#IT'S COLD OUTSIDE BUT THEY STILL GON BONE

[awkward-walking-potato]

Request for Remy with his lady being sick? 🥺💗 Love your work!!!

In sickness and in health

The rain tapped gently against the windowpane, a soft rhythm that filled the quiet of the room. Outside, the world was gray, drenched in the kind of autumn rain that made you want to curl up under the blankets and disappear for a while. Unfortunately, you were already confined to bed, not by choice, but by the relentless grip of a nasty cold that had taken up residence in your body for the past few days.

You were miserable. Your head was heavy, your throat raw, and your whole body ached. Even breathing felt like a chore. The pile of used tissues on the nightstand was evidence of your struggles, and despite the warm cocoon of blankets surrounding you, a persistent chill lingered in your bones.

But what made it all bearable—what brought the slightest hint of comfort to the otherwise dreary situation—was Remy.

Remy LeBeau, or Gambit as he was known to most, had been at your side from the moment you first felt the scratch in your throat. Despite his usual swagger and charm, when it came to you being unwell, Remy was nothing short of devoted. He moved around the room with a quiet efficiency that was at odds with his usual, more flamboyant nature, taking care of your every need without a second thought.

"Ma chère, you need anything?" Remy's soft, accented voice broke through the fog of your misery, drawing your attention. He stood in the doorway, a steaming cup of tea in one hand and a fresh box of tissues in the other. His red eyes, usually so mischievous, were filled with concern as he looked at you.

You managed a weak smile, your voice raspy as you responded, "Just you, Remy."

He grinned, though it was a gentler smile than his usual roguish smirk. "Good t'ing I’m already here, non?" He crossed the room in a few easy strides, setting the tea down on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and you leaned into him, seeking the warmth and comfort of his presence.

"I made you some tea," he said, reaching for the cup. "Jus' how you like it—honey, lemon, an' a little bit o' love." He winked at you as he offered you the cup, and despite feeling like you’d been run over by a truck, you couldn’t help but chuckle.

"Thanks," you whispered, your voice hoarse but sincere. You took the cup from him, the warmth seeping into your cold hands, and sipped slowly, savoring the sweet, soothing liquid.

Remy watched you with a tenderness that he rarely showed anyone else. For all his bravado and flirtations, with you, he was different. More vulnerable, more real. He reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin for just a moment longer than necessary.

"You ain't gotta worry 'bout nothin', chérie," he murmured, his voice soft as he ran his fingers gently through your hair. "Remy gon’ take care o’ you."

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. Even in your weakened state, the warmth of his fingers against your scalp was enough to send a shiver down your spine, a reminder that despite the cold, there was still something warm and good in the world.

"I’m sorry you have to take care of me," you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I know it’s not what you signed up for."

Remy’s laugh was soft, almost a chuckle, and he shook his head, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. "Now where you gettin’ a fool notion like that, huh?" he asked, his breath warm against your skin. "You think Remy’s only here for the good times? Cher, you got me all wrong." He tilted your chin up gently, his eyes meeting yours, and there was something so earnest, so sincere in his gaze that it made your chest ache. "I’m here for all of it, bonne et mauvaise. Sickness, health, an’ everything in between. That’s what love is, non?"

You blinked back tears, not sure if they were from the sickness or the overwhelming emotion that welled up inside you. Either way, you knew you were lucky—so incredibly lucky—to have someone like Remy in your life. Someone who didn’t just love you for the good times but was willing to be there through the rough patches too.

"I love you, Remy," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"I love you too, ma chère," he replied without hesitation, pressing another kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly. "Now, why don’t you rest a bit more? I’ll be right here if you need anyt’ing."

You nodded, your eyes already drooping with exhaustion. The tea had done its job, soothing your throat and easing the tightness in your chest, and the warmth of Remy’s presence was enough to lull you back into a peaceful sleep.

As you drifted off, you felt him shift beside you, his arm wrapping around you in a protective embrace. Even as you slipped into the haze of sleep, you could still feel his warmth, his love, surrounding you like a shield against the sickness that tried to drag you down.

[metalheadcowboy]

Turning a Harringrove Cowboy/Farm AU I wrote A LONGGGG time ago into an actual multi part/chapter fic, so here's the first part, enjoy!

-----------------------

It was the spring of '84 when Steve Harrington first decided he hated Billy Hargrove with every damn bone in his body.

The beginning of that spring had been particularly rough in many ways. 

Steve's second senior year of high school was going quite a ways away from great, it seemed like no matter what his old man was pissed off about something or another, the calving season had only just started and it was going straight to shit. Oh, and on top of that, it was hotter than a witches tit outside, a record high in southern Indiana that year, great.

"Gah lee," Steve huffed as he fell flat on his rear, wiping the sweat off his forehead, with the part of his arm that wasn't covered in cow crap and god knows what, "That 'as one big son 've a bitch." The force of his collapse knocked his Stetson hat clean off, but he was quick to recover the rather expensive item he’d received for Christmas not too long ago. 

He slowly collected himself, pushing the medium tan leather down upon his dark, messy waves. He couldn’t help but blink his eyes a few times as he practically panted like a dog to will any form of cold into his body, "Yeah, 'll least this one's livin'," his dad remarked, and he couldn't disagree with that. Seemed like they'd had more still born calves than live ones this season.

" 'Ts only March, we've got a few months," The teen reminded, manifesting at least a shred of hope for the coming weeks. It wasn't that they didn't have calves other times of the year, they were just few and far between. Now was the time when they started raising a good sized herd to sell of at the beginning of next spring to support them most of the year round, besides the practical penny change they made selling their cows milk local, "Good job, mama," he praised the brown and white blotched animal next to him, already akin to new motherhood, licking her almost identical oversized calf like she knew nothing else.

Steve willed himself up off the ground onto shaky knees, this day had been one of his longest in a while. School on top of all the heifers seeming to want to calf at the exact same time. But as he looked past their property line, out into the marvelous bubblegum pink and creamsicle sunset, he found some sliver of peace.

Only the voice of his father snapped him out of his blissful moment of zoning out, seemed like he was doing a lot more of that lately "You best go wash up 'fer dinner, you know your ma ain't gon' have you at the table lookin' that way." He was right and Steve knew it, but he couldn't lie, a hot shower did sound pleasant on his aching joints.

He gave a quick "Yes sir," ending what was probably the tamest conversation they'd had in weeks, before making the short, yet long trek back to their homestead. He could see the lights on in the kitchen and living room, and as he got closer he came upon the silhouette of his mother washing her hands in the kitchen sink in the small window next to their side door.

He trotted up the last few stairs, smiling as he walked through the door to someone just as happy to greet him, "Well, look what the hot mess express brought in, my word sweetie," she said with no real malice, grinning at him like he was her pride and joy, which he was.

"Hi mama," he replied plainly, chuckling softly as she came over and pulled his nearly six foot frame down to her 5 '2 height for a kiss on the side of his head.

His chuckle turned into a full chested laugh when she made a fake gag of disgust, "You smell just 'bout right rank, son. You sure the heifers weren't the ones hackin' it up at your stink?" she teased and Steve just shook his head.

"Had my arm so far up one of 'em I'm prolly 'bout half cow any how," The brunette boy mimicked the struggle sticking his arm up the back end of a cow, to which Annette Harrington grimaced, "That's why I let you boys do your thing and I do mine," she gestured to the kitchen, which is what first alerted Steve to the smell of freshly made chicken pot pie sitting ready on the ceramic countertop. 

His eyes immediately lit up with pure delight, like a kid on Christmas morning, except he was nineteen and to some sad extent pot pie was the highlight of his week, “Mama you didn’t!” he exclaimed, about to go in for a big hug before remembering what he was covered in. 

Mrs. Harrington just shook her head, “Alright, go get cleaned up, the pie ain’t gon’ grow legs.” Within an instant Steve was racing off to his bedroom to grab a pair of pajamas and then to his bathroom to shower. 

And to say he was right would have been an understatement. Steve swore the hot stream of water that cascaded down his spine sent him into seventh heaven, easing out his jammed knee and stiff elbow with ease. 

He enjoyed his escape for about as long as the hot water lasted, a mere few minutes, but that was long enough for him. When he stepped out of the shower he shook his hair out like a wet dog, letting the towel he scrubbed his head with next catch the excess. Shortly after, he grabbed the comb up next to his sink, swiping the steam off the mirror to give his unruly mop a good brush through before quickly throwing on the pajamas he had grabbed prior. 

Steve practically burst through the bathroom door, following the promising scent of dinner, blatantly stopping in his tracks when he found something that was definitely not chicken pot pie. 

“Oh, Steven,” Oh boy, “We have someone we’d like ‘fer you to meet.” The smile on his moms face was sickeningly different from that she had on when welcoming him in from his chores. A lot less genuine and a lot more plastic, but still warm in the way it always was, it was just her nature. 

Steve didn’t say anything for a few seconds, taking in the atmosphere, his parents, that boy. He would be lying if he said the golden-haired figure standing between his folks didn’t look straight out of one of the magazines he’d seen the few times they went into the city. 

Striking icy blue eyes, rimmed with lashes that damn near put any woman’s to shame. Thick brows somehow shaped to perfection, lain a top skin so perfectly sun kissed and freckled with intent. Steve had to force himself to shake these thoughts, knowing how damn stupid he must have looked gawking like an idiot. But that didn’t push away the confusion he felt as his heart seemed to pick up at the statuesque mystery man standing before him. 

“If they’d ‘a told me we were having’ company I would’ve thought to dress a ‘lil nicer ‘n this,” he remarked, cheeks burning a bit with embarrassment, feeling almost stark naked in his pajama pants and plain white t-shirt. He huffed out a short breath when the guy in front of him gave him a rather unconvincing pity laugh, parents following suit, “Ain’t no skin off my back, ‘m sure we’ll see each other in worse,” the radiant boy replied, once again leaving Steve baffled, but maybe that’s just what he did. 

“Names Billy by the way, Billy Hargrove” the boy- Billy extended his hand for Steve to take and he did, taking the few steps forward to give his hand a proper shake before returning the favor, “Steve Harrington, pleasure’s mine,” he replied simply with a short nod of his head. 

His father seemed pleased enough by this interaction, though Steve could never really tell, he always had this sort of stone cold thing going on. 

There was a beat of somewhat awkward silence before Annette interjected, “How about some homemade pot pie?” she offered, with a prompt clap of her hands, sending her boys and their guest to the dinner table. Normally Steve would have been beaming, ready to talk and talk and talk about anything and everything under the sun, but suddenly he wasn’t exactly in the mood. 

“Well, Billy we really are glad to have ya here,” Mr. Harrington continued in the tone he only used around guests or, really, people he was trying to impress. The sickeningly sweet, layered on false happiness and enthusiasm that made Steve’s stomach hurt, “Yeah, ‘ll y’know my old man’s been rearin’ to get me out of the house since the second I stepped foot outta school,” Hm, so he was older, “Since I graduated early ‘n all, couldn’t happen fast ‘nough.” The lanky boy nearly spit out his water, choking in an awkward way to where it came halfway up his nose and made his eyes water. 

Steve coughed it out a bit before bringing his napkin up to his face, watery eyes of shame blinking themselves dry, “Y’ alright there cowboy?” Cowboy, Steve looked up at the smirk on the other boy’s face and had to hold back a sneer. The last thing he needed tonight was to get into it with his dad while they had company over. 

“ ‘M fine, thanks,” he mumbled, feeling the short- lived rage in his stomach settle when his mother brought the meal over just in time, “Shall we?” she chimed in a sing-song tone, that wasn’t anything like his fathers, hers was genuine. Because if there was one thing about Annette Harrington, she didn’t have a mean bone in her body for anyone, unless they messed with her family. 

Steve tuned out the prayer, forehead pressed solidly against his hands clasped so tight his knuckles were about ghostly white. He was just wondering when this Billy guy was going to leave so this night could be over. But of course, just when the brunette thought the topic might change, of course, even after the prayer, his father, John, had to dwell. 

“I’ll say that’s right impressive, y’know Steve here’s held back a year, he’s ‘sposed to have graduated by now, but,” Mr. Harrington shrugged as he dug into his dinner. His son sat there halfway gobsmacked, halfway offended, but he should’ve expected such. 

Steve scoffed, “Only ‘cus you got me doin’ half your work every day. I barely got time for anythin’ else,” he mumbled under his breath just loud enough for the table to hear as he stared down at his mashed potatoes. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel his fathers eyes boring into his skull like laser beams. 

Steve’s mom just looked at him with a disappointed expression, but didn’t interject because she knew good and well it was true, “ ‘F that’s whatcha really think ‘n you’ll be happy to hear you won’t have to do it no more.” Steve’s eyebrows practically shot up his forehead and through his hairline. 

What the hell was he talkin’ ‘bout?

“Huh?” Was all he could manage before his dad excitedly cut off whatever he was planning to say next, “Well what else do you think we got Billy here for, looks?” This gave everyone but Steve a good laugh, he didn’t see any reason to be laughing right now. 

