information for any witch, as they are able to contain a large degree of nuanced and research-informed information. But books aren’t a simple solution for everyone, and I’ve learned a lot from informed YouTubers over the years (in fact, like many witches, I was first exposed to witchcraft via Harmony Nice on YouTube!).

I’m including a list here of witch YouTubers that I personally recommend because I have found that their content aligns with information I have read in books and other research-informed sources over the years, and because I find them to be generally reliable.

I want to note here that this list is rather biased, as I tend to watch witchcraft YouTubers whose practices mirror my own in some ways. So most of these practitioners have practices informed by European folk witchcraft, and are not very diverse as a result. If any practitioners have further recommendations to add on, especially for practitioners of colour and practices that are different from mine, please do so!

My recommendations:

ChaoticWitchAunt: folk witchcraft, specifically in the Italian tradition, some great beginner content, info on working with saints and spirits.

TheWitchOfWonderlust: death magic, spellwork, great beginner content, lots of excellent info on working with spirits.

HearthWitch: truly a well of information on British witchcraft, beginner videos on any topic you can think of, q&a livestreams, and there’s even a video on vetting witchcraft sources that I really recommend for beginners.

The Redheaded Witch: folk witchcraft and folklore, spirit and ancestor work, daily witchcraft ideas, some beginner videos.

TheGreenWitch: such an excellent resource for herbal/green witchcraft, videos on spellwork, ingredients, tools, and more.

Mintfaery: lots of beginner information, videos on working with the fae, nature witchcraft, and lots of fun witchy days in the life.

Ella Harrison: German folk witchcraft, great beginner resources, including some more niche traditional craft topics like witch’s ladders.

The Norse Witch: info on Norse witchcraft and Heathenry, Norse paganism, and some content about astrology.

simplywitched: lots of great everyday witchcraft content, pagan witchcraft, more vlog style.

Warrior Witch Nike: witchy book reviews, paganism, deity work, some astrology content.

Mhara Starling: the place to go for anyone interested in Welsh witchcraft and folk magic related to Wales.

Alwyn Oak: lots of witch’s guides, especially relating to sabbats (those popularized in Wicca), forest witchcraft, gorgeous videos.

Ivy The Occultist: chaos magick and lots of interviews with practitioners from a variety of paths/backgrounds.

Shadow Harvest: personal day in the life witchy content, some videos looking at working with dark goddesses and deity work in general.

Note: some of these YouTubers have written their own witchcraft books geared towards beginners, so if you enjoy their videos and want to learn more, check those out.

Podcasts

The Astrology Podcast: not specifically witchcraft, but if you want to learn about astrology in detail, this is an excellent place to begin. Link goes to YouTube.

Books and Broomsticks: all kinds of good info, especially pertaining to folk magic, witch guests invited on to share more about their own practice. Link goes to Spotify.

Southern Bramble: A Podcast of Crooked Ways: a variety of witchcraft related topics, interviews, and discussions, often revolving around folk magic and traditional craft—interviews show different traditions. Link goes to Spotify.

New World Witchery - The Search for American Traditional Witchcraft: what it says on the tin; various topics and conversations through an American traditional/folk magic lens by the author of the (amazing) book with the same name. Link goes to Spotify.

Salty Witches Podcast by Cat & Cauldron: traditional witchcraft through a modern lens, another podcast that has a wide variety of topics covered. Link goes to Spotify.

—

As always, if anyone has any additional (free!) resources to add onto these ones, please do so.

Good luck to all of the beginner witches who are embarking on their spiritual journeys, and I hope some of these tips have been helpful! :)

-Em

#been working on this post since october first which is just crazy…it took So Long #I searched everywhere for info like this when I was a beginner but all I found were lists of things to purchase #which isn’t helpful when you’re broke and living through a recession! #I hope this hopes someone out there <3 #witchcraft resources #witchcraft 101 #witchcraft info #beginner witchcraft #witchcraft #witchblr #beginner witch #folk witchcraft #baby witch #resources #my post

[indyhypnosis]

3 Deadly Mistakes That Kill A Coaching Business

Being in the coaching and consulting business for 27 years, I’ve learned much about what makes or breaks personal/professional coaching, consulting, and network marketing businesses.

The following three activities have kept me afloat through 9/11, financial market crashes, recessions, and a global pandemic, when 9 out of 10 coaching practices went out of business.

First, you must develop bulletproof confidence to weather all the storms you will face, and you’ll need outside help to get there because you won’t see your blind spots.

Self-sabotage, insecurity, procrastination, lack of focus, and imposter syndrome are battles you must win.

Symptoms of deep-seated insecurities are not charging what you’re worth, giving away your services, a lack of clarity, too many goals, and consistently busting your butt with no apparent payoff or financial gain.

Second, you must clarify what you offer, who your ideal client is, and how your unique approach will provide customers with their desired benefits better than any other method.

After struggling with confidence, not having clarity is the most significant challenge for every business owner.

We spend tens of thousands of dollars and hours trying to clearly express to prospects how we can bring value to their lives, and after all that effort, most attempts still fall flat.

It’s heartbreaking, and you can go broke spinning your wheels trying to ride the next wave of marketing madness, whether it be FB ads, Linkedin campaigns, funnels, autoresponders, surveys, etc.

You don’t need all the fancy bells and whistles when you have a strong hook, story, and offer.

The third deadly mistake new and older coaches make is not having a straightforward lead-generation plan.

You can be brilliant at what you do, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t have any clients.

I’ve spent a fortune on sales, marketing, branding, and business coaching, along with decades of attending personal development seminars, which helped me move the needle forward.

The biggest problem is that everything you need isn’t in one place.

You have to hire a mind coach to boost your attitude, a Hypnotist to upgrade your self-sabotaging beliefs, a marketing coach to set up your campaigns, a funnel builder for your sites, a relationship coach to save your marriage, etc.

So when I decided to certify people as One Belief Away™ Hypnotists so they could get paid top dollar to significantly improve the lives of their customers, resolving these three core issues became a must.

Of course, you don’t have to go through my One Belief Away™ Hypnosis Certification for me to help you solve those issues.

You can join one of my upcoming Business Acceleration Mastermind groups so we can lift you and your business to the next level.

If you ARE interested in enrolling now in my mesmerizing OBA™ Certification starting October 27th, we will solve those three deadly business mistakes and the ones I haven’t mentioned here.

I encourage you to spend some time identifying which of those three deadly business mistakes is holding you back and then reach out when you’re ready to solve them once and for all!

Thanks for reading.

Tim Shurr

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 24, first part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Banquet Proposal

Manspreading Champion Jin Guangshan is trying to pressure Jiang Cheng into marrying Jiang Yanli into the Jin clan.  Because this is the cultivation world, where everyone reflexively agrees with the most powerful man in the room like he's Frank Sinatra and they're the Rat Pack, the whole room starts pressuring Jiang Cheng to agree.  

Then Wei Wuxian comes striding in and suggests the radical idea of asking a woman's opinion about her own marriage. He tries to pressure Jiang Cheng into agreeing with him. Today is Pressure Jiang Cheng Day. Every day for the next several months is going to be Pressure Jiang Cheng Day.

Jiang Cheng stands up and agrees that it should be left up to his sister, citing his late father's beliefs so that everyone will know that this unconventional behavior isn't his fault. This is a pickle for him; he knows his sister wants to marry Jin Zixuan, but it's not a good political alliance for the Jiangs right now, which is the opposite of the situation when his parents first made the match. While saying all this he takes the opportunity to get in a dig at Wei Wuxian for meddling.

Jiang Yanli sadly says, thanks for the offer, but the Jiang Clan is just coming back from being massacred, and I have, like, SO much laundry, I can't even. It's not that I don't want to be with you, Jixuan honey; I would just rather scrub blood off of the courtyard.

Jin Zixuan suddenly realizes that being dumped in front of a bunch of your peers is not as fun when you’re catching instead of pitching.

Clan Leader Yao is completely flummoxed by this whole "let young people decide things" concept and hopes it goes out of fashion soon.

The only really happy person in the room is Jin Guangyao, who is looking for a scapegoat for his upcoming villainy. Wei Wuxian will be a perfect fit.

(more behind the cut!)

Chillin Like a Villain

Jin Guangyao and Jin Guangshan have a villany-plotting conversation that's mostly as boring as every other villainy-plotting conversation.  

Jin Guangyao starts the ground work for blaming stuff on Wei Wuxian, saying that Wei Wuxian was alone with Xue Yang back when the 4th chunk of Yin Iron went missing. This kind of harks back to that moment when Wei Wuxian searched Xue Yang (not, incidentally, alone) and XY asked if he wasn't worried about what people would say if they heard about it.

Jin Guangshan is pretty ready to think badly of WWX, who just crapped on his marriage plans, so he quickly decides that Wei Wuxian’s Yin Tiger amulet is made out of Xue Yang’s Yin Iron, not that it actually, like, matters where it came from? It’s all the same dang metal.

Back to Lotus Pier

Then we get an establishing shot of the dock in Yunmeng and the subtitle unhelpfully says QISHAN. Not because the scene is in Qishan, but because there are red Wen banners flying that say 岐山 on them, so the subtitle is for the banner, not for the location. Not only are there Wen banners still flying despite their defeat, there are at least six Wen guards standing guard at the dock. Perhaps there is a teensy continuity error here.

The Yunmeng trio return to Lotus Pier with a group of disciples in tow. Leaving aside the boys' (apparent) stealth trip to the ancestral hall in Episode 20, this is their official return to their home and the seat of their clan, having survived the Wen clan's attempt to exterminate them.

They are battered, bloodied, but not broken and one of them is also broken. But still persevering. I get choked up at this scene every time. Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian would be pleased with all three of them. Jiang Yanli has supported both of them through all the turmoil, giving them an emotional home even while they were homeless. Jiang Cheng has done the impossible, even more than he himself realizes. And Wei Wuxian has acted as a faithful servant, sacrificing a precious part of himself to save his clan leader.

The place is a mess, with the evidence of a final battle against the Wens all over the place. As they look around Wei Wuxian thinks back on one of the many times that Jiang Fengmian paid attention to him instead of to Jiang Cheng, and smiles affectionately.   Wei Wuxian is consistently able to remember the good things and smile about them, even when those memories are overlaid by endless trauma.

The three of them look at the Wen symbol on the roof line and the boys get identically angry...

...starting with the teeth of anger...

...followed by the fist of anger.

It's a powerful moment; they still do have an awful lot in common, despite everything. Jiang Cheng uses his mother’s weapon to smash the Wen symbol and reclaim his home.

Jiang Yanli:  The fuck!? Are you trying to slice my face off?

Back to Gusu

Next we get a nice fly-through of the Jingshi, where Lan Wangji is sitting in the side room playing guqin.  In later years he will move the guqin to the living room, while this room gains a wine-drinking table.  

The Lan clan do love their knick-knacks, and this room features several. There's a teapot suspended from a chain over a brazier, with a tied-up fish sculpture for a counterweight, which is definitely not an indication of any future kinks. The brazier is surrounded by Zen sand with some surprisingly untranquil lines raked into it.  

Lan Xichen has dropped by to tell Lan Wangji that the disciples are gossiping about him, saying he’s been checking out books from the library and practicing music. Seriously? The Lans are a sect that focuses on musical cultivation. Practicing music, verrry suspicious. Also, gossip is forbidden, but sure, check up on him.

In response, Lan Wangji jumps right to "I want to enter the forbidden chamber of the Library"  Lan Xichen asks him why, and he says he wants more music scores.  Lan Xichen, who knows about the secret murder music book, isn't delighted with that answer.  Just then, Lan Qiren summons them, so they table the conversation to go see him.

Lan Qiren talks about the battle they just went through, and says "I've heard about Wei Ying."  Everybody makes significant faces without clarifying what LQR actually heard about Wei Ying. Lan Qiren then philosophizes about how war is hell, particularly for idioms about eggs and nests. They need to go clean up the leftover resentful energy, but he's sending Lan Xichen on his own, while Lan Wangji gets to stay home and repair/rewrite all of the Lan rules.

Lan Qiren says a bunch of stuff to Lan Wangji about rules, being super hinty without actually coming to the point. He refuses to let Lan Wangji speak or ask questions, while he’s doling out punishment for, basically, thought crime. He wants LWJ to reject Wei Wuxian but he wants him to do it without being directly told.

To make sure Lan Wangji is extra frustrated, he snarkily refuses to give him permission to read the forbidden books, asking him if he’s already read all of the books in the regular library. Surprisingly, he hasn’t yet; I guess he was busy winning a war while you were in a coma, jerkface.

Lan Xichen is super on edge during this conversation--scared, even. He's trying to keep the peace, trying to keep Lan Wangji out of trouble, and avoid a confrontation. Lan Wangji is increasingly uninterested in peace, but he follows his brother's unspoken commands, and shuts up.

Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen both really fail as teachers here. Lan Wangji believes that resentful energy is bad. He believes this VERY STRONGLY.  He broke up with his boyfriend for a while because of it. They are punishing him for having doubts, and they’re not giving him any opportunity to talk through those doubts with them. I say “they” because Lan Qiren is the one giving the punishment, but Lan Xichen is silently assenting, and making sure Lan Wangji doesn’t argue.

As they leave, Lan Qiren stops them to ask Lan Wangji if he understands why he's grounded, and Lan Wangji just looks at him without answering, which would be counted as sass when I was growing up.

He face says he’s appropriately chagrined, but he’s not. Before the end of this episode, he's going to directly disobey Lan Qiren, and he’s going to go on disobeying him in the future, over and over again.

Later, when Lan Wangji is alone with the pristine, definitely not in need of repair, rule book, he seems genuinely chagrined. He loves these rules, and has depended on them; that’s why he’s been a model disciple for so long, not because he fears his uncle’s punishments.

But now he also loves Wei Wuxian. So some of these rules will have to be broken.

Clan Leader Jiang

The Jiang Clan are having the ceremony to install Jiang Cheng as leader.

Wei Wuxian is sitting alone, away from all of the other disciples, watching the proceedings rather than participating. His placement in the ceremony is very strange for a head disciple.

But it’s perfect for a ghost.

Later, Jiang Cheng is practicing his "yelly boss" leadership style, and being extra grumpy because Wei Wuxian is slacking off all the time. Jiang Yanli is having trouble deciding if she should be more worried about the brother with the drinking problem or the brother with the anger problem.  

Jiang Cheng is miserable and feels completely unsure of himself but he's plowing the fuck ahead.

You might put your love and trust on the line It's risky, people love to tear that down Let 'em try Do it anyway Risk it anyway And if you're paralyzed by a voice in your head It's the standing still that should be scaring you instead Go on and Do it anyway Do it anyway

Help Me to Help You

Wei Wuxian is hanging out in a tavern window, being a thirst trap and hitting on passing Lans.  

Lan Xichen joins him for a drink and a lecture. Things start off fairly well, with Wei Wuxian being impressed with his ability to drink wine, and attempting his usual flirt-tease-charm routine, bragging about smuggling wine into Cloud Recesses.

Where Lan Wangji would be adorably flustered and hostile/sexy in responding to that, Lan Xichen just shuts him down with a look, and Wei Wuxian suddenly realizes that he's talking to an adult clan leader who isn't here for his shit, and is a lot more worldy than Lan Wangji is.

Wei Wuxian knocks it off and apologizes. Then he talks fondly about Lan Wangji, saying he wants to come visit him, and daydreams cutely about dominating him  supervising his rule-copying work.

LXC says that he should come listen to new music that LWJ has composed, and the tone of the conversation changes completely. Wei Wuxian is on his guard, and he's getting ready to throw down.  He asks if LXC came to Yunmeng specifically to hassle him, and LXC...kinda says no?

Wei Wuxian smiles sweetly while he asks if everyone in the Lan Clan is a meddler.

Lan Xichen has never encountered the nasty version of Wei Wuxian before, but he's a grown up, and he's very, very hard to provoke, unlike his brother. He cuts to the chase and says he's got something to say, whether WWX listens or not.

He says Wei Wuxian shouldn't be self-centered because the people he cares about are affected by his choices. This gets through to him, for a second. But then LXC offers to help him go back to sword cultivation, and Wei Wuxian is done listening.  

He tells Lan Xichen he doesn't want to go back to sword work, and LXC is stunned into silence for a moment as Wei Wuxian takes his wine and starts to walk away.  Lan Xichen makes a last ditch attempt to warn him about the dangers of the yin tiger amulet, and WWX says he knows, but he wants to try to master it anyway. Then he leaves with a rude little wave, and no bow.

This whole conversation seems like a disaster but Wei Wuxian does, in fact, remember Lan Xichen’s words, the next time he meets up with Lan Wangji.

Soundtrack: Do It Anyway by Ben Folds Five

#the untamed #the untamed gifs #the untamed meta #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs

[ibijau]

Futures Past pt12 / on AO3

Lan Xichen gives Nie Huaisang a music lesson

Everything was perfectly laid out on the low table when Lan Xichen finished his preparations. There was a guqin, of course. Not his personal one, since it would have been unwise to let a complete beginner touch an instrument that valuable, but a very good one nonetheless, borrowed among those Gusu Lan used to teach its newest disciples. Along with the guqin Lan Xichen had also taken a manual detailing the different hand positions, how to play different types of notes, and how to care for an instrument. In case Nie Huaisang took a liking to playing music, as Lan Xichen so hoped he would, permission had even been obtained on his behalf to keep both the instrument and the manual for the duration of his stay in the Cloud Recesses.

With how unpredictable Nie Huaisang was, there was a real chance he wouldn’t want to learn after all, or that he’d be as unfocused with this as he was with most things at this point of his life. But if Lan Xichen’s plan worked, if Nie Huaisang took to music…

It was unlikely at this point that Meng Yao would ever work for Nie Mingjue, or for Jin Guangshan. Just that morning, Lan Xichen had received a letter from Jiang Cheng who had wanted to give news about Yunmeng Jiang’s newest recruit, stating that Meng Yao seemed to get along with everyone so far. Only Madam Yu had reservations, having predictably guessed that Meng Yao was one of Jin Guangshan’s many bastards, but his good manners and respect for authority apparently pleased her, leading Jiang Cheng to believe that his mother would eventually warm up to this new disciple. Lan Xichen fervently hoped it would be so, and intended to answer that letter to thank Jiang Cheng for letting him know everything was going well, and for taking good care of Meng Yao.

If Meng Yao settled well in Yunmeng, then Jin Guangshan would find it much harder to conduct a plot against Nie Mingjue’s life. The man had treated his bastard son like dirt, never realising Meng Yao was the best thing that had ever happened to his sect, never seeing his true potential. Without his son, Jin Guangshan would hardly be a threat to anyone.

Still, there were hard times coming in the near future. Even without the Jin conspiring against him, Lan Xichen had suspected in that other future that Nie Mingjue’s temper and inner balance had been hit hard by the pressure of the Sunshot Campaign, and so Lan Xichen had now inherited his future self's fears on that subject. There was a good chance that the Jins had only precipitated a death that would have happened too soon even without their interventions.

But if there were someone in Nie Mingjue’s entourage who could play Cleansing for him, properly play it, someone as determined as Lan Xichen to keep Nie Mingjue in good health, but with the advantage of proximity and availability…

Cleansing was not an easy song. Even among Gusu Lan disciples, there were many who could not play it well, and they were not considered inferior cultivators for that failure. Teaching such a complex piece of music to a stranger, untrained in the ways of Gusu Lan, would be a gamble, one Lan Xichen had lost in another life.

He would not fail again to protect Nie Mingjue.

A knock on the door called Lan Xichen back to the present. He was not surprised to find Nie Huaisang there, whom he invited to come in. Nie Huaisang appeared to be in a good enough mood, and bore almost no more trace of his fight with Jin Zixun. It seemed to Lan Xichen that the other boy’s nose used to be a little straighter, but he couldn’t be quite sure. It was nothing horrible to look at, anyway. In fact, it might even have added something to Nie Huaisang’s face, giving his face a certain charm he wouldn’t otherwise have developed until well into his twenties, around the time his brother died. 

Or perhaps it was just that Lan Xichen had never paid attention this early into their other lives. Not his worst mistake perhaps, but a mistake nonetheless because it had allowed Nie Huaisang to turn into a cold, lonely, and cruel man, one who haunted Lan Xichen’s nightmares in this life. But maybe this Nie Huaisang, with his slightly crooked nose proving a brave heart, with a loyal friend to count on, would turn out differently. 

Lan Xichen must have stared too obviously, because as soon as he was done removing his shoes, Nie Huaisang covered his face with his hand.

“It’s really noticeable, isn’t it?” he whined. “Everyone says it’s just like before, but I know it’s not. I’m disfigured!”

“You’re certainly not disfigured,” Lan Xichen assured him. “I don’t think anyone who hasn’t met you before would even realise the shape isn’t natural.”

“I will have to hide my face behind a mask for the rest of my life,” Nie Huaisang insisted, going to sit without waiting to be invited to do so. He picked the side furthest from the guqin, which Lan Xichen thought didn’t bode well for his plan. “Good, honest folks shouldn’t have to ever see something so horrific. I will have to go into hiding! I will live and die alone, having never kissed anyone because I missed my chance when I was handsome.”

“You’re still quite handsome.”

“I’m not! Lan gongzi, there’s no need to lie, there’s no need to pity me. My life is ruined. With a face like that, what do I have left to attract others to me?”

Lan Xichen didn’t know whether to laugh or be annoyed. It wasn’t the first time he was comforted to realise that not all of Nie Huaisang’s behaviour in that future that wouldn’t be had been a comedy aimed at distracting Lan Xichen from his true intentions. It also wouldn’t be the last time he found such comfort in those antics either. Still, Nie Huaisang really was too dramatic, and Lan Xichen wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

“Nie gongzi has many other qualities that might attract a cultivation partner.”

“I do not. Really, I don’t!”

“Then let’s teach you some new skills,” Lan Xichen offered, calmly gesturing at the guqin. “The history of Gusu Lan is filled with musicians who wooed their true love through their talent, surely Nie gongzi might find success that way as well.”

Nie Huaisang pouted, and glared at the instrument as if it had insulted his parents.

"I really don't know if there's a point," he said. "I won't have any talent for it." 

"I've heard that before," Lan Xichen said, opening the manual to its first page. "From people who in the end proved very good at playing, once they got over their worries and just started. Wangji was absolutely terrified he would disappoint us all, and look at him now." 

In fact, Lan Wangji had cried his entire first lesson. And the second. The awkward timing of it, soon after their mother's death, hadn't helped. Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren had needed to reassure him they would still love him and keep him in the family even if he turned out to be the worst guqin player in the world before he would touch the instrument. 

And then he'd enjoyed it so much that within a year he'd caught up to Lan Xichen's level, before promptly surpassing him. 

Brat. 

"Oh you can't compare me to Lan Wangji," Nie Huaisang complained, but he still leaned over the table to better look at the manual, peeking inside with some curiosity. "He and I are of a different sort. Everything your brother sets out to do, he succeeds at. I'm just a normal person." 

Lan Xichen's hands clenched. He remembered too well the respective failures and successes of Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang in that future he hoped they would avoid. Though thinking about it, Lan Wangji did usually get what he wanted. He'd even gotten Wei Wuxian, though it had taken him a while. All Nie Huaisang had gotten was bloody revenge, at the cost of everything else.

"Ah, sorry, I shouldn't speak like that of your brother," Nie Huaisang quickly mumbled. "I guess I spend too much time with… it's just that people in your sect tend to be unfairly compared to him, when he's a natural prodigy." 

"I suppose I cannot blame Su She for finding it tiring," Lan Xichen generously conceded. "Though he has qualities of his own, and should take pride in those. Although your punishment is now over, I hope you won't mind if I keep stealing him from you here and there to help copy texts."

Nie Huaisang gasped in horror. 

“Wait so it’s your fault if Su-xiong hasn’t been around lately?”

“I thought it would be better to keep him away from Jin gongzi,” Lan Xichen quickly explained. "And even though I told this to him on your first day of punishment, I still caught him trying to come and see you again the second day, so this seemed a good way to prevent problems." 

“I’m really so relieved that’s the reason Su-xiong wasn’t around,” Nie Huaisang said, looking more relaxed indeed. “I was so scared he didn’t want to hang out anymore, or that he was upset about getting scolded because of me…”

“Nie gongzi should have a little more faith in others,” Lan Xichen gently scolded. “Especially in your friends.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, looking at Lan Xichen with some surprise.

“It sounds like you almost don’t hate him anymore.”

“I am currently reconsidering my opinion of him,” Lan Xichen admitted. “I thank you for encouraging me to do that. You were right in accusing me of unfairness.”

It had been with great reluctance that Lan Xichen had involved Su She in his project to prevent their sect's library. He'd only given him some texts of minor importance, which Su She could not put to use if he still broke out from the Lan sect in the future. And even those texts were only given to him for Nie Huaisang's sake, because Lan Xichen realised he wouldn't get Huaisang’s trust without making concessions toward Su She. 

Much to his surprise, Su She had acquitted himself of that task with diligence and skill, producing an excellent copy of the text given to him, without a single wrong stroke on any character. Lan Xichen had praised him for his work and, since there had been two days left to Nie Huaisang's punishment, had given Su She another text to copy. 

Since then, he had become curious about Su She, something he'd never done in his other life. 

Lan Xichen had trusted his sect to be fair in that other future, both as a youth and as a sect leader. Because the rules ordered fair treatment and respect towards everyone, he had believed that things were so. If anyone was unhappy, they would have reported their trouble to an elder, or directly to him. Indeed such things had been brought to his attention sometimes once he was sect leader, which he had investigated and set right again, proving to himself that the system worked. And if the system worked, then someone like Su She who had betrayed his sect in such a despicable manner could only be a villain.

Nie Huaisang’s surprising attachment to Su She had forced Lan Xichen to pay more attention to him. He hadn’t liked what he’d seen so far, but not for the reason he would have expected.

Su She was not only skilled in cultivation, something Lan Xichen had always reluctantly been forced to admit in that other future, but he was also dedicated to playing by the rules of Gusu Lan, bending to every rule even though the sect’s way of living clearly went against his entire personality, obeying his elders, working hard to please his teachers. And yet in spite of those efforts, Lan Xichen heard from some teachers that Su She was considered lazy and difficult. If pressed, those same teachers might say that Su She’s background meant he didn’t value hard work as a peasant’s son might have, that he lacked the education in classics he might have acquired in a family of scholars, and that he just didn’t have any refinement of manner as befitted a cultivator.

Su She didn’t belong, the same way Meng Yao didn’t belong.

Lan Xichen had a feeling that in that other future, his adult self had often been puzzled by the friendship between Jin Guangyao and Su She. Even when they had been revealed to be partners in crime rather than merely friends, Lan Xichen still hadn’t understood what might have brought those two to become so close.

It was starting to make sense now.

And this meant, also, that Gusu Lan had betrayed Su She no less than he had betrayed them.