“ ‘N just what ‘o you mean by that?” He was so blinded by anger that he couldn’t even think about eating the pot pie his sweet mother had made, but he’d get over that guilt. He couldn’t say the same for the fury burning deep within him. He looked over at Billy who looked smug as ever, chewing on a bit of his food, sneaky eyes peeking out of the rim of his rather ratty looking Resistol. Oh what he would give right now to punch that smug look right off that pretty boy face. 

John Harrington gave Steve the look, his signature look that said ‘I dare you to go testin’ me, boy’ and if there was ever a time for that it would be now, “Steve, you’ve been slacking lately ‘n we both know it, son.” Steve went to open his mouth but got cut off, again, “ ‘N I figured having Billy stay here ‘n work with me ‘d give you the time off to do sumn else. Like helpin’ your mom ‘round the house, you did always seem… better suited for those things.” 

This couldn’t be fuckin’ for real, “John-,” his mom tried to scold. 

There’s no way his dad just basically called him a sissy, not after-

“I had my hand up a cow’s ass ‘fer you today, ‘n then you’re gonna go sayin’ that- that bullshit?” Steve burst, knowing he would no doubt have to pay for these words later. He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes, not from guilt, not from shame, but of pure, unfiltered rage. But what really put salt in the wound was looking over at Billy, whose subtle smirk had far faltered, turning into something more innocent, more regretful. Like this wasn’t all his own damn fault in the first place. 

Everything’s so unfair, this is so unfair. Not only did he feel hurt, but he felt embarrassed, having his dad say those things about him, basically calling him a sissy, in front of his own mother. 

“Steven-” he heard his father try to reprimand, but Steve refused to take it. Instead, he stood up abruptly, the straightening of his knees sent his chair flying backwards against the wall. He would have cringed at the sound if he weren’t so genuinely pissed. 

He was able to hold the tears in until he turned around, then it was like the dam just… burst. He felt a whine work its way up his throat, but he willed it back down, swallowing what last bit of pride he had left down with it. 

Could a sissy do that? Maybe Steve didn’t want the answer to that. 

He didn’t know what was going on, he’d never felt this was, this upset, this angry. He didn’t understand. He practically glid to his room, socked feet moving so fast he wasn’t sure whether or not he was actually taking real steps. And, frankly, he didn’t care, just wanted to be away. 

When he made it to his room, he closed his door behind him and flopped down onto his bed, stomach down, choking on his own hushed sobs. It made him feel like a child again, pathetic, small, lonely. He turned on his side and curled in on himself a bit, clinging on to whatever little bit of comfort he could. 

Through wallowing in his own self pity, he barely heard the faint mewl coming from behind him. He just groaned, hoping maybe if he ignored it long enough it, or rather she, would go away. 

“Meooowww.” He should’ve known better, it was his fault for locking her in there with him anyways. 

“Oh, Ginger,” he sighed, stuffy nose making him sound all nasally. And it was as if that was the permission the rather plump orange tabby needed to jump up on top of him like he was her human pillow, “Cain’t a man even have a few seconds alone.” To that, of course, she meowed at him in protest, ever the chatterbox. 

Steve quickly accepted his defeat to the tubby cat when she somehow still gracefully jumped off his ribs and onto the empty spot in bed next to him. The pale light of bright stars shining through his window, reflecting off of Ginger’s big round saucer eyes were the only thing giving his room any light. But it didn’t matter because soon after he shut his own eyes, focusing on the purring of the seemingly content cat next to him, half wishing to disappear, half wishing to go back out there and beat Billy to a pulp. Even if only for existing.

Billy, stupid Billy and his stupid white teeth and his stupid pretty eyes and his stupid everything.

Fuck this dinner, fuck this day, and most importantly fuck Billy Hargrove.

[pumpkinkurt]

klaine advent drabble challenge day 11: key

word count: 911

“Blaine,” Kurt mumbles, pressed up against Blaine’s back with his hands desperately trying to make their way under his layers and onto his skin, “Blaine, unlock the door.”

“I’m trying,” Blaine says, his fingers numb even through two pairs of gloves. The key to their lodge is deep in the inner pocket of his ski jacket, and he can’t get it out. “Kurt, you’re not helping.”

“I’m so cold,” Kurt’s icy face presses against Blaine’s neck and Blaine yelps. “Kurt!”

Read the rest on AO3.

[prfctethereal]

just another horror movie. | james potter

pairing: james potter x reader

chapter: prologue

warnings: NSFW smut, oral (female and male receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, talks of a killer, general horror themes

word count: 2.9k

summary: its been a week since you’ve last seen your boyfriend as there is a murderer out and about you spend the night together, not knowing that they aren’t safe themselves. 

The power had long gone out, yet you couldn’t sleep, as the wind bashed against the side of your house. Home alone - your parents had gone away for the weekend - and the storm outside gave you the spooks. A faint candlelit light warmed the living room, silhouettes dancing across the walls, as you sat curled up on the couch, trying to get the noises out of your head.

A book lay open on your lap, a random page open, but your eyes couldn’t focus on the words. You were nervous - storms always made you like that - but there was nothing you could do. All you hoped was that the storm would blow over in the morning. All you hoped was that you would peacefully fall asleep and morning would come quickly.

A scratching at the door knocked you out of your trance. Your head flicked up, eyes glossing over the front door, as you listened out. You tried glancing out the window to see who it could be, but the outside was too foggy. You could barely make out the flickering street lamps.

Cautiously, you moved towards the front door, your book folded back neatly in your hand. Maybe you could use it as a battering ram if there was an attacker at the door.

In your left hand, you picked up a candle, shining it towards the door handle. Taking a deep breath in, you flung the door open. Well, you slowly opened it, but the howling wind opened the door further.

“Jesus sweetheart, you gon’ let me stay in this rain all evening, huh?”

It was only James Potter.

Giggling, you tugged on his shirt collar, pulling him into your house, dropping your book on the way. His shirt had been soaked by the rain, no doubt that he must’ve walked all the way here from his own house. His usually beat fluffy hair was sticking against his forehead, crystal droplets clinging against his face. He looked devilishly handsome from the weather.

Staring up at his hazel eyes, you bit your lip seductively, waiting for him to make a move. For a moment, it seemed like he was just going to stay there, peering down at you through his water clogged eyelashes. Eventually, a half smirk tugged on his cheeks, a gentle rouge returning to his skin as he warmed up against the candle.

You couldn’t handle the suspense much longer. You leaned upwards, pressing your lips against his hungrily. You drank him in momentarily, getting intoxicated on his flavour - something sweet and something bitter at once - until you pulled away, needing oxygen.

“That’s a lovely welcome wagon.” James said cheekily, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek, his wet fingers brushing against your cheek bones. “I was starting to think you had forgotten me.”

“It’s only been a week.” You hummed, leaning your forehead against his, happy to be in his presence once again. “You know my parents don’t want me going out at the moment. They’re still so tense about the so-called killer roaming around.”

James pressed his lips to your cheek, calming your nervousness down with his touch. “I know darling. I wish they wouldn’t take it out on me though.” His soft voice vibrated against your skin. You hummed along to what he was saying.

“It’s not your fault.” You muttered. “I have you now.” You started kissing from his lips to his jawline. Your plush cushions left tiny marks on James’ skin as you nipped lightly. Listening to his light moans only spurred you on, tugging him from the entrance way to back into the living room.

Pushing him onto the couch, you straddled his lap, continuing your venture on his neck. Sucking and nibbling at the skin underneath James’ ear, your desire to see your marks on him grew. Pulling back, you admired the flush on his neck, the other warm scarlet hue already fading to a gentle violet. Underneath your heat, you could feel James’ growing bulge against you, making you groan with arousal.

You couldn’t help your excitement. Clawing at his chest, you tugged on his shirt some more, signalling that you wanted it off. In a frantic scramble of limbs, you both worked together to undo the buttons on James’ damp button-up. Pushing it off his shoulders and revealing his toned torso, you pressed your lips against his chest, smothering open mouth kisses across his pectorals, eliciting whimpers from the bespectacled man before you.

James bucked his hips against you, signalling that he was getting desperate. In an attempt to sooth his desires, you pulled yourself downwards onto your knees, looking up at him. “May I?” You asked for consent, resting your hand against his thighs, the pads of your fingers tracing delicate circles against the material of his jeans.

“Please.” James gulped, already breathing heavily. With a smirk, you hoisted yourself upwards again, hands fidgeting with the zipper on his jeans, undoing the top button. When the jeans would allow you, you pulled them down, revealing James’ girth, straining against his boxers. The sight alone made you grow wetter in your underwear.

With another nod of consent from James, you pulled down his boxers, his thick member slapping against his stomach, red and angry from the tensing beforehand. Lethargically, you stroked the palm of your hand against his skin, spreading the leaking precum from his tip all over his length, making it smoother to handle.

Quickening your pace, you looked up at the fine young man before you, whose eyes were squeezed right from the pleasure. Except, you wanted him to look at you. It had been over a week since you had last been intimate and you wanted the attention on yourself. You were the one pleasuring James, not the inside of his eyelids.

“Look at me,” you whispered against his cock, “I’m the one making you a whimpering mess.” In an attempt to please you, James looked down at you, fixing his eyes to the way you pressed gentle kisses to the underside of his cock, your lips rubbing across his sensitive veins.

“S-so good.” James whimpered, as you took the beginning of his length into your mouth, suckling on the head. “Please… I need more. Please give me more. I’ll be so good to you, please, just give me all of your mouth. I beg of you, give me more.”

Satisfied with James’ begging, you started downwards on his cock again, trying to fit as much as possible in your mouth. As you were entirely caught up in the way James was falling apart beneath you, you didn’t notice the scratching at your window, until the wind had entirely slammed against it, rain pelting the pane of glass. The swinging window had opened itself up from the ferociousness of the storm, a cool draft interrupting your intimate moment.

A chill ran up the back of your spine, and it wasn’t from arousal. You took yourself off of James’ cock, giggling as to disperse the tension. His thigh muscles were flexed and tense, sweating beading from his palms. Sitting up slightly, you placed your hand against his, a feeble attempt to calm his racing mind.

“It was just the wind, love.” You murmured, sitting back on your heels, making your way to the open window. The hissing rain coated you in a thin layer of ice cold water, as you poked your head outside, checking the yard to see if anyone was there. Exactly like you thought, no one was there, except for a stray rodent in the grass. Satisfied, you closed the window, double checking the lock to make sure it was locked tight.

Spinning around again, you noticed James’ attention wasn’t on you once again. A frown appeared on your lips as you followed James’ gaze outwards into the kitchen. “Babe..” He whimpered again.

“What’s wrong?”

“The lights.” James paused, turning his head back towards you once again. “They were flickering.”

“Impossible.” You scoffed, strutting back towards James, placing your hands on his shoulders lovingly. “The power went out hours ago.”

You could tell James was still nervous, and rightly so. For the past few weeks, it seemed like a serial killer had invited themself into the neighbourhood, slaughtering mischievous teenagers whenever they could. Luckily, it hasn’t affected your friend group much, but it has still rocked you and your community. Your parents even refused to send you back to school.

They were hesitant to even go out his weekend, but you convinced them it was a good idea, as to leave you alone from their constant pestering.

“Would you like to go upstairs to my bedroom, love?” That peaked James’ interest, who immediately started flashing puppy dog eyes, as if that would convince you further. Grinning sweetly, you took his hand in yours, pulling his pants up momentarily, as you grabbed a candle.

Hand in hand, you walked up your creaky stairs together, with you leading the way with your candle. When you reached the landing, you invited James into your bedroom, closing the door behind you to set the mood even more.

Gently placing the candle on your bedside table, you laid yourself against your plush comforter, spreading your clothed legs to tease James slightly. It was just then when James realised that you were fully clothed when he had already lost his shirt and some of his pants. Greedily, he lunged forward, nimble fingers working at the hem of your shirt.

“Please can I take this off?” James asked sweetly, meeting your eyes with his. Humming in affirmation, James ripped the top through the middle, receiving a chuckle from you. He plunged his face into your protruding breasts, inhaling the scent on your skin. His hands worked subconsciously against your arms, pushing the remains of your shirt off of your body. When the last of that flimsy material was off of you, you swung your hands behind you, unhooking your bra, revealing your perky tits fully to your boyfriend, who looked like he had just won the lottery.

“Go ahead darling.” You affirmed to the boy, who immediately latched his mouth onto your nipple, humming in delight at your taste. At that moment, you felt like heaven. The soft noises of James sucking against you brought you peace in this stressful time.

You felt James move across to your other tit as your eyes glossed over to your open curtains. In a flash, you saw a darting figure, something solid and dark standing within your tree. When you looked back, it was gone.

Must’ve been a trick of the light.

You were getting too worked up again. To move the thoughts out of your head, you gently reached underneath James’ chin, tilting his face upwards, stroking his cheek with your hand. You reattached your lips to his, pushing the anxious thoughts away, only focusing on the person giving you pleasure in the moment.

“May I?” James nosed at your jaw, taking in deep breaths, yet you were unsure of what exactly he wanted. Smirking, you cocked your head to the side, pouting ever so slightly.

“What do you want darling?” You teased, letting your finger wander across James’ skin. “If you want something, you have to ask.”

James was slowly turning into a whimpering mess as he continued nosing at your neck, placing gentle kisses to your sensitive skin when he felt like it, something you let him do lightly, as he was still a little spooked from the window situation.

Then, you felt James’ hands travel south, trying to connect to whatever skin was available. You understood in that moment what he wanted, grinning cheekily and tugging his face down. With your approval, James looked delighted, flipping your skirt upwards and pulling down your panties. Mesmerised by how your arousal had already soaked through the material, his jaw fell open slightly.

James dove in, kissing and nibbling at your quivering cunt. He licked a fast stripe up the entire length of your pussy, finishing at your throbbing clit. It was screaming to be touched from James’ accidental teasing. When he eventually attached his lips to your clit and sucked, you arched your back off of the bed in pleasure, blissful to finally be getting what you wanted.

His playful tongue teased your entrance, dipping in momentarily before completely pulling out. You hadn’t realised how much you needed him until now, but you let him have your fun. He was your good boy after all.

James continued his venture of your cunt, feasting upon it like a starving man. You tried to keep your eyes on him - to admire the sight and to not be a hypocrite - but your eyes wandered towards the window. You had the full view of the tree once again. You still couldn’t get that figure out of your head, as much as you would like to with the adoring man between your legs.

A crash rang out from downstairs.

In an instant, James shot up from between you, looking at your bedroom door that was pulled shut. You could’ve sworn that you had even heard James growl slightly. Reaching towards him, you carded your fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp in an aid to sooth him.

“Shh- shh- shh, it will just be my cat darling, don’t fret.” You tilted his head back towards you, pulling him upwards so he was hovering over your naked body. You stretched upwards, connecting your lips with his, tasting yourself on his tongue. You moaned into his mouth, the feeling of his cock pressing against his lower stomach getting to you.

“I need you in me. Please, I want you.” You begged, showing a little submissive behaviour to redirect James’ attention. It worked. His eyes were fixed on you once again, his tongue darting out from his mouth to lick his lips.

“Okay love, just lie back.” James hummed to himself as he lined up his member with your entrance. Looking back at you for consent once again, which you granted with a nod, he entered your tight cunt, a moan escaping his lips.

It felt like ecstasy to be connected once again so intimately. You had forgotten how obsessed you were with the way he slotted into you. Bottoming out, he started thrusting with more effort, pushing himself along so you would fall apart. James’ favourite thing ever was the look you made when you came.

Trailing your fingers downwards, you played with your own clit, feeling your back arch from the bed. It was all too good. James was thrusting into you like it was your first time, and it almost made you forget about the storm outside.

Almost.

It seemed like your eyes were transfixed on your window. The rain was now peltering down ever harder, as if that was possible. As your own orgasm grew, it felt like the storm did too. Sweat was dripping down your face, but it felt like icy rain against your hot, flushed skin.

The lack of control was driving you mad. In a last attempt to clear your anxiety, you pushed James onto his back, his cock slipping out of you momentarily, until you straddled him once again.

Riding him made you feel better. James was back to moaning beneath you and you were calming down. The only sound that you were focused on was the sound of your skin slapping against each other and James’ heavy groans echoing off the walls.

“May I cum?” You had almost forgotten about James for a second. His eyes were screwed shut and it seemed like he had been asking for permission for a while, something that your senses must’ve skipped over. In a way to reassure your boyfriend, you ran your fingers over his chest, focusing attention on his tight nipples.

“Of course, such a good boy for me.” And with that, James came with a shout. You could feel the hot ribbons of his cum filling you up, as James toyed with your clit, desperate to make you cum against his cock before he softened. It didn’t take long as only seconds after James came, you came with him, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave, knocking over all of your senses.

When you came to, you noticed a scared look back on James’ face. Confused, you peered over to where he was looking, and heard it too. Banging against your bedroom door, someone was in your house and someone was trying to get into your room.

You screamed. It was the only thing you could do. Finding a rogue sweater off the ground, you struggled to push it over your head as James scrambled to pull his pants up. When you both felt like you were dressed enough, you rushed over to your bedroom window, opening it desperately.

A splatter of rain water hit your face, cooling you from your previous exhibitions. There was a tree right next to your window, which you reached out to, curling your fingers onto the branch. Looking back, you saw the door begin to open and panic settled in you.

You jumped. You jumped from a second story, landing not so ideally on your ankle. You hissed in pain and James followed suit, only he managed to land in a skilled way.

“Come on, hurry.” James pestered you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and hoisting you up. You began running away from your house together, your sprained ankle slowing you down more than you would’ve liked.

When you looked back, all you could see was a hollow figure standing on the footpath, watching you.

*** a/n: i wrote something again hell yeah

[littlesmartart]

Now I’m curious, what songs do you aggressively assign to xiyao and 3zun? (Only somewhat related, have you ever heard the song “Heart of Stone” from the SIX soundtrack? Excluding one line (without my son your love would disappear), I feel very passionately that it is a Yanli talking about Zixuan song.)

under a cut because this got RIDICULOUSLY long haha

okay okay so XIYAO... first of all, let's get this tragic shit over and done with -

Burn from Hamilton (I drew a comic here)

Sympathy by Kyla La Grange is a guilty JGY reflecting on their relationship (A lead weight for your open palm / And a white shirt over your bloody heart / To think I thought I was all you are / I was missing from the start / Couldn't let you cradle my head or stay / Let you waste your wonderful words / In my sleep I circled your heart with red ink / When I woke you were already hurt)

Broken by Jake Bugg is Xichen towards the end of canon (For you have become / All I lost and all I hoped for / But I must carry on / Always one, never broken / Run to the lobby where I saw you try / Don't give a damn for your reasons why)

Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want, specifically the Muse cover because of how jarring and discordant it is, is JGY having his breakdown in the temple and cry-yelling at Xichen (Haven't had a dream in a long time / See, the life I've had / Can make a good man bad / So for once in my life / Let me get what I want / Lord knows, it would be the first time)

Mr Blue by Catherine Feeney being JGY at the end of canon because colour symbolism (Mr. Blue / I told you that I love you / Please believe me / Mr. Blue / I have to go now, darling / Don't be angry / I know that you're tired / Know that you're sore and sick and sad for some reason / So I leave you with a smile / Kiss you on the cheek / And you will call it treason)

aaaand then for some happy stuff because you know in any universe they'd be the soppiest most heart-eyes chin-hands motherfuckers at each other. I think that really you could apply a lot of [dreamy sigh] [lovesick smile] [deep yearning] ballads to them tbh?

Somethin' Stupid, and I'm going to recommend the Robbie version because that's the one I have and I legit like it so shut up. I think this would be mostly how everyone outside sees them - as two people who are being so weirdly anxious whilst also desperately embarrassingly and obviously mutually pining 🙄 (I know I'd stand in line / Until you think you have the time / To spend an evening with me / And if we go someplace to dance / I know that there's a chance / You won't be leaving with me / Then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place / And have a drink or two / And then I go and spoil it all / By saying something stupid / Like I love you)

My Guy by Kele Okereke because it's just!!! so soppy and romantic and this cover was made specifically for an album of queer wedding songs called "Universal Love"!! (I've got sunshine on a cloudy day / When it's cold outside / I've got the month of May / Well I guess you'd say / What can make me feel this way? / My guy / I'm talkin' 'bout my guy)

Atlas: Two by Sleeping At Last - I found this song through a gorgeous Wangxian video but I think it works really really well for Xiyao too, because they also have that mutual Let Me Take Care Of You Forever Please love language (I know exactly how the rule goes / Put my mask on first / No, I don't want to talk about myself / Tell me where it hurts / I just want to build you up, build you up / 'Til you're good as new / And maybe one day, I'll get around / To fixing myself, too)

Yellow by Coldplay because that colour symbolism!! Xichen @ JGY (And your skin / Oh yeah, your skin and bones / Turn in to something beautiful / Do you know / For you, I'd bleed myself dry / For you, I'd bleed myself dry)

3zun is a little more complicated but I do have some!

Up In Flames by Coldplay with that sense of slow inevitable destruction (So it's over / This time you're flying on / This time I know no song / Can stop, its slowly burn / Can stop, it's slowly gone / Up in flames / Up in flames / Up in flames / We have slowly gone)

Safety Of Distance by Lior - this one is specifically about NieYao reconciling and 3zun coming back together, be that in a happier AU or in a fierce corpse AU post-canon (And all the colours will return to these hills / Where the dust of despair takes hold / One day they will drink from these now still waters / Where there's a will there's a road / It won't bring back lovers and friends, / But it might make for a happier end)

Coming Down by Halsey (I drew a comic here)

Gone Gone Gone by Phillip Phillips and this one is perhaps more Xichen @ NieYao than 3zun mutually, although in an AU where they've reconciled it work (When you fall like a statue / I'm gon' be there to catch you / Put you on your feet, you on your feet / And if your well is empty / Not a thing will prevent me / Tell me what you need / What do you need? / I surrender honestly / You've always done the same for me / So, I would do it for you, for you / Baby, I'm not movin' on / I'll love you long after you're gone)

Keep Moving by The Boxer Rebellion - a general sense of inevitability but clinging to each other in the time they have (One by one / I know we have seen some things / That could have torn us apart / Threaten what we have been / And I have asked myself / What could be more then this / And if you left me tomorrow / It is all I know I'd miss / But I know... / Keep moving with me now / Keep moving with me now / We have seen / The way its gonna be / The way its gonna be)

[inkformyblood]

we should have a land of joy

Day 02: AU (Modern Setting & Farm/Ranch)

Obi-Wan arrives at his grandfather's old farm, half-lost in grief and with his two new wards, unsure of what he is going to do. Luckily, his strangely familiar neighbour has a plan and offers to help, which Obi-Wan accepts.

Pairing: Codywan, Obi-Wan & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Cody Fett & Boba Fett

@codywanweek

Obi-Wan hefted the cardboard box up further in his slipping grip, wincing at the ominous rattle from inside. The edge pressed into his stomach for a moment before he shifted it to rest against the jut of his hip. His arms ached, muscles he had forgotten about since his university days protesting at the sudden exertion, but he ignored them, staggering forward the last few steps to set it down amongst the others.

Pressing his hand against the small of his back, Obi-Wan leant backwards with a groan, hearing the bones shift and pop. His gaze landed on a spiderweb strung high in the corner of the room, illuminated by the weak sunlight that managed to break through the thin film of grime on the windows.

This wasn’t the house he remembered from his childhood, the memories worn and fragmented, but it was his now. His heart shuddered as the now-familiar wave of grief crashed over him, tears biting at the corners of his eyes and a scream bubbling up his throat. It was all he could do to let the feeling wash over him, turning to look around the room through the film of tears rather than let himself drown.

The farmhouse was in better condition than he had expected, given how long it had been since any had lived there. Echoes of his grandfather’s presence were clear from the dusty row of wine bottles tucked into one of the kitchen cupboards to the well-preserved furniture, all made from the same stained wood and protected from the dust by large sheets. All of the sheets contained the same motif — a long thin arrow with a barbed tail picked out in a vibrant orange — and something about it scratched at the edge of Obi-Wan’s memory.

Whenever he tried to remember more, the only thing that rose to the surface was the sensation of walking through a cornfield, a hand clasped in his as a boy walked in time with him and he knew that he never wanted to let go.

Footsteps echoed from the floor above, snatches of laughter and Obi-Wan tipped his head back to track their progress. Anakin and Ahsoka had disappeared up the folded down stairs nearly twenty minutes ago, just enough time for their curiosity about the house to be satiated and their attention to turn to the overgrown field in front and the buildings that lay beyond.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin’s steps were deliberate, a pause between each one as he waited for Ahsoka to step down. They made a strange picture with Anakin towering over the vibrantly dressed Ahsoka as they climbed backwards down the ladder. “Can we go outside?”

“Outside!” Ahsoka echoed, pausing in her climb to clap. She wavered on the final step and Obi-Wan managed to take half a step towards her, panic sparking through his chest, but she steadied herself, hands pressed against the pale wood of the ladder as she took the final step down. “We’re gonna find sheep!”

Obi-Wan bit his tongue from the reflexive denial that bubbled up, trying to keep the toddler’s hopes from being crushed. While Anakin had had the luxury of headphones, he had participated in countless renditions of Old McDonald on the drive down until the melody felt like it was boring a hole in his skull.

“Make sure you stay together.”

Ahsoka clapped her hands together once more and wrapped her arms around Anakin’s waist before she untangled herself to throw herself at Obi-Wan. She was warm and slightly sticky, the clean floral scent of her favourite perfume clinging to her braids as if she had dipped them in it. “Love you, Obi! Gonna find the sheep for you.”

Obi-Wan forced a smile, lightly bumping her nose with his before he set back on her feet. Anakin waved to him, rocking on his feet and Obi-Wan’s smile shifted into something genuine at the boy’s attempt to seem so grownup.