“I’m glad as well, if you’re changing your opinion about him,” Nie Huaisang said with a happy smile. “He’s really a good person. Maybe he doesn’t always have the best of tempers, but neither does da-ge and you like him, so…”

Lan Xichen, however willing he was to give Su She a chance to prove himself in this new life, still shivered at hearing him mentioned at the same time as Nie Mingjue, whose death he’d probably helped in the other future. Jin Guangyao was very skilled, but it was doubtful he’d have mixed Cleansing and that other piece of music without a little help.

But that wouldn’t happen again. Meng Yao wouldn’t grow to hate Nie Mingjue, nor would he go to serve his despicable father. Not this time.

“Now that you’ve been reassured about your friend’s loyalty, how about starting the lesson?” Lan Xichen offered. “I do fear you’ll have to come sit on my side.”

Nie Huaisang grimaced and threw the guqin a worried look, but made no movement to get up.

“I really don’t know if it’s a good idea,” he said. “I’m such a bad student… I always get distracted and bored...”

“I think only because people usually try to teach you things you don’t enjoy,” Lan Xichen replied. “Come sit here, and let’s start. If really you don’t like it, then I’ll let you go and we’ll just forget about this, it’s fine. But you can’t give up without at least trying once.”

“You sound like my brother,” Nie Huaisang complained, but at last he stood up and walked around the table to sit closer to Lan Xichen. “Always saying I won’t know unless I try… and then when I try things and I don’t like them, he gets all upset and we fight. But… fine. Fine, let’s try this, I’m here already, anyway.”

With Nie Huaisang in such a mood, Lan Xichen thought that the whole endeavour was doomed to fail before it had even started. His uncle often said that it was near impossible to teach someone who didn’t want to be taught, and seeing Nie Huaisang like this made Lan Xichen understand what he meant.

Still Lan Xichen started his lesson as if nothing was wrong, explaining the very basics of how to play a guqin, demonstrating hand positions, pausing sometimes to play a few notes so Nie Huaisang would better understand what he was explaining. At first Nie Huaisang’s posture was closed off, his expression as reluctant as if he were listening to one of Lan Qiren’s lectures. 

But as the lesson progressed Nie Huaisang's attitude changed. He looked more focused, and started imitating the different hand positions Lan Xichen was explaining even before being invited to do so. When invited to try playing a note or two, Nie Huaisang seemed to immediately know when the note was wrong, and dutifully listened as Lan Xichen corrected the movement of his fingers or their positions on the string, his expression one of intense concentration. He would then replay the note until he got it right, showing a determination that Lan Xichen wouldn’t have thought him capable of, not at this point of his life anyway.

Maybe it wasn’t just that the death of Nie Mingjue had changed him, or the lonely decade that followed, Lan Xichen realised. Maybe Nie Huaisang had always been that stubborn, but only about things that mattered to him… and because the things that mattered to him didn’t matter much to Lan Xichen, nor indeed to most people who met Nie Huaisang, they assumed he was easy going and unwilling to make effort,even perhaps a little stupid, just as he often claimed to be.

After a while though, Nie Huaisang appeared to hit his limit. It had taken longer than Lan Xichen would have expected, and indeed the lesson had gone on longer than he’d initially planned, but he’d allowed it to drag on, fascinated by Nie Huaisang’s unexpected determination. It was only when Nie Huaisang started failing to play a new note several times in a row that Lan Xichen finally suggested they stop for the day.

“I told you I wouldn’t be much good,” Nie Huaisang sighed, flexing his fingers to stretch their muscles. “I just couldn’t do it, in the end.”

“On the contrary, you’ve proven yourself an excellent student,” Lan Xichen replied. “Better than many I’ve had to help, and more serious as well.”

“But…”

“It’s only your very first lesson, Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said, “and we have gone much further with it than I expected. You have real skill for it, I believe, and far more importantly it seems to me that you have a taste for it. Am I wrong?”

Still flexing and rubbing his hand, Nie Huaisang nodded quickly, a shy smile on his face.

“It was… it was really fun,” he admitted. “Lan gongzi is a good teacher.”

“Nie gongzi is a good student, when the subject pleases him. Do you wish to continue learning?”

Lan Xichen would have expected Nie Huaisang to take a moment to consider the question. Even if he liked music, it seemed to him that Nie Huaisang had little affection for Lan Xichen, something he might have deserved.

It was a pleasant surprised when Nie Huaisang immediately nodded.

“I think I do want to learn, if Lan gongzi can spare the time.”

It would be complicated to organise. Just this one lesson had taken a lot of rescheduling. Lan Xichen had a lot to do, between helping teach the juniors, his own lessons, his uncle trying to involve him in the ruling of the sect, and of course the copying of books from their library. But becoming closer to Nie Huaisang was essential to ensure this new life would turn out better than the old one.

It might also be pleasant, Lan Xichen realised with some surprise, thinking how quickly time had passed while teaching Nie Huaisang, and how pleasant it had been to have such an eager student. If Nie Huaisang's interest in music remained, if he learned enough to have conversations on the subject, if his understanding increased enough to have debates even...

Lan Xichen's plan upon gaining knowledge of the future had been to gain Nie Huaisang’s trust rather than his friendship, seeing no value in the latter. A mistake on his part, he was starting to realise, and he hoped now to get both trust and friendship as a result of his efforts.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #double time travel #and with this I've exhausted my tiny buffer already lol #but hey look they're learning to get along!

[navegandoaciegas]

California Bound.

Pairing: Bucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, yandere, homeless!bucky, stalking, home intrusion, obsession, loneliness, sad!bucky, disturbing thoughts, dubcon? This is a dark fic.

Words: 4k

Summary: You’re so lonely and isolate in this city that if you died your neighbours wouldn’t even notice, your colleagues wouldn’t care and your boss would probably be pissed that you didn’t put in your two weeks notice before you went to hell. Bucky is tired of being alone and invisible and he knows you are too. He knows you can mend each other's’ hearts. 

A/N: set after CA:TWS. I’m not a native speaker so forgive me for any mistakes. Please let me know what you think and like and reblog if you liked it :) feedback is always appreciated!

In the unstable state of his scattered mind he can vividly recall a woman in a red dress. 

Some memories are long gone, some are fragmented, and although the lines of her face have been blurred by the passing of time and decades of electrocution, her plump red lips are permanently burned in the back of his brain.

When he closes his eyes, sometimes, he can still see her smile. 

Only she’s not smiling at him.

She’s smiling at Steve, his brother, his friend, his mission. 

Not even seventy years of brainwashing and torture could get rid of the sadness that filled him when she walked past and ignored him as if he wasn’t there, as if nothing else in that room existed except for Steve.

In his memory she doesn’t see him, and nobody has since. 

Perhaps it’s in that moment that he became no one, in that moment he was condemned to an existence of pain, loneliness and invisibility.

He’s a ghost that haunts the dirty streets of Philadelphia, crouched behind the dumpsters of dark alleys, begging the ones who sneer at him for spare change in train stations, lurking in the shadows to pickpocket the rich passerbys of the city.

  The hormone suppressants HYDRA forced on him are wearing off.

He can feel himself slipping, his most primal instincts violently surging back after 70 years of being repressed. His brain goes haywire when he catches sight of a pair of legs clad in a short skirt, the blood draining from his brain and travelling straight to his cock, and he wills himself to restrain his urges.

Modern women are so pretty, and they wear so little clothes. They don’t see him, of course, but he sees them. 

He sees those tight little dresses, those high heels, those long lashes and bright lips.

In another life he could have been like one of the rich boys he often spots outside of clubs, well dressed and well groomed, and maybe those pretty girls would have fawned over him too.

But not in this life.

In this life he’s been alone for 70 years, and his loneliness consumes him so intensely that some nights, when the cold is unbearable and the streets are empty, he wishes he hadn’t been born at all.

In this life he doesn’t shower and shave for weeks on end, and his hair is so greasy and matted that even if he wasn’t in hiding he’d have to wear a baseball cap anyways. When he looks at himself in the mirror he barely recognizes the handsome soldier in a blue uniform he saw at the Smithsonian. The man who stares back at him in the mirrors of soiled public restrooms has deep frown lines on his forehead, dark circles under dull eyes and a patch of white hair on his beard. Only the startling blue of his eyes has stood the test of time.

Those pretty girls wouldn’t spare him a second glance.

 He’s tired of the loneliness that plagues him. He just wishes to be seen.

He wants someone to look at him, really look at him, in anything other that pity or disgust. He wants someone who could hold him at night and take care of his battered soul.

He wants a companion to spend his time with, someone he could talk to; when was the last time he uttered a single word? When was the last time someone touched him tenderly?

You’d think after all he’s been through that being alone would be a walk in the park in comparison, but the emptiness that eats him alive is the most unbearable torture he’s ever been subjected to. It took HYDRA 20 years to break him, it only took the loneliness a couple of months.

  He just wants someone.

Someone who sees him.

And you do. You see him.

 He’s hunched over in a recess in the wall of an alley, violently shaking. The ground beneath him is frozen, the strong winds are like a slap in the face and the heavy-duty winter jacket he was able to steal isn’t doing much to protect him from the harsh weather. Maybe he won’t survive tonight, he almost dares to hope.

He’s still crying when he spots a pair of crisp white sneakers coming his way, and he looks up. He’s seen you around a couple of times, you’re one of the pretty girls who short circuit his brain.

You’re wearing a bright yellow winter jacket and black jeans. You look young, but he can’t tell how young. People nowadays age different than they used to back then. You’re probably way younger than him, although he has no idea exactly how old he is; he was 27 when he went to war, how much has he aged? How young is too young for a man with no age?

The light of the lamps behind you diffuses a soft halo around your body. You shine on your own light, brighter than the sun; you’re an angel so beautiful, so perfect that he doesn’t know if you’re a figment of his imagination.

You crouch down and hand him a bunch of blankets and a warm cup of something, maybe tea? When he grabs it his fingers brush against yours and it sends a jolt of electricity down his spine. He expects you to grimace in disgust at his touch, but you don’t. You smile.

You smile at him.

Suddenly he doesn’t feel the cold anymore, he only feels the warm tingling in his stomach. 

He smiles back, or at least he tries. He hasn’t smiled since World War II, as Nazis didn’t give him a lot of reasons to, to be honest. 

And just like you appeared, you’re gone in a heartbeat.

But he can’t simply let you go like that, so he resolves to summon back the Asset’s stealth and gets up to follow you.

That night when he closes his eyes the smile he sees belongs to you.

-

��  They say even your worst day only lasts 24 hours; too bad your worst day has become your worst year so far.

They also say when you reach rock bottom the only way to go is up. They lied about that too.

Somehow today you’ve been scraping the bottom of the pit you’re in and have dug yourself even deeper than the lowest you could get.

You want to say your day can’t get any worse than this, but you know there’s always room for worsening.

The feeble March sun shines through the clouds and you’re dreading the flight of stairs that awaits you since your landlord categorically refuses to have the lift fixed. By the time you get to your door you’re exhausted and can’t wait to shower the day away and lounge on your couch.

 You open up the door to your apartment and get inside in a rush, only to stop dead in your tracks when you notice something is off about your home. There’s an eerie stillness about the open space, and maybe you’re going crazy but it seems like some of your things are not where you’d left them.

Apparently you just unlocked a lowest level to rock bottom.

It takes you a couple of seconds to register it, but when you do the hair on the back of your neck stand up and your brain screams danger at you.

There’s a smell inside that is not yours. It’s the strong, manly smell of sweat, and it wouldn’t be entirely unpleasant if it weren't for the fact that you live alone and don’t usually have men over.

 You never think it’s going to happen to you until it does.

You took self defense in college, you carry pepper spray with you, you always thought if you were in danger you’d be able to defend yourself, or at least bolt away.

They never tell you that fear is paralyzing. They don’t tell that the anticipation of pain roots you on the spot, that your legs feel like they’re made of lead and all you can do is wait for the impact to come. They don’t tell you that the dread that chills the blood in your veins can break the most primal of mechanisms humans have, and the fight or flight response you were counting on to save you abandons you too

When it happens, you don’t even hear it coming; there’s a prickle at the base of your neck and, before you descend into the darkness, two arms envelope you, and you feel the ghost of a kiss on your shoulder.

-

  You try to peel your eyes open when a hand delicately caresses your cheek and lingers on your lips. Your eyelids are heavy, your head is pounding like you’re having the worst hangover in you life and your whole body is aching. You want to speak, you want to shake that hand away, but you are unmoving. 

It reminds you of the medicine induced hallucination you used to have, which were an inconvenient side effect of the same prescription drugs that were supposed to help you sleep. It feels like a sleep paralysis, minus the demon sitting on your stomach. 

-

 You’re slipping in and out of consciousness when you hear it. There’s a voice speaking.

You suppose whoever it belongs to is talking to you. You strain your ears and will yourself to concentrate real hard, despite your brain pulsing in your skull and threatening to burst out.

The voice definitely belongs to a man, and whoever he is, he sounds very soft spoken and polite. Too bad he broke into your house and drugged you.

“So pretty, so perfect for me.”

“We won’t ever be lonely anymore, I promise you that.”

“...cleaned up real good for you...”

“...can’t wait for you to wake up.”

It’s all you can make out in your drowsy state. He peppers your forehead and the crown of your head with soft kisses. There’s two strong arms holding you. You fall back asleep.

-

  The sun shines brightly through the curtains of your bedroom and you want to flip the universe off for lining up the morning rays directly onto your face, and yourself for forgetting to draw the blinds.

You almost cuss yourself out for being yet again late for work when the events of the previous evening rush back to you. You wake with a jolt and you feel terror enveloping you when you see him. 

Fear grips your throat and you want to scream, you want to thrash about and punch him, and yet all you can do is look at him with wide eyes.

You feel your chest heaving but it’s almost like it doesn’t belong to you, it’s not happening to you, it can’t; you breathe but the air won’t reach your lungs. 

The man detects your distress and sits next to you. He carefully reaches for your hand and places on his chest, over his heart.

You are immobile.

You hate yourself for it. You wish you could do something about this but your stupid brain refuses to cooperate.

“Calm down baby, I’m not here to hurt you.” says the guy who gave you morphine. “Concentrate on my breathing, ‘kay? Inhale, hold your breath- good, now exhale, and again.”

He guides you through a breathing exercise that suggests you it may not be the first time he’s had to calm himself or others from an almost panic attack. The steady beat of his heart calms you down.

“Don’t cry, please.” he pleads with you.

You’re back at it again with the inappropriate thoughts for someone who’s been kidnapped and might get killed in the next few minutes, but you can’t not think how handsome your captor is.

He’s got dark hair gathered up in an elastic at the nape of his neck. His jawline is sharp and his cheekbones high. His eyes are the bluest you’ve ever seen, his lips look soft and pink and his nose is small and cute for a man so chiselled and intimidating.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.” he tells you, and smiles almost shyly at you.

There’s a look on his face that should reassure you, because it means that you won’t die today, but it can only mean you’re doomed to something maybe worse than death. 

His expression is tender, like you’re the most precious thing in the world. He seems so affectionate, so loving, that for a moment you wish this was real, you wish your former partners would have looked at you so devotedly.

He takes your hand in his again and traces soothing pattern with his thumb. 

Finally you seem to snap back to reality.

“Who are you?” You manage to squeak out. Your throat is on fire, and you’re grateful for the water bottle he hands over to you.

He frowns and seems to think about it until he manages to mumble a “My name is Bucky.”

He hesitates over his name like it doesn’t really belong to him.

You’re puzzled as to why you’re so calm. You’ve never been a feisty one, that’s true; you spent your life conforming to rules, you always complied to orders because you like to be praised and you hate to disappoint. As a child you feared punishments, being grounded, the look of dissatisfaction on your parents’ faces more than anything else in the world.

But you never imagined you’d be striking a conversation with the intruder in your house like it was an everyday occurrence. 

It only takes a look to understand that you can’t outrun the guy, nor overpower him. He’s built like a bulldozer and his biceps are bigger than you. He said he wouldn’t hurt you, and as absurd as it sounds you believe him, but it doesn’t mean you’d come out unscathered if you tried to fight him.

Maybe you could outsmart him? Comply until he trusts you and then take off?

“I’ve been watching you.”  Oh shit . “You saved my life.”

You can’t stop the remark from escaping your lips. “A thank you would have sufficed, you know, no need to kidnap me and all.” 

You weren’t feisty, sure, but that didn’t mean you weren’t a snarky bitch.

The guy chuckles, and it seems like his own amusement surprises you both alike.

“Two months ago, back in January. I was freezing to death. You came and gave me blankets and tea. It warmed me enough to survive the night. I knew back then you were perfect.”

Oh, God . The one time you decided to be a good citizen and gave the blankets you hogged in your cubicle at work to the homeless guy that was always crouched in the back alley of your office building, then one you’d see when you sneaked out the back to smoke on company time.

You almost don’t recognize him. 

“You’re just like me in a way. I saw you so sad all this time, you hate your job, you’re always alone. I saw you cry because you feel so lonely. I know that it feels like. I’ve been alone for so long.” He whispers the last part softly, and your heart clenches because it’s true, you’re so damn lonely, but you can recognize the loneliness in his eyes too. He cradles your face in his hands. “But I promise you won’t be alone anymore. You got me now.”

“I don’t know- I-I don’t even know you. Please just let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone. Please don’t hurt me.” You start to plead with him and your words get swallowed by the sobs that shake you. Your heartbeat picks up again. 

You know fear now, the real one, but it pales in comparison of the one you feel when the implication of his words starts to sink in.

He just smiles at you. 

“What do you want?” you manage to whisper.

“You. We’re going to be happy I promise. I read the notes on your phone where you wrote you wanted to travel, remember that?” You nod weakly, recalling the depressive entry about how stuck your boring life is and the bucket list of all the places you’d want to visit.

“We’re going to travel, I’ll take you wherever you want. Just don’t leave me please, be with me.”

You almost ask with what money since you’re homeless my guy, but then a thought strikes you.

You won’t miss your boring life the moment it will slip away from you; you won’t miss being stuck alone in a city you despise doing a job you hate. You won’t miss the homesickness. You won’t miss berating yourself for accepting a job immediately post grad in a city on the other side of America, just because you were scared of being left behind, of being that one person who ends up with no job after college and has to move back to their parents house.

Maybe, had you stayed in your hometown, or accepted that other position in Austin, maybe this shit wouldn’t have happened to you. You’ll never know.

He pulls you into a hug and you’re so startled your crying subsizes. 

He shushes you and coos you while rocking you in his arms. “It’s okay baby, I promise you’re going to like it, you don’t have to worry about a thing, I got it all sorted out for you.”

You’re shocked.

He pushes you down on the bed and as your mind elaborates the worst case scenario possible and as you’re on the verge of another panic attack, he simply envelops you in his arms and puts his head on your chest. 

You’re stunned again.

Almost on instinct you wrap your own smaller arms around his shoulders and he sighs contentedly. You’re so touch starved and desperate for affection that even hugging your stalkers feels kinda nice.

You haven’t touched anyone and no one has touched you in such fondness in almost a year. Hook-ups don’t count. 

You’re so lonely and isolate in this city that if you died your neighbours wouldn’t even notice, your colleagues wouldn’t care and your boss would probably be pissed that you didn’t put in your two weeks notice before you went to hell.

 Lost in thought you only notice he’s about to kiss you when it’s too late.

At first he hesitantly pecks your lips, and then he’s trying to pry your mouth open with his tongue. You don’t know what possesses you to do it but you part your lips.

He’s uncertain on how to move around, like he doesn’t know how to kiss or he’s forgetten how, he has absolutely no idea where to put his hands, and it’s honestly kind of awkward.

You imagine this is what it’s like to kiss a middle schooler.

He pulls away and blushes. “Sorry, it’s been a while.”

You’re stunned yet again.

He’s not apologizing for stalking you, breaking in and drugging you, but because he’s a bad kisser?

He slants his mouth against yours again, this time more forcefully than before. And after almost choking you when he pushes his tongue so deep it would have reached your tonsils hadn’t you had them removed, he seems to get the gist of it, or maybe the muscle memory kicks back in, because even if you won’t admit it to yourself, it feels nice.

You feel sick and twisted but it’s good to have someone desire you, touch you so tenderly, kiss you so passionately. The guys you use to entertain yourself in your solitude never kiss you while they fuck you into oblivion. You forgot how comforting the weight of a warm body on yours is.

You don’t push him away until you feel your t-shirt rip.

His hands explore your body ignoring your pleads to stop.

He’s nowhere and everywhere all at once. One hand squeezes your ass and the other kneads your breasts while he leaves open mouthed, hungry kisses down your throat, until he reaches the soft skin between your neck and clavicles and starts sucking in like a man possessed. You automatically jerk forward and buckle your hips until they touch his and he lets out a groan that travels straight to your already dripping core. 

You hate yourself for it, but you’ve never been this aroused.

You hate yourself for giving in so effortlessly, for being so damn weak, so damn lonely.

It’s mortifying how easy you’re making this for him. 

Your mind tries to will your body to push him from you, but instead of shoving him away your hands grab his shoulder and pull him closer.

You hate yourself because when he dips his hand in your soaked panties as he suckles on your nipple, your body doesn’t even try to protect you. 

You’re at his mercy as he pushes his long fingers through your folds and smears your arousal around, before dipping them inside.

“All this for me, pretty girl?” 

Cocky bastard.

He moans in your mouth as he grinds his hips on your leg and you feel the extent of his manhood. 

“So pretty, so perfect, so good for me.”

It shouldn’t feel this good, but again you’ve been a slut for praise since you came out the womb. You moan and whine in pleasure and he’s clearly very proud of himself for being the one who elicits these sounds from you. His thumb finds your bud and massages it, sending jolts of unadulterated pleasure down your spine.

You’re trembling under his touch. Your legs are shaking, toes curling, and you can’t stop yourself from moaning louder what you ever have. You can feel the familiar tightness in your core that precedes an orgasm, but you need more.

“Please Bucky, please. Faster.” you whine, ashamed of yourself for pleading like that. 

You’re so lost in your own pleasure you don’t notice the look of hunger that crosses Bucky’s face at the mention of his name. He never thought he’d be able to give you so much, he never knew his hand could bring anything other than pain and destruction, but his name sounds so sweet on your tongue.

“Cum pretty girl, cum all over my fingers for me, I know you can.”

And you do. You cum so hard your vision goes black for a second as you lose yourself to the pleasure that travels from your core to the rest of your body.

You’re floating, so dazed that you barely notice he’s undressed you and taken off his pants. When you feel something prod at your entrance, you look down in horror only to find him already lined up with you.

He’s got the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, and it’s so big, so thick you’re scared he’s going to rip you apart. He doesn’t give you time to react before he’s slamming inside of you.

The scream that rips out of you is animalistic, and he stills.

“God you’re so tight, clamping down on me.” He grunts in you ear as he sets a slow pace.

The pain soon subsides and gives place to more pleasure than you’ve ever felt in your life. He picks up the pace when you stretch around his girth painlessly, and rolls his hips around.

“So good for me.”

“Mine, only mine.”

“My good girl.”

“Taking me so well.”

“Gonna fill you up so good.”

“Fuck, you feel incredible.”

Your pussy clamps down on his cock with each praise he grunts in your ear. You’re so overstimulated and he’s so vocal that you feel like you’re about to burst when you cum again and again for what feels like an eternity, before his movements become sloppier and messier.

You cum once more when he swells inside of you, and you feel the tell-tale sensation of fullness when he fills you up with his cum.

He collapses on you, panting. 

You’re both satisfied and spent.

He kisses you once more, on your lips, and it’s so sweet and tender that you almost cry because you know deep down you couldn’t take one more day of solitude.

His voice is deep and hoarse when he speaks again.

“How ‘bout we start with California?”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #dark bucky x reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark!james barnes #marvel fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n

[missinghan]

broken umbrella ⤖ han jisung

❖ genre : high school au; fluff

❖ word count : 1,6k.

❖ warning : explicit language

❖ summary : a typical day in your life starts with having candies poured over your head and ends with breaking han jisung’s umbrella. 

❖ note : I wanted to write smth dumb okay-

one.

Jisung gives his desk a harsh kick, one that does no good in releasing his inner storm, only to wince in pain later because he’s an idiot. 

Classes have been somewhat less than boring these days, partially because his mind is occupied with thoughts of you half of the time and partially because…well, more thoughts of you. Oh wait, today is a little different than usual considering the fact that you did not give him a proper response. 

To what?

Putting it simply, he woke up early this morning to go over his routine more thoroughly—styling his hair, making sure that his tie isn’t sloppy-looking, and spraying himself with his brother’s cologne. He doesn’t usually care for any one of those things until junior starts and you show up. Call him desperate, or delusional, or childish even but it truly felt like fate when you two first encountered each other. 

“Yeah right, fate,” Hyunjin snickers loudly, swirling a strawberry-flavored lollipop inside his mouth. “You meant when you fell on your ass on the bus the other day and you accidentally grabbed her collar?”

Jisung feels his cheeks heat up thanks to his friend’s less than necessary comment. “Shut the fuck up, you’re just jealous.” It was great. Not only did he fall head over heels for you, but he also left a bad impression. 

Back to the point. All of his hard work this morning is reduced to nothing because of the rain. His hair is messed up, his uniform looks sloppy, and his shoes are covered in mud from skipping through puddles. Not to mention, he showed up timely enough to be there when you opened your locker, having various candies and sweets poured down your head, scattered all over the hallway. 

Yeji should have told him you didn’t like sweet things yesterday, damn it. Because he’s never seen you giving him that look before. The look that makes him believe you will make him experience torment and pain, begging for the mercy that never comes—make his life a living hell basically. 

“How did your plan go, by the way?” His friend asks out of boredom. 

“Fantastic,” he replies under his breath when everything is, in fact, not fantastic. 

Hyunjin tilts his head. “Did she know?”

“Know what? That I’m in love with her? I mean I wasn’t trying to be subtle or anything-“

“No, did she know that it was gonna rain today?”

Shrugging, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in exhaustion; forty-five minutes periods should be illegal. “Why does that matter?”

“Hey, Han!” 

Jisung turns his head to the voice and sees Felix sliding the door to his classroom open, uneven breaths as if he’s been running for his life while holding two umbrellas in his arms. He glances at his friend’s state with a grimace, head cocked to the side in confusion. Luckily, no one really spends recess in class except for loners like himself anyway. “What are you doing?” 

“Y/N didn’t bring an umbrella!” The freckled boy exclaims with excitement, only able to coax an amused hum from Hyunjin. “But you have an umbrella, and it’s still raining! Which means…?”

A comical silence falls upon the three of them. It takes Jisung approximately five taps of Hyunjin’s finger on the table to fully process his friend’s point. Realization lights up in his eyes like a candle but dies down with a pout on his face. “But she can just go with her friends?” he says with expressive hands, though a little disappointed. 

“I’m not gonna half-ass it if I plan on helping you,” Felix gives the two umbrellas, a white one and a pink one, in his hands a slight jerk, looking oddly proud. 

This time, Jisung catches on immediately; his eyes go wide in shock as though his friend has committed the greatest sin. “Yeji and Lia are so gonna kill you.”

two.