“Be good,” he warned before forcing his voice to be softer, lighter as he caught the flicker of hurt on Anakin’s face, his bottom lip beginning to jut out. “I love you.”

“Love you,” Anakin muttered, scuffing his shoe along the pale wood and Obi-Wan’s grin widened, recollection burning through him of standing in the same spot, the world too large around him and yet confident of his place in it.

He turned away, bowing his head to pick at the peeling tape at the edge of the cardboard box. It came away slowly, the rasp setting his teeth on edge as it clung to his hands. As he pried it open, he stepped back, surprise passing through him like a lightning bolt.

Qui-Gon’s face, his mouth curled into the same serene smile Obi-Wan could remember so clearly, stared back at him. He had forgotten the way his shoulders had stooped, every edge rounded, yet it didn’t distract from the spark of mischief in his eye. The remembered scent of honeysuckle filled his lungs, warm and spiced like the tea they had been drinking. It had been taken shortly before Obi-Wan had signed the paperwork to be named as Anakin and Ahsoka’s emergency guardian by a student photographer, and he ran his finger along the frame, removing the scraps of paper that had clung to it during the move.

Turning, he glanced around the room, finally settling on the engraved mantlepiece above the blackened fireplace and placed the photo there, adjusting it slightly so the sun wouldn’t reflect across the glass and age it.

“We’re back here again,” Obi-Wan murmured. He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly and forcing his heart rate to settle. The future lay before him, uncertain and fragile, and he had never been so terrified in his life. “I wish you were here. I wish you could tell me that everything would be okay in that infuriatingly cryptic way.”

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until muted shapes burst like lightning and the rising tide of grief subsided. “I’d just like a sign I haven’t thrown everything away.”

A crash and screams from outside answered his call, and Obi-Wan was running, fear spiking through him. A distant part of him knew if they both screaming, they were both still alive, still breathing, but the noise only reminded him of the shriek of the hospital monitor—

“What is going on here?”

Three pairs of eyes snapped to him, and three children exploded into incoherent yells, their hands waving in the air. Anakin and Ahsoka stood along one side of the small storage shed, and a young boy who looked to be a similar age to Anakin stood along the other, a small toolbox clutched in one white-knuckled hand.

“Anakin, Ahsoka, enough.”

Anakin’s jaw snapped closed, but his face transformed into a murderous scowl, his brow furrowed and his arms folded across his chest.

Obi-Wan turned to the boy, taking in the defiant jut of his chin and the way his gaze wandered back to Ahsoka, the girl half-hidden behind Anakin’s leg. He couldn’t say why, but he had a feeling that the boy was the youngest in his family.

“What’s your name?”

“Boba,” the boy started before a clear whistle cut through the air, his head snapping up and peering into the field just visible behind Obi-Wan. “And that’s Cody.”

Obi-Wan stepped back, and Boba took the opening, darting past Obi-Wan with ease, his toolbox skimming past the taller man’s knees.

“Obi-Wan! Why did you let him go?” Anakin’s voice rose and cracked, and Obi-Wan blindly reached out for the boy as he watched Boba disappear into the weeds. He could feel the heat radiating from Anakin’s flushed cheeks, carding his hand through his dark hair and tugging apart a knot he found there.

“I believe—“ Obi-Wan tipped his head back, frowning against the glare of the sun as he watched someone push their way through the weeds. “I believe we’re about to meet our neighbours.”

The man who stepped into view was nothing short of beautiful. His face was mostly cast in shadow due to the leather cowboy he wore, but Obi-Wan could make out the edge of a smile, aiming for reproachful but fighting against amusement. He moved with ease, a relaxed confidence in his step, and Obi-Wan found himself moving closer like a moth drawn to a flame. His clothes were worn-in — a dark blue checkered shirt and grey jeans — and clung to the broad curve of his shoulders and bared the hollow of his throat.

“I’d wanted to welcome you to the village properly.” The man paused to laugh, a rumbling chuckle that sounded as sweet as honey. He tipped his head back to look at Obi-Wan properly revealing dark brown eyes and the pale curved scar on his left temple. He was studying Obi-Wan just as intently as he was, his gaze passing over the frayed edges of his jumper, the mud splattered on his neatly pressed trousers and Obi-Wan shifted beneath the pressure of it.

It wasn’t the same as the sterile meetings he was used to — cold impersonal nods from across a room, a growing sense of recognition at a stranger’s face — this was something new and terrifying and exhilarating.

“I’m Cody Fett. I believe you’ve met Boba.”

He held out his hand, and Obi-Wan took it, feeling the roughness of his calluses and the calm strength behind it. This close, he could see flecks of gold in Cody’s eyes, like scattered straw.

“Obi-Wan.” Cody’s eyes widened a fraction, new understanding dawning on his face. “And that is—“ Obi-Wan turned, waving his hand towards Anakin and Ahsoka, still huddled in the doorway, their eyes wide, “Anakin and Ahsoka.”

He turned back to see that Cody’s gaze had never strayed from his face, an unreadable emotion flickering past before it was tucked behind warm friendliness.

“Dooku would have been your grandfather?” Cody waited for Obi-Wan to nod before he continued. “He had an agreement with my father about us looking after the place while he wasn’t here. Just so you there’s no wires getting crossed with us being here.” His grin widened, but there was steel in his words and Boba pressed into his legs, one hand stretched up to tug on the edge of his shirt.

Without looking, Cody smoothed his free hand over Boba’s head in a motion so familiar it sent a pang through Obi-Wan’s chest and he was still holding Cody’s hand.

He let go, missing the contact the moment their hands parted, a fresh furious blush burning through his cheeks. “An agreement? Oh.”

Cold certainty settled over him and he felt the spike of pain behind his eyes resurface. In the grey-tinged confusion following Qui-Gon’s death, he had worked on auto-pilot to get the man’s affairs in order, including cancelling outgoing payments, one of which was simply labelled as ‘Fett’.

“I’m sorry. I’ll work out how much you’re owed and sort it out. You have my word.”

“It’s no trouble—“ Cody began, but Obi-Wan cut him off with ease.

“You’ve done good work here, and you should be compensated for it. I am glad to see that my grandfather’s farm didn’t fall into ruin while it’s been unoccupied.”

“I’m sensing that finance might be your battleground of choice.” There was no cruelty in Cody’s words, presenting the insight as if it was obvious. “Why turn to farming?”

His gaze locked onto Obi-Wan’s and he couldn’t guess what the other man read on his face, only that he understood.

“Boba?” Cody pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth, speaking around the leather as he worked a golden ring off of his thumb. “Fancy showing our new neighbours around the village proper? Get yourselves something nice at the bakery.”

Cody paused, hooking his hand into the back of Boba’s collar as the boy began to step forward. “Buirkanir par ad'ika.”

Boba nodded, holding out his hands for Cody to drop the ring into and looked up at Obi-Wan expectantly. Cody mirrored him, tipping his head to one side and tucking his glove into his pocket. “My treat. A better welcome to the village.”

Obi-Wan bit his lower lip as he thought, glancing over his shoulder at the pair. Ahsoka’s demeanor had changed in an instant, leaning forward and using Anakin’s arm to stop her from falling, and Anakin wrinkled his nose but nodded at Obi-Wan’s questioning glance. He would complain later but, hopefully, the prospect of new places to explore would mollify him.

“I’d appreciate that. I’ll just grab my wallet and—”

“My treat.” Cody tapped Boba on the shoulder and the boy was off, dropping the toolbox and making his way past Obi-Wan to the doorway expectantly. Obi-Wan watched him tuck the ring onto his thumb — the metal oversized and starting to slip before he curled his hand into a fist — and waved a cautious hand at them, before turning and starting to walk towards the small track that led back towards the village. Ahsoka followed him, tugging Anakin along in her wake.

“The ring?” Obi-Wan turned back towards Cody just in time to see him tug off his other glove, the action rough but captivating, his gaze dropping towards every inch of skin that was revealed.

“Boba can add whatever they get onto my tab and I’ll pay it when I’m next in town. You’ve not had the pleasure—” Cody’s grin widened and his gaze darted off to one side before returning to Obi-Wan. “—of meeting my family yet but we’re quite large. This makes things easier for everyone.”

“I appreciate it, more than I could ever say. It’s been— It’s been a confusing couple of months.”

“I can only imagine.” Cody stepped forward, placing a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm and he leant into the touch, his heart stuttering in his chest. He hadn’t realised it before, but now? Now with the touch of Cody’s hand still burning on his palm and his closeness, the scent of warm honey and sandalwood blanketing them both, Obi-Wan wanted nothing more than to stay next to him for as long as he was able.

“Even this…” Obi-Wan waved as if that one gesture could encompass the overgrown fields and the vacant buildings. “I don’t know what I intended coming down here, or even if I’m going to stay in the end.”

“Obi-Wan. You’re allowed to give yourself time. Time to grieve, to plan, to work things out. Give it… a year. I’ll help. It’ll do me some good to have a proper project again, so you’d really be doing me a favour.”

Obi-Wan had had his suspicions upon meeting the man that they would be well-matched. He couldn’t say why, but whether it was destiny or some cruel whim of fate, Cody Fett had been placed in front of him, and Obi-Wan couldn’t find any urge to say no. Every argument he could think of paled in the face of his earnest, serious expression.

“A year?”

Cody nodded, stepping closer and tipping his head back to meet Obi-Wan’s gaze. “One year. Want to shake on it?”

Obi-Wan laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are a very dangerous man, Cody Fett, but agreed.”

Cody’s grin was blinding, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but join in, feeling the tension release from his shoulders in the flood that was no longer going to drown him but carry him onwards.

“First job of the day is to fix the fence.” Cody turned, using his grip on Obi-Wan’s hand to twine their fingers together, stooping the same movement to pick up the toolbox. “Given that my usual helper is occupied, can I convince you to step in for me?”

“I’d be delighted.”

One year to see what would happen, and one year to make a choice.

Obi-Wan squeezed Cody’s hand, the other man squeezing back, his thumb rubbing along the curve of Obi-Wan’s knuckles, and they walked together through the field, both feeling an odd sense of familiarity but neither speaking it aloud.

[gold3nfics]

Anachronism {Chapter One}

Author's Note: So this is my first written work on here, and I am really excited about this story! This chapter was really just to allow you guys to gain insight into what the story is about and who the boys are. I promise you that Y/N will make an appearance in the next chapter :)

Word Count: 3,814

Our story begins with one man, a man who went by the name Haneul.

Haneul was admired and sought out by many for not only his sharp attributes, but also his magical abilities. He came from a long line of sorcerers before him who had served and protected the realm he resided in.

While he was the one to keep everyone safe, many wondered why he refused to assume leadership, or even live in the nicer part of the land. Instead of living in luxury and riches, he chose to live in the forest away from the bustle of the town solely because he preferred the quiet lifestyle compared to one where many would invade his space and distract him.

One early morning, he woke to frantic knocking at the door of his small cottage.

“Hello?” he opened the door to find that it was one of the royal guards.

“Your presence is requested at the castle immediately.” the young guard says with urgency evident in his voice.

“What happened?” Haneul says now concerned,

“The queen, we believe it is time.”

He grabs his medical supplies and jumps into the carriage heading towards the castle. Once they arrive, Haneul is immediately taken to the royal chambers to begin his work.

Upon entering, his eyes immediately caught sight of the queen writhing in pain surrounded by many servants trying to relieve the pain she was feeling. He approaches the queen with a reassuring smile on his face,

“And how is this young beauty doing?”

“She is not at her best right now.” the queen responds with a weak smile. Haneul releases a sigh of amusement then asks her for permission to check her dilation, after she nods he checks and realizes it is time.

“You, my queen, are about to be a mother in a matter of minutes,” he looks to the servants “bring me warm towels and water.” The servants leave and he focuses on the queen, “I am going to need you to push, but not too hard alright?” She nods and begins to push.

After only seven pushes, the baby is out and the sorcerer carefully wraps the child in a blanket, “Would you like to hold your son my queen?” he says without looking away from the child. When there was no answer, he glances up only to see her going in and out of consciousness.

He immediately hands the baby off to one of the servants and examines her only to find that she has lost too much blood. He does everything he could to revive her, yet she has already passed. He bows his head in shame while holding her cold hand and apologizes, part of him hoping her soul is still lingering around to hear.

Now, there was indeed a ritual he could have done to revive her; however, it is forbidden being that it is far too dangerous to bring a soul back from the underworld.

He stands back with his head hung in sadness, “Alert the king at once.” Just as the servants were gathering to cover the queen's body and filtering out, he approached the servant holding the tiny prince, “May I take him? I need to examine him.” the servant nods and leaves the room.

As he seats himself in a chair behind a divider on the other side of the chambers, he gently looks over the child for any issues. Just as he was almost finished, the child stirs in his slumber raising his small hand to rub his eyes. As the child does this, Haneul catches sight of a white circle on the inside of the child’s hand, at first glance, it appeared as if it was glowing.

Haneul furrows his brows, gently tracing his fingers over the mark. “What is this little guy?”

As he moves to look closer, the servant comes back to collect the young prince to give to the king. He slowly gives away the child and he is soon left to himself to think about what that mark meant. He decides to shake the thought out of his head, and just travel home to rest.

As he rides home on the carriage, he mourns the passing of the young queen. He was quite fond of her, just as everyone else in the realm was. She was not only beautiful, but was also very caring. She would always make jokes and tease others just to have them feel entertained.

Her husband is bound to be heartbroken, he thought in his head. It was no secret the king had worshiped the ground she walked on; not that she didn’t deserve it. The number of times Haneul had overheard the young couple whispering childish jokes to each other, and them arguing over tedious matters were more than he could count. It will be hard to find a woman as kind and unique as she was. I hope her son takes after her. Haneul smiled sadly at this thought.

* * *

As the years passed, Haneul noticed that there have been more and more children who were born with the same white mark that the young prince had. There had been seven boys born throughout the past few years, all of which were born with the same mark and had lost their mothers during childbirth.

“Godammit!” Haneul yells in frustration as he slams his fist onto the table. The table was cluttered with scrolls, books, odd writings, and drawings that even Haneul didn’t even remember taking out. The stressed sorcerer moves over to his bed and faceplants directly onto his pillow.

Not only was he tasked with acting as a teacher to the young prince, keeping the people safe, and being one of the main healers; but he also took it upon himself to figure out what was going on with the seven boys who shared the same mark.

He may have been tired, stressed, and confused; but most importantly, he was worried.

Haneul was a man who believed that there was a reason for everything; death, births, happiness, sadness, there were reasons for all of it. Therefore, he knew that there was a great purpose that followed the seven young boys with the peculiar markings.

* * *

“He follows him as if he was a stray and he threw him a bone. I am surprised Namjoon hasn’t grown irritated.” the young woman says with a tired smile.

“Well Namjoon is quite patient, and I feel that he's the one to keep Jungkook out of trouble,” Haneul responds while packing up his things, “and Yuna, do not forget they both need to meet at my home before dawn.”

“The others will be there, right?” Yuna asks with a glimmer of concern in her eyes,

Haneul grabs her hand as a way to comfort her and stares into her eyes, “They will be there Yuna, they have no choice.” he turns his head to look at the two young men joking around and skipping stones across the foggy pond, “For now, just spend time with the two of them. Okay?”

Yuna’s eyes filled with tears, “Okay, thank you Haneul.”

“Of course” Haneul smiles and bows respectively before departing and starting his journey home.

Haneul has aged considerably throughout the last 20 years, his hair had become greyer and his eyes duller; but his mind and heart were still drawn towards helping people, and to the seven boys with the odd mark, and after many years, he found the answer.

A few months before now, Haneul had stumbled across an old poem.

The world is calm and crops are ripe

Yet underneath its surface lays a darkness waiting to strike

When the circles of seven come to light, so will come a long and frozen fight

A being will propose an idea that the seven circles will see as an answer to end the fight

It is up to the seven circles to decide what path they take, and which is for light and dark

The answer lays at the heart of the one who descends from pure light, for their heart and the seven circles must all reunite

After reading the poem he realized the importance of the young men The poem itself acknowledges a traumatic event that will happen in the time that they are alive, yet it had been months since he found the writing and nothing has happened. However, Haneul knew that something was coming and he came to realize what that was.

You see, two nights prior Haneul had a vision. The vision was not clear, yet it showed a figure whose presence exuded sadness and wisdom. All the figure did was deliver a message that was the following,

“In two days, a frozen death will fall upon your realm. Those seven under the protection of the circle will survive; while all the others will temporarily perish. They will be presented with information that involves seeking another being of pure light to end the frozen death. However, there are two paths they could take with this, but only one being the right one. Do not let them fall into trickery, for that will be their downfall and everything will cease to exist if the wrong path is taken.” and with that, the vision was no more.

Waking from his vision, Haneul knew that he must gather the boys and prepare them for what was to come.

* * *

As Haneul waited for the boys to arrive he put together all of his writings, they were not much but they gave small insight on what was to come. Just as he finished up sorting everything, he caught sight of lanterns and heard the sound of multiple footsteps outside his home.

“Jungkook, if you do not stop stepping on the back of my boots I swear I’m gon-” the voice was cut off by a loud laugh, “What are you going to do Jin? Send your one of the so-called guards after him?” a lazy voice replies.

“Oh that’s rich, coming from a farmer.” a cocky-toned voice chimed in.

“What is that supposed to mean Jimin?” a new deep voice says back, “Guys! Stop it, Haneul is probably hearing everything and I am pretty sure the last thing we want is to embarrass ourselves in front of him.”

Haneul had heard everything; and the last voice was right, they were embarrassing themselves. But the older sorcerer had been rather entertained by their interactions. Putting a sly smile on his face, he opened the front door coming face to face with seven men whose faces varied from shock, embarrassment, to dumbfounded.

“You boys have not changed much, have you?” he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. Namjoon forms a tight-lipped smile, “I am afraid not sir.”

Haneul gestures for them to come in, “Well, let’s not waste any more time.”

Once the boys were led in and settled into Haneul’s study, they began to ask questions. “So why are we here?” Jin asks while the others looked at Haneul.

Haneul looked at them and sighed before speaking,

“Have you ever wondered why you all have those marks on your hands?” Silence.

“Why all of your mothers passed away during your births?” Silence again.

Haneul notices the confused expressions and continues, “Well I did. I knew that there was a reason for those markings and,” he stands and gets a small book, “I found the reason why.”

Haneul gives the book to Namjoon and takes a seat in front of them.

“I spent years gathering, reading, and learning everything about what is just so special about you boys, and all of the knowledge that I have gained can be found in that journal. You boys are a part of what is known as the circle.” The boys look at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain more.

“There was a tale that spoke of seven men being born with the same markings that you boys have. They all possessed special abilities that varied with each one of them. These men used their powers to protect those of their realm and were the ones to keep balance within their realm. However, as time had passed tensions had risen between the seven and because of it, a big fight had happened. Their fight had destroyed not only their bonds, but also ended many people's lives. No one knew the true reason why the fight had happened, but many did not wish to know. Because many innocent people had died as a result of the fight, the people, who were the ones that the seven had sworn to protect, had seen the seven protectors as dangerous and a threat. So they decided to kill them.”

Jimin perks up and scoffs, “I doubt their attempts would have worked, you said they had powers right?”

“Jimin,” Namjoon said, “be quiet and let him continue.”

“Anyways, one of the seven had been informed about the people’s plan to assassinate them and told the other six. That night they had decided to willingly sacrifice themselves, and their lives, to no longer cause suffering and sadness among their people. Now, it seems that the gods have decided to pass on the tale by blessing you seven with the marks.”

“So, we are now the protectors of our realm?” Seokjin asks in a tone that gives the impression he is not thoroughly convinced.

The older man sighs, “Yes, and I know this sounds odd but-”

Yoongi cuts him off laughing, “Haneul, please. We are not people of importance, except for Jin and Jimin. Most of us have grown up struggling and some despising one another. Now you say that just because we have similar marks, and our mothers are dead, it makes us special?”

“Yoongi hear him out, you-”

“Oh Jungkook please, we are nothing and have been nothing for most of our lives.”

“Yoongi,” Haneul starts, “you do not have to believe me right now. None of you do, but something is about to happen and you need to understand what to do.” He gives Namjoon the poem that he had found, which related to the prophecy of the seven who all sat before him.

“After finding that poem, I had a vision where a figure appeared to me and spoke of a ‘frozen death’ that will fall upon our people.” the boys' faces grow concerned, “To end it and bring back the balance of our realm, you boys are to venture outside our realm, find a certain being, and bring them back here.” the boys erupt with multiple questions in response.

“Wait, how do you travel outside our realm?”

“How do we know it's them?”

“What do we do once we find them?”

“What about our families?”

It seems that after that last question, everyone grew silent. Taehyung’s eyes had begun to grow watery, “What about my dad? Will he be okay?”

Haneul grew somber, “Your families, as well as everyone here, will be okay with whatever happens while you are searching for the being. However, their lives depend on what path you take once you are all back here together. In the book that I gave you, it tells you how to get to and from the realm in which the being lives.”

Haneul gets up and notices that the sun is almost up. “I do not have much time, but there is one last thing.” he turns towards the boys, “My vision also said that you would be approached with an idea and to be awar-” Haneul’s breathing had grown rapid as he fell to the ground while clutching his heart.

“Haneul!” Junkook had yelled before getting up and running towards him along with the rest of the boys. “Can you hear me? Haneul?” Namjoon asks while kneeling beside him, feeling for a pulse.

His breathing starts to slow down and he reaches out to grasp Namjoon’s hand; the boys are shocked to see a layer of frost had begun to form around his hand slowly moving up his arm.

“B-be caref-ful, d-do not allow yourselves t-to be fooled. Trust your h-hearts and e-each other. Rememb-ber,” Haneul moves his gaze towards the book he had given now in the grasp of Jungkook, “everything is i-in that b-book.” and with that, the frost overcomes his body and his breathing stops.

The boys stood in shock as the man, who had been a role model for all of them and helped so many people, become absorbed by ice and had fallen into a death-like sleep.

Namjoon stands up and takes the book that was in Jungkook's hands, and he began to head out of the house. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jin exclaims following after him.

“To do what we’re supposed to do. I am going to find a way out of this realm, find who I need to find, and do whatever I need to do to get everyone back.” Namjoon states without stopping.

Yoongi scoffs, “You? In case you don’t remember, Haneul said ALL of us have to work together to resolve this, not just you.” Namjoon stops and turns and furrows his brows, “Weren’t you just going on about how you don’t believe in any of this and how we couldn’t do anything?”

“Yes, but that was before I saw Haneul become a block of ice. I still don’t believe we have powers, that seems rather far-fetched.” Yoongi crosses his arms, “Are you saying that Haneul is a liar?” Jin challenges.

“Not entirely.” Yoongi replies in a cold tone, “I am more confused than anything, I mean how the hell are we supposed to know who this being is once we enter their realm?” Everyone is silent, and Namjoon sighs in defeat, “Does anyone have any idea?” Yoongi asks with frustration evident in his tone.

“I have an idea.”

The boys all turn towards the front of Haneul’s house and see a young woman leaning against the doorway. Jimin steps in front of all of them with a hand on his sword, “Who the hell are you?” the woman raises her hands in defense and smiles calmly,

“My name is Ara, I am a friend of Haneul. It would be best not to harm someone who is here to help you.” The boys grow suspicious and Hoesok speaks up, “Haneul didn’t mention you.”

Ara lowers her hands “He didn’t need to,” she tilts her head glancing at all of the boys, “did you really think that he was the only magical being?”

She snaps her fingers and Jimin’s sword appears in her hands making the boy move forward to retrieve it, “Look, I am not here to harm you, and you having a weapon against me will not solve anything.” She moves her wrist to make an invisible force push Jimin onto the ground. Some of the boys stifle a laugh upon seeing the young guard get huffy and brush off his clothes.

“Your marks.” Ara states, the boys look at her in confusion.

Namjoon looks at her, “What? What do you mean by our marks?”

“Your marks, they will help you find who you are looking for.” Ara leans back and looks at him lazily, “Your marks are similar to magnets, they will lead to one another due to their bonds. As for what you need to do with the being once you get them back here; you must bring you eight and your marks to me to restore the balance.”

Jungkook grows confused, “Why would we do that?”

Taehyung steps forward “Yeah, and what about the story?” Ara furrows her brows, “What story?”

“The one about the seven men who were marked and the protectors of their realm.” Taehyung pauses, “There were seven men in the story and now you're telling us that there are eight?”

Ara stills and sighs while her expression grows serious, “Do you know why your people have frozen into a deep sleep?” The boys shake their heads, “Because there were only supposed to be seven of you, seven protectors. But it appears that an eighth being has been born with the mark as well; however, they are not of this realm meaning that your bonds are not entirely connected. It was a mistake, so you boys and them must come back here and break the bond from them, and then peace and life will be restored.” Ara finishes.

The boys are silent for a moment as if to fully grasp the information they had just been given. “So we travel, find, and bring back the being, then you will break the bond?” Jin asks, “Yes.” Ara responds with a comforting smile.

“And everyone will come back perfectly fine?” Taehyung asks in a hopeful tone. “Yes, everything will go back to how things were before. Except for you now being the protectors of this realm.”

“Wait, what about our powers?” Ara turns her head towards Jungkook, “Aren’t we supposed to have powers?”

Ara grins mischievously, “You will need to figure that out on your own, your guy’s powers will come to you naturally.” She stands, “For now, you boys must travel and find the being.” Ara gives Jimin his sword back and begins to walk away towards the path that leads to their town.

“Where are you going?” Namjoon asks and Ara stops and turns. “Someone has to make sure things here remain okay until you get back.”