“Did you bring an umbrella?” Lia asks while hopeless rummaging through her stuff. “I swear with my own eyes I saw myself putting one in my bag this morning.”

Yeji shakes her head in defeat, tugging at the straps of her backpack. “I was pretty sure I brought one too. I even used it to walk to the bus stop this morning! Someone must have taken it during recess,” she sighs, dreading the pouring rain and grey clouds. 

It’s raining again. It’s only been raining today, the weather forecast did predict that it’s most likely going to last for a whole week too (not that you bothered checking). You don’t mind the rain, though. You like the fact that they make the world appear mistier, hazier like a fever dream. 

What isn’t good about the rain is the fact that your parents won’t be too happy to see you come home looking like a wet rat. Or the fact that you’ll probably get a really bad cold, and that won’t be pretty during midterms week. Or the fact that most students are absolute idiots and didn’t bring their own umbrellas either. Everyone is shoving each other for space under the canopy at the main gate so the rain won’t soak their clothes. 

You’re not having it. At all. 

“Yeji, Lia. I’m going home,” you purse your lips together and take a breath. 

Lia frowns at your particular solution. “Already? But you’re gonna get wet.”

“My house is a ten-minute walk away. Shouldn’t be too bad,” you say lowly in faint annoyance, eyes squinted from the discomfort of lack of space; these students have no manners whatsoever, you’re getting claustrophobic. 

With a determined huff, you pull the zipper of your jacket up and throw the hood over your hair. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Shadow suddenly looms over the top of your head, warmth radiates to your clothed arm. In the corner of your eyes, a familiar face comes into view and forces a heavy exhale from your lips. 

“Hey, do you wanna go with-“ Jisung pauses midway when you take off running, shattering his fantasy of living in a drama into bits without mercy. “Y/N! Wait up!”

three.

“Come here! Or you’ll get sick!”

“Why the hell do you care?”

“Y/N, stop being so stubborn! You’re gonna catch a cold!”

“It’s none of your business.”

After walking down several blocks down the road, past nothing but empty plazas and mostly closed café, you even take an extra U-turn, going through a skeptical alley just so Jisung will get tired and stop following you. Your effort doesn’t not prevail so you give up eventually, deciding to take the proper turn to head home before it’s too late to prepare dinner. 

The poor boy can feel the rain drizzle down his black umbrella before falling onto his windbreaker, soaking through the fabric to stain his senses with a chilling sensation. He has already calmed every racing thought that ceases to ease his erratic heartbeat but no matter how hard he tries, there isn’t one second where he isn’t thinking about your well-being.

“Hey,” he calls out; when you turn around, he’s closing his umbrella and tossing it to the ground, leaving it to graze the tip of your shoes. “Take it and go home. I won’t bother you anymore.”

You roll your eyes before picking it up, mercilessly letting it flop right in front of him. “I don’t need it.”

Jisung clicks his tongue in irritation, not caring that droplets are falling from his head and his skin is crawling from the cold. Somehow, he’s starting to become baffled for no reason. Perhaps it’s because of your nonchalance about the current situation; you shouldn’t be so apathetic when he’s genuinely worried sick for your health.

His eyes are heavy with rain droplets so he blinks them away before glaring at you slightly. “You need it more than I do. Would you please stop acting irrationally, take the umbrella and head home? The rain isn’t stopping anytime soon.” His leg jerks up to kick at the innocent object; still isn’t enough to relish the turmoil hurling his innards.

He brushes past you, shoving your shoulder a little while expecting you to finally accept his offer. To his dismay, you once again grab at the poor, poor umbrella, and throw it at his leg with more force this time. When it drops to the ground with a small thud, his heart pauses awkwardly in disappointment. 

The sun is going down by the second but you can still see the faint outline of his scowl. “Go home, Jisung. It’s getting late,” you remark coldly, stuffing your freezing hands into your pocket. 

With a loud groan, he marches back to where you two were originally standing, a curse word lingers on the tip of his tongue. But he manages to swallow it back down before gently tugging at the sleeve of your jacket. “Take the umbrella at least,” he voices softly, the crack more evident than anything at the end. “Look, I know I’ve been nothing but a nuisance since we first met. I just really like you and I care for you okay? Go home, Y/N.”

“Please.”

You look at him after moments, your once hateful eyes finally glinting with something else other than general distaste and annoyance. It only takes one glance of his tired eyes to pierce through your phlegmatic front, leaving your raw emotions out in the open. Before Jisung can say another word or take notice of the rare warmth creeping in your gaze, you take his hand in yours and pull him toward a nearby apartment complex to not wait out in the downpour any longer. By the time that you’ve released the grip, he’s still staring into the nothingness, eyes slightly wide in shock.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you gonna go home?” he blurts out finally after snapping out of it.

“This is my apartment complex. But I must have dropped my card somewhere. So I can’t go inside.”

A sigh. “Is anyone home right now?”

“My phone is dead.”

Jisung perks up and his hand fishes inside his pocket. “You can use-”

You inhale deeply, looking away. “Enough is enough, Jisung. Go home.”

“You broke my umbrella,” he mentions, blinking rapidly to bat the droplets away from his eyelashes. “I can’t go home like this.”

Few beats of silence later, a middle-aged woman dressed in a beige trench coat walks past the both of you, two high school students pathetically standing under the canopy like wet rats; she swipes her card against the security lock and the glass door pops open without much effort. Sparing you the last look, she’s probably thinking ‘kids these days’ before heading inside with a roll of her eyes. 

Jisung hurriedly skips over to hold the door open for you, motions for you to walk in with his head. To his surprise, you comply but bring your steps to a halt to situate yourself in front of him. His lashes are wet and heavy; that’s when you realize how soaked you both are and how terribly cold the temperature it’s getting. Your hand reaches out to brush the raindrops away softly, shaking his heart to the core. 

The silence is graceful in the wake of the moment, the rain in the background just makes everything that much more cinematic. However, Jisung isn’t in the right mind state to fanboy over the fact that his drama fantasy is one step closer to reality. He wishes to cling to this moment forever because he just can’t get enough. He can never.

“I’ll get you a towel,” you pull away calmly, thinking how cute he sort of looks when his cheeks are three shades redder. “And a new umbrella.” 

His smile has never been brighter, you notice. Even when he’s out in the brutal cold and completely drenched from head to toe. And wait...have his eyes always been so pretty?

#skzwritersclub #inkidz #stray kids #han jisung #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #han jisung imagines #han jisung scenarios #jisung imagines #jisung scenarios #stray kids fluff #han jisung fluff #bang chan #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #lee felix #yang jeongin #kim seungmin #skz x reader #skz x you #jisung x reader

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 9 ~The Mediation~

Previously in Light Vs Dark ...

Tears streamed down her face as he grabbed his phone and keys and made his way out. He couldn't get out of the cottage fast enough. His heart hammered, his ears started to ring, his lungs squeezing out the last air. He'd hurt her. He'd seen the bruises with his eyes, and now she's crying because of him. He needed to get out fast to clear his head.

She followed him closely behind. "Please tell me where you're going, Jamie. At least give me that," she pleaded.

He couldn't stand to see her tears anymore or hear the plea in her voice. He was doing what's right for her because he loved her too much. He wasn't even sure where he was going or if anyone would be safe in his presence. All he could think of was how frightened his sister had looked at him and the bruises he'd inflicted in Claire's arms. He needed to get as far away as possible, away from the people he loved.

He got into his car, slammed the door, and started the engine.

Claire banged on his window, her face wet with tears. "Don't do this, Jamie. We can fix this together. Please don't go. I'm begging you."

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The sun blazed through the windows, but instead of feeling delighted with the promise of a beautiful day, Claire felt hollow.

Earlier, moving on autopilot, she'd numbly climbed out of bed, showered and gathered all the will and strength she could summon and prepared to face the day. Though a part of her would rather curl into a ball under the duvet until Jamie returns, she made a Herculean effort to stay positive for sanity's sake. It should have given her comfort knowing Jamie was safe after Willie had informed her he'd been spotted at three in the morning at Lallybroch's driveway in his car and was now resting in his childhood home. But her eyes would prickle with tears every time she stood still and stared into space. So Claire kept herself busy, feeding Jamie's pets, letting them out of the house, doing a bit of laundry and setting up her work station for the day on the dining table. Currently, there were things that needed attending to, like her own work, and anytime soon, Willie would be arriving.

She was just about to open her laptop when there was a knock on the kitchen's back door.

She knew it was Willie. "Door's open," she croaked.

Willie walked in and stopped. A line formed between his brows, reminding her so much of Jamie she felt the beginning of tears welling up. "Hey, how are ye?" he asked.

With more enthusiasm than she had in her, she gave him a small smile. "I'm hanging in there. How's Jamie?"

"He's asleep ...last time I heard from ma."

"How about you? You look like you didn't get much rest either."

"Knackered," he replied, shoving his hands into his jeans' pocket. "The bloody git sent us on a merry chase. And now he gets to sleep the whole day while I'm left to pick up the slack at work."

Claire knew Willie was trying to make light of things. Needing to move, she stood and made her way to the kitchen, having the sudden urge to keep her hands busy. It would have been easier if she'd asked Willie to take her to Lallybroch. But there had been a reason for her decision to stay put. She needed to remind herself, there's a probability her presence could make Jamie's condition worsened after having seen his reaction to her bruise last night. Even if in the light of day, nothing seemed good enough excuse to be separated from him.

"Would you like something to drink? Coffee or tea?" she offered. "I could use a strong cuppa."

"Coffee would be grand."

Conscious of Willie watching, she went through the motion of taking out cups and switching on the coffee machine. When she opened the fridge to retrieve some milk, she accidentally nudged one of Jamie's magnets on the door, sending a post-it note to slip down. Automatically bending down, she picked up the piece of paper from the floor.

As she turned it the other way round and read it, a cross between a sob and a laugh broke passed through her mouth. It was a note Jamie had written to her just the other day.

Gone to work. Bought some croissants, and they're in the bread bin just in case Adso gets his grubby paws on it first. Can't wait to see you later. Missing you already. Love you. X

"Oh, damn it." Claire leaned over the countertop, pressing the note with one hand on her chest. "I-I can't do this."

Willie came up behind her and touched her elbow, gently turning her to face him. "Ye cannae do exactly what, Claire?" he asked, a look of concern etching his face.

"Pretend Jamie is fine." She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them again, she let out a lungful of air. "When we first met, he was in a good place. And I have this strong feeling that I am making his condition more frequent and worse."

"No, Claire ...dinnae speak like that."

She glanced down at Jamie's note, and when she felt prickles behind her eyelids, she slipped the piece of paper in her jean's pocket and shook her head. "How can Jamie and I be together if I'm the one triggering his nightmares and anxiety? Before I came along, his episodes were a rare occurrence. And now here I am making that classic mistake of attempting to fix a man." Her breathing suddenly became laboured, like she'd raced ten miles. "I wish I could be by his side. I know it's selfish wanting to be with him right now when I'm the reason for his distress. But I do. On the other hand, logic tells me, it's probably a good thing all those memories he hasn't dealt with are finally coming to the surface, so at least we have something to work on. I just wish there was a less unpleasant way for Jamie to handle all of these." She glanced out the window, unseeing the beautiful view in the sun.

When the silence dragged on for too long, Claire turned to face Willie and was surprised to see him smiling. "Cannae ye see it yet, Claire? Ye are not making Jamie's condition worse. In fact, ye have been helping him heal all this time."

She frowned. She was confused. "What do you mean? I don't understand."

Willie took the portafilter and began filling it with coffee for her. "Ye said it yersel'. The suppressed memories are coming to the surface." He shrugged as he worked the coffee machine. "Meaning, after all these years, Jamie can finally confront them head-on, deal with it and lay it to rest once and for all. Isn't that what his dreams are trying to tell him? He's forgone dealing with grief and issues that it had nowhere to go to except present itself as this monstrous nightmare and panic attacks. And then ye came along, and somehow, ye've extracted more out from him than all his therapists put together."

A nervous laugh gurgled from her throat. "I might have been able to do that, but at what cost? Jamie could've hurt himself last night." She'd worried at the speed he'd taken off, thinking if anything grievous had resulted from it, she would have been so utterly devastated, she'd blamed herself. "He needs professional help, Willie. It can't go on like this."

"He does," he agreed, pressing the button on the coffee machine. "But Jamie needs you too, more than ever ...even if he believes he's a danger to ye."

"But he didn't hurt me."

He pushed the stop button on the coffee machine. "May I see the bruise?"

"Of course." She rolled up her sweatshirt sleeves. "I told him I bruise easily. I have an iron deficiency which I'm taking supplements for."

Willie studied the markings on her arms. "They're not that bad."

"No, they're not. I tried to convince him, but he won't listen. I only need to pinch my skin, and I bruise. It's a symptom of being anaemic."

Willie sighed. "Jamie won't be easily convinced, though. Weel ...at least not until he's calmed down."

"He used to have a therapist. Why isn't he seeing one now?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "I know he's against taking pills for his condition, but surely talking to a professional would help him a lot."

"He has nothing against seeing a therapist ..." he replied matter-of-factly as he handed her the coffee. "...just a particular one."

"Oh!" She took the cup from Willie and watched him make another one for himself. "May I know why?"

"Her name is Geneva Dunsany. She's the only available therapist in Broch Mordha. She took over Jamie's former therapist after he left for England." He paused to look at her. "Ye see ...a few years back, my da remortgage Lallybroch and then when the recession came, our family was hit hard financially and had trouble paying the bank. To cut a long story short, Jenny, our meddling sister, knew Geneva was infatuated with Jamie. Since Geneva comes from a well-off family, Jenny thought by playing matchmaker, she would solve everyone's problems single-handedly. Ever since then, my sister has been trying to get them together. So when she heard Jamie's therapist left for England, she encouraged Geneva to take the job even though she already had one in another town. Jamie is quite perceptive, though and knew what our wee sister was up to. Hence he refused to see Geneva."

"That's a bit sneaky."

"Ye can say that again. Geneva might have a wee crush on Jamie, but I dinnae think she's aware of Jenny's meddling, even though they're friends. Jenny thinks she's doing Jamie a favour by finding him a lass who lives here and can help him with his condition. Jen is practical like that."

"I've met her, actually. The therapist that is. We were introduced ...just before I went back to London," she explained, thinking back to the day when she first met Jenny and Geneva. And she's beautiful too, she thought grudgingly. Although Jamie had never given Claire reason to feel jealous before, every muscle in her body had gone rigid, hearing Willie's account on Jamie's would-be therapist. Jealousy continued to roll in like a lick of a flame as the image of Jamie pouring his heart out to a beautiful woman burned hot in her guts. The sudden urgent need to see him made her want to sprint out of the cottage at full speed, but a dose of decorum kept her rooted on the spot. "So, Jamie wasn't interested, huh? Not even the teeny, tiniest bit?" she squeaked, annoyed at the sudden change in her voice.

She thought she saw a muscle twitched along Willie's jaw, but she must have imagined it. Looking like he was sucking the inside of his cheek, he shook his head. "No. Never. And ye have nought to worry about, Claire. Jamie only has eyes for ye."

She swallowed the bitter taste of doubt. "Not worried," she lied, sipping her coffee. But in the true sense of the word, she already felt loads better after the enlightening conversation with Willie. It had taken the edge off her worry over Jamie's condition, even though she still couldn't erase the thought of Jenny pushing Jamie towards Geneva.

"Maybe ye should attend a therapy session with Jamie ...at least initially," he suggested, eyeing her closely as if trying to read her thoughts. "That way, it would put Jamie at ease, and Geneva would realise he's taken already."

Claire slowly placed her cup on the countertop. "Why do I get the feeling this meddling thing is inherent in your family?" she asked, feigning disapproval.

Willie put his own cup down. "Not inherent, Claire. I have my own selfish motive. Ye're the best friend of my Annalise, and I wouldn't be helping my cause if she finds out I've done nought to help ye." When Claire gasped, he grinned. "Kidding aside, even if Annalise wasn't my girlfriend, I want ye to know, I really like you for my brother."

Claire could barely see through the tears she hadn't been aware that was building up. "You sound so sure."

Willie placed his hand over hers and squeezed it. "Are ye sure about my brother?"

"With all my heart," she whispered.

"That's all I need to know."

..........

Jamie slowly opened his eyes and took in the familiar surroundings of his old room. His heart throbbed when he realised the last time he'd slept here had been on New Year's eve, with Claire tucked snuggly on the crook of his arm. Bracing himself up on his elbows, he heard his mother talking to Jenny and his da downstairs. They were probably in the kitchen discussing his state.

He rubbed his face with one hand, feeling the beginning of a day-old stubble, exhaustion washing over him in waves. A mixture of self-loathing and guilt rose within as he replayed the incident from the night before. He couldn't decide what pained him the most, the bruises he'd inflicted on Claire or the fact he'd left her in tears standing in his driveway.

When he'd taken off from his cottage, his heart had been heavy and thoughts dark, not having had any clue what he wanted to do or where to go, only determinedly pushing himself to get as far away from Claire as possible. A few hours later, he'd found himself parked outside his childhood home after Willie and Murtagh had woken him up in his car. So far, he'd only talked to his older brother Willie, and he hoped it would be enough to keep the rest of his family's questions at bay.

Sitting up, he realised he was still in his clothes. He searched for his phone and found it on the nightstand. Swiping the screen, he saw he had a few missed calls from clients and a voice message from Claire. Willie must have switched his phone to silence.

I should call her, he thought. It wouldn't be that difficult. Her voice would soothe him, and her lack of judgement would make him feel like he's on solid ground. He could show his worst, and he knew she'd still be there, smiling and soothing him with words, just like last night. Every hour that passed without seeing her or hearing from her put him a little more off centre, and he could see how too reliant he was becoming on those breaths of fresh air that sprung from her. He shook his head. She was too precious to be with someone who had this nonstop ugliness embedded in the insides of his head. It would only be a matter of time before he dragged her into his hell. He couldn't do that to her.

He was about to tap on Claire's voice message when he was alerted by a double knock on the door.

"Jamie, are ye awake, son?" It was his father.

"Come in," he answered, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

The door opened, and he saw his mother walk in first with a mug of tea. "My darling boy," she smiled, placing the hot brew on the bedside table. "I thought ye could use a bit of something warm in yer belly. How are ye feeling?" She stooped down and kissed him on the forehead.

Jamie scooted back to the headboard to make space for his mother while his father took the chair. "Exhausted," he said honestly. Although he'd slept all morning, it hadn't been a restful sleep.

His father, Brian, cleared his throat. "So ... what's going on with ye, lad?" he asked, cutting to the chase as usual.

Ellen sent her husband a warning glare before refocusing her attention back to Jamie. "Whenever ye're ready, darling," she reassured him, patting his thigh. "Willie vaguely told us what happened, and Jenny is beside herself thinking she triggered yer panic attack yesterday. And Claire ...ye never told us she's here. She's worried sick about ye."

Jamie sighed. "What's there to tell." He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "It wasnae Jenny's fault. It's just the same old, same old. The only difference this time is, I made a stupid mistake getting Claire involved with me. And I'm hurting her in the process."

Ellen briefly looked at her husband. "I find that hard to believe, Jamie. Ye're such a gentle soul, ye could never ever hurt a fly even if it's bugging ye to bits. Did ye two have a fight? Did Claire say ye were hurting her?" she asked Jamie gently.

"No. I just know I am."

"Oh, darling ..."

"So that's it ..." Brian raised his hands in the air before letting them drop to his sides. "Ye're giving in to this condition ye've fought hard against all yer life when the chance for happiness finally present itsel' to ye because ye THINK ye are hurting Claire. Is that what ye're trying to tell us? Because believe ye me, we didnae raise a violent or abusive son. So enlighten us ...where in heaven's name is this all coming from?"

"Brian!"

"It's a futile fight," Jamie blurted before taking a deep breath. "Trust me ... I'd like to have what ye both have. But at what cost? Look at the state of me. Is this the kind of man Claire deserves? She's willing to turn her life upside down for me, and for what? Only to find out later she'd saddled herself with a mentally ill man. So perhaps it's for the best she lucked out early before its too late for either of us."

His mother moved closer to his side and took his hand. "So let me get this straight. Ye're staying away from Claire because ye like her a lot, and ye're afraid to hurt her." Pain clenched tight on his vocal cords, incapacitating him to answer, but she interpreted his silence as a yes. Even though it's far more complex than that. "Oh, sweet lord, how youth is so wasted on the young," she clucked.

"Aye, perhaps." He rubbed a hand behind his neck. "But trust me, I ken fine what the problem is."

"Oh, is that so?"

His father's sarcasm wasn't lost on him, but he ignored it in favour of the pressure sinking into his chest. "I ken I hold back a lot from everyone, and I ken too that's wrong. When things get too much, I keep my mouth shut. And I dinnae realised at first that suffering in silence damages, instead of helping. Though it's easier said than done, I'm working on it. All I ever wanted was no' to be a burden or be the cause of anyone's pain. Claire deserves more."

Ellen sighed. "Jamie ...Jamie ... ye're never a burden. Ye're a delight, and we're so proud of ye. Ye need to understand, ever since ye were a wee bairn, ye've always needed a purpose, like fixing everyone's problem because it gave ye satisfaction to see ye've righted someone's world. Whenever someone was hurting, ye're always the first to reach out." Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I thought it was endearing at first until it began to take over yer life. The trauma you've gone through only amplified yer true nature to a point it wasnae healthy anymore. And the guilt that came with it when ye can do nought and thought you've failed ...almost destroyed ye every time." She shifted on the bed. "Jamie ...ye have to stop denying yersel' a chance for happiness because ye're afraid of hurting or failing someone. Pain is part of life. It's inevitable. Though it's good of ye to think of others first, sometimes, it's also good to let others carry that burden for ye and help ye. Running away because ye're afraid of hurting someone is no' gonnae to do anyone any good. Ye'll only end up hurting yersel'. And when that happens, who's going to help ye?"

His mother's logic made sense, but the chatter in his brain continued to hold its ground. "Claire's been through a lot, ma."

"And so have ye, son," Brian interjected, firmly.

"But what if I make things worse for both of us?"

"Oh my sweet boy, what if ye end up happy together?" Ellen smiled. "I ken a crystal ball would come in handy right now, but because we dinnae have one, the only way to find out is to take the risk and hope for the best. Just like what Claire is doing."

Jamie shut his eyes for a while and pictured them together. Every fibre in his body was screaming to get in his car and drive back to Broch Mordha and start making it up to Claire. But his mother was right ...he needed help. He didn't want to put Claire through all that misery again, so he decided right there and then he would start attending therapy afresh. It was the way forth, and he'd held off attending therapy for too long, which might have worsened his condition. But first things first. He needed to be in the right headspace to start doing anything.

"Fine, I'll call the clinic later for an appointment but do ye mind if I rest some more. I'm still feeling a bit off."

The chair scraped the wooden floor as Brian stood up. "Aye, of course. Ye look worn to a frazzle."

Ellen reached out and pulled Jamie into her arms and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll be downstairs if ye need anything." She got up and ruffled his hair as if he was still a wee boy. "And I've made leek and tattie soup in case ye're hungry."

"Thanks, ma."

His parents were just about to walk out when Jenny strode in. "Hey."

Jamie rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "Jenny, can we talk later? I'd like to be alone for a bit."

Brian and Ellen gave his sister a warning look as they left the room, but she just shrugged. "I promise this willnae take long. Please, Jamie?"

Jamie waved a hand. "Fine. What is it?"

He watched his sister retrieve something from her jeans' pocket. "Mrs Fitz from the Airbnb gave me this. One of her clients staying over her place left an Oxford Mail newspaper a couple of weeks ago. As she was browsing through it, she came across Claire's name." She handed him a newspaper clipping. "Looks like yer wee girlfriend is an heiress."

"What? Let me see that."

Jamie skimmed through the short article about some property in Fox Lane, Boars Hill in Oxford. It said it was formerly part of the Berkeley Castle Estate. The original part of the house had been designed by the celebrated architect Sir Ernest George for Lord Berkeley, a family ancestor from her mother side. The house had apparently garnered loads of interest among the local rich after being recently vacated by a local MP. It mentioned the original owners' name as Henry and Julia Beauchamp, deceased, and the heiress as Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.

Was this the South Lodge property Claire had been talking about she'd inherited from her parents? He hadn't really given it much thought ever since she'd casually mentioned it. This was a far cry from the cabin in the woods he'd envisioned.

"Three million pounds for a house!" Jenny broke through his reflection. "Doesn't it make ye wonder what else she inherited?"

Jamie looked at the paper again. That's what the house is worth? Ach, Christ! Even the Oxford gossip found its way to Broch Mordha. He knew Claire would be mortified if the news of her assets became everyone's favourite topic of conversation.

Folding the note, he handed it back to his sister. He saw Claire a little differently now. All that money in the world and all she only ever wanted was a place to belong to. Suddenly he felt awful for leaving her last night. He shook his head at his sister. "Not a word about this to any of yer mates!" he warned her. "Or else ..."

Jenny's eyes widened. "What do ye take me for?"

"A babble merchant," he ribbed, unsmiling. "Now, let me be."

"Ye're no' angry at me still, are ye?"

"No," he sighed. "I'm just exhausted."

"Can I do anything for ye?"

He puffed out a breath. Jenny was looking at him earnestly, and he knew she only wanted to reach out. "Aye, in fact, ye can. Ye can arrange that appointment with the therapist for me."

She smiled, seemingly happy to please. "Right on it. If ye need anything else ..."

"Aye, aye, I'll let ye know."

Jenny left, and somehow, he felt a little less heavy in the heart than he did when he woke up earlier. Grabbing his phone, he tapped play on Claire's voice message.

"Hey, it's me. Just letting you know how much I miss you. I felt a little sad earlier, so I wandered into a cafe in the village centre after Willie left. They had this upbeat music playing in the background. It's an old song. Probably from the eighties or nineties, I'm not quite sure. It's pretty cheesy, but it brought a smile to my face. And now I can't get the music out of my head. Maybe if you listen to it too, it will bring a smile to your face. It's from Rick Astley, Never Gonna Give You Up." There was a pause before she spoke again. "Right, I'll let you rest. Willie told me that's what you've been doing. I'm going to take Rollo out for a walk now and try to get some work done. I'll text and send you a voice message later. I love you."

Ah, Sassenach! He swiped the screen to phone her, but his phone beeped and died. Ah, shite! He wanted to go and see her now but stopped. He had to take steps to make himself better first. He needed to put in the hours to help himself. She deserved the extra time he would put in because she's not getting half-arsed from him again. But for now ...

He scrambled out of bed and opened the bedroom door.

"Ma!" he called out.

"What is it, dear?"

"Do ye still have all yer old music from yer university days?"

"Anything in particular?"

He cringed inwardly. Ah, fuck! "Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley?"

He thought he heard females sniggering downstairs.

Dear Readers,

Thank you so much for your patience with the previous chapter and, mostly, the feedback and beautiful comments. I hope this latest update felt a lot lighter to read. I'll keep this short as I'm drained today; nevertheless, I wish you a great weekend.