“Wait a second!” Hoseok yells out, “Why aren’t you frozen? I thought everyone in this realm would fall into a frozen sleep?” Upon hearing this the boys got curious and all stared at her. Ara’s face grew serious, “Because I am not of this realm.” and with that, she vanished into thin air.

The boys all stand there in silence. Namjoon turns his gaze to the book and opens it trying to find out how to transfer them out of their realm.

“I found it,” the boys look towards him, “the book says that we must join hands and visualize the portal into existence.”

“Yeah right, I’m not holding any of your hands.”

“Oh shut up and take my hand Jimin.” Jin says annoyed while grabbing both Jimin and Taehyung’s hands.

“Alright, everyone close your eyes,” Namjoon states and closes his own, “okay now focus on visualizing the portal.”

“How do you even visualize?”

“It’s like imagining, but more detailed.”

“That's confusing, and it also sounds hard”

“Shut up Jimin!” Everyone says while Jimin sighs dramatically.

After a few moments, the seven men felt their marks stinging slightly and a large gust of wind had blown in front of them. Once they all opened their eyes, they saw a large circle of light in the middle of all of them.

Namjoon steps forwards and looks to the rest of the boys, “Here goes nothing.” and with that, they all walk through the portal.

[the-last-kenobi]

Sunlight and Seashells (both are broken)

What is affection in a relationship forced into being by the whims of others?

What was affection?

Even in a culture where attachments were forbidden and relationships beyond friendship and mentorship discouraged, the answer to that question had once come easily to Obi-Wan.

Affection was the brightness in the aura of his tiny clanmates when they offered one another hands to touch and hold in comfort, in their high voices when they gave greetings and farewells. 

Affection was the embrace of his creche master, the softness of their voice when they explained things he did not understand at first, the steadiness of their arms when they soothed his fevers and nightmares.

Affection was the warmth of Bant’s smile when she saw him and the way her arms fit about his body when she flung them around him in a joyful embrace.

Affection was the way Garen would clap him on the shoulder when he spoke - in solidarity, in reprimand, in greeting, in humor, in congratulations. 

It was the way Reeft would save him food he knew he liked from the commissary and the way he walked close to Obi-Wan in the hallways, to shield him from bullies and be shielded in equal measure. 

It was the way Siri punched his shoulder when he said anything, and the firmness of her grip when she helped him to his feet after a spar, or vice versa. 

It was the conversations late into the night, the inside jokes and quips, the bolstering comments during a trial, the delighted praise after a victory, and bracing reassurance after a failure. 

It was the light of suns and the exhilaration of certainty. 

...

It was. 

Once. 

...

After Bandomeer -

After a fight started by a bully who managed to play victim, after being kicked out of his only home weeks ahead of schedule, after being harshly rejected by his last hope for a teacher, after being attacked by Hutts, fought by pirates, tricked by a jealous Darksider and enslaved on a deep sea mine -

After offering his life in exchange for the lives of innocents, and being praised for his Jedi-like heart by the same man who had dismissed him as too angry and too selfish -

After days of ups and downs, of Qui-Gon Jinn drawing near to him and then away again, of his strong hands bringing Obi-Wan back from bruises and breakages after Hutts and then again after slavers, of his cold stare before and after and in between -

Obi-Wan doesn’t know, anymore.

The gap between Master and Padawan is so broad.

No matter how close they stand, they’re never standing together. Even with the maverick Jedi’s hand on his shoulder, Obi-Wan doesn’t know what it means to have the man’s support. 

No matter how often they speak, they never seem to speak on precisely the same level. Like branches shaken in a breeze, they bump and rustle against one another with accidental harshness, grating and scraping - sometimes, briefly, locking together.

And sometimes, even more briefly, they settle.

Stretching towards the same sun. 

Qui-Gon tells him, “We will practice the basics to perfection, Padawan.”

Perfection is never reached.

Obi-Wan’s limbs have sketched the katas so often he can feel the motion down to his bones merely by thinking about it. He knows his every failure, every repeated stumble, just as well. 

...

He raises his grades, and then raises them again.

Food is exchanged for tutoring and meditation, sleep for studying.

He asks his Master, “What do I have to do to be perfect?”

Qui-Gon only frowns, and once again, they have spoken past one another, neither one of them understanding. 

After Melida/Daan, things are broken and stretched beyond belief.

Qui-Gon suddenly offers comfort and apologies, but still, still he will not allow Obi-Wan to move on. 

“You need to reflect and learn,” he says during katas, but his eyes have the shadows of their broken partnership within them. 

Obi-Wan dwells on katas and his failures, and feels he learns nothing.

...

Over the first two years of their partnership, they face Hutts, thieves, mind-wiping tyrants, bounty hunters, fools, insurgent groups, and terrorists. 

They brush with death every day.

They hover on the brink of a broken apprenticeship almost as often, lightened only by moments of unity and humor, where a common chord is struck. 

Out of all the monsters and terrors they encounter, undaunted, it is surprising - and yet fitting - that what brings them together is the threat of separation. 

They’re on a minor mission to a small, sparsely populated system on the regions skirting the borders of the Republic itself, and they make landing on a forested sphere where it rains nine days out of ten. There are no terrorists, no pirates, no tricks.

There are, however, deadly lightning strikes in a violent storm, and they go separate ways in the dark.

Obi-Wan tracks himself through the forests, his focus absolute, his determination unswayed by the rain driven so hard by the winds that it blows sideways and with enough force to sting his skin through his sodden robes. Without stars or compass or signs he flings himself into calculations and plottings and runs, runs, with all the passion of a Jedi. But his mind is not on his mission. He thinks to himself, If I can only reach the capitol, Qui-Gon will be there. I will not let him down. 

Little does he know that miles away, Qui-Gon Jinn is meditating in a hollow cave, pressed against the stone, forming himself against the weathered walls. He flings himself into the winding paths of the Force, its whispers and tangled threads, and strides through mud and storm towards the capitol, thinking to himself, Obi-Wan will not let me down. I must not abandon him again. The Force will lead me back to him, it always has. 

...

Afterwards, Obi-Wan has an answer -

Affection, here, is Qui-Gon’s signature in the Force reaching, reaching out to him like a plant stretching towards sunlight, but stronger, more protective - a hand plunged into icy depths to rescue to drowning man below.

It is a Jedi Master infamous for rule-bending and for not wanting an apprentice, for pulling people in and then pushing them away, drawing him into a one-armed and muddied embrace, steadying the boy and searching him for injuries in one movement.

It is the pride and relief in his blue eyes, though he does not put them to words.

It is the way Qui-Gon pauses outside his Padawan’s door that night, gently checking on him through their bond, and the soft glow of warmth that passes even into the boy’s sleeping mind, soothing troubled dreams before they even occur. 

...

Afterwards, Obi-Wan finds more answers, sometimes rare, sometimes strange - even a little broken - like seashells washed upon the shore for him to find. 

He gathers them in his hands and holds them tight to his chest. 

Affection is Qui-Gon’s presence at Obi-Wan’s every sparring tournament, silent and steady in the background. 

Affection is his Master waiting for him in the seating room of their quarters after every day of exams and trials with his favorite tea already on the stove, miraculously steamed to perfection just as the weary Padawan returned. Triumphant or not, content or not, Obi-Wan would sit with Qui-Gon Jinn and share completely different teas in comfortable silence, the scents of the different brews mingling pleasantly on the air. 

Affection is the way that Qui-Gon teaches him to bandage his own wounds, with and without bacta, ever patient. He shows no judgement and no hesitation in the face of the boy’s muffled hisses and tears, his callused hands gentle on Obi-Wan’s smaller ones as he guides his apprentice through sutures. 

Affection is the way Qui-Gon throws his head back at Obi-Wan’s jests, where in public his response to humor is a sly smile and a tilt of the head. 

It is the way the man refuses to allow certain Masters to influence Obi-Wan’s training in any way.

And it is in the way Obi-Wan tells his Master about his day without being asked, turning it into an anecdote that makes the older man’s eyes twinkle. 

In the way Obi-Wan offers to brush back and tie Qui-Gon’s hair when his Master is too injured or too tired to do it himself, or simply when he seems to need a reason to have his apprentice by his side after the mission is complete and the time for separation would come. 

In the way the Padawan crafts his saber in his Master’s saber’s image.

In the way he strides one step in Qui-Gon’s wake at all times, a show of humility and learning as much as it is a way to guard the man’s back. 

But mostly, affection in the Master-Padawan pairing that some might say should never have come to be was simply that they were.

In so many ways opposites, after so many times where they had grated and clashed and walked separate ways, they always returned to each other, driven by the Force and by things just as deep and powerful and perhaps more nameless. 

Friendship, perhaps. 

Love, even. 

They did not speak of it.

They did not need to.

Qui-Gon simply trusted the Force to guide him back towards the sun, the stars; Obi-Wan trailed in his wake, gathering seashells and cradling them like treasures beyond reckoning.

And always, always, they circled back together, a wayward Master and a straightforward Padawan, by destiny and choice. 

...

"Promise me you’ll train the boy,” gasps the dying Master.

“Yes, Master,” swears the Padawan. 

There is no devotion in these words, only fear and desperation and the still-surging, fragile hope that somehow, somehow this is not the end, it cannot be, their partnership is not finished and what was it all for, then -

There is, however, one last token to be given, to be recieved.

Obi-Wan nods, takes a shuddering breath, and steadies Qui-Gon with his strong arms.

Qui-Gon reaches up with the last of his strength, and brushes his fingers against that familiar face.

They exchange one last gesture of affection.

...

...And it is thirty-two years before there is another, although it is sweeter, perhaps, for the waiting. 

Obi-Wan falls through the veil of death, leaving no form behind for his killer to malign, and directly into the arms of Qui-Gon Jinn. 

[crispycrimebrulee]

🎄25 Days of HXH: Day 18: Kurapika x Blizzard🎄

You couldn’t help but bite your nail absentmindedly, staring out the window at the frosty expanse. Sure, in many aspects, snow is beautiful, but tonight was not one of those nights. Outside looked harsh and ugly, an angry blur of white swept outside furiously, the wind howling and it swept the snow around, and the snow came down practically in sheets, burying anything and everything it could. Kurapika had gone out quickly to get more food and snacks, before the blizzard had started. You couldn’t help but wring your hands in guilt for not stopping him from going out, seeing how the weather had become so terrible. Gon, Leorio and Killua had mentioned coming up to the lodge a few days before Christmas, and they’d left town only an hour ago, so they must still be on the road, also caught in this mess of a storm. Carol of the Bells by Mykola Dmytrovych Leontovych

Taglist: @to-move-on-means-to-grow , @lifescreams27, @twistedsmth​, @dukinaxael​, @weeb-chick-181920​ @my-child-gaara @absolute-flaming-trash @whistlingastronaut @demonhugger @yep-seeyalaterbranflakes @errorpeachy

You ventured down the stairs and paced around the living room, stuck in a constant loop of going up the stairs and then coming right back down, waiting for Kurapika to come back, and come back safely. 

You stood in front of the floor to ceiling window, practically pressing yourself up against the chilly glass, trying to will Kurapika from afar to come home faster. 

The trees swayed with the wind, and you could hear the bending in the trunks, hearing twigs snapping and making soft sounds in the snow, barely audible, as they were soon covered up by snow. You found yourself pacing once again, lost in thought of where Kurapika could be. 

You were brought out of your thoughts by light, bright and piercing through the glass, causing you to startle and jump back. Coming to realization, you ran to the window, and you sighed with joy, feeling all the tension in your body melt away. The headlights of Kurapika’s car had broken through the snow, letting you know he was safe and well and would be in your arms very soon. Running to the door, you opened it slightly, but that was a fruitless venture, as the wind and snow swung the door open, nearly knocking you over. The frigid air made you yelp, feeling it pass through your bones, and it was most definitely below 0 degrees, and that guilt slowly crept back, realizing how cold Kurapika probably was. Kurapika hopped out of the car and grabbed two bags, trudging forward in knee deep snow, burying his face in his jacket and scarf as best as he could. You ran to the wide open door open, your arms wide as well, reaching for his shivering figure. Once he was in reach, you grab him and pull him inside, burying your face in his snow covered jacket, not caring about the snow and the cold. Kurapika embraced you back, feeling his shivering lessen the more you held him, until you were both hit with another blast of cold from the outside and you shut the door with a slight struggle. 

Kurapika set the bags down and removed his layers, and you watched the snow fall on the floor, quickly turning into a puddle beneath him. His cheeks and his nose were red, they looked stung and sore from the harsh cold, and he had begun sniffling. His hair was slightly windswept, slightly wet from the now melting snow that had stuck to the bits of hair sticking out from his hat. His hat was soaking now as well, slowly, from the melting going on. Essentially, poor Kurapika was now cold and wet, sniffling and lightly shivering as he put everything in a wet pile. Running off, you went to the bathroom to start a hot bath for him, hoping to avoid the possibility of a cold with him standing in the living room, wet and shivering. Kurapika had shuffled after you, smiling softly at your quiet concern. 