Looking forward to reading what you think of this update. Take care always, and keep those love vibes rolling. Much love. X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #milesbetweenus #claire beauchamp/jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

[atiny-piratequeen]

Against the Tide: Tenth Voyage (Ch. 10)

Pairing : Poly Ot8

Genre: Heavy Angst, Action, Fantasy, Smut, Fluff

Rating: 18+

Tags: DemonPirate!Au, Supernatural, Eventual Poly Relationship, Violence, Blood, Elemental Powers, Past and Modern Day AU, Mythical Creatures, Character Death, Slow Burn, Happy Ending Endgame

Chapter Specific Tags:  Repeated Main Character Death, Reincarnation, Emotional and Psychological Manipulation, Graphic Blood and Violence, Brief Mentions of Mental Health Concerns

Chapter WC: 10k+

A/N: There could be tags added later, especially if there’s something I write that potentially triggers my readers. The last thing I want is for that to happen, so please don’t hesitate to give me feedback if there’s something I write here you’d like me to tag.

**A/N: Thank you Riza @not-majestic-bluenicorn​ for helping me out with the tarot card readings, ilysm

Taglist moved to the bottom of the work. If you’d like to be added to the taglist for this or my other works, feel free to fill out the form here after reading the full post. AO3

Taglist

← Last Voyage  Next Voyage →

The sound of Seonghwa’s screams from that night still haunts the crew.

They’re fortunate, Yunho thinks.

Though, he’d never say it aloud and Geb is kind enough not to call him out on the bitter, spiteful thoughts when they arise.

Anyway, the crew was fortunate.

Most of them are lucky that all they heard was the screams of their First Mate- no -their new Captain. The crewmembers below the deck and the ones unconscious didn’t have to deal with the sight of their captain, the one who held them all together, breaking down.

The fear on his face. The defeat. The pain. The terrified, yet resolute tone in his voice.

All that haunted them was the screams of the ex prince, which, coupled by an explosion of ice, creating a fortress of frost around them, was a beacon in the night for what had happened.

Yunho had to drag him out of the ocean. Nearly got stabbed doing so. It took an hour of Seonghwa diving into the depths, freezing everything around him and reaching fruitlessly before Yunho snatched him back to the surface.

He’d nearly been frozen and stabbed for his efforts and the crew watched on as Yunho pinned Seonghwa to the deck, thick vines keeping him still as he screamed and thrashed.

Just behind him, Mingi stood back with an unconscious San in his arms. Wooyoung was at his side, eyes wide as tears rolled down his cheeks while Yeosang leaned over the taffrail, emptying the contents of the dinner he’d worked hard to make into the ocean. Jongho still lay unconscious under the broken planks of wood in the hold, sea water soaking his clothes and Whiro noticeably absent from his skin for once.

“LET ME GO! LET ME GO! HONGJOONG! HONGJOONG!” Seonghwa screamed, his voice raw and cracking as he thrashed in Yunho’s arms.

None of them had ever seen the level headed ex prince fall apart like this. He bore his teeth at him, trying to wrestle his way free, freezing parts of his body to try and get Yunho to let him go. The sight of the raven-haired immortal coming apart at the seams broke everyone’s heart and Geb gently whispered into Yunho’s ear so he could settle Seonghwa down the hard way.

They weren’t getting anywhere like this.

So Yunho sighed and created a small flower near Seonghwa’s head, tears slipping down his cheeks. Seonghwa looked up at him, eyes bloodshot from crying.

“H-Hong-”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Small spores wafted out of the flower and slowly Seonghwa’s thrashing slowed down. He felt his body grow heavy as Yunho put his head in his lap, crying quietly as Seonghwa’s pitch black hair slowly went back to it’s natural blonde color.

“N...o...Hongjoong...putois…”

Yunho wished all that haunted him was the screams, and not the guilt of not being strong or fast enough to keep him from disappearing. That Hongjoong’s quivering, terrified voice didn’t knock around his head as much as the anguished howls of Seonghwa.

Unfortunately, that was all it was. Wishful thinking.

-x-

- I finally get what you've been saying

Now that we're knee deep side by side

The storm clouds are circling above us

As we struggle against the tide-

-x-

There are intricacies that come with warfare, the king knew these well.

Though, even he may admit that this was an... unfortunate miscalculation.

Getting to a point in Hongjoong’s mind where he was distracted enough for him to actually affect his powers was leagues more difficult than he’d ever let anyone know. For as much as he antagonized the pirate, the dragon inside would admit he had much more mental fortitude than he originally gave him credit for.

Stupid mortals and their useless sense of ‘love’.

Though, technically, he wasn’t a mortal anymore.

Whatever.

Regardless of what the little captain was classified as, the fight with the one called ‘Priscilla’ had left him in such a panic that the dragon was able to break through, tap into the core of their-no, his -powers, and snatch it from under him while he was fighting for everyone’s lives.

Disgusting.

He figured he’d distract the foolish captain long enough for him to kill him mentally and rid himself of the beast.

Oh, and sink that damned ship and rip it’s crew to pieces. For fun.

He’d never expected a curse to be placed on him because of his intervention. Not only did the she beast strip the captain of all of his knowledge of who he was and his crew, she had inadvertently banished the dragon to the farthest recesses of the captain’s mind.

As the king stood, he couldn’t see light in either direction.

He had to get back to the front so he could take control. He had to break out before the captain remembered and broke the curse. He could handle Pricilla later.

With a scoff, he turned into his dragon form and snorted.

A minor misstep. He could outsmart some stupid immortal wannabes and that grotesque bastard child.

Then, he’d create havoc.

For fun.

And revenge.

But mostly fun.

-x-

-I feel your grip firm on my shoulder,

But this fear in my head won’t subside,

They patiently circle around us,

As we hold out… -

-x-

“Do you see those men there? They hold your entire fate in their hands.”

Hongjoong panted, blood running into his eyes as his hair was pulled back roughly. On the other side of a clear glass bubble, he could see seven men in a room. There was a tall blonde man pacing. Every time his boot touched the floor, it would freeze before the ice melted.

There was a taller man holding onto two smaller men who were crying.

Something was said and the blonde turned suddenly, his body rigid. A buffer man stood between him and the group, reaching for something on his person. The blonde man crossed the room and took his hand, the tips of his fingers frosting around the man’s wrist as he glared at him, saying something.

Hongjoong couldn’t hear a word either of them were saying, nor did he care. He pivoted on his heel, elbowing the monstrous woman behind him in the face before he broke off into a run.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he figured if he ran far enough, screamed loud enough-

Something hard slammed into his back, knocking him forward. He rolled, his clothing soaked by the water as he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. When he looked up, a rabid dog was staring him down.

He screamed in terror and backed away, eyes wide.

Who was she? Why was she doing this to him? Where even was he?

Fangs sunk into his thigh before he was dragged back towards the woman, kicking and screaming.

A dark smile came to her face.

“Get real comfortable, little pirate. With how your sorry crew looks, you’ll be stuck here with me forever and ever~ You’re here because of them, at the very least, you should know that they’re the reason you’re here.”

-x-

- Oh, father why have they forsaken me?

You warned me that they would,

The curse is passing down the bloodline,

Misspoken and misunderstood.-

-x-

“Seonghwa, all I’m saying is we can try it out-”

“We’re not calling that woman!”

Jongho pursed his lips, annoyed at the older immortal raising his voice at him, while Wooyoung flinched and whined behind him, sitting with Yeosang in Yunho’s arms as the two of them cried.

“What else are we going to do? How else do we start? We don’t even know what happened to Hongjoong fully or where that witch took him!” the Maori man snapped back.

Seonghwa paced like a caged animal, but eventually scoffed, admitting temporary defeat.

“Fine. Call her.” He hissed. Jongho eyed him for a moment before reaching for the feather dangling from his hip. Whiro curiously shifted along his skin, but Jongho focused on the feather, holding it out in front of him.

“Hyuna!”

Seonghwa and the others stood and waited.

And waited.

And waited….

And...waited….

“Why...isn't she coming?”

Seonghwa’s nostrils flared in anger before he barked out a laugh.

“Oh, look at that. She’s not coming . You wait around for her and we’ll never find Hongjoong. Right now, we can start by finding out who fucking stole that fucking staff.” He hissed.

The temperature in the room drastically lowered as ice cold grey eyes scanned over everyone in the group.

They lingered on some more than others.

“It wasn’t me. Don’t stare at me like that.” Mingi’s voice was hurt as he looked down at the floor. Seonghwa’s jaw ticked.

“I didn’t say it was you.” He stiffly informed him.

“You didn’t have to. I was raised around Bella Rose, I know an accusatory look when I see it. It wasn’t me.” He muttered, his voice quieter. San noticed the clench of his fists and the tears welling up in the boatswain’s eyes and moved to place a hand on his back. Seonghwa clicked his tongue, keeping his eyes on the duo. Yeosang began to hiccup through his sobs in Yunho’s arms, so the man stood, catching Seonghwa’s attention.

“I don’t...think that should be our top priority. Not right now.”

“I disagree. One of you stole the staff, and Hongjoong is gone now. That seems pretty damn important. Which one of you did it?” He spat, malice dripping from his voice. Even Jongho flinched back, his brows pulled together. Whiro shifted along his skin and tutted before lifting upwards.

Jongho moved to reel him in, but he was met with more than the usual amount of resistance and Whiro’s voice in his head.

‘For once, trust me, kid.’

Jongho pursed his lips and let Whiro form into a mirror image of himself aside from the blonde hair, red eyes, and ta moko. He rolled his shoulders and looked at Seonghwa, who looked unimpressed and fed up before anything even left the fragmented god’s mouth.

“If you’re going to talk shit, save-”

“Nah, you’ve said enough the past few days. Shut up and listen for once, prince.”

Seonghwa snarled, but Whiro ignored him, keeping his thick arms crossed as he spoke. Even Jongho looked on curiously as Whiro continued.

“What exactly are you gonna do with that information? Hm? Hurt one of them? Kick them out? Is that what the old captain would have wanted?”

Seonghwa looked taken aback-and he wasn’t the only one.

Seven pairs of eyes watched Whiro in shock.

“Whoever stole it doesn’t matter right now. What matters right now is whether you like it or not, you’re the captain now. From what I understand after Jongho and I got knocked the fuck out, you were told to protect this ship and it’s crew. Last time I checked, this temper tantrum you’re throwing isn’t protecting shit, not even yourself.”

“Am I not allowed my hurt? My anger? Hongjoong was...Hongjoong was my first love, he saved my life-”

Whiro rolled his eyes.

“Listen, I’m stuck here in this body for all of eternity and I feel what he feels,” He jabbed his thumb in the direction of a shocked Jongho before he kept talking. “Get your shit together. Stop your sniveling, and start being the leader the shortstack knows you can be. The kid is strong. He may have lost this, but at one point, he had eight spirits inside of him and didn’t fall completely to ruin. Instead of doing the exact opposite of what he said to do and tear this crew apart, wipe your nose, wash your face for fuck’s sake, and go find the shortstack. He needs you, all of you. It’s been a week and we’re still in Greece. I’ll give you a day or so longer to get those tears out before I expect all fucking seven of you to quit bitchin’ and start searchin’. Do I make myself clear?”

Seonghwa blinked before he ran a hand through his hair.

“Gods, is it that bad that the literal God of Evil is trying to help?”

“Yes, actually.” Whiro responded without missing a beat, drawing an involuntary laugh out of some of them.

“I’m stuck to Jongho for all of eternity. I’d rather not to deal with all of these stupid ass gushy ass emotions normally, but since I have no choice now, I’d rather we pull ourselves together. Oh, and when I get my hands on that serpentine bitch, you can all step aside. I’ll take care of her myself.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, but turned to the group, sighing as he bowed himself down.

“I...I’m sorry.” There was more sitting on his tongue, but that was all he said for the time being, turning to leave. Once the sound of his boots on the wood retreated down the hall and out of earshot, everyone let out a relieved sigh, turning to look over at Whiro.

“Holy shit. You helped us.” San muttered.

Whiro cocked a brow.

“Helped you? Please. I’m just tired of the back and forth and even ol’ Jongie boy here is getting affected by all this more than I’d like, for us to share a body. I helped myself, nothing more.” It was a lie, and all of them knew that much, but no one called him on it. Before he disappeared into Jongho’s skin, however, he did have something else to add.

“Though, my words will only light the fire under his ass and distract him for so long. You all seem content not knowing who took it, and that’s strange to me, but whatever. I suggest you all find the pipsqueak captain before blondie starts getting in his own head again. I can’t assure you all I can step out of Jongho every time Seonghwa becomes overwhelmed with anguish. I put these emotions in the world, I know their power. You don’t want the ice prince coming after you because most of you won’t be able to stop the rage that kid has inside from this. So find him. And quit feelin’ so damn sorry for yourselves.” With that, Whiro settled back onto the skin of Jongho’s arms.

Everyone glanced at each other before standing to go to their own respective rooms except Yunho, since they had gathered in his room.

As one of them left, his shoulders slumped lower than the others, his heart thundering in his chest.

‘I’m sorry I took it...I’m so sorry, I didn’t know...I didn’t know it would be this way, please forgive me, I just-’

-x-

-We're losing light

And strength of will

The darkened depths beckoning still

And we hold on

Against the tide-

-x-

Dawn pursed his lips.

“The pirates called for you. Should we get going?”

Hyuna lifted her head from the tub of water she was mostly submerged in.

“Can’t. They’re in Greece. If I stepped foot in Greco-Roman territory again, Zeus would surely come down from Olympus himself to strike me down. He’s still bitter I didn’t just accept my role as the harbinger of evil to mankind and then die off like the toy he created me to be. Whatever the boys need me for, I’ll just apologize next time they call on me. I’m  sure it’s nothing. Besides, the last time they called me, I got my ass kicked. They’ll live if I just take a rain check this once.” Hyuna pouted from the tub before sinking back into the water, her inky hair making the water seem like it was pitch black.

Dawn watched her for a moment before humming and turning to sharpen his sickles.

Maybe she had a point.

-x-

-Beneath the storm and left to fight alone

Remember son, you're reaping what you've sown

Under the waves and sinking like a stone

I'm sorry son, you're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

When Lloyd answered the door that one cold night in January, he wasn’t expecting his son on the other side of the door. His lips parted in surprise.

“Jesus it's cold, Lloyd, why is the door op-YUNHO!”

Yunho laughed through his tears as Robin shot out from behind Lloyd, nearly knocking him down as he hugged him tight. His dreads, though graying, were much longer than the last time Yunho saw him, and he couldn’t help the big smile that crossed his face as the sound of thundering footsteps followed by excited screams pierced through the night air.

The smell of sapodilla and of Barbados lilies flooded his nose with the smell of cerasee clinging to Robin’s clothes.

Before he knew it, he was crying, relieved to see all four of his parents in good health.

Lloyd observed them with a small smile on his face, before he noticed the men standing just off behind him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Lloyd, one of Yunho’s fathers. My partners will introduce themselves once they’re finished hugging the daylights out of our poor son...though...there seems to be more of you than last time, and I don’t see the captain…?”

Yunho tensed immediately, and it didn’t go unnoticed by his parents. Mei pulled away first, noticing the wobble of Yunho’s lip and Valeria cupped his cheeks.

“Ay, lad...what’s wrong baby?”

“I’m...I’m the captain now.” Seonghwa spoke, though he didn’t meet any of their eyes. Robin pulled away, as well, and Yunho sighed, rubbing his arm.

“I...I came home because we need some help.” He murmured.

All four of them exchanged a look before Lloyd stepped aside.

“Come inside from the cold, boys. Mei will brew some tea, and you can explain what happened.”

-20 years Later-

Mingi sat in silence as he sat in a cathedral. He had taken some time away from Yunho’s island to visit another, picking up a few books to read from a shop on curses and the like. Was it the most ideal place to be reading something like this? Most likely not, but he had to do what he needed to.

The crew had stayed near the Caribbean Islands, doing their absolute best to find somewhere, anywhere to start.

It was stifling, with tensions so high. Some members from the original crew had either moved on or passed away trying to help Seonghwa and the others locate Hongjoong, and the blonde captain had been adamant about not bringing new members in.

There...was no love lost between the seven of them, Mingi liked to think, but he’d be lying if he said Seonghha hadn’t put up a wall between all of them and himself. After Whiro put him in his place, he seemed to mask his true anguish and hurt, and they all could tell it was taking a toll on him, though he always put on and front when he was around them.

He was the leader. The captain. He had to keep himself together, lest they all fall apart. Hongjoong trusted him to do this much. To protect them. If that meant suppressing his own emotions for the betterment of the crew, so be it. It wasn’t like it was something he didn’t know how to do already.

He was raised as royalty, next up for the throne and title of a king. Kings couldn’t show any cowardice and weakness. Seonghwa could hide away his emotions well enough.

Though, that was a lie. They could all see it. The chips in his icy exterior. The tremble in his lips when he kissed them. The slight, barely there crack in his voice when he went to reassure them. Seonghwa was falling apart and masking it with layers of ice, but none of them had the heart to call him out.

Not when they were falling apart too.

An air of failure and guilt clung to them and no amount of sweet words from Yunho’s parents could hold it back for too long.

Speaking of parents...

Mingi’s fingers trembled on the page. Right. He had to return to the island soon. Lloyd had passed away of natural causes from his old age and they would be having a celebration of life for him tonight.

The four of them all but put a pause on their work to help out with locating Hongjoong, studying everything from mythology, to curses themselves.

For two decades, they tirelessly helped them, and Mingi was forever grateful. Honestly, it was all four of them that kept the boys from completely losing hope. From the Irish, foul-mouthed tongue lashings they (lovingly) got from Valeria, to Robin taking their mind off of it with teaching them capoeira, to Mei gently telling them Korean folktales over cups of tea when the stress was too high, and finally, old Lloyd teaching all of them the way of herbal medicine and always lending an ear when they needed to vent.

The four of them had all but become the in-laws to the group, and Mingi was forever grateful.

“You look troubled.”

Mingi jolted, closing his book as a nun walked up to him. Mingi scooted over as she sat beside him, placing her hands on her lap as she looked forward past the pews to stare at the beautiful organ at the forefront of the hall.

He subtly hid the book behind his thigh, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry, I just needed somewhere quiet to read and-”

“You’ve been staring at that page for half an hour. Either that passage is really good, or you’re troubled.” She laughed lightly. Mingi stared at the side of her face. His brow furrowed.

Why did she seem so familiar…?

“Would you like someone to lend an ear? We have a confessional, or I could just listen.” She offered, kind brown eyes staring into his own. He lowered his gaze to his hands and sighed.

“I’m just...looking for someone close to me. They were taken away and I don’t know if I can find them or where to start.” he muttered. The nun tilted her head before crossing her feet at the ankle, sitting up straighter.

Mingi expected her to mention God, they were in a place of worship, after all.

“I think you should take time to clear your heart and your mind. You’re very troubled and you won’t be able to focus on your objective when you are so conflicted. Life...throws lots of hurdles at you. Take time to catch your breath and don’t be afraid to ask for help. You can be surprised how asking different people for advice will steer you in the right direction. Sometimes you need to take a step back and look at it from a different angle. Remember that, and I hope you find your friend.” She smiled and stood up, waving to Mingi as she turned to leave.

“Wait!”

She paused.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry if this is...a weird question, but what is your name, Sister?” He inquired. She blinked in surprise before sending him a kind name.

“Mine? My name is Sister Gracie.”

-x-

Seonghwa stood in front of a mirror, looking at his reflection. His jaw was clenched tight as he wiped his eyes. He had to pull himself together. Two decades and they haven’t found him yet.

He looked into his own grey eyes, his voice tense.

“I’m not giving up on you. I’ll never give up on you. I’ll find you, mon petit putois.” he muttered, adjusting the buttons to his shirt.

What he couldn’t tell, in a plane beyond the one he was standing in, was Hongjoong was looking back at him.

Panicked fists slammed against the invisible aquatic wall that separated the two of them.

“Hey! Hey!! I’m screaming at you, please!” Hongjoong looked behind him, finding something slithering in the depths of water behind him. Bubbles erupted from his mouth as he screamed louder, his voice getting raw as he reached desperately for the vision of the blonde man. He pressed his palm to the man’s image, tears in his eyes.

“ Please! I’m screaming, I’m begging! Why, why can’t you hear me?! Help me!”

A thick tentacle wrapped around his waist, pulling him roughly. Hongjoong scrambled, pressing both hands to the barrier. A laugh echoed from behind him before he was snatched back, away from the image of the blonde man.

In the guest room, Seonghwa placed a palm on the cool mirror, eyes downcast.

“I’ll find you. No matter how far you are, Hongjoong.”

-x-

-Beneath the storm and left to fight alone

Remember son, you're reaping what you've sown

Under the waves and sinking like a stone

I'm sorry son, you're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

He can feel it. Every time he dies. Every time he’s reborn and has a different name.

~1668, the first death after the curse was placed on him, he’s  trampled by a horse.

1690, he can feel his throat closing after a fatal allergic reaction.

1712, an accident while trying to help create the first working steam engine.~

Hongjoong feels it all. It doesn’t help, the she-beast likes to toy with him. Sometimes she lets him roam free, in the vast expanse of...wherever he was trapped in. He had no concept of the passage of time anymore while he was in here. Everything felt...stalled and floaty. The woman told him he had been there for almost a century, in her clutches, but he paid it no mind.

That was absurd.

~1734, flash, then it’s gone with a lightning strike.

1756, huddled up for warmth, only to die by the morning from exposure getting lost in the mountains.

1778, blood loss from a carpenter accident. He was a careless man in this particular life.~

Sometimes she leaves him alone. For very long periods of time. He doesn’t know if he prefers that or not. On one hand, her torture was agonizing, between the way she’d wound him, leaving him on the brink of what surely should have been death, but unlike his selves on the outside, he couldn’t die in here.

No, he had to slowly power through the pain, slowly heal in this god forsaken place, and then she’d come back, and start all over.

He envied the other ‘hims’ on the outside. They got to live lives, all of which unfulfilling and mostly in poverty, but they still got to live them, and then they all died on November 7th, only for the piece of his soul to be cast away to another part of the world, into a newborn and reborn once again.

Then the cycle continued. He watched it all from this space. His lives, his deaths, over and over again.

The woman never called him anything other than cruel names and ‘Captain’, though he had no idea of what anymore.

Hell, he was pretty sure he’d forgotten his own name while trapped in here.

~1800, a casualty in the Quasi War.

1822, a fall from a moving locomotive.

1844, a fatal encounter with a wild boar.

1866, a mine shaft collapse.~

When he’s alone for decades at a time, he feels a bit of his sanity slip. Like he’ll never get out of this place. Like he’ll be here for all of eternity. Sometimes, he lays on his back, with his eyes closed for as long as he can, and waits.

Nothing ever happens, but sometimes it's easier to just...exist. Rest his eyes and his tired body. He hasn’t given up. Not yet, anyway, but sometimes it's better for him to just... be.

He’ll never admit to that woman that sometimes he looks forward to her arrival when she comes back from leaving him for so long, just because her presence grounds him into reality.

Or, rather, whatever hellish reality he’s found himself in at her hands.

At her hands, and as he looks out at the bubble she forces him to look at, finding those same seven men. Or, rather, two of them, this time.

They’re in Paris, the one with the dimples has an arm around the other one’s waist, muttering something into his ear. He nudges him before a tender smile comes to his lips and the two share a kiss before disappearing into a hotel room.

The brunette looked away, not sure why he was made to follow these people along though his time here. She always sneered in his ear that they were to blame, that they were the key to getting him out, that they were all happier without him and had forgotten him at this point.

She never showed him the seven of them tirelessly searching for him. He didn’t even know how hard they were working. She carefully picked out the rare moments they took time to themselves to catch their breaths and try and stabilize themselves, painting them as people who didn’t have any sense of urgency or care in the world.

The cook who made large meals with a big smile on his face. The inseparable duo, always attached at the hip, in each other’s space, bringing love and comfort to one another. The tall man with his nose in the books, glasses perched on his nose as he spent days engrossed in his books. The other tall one, filling out his notebooks with whatever hasty, nearly illegible sprawlings came to him as he sat amongst plants. The rugged one with the curious markings on his arms and legs that sometimes shifted and formed some dark being. Hongjoong would be surprised, but he had an aquatic beast breathing down his neck with tentacles for legs and rabid dog heads extending from her waist, so he would be lying if he said he was truly surprised.

The only one that never looked like he was relaxed was the blonde. Pricilla didn’t show him for long, but whenever he was in the background of those visions she’d hand picked for him, he looked like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. An air of guilt and anguish always settled underneath whatever expression he happened to have on his face, and it always made Hongjoong tilt his head and gave him a small flicker of hope.

~1888, a fall during the construction of a new building.

1910, a stage accident during the production of a play.

1932, burned alive saving a child from a fire.

1954, starvation.

1976, a hostage, taken out in an unsuccessful negotiation.~

He’s exhausted. He wonders if Pricilla is too. Doesn’t it get exhausting to do this to someone? Was what happened that led him to this point really that bad?

He watched his soul go into another body, sitting down and watching this one grow up. Quite the rebellious one, this version of himself. From his mullet, to the dark makeup around his eyes and the piercings littering his ears.

The trapped man watched him, grateful Pricilla had chosen to leave him alone for the time being.

He looked at a calendar on the wall behind the other him as he walked by one day, spotting the ‘1997’ on the wall.

Ah, only a year left until he’d die and another incarnation of him would come.

One day, as the other him is looking in the mirror, the trapped soul stands and stares at him. He knows he looks like hell, though he’s grateful Pricilla never showed him what he looked like. Hell, at this point, he wasn’t sure if these versions of ‘himself’ were really him, or if it was all just an elaborate lie.

“I’m right here. I’ve been right here. You’re lucky, living on the outside. You don’t even know I’m here, do you? You can’t see me, they never can.” He muttered bitterly.

The man on the other end paused the application of his makeup, his cut brow twitching.

“I can hear you. I liked it better when you were just some weird, fucked up version of myself in my dreams, though. I have enough on my plate without worrying about if I need to see a shrink for voices in my head.”

He froze.

“You can hear me?! You can hear me, really?!”

The other him narrowed his eyes.

“Jesus, you’re loud. Yes, I can hear you.”

He stared wide eyed at himself and for the first time in centuries, he had a flicker of hope. He wasn’t sure what changed, but for once, he got the fire in his whole body to get up and fight with his whole body once more.

-x-

-You're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

“You still haven’t forgotten the pirate from Delphi?”

Grey-ish blue eyes opened slowly and looked up at a pair that were identical.

“I could have done something, Tem.”

A small hum came from her lips as she crossed her legs and stared at him. She reached over, smoothing down his blonde hair before she pulled him into a hug.

“Why do you cling onto that immortal? He was only with you for but so long.”

“He made an impression. The way he spoke of his family and his crew, it was honestly the most genuine and pure emotions I’ve seen in centuries, and still, I haven’t quite seen anything like it.” he muttered.

He was met with a small hum.

“So, centuries later, several incarnations of him later, and you still want to step in and help? Is it because of Hyacinthus?”

He pursed his lips, looking down at her collar, biting his lip.

“I-”

“He’s gone, Apollo. But I see this means a lot to you. Father and Uncle have their hands tied with their...ugh...escapades, so I doubt you’d find much resistance. I can...I can try and help you. I hate to see my brother like this.”

Blue eyes widened and he pulled back.

“Artemis-”

“I said I can try . You and I, there is only but so much that we can do. This may even require you to step out from Olympus, out from our domain, and into the domain of other deities. Some of them may not be too privy to actually help out. Our father hasn’t left the greatest of impressions on the other sky deities and they tend to run the show. But, I will try for you.” She kissed the top of his head and sat back.

“We should get started. We should look into this curse a bit more. If it was our...darling cousin that put the curse on the man, I wouldn’t be surprised if she put in some hidden stipulations.”

He stood, eyes determined.

“Right, then. Let’s get to work.”

Artemis smiled and led him out of the room.

“Let's start by talking to the Fates. Maybe they can tell us where we can start.”

-x-

-We're slowly losing ground

And hope is harder to maintain

When all the prayers we've prayed

Feel lost like tears in the rain-

-x-

The king snarled, exhaustion pulling at his form.

Really, how fucking long had he been there? Was he even going in the right direction? Which way was up or down?

The heavens themselves wouldn’t save that damn beast of a woman when he got to the front of the pathetic pirate’s mind. He swore it on his own pride and honor, he would revel in breaking her in half.

Then those incompetent ass pirates. He was certain if they had gotten to the kid sooner and broke whatever curse was inflicted, he would’ve already been at the forefront of the captain’s mind once more.

Instead, he was here, swimming in the inky blackness of this idiot’s mind, unsure if he was even-

“-member me?”

He blinked, hearing an echo. His scaled head snapped up, pausing momentarily.

Was that…?

“I have dreams, yes. Of past ‘mes’, I guess. You’re really kind of persistent.”

“I’m sorry, I just...I need you to remember fully who you are, who we are. You’re the first one of me that can see and hear me. I think maybe...Maybe we can break the curse?”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

The king’s fangs glinted as he looked towards the sound of the voices.

“F i n a l l y.”

-x-

-The waters pulling down

The moon's eclipsing the sun

The ending that we knew would come

Has finally begun-

-x-

Joong wasn’t much.

He lived his life poor and disinterested in life. His only friend was a fortune-telling, self proclaimed sun witch, and his only real interest in life was his motorcycle.

Nothing more, nothing less.

The dreams that plagued him since he was a child, of past lives and their subsequent deaths, none of it interested him.

They, like this persistent voice in his head for the past year, harping on a ‘curse’ or whatever, were just an inconvenience. He hadn’t heard from the ‘other him’ in a while, so maybe it was just an illusion from staying up late too many nights or something.

Either way, all this talk of mythical creatures and curses was truly a bother.

“Ah, you’re here. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

He ducked under the beaded curtain of the fortune telling shop, sitting across from a gorgeous woman with feline eyes.

“I told you I’d come, Siyeon. It is your birthday.”

Siyeon smiled softly and reached for his hands, gently rubbing her thumbs along the back of them.

“Yeah, but you never let me read your cards.”

Joong shrugged a shoulder, running a hand through his sandy brown mullet.

“Yeah, well. Happy birthday, how do you want me to do this?” He inquired. She laughed and pulled out a beautiful deck of tarot cards.

“You can shuffle the cards. Pull three of them and place them in a triangle formation and flip them one by one for me, okay?” the witch seemed excited about him participating, so he sent her a small, kind smile. He didn’t quite believe in any of this, but Siyeon was someone incredibly important to him, so just this once, he would go along with it.

He shuffled the cards, humming a birthday song to Siyeon while he did so before he followed her instructions and plucked three of the cards from three different sections of the deck, placing them in front of him in the shape of a triangle.

“Okay, flip them.”

Joong nodded and flipped the cards one by one.

Siyeon’s smile immediately fell.

A Reversed Emperor, The Tower, and the Three of Swords.

“Well that doesn’t look pleasant.” Joong tried to tease, but Siyeon’s expression didn’t crack. She looked up at him, brows pinched together. Joong shifted in his chair, the chains attached to his leather pants jingling from the move.

“Well? You gonna tell me what my fortune is, Si?”

“Right...right. Um...First is the Reversed Emperor. This is normally a symbol of power and being the king of kings, of sorts but um...reversed, there seems to be a lot of turmoil within you. You don’t have as much control as you’d like to believe you do, and it’s left you with a fake sense of safety and security.” She stared at the card before looking towards the second one.

“The Tower...there is chaos brewing for you, Joong. Chaos and destruction, and soon, something will happen that will absolutely turn your whole world upside down. The last, the Three of Swords, means heartbreak of some form is coming. It can be interpreted as something to do with the relationships you have, but it also can be in reference to some kind of terrible pain and suffering.”

“Well, that sounds welcoming.” Joong hummed, shrugging a shoulder. Siyeon looked at him, her face conflicted.

“I-”

“Hey, it's alright. Maybe your cards just don’t like me today.” He teased. Siyeon opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t how it worked, but he put a hand over hers, sending her a disarming smile.

“Hey, it’s your birthday. Don’t worry so much about this stuff right now. I finally let you read my cards, so let’s go out to eat or something.” He offered. Siyeon resisted the urge to scold him and tell him to take what she had read more seriously, to caution himself, but instead, she only nodded and stood from her table.

“You’re taking me to the Latin place down the street, right?”

“Only the best for my best witch. See what I did there?”

“Because I’m a witch, hardy harr, let’s go nerd.”

-x-

“What do you mean there was a curse placed on him?! How long was it gonna take before you found me?!”

“We tried days after it happened! You didn’t respond!”

Hyuna paused, staring at Yeosang in surprise before she squinted.

“Wait...in Greece…?”

“Yes!”

“HE’S BEEN GONE FOR THAT-” a hand covered her mouth and she nearly bit San, eyes narrowing at him. He sent her a dirty look, wiping his hand off on his jeans before he looked at Dawn.

He was the calmer of the two of them, so they’d get answers from him.

“Hyuna can’t step foot in the Greco-Roman territories. Zeus would skin her alive. Since you all were in Greece when you called on her, she didn’t come for her own safety. And I imagine because of her not responding that time, none of you called on us again until right now?” the weasel spirit inquired.

Wooyoung, San, and Mingi shook their heads. The three of them had stuck together this time.

Somewhere at the turn of the 20th century, Seonghwa had suggested they start splitting up to try and find Hongjoong, since all seven of them looking in the same spot in such a vast and ever changing world was...impractical, at best. Downright idiotic at worst.

It made sense, but all of them knew that was the kindest way Seonghwa could tell them he couldn’t stand looking at some of them as much as he could anymore. They had begun to see the cracks once more. The barely concealed tick of his jaw when he thought no one was looking. The way he sometimes scanned their group when they were together, silently hoping whoever took it would come forward.

At the very least, he needed to know who did it. Whiro be damned.

Speaking of, he and Jongho had become exceptional trackers, which came as no surprise to the group. After all, Jongho had tracked down Hongjoong with the minimal information and tech that he had from before, so this was progressively getting easier.

He just needed to be faster. He’d found Hongjoong once, the last time, but by time he got to the city he felt Hongjoong was in, he could only stand by in wide-eyed shock as the sound of a gunshot rang out into the night.

He didn’t tell the others that part. He and Whiro would bear that one alone.

Regardless of their failures, they often grouped up on the 22nd year, to try to fruitlessly put together the pieces they needed to find him this time before his birthday passed and they inevitably lost their opportunity once more.

It was 1998 now. The 22nd year. He’s birthday was in a week and he’d die once more if they didn’t find him.

Hyuna frowned and looked at her box on her hip.

“I don’t have any spirits for searching, but I can find some. For...y’know, the next time.” She cringed. The boys did as well before hearing the door to the loft they were temporarily staying in open.

Seonghwa must have come home.

Hyuna gauged the looks on their faces and cringed.

“Right, then. I imagine this won’t be a good look for me to be here if that’s how all of you are looking at me. Dawn and I will go and I’ll get back to you as soon as I find a dog spirit suited for the job. I’m...I’m sorry.” She bowed her head down and the two of them disappeared as soon as the door opened.

Seonghwa stared at the trio for a moment before pointing behind him, his voice having lost nearly all of it’s usual sass and coyness.

“Come, I brought food.”

The three of them exchanged a look before trudging out of the room.

-x-

“Apollo, you really are impressive.”

Alistair, or rather, Apollo, wiped sweat from his brow and looked up from his spot on the floor before Hera, blood running down his temple as he tossed the head of some beast at her feet.

“Will you help me?”

“I haven’t seen you so determined to do anything since Hyacinthus’ death. And even Kaliopel is helping out-”

“I spoke with the Fates, I’ve spoken to Aunt Persephone and convinced Uncle Hades to offer up assistance in locating where the soul goes...even Nana Styx offered to pacify my father. I just need your help this once.”

Hera arched a perfectly curved brow.

“And if I say no?”

“I assure you, I can find someone else who will help me in my plight. This could be your chance to get rid of me, but if not-”

“I’m listening.”

Apollo exhaled, looking at the sun disk charm in his palm. He had retrieved it from the sea shortly after Hongjoong disappeared into the depths all those moons ago.

“I offer up half of my godhood for your assistance. All I ask is your assistance in distracting my father and for your aid in my wife and I finding him. It’s too late this time for us to intervene, but I think a soul toiling around in this cycle without the acceptance of the gods is already means enough for someone to step in. If he is out of our domain, I shall go to him. I just ask that you help me, this once. You’ll never see me again afterwards.”

Hera looked at him in genuine surprise.

“All this running, and it’s not for another consort?”

“No. It’s to break the curse no one authorized my cousin to make. Even Uncle Poisiden doesn’t seem to recall giving Scylla permission to do such a thing. It has caused conflict between him and Uncle Hades.”

Hera stared at him for a long while, looking at the offering he’d so graciously tossed at her feet. She tutted and stood, her sandaled feet being the only sound in the room as she descended the stairs to her throne. She plucked a peacock feather from her robe and pressed it to Apollo’s forehead.

“Get up off of your knees. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but your words and determination have appealed to me. I shall take part of your godhood in exchange for my assistance, but it shall be restored in full if you can complete your task. I will only help you once. If he dies again, you’re on your own.” She warned him before humming.

“I’ll even see about getting you some extra assistance.”

Apollo perked.

“Extra?”

“Don’t get too excited. It won’t be easy. We’ll see how determined you are. Go speak to Mnemosyne and her daughter Klio and refresh yourself with what you have missed. Then go.”

Apollo nodded and stood, a resolute look on his face.

“Thank you, Hera.”

“Tell anyone I was kind to you and I’ll find a way to kill you myself. Now go.”

Without another word, the Sun God turned on his heel and left, looking at the sun disk in his palm.

There was a lot of work to be done.

-x-

-You're reaping what you've sown

It's finally begun

You're reaping what you've sown

I'm sorry son, you're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

“JOONG! JOONG HOLD ON, PLEASE!”

The biker looked towards the sky, his body growing numb as he felt Siyeon’s hands shakily cup his face. Somewhere off to the side, his motorcycle lay in pieces.

So this was it? A car collision?

Ugh.

“Joong! Joong please!”

He knows Siyeon is yelling, but all he can hear is static. Above her head, he can see the sad reflection of himself, looking down at him.

Oh, so that’s where he was.

He stared at it for a long time before blinking slowly, letting out a terse laugh.

“Don’t have such a horrible look on your face. It’s only another life, right? You looked so hopeful. Find yourself again.”

Siyeon’s brows pinched together in confusion, but the other him’s eyes grew.

‘Find yourself again.’

In the depths of the eighth sea, between the planes of this world and the next, the captain grits his teeth and nods, swimming away from his dying form.

He couldn’t give up. It was a slow time coming, but he couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t let her win. Hell, he had even made a breakthrough with himself, something he couldn’t fathom happening before.

He was close. He was close to doing... something .

The king was also getting closer.

‘Pricilla’ had chosen to leave him alone for the first few years of his next life, it was nothing extraordinary. He was an orphan, lonely just like he had been for all sixteen of his lives before this one.

Everything changed in 2008.

“Melody, look!”

He swam to the edge, peering out.

What is this? Someone noticed him in the orphanage?

No one ever noticed him before.

“Hey there, buddy. Do you wanna come home with us? You and your siblings?”

The child frowned and looked at his feet, a small beret hiding most of his hair.

“I don’t have siblings.”

The massive man sent him a smile, tucking his hair behind his ear and as the spirit watched on, he could see he had lots of tattoos.

“You do now. If you’d like to come with us, Hongjoong.” He offered. The ten year old blinked.

“My name..isn’t…”

“George is a bit boring, don’t you think? I like Hongjoong better. It means you’re the center of the whole world, y’know.”

Hongjoong looked up at him, then the woman standing behind him who sent him a gentle smile as three other children clung to her dress, staring at him in anticipation. They looked desperate to get out of the orphanage and have a family.

A happy family.

Hongjoong smiled shyly and walked up to the grey-ish blue eyed man, gently squeezing the little harbor seal plushie he kept with him at all times. He stepped in front of the man, shifting from foot to foot.

“You won’t...you won’t throw me away, will you, mister? Not me and my friend Angel, will you?” He inquired, hugging the seal tighter. The man shook his head.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Hongjoong. Do you accept? Will you come with us?”

Hongjoong paused for only a second longer before he nodded, all but jumping into his arms with a wide smile.

The tall man’s arms closed around him and he smiled, picking him up before picking up one of the other children.

She stared at Hongjoong with wide eyes before smiling softly, her hair up in a ponytail.

“My name is Suzuka. I guess you’re my little brother now?”

Hongjoong nodded eagerly.

“Yes! My name is George-ah no...d-dad said my name is Hongjoong!”

The spirit of the captain watched on with tears in his eyes and disbelief.

Even he didn’t remember his name anymore, but somehow, when this man appeared, he felt a familiar sense of home and warmth when he uttered the name to the child.

The captain watched the child and his family (that word felt so new to him. Family. He hadn’t had a family in ages) grow together. He expected the worst. Expected the tattooed man and his wife to be demons. That had to be it, there was no way he’d have a happy life when the sixteen leading up to this point were so miserable.

They...never treated the four of them with anything other than the purest form of respect and love the captain can remember. He watched on, as the mother sang lullabies and told them stories before bed. As their father taught them how to play music, tattooed fingers working over a guitar, or the keys to a piano.

This...was honestly such a happy and energetic life.

He had friends and family. He smiled every day, got to perform on stages.

Hongjoong...was happy. For the first time in centuries, he was truly happy.

Years later, Pricilla returned, wrapping her limbs around him.

No, no, no, he couldn’t let it end. He couldn’t let the best version of himself die again.

So he turned and fought with all his might. He clawed and scratched and bit down on whatever he could.

No more, he was tired. He wanted to live, he just wanted to live!

“Captain! What’s gotten into you, hm? I haven’t seen such fight in your eyes in a while~”

He’d fight. Harder than ever before. He couldn’t let her win.

Hongjoong thrashes, slamming his fists against the wall. He can see himself, just beyond the water, blissfully unaware.

He’s laughing with his friends, celebrating new years as the calendar rolls over from 2019 to 2020. The captain feels his throat close slightly. This was the 22nd year. He was going to lose again, wasn’t he? He was going to lose his life again if the curse wouldn’t be broken.

Sometimes he screams at his own reflection, hoping somehow he can hear himself. The last one, the biker named Joong, heard his voice. So maybe if he could get through to this one…

He needs to know, he has to find out who he is.

“Hello!? Can you hear me?! Hello!” He screams out to the college student.

“Remember them, remember yourself!” He shouts. It's almost funny in a tragic way. He in spirit can’t even remember the names of the men that held his fate in his hands. The seven men from before. He needed them to help unlock his memories. They were the key as much as he was, he thinks.

Golden eyes watch him, impressed. A clawed hand snakes around his body and squeezes his face so hard it hurts. He glares at the woman, his lips curled up into a scowl. She tuts at him, shaking her head.

“You’ve been fighting for so long, Captain. Wouldn’t it be easier to give up? They look close to calling it quits. How could they not? Centuries without their precious leader, their precious lover-” She spits the word out like a curse, but Hongjoong only pushes past her, swimming to the opposite side of the vast space. He can see the men, six instead of seven this time.

“You want to give up on him?!” Seonghwa snarled. Mingi’s nostrils flared in anger as he stood nearly chest to chest with the ex prince.

“I didn’t say that! I’m saying you need to slow the fuck down and breathe for a bit. None of us have gotten anywhere like this. We’re tearing ourselves apart like this!” He hissed. Seonghwa grit his teeth, ice frosting over his fingers as he glared at him.

“None of this would even be happening if-” He stopped himself short, clenching his fists. Mingi glared at him.

“If what? If someone didn’t steal the staff? You keep bringing it up, you keep looking at me different than the others. You still think it’s me!”

Seonghwa lowered his gaze, but didn’t deny the accusation. Mingi clenched his fists so hard it hurt, before he raised his voice.

“I didn’t do it! How many times do I have to tell you I didn’t steal it?! Even if I did, do you think I wouldn’t have come clean by now?!”

“I never said you did steal it!” Seonghwa barked.

“You didn’t have to!”

The two of them began to argue and Jongho stood, letting out a sigh.

“Fuck this, we’re going for a walk.” He grumbled, sliding on a leather jacket. Yeosang watched him in concern before standing to retreat into the kitchen, five fox tails swaying behind him as he began cooking. Yunho sighed and laid on the floor out of the way. He was too tired for this today. Geb rumbled in silent agreement while Wooyoung shook in San’s grip.

“Cheese, c’mon boy.” Jongho beckoned and a black and tan Jindo ran up to him, nuzzling his thigh and letting him put a harness on before he walked out, slamming the door with a bit of force behind him.

Whiro rumbled in his head.

“You got the cloth for the dog, right?”

“Never leave home without it.” Jongho held out a small cloth, dangling it under Cheese’s nose. The dog was given to them by Hyuna as a search dog for Hongjoong. He was still young, but with a bit more training, Jongho was sure he’d be a good supernatural sniffing dog.

At least, he hoped he could sniff Hongjoong out before November. They were running out of time.

Seonghwa and Mingi continued arguing and the captain screamed from beyond the invisible walls, pounding on the wall desperately.

“What are you doing?! Stop it! Stop arguing!! Please!!!! Find him! Find me!”  He screams, watching Seonghwa and Mingi argue. San and Wooyoung are holding each other, eyes downcast. Yeosang is busying himself in the kitchen, distracting himself from the argument. Yunho is curled up on the floor, an arm over his eyes as he keeps himself from intervening.

Hongjoong felt his heart sink, biting his lip as he watched the men. The hand comes back, fingers wrapping around his ankle as she pulls him down like she’d done time and time before.

Deeper, deeper into the eighth sea, the sea of time itself.

Deeper, deeper into the abyss.

Hongjoong reaches out at the wall, tears rolling out of his eyes and washing away with the salt water.

“Please, don’t give up on me.”

-x-

-This sorrow weighs down on my shoulders

This fear is getting harder to hide

You’ll leave me alone in this darkness

Left to hold out

Against the tide-

-x-

Jongho sighs as he bundles up. It was March, so the chill of winter still clung to the air in South Korea. Whiro stretched across his skin under his jacket, providing an extra layer of insulation that none of the locals could see.

Amazing how close the two of them had become.

Cheese tugged at the leash, barking once before pulling him forward. Jongho blinked before jolting in surprise at how persistent the dog was.

“Cheese, what the hell-”

Cheese ignored his protests and pulled the Maori man into a crowd of people. He was about to scold him when he heard a voice.

His heart stopped.

“People want it

People dream about it

It can be different to every individual

It can complete us

Or it can destroy us

And it can change the world

People call it 'treasure'”

Jongho’s lips parted in surprise as he watched a man walk forward on a stage, his hair a sandy brown color in a mullet. He held a microphone to his lips as a few other people and even some kids moved around behind him. It seemed to be a street performance of some kind.

Jongho had his eyes focused on the small brunette the whole time.

“The sound of wind blowing from the horizon

The warmth of the sun hitting the ocean waves

The vibration of sand beating like the hearts of youth

We're at the starting point of this long journey”

“Holy fucking shit, kid.” Whiro’s voice snapped him back into focus as he tugged at his hand. “Get the phone, Jongho! Close your mouth and get the phone!”

Jongho shakily plucked his phone from his pocket and held it up, eyes wide as he recorded, nearly dropping it.

On the stage, the brunette dressed in modern clothing that was clearly supposed to resemble pirate attire, walked around the stage, smiling at some of the kids and some of the other five adults on stage.

“The freezing winds may make us shiver

The heat of the sun may make us thirsty

The vibrations of the sand may swallow us

But we'll never stop.”

The group grew closer to him, and Jongho watched a woman with feline features raise her microphone next, posing prettily.

“Gold~”

A man with piercings through his eyebrow and bottom lip put an arm on her shoulder, speaking into his own microphone.

“Eternal life~”

A blonde man with a distinct accent put an arm around the brunette’s shoulder, grinning at him before he winked at the crowd, sending them a smile that made his eyes crinkle.

“Honor~”

A slightly shorter man with a deeper voice wiggled under the blonde’s arm and grabbed his mic, his accent matching his as he chimed out his own line in a deep baritone.

“Love~”

A person with pink hair with yellow and blue chalk highlights eagerly bounded up behind them, all but throwing themselves onto the brunette’s back in the center, their long legs stretching outward.

“Fame!”

The six of them laughed before the brunette in the center held his microphone up to his lips.

“It doesn't matter what you dream for,

So let me ask you

What.is.your.treasure?” he extended a hand out and for the first time in centuries, as the sound of people clapping around him echoed through his ears, tears slipped down his cheeks.

“Hong...joong…?”

“Will you join us?”

------------Taglist-

@kimnamshiks​ @angel0taiyo​ @atiny-dazzlinglight​ @phasephoenix​ @eversionic​ @itsatinyworld​ @prettyjoongs​ @unatempesta-dipensieri​ @lonely10vely​ @yunhosblackgf​ @not-majestic-bluenicorn​ @moonmin-miya​ @girlcarma​ @kpopthingzsblog​ @delphinium3000​ @just-a-starfruit​ @mireyth​ @skmoonchild​ @queen-of-himbos​ @allthestarsrcloser​ @sneaky-ash​ @im-what-iam​ @thereal-smolchild​ @arohatiny​ @smallfrye​ @atinyteez​ @takitaro​ @hunnibxbe​ 

#fie writes #against the tide #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #kpopuniversenet #atzinc #kconnet #AtT Ch.10 #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #kpop fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ot8 #ateez ot8 #member x member #ateez ot8 fic #polyteez #hey look i posted and its not 3am look at that pls reblog if you like it thx ily

[irwinkitten]

men of mayhem | a.i

notes: i had a few people yell at me for part three and this isn’t going to be any nicer. sorry.  warnings: mentions of death word count: 3.5k

donate to my ko-fi

part one, part two, part three

-

               Anne-Marie had managed to negotiate a smaller price of the remodelling by mentioning it was for the last member of the Morgan family. The town obviously knew Michelle and knew her ties with the Irwins, but also they understood how devastating this was for her and the community wanted to help.

Whilst they were getting measurements of the house for the redesigning and rebuilding, Michelle had gone to collect her parents and brothers' belongings from their workplaces and school respectively.

Ashton had stayed by her side, unwilling to let her too far out of his sight, but he also knew that doing this alone wasn’t fair on her. She’d taken the words of sympathy easily from her parents' coworkers. She knew them growing up and they understood what she was going through. Ashton had to tell them about the funeral time however—she’d been unable to get the sentence out from her lips—she’d choked on her words but they understood.

When she’d gone to Matty’s school, it was much harder. Seeing the fifth graders look at her with such sadness nearly broke Michelle to tears. Seeing his class sat silently, waiting for her to talk was something which made the situation so real for her. 

There were faces she recognised, their own older brothers and sisters having gone to school with both her and Ashton, and she briefly wondered if this was making it worse. In a small town like Charming, you knew everyone or at least their families.

“I wanted to thank all of you, for the cards that you’ve been sending me. I know that Matty was popular, and for a popular kid, he really loved you guys. Every time I came home from University, he had new stories to tell me every summer.” She could feel the first tear fall. The fact that these children were dealt with facing the prospect of their classmate dying so young, it hurt her.

One of the girls—Lana, she remembered—raised her hand.

“Will Matty be happy where he is now? Even though we miss him?” God she wanted to hug all of them, seeing the tearful faces. Even the boys. 

Ashton had been lurking in the corner. He’d ditched his club jacket for his plaid shirt and black muscle tee, knowing that the last thing he wanted was terrifying the children. A lot of them had seen him pick Matty up from school, so he knew that some of them had seen him in his full gear. But this time, it was a time for comfort.

He moved from his spot to take a seat next to Michelle, his hand in hers as she took in a slow, steadying breath. 

“I know that he’d be missing all of you. But he’s gonna be happy and safe, and when you’re sad and miss him, write a letter. You don’t need to post it, you can just keep it safe. But he’ll see the letter and know you’re thinking of him.” Her voice held a tremble and Ashton squeezed her hand gently.

“You’ve also got to remember it’s okay to cry. Even the boys. Your best mate is gone, and you’re allowed to miss him.” Ashton spoke quietly and he knew that the children were listening. 

“It’s really okay to cry?” One of the smaller boys asked quietly and Ashton nodded.

“You guys have probably seen me pick up Matty from school right? When I’ve got all of my biker gear on?” Lots of the children nodded. “And you probably think I’m a real tough guy who doesn’t cry?” More nods. “Let me tell you a secret then. I cry when I need to. If it’s too much for me, I’ll cry.” This earned amazed looks from the children and Michelle gave off a watery chuckle.

“He’s right. When we found out about Matty, he cried that night. If you miss him and you’re sad don’t think you’re not allowed to, okay?” She was met with more nods and the teacher, Alanah, gained her attention gently.

“We got a lot of Matty’s things together for you, but we wanted to ask if we could keep a few pieces of his work?” Michelle wiped a few tears away before nodding her head.

“I’m sure Matty would forgive me for letting you guys have some of his work.” This earned a few giggles from the children and Ashton kissed her cheek.

Lana had gotten up at the nod of Alanah and Michelle’s heart sank as she realised that Lana must've sat next to him and been his partner throughout the school year. She picked up the pile that had been put together nicely, tied with a small ribbon to hold it together.

“We wanted to make sure that it would be safe.” Michelle gave her a gentle smile as she took the package. “Would it be okay to hug you Mrs. Irwin?” She could only nod as Lana wrapped her arms around Michelle’s neck, and she held onto the young girl as tight as she dared.

“He couldn’t have asked for better friends.” Michelle finally got out when Lana had stepped back. The young girl gave her a watery smile in return before going back to her seat just as the bell rang. 