After a hot soak and drying off, Kurapika came out from the bathroom, sniffling much less, clearly warmer and the flush on his cheeks looked much better compared to the previous flush he had from the cold. You smiled and ran up to him, cupping his face.

“You look much better!” rubbing your thumb on his face, “I’m sorry I sent you out...I didn’t know it would get so bad…” fading off, unable to keep eye contact with him.

“It was really my choice to go, y/n, so it’s alright. I’m alright, really.” Kurapika reassured, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“You want hot coco? We have whipped cream and marshies!” you sang, thinking about marshmallows and coco.

“Marshies…?” Kurapika cocked his head.

“Marshmallows. Marshies. Mallows. Same thing.” you said, taking his hand and pulling him downstairs. 

Upon getting in the kitchen, you had two cups of hot chocolate set out, whipped cream and a bowl of marshmallows and candy cane bits set out, like a small decorating station. 

Taking initiative, Kurapika took a mug and the whipped cream, creating a small swirl on the top and sprinkling some candy cane bits on the top, looking content with his quick work. Following suit, you made your own mug and walked over to the couch, sitting down with Kurapika to watch the blizzard rage on outside. 

Kurapika sipped from his mug, the whipped cream touching his nose, leaving a bit in the spot. Looking at him you pulled out your phone and took out a picture, unable to keep a laugh from leaving your lips. He looked at you and wiped his nose, a soft smile gracing his lips. Also briefly checking your phone, you had a message from Leorio, stating they’d get there tomorrow, the blizzard being too awful to continue. You sighed, happy your friends would be kept safe from the dangers of the wild snow. 

Scooting closer to Kurapika, you swipe your finger across his whipped cream, stealing a few candy cane bits with it. Kurapika looked at you, a soft look of shock on his face. You giggled, taking his whipped cream for yourself. Sipping your own mug triumphantly, you eye Kurapika as he sips as well, eyeing you all the same. You snickered, setting your cup down and resting your head on his shoulder, which he took as the initiative to quickly give you a kiss, sweet and slightly peppermint-y, with hints of chocolate. He smiled at your expression, shell shocked and slightly dazed. Payback, you suppose. Shouldn’t have stolen that whipped cream...

After some time, and dinner, it was well into the night. The blizzard still raged on outside, the snow probably hip deep at this rate. Shoveling it would be a tiresome job, but you could always make it a fun job. At this point in the night, you and Kurapika earned a good night's sleep, and you tucked into bed, the whistling of the wind between the branches becoming an empty threat as you snuggled up together, warm and safe.

[simpskywalker]

of snowstorms and hot chocolate

my gift for @ohhellokenobi for the @starwarssecretsanta! happy holidays, rach, hope you enjoy <333

read on ao3

The winds howled and whipped up the snow on the ground into a miserable fog of white. More and more flurries of snowflakes rained down from above, brewing up a perfect storm. The blizzard hadn’t been nearly as bad even just 10 minutes prior, and when Obi-Wan and Anakin had arrived earlier that day, the sun had been shining. Weather on Milves was known to change rapidly; Obi-Wan just cursed the fact that the snowstorm had to begin the literal moment they had started to return to the ship.

Obi-Wan shivered and squinted as snow flew into and stung his eyes. He had to keep putting one foot in front of the other, just keep moving forward, or else he would lose himself in the biting, blinding cold of the storm. The snow would bury him, leaving no trace behind. He had survived far worse than this blizzard before, the Force was with him, he would make it through. The worry that actually gnawed away at him was more about his young Padawan, who had never experienced a snowstorm before.

“M-master, are we—are we almost there?” Anakin asked, barely audible through the winds’ screams, right on cue with Obi-Wan’s anxieties. He was wrapped up in Obi-Wan’s cloak, which looked absolutely ginormous on his tiny form drowning in the folds, but hopefully he could glean even just a smidge more warmth with it on. It meant that Obi-Wan was left with only his inner robes to keep himself warm, but he had the training to draw heat from the Force and sustain himself at least temporarily that way. Plus, he had Anakin’s Force presence blazing like a furnace right beside him. Normally, his presence was overwhelming to be around, so they had been working diligently together on improving Anakin’s shields. But in the moment, Obi-Wan was grateful for the warmth and the reassurance that Anakin was still alive and well.

For the entire journey, Anakin had clutched onto Obi-Wan’s hand like a lifeline, keeping him afloat through the worsening blizzard. Now, Obi-Wan gave his tiny hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’re almost there, I promise,” he shouted with more confidence than he actually felt.

For another minute, they kept trekking through the barrage of snow, the world fading slowly into pure, sweet white. All of a sudden, Obi-Wan spotted a speck of gray in the distance. It stood out in stark contrast to the whirlwind of snow all around it. Obi-Wan held back his judgment for a few seconds, but as they approached, it became clearer and clearer that this must be the ship. The spark of hope lit up in his chest and reinvigorated him to keep going.

“We’re almost there, Anakin, almost there, almost there,” Obi-Wan whispered like a mantra for both himself and Anakin. He sent more of the heat he had generated over their training bond, hoping desperately that it would be enough to get them through the final arduous stretch.

Obi-Wan couldn’t think clearly for the final minute of fighting through the blizzard, so utterly focused on his destination. But he recognized the exact moment he and Anakin stumbled through the door of the ship, slammed it shut, and basked in the glorious warmth that greeted them. Before doing anything else, Obi-Wan staggered over to the thermostat and cranked it up all the way, while Anakin collapsed onto the couch. They wouldn’t be able to take off until the storm cleared up, anyway, so they might as well try to heat back up as much as possible.

“My dear Padawan, could you change into some dry clothes while I make us some hot chocolate?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin nodded. “Yes, Master,” he said with a hint of a stutter, his teeth still chattering, before scurrying away to the storage room. He had shed some of his sopping wet robes and Obi-Wan’s cloak right on the couch, but Obi-Wan didn’t have the heart to lecture Anakin about it then, not after what they had been through. Luckily, their mission beforehand had been blessedly simple diplomacy, helping Anakin get accustomed to the work of the Jedi. Well, at the very least it had been simple compared to their previous couple of disastrous missions and Obi-Wan’s own wild Padawan days not too long ago.

Obi-Wan sighed and let himself just soak in the toasty heat of the room as he swept his hair out of his eyes and back into a ponytail. He set up the kettle and then rummaged in the main kitchen cabinet for a minute and hummed in frustration when he couldn’t find his usual hot chocolate mix. His usual post-mission tradition was a nice hot cup of tea, but he knew Anakin had much more of a sweet tooth and deserved something more to his tastes after having to suffer through Obi-Wan’s poor planning getting them stuck in a positively dreadful snowstorm. The mix had to be somewhere on the ship, surely.

He pondered for a moment where he could have hidden it before spotting the small cabinet tucked away in the opposite corner of the room. Obi-Wan crossed the room, crouched down, and opened it up to find a blast of memories. He hadn’t opened this cabinet since his Master’s death so many months ago that still stung like it was yesterday. It was stocked with rare and unusual teas that Qui-Gon had had a passion for collecting from all the planets they traveled to. Obi-Wan recognized some but not all of the boxes and packets of leaves as he sifted through them, and a few tears welled up in his eyes.

Obi-Wan already felt more like a failure of a Master for Anakin than usual from his slip-up with the weather. He should have just turned them back around instead of insisting on staying out for so long even as the storm got steadily worse. Thinking of Qui-Gon just made Obi-Wan spiral further back into his mind’s favorite pastime of what-if’s and what-could-be’s and if-only’s. He took some deep breaths and tried not to let his sadness leak over the bond too much, because Anakin deserved comfort now, not dealing with his Master’s mess of emotions and inability to cope properly. He could pull himself together for his Padawan, he needed to, oh Force, he had to get his act together, oh Force, get over it, Qui-Gon, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t—

The chime of the kettle knocked Obi-Wan out of his self-inflicted misery and forced himself back onto his feet, clutching the two packets of hot chocolate mix in his fist. Right. Hot chocolate. He could do this.

He set about preparing the hot chocolate on auto-pilot, clearing his mind and focusing only on his task. He grabbed two old mugs with faded novelty designs and poured in the mix, then the hot water, before stirring both of the drinks simultaneously with two spoons. The rhythmic clatter of the durasteel spoons hitting the sides of the ceramic mugs helped Obi-Wan center himself further in the moment. He left his own mug as is, but added in milk and a frankly terrifying amount of whipped cream in Anakin’s. Oh well, he could be indulgent for a day.

While he waited for Anakin to finish changing, Obi-Wan brought his mug up to his face to feel the heat wafting off of it. He took a sip and let the scalding hot temperature settle within his bones. The rich, slightly-bitter taste was all he had needed from the drink.

Finally, Anakin emerged from the back room, looking cozy in his normal robes but also swaddled in one of Obi-Wan’s numerous backup robes, and Obi-Wan’s heart melted at the sight. Anakin lit up like a supernova in the Force and grinned when he spotted the hot chocolate waiting for him at the table, and grabbed it eagerly.

Normally, Anakin would practically inhale his drinks and whatever food was put in front of him, but Obi-Wan could tell he was trying to savor this one, let it heat him back up and help him recover.

Suddenly, Anakin stood up from his chair and ran over to wrap his arms around Obi-Wan’s middle. Obi-Wan jumped and nearly spilled his own hot chocolate, but carefully set it down so he could pull Anakin further into his arms and return the hug.

“Thank you, Master, this was wizard,” Anakin whispered into Obi-Wan’s chest, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile. Even if he tested Obi-Wan’s patience and teaching skills at times, Anakin really was just a sweet kid. What had Obi-Wan ever done to deserve such a wonderful child?

“You’re very welcome, my young Padawan,” Obi-Wan said back, carding his fingers through Anakin’s short hair. He reached Anakin’s Padawan braid and tugged on it lightly, wordlessly asking if he could rebraid. Anakin nodded and settled himself properly on Obi-Wan’s lap before Obi-Wan began to separate the strands of hair and put them back together, sending the both of them into a peaceful light meditative state.

At his very core, Obi-Wan knew he could get through this. He could get through the tumultuous storm raging outside of the ship, and the endlessly exhausting and delightful challenge of training Anakin. No matter what, Obi-Wan knew he and Anakin could rely on each other. He could truly, finally, put himself back together.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

I Did A Terrible Thing

just a very random AU idea. i like the concept of this curse so i whipped this up

------------------------------------

Pale sunlight filtered in through cracks between the curtains, bathing the floor with washed out yellow rays. The sound of clattering from downstairs awakened Jane, then the empty space in the bed. She sighed, reaching longingly for her husband’s side, only to not find him there. Despite her disappointment, she smiled; that man was probably already up and working. She needed to fall into pace, too.

After getting dressed, Jane walked down the stairs, being mindful of her stomach. She was only four months into her pregnancy, but Henry still wanted her to be careful all the time. She found herself chuckling at the memory of him fretting over her from when she was simply walking.

  “Good morning, Joan,” She greeted the young teenager at the kettle.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” The girl replied.

Joan was a young, scrawny little thing. She was awkward in size and personality, always fidgeting nervously or picking at her arms. She didn’t have many friends, Jane had noticed, despite the town having quite a few kids her age. The girl was just too quiet and too shy and all too reserved to interact with anyone beyond her masters.

Henry and Jane were in need of a maid when their fortune and property grew the more Henry became more powerful in his work. Although a fifteen year old outcast wasn’t what they had in mind, they took the worker offered to them regardless. After all, they didn’t need to pay a child as much as their paid an adult.

  “Where has Henry ran off to?” Jane asked, pouring herself a cup of tea.

  “He went to town early this morning, ma’am.” Joan answered. Her voice was wavering slightly; she always did her best to sound mature and appropriate for her status under such a wealthy family. “Runnin’ off because of something with the Howard’s, ma’am. Didn’t tell me what ailed him.” Her eyes flashed a little, weakness reflecting in them for a moment as her voice dipped, “Look like he was gon’ whip me if I dare ask, ma’am.”

Jane hummed. If she noticed Joan’s fear of a whipping, she didn’t acknowledge it. Yes, she didn’t quite agree with Henry’s choice to sometimes take the whip off its hook, but there was nothing to be done.

  “The Howard’s?” Jane said, interested. Joan deflated slightly when she didn’t say anything about the threatened beating. “Whatever for?”

  “I told you I don’ know, ma’am.” Joan answered. “He didn’ tell me.”

  “Ah, right,” Jane nodded. “And what are you plans for the day?”

  “Mister Tudor want me to work in the field. With the animals.” Joan said.

  “Isn’t it a little cold for that?” Jane commented, watching her servant get her a plate of breakfast.

  “Not to him,” Joan shrugged. It was clear she didn’t want to be out in the cold, but she was not one to go against her master. “I shall get it done as quick as I can. Do you think I will have free time after? May I go to town, too?”

  “I don’t see why not.” Jane said.

Joan lit up. The girl didn’t smile very often, rather wearing a solemn expression on most days, so seeing her smile was strange. 