“How about you all head out for recess and when you guys come back, we’ll make more cards to take to the funeral. I’ve spoken with your parents and what we’ll be doing is your parents will bring you into school and then we’ll be heading to the church so we can say our goodbyes to Matty.” Alanah explained and the children—despite the solemn mood that had settled—chattered about what they would each put in their own cards as they headed out of the classroom, each of them stopping to give Michelle another hug.

Only Lana was brave enough to hug Ashton as well.

Once the door was closed, Michelle couldn’t stop the sob that escaped, her hand covering her lips as she tearfully gazed down at the package in her lap.

Alanah made her way over.

“The children have all been so good about this. Obviously they don’t know why Matty died, but they know that there was an explosion and that he was in it.” Michelle could only nod.

“What were the pieces of work you wanted to keep?” At this, Alanah smiled.

“A few pieces. You have the original works, but we’ve got it photocopied. The children want every future class to see the work that Matty did. Alanah held her hand out towards Michelle and she took it gratefully, standing up from her seat and allowing the young woman to guide her to the wall where there was a section that she hadn’t paid much attention to when she’d arrived.

The header—in bright colourful letters—read ‘Matty’s corner’. Underneath, she recognised the handwriting immediately. Various headers caught her eyes, moving onto each piece. It seemed that they had not only some of his essays that he wrote, but they kept some drawings he did, scattered between them. And she noticed small notes which told her that they were passed between him and his classmates. She giggled as her fingers traced one of them. When she reached the centre essay, Michelle had to pause, a gasp of air leaving her lips in shock.

‘Why My Sister Is My Hero.’ 

“I know that he looked up to you a lot, Michelle. When he handed this in, I had him read it out to the class because there were a few older children who made fun of him that you were never around anymore. After that, everyone in the class seemed to take a personal offence to those children making fun of him.” A smile tugged on the corner of her lips.

“Thank you Alanah. And thank you for what you’re arranging with the class for his funeral.” 

“He was a good boy. I put the point across to the parents of the class that this was not negotiable. They need to say goodbye to him because he was taken from their lives so very fast. When the parents realised that it meant that they wouldn’t have to take time off their jobs and take that stress away, they agreed it was beneficial for the children.” 

When they’d gotten home, it had taken all of three seconds before everything that she’d been holding back came flooding out. To see his entire class, be so accepting but to offer their own ways of comfort and remembrance, it was a lot for her.

The funerals rolled around soon after that and Michelle was reluctant to face anyone. To her knowledge, it had gotten to the Bulldogs of the plan for revenge, and so the club set up the newer members around the building to keep an eye out for any kinds of trouble.

Ashton had coaxed Michelle into eating some toast at least as they got ready. Bert and Anne-Marie had asked where she wanted them and she asked if they would sit behind her. She knew Ashton wouldn’t leave her side and she knew that Calum would take spot on her other side.

They had gone ahead and eventually Michelle pulled herself together, stepped out and met the hearses which held her parents and brother. It would be a procession through the town to the church and she nodded her head.

“We’re just waiting on one one more thing and then we’ll be off.” 

She looked to Ashton at the funeral director's words, confusion in her eyes and he could only shrug in return. And then the noise reached them before she saw them. In pairs, the club members drove past the hearses, and she could do nothing but lean into her husband, his arm wrapping around her as she let out a sob, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“It’s what they deserve. They’re family.” He whispered to her as they looped around and came up to the house and she realised that they were escorting them all to the church. 

Once they were in the car that would take them, Michelle could only lay her head on his shoulder, tears already falling. She knew that today would be long. 

When they reached the church, they were just waiting on her. They’d already explained to her that they would let her brother's coffin rest in hearse for the first part, which would mean that she would have to make this trip twice. But she could only nod and go along with it as she led the procession behind the coffin. Ashton had wanted to be a pallbearer, but she’d all but begged him to stay with her.

And he couldn’t say no to her at all.

Her parents' service was slightly easier. She’d requested their friends to speak their eulogies, to tell everyone else of their achievements. They’d obliged easily and taken that weight off her shoulders. 

Once more she returned to the front of the church, but this one was harder for her to witness as she welcomed his classmates into the church. 

Her parents' coffins were already going to head towards the graveyard where they would have to wait for Matty’s service to be finished. 

She’d quietly requested Lana to sit with her, now knowing that the girl had been his best friend. She was almost certain that in another life, they would have emulated her and Ashton had he gotten to live past his eleventh year. But life was cruel. 

Lana had accepted the request and hugged both Michelle and Ashton tightly as they waited for the pallbearers. 

It looked so wrong, seeing the pure white coffin being carried in by four people. Lana’s hand gripped hers tightly stepping closer to Michelle as they carried the coffin past the trio. 

She carefully guided Lana behind the coffin, briefly wondering if she had any more tears left to cry. She had a brief moment of amusement as Lana stared at Calum for a solid moment before taking the spot next to him and holding out her hand.

“Did you love him too?” The question very nearly set Michelle off as Lana asked Calum. He gave her a sad smile, nodding his head as he took her hand and squeezed it.

“I did. His sister is like my sister, so he turned into my brother too.” Calum explained it softly as they waited for everything to get set up. Lana nodded once, her doe like gaze returning to Calum after she’d glanced to the coffin.

“I’m sorry you lost him too.” Ashton had a tissue for Michelle as more tears fell, answering her silent question if she had any more tears to cry.

That answer was yes. 

Lana very bravely stood up to the congregation, not only of her classmates, but complete strangers. She told them all how he was her best friend. How they traded flowers and cards every year. They’d made it a tradition when they both had gotten nothing the first year of school. That was when their friendship had been born.

When she returned to her spot, Michelle wrapped the young, tearful girl in a tight hug. 

“He’d be so proud of you Lana.” She whispered. The young girl could only nod as she stayed like that, her hand searching out for Calum’s. Part of her mind wanted to tease her best friend, to crack a joke. But she knew she couldn’t. Everything hurt too much to even try.

At Michelle’s request, she’d asked his classmates to come with to see him being put to rest. She wanted all of their cards to go with him. And Alanah had obliged easily. Lana had been reluctant to leave Michelle’s side and with Alanah’s permission, the young girl went with the couple. 

Ashton went ahead to the car with Lana whilst she stood with Calum for a moment, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Someone’s got a crush.” She finally muttered, a few laughs escaping before they turned into sobs. Calum held her tightly as she let it out, unable to even try to hold herself together. She knew there was no judgement from anywhere because the last thing anyone would want would be to bury the last of their family members.

“I’d take an adorable eleven year old crushing over me than some of the older women making moon eyes at me.” He muttered and it caused an almost hysterical giggle to fall from her lips as she managed to calm herself down enough to make her way to the car.

Once more they had the bike escort to the cemetery and Lana watched amazed from the car as they drove there. 

The last part of watching her family get lowered seemed to be her breaking point. Michelle leaned heavily on Ashton once the children had all placed their cards on Matty’s coffin and he’d been lowered into the ground. 

Lana had hugged them both and had bravely hugged Calum as well before she returned to school with the class. 

All too soon, it was just her and Ashton with the remaining club members scattered. She remembered that Bert was going to make apologies on her behalf so that she wouldn’t have to go to the wake. And part of her was eternally grateful to them as she allowed Ashton to guide her back to the car that was waiting. 

By the time that they’d gotten home, she was half asleep and it wasn’t much longer until she was passed out in her husband's arms, exhausted and drained.

The following week she’d been walking around in a daze until Bert had sat down with her. They’d been waiting for the contractors to start building and she knew that it was most likely not going to be ready before she left for her final year of university, but she’d accepted that with ease. 

“I’m going to hand over the reins to Ashton tonight. I want you to be there.” Bert’s words had pulled her from her stupor and after a moment, she smiled at Bert.

“Finally cashing in on the retirement fund, old timer?” She knew it was a weak joke, but the grin she got in return said much more. They knew she’d get better, but she just needed time.

“Since most of us old folks don’t get that retirement fund, absolutely. When can I expect grandchildren?” That had made her laugh, the giggle sharp and almost filled with relief. It’d been the first time she’d laughed since the funeral.

“Both you and momma are after grandbabies. Be patient! They’ll happen when they happen. Now, I’m not dressing up for this shindig tonight, but I swear to god Bert if you’re pulling in the other patchovers-” 

He knew the threat was empty but he laughed anyway.

“No, it’s just us. He’s ready. We all are.”

And she couldn’t argue that at all. 

Watching him receive the President patch, it was a moment of pride that made her heart swell as he selected Calum as his VP. Chibs didn’t argue this as he handed his own patch over. They’d already assumed that Ashton was going to have the mantle passed on, but Chibs also knew this wasn’t retirement for him like it was for Bert.

“If you all think that just because Bert here is enjoying the rest of his life with his lovely lady, that I’m gonna do the same, you’re in for rude surprises. Mostly caps to the asses and maybe a bottle over the head.” Michelle let loose a laugh with the others, and she knew that the sadness wouldn’t hurt over time. 

And being able to laugh with her family felt wonderful. 

Ashton had toasted to her for his successes, making the other club members laugh when she flipped him off in return. 

“Does this mean I get a shot?” Calum teased and Michelle had snorted before taking a swig of beer.

“The only shot you’re getting is something for any disease you might carry.” She fired back, and the mock look of hurt crossed his face despite the flush of his cheeks. 

“You wound my heart and my ego, my lady.” 

“Not your lady.” She pointed out and he grinned as he raised his beer in salute and surrendered. Ashton had laughed before slinging his arm over his best friends shoulders.

“Trust me mate, she keeps me out of enough trouble as it is. I reckon if she had to deal with you, you’d send her grey a lot quicker.” This had earned more laughter and Michelle looked thoughtful at that before nodding her agreement, to the laughter of the club members and embarrassment of Calum.

Even with all the plots of revenge and the plans to get payback on her behalf, Michelle took that moment to appreciate that they had her back no matter what the others said or complained about. She’d grown up with these misfits and she knew she’d be keeping her promise to make sure that they kept out of the system now that Ashton was taking over. 

It was that feeling of family that stayed with her as she said her goodbyes a few months later. It was time for her to return to university and work, as much as she was hesitant to do so. Ashton had already promised to visit her the following weekend and it was something small that brought a gentle smile to her lips as she kissed him softly. 

The boys had clubbed together and gotten her her own car. It wasn’t much, but it was a nifty little thing that would get her there and back safely. It didn’t stop the fact that Ashton had pleaded with her to let a couple of them be back up just in case. 

“Luke and Micheal. I would say Bobby, but he’d complain.” The tease was loud enough for the older man to roll his eyes, giving her the two finger salute. Michelle laughed in return.

“Chibs.” Ashton finally spoke up and she sighed before turning to Chibs who knew what was coming. The look on his face was apologetic at least, or so she thought.

“I was already prepared for it. He’d warned me a couple of days ago.” This earned Ashton a stern look and he held his hands up in surrender.

“Until they’re either behind bars or dead, it’s going to worry me. Just, humour me till you’re back home for good.” And she could see his genuine worry and concern, his eyes searching her face.

“Fine. But you owe me next weekend for it.” Ashton grinned at that as he dipped his head to kiss her softly.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, doll.” His words were for her and her alone, but the wolf whistles still came, making her giggle.

“Alright ya big lugs, time for me to get going or I’m never going to leave.” She finally called and Ashton followed her out. It was with another kiss that she finally pulled away from Ashton and climbed into the car, waving as she and her escorts made their way back to the big city.

She knew that when she returned, she was going to come back fighting.

-

taglist: @sexgodashton, @goth5sos, @malumsmermaid, @empathycth, @wildflowergrae, @calpops, @rosecolouredash, @cakesunflower, @loveroflrh, @clockwork124, @cal-puddies, @stellar5sosrecs, @ashtoniwir, @cthwldflwr, @cthla, @calmlftv, @spicycal, @liketheydidwithyou, @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer, @bluehairedtracii, @drummerboy794, @feliznavidaddycal, @ukulelecal, @thecurlsofgod, @converse-luke, @madbomb, @ccnicole02, @youngblood199456, @megz1985, @lukesidentitycrisis, @snapback-irwie, @neonweeknds, @666yourwitchyfriend666, @clffrd, @cashtonasfuck, @ashtaway, @conquerwhatliesahead92, @itjustkindahappenedreally, @kchillout, @damselindistressanu, @colormekaykay, @findingliam-o, @sublimehood, @singledadharrington, @sugarcoated-pain, @singt0mecalum, @calumspeachy, @colourfulcalum, @lostincalum, @burncrashbromance, @asht0ns-world, @flusteredcliffo, @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave, @fangirl-everythang, @lashtonswildflower, @lashtondaddies, @calumssunshine, @ambskiwi, @abundant-stars, @myescapefromthislife, @lmao5sosimagines, @beyoncesdragon, @jae-writes-fanfiction, @cxddlyash, @tresfandom, @niallisworld, @lietomevalntyn, @babylon-corgis, @monochrome44, @behind-my-hazeleyes27, @ghost0fy0u, @lyllibug, @bloodmoonashton, @ghostofmashton, @summerellaz, @a-little-less-sixteen, @cashworthy​, @smokeinherlungs​, @longlastingdaydream​, @h0tsos​, @sadistmichael​, @sugar-nico​, @sunnysidesblog​, @angel-cal​, @samros95​, @maluminspace​, @lukeinblue​, @britnicole11​, @gigglyirwin​, @everyscarisahealingplace​, @loverofcashton​, @iovehemmings​, @g-l-pierce​, @jannimoeller3​, @wildmichaelflower​, @lukeskisses​, @youngbloodchild​, @abb-lan-5sos​, @calumsbub​, @flameraine​, @here-for-the-uproars​, @mateisit-balsamic​, @ilovelukey​, @castaway-cashton​, @musiclover1263​, @alloutofcashton​, @tobefalling​, @sarahshepherdblog​, @cassie-sos​, @possesedperson​, @treatallwithkindness​, @thesubtweeter​, @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles​, @ashtonlrwin​, 

#ashton irwin fic #ashton irwin blurb #ashton irwin blurbs #ashton irwin imagine #ashton irwin imagines #ashton irwin fics #5sos fics #5sos fic #5sos blurb #5sos blurbs #5sos imagine #5sos imagines #5 seconds of summer blurb #5 seconds of summer blurbs #5 seconds of summer imagine #5 seconds of summer imagines #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer fics #men of mayhem #biker!ashton #5sos!soa #sons of anarchy x 5sos #5sos au #my writing #new writing

[pro-bee]

I interrupt the usual fandom spirals for some Real Talk:

Those of you who are passionate about something and want to make a career out of it, but then dismiss it to do something “safe” because there’s no money in it?

Don’t discount your feelings.

I’ve got a lot of regrets in my life, but one of the biggest is that I didn’t listen to the voice in my head that told me what I liked (in my case, photography/film), because it wasn’t really presented as a viable career option in my education. And while I was never going to make it in STEM, like my peers, I at least followed the humanities stream thinking a BA would get me at least a desk job somewhere that would provide a living. Unlike anything in the arts, the ones I really liked.

Basically, I was a scaredy cat. (Which I am about everything in life!)

I knew in college that I liked media, but film classes were boring and weird, so I pivoted into something more “concrete” like Psych (ha!). Meanwhile, in my core classes, I’d be jealous of the kids who were in Photography or Visual Arts or Film, but told myself, I had no talent in that, all the classes would do would kill any interest I had left. It was too late to change now.

(Too late!!! I was like 17 or 18!!! I was a baby!!!)

So then I went into another “safe” program in university, finished my degree, went into a tangentially related masters program because “this may as well happen” and coasted through life. I just figured I’d graduate with another degree and get myself a safe job with safe benefits and just muddle through life.

Again, I knew what things I loved, but I thought, it’s too late, I’m too old, I have to get going.

I was 25!!! Again!!! Still a baby!!!

Now, don’t get me wrong, I shoulder this blame myself. I am a coward. I am generally meek unless someone pisses me off really badly. I have low self-esteem and no confidence and am painfully shy. All of these things are hurdles I have struggled with on a daily basis my whole life and make it difficult to start anything new.

But I wish I realized then that it doesn’t matter.

I lived my whole life thinking, fulfillment is something other people get. Professional happiness and success is something other people get. Most people don’t get that, so don’t even bother. Just try to get through it all.

Now I think, why the fuck couldn’t I have gotten that kind of fulfilment if I’d wanted it? Why did I always believe that was something for other people to have, but not me?

I’ve been talking to two of my high school friends lately, two who were some of my closest friends for years, but with whom I rarely spoke to in recent years not because of any fallout, but just because of life and distance. (One of them lives on the other side of the world now.) And we’ve each had these conversations lately expressing the exact same feelings.

How we never pursued anything creative or different from the status quo, because our high school education did not value that or present it as a viable option. How we have kept bouncing around these jobs we might have been good at, but didn’t actually like, because it was the “adult” thing to do.

How we had all these other skills and talents that we didn’t even realize or understand or care to pursue.

And now, with us all being in lockdown for the last half year and having lots of time to think about what it all means, we realize, we were young. We had so much potential. Why did we let what others told us was acceptable dictate our paths?

Because my whole life, I’ve been terrified of ending up broke and without safety net. I’ve seen relatives struggle with that, even my parents, and financial insecurity has been the abyss I never wanted to face.

But all that fear was for nothing. Because here I am, all these years later, without any kind of career, in a dead end job that takes advantage of me, without any kind of real prospect for future in my current state.

So all that fear was pointless. All those years spent ignoring the voice in me that knew what I liked to do if I only admitted it, are years I could have been pursuing something that made me happy. (Frankly, it’s hard to believe I could make any less money than I make now anyway.) All those years spent telling myself doing whatever I was doing would be safe and lead to a stable future, I could have actually been building something that was going to help me reach those goals.

This is a very privileged point of view, I realize. Not everyone has a job they love and do whatever it takes to get by.

And I’m also not saying that your passions will allow you to find a job directly. I know not everyone gets to be a Broadway star or Olympic champion or basket weaver or whatever floats your boat.

But if I can say anything to younger people out there, who are getting ready to go back to high school or college or graduating and are struggling with this, it’s that, if something makes you happy, don’t discount that. Pursue it. Maybe it doesn’t lead you to a job directly, but it may lead you to an industry that captures the same feeling that your passions give you.

There is so much pressure to do the “right” thing and toil away in jobs that don’t pay enough and don’t appreciate you and will inevitably end or keep you on but crush you big by bit. Believe me, I graduated university in the midst of a recession, and it basically shaped the rest of my adult life.

You have value. Your interests have value. Your feelings have value.

You have so much of life ahead of you. And nothing is ever guaranteed. If you have a light inside you that’s guiding you, don’t discount it.

I wish I could do it all over again. I wish that so much it hurts. But I’m trying to figure out a way to make it better.

It’s so hard to find a path for most of us. Not everyone is blessed with knowing their purpose in life, especially not at the age at which society expects us to figure it out. And it’s ok not to figure it out, or try to change course when you’re older.

But I just want you to know, especially those of you who are still struggling with school, that it’s ok to be confused and it’s ok not to know what to do. But if you do start to figure it out, don’t let your peers or your parents or your environment tell you that it doesn’t matter. It absolutely does matter. You matter.

It isn’t too late to try, and you don’t know what you’ll find when you do.

#personal #this is the mental breakdown i have every day!!!!

[mumbai-local]

The Mirror Shaped Hole in Our Hearts

So this is it, this is where we get off.

There would be no Mumbai Mirror in our palms on weekday mornings, and even though we’d get it on Sundays and it would have a ‘strong digital presence’, we know they’re just ways to say ‘shop’s shutting, go home.’ For something that we spent no more than ten minutes on every day, it’s going to be a tough loss to digest. If you too have a hole in your heart, let me measure it for you.

At arguably one of the peaks of its 15-year life cycle, Mirror, the ‘compact’ daily from the Times Group, would break stories from IPL 2009 in South Africa that would read like nothing filed on the sports pages of The Times of India (TOI). Mirror held this cut-throat exclusivity as a filter for its news every day, across beats, to build a distinct voice for itself. The parent company, Bennett, Coleman and Co. (BCCL), would routinely fly separate correspondents to the same events, whether at Jamaica or Dunedin, and it was also common for the competing correspondents being friends and even sharing hotel rooms while despatching reports. The cumulative impact of TOI and Mumbai Mirror (MM), bundled together for distribution, years after Mirror’s 2005 launch, was a telling blow on competitors, most remarkably Mumbai’s oldest tabloid, Mid-Day.

At arguably another peak, MM had an extensive, snappily designed 16-page edition dedicated to the 2010 FIFA World Cup, put to bed hours after the main edition, which in itself would be of 56 to 64 pages. All this free-flowing newsprint, a continuously expanding market and most importantly, reams of full-page adverts, seems to be an obscene tale from another era.

To think that Mirror, from those highs, faced such a nosedive is ironically like one of the Bombay stories it loved telling. We know the arc well - the rise, the reign, the plot to bring it down, the fall and the end. It’s almost as if the ghosts of all those exclusive stories - of fallen industrialists, flopped film stars and failed society doyens - that Mirror unabashedly broke day on day, plotted this. BCCL attributes this closure to ‘the pandemic, lockdown and unprecedented economic crisis’ but we as Mirror faithfuls, take this as with a sack of salt. 

This seems more of a jettison, and while not much is public as the BCCL empire isn’t a listed company, it’s safe to say the Jains wanted bleeding pets off their green books. There were reports of BCCL facing a consolidated net loss of Rs 451.63 crore in FY 19-20, a bungee jump from the net profits of Rs 484.27 crore in just the previous year.

Net-net, it’s this: Even before the ‘C word’ took the world economy down in 2020, the ‘bad news’ vibe was strong, and it must not have taken Mirror employees, adept at joining the dots while reporting on Bollywood’s love affairs, much time to update their LinkedIn profiles.

Hence, it’s intriguing that the official statement by The Times of India Group on this would mention a thing such as ‘the economy now officially in recession’. I’m no pink paper reader but to think that a behemoth such as the Times, running entities such as Medianet and Brand Equity Treaties and verticals such as Times Internet (which has brands such as Cricbuzz, Gaana and MX Player in its portfolio), is hurting from an ‘import duty adding to newsprint costs’... seems a wee… bit dodgy, much like Mirror’s famed ‘tailpiece’ blind items - you could only speculate the truth. But hey, what I’m sure of is this - that one primetime anchor going by the initials 'RSS’ on the Group’s alleged ‘news’ channel Times NOW, has not even mentioned the word ‘recession’ in a very long time, let alone cover it. 

So to find out why the most profitable media house in the country with annual revenues of $1.5 billion and an average of over 30 per cent returns on investment in previous years did not want to ride out Mirror’s losses, you’d probably require a seasoned Mirror reporter, ideally from its film or crime beats.

But if you have been a reader of The Illustrated Weekly of India, Indrajal Comics or Times Crest, you are again disappointed, not surprised, that the owners have once again pulled the plug, but this time it’s on Bombay’s boldest voice. And no Saamna, you can’t come close.

In just April last year, MM was the only single edition newspaper to be among the top five newspapers in India, quite a feat given its perennial label of being a sibling to the older TOI beast. This younger one, and every younger sibling from Prince Harry to Hardik Pandya will agree, remained feisty, unabashedly self aware and delightfully anti-establishment through its lifetime, owing to the mother who raised it, the venerable Meenal Baghel.

Some credit this to ‘the nature of the beast’ that tabloid culture is - a naked, annoying, indelible aspect of big city life. But we - and by we, I mean those who got to work with Meenal - know that as the handler of this beast, she fed it meatloaf with one hand and held a whip in the other. That’s how the beast grew stronger every day and mauled the mighty.

The beast emboldened us to ask uncomfortable questions of our society and culture, and not in a Republic-reporter-chasing-Rhea’s-car manner, but in a civil, restrained one where Oxford commas and em dashes had pride of place.  

It made photojournalist Sebastian D’Souza jump out his seat next to mine on the night of November 26, 2008, and dart out with his camera when we heard gunshots within metres of us, only to return with this photo.   

It made us have the bravado to pick up the phone and call anyone in the country for an exclusive quote. “I’m XYZ from the Mumbai Mirror,” we’d say, not from The Times of India. 

Mirror broke stories that stirred us in those ten minutes or less. Stories of blacklisted contractors winning road repair contracts using their wives’ names, of unscrupulous builders who’d unflinchingly steal lifetimes’ savings of retired peons, of principals who’d be sacked for exposing sexual harassment scandals, of everything adulterated - milk, water, air.  

Trigger warnings be damned - don’t like, don’t read if you can dare. While TOI and other dailies touched upon the city’s underbelly, Mirror thrived in it. It kept on showing us what’s under that flyover while we glided to work over it - the blood, gore and heartbreak. Wait, it literally did a story this year on cancer patients living under a flyover (and they promptly got help). Of course, there was gloss and fun and those ridiculous non-news about Kareena Kapoor juggling ‘work with motherhood’, but those were just the mixers to the other potent stuff. 

You know what the real loss for Mumbai is, right? That most of these stories just won’t be reported in print. And no corrupt contractor or conniving criminal may lose sleep over a Sunday paper or a publication with ‘strong digital presence’ exposing them.

The other ‘happy to see Mirror go’ could be Bollywood’s A, B and no-listers, who, once upon a time, would get palpitations if they’d see incoming calls from a certain Vickey Lalwani. “Dibakar, give me a story! Give me a sensational story! Mumbai Mirror has circulation of 750,000. Make it exclusive, okay?” 

But I doubt they’d be too happy too - after all, if Mirror’s calling you, you’re hot currency.  

(That said, there is a negligible number of people who are elated to see Mirror go, and they’re fans of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It so happened that on the morning of the launch of the much anticipated last book of the iconic series, Mirror carried a spoiler on its front page. ‘First things first, Harry Lives.’ Ouch. Younger siblings, after all, can also be incredibly cheeky and embarrassing at times. But we cannot do without them.)

In July 2019, I had asked Meenal, the finest editor I will ever work under, about just how she found the energy to run a tabloid compact like this every single day for so many years. “As long as the good days outnumber the bad, I keep going,” she’d replied. It was a fair way to convey how she and her team (me gratefully being a small part of it from 2005 to 2011) worked. We went out to battle every day and slept well every night, and the lakhs of readers, in return, gave us a high. 

Now, when the dreaded ‘last edition’ is probably being wrapped around a vada-pav somewhere in Mumbai, all of us - Meenal, us former colleagues, the readers, the haters, the Mahinder Watsa fan club, everyone - will have our heads held up for knowing that the Mumbai Mirror era indeed had way more good days… well, even bloody good days, than the bad ones.

At least we won’t be shaking our heads and eye-rolling while looking at the front page of that old flagship broadsheet daily.

#mumbai #mirror #media #india #newspapers #tabloid

[satonthelotuspier]

Lotuses are Tenacious Plants - Part 5

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4 are available at the links, or you can read it all over on AO3. Rated T.

Lan Xichen rose to his feet, and reached for Shuoyue.

“Will you accompany me, Jiang Cheng?” he asked, and the younger man was very obviously shocked at his invitation.

He nodded, his eyes still doe-like and wide, and rose, to fall in by Lan Xichen’s side as they left the Hanshi, followed closely by Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji.

He could tell there was a mixture of excitement and trepidation in Jiang Cheng as they made their way through the Cloud Recesses and towards the front gate.

“Are you sure you should leave the snake unbound, considering his proficiency in demonic cultivation and the arrival of his siblings?” Lan Wangji asked from behind Lan Xichen, and had to bite his lip when Jiang Cheng turned to face the Second Jade, and hissed at him, his tongue darting out, like a snake giving warning it was about to strike.

“He’s right though, Lan Xichen.” Jiang Cheng said as he settled again. He threw Lan Xichen a look out of the corner of his eyes, watching for his reaction.

“I wish to talk to you all together, surely we can sit down and discuss things.” Lan Xichen suggested, and looked over at him. “You’re safe and well, I don’t see why we can’t be civil this time.”

Jiang Cheng pursed his lips consideringly, then shrugged.

“Good luck, A-Jie is not the most forgiving person where her family are concerned.” Jiang Cheng smirked.

Lan Xichen realised was taking a very big risk at the moment. He didn’t think he had any option but to take Jiang Cheng to the gate, so Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian could see he was safe and healthy, and they would perhaps listen to Lan Xichen’s requests to talk.

He wished he knew the extent of their power, whether the shade army the disciple had informed them of had the strength to level the Cloud Recesses, as Jiang Yanli had threatened. The barriers hadn’t held against the Wens, but whether two young necromancers had the power to break through them…

He hoped they wouldn’t have to find out.

They arrived at the gate; and there was a tension so thick in the air it would be possible to cut it with their swords. There was a line of Lan disciples waiting, patient and poised, hands all on their sword hilts, as they faced the barriers, and the dense darkness of shadows collected just outside.

The two figures Lan Xichen had interest in were of course, at the forefront, with Wei Wuxian leaning against the trunk of a tree, arms folded and head lowered, waiting in careful readiness. Jiang Yanli, however, stalked back and forth along the line of the barrier. Occasionally, she reached out a hand and a shade would step forward and test itself against the energy field in response. It held.

For now.

She was like a tigress parted from her cub, and Lan Xichen did sympathise; he had left them the message talisman, but nothing could match the proof of your own eyes.

As he stepped through the Lan disciples to walk up to the barrier, her eyes settled on him and she came to a halt, there was a burning rage in them.

“You. If you have harmed a single hair on A-Cheng’s head, there isn’t a corner of hell you’ll ever be able to hide from me in.”

They were all so similar in their intense need to protect each other. Which was understandable, they were all that each other had had for a very long time.

Jiang Cheng stepped forward then, and Jiang Yanli’s eyes landed on him. Wei Wuxian had also looked up, and moved closer to the pair.

“A-Jie, I’m here. I’m fine.”

She made a noise of relief, and stepped forward to try and lay her hands on him, but Lan Xichen held up his palm. “Please be careful of yourself on the barrier, Jiang-guniang.”

“Let me hold my didi,” she demanded of Lan Xichen, who laid a gentle hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder as he would have stepped forward too.

“Jiang Cheng, the barrier works both ways, you must be careful too.”

Jiang Cheng tore his gaze away from the pair in front of him, to look at Lan Xichen. It was a complicated look, a mixture of so much emotion, not least the relief of seeing his siblings and seeing they were safe, and here for him.

Then there was a shimmer of tears in his eyes, “I want my jiejie.”

Lan Xichen never learned whether that moment was some surge of emotion Jiang Cheng couldn’t contain, or pure manipulation, but either way, it hit him hard. And his mind raced.

This was a stand-off, but while ever the siblings were apart he didn’t think he’d get through to them. Perhaps he needed to take a leap of faith.

He turned, and held Shuoyue out to Lan Wangji.

The other realised what he was about to do by the simple gesture. “Xiongzhang-,” there was a note of urgency in his voice.

“Wangji, someone has to make the first step to trust.”

Lan Wangji was unconvinced, but took Shuoyue from him, gripping the scabbard tightly, his knuckles showing white.

Lan Xichen turned back to Jiang Cheng then, and placing his hand back on the younger man’s shoulder, pushed him forward gently, so they stepped through the barrier together, it allowed them through as it recognised his jade token.

Jiang Cheng broke free of his touch the moment they were through, and met Jiang Yanli, who surged forward to wrap her arms around him.

“A-Cheng,” she crooned, rocking him a little, and Wei Wuxian stepped forward too, a gentle hand at his hair, and Jiang Yanli’s shoulder. “We have you, now. Everything will be fine.” There was nothing but confidence in her voice. She didn’t doubt it.

It was a while before they could bear to release each other, but when they did, Wei Wuxian moved forward and stood in front of Lan Xichen, blocking his view of the Jiangs.

“I think, this time, you should come with us, Lan-zongzhu.” His voice was even and pleasant, despite the look on his face.

Lan Xichen had realised they probably wouldn't wish to sit here in front of the gates of the Cloud Recesses, vulnerable and exposed, longer than it took for them to secure what they wanted, and they already had Jiang Cheng. He gave one firm nod, and could only hope he’d made the right call.

He threw one look back over his shoulder, and gave Lan Wangji a confident smile, before he was made a prisoner of.

******************************************************************************************

Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian had been very resourceful as they’d made their way to the Cloud Recesses from Yiling, Lan Xichen acknowledged as he sat quietly on the rock he’d been allowed to settled on.

The rock was a raised part of the ground, formed by the interior of the mountain cave they had retreated to after securing Jiang Cheng’s freedom.

The pair had somehow gotten their hands on immortal binding ropes, probably acquired from some passing cultivator’s packs, and hadn’t been afraid to use them to assure themselves that this time Lan Xichen really was in their power.

And now the three talked amongst themselves quietly, yet purposefully.

“We could just kill him, and level that place.” Wei Wuxian suggested. He ran a black dizi through his fingers, something to occupy them while he thought. Interesting. Did he use musical cultivation as part of his control of demonic energies? Lan Xichen hoped they could discuss it more at a later date, musical cultivation was his clan’s speciality and the thought interested him greatly.

“If they had hurt A-Cheng in any way, I would have burned it to the ground. He is fine, and claims he was looked after well, despite being a prisoner.” Jiang Yanli was pacing again, although she occasionally stopped in front of Jiang Cheng to touch his face, as if to prove to herself he really was there will them still. “As he was treated fairly, I couldn’t do that in good conscience, how would that make us better than the Wens, if we did? There are many innocents within the Cloud Recesses.”

“Then we just kill him, and return to Yiling.” Wei Wuxian suggested. At the comment, Lan Xichen’s eyes sought out Jiang Cheng, who had been very quiet. He sat, staring down at the white tassel on his belt; he worried at one of the threads with his fingers, almost absently. He had so far let the conversation go on above him, without contributing much.

“As tempting as that seems, A-Xian, I’m afraid we have to accept Yiling is probably no longer safe for us, whether Lan-zongzhu lives or dies.” She laid eyes on Lan Xichen again.

“The world was aware of reports of necromancy beginning to seep out of Yiling. It was why I came, to investigate. I’m afraid you’re correct, Jiang-guniang. The Burial Mounds will no longer keep you excluded from the world. The world will be interested, now the Yunmeng Jiang heir has been found.” Jiang Cheng’s eyes rose quickly to meet his, before they skittered away again.

“If you wanted to deal with the necromancy reported in Yiling, you would have been as well to kill us, as draw us out of the Burial Mounds.” Wei Wuxian said, pushing the dizi through his belt. He folded his hands behind his back, and, like Jiang Yanli, rested his gaze on Lan Xichen. “So why didn’t you?”

“Because I found the Jiangs’ children, alone, and doing what they needed to, to survive, in the most unforgiving, dangerous area we know of. And you don’t need to do that anymore, what you were hiding from is gone, and it’s safe for you to return to your ancestral home. The world had looked for you for years, almost without hope. You may not be able to return to Yiling and hide away again, but there is a place for you. Family who would no doubt want to hear from you. My clan...I...can help you.”

“Why?” Jiang Yanli’s voice was stiff. “Why would you?”

“Why would I not? It’s the right thing to do. And while I don’t doubt your resourcefulness as a trio, you don’t need to do this alone anymore. We have the resources, and the will. I can help keep you safe, help you find your place in the world again, help you contact your mother’s family, your grandmother in Meishan.”

Jiang Yanli looked away and began pacing, then stopped again, then took a few more steps. She was obviously confused, and conflicted, by Lan Xichen’s words.

“Grandmother.” Her voice was soft, and held a trace of yearning. “Our grandmother is still alive? Meishan Yu still stand?”

Lan Xichen nodded. “I don’t think she ever really gave up hoping you might be found.” There was so much more he could tell them, about how Meishan Yu held the land of the former Lotus Pier in readiness, just in case the children had ever returned, how they had rebuilt the ancestral hall, and placed tables for Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan, but he wasn’t sure how much would overload them, and be too much to process. He could share more later, or Yu Zuoting could when she met her grandchildren.

“What about the demonic cultivation?” Wei Wuxian asked suddenly.

Lan Xichen met his gaze. “Gusu Lan can help you learn orthodox cultivation, to protect yourselves, not least from the world’s ill opinion, and to help you rebuild your clan.”

“The world will never accept it.”

“No, they will not. I understand why you turned to it to survive, but you would have to leave it behind, and seek new ways instead.” There was no other way for the three, and in reality their time locked away in the Burial Mounds would have come to an end sooner or later, whether it had been the Lan clan, or another who had moved to investigate.

Whether the Lans were the better option he didn’t know, but he wanted to assist them in finding their feet, and adapting to their new lives, whatever those lives may look like. Jiang Cheng had the intelligence, and the strength, to be an excellent sect leader, if he chose that path. And if he didn’t, if he chose to live a more normal life, or join one of the other sects as a disciple, then he would excel at that. And while Lan Xichen knew much less of the other two, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they were just as skilled, just as intelligent, just as capable.

His eyes fell on Jiang Cheng again, who still looked resolutely down at the tassel in his hands, but it was now in pieces, destroyed, as he had listened to the others talk.

He stood up suddenly.

“A-Jie, we don’t have to decide tonight. We have a lot to learn about the world before we decide where we fit into it. And while I wish we could just wave a magic wand and return back to the Burial Mounds, the more I think on it, the more I understand that that isn’t an option anymore. And it probably wouldn’t have been for much longer, no matter who came. While we decide what we wish to do Lan Xichen has promised us shelter and protection, and information. I think he would let us leave, if we decided we didn’t wish for any of it.” Jiang Cheng’s dark gaze burned into Lan Xichen’s.

“You trust him?” Wei Wuxian asked. His tone wasn’t mocking, he was just curious.

Jiang Cheng pulled his lip between his teeth as he considered the question carefully, not looking away from Lan Xichen.

“I believe he has been honest with me so far. His clan lives by three thousand rules on their wall, and I don’t think a man who leads such a clan could be dishonest, at least intentionally.” Then, a cheeky grin pulled at his mouth. it brightened his face, which had become somewhat saturnine and introspective since they’d retreated to the mountain cave. “If we find out he has lied to us, we can destroy the Cloud Recesses from the inside at any point we wish, after all.”

#xicheng #mdzs fanfic #alternate universe #necromancy #slow burn #Shay's stuff #serialised

[ibijau]

Amnesiac!nhs last part / on AO3

warning for sad ending :)

It was Nie Huaisang himself who requested to return to Qinghe, and him also who begged Lan Xichen to come with him. He didn’t want to abandon his sect any further, he’d explained, but he also wasn’t sure how to deal with everything that awaited him in the Unclean Realm. By his own admission, the four months he’d spent there hiding his amnesia had been taxing, and he preferred to have some help as he returned there, at least until he learned the ropes.

Lan Xichen was more than happy to go with him.

It had been a little over two weeks since Nie Huaisang had confided his suspicion that he’d caused his amnesia on purpose, and since then the two of them had only become closer. Nothing they’d done had quite crossed the boundaries of friendship yet, but Lan Xichen did not doubt that they were headed toward something new. Nie Huaisang was quite flirty these days, teasing and playful the way he used to be as a youth but with added meaning to his words that never failed to make Lan Xichen smile. As for Lan Xichen himself, he allowed himself casual touches, brushing their hands together in private, or helping the other man braid his hair in the intricate style the Nie sect preferred.

It would have been easy to kiss Nie Huaisang, and Lan Xichen knew it would have been welcome too, but there was no hurry. A slow seduction was not without charm, and it would only make it all the sweeter when they did finally come together. Which they would, Lan Xichen had no doubt. Neither did his close family. 

Lan Wangji had been unhappy at first, but eventually made his peace with it once he’d grown certain that Nie Huaisang wasn’t planning some new scheme. Wei Wuxian kept teasing Lan Xichen for not going for it already, but that was only because he had no patience whatsoever. As for Lan Qiren…

Lan Qiren saw this inevitable romance building before him, and quite plainly told his nephew that he did not like it.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warned Lan Xichen one day. “I would advise against starting anything with him until the condition that would reawaken his memories has been discovered. Because if he returns to who he really is…”

“This is who he is, uncle. Who he would be without everything that happened.”

“But it did happen,” Lan Qiren pointed out. “Whether we like it or not. And while I have no doubt that Nie Huaisang is currently quite besotted with you, he would feel quite differently if he had his memory of the last ten years. If you were to accidentally lift that curse… I think we both know how willing to forgive Nie Huaisang can be.”

It was true, and it was right, and Lan Xichen did not want to hear that, not when for the first time in years, he felt like he had a chance of happiness at last. So when that very same evening Nie Huaisang made his request to return to Qinghe, Lan Xichen promptly agreed.

It would be easier to let things unfold away from Lan Qiren’s judgment.

Not that there was no judgment to be found in the Unclean Realm. The Nie sect was, to put it mildly, not particularly enthusiastic to have their sect leader back. It quickly became apparent that they’d done quite well for themselves without him, and indeed even when he’d been among them they’d mostly only involved him in sect business if they were forced to. That at least explained how they might have failed to notice that Nie Huaisang had cursed to amnesia, Lan Xichen thought, though it also meant that it would be difficult for him to retake control of his sect.

During their entire first day in the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang acted as if that realisation did not bother him in the least. He pretended not to see the dark looks it got him when he announced that he intended to be a better and more present sect leader, that he hoped they would forgive him past mistakes, that he intended to restore their reputation that had been so damaged by his lack of skill. He smiled as various high ranking disciples openly told him that they didn’t think he had what it took to rule them, that they’d rather he stepped down and returned to Gusu, and he eagerly swore he had changed.

Then, as soon as Lan Xichen and him retired after dinner, as soon as they were alone in the sect leader’s private quarters, Nie Huaisang broke into tears. Lan Xichen, who had expected something like that, quickly pulled him into his arms, and allowed Nie Huaisang to sob in his embrace.

“They’ll come around,” Lan Xichen whispered as he rubbed Nie Huaisang’s back to comfort him. “It will take the time it will take, but I know you’re going to work hard to change their mind, and I know it will work.”

“But they hate me,” Nie Huaisang sobbed. “They really hate me! I’ve never been as well liked as da-ge, but for them to hate me like this… it scares me.”

Lan Xichen shivered, thinking of what might happen to a too unpopular sect leader, especially one who had many enemies who would be easy to blame. Without thinking, he pressed a quick kiss on the crown of Nie Huaisang’s head, who gasped softly and clung more tightly to him.

“We’re going to try this,” Lan Xichen said. “You asked to come here, and it seemed important to you to try this, so we will. But if it doesn’t work, if your disciples really remain hostile to you… I hope you know I would be more than happy to have you at my side in the Cloud Recesses.”

“But for how long would you let me stay?”

“As long as you wish,” Lan Xichen promised. “The rest of our lives, if you want. I know I would.”

Nie Huaisang grinned amidst his tears, quickly nodding before rising on his toes to press their lips together.

It was everything Lan Xichen would have imagined. Nie Huaisang’s lips were soft and warm, and easily parted to deepen the kiss. He still startled when Lan Xichen’s tongue touched his, the sensation too new perhaps. Lan Xichen pulled him closer, running one hand in Nie Huaisang’s hair. He’d have wanted them to be closer still, body against body, skin against skin, nothing standing between them. Soon, perhaps…

Or not so soon, because Nie Huaisang was tensing more and more, turning as stiff as a piece of wood in Lan Xichen’s arms and eventually pushing him away with such force that Lan Xichen stumbled backward and nearly fell.

“Of course you had to ruin this,” Nie Huaisang hissed, forcefully wiping his mouth with his sleeve, his tongue even.

Lan Xichen stared silently, shocked by this sudden change of mood. Gone was the sweet and charming Nie Huaisang he’d learned to love over those past few weeks, replaced by a cold man with burning eyes.

“An impossible condition,” Lan Xichen whispered. “I was…”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you never crossed my mind,” Nie Huaisang cut him with a smirk. “I only made a true love’s kiss the condition. I thought surely nobody would be stupid enough for that. Apparently I overestimated your tastes, and your desperation. I suppose it must have been quite nice, getting a chance to pretend you didn’t help in my brother’s murder.”

Lan Xichen took a step back, pressing one hand to his mouth.

This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a nightmare. In a moment he would wake up and go meet his dear Nie Huaisang for breakfast, and they would laugh together about that horrible dream he’d had.

“It wasn’t like that. A-Sang, it wasn’t about… I love you,” Lan Xichen pleaded, earning a scoff and an unimpressed look.

“You love a version of me that was never real,” Nie Huaisang claimed as he went to pick up a fan from a chest of drawers. “Isn’t it just like you to prefer pretty little lies to the truth?”

“I didn’t lie to you about anything. I’m not lying about the way I feel, I really…”

Nie Huaisang sharply opened his fan.

“You didn’t say anything about how san-ge killed da-ge, did you?” He asked with a cruel smile. “And you didn’t say who taught san-ge that blasted song either. Who forced da-ge to continue welcoming the presence of a viper at his side. Too busy seducing me, I suppose?”

Too busy respecting Nie Huaisang’s lack of curiosity on the matter, Lan Xichen wanted to say, but the words were stuck in his throat. He had offered to explain what had happened. So had Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang had told them both that if it really mattered to them he’d listen, but he would rather not know. They had both respected that.

Lan Xichen hadn’t really wanted to tell him, anyway. Perhaps he really had guessed that  Nie Huaisang would not forgive him for his role in Nie Mingjue’s death. Or perhaps he too had wanted to forget, and did Nie Huaisang have any right to judge him for that after what he’d done?

“Leave,” Nie Huaisang ordered. “You are not welcome in my home.”

“No. No, I’m not leaving like this. Huaisang, give me a chance to…”

“Leave, or I’ll make you. Those useless disciples of mine would at least obey that order, trust me. Or did you think it was only my return that made them furious?” Nie Huaisang asked. “Don’t be mistaken. They despise you more than they do me. Quite the accomplishment, when you think of it. But of course I only ruined our reputation, while you helped murder the man who incarnated everything our sect believed in.”

“Huaisang, please…”

“Leave. Now,” Nie Huaisang ordered, his eyes throwing daggers behind his elegant fan.

Lan Xichen left.

A million thoughts clashed in his mind as he ran through the gate of the Unclean Realm, as flew toward the Cloud Recesses. Guilt and regret and anger, such anger as he hadn’t felt in years, most of it directed at the man Nie Huaisang had become. If he had trusted Lan Xichen after the death of Nie Mingjue, if he’d come to him then too instead of handling things alone, if they could have worked together…

If Nie Huaisang hadn’t been so selfish and decided he was allowed to forget what he’d done but others couldn’t.

If Nie Huaisang hadn't had such a twisted vision of himself.

If Nie Huaisang had chosen a truly impossible condition to lift his curse, so that Lan Xichen could have kept him, so they could have been happy.

They had been happy.

Lan Xichen had been happy.

He should have known it wouldn't last.

#nhs amnesia #xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes

[emospritelet]

Okay prompt request for dark heart remix! 26) “How can I go forward when I don’t know which way I’m facing?“

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [AO3]

Last time, Gold gave Belle a swanky apartment to move into and they agreed it was probably best they took a day to calm down before speaking again.

Please send me a prompt from this list or this list to fuel the angst and smut

x

Gold had booked a hotel suite for the week, but no matter how comfortable the bed was, or how dark the room, he was restless, and by four o’clock he had given up on the idea of sleeping, and got up to make some coffee. He drank it looking out on the darkened park, waiting for the sun to rise and listening to the news with half an ear. Rain was falling, lashing the windows in streaking trails limned in silver. He wondered if Belle was sleeping well. Whether she got enough rest. It didn’t look like it to him, and he hoped her stubbornness and righteous anger wouldn’t prevent her from accepting his help.

He was still angry over the fact that she had waited so long to tell him, still furious about the conditions she had chosen to live in rather than ask for his assistance. She and the baby could have burned to death in a fire and he would never have known. He focused on that anger rather than pick apart and study the desperate tangle of emotions that had burst into life in the deepest recesses of his brain upon learning that he was about to be a father again. There was too much fear and regret there for him to handle, and so he did what he had been doing for decades with unwanted thoughts and feelings, which was to shove them aside and ignore them.

The sun rose, a fact discernible only by the lightening of the sky. It was heavy with dark clouds, those at the horizon glowing red as embers. It seemed as though the rain would continue. Gold put on more coffee, and took a shower while he waited for it to brew. His usual morning routine of a wash and shave made him feel a little better, and he pulled a robe around himself and checked the time. Still reasonably early, but the city was coming to life, and so he poured the coffee and placed a call to his lawyer, Ella Deville.

“Alexander Gold,” she drawled, when he was put through. “It’s been too long, darling. How are you?”

“Fucking livid,” he said sourly. “I need some advice.”

“Whenever you need advice it makes me money, so do go on.”

He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help grinning.

“I presume everything’s going well on the Misthaven building deal?” she added.

“Very well,” he said. “Except for the top floor corner unit. Looks like I’m going to lose money on that one.”

“Why? It’s a perfect location, and the market’s in reasonable shape, all things considered.”

“Nothing to do with the property,” he said quickly. “It’s actually why I’m calling. I - I’m kind of letting someone stay there. Rent free.”

“You’re not usually known for your soft heart, darling,” she remarked. “It’s one of the things I admire about you. What’s caused this sudden crisis of conscience, and how is my excellent advice going to help?”

“This isn’t the usual real estate deal,” he said. “You may need to refer me to someone else. It’s a family matter.”

“Well, now I’m going to keep the case just to be nosy.”

Gold took a sip of his coffee, wincing at the heat of it on his tongue.

“It’s my - well, my ex, for want of a better word.”

“Your ex?” She whistled. “My my, this is a first. The reclusive Mr Gold lets slip hints at a social life. Tell Auntie Ella all the sordid details, you bad boy.”

“Certainly not,” he said dryly. “It was a bad break-up and I wasn’t expecting to see her again.”

“And now?”

He hesitated.

“She’s pregnant.”

There was a moment of silence at the other end of the line.

“Well,” said Ella. “That must have been quite a shock.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he muttered.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” she added. “I presume she says it’s yours?”

“Yes.”

“And you have doubts?”

“I - I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m not saying I think she’s lying, but - well, we hadn’t spoken since the break-up. I have no idea what she’s been up to.”

“Of course.” He could hear her scribbling. “She could be playing you, and we certainly can’t discount it. You’re a very rich man, after all, and that has to be a better prospect than whatever lumbering college boy caught her fancy one drunken night, hmm?“

Gold closed his eyes as he remembered what Belle’s boyfriend looked like. Was he the father? Had he abandoned Belle over the baby, leaving her no choice but to come to him? Would she really be that cruel, to make him responsible for another man’s child? To get his hopes up only to crush them? Could you blame her if she did? You did it to her after all. You led her on, then broke her heart, and destroyed the both of you in the process.

“Alexander?”

He blinked, clearing his throat.

“She must know it’s the sort of thing that can be tested,” he managed.

“Oh yes,” said Ella. “But desperate people do stupid things, I find.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, they do.”

“Well, I suggest a paternity test,” she said briskly. “Easy enough, and quick. A simple blood test should do it, and then you’ll know. One way or the other.”

Gold felt a momentary chill at the thought of the result being negative.

“Right,” he said. “Yes.”

“If the test is positive, we can talk about next steps,” she said. “Any initial thoughts on what you want to do?”

“I want to exercise my rights to the child, of course,” he said curtly.

“Yes, but there’s a myriad of options in that field,” she said. “If you think things are likely to get nasty, I may need to get one of my colleagues to handle the case. Ursula is a fantastic family lawyer, as well as being an excellent kisser.”

“I’ll rely on whatever you advise,” he said. “I - I hope we can come to an agreement without the need for that, but she’s stubborn.”

“I suppose it’s early days,” she said. “What are your initial thoughts on the ideal outcome?”

Gold ran a hand through his hair, short, damp strands licking against his fingers.

“I - I want to make sure she can’t take it from me,” he said. “I need to ensure that. I want to be named as its father, to be equally involved in raising it, to have equal say in any decisions about its life, education and welfare.”

“Hmm,” she said. “I see you’ve given this quite a bit of thought.”

“Well, it’s not like I spent the night sleeping, or anything,” he said sourly.

“Why don’t we make sure there’s a right there to be exercised, first,” she said. “Let’s do the test. We can worry about the complications afterwards. Is she seeing anyone?”

“I - I don’t know,” he said. “She lives alone.”

“I see. Well, once we get the results, you can start planning your future,” she said. “Should take about a week. When is the baby due?”

“May fifth.”

She made a strangled sort of noise.

“And you’re only calling me now?”

“I only just fucking found out!” he snapped. “Hence me saying I was livid!”

Ella tutted slowly.

“Just how much of a giant arsehole were you to make her not talk to you until she was seven months pregnant?”

His mouth twisted.

“I believe you can guess the answer to that.”

“Hmm. That bad?”

He winced.

“Probably worse.”

“Surprised she called you at all, in that case.”

“Can we leave the character assassination for another day?” he said shortly. “Will you arrange this test?”

“You’ll need her consent.”

“Oh, I’ll get that, I assure you,” he said grimly.

“Let me make a few enquiries, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m staying in Boston, by the way. Just call me on this number.”

He hung up, slipping the phone into his pocket and turning back to his coffee. Just under twelve hours before he could see Belle. Just under twelve hours that he had to fill to keep his mind from concentrating on the worst that his imagination could produce. At least she was unlikely to run away, in her current condition. At least there was that.

x

After Gold had gone, Belle went to run herself a bath, and explored the apartment properly. It really was beautiful, the furniture sleek and expensive, the rugs soft and thick beneath her feet. She looked in the kitchen cupboards, finding a multitude of cans and dried goods, and the fridge, which contained a wide variety of vegetables, fresh milk, cheese and butter, eggs and cream and fresh juice. There was a sliced loaf of bread on the kitchen counter, one of those artisan loaves with seeds in the crust. She was hungry, but exhausted, so she made herself a sandwich and ate it at the kitchen table, washed down with a glass of milk.