  “Oh, thank you, Miss Jane!” Joan chirped, bowing her head in thanks. She set the plate down and rubbed her hands against her apron, eyes still alight with glee. All the things she wanted to do, like going to the library and getting new books, made her excited. “Is there anything else you need, ma’am? I don’ want to leave you and get to work without knowin’ for sure.”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” Jane said, waving a hand, “Go on. Get going.”

  “I will! Thank you again, Miss Jane!”

With that, the girl bowed one more time and then scurried out.

---

  “Look at you. A sheep with the sheep.”

Anne smirked at the way Joan’s head snapped up from where she was feeding the lambs. Maggie and Maria tittered at her side.

  “Anne.” Joan said, slightly sheepish. “What-what are you doin’ here?”

  “Came to get you,” Anne replied as if Joan should have known that. “Your master be at my uncle’s house. You know that, yeah? Somethin’s wrong with my cousin.”

  “Cousin?”

  “Katherine, you idiot.” Anne rolled her eyes and Maggie giggled again. “Your head full of moths?”

  “Probably sheep wool,” Maria put in. “She already looks like one. I wouldn’t be surprised if she starts growin’ wool from her ears!” She and Maggie roared in laughter, while Anne just chuckled darkly. Joan shrunk back, her cheeks heating up.

  “Anyway,” Anne said, rolling her wrist, “We gon’ go to the Howard’s house and see her. She’s ill, you know?”

  “No,” Joan shook her head, “Mister Tudor didn’ tell me anything. She’s sick?”

  “Yeah. Real sick. Ain’t wakin’ up. Edmund has been throwin’ a huge fit over her.” Anne explained, “I’m surprised you never heard him howlin’!”

Doing a horrible imitation of Mister Howard, Maggie wailed, “Oh Katherine, Katherine! Wake, my sweet daughter! Wake! Why won’t you wake?!”

Clinging to her arm dramatically, Maria joined in, “God! God! Why have you forsaken me?! What have you struck my little girl with?!”

Once again, they erupted into laughter. Joan’s nose scrunched up at their insensitivity.

  “Tell her my pardons and prayers,” She said, grabbing a rake to rid of the muck in the barn, “My master said I gotta tend to the animals. Then I can go to town. But I’m not spendin’ my free time meddlin’ in someone else’s affairs.”

She missed the looks that the three other girls exchanged. However, she did hear Maria mutter, “I told you we shouldn’t have come here” and Maggie’s, “This was a waste of time.” Anne groaned loudly and snatched the rake away from Joan, making her yelp.

  “Live a little, will ya? Let’s go see poor Kitty!” Anne urged, “To hell with your master right now. You can’t let him lead you around by a leash all the time. Deal with the consequences later. Let’s go!”

Joan stared into the older girl’s eyes and then sighed, giving in.

  “Lead on, Anne.”

Anne, her two goons, and Joan began trekking through the Tudor’s property, making sure they weren’t caught.

  “So, what’s wrong with Kitty?” Joan asked. The other three smirk widely.

  “There be witches about, Joan.” Anne said. “And we’re gonna find them.”

---

  “Anne! We are gonna to get in trouble!” Joan hissed in a whisper as she and the other girls trodded through the darkened forest. This part of the woods was supposed to be banned from entry, but Anne and her goons had apparently found a way into the thicket.

  “No we won’t,” Anne said dismissively.

  “Yeah!” Maggie agreed, as she always did. She was never not licking on Anne’s boots.

  “Stop being such a baby.” Maria said.

Joan blustered. “I am NOT a baby!”

  “Then stop complainin’.” Anne said.

  “I thought you said we were goin’ to Mister Howard’s house,” Joan said, nearly being hit in the face by a thorny branch.

  “I lied.”

The four of them broke through the brambles and into a clearing. There, a small stone cottage, swathed in moss and vines, sat nestled between two towering oak trees. 

Smoke that didn’t smell like normal smoke was streaming from the chimney.

  “Oh, Anne, no--” Joan said worriedly as Anne strode over to the front door with Maggie and Maria in tow. “This isn’ our home, Anne! We can’t go in!”

  “Too late,” Anne said while opening the door with a smirk. “BESIDES, this is a witch’s house! They don’t deserve a home!”

  “Even more of a reason to not go in…” Joan muttered.

The inside of the house was filled with strange items. Vibrant flowers and sparkling stones, vials filled with strange liquids and wooden sculptures with eyes that seemed to follow Joan, weird plants and stacked ingredients--and a beautiful bird in a silver cage that was hanging from the ceiling.

  “Woah,” Maggie murmured as they approached the cage.

The bird had pure white feathers that seemed to sparkle in the light from the fireplace and a long, flowing tail. Its eyes were a bright, striking blue as it turned to them, clucking softly.

  “It’s so pretty,” Maria said.

  “It is.” Joan couldn’t help but agree.

  “Let’s take it.”

Joan whipped her head around to Anne. “What?”

  “Yes!” Maggie yipped gleefully.

  “Yeah!” Maria nodded vigorously. “The witch is probably torturing it!”

  “No! W-we can’t!” Joan stammered nervously, but Anne was already unlatching the door to the cage and pulling out the bird. “Anne!”

  “Finders keepers,” Anne said.

The bird squirmed in Anne’s hands, clearly uncomfortable. It then began to screech loudly, trying to flap its wings in her grip and shaking its tail feathers in irritation. Anne yelped and squeezed it tighter.

  “Anne!” Joan yelped.

  “Make it be quiet!” Maggie cried.

  “Someone is gonna hear!” Maria added, only now sounding anxious.

  “I’m trying!” Anne moved the bird into one hand, trying to hold its beak shut with the other. She yelped in pain when it pecked her and grabbed its head roughly, struggling with the thing.

Then, there was the sound of bones cracking.

The squawking stopped.

The bird went limp.

The girls stared in shock.

  “Oh god,” Anne whispered.

  “You-you killed it!” Joan cried. “Anne, you killed it! You killed a witch’s pet!”

  “Shut UP, Joan!” Anne snapped.

  “What are we going to do?” Maria worried.

  “We’re going to leave,” Anne said. She dropped the bird’s body. “We were never here, alright? Do not speak a word about this to anyone.”

Maggie and Maria nodded, but Joan did not. She went to refuse when a twig snapped outside.

And a beautiful woman stepped into the cottage.

She had dark skin like molten honey and curly brown hair with golden tips. The gold and green robes she was swathed in looked like they were charged with magical energy. Vines and ivy coiled around her arms and neck, forming a bramble crown on her forehead. Her sharp brown eyes widened when she saw the kids in her room, then became anguished when her gaze shifted to the dead bird.

  “RUN!!” Anne screeched, and she, Maggie, and Maria dashed out of the cottage, shoving past the witch. Joan was left behind, too shocked to move. She began to quake in fear as the witch approached slowly.

The witch knelt down and picked the bird up, cradling its corpse in her arms like it was a baby. She looked absolutely distraught over its death.

  “W-we didn’t mean to,” Joan stuttered. “I-I tried to get them to stop, but they--”

  “You killed her.” The witch spat.

Joan flinched and swallowed thickly. “I-I’m really sorry…”

  “You’re going to pay for this, little girl,” The witch growled lowly, then began to mutter something beneath her breath. Her eyes lit up bright white, and Joan felt something slithering up through the inside of her body. Her guts and brain grew warm, as if they were being filled with hot water, and she staggered backwards in shock. 

Then, it all went away.

And a sound began to fill Joan’s head.

Cawing.

Crow cawing.

It was rebounding through her skull like an echo in a cave, growing lower and louder and louder. With it, a pressure grew behind her left eye, like something was trying to crawl its way out of her head. She clutched at her face, gritting her teeth through a new, sharp pain blooming like a flower in spring. 

  “You took my familiar,” The witch hissed. “Now I will take something from you.”

Joan’s eyeball felt like it was being torn out of her skull. Perhaps it was because there was a sharp sensation behind her eye, poking, pricking, stabbing, until she thought it was going to pop out.

Instead, it was destroyed.

The cawing got louder and a trio of crows burst from her right eye socket.

Joan screamed in pain, falling down to her knees as her entire body shuddered. The crows writhed in her face, flapping their wings in a desperate attempt to get away but their lower halves were stuck inside of her skull. They struggled and squirmed, somehow not tearing skin, and sent waves of agony roaring through every part of Joan’s being.

The witch stared down at the girl as she cried tears and blood. Her face, so lacking any avians or remorse, twitched. She shook her head.

  “Go, child. You’re lucky I let you live.”

But Joan couldn’t move. Not for awhile, so the witch picked her up and carried her back into the forest, where she was left under a tree. 

The crows continued to caw.

---

Joan was kicked out of her mistress’ house after returning home, weak and in pain. Henry yelled at her, calling her a witch and a devil, and shot at her with his shotgun.

The bullet blasted a hole through her belly. The pain was unbearable. The crows screeched. But she did not die.

Henry and Jane beat her off of their property, both looking terrified as they did so. Joan tried to plead with them, tried to convince them to let her stay, but they refused.

Everyone in the village did the same.

They all looked at her with disgust and hatred and horror. They all tried to kill her but she would not die. So they chased her into the forest instead, banned her from her home. 

Joan was alone with a crow’s nest in her head.

The crows were smaller than normal crows, but still felt massive inside of her. She felt every move they made, every twitch and jolt, which felt as though her head was splitting open like a watermelon. Some days, they were subdued, pressed into each other, tucked in her eye like it was their nest. Other days, they were manic, wings flapping in never-ending distress, feather ruffling and itching places inside of her face that she could not reach.

She tried to pull them out. They pecked her and bit her and they screeched so loud she thought she would go deaf, but she tried. 

They did not come out.

She tried cutting them off, next. It worked for a moment, but then they grew back within just a few seconds, even more loud and hysteric. They didn’t shut up for awhile after that.

The constant squawking stopped Joan from sleeping. Without sleep, she grew exhausted and miserable. When she grew miserable, she became depressed.

She tried to die so many times, but nothing ever worked. The curse of immortality was as bad as the birds, but she supposed that was the point. She wondered which part was supposed to be the real punishment.

One day, after a long and agonizing four months of torture, Joan couldn’t get herself to move. The birds were agitated, squirming and squawking more than usual. They never seemed to get tired, unlike Joan, who felt like a corpse. She wanted to be one so badly.

Footsteps approached, but Joan didn’t realize because of all the noise until the witch was right in front of her. She looked up at her, whimpering, crying tears of blood, and the crows quieted down to stare, too. 

  “You pitiful creature,” Said the witch. “Are you not going to beg for forgiveness?”

Joan shook her head sluggishly, thunking it back down to the thick root of a tree. The birds were jostled and cawed in annoyance, and she let out a tiny sob as the sound echoed in her aching eardrums. 

  “I deserve it,” Joan managed to croak out. 

  “Hm.” Said the witch. “What a peculiar child you are. Usually people are kissing my boots, pleading for a reversal to their curse. But not you.”

Joan didn’t think she had the energy to.

  “Can you stand?” The witch asked. “My name is Catalina de Aragon, child, and I need an apprentice. You will become that for me and you will listen to what I tell you, and only once you prove yourself will I remove your curse. Now, get up. We have a lot of work to do.”

[kernelmeow]

Nothing More Than to be Free || QuiObi

A Cinderella AU - Part 1

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Rating: SFW

Tags: fairy tale ending - because they deserve it, cinderella!qui-gon, prince!obi-wan, cliche af, speed writing - i’m sorry!

Summary: He is a peasant boy, and he is a prince, and one day they meet. A spin on the classic fairy tale.

AN: yea, so I watched Ever After and thought, “hey, why not cinderella qui-gon?”. So I decided to make it happen. I made it a challenge to write this in one sitting, and boyyyyyyyy lemme tell you the urge to edit, and edit, and edit, is difficult to ignore.

***

The first month of spring boasted remembrance of its succession. The mornings fresh with the ghost of winter's fading influence. It was enough to rouse Qui-Gon from sleep. 

The hearth was devoid of life and warmth, and the cold stone floor on which he slept absorbed the chill like old bones. He instinctively reached for the book abandoned at his side, read before the fire's comfort, and until his eyes and mind succumbed to exhaustion. He sets it aside, ready for that evening when he would resume digesting its pages once again. As he walks through the sleeping halls, he stretches out old pains perpetuated by bad habits.

Outside, a fog filters through the trees, slowly evaporating in the wake of the sun's rebirth, and Qui-Gon allows himself a moment to appreciate the ambience. The chateau is quiet and he preferred it as such. The longer the inhabitants within remained undisturbed, the longer he had to complete his duties, and without severe critique. He sets off to the stable to release the animals into the yard so he can attend to their stables. 

He isn’t at all prepared for what he encounters.

A chestnut horse stands idle at the well as a man pulleys a bucket of fresh water from its depths. They graciously hold the bucket for their steed to drink. With their back turned, Qui-Gon can’t ascertain who they are, but it doesn’t matter. It will inconvenience his day if the Count knows that a stranger has helped themselves to their resources. With such incentive, Qui-Gon approaches the trespasser.

“That is my water, I’ll have you know.” 

Qui-Gon watches as the stranger stills