Taking a bath felt like true luxury, and she stayed there until the water was tepid, wrapping herself in a thick towel when she was done. The bed was king-size, ready made with heavy cotton sheets and a dark grey eiderdown, and Belle curled up in it, a cup of tea steaming on the nightstand. The apartment was beautiful, but a part of her worried that she had moved into a gilded cage, from which she would find it hard to escape. A cage where Gold could swoop in and take their baby if she ever displeased him.

She was anxious, and her sleep was restless because of it. Waking up to pouring rain didn’t help, but she made herself scrambled eggs on toast for breakfast and ate it at the kitchen table, looking out over the city as it started to come to life. She had a view of the park and tree-lined streets, and she had to admit that it was a much better start to the day than in her old apartment, where she would have been listening to the couple next door yelling at each other. She would have to make the best of losing some of her freedom, for the sake of the baby.

The rain had eased a little by the time she got to the university, and she headed straight for the coffee shop, where she found Emma juggling a pile of books in one arm and a large coffee and Danish in the other. Belle took the coffee from her before she could drop anything.

“Thanks,” said Emma, nodding to a free table. “How are you? You look kinda beat.”

“Yeah, didn’t sleep well,” said Belle, and hesitated. “Alex tracked me down.”

Emma’s eyes widened, and she shoved her books onto the table.

“Wait right there!” she ordered, wagging a finger before hurrying back to the counter. Belle took a seat, watching listlessly as Emma ordered a tea and another Danish and hurried back, shoving them across the table at her. She shrugged out of her heavy coat, pulling the woollen hat from her head.

“Right,” she said. “What happened?”

Belle launched into an explanation of everything that had happened between them the previous evening, and Emma listened, only interrupting to snort loudly or curse Gold out. By the time Belle had finished, though, she was looking thoughtful.

“He seriously said he’d take the baby if you didn’t do what he wanted?”

“Pretty much.”

“You think he was serious?”

“Oh yes,” said Belle dryly. “I think he meant every word.”

“What an asshole.”

“That’s one word for him.”

“Well, we just have to make sure he can’t follow through on the threat,” said Emma.

“So - do as he says?”

“If what he wants means the baby’s safe and you get to keep it, then yeah.”

“Ugh.” Belle sat back, pulling a face.

“Just saying.”

“I know,” sighed Belle. “I know it’s the sensible thing to do, I just - I hate that I don’t have options, you know?”

“I know, honey.”

“He just - he just waltzes back into my life with his perfect suit and his stupid perfect haircut and looks down his nose at me and I have to dance to his bloody tune!” groused Belle. “I was already well aware that I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, I didn’t need a reminder!”

“You’re doing fine!” said Emma soothingly, reaching for her hand and squeezing.

“I’m not, I’m - I’m a mess!” said Belle, feeling tears sting her eyes. “I have zero control over my life and I’m just - just winging it every bloody day! How can I get through life like that? How can I go forward when I don’t know which way I’m facing?”

“Honey…”

“You think I don’t know what he saw the moment I opened that door to him?” Belle went on, gesturing with a hand. “I’m pathetic!”

“Belle,” said Emma sternly. “Stop. Breathe. You’re one of the least pathetic people I’ve ever met. You’re just going through some pretty serious life events right now, okay? It’s enough to throw anyone off their game.”

Belle huffed air out in a long breath, slumping in her chair a little, but nodded. Emma squeezed her hand again, and reached for her coffee.

“How’s that paper going?” she asked. “You get all those resources you were looking for?”

“Most of them,” said Belle, tearing a piece off her Danish and popping it into her mouth. “Professor South gave me some good feedback on my last piece, so I’m hoping I can build on that. You?”

“I have about fifteen hundred words of my criminology paper, and most of that’s crap,” said Emma bluntly.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Okay, maybe only thirteen hundred words is crap.”

Belle giggled.

“You want to get together for a study session this weekend?” she asked. “Turns out I suddenly have a lot of space to work in.”

“Sure. If you let Neal and Henry bring dinner over when they pick me up.”

“It’s a date.”

Belle reached for her tea, taking a sip, and Emma took a bite of her Danish. She watched Belle as she chewed and swallowed, reaching for her coffee again.

“So,” she said. “Baby daddy’s given you a new apartment?”

“He hasn’t given me anything, he’s letting me stay there,” said Belle morosely.

“Still.” Emma took another bite. “Gotta be better than the old place. I kept telling you it was a fire hazard.”

“Yeah, well, beggars can’t be choosers, right?” said Belle. “And now I’m dependent on him.”

“Not forever,” said Emma reasonably. “When you finish college you’ll be in a way better position. And at least it seems like he wants to help out, right?”

“I guess,” she said despondently. “I just - I hate feeling powerless.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Emma took a slurp of her coffee. “But you need to think about what’s best for the baby. And sometimes that means swallowing your pride. Believe me, I know.”

“Yeah.”

Belle picked up her Danish and took a bite, and Emma tilted her head.

“You said he’s coming over tonight,” she said. “You want some backup?”

Belle shook her head as she chewed and swallowed.

“I’ll be okay,” she said. “We need to talk about what we’re gonna do, I know that. I just hope we can do it without me wanting to strangle him with his own tie.”

“Try sleeping with him,” suggested Emma cheerfully. “I’m willing to bet you could bang your way to a better deal.”

Belle shot her a flat look.

“Okay, that’s a piece of advice I definitely won’t be taking.”

“Really.” Emma’s voice was flat. “How does he look?”

Belle groaned, slumping in her chair.

“He cut his hair,” she said gloomily.

“So?”

She sat forward again.

“He used to have this long hair,” she said. “It sort of came to his jaw and it was really soft and it used to brush my face when—” She pulled a face. "Well, you know.”

“And now?”

“He’s cut it all off.”

“So that’s good, then,” said Emma. “He looks like shit?”

“No! That’s the problem!”

Belle slumped forward, letting her head thump onto her folded arms.

“So, getting back to my sleeping with him idea,” said Emma, and she raised her head.

“I’m not doing that!”

Emma winked at her, popping the last piece of Danish into her mouth and licking crumbs from her fingers.

“We’ll see,” she said. “I give it a week.”

#ashmarie220 #fic: twisted fate #rumbelle fic #my fic #rumbelle

[trishmilburn]

An Exploration of The Untamed’s Romance & Mystery, Episode 3

Disclaimer: This post and others in this series will be filled with loads of spoilers if you haven’t seen The Untamed, the Chinese drama based on Mo Xiang Tong Xiu’s novel, Mo Dao Zu Shi (The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation). My chief interest in doing this series as I re-watch the drama is to chronicle the development of the romance between Wei Ying and Lan Zhan, but I also highlight the progression of the mystery that helps bring them together. Keep in mind that I’m writing these posts with the knowledge of what’s going to happen throughout the series and having read the novel.

On to Episode 3...

We’re still in the past, when our main characters are teens. Wei Ying and his adoptive brother and sister, Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, are at an inn, wanting to rest for the night before proceeding onto the Cloud Recesses, where they are headed for a lecture series. But the inn’s owner is telling them that they can’t stay there because another lord has booked the entire place. When two young women, disciples of the Jin Clan, arrive to make sure all the arrangements have been made for their lord’s arrival, Yanli realizes who must have booked the inn – Jin Zixuan, the only legitimate child of Jin Guangshan, head of the Jin Clan. Zixuan is also Yanli’s fiancé, though we realize the relationship is strained because it’s a marriage arranged by their mothers, long-time friends, when Zixuan and Yanli were very young. But more on that later.

Determined to get a room for the Jiangs’ party, Wei Ying pulls out his charm and his adorable, mischievous smile and starts flirting with Mian Mian (remember that name), one of the two Jin disciples. Gradually, he convinces her to let him have a room. But that new arrangement quickly changes when the inn owner comes to the room and says they have to leave. When Wei Ying and the Jiangs step into the hallway and come face to face with Jin Zixuan and his entourage, there is a brief moment of truth on Zixuan’s face before he hides it. When he saw Yanli, it’s obvious he likes her. This is something that is more obvious to me on this second viewing, though easily missed when you’re still trying to figure out who everyone is and how they relate to each other.

As they are leaving, Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying note how sad their older sister is after the encounter with Zixuan, and Wei Ying wonders what Jiang Fengmian (Cheng and Yanli’s father and his adoptive uncle) was thinking to arrange a marriage between their sweet senior sister and that flowery peacock.

When we first see the Cloud Recesses from a distance, it looks cool and verdant, the exact kind of place you’d expect the Lan Clan to reside. I kind of want to live there, except for all those rules we’ll soon learn about. When Wei Ying and the Jiangs arrive at the gate, they realize they accidentally left their invitation to the lecture series at the inn during their hasty departure. Wei Ying is trying desperately to get the Lan at the gate to let them in because is a long trip back to town and it’s going to be dark soon. But the gatekeeper says they can’t enter without the invitation.

Cue the entry of Lan Wangji, aka Lan Zhan, the man who will eventually become the most important person in the world to Wei Ying, though he hasn’t the first clue about that yet. Neither of them do. But the look on Wei Ying’s face when he sees this incredibly handsome man with the cool, emotionless exterior reveals at least some interest. It’s just curiosity at this point, but I believe a little seed of attraction just sprouted somewhere inside Wei Ying, one that will grow and grow in the days and months and years ahead.

The Lans who are accompanying Lan Zhan carry in a man on a stretcher. Jiang Cheng wonders how the man died, but Wei Ying says he’s not dead, just possessed by evil sorcery. This observation draws Lan Zhan’s attention, seeming to surprise him, though he says nothing.

Wei Ying shifts his argument for allowing them entry to the Cloud Recesses to Lan Zhan, since he has the power to overrule the rule. But Lan Zhan maintains the whole no invitation, no entry stance. Frustrated, Wei Ying continues to argue until Lan Zhan puts a muting spell on him and walks away. The original Lan at the gate tells Wei Ying the spell can only be removed by a Lan Clan member but if he doesn’t struggle against it, it will dissipate on its own in five minutes. But Wei Ying, being Wei Ying, continues to try to talk. Lan Zhan, who is a bit up the path now, stops and partially looks back over his shoulder at the sound of Wei Ying’s struggles. That right there is his own curiosity planting the seed of something more within him. He will deny this…until he doesn’t.

After night falls, we see the Jiangs sitting around a campfire as they wait for Wei Ying to return from town with the lost invitation. Surprisingly, Lan Zhan arrives at the campsite and lets the group in despite their lack of an invitation. When Wei Ying returns to find his family gone and no one guarding the gate, he tries to enter only to find there is an invisible barrier. But Wei Ying easily passes through after drawing a spell/talisman in the air. He’s pleased with himself as he heads into the Cloud Recesses with not only the invitation but also two bottles of Emperor’s Smile, an alcoholic beverage famous far and wide for its taste. But he’s already started breaking several of the many, many Lan Clan rules. First, he broke the barrier to enter. Then he has alcohol. And finally, he climbs over the wall surrounding the Lan compound. And his entry does not go unnoticed. Once atop the wall with his alcohol, he notices Lan Zhan watching him emotionlessly from nearby. When Lan Zhan informs him of the rules he’s broken, Wei Ying replies that he’s never been to the Cloud Recesses before so how could he possibly know about those rules? And then he proceeds to break another by trying to bribe Lan Zhan with the Emperor’s Smile.

When Wei Ying tries to drop into the courtyard below, out comes Lan Zhan’s sword, Bichen, to stop him. Soon they are engaged in a sword fight on the rooftops under the moonlight as “WangXian” plays in the background. That’s their song, though we haven’t gotten to its creation yet. I mean, who doesn’t engage in a bit of swordfighting before falling in love, right?

In the midst of this, Lan Zhan thinks that Wei Ying is “impenetrably thickheaded,” while Wei Ying tells Lan Zhan that he’s “heartless, unreasonable, pedantic and old-fashioned.” This string of adjectives earns Wei Ying a second dose of the muting spell.

Next we see Lan Xichen, Lan Zhan’s older brother, examining the “dead guy” and telling their uncle, Lan Qiren, how strange the marks on the guy’s body are and how this situation is something they’ve never seen before. (Oh, but it’s not going to be the last, dear Xichen.) Xichen tells Qiren there have been reports of disappearing cultivators, and Lan Zhan was asked to investigate. When Xichen hears someone outside, he covers the guy with a cloth before Lan Zhan brings the misbehaving Wei Ying before his two elders. After hearing what happened, Lan Xichen tells Wei Ying that while it’s understandable that he didn’t know the rules yet, he’ll still be punished. Okay, not fair, but that’s the breaks in the Cloud Recesses. (But if the Lans are that strict and unyielding, this also gives us a hint of how out of the ordinary it was for Lan Zhan to let the Jiangs in without their invitation, and you have to wonder if he thought Wei Ying would be with them when he did so.) Xichen asks his younger brother what he thinks will be a suitable punishment for Wei Ying’s infractions, and Lan Zhan responds with copying the house rules 300 times. There are a LOT of rules for the Gusu Lan Sect – as in more than 3,000 of them. Imagine how unexcited Wei Ying is at the prospect of copying them 300 times. He struggles to say so though he’s still under the muting spell, at least until Xichen tells Lan Zhan to release him from the spell.

But after Wei Ying tells Xichen and Qiren about the whole disagreement at the front gate regarding the lost invitation, Xichen reveals to Wei Ying that not only has his family safely arrived in the Cloud Recesses but it also was Lan Zhan who allowed them to enter. Lan Zhan tries to prevent his brother from revealing that latter fact, likely not wanting Wei Ying to know he caved and that Wei Ying’s protests might have had something to do with him changing his mind, but it didn’t work. Wei Ying approaches Lan Zhan to apologize, but Lan Zhan grips Bichen tightly and backs away from him. At this point, Lan Zhan is not only cut off emotionally, he’s also uncomfortable with physical contact with other people. This boy is holding a lot inside, as we’ll see in the future.

Wei Ying spots the covered body and asks if he’s dead because he wasn’t earlier. All three of the Lans seem surprised when he says this.

Cut to the Heavenly Nightless City, home of the Qishan Wen Sect. I personally think this place is inappropriately named because it looks more like Mount Doom and tells the audience in no uncertain terms that these are the bad guys of our story. Wen Ruohan, head of the sect, is speaking to a pretty young woman named Wen Qing. He’s instructing her that she’ll be going to the Cloud Recesses the next day, accompanied by Wen Chao. Her task while there isn’t so much to learn but to find one of the shattered pieces of Yin Metal like the one found at Great Brahma Mountain (which is also sometimes translated as Dafan Mountain). This metal, if all the parts are brought together, is tremendously powerful. Wen Ruohan wants to use it to subdue and rule over all the other cultivational sects. Yes, he’s a very bad guy who has a very dark and uncomfortable looking throne. Wen Qing asks if she can take Wen Ning, her younger brother, who has been weak since he was young, with her. Wen Ruohan asks if she thinks he’ll be mistreated if she leaves him behind, and though she says she’d never presume to think such a thing, that’s exactly what she’s thinking. Must protect cinnamon roll Wen Ning at all costs! Wen Ruohan agrees, saying that Wen Ning’s unique body might actually help her. I didn’t realize this statement was a clue and foreshadowing when I watched The Untamed the first time.

After Wen Qing leaves, we see Wen Ruohan snap his fingers. Instead of it being a Thanos-type dusting, this snapping actually activates the dead-ish guy back in the Cloud Recesses. He opens his eyes to reveal pure white and he sits up. Wei Ying and the Lans come to the conclusion that he’s a ghost puppet. When Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan step outside, Xichen tells Lan Zhan that the person who is using evil sorcery to control the ghost puppet may have great ambitions and that the disappearing cultivators may be just the start of their evil actions.

Then we have a lovely moment of brotherly conversation in which Xichen tells Lan Zhan that he’s never had to worry about him, that he’s mature and dependable, but wonders if his expectations for him are too high. He then tells Lan Zhan that among the visiting cultivators are several who are Lan Zhan’s age and he should make some friends. When Xichen says that he thinks Young Lord Wei isn’t bad, Lan Zhan looks surprised – or as surprised as Lan Zhan ever looks. This early in the first viewing I hadn’t yet grasped how very good actor Wang Yibo was at conveying Lan Zhan’s feelings through microexpressions. He was, in fact, a perfect casting choice for this role, though early feedback from fans was reportedly less than enthusiastic. Well, he showed them. Ha ha! Wang Yibo IS Lan Zhan now. I’ll never be able to picture anyone else in that role.

Xichen continues, saying that though Wei Ying acts out of bounds, he is also clever, quick-witted and has a bright personality. He is likely thinking these qualities would be good influences on his quiet, serious and closed-off younger brother. He notices Lan Zhan is once again gripping his sword tightly. When he asks Lan Zhan if when he fought with Wei Ying if their skills were evenly matched, Lan Zhan doesn’t answer and simply walks away. Instead of thinking his brother rude, Xichen actually smiles in amusement. He likes seeing that someone has finally gotten under Lan Zhan’s skin and cool exterior, making him act out of character. We have just witnessed the first step in Xichen becoming WangXian’s biggest shipper.

Finally we see Xue Yang, a beautiful but deadly and kind of crazy dude, with several of the ghost puppets (the missing cultivators) at Mount Doom…oh, I mean Heavenly Nightless City. Seriously, this is the most colossally misnamed place ever. It literally looks like it’s night all the time and is about as heavenly as, oh yeah, Mount Doom. Wen Ruohan tells him to help him find the other pieces of Yin Metal so he can subdue the other sects, mwahahaha. Xue Yang has agreed on the condition that Wen Ruohan keep his promise to give him what he wants, something that at this point remains unrevealed.

And thus ends Episode 3. First steps toward true love have been unknowingly taken while the baddies are being bad.

If you’d like to read my examinations of the previous two episodes, you can find them here:

Episode 1

Episode 2

#the untamed #wei ying #wei wuxian #lan zhan #lan wangji #lan xichen #wen qing #xue yang #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mo dao zu shi #mdzs

[spiderman-homecomeme]

Omg I just thought of something really cute for the anon that wanted parents!petermj : their son is starting kindergarten and peter dressed up as spiderman and spy on him to make sure he’s okay and mj gets Mad at him for not letting their son breathe

HI! once again!! an old prompt that has taken me a LONG ASS TIME to get out there, but I was on a roll and was I N S P I R E D !! I hope you enjoy this!!

Here’s about 1.7k of cute parent stuff bc I can’t NOT go overboard on writing

It was a day Peter had been dreading for some time now. A day he’d hoped would take just a little bit longer to come, that he’d have more time to prepare.

The first day of school.

Not his, of course.

It was Benjamin’s.

His very first day of kindergarten, to be exact. The beginning of his educational career; a long, twelve year journey; one that would hopefully guide him smoothly into the troubled world of adulthood. Monday through Friday, little Ben would be at school from about 8:40 AM to 3:00 PM, learning to read and write—though, he’d gotten a head start thanks to daycare and living with two walking brains—and hopefully take away some basic social skills from interacting with children his age. Sure, he’d had some of that experience, but those other kids were related to him. This was different.

It wasn’t like it was the first time Ben would be out of the apartment for long periods of time. MJ and Peter both had full-time jobs, so a high quality daycare was more than necessary.

But school… public school was another ball game altogether. And Peter couldn’t help the pit of dread that was swirling and sloshing in his stomach.

What if the other kids were mean to Ben? What if he had an allergic reaction to something?

(He didn’t have any allergies, doctor confirmed, but… you never know, anything was possible in kindergarten).

What if he tripped and fell on the playground during recess and broke his leg? What if all of Peter’s—Spider-Man’s enemies found out which school his kid went to and—

He didn’t want to finish that thought.

“You’re thinking way too much into this, Mother Hen,” MJ had said, grabbing her books and keys. “Don’t worry. Ben will be fine.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, Peter, okay?” She turned, finally making steady eye contact, her gaze unwavering.

He looked down, pursing his lips. “I—… I’ll try….”

If only there was a way that Peter could check up on—

Wait.

Michelle’s eyes widened slightly. “No. No no no no no I know that look. That’s your ‘bad idea’ look. Don’t you dare follow him.”

God, she could read him so well.

He sputtered. “What are you talking about? I’m not gonna follow him?? Why would I— I cannot believe you would think that… that I would do anything like that?”

Quirking a brow at him, she sighs before rolling her eyes, shaking her head as a small half-smile pulled at her lips. “You better not.”

Okay, maybe he should have been more conscious about the non-use of contractions in that sentence.

Peter Parker was many things, but a good liar wasn’t one of them.

But he didn’t technically lie when he told her he wouldn’t follow him.

Because… it wasn’t technically following. Ben had to get to school somehow, and Peter just happened to be the parent that was dropping him off. He returned home promptly after!

Putting on the suit when he gets back is just part of his perfectly normal morning/mid-afternoon routine.

And Ben’s school just happens to be on one of the routes Peter likes to take.

It was all just pure coincidence.

Spider-Man was currently perched atop the school building, super suit and all, watching quietly as his five-year-old son played on the monkey bars with a few other kids.

Good; so he was making friends!

Nothing exciting was happening, not that Peter expected it. He was only there just in case something by chance, were to… well… happen.

It was all perfectly normal.

After all, what parent would pass up the chance to check on their kids if they could do what Peter could?

All was quiet on the playground front.

When the final recess bell sounded, Peter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He was almost in the clear, just about to leave when he saw the tiny little hand waving up at him from the swingset, Ben’s little voice shouting, “Hi Spider-Man!”

Obviously, Peter waved back, he wasn’t a monster, but he couldn’t help but feel like it was not necessarily all that great that he was spotted.

See, Ben didn’t really understand that his dad was the Spider-Man. In his mind, they were two separate entities.

No, he hadn’t realized yet that his father was also numbers three and four on his list of favorite people in the entire world; Spider-Man and Santa Claus.

(Of course, Mom—MJ, is number one; Dad—Peter, is number two. No contest.)

Now, there is a plan to eventually tell their son. After all, his dad being a crime fighting vigilante isn’t something a parent can just… stop doing when the kid turns eight or so, letting the belief just fizzle out. It’s something that will need to be addressed soon; just, maybe not when Ben is at the age where he’s telling everyone he meets all of their family secrets.

(Okay, maybe telling the kids at daycare that his granddad has diabetes wasn’t a Spider-Man level secret, but they couldn’t take any chances.)

Peter knows that this—this little spying stunt he’s pulled—could come up later, judging by how excited Ben got when he saw the familiar red and blue suit just chilling on the roof of his school.

At this point, he’s just hoping and praying that the kids do something more exciting in class that can draw all of the attention.

Luckily for Peter, the rest of the day flies by; he stops a few shoplifters here and there, making sure to grab some pictures for the Daily Bugle while he’s at it. He makes sure to swing by home before he picks Ben up, changing into normal civilian clothes before driving over.

“Daddy!” Ben, of course, rushes to wrap his tiny arms around his father’s knees, squeezing with all of his might.

Peter laughs, bending down the best way he can to hug his son back. “Hey, little dude! How was the first day?”

“Good!” he grins. “I drew a picture!” He pulls back, fumbling with his backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper, nearly every color of crayon marked all over it.

But the blue and red is unmistakable.

“It’s Spider-Man!” The little boy says proudly, holding the picture out for his dad to take.

Peter, though he begins to panic only a little on the inside, smiles back. ��Very cool.”

“Yeah! I saw him today!” The way Ben positively beams up at him, giving the literal sun a run for its money, pulls at Peter’s heartstrings. But the feeling dissolves, his eyes widening slightly, as soon as he realizes what will happen Ben shows his picture to MJ.

He helps Ben put the picture back in the little bag, lowering his voice to a comically whisper. “Hey, bud, let’s not show this to Mommy right when we get home, okay? Let’s surprise her!”

Peter figures he can just hide the picture for a few days before putting it on the fridge, all to avoid any suspicion. No big deal. Piece of cake.

What MJ doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Ben, of course being five and not realizing at all what is going on, nods enthusiastically as he takes his dad’s hand.

And for a while, Peter almost thinks he’s in the clear.

He’s so close.

It’s at the dinner table though, that his own son betrays him.

“I saw Daddy at school today!” Ben says through a mouthful of spaghetti.

MJ’s fork freezes before it reaches her mouth, her eyes moving to her husband in an instant. “Oh, really?” She asks slowly.

Peter stops, eyes widening for a fraction of a second as he feels MJ’s glare burning into him.

“Yeah,” Ben nods thoroughly. “He picked me up!”

And again, the tension leaves Peter’s body as he lets the breath he’d been holding in anticipation.

A gentle smile breaks across MJ’s features as she turns her attention back to the pasta on her plate.

Whew. That was close.

“And I saw Spider-Man at recess, too!”

Shit.

Well, Peter was certainly in for it tonight.

“I wanna say I’m surprised, but honestly,” MJ had thankfully waited until Ben’s bedtime to say anything, Though, while it was good for their son, Peter was filled with every anxiety known to man waiting for this conversation. “Yeah, honestly, I’m not.”

She doesn’t seem that mad, from what he can tell.

He thinks.

Then again, he’s kind of oblivious. Has been for a while, so he could be completely wrong.

“Are you on something?” she asks, finally facing him, a brow raised in question, stare calculating. “What could have possibly made you think that spying on him was a good idea?”

“I mean, it’s not technically spying—”

“Not technically spying?”

Peter falters, suddenly feeling very small. “Well, I mean—I was just… just watching him. From the roof. And—… well… he didn’t… know… I… was there…”

“Yeah, so… spying.”

He gulps. “When you put it that way… yeah…”

“Peter,” MJ groans, running a frustrated hand over her face. “We talked about this. Literally this morning.”

“I know, I know,” He sighs, plopping himself down on the edge of the bed. “I just… got so worried. I don’t know. I know that he’s safe and all… but… It’s just so fast and—”

Maybe it was the way he seemed to shrink after that, the genuine worry and concern in his tone, or the way his eyes seemed to do that whole puppy-dog thing they always did, but… okay, MJ wasn’t made of stone.

She lets out a breath, releasing tension as she sits herself next to him, bumping her shoulder to his. “Hey, I know it’s scary. Believe me, I’m scared, too. He’s growing up… But…”

Peter looks up at her. “But?”

“You have to let the kid breathe. Let him grow. He’s gotta have a couple of non-successes before he can… well, succeed. If that makes sense.”

His lips quirk up into a smile. “Non-successes? You mean failures?”

“Hey, I’m trying to be positive. Shut up.”

He playfully nudges her, sighing again. “No, I’m kidding. I get it. I need to back off. No more helicopter Spider-Dad.”

“Not saying you can’t help him at all… Just…” she starts again, looking him dead on. “Promise me you’ll be more chill about it. And less…” She pauses, eyeing him, carefully choosing her next word. “Creepy? Maybe try that?”

He laughs at that, nodding. “Yeah. Sure. Okay. I’ll give that a shot.”

The corner of her lip quirks upward into a half-smile. “Good,” she leans in, planting a sound kiss on his lips. “Because if I hear about Spider-Man spying on our son again, there will be hell to pay.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

#spideychelle #fic #fluff! #prompt #this was late ahhh #also lol kindergarten is always so different so forgive any inaccuracies #anyway pls enjoy!! #i had fun writing this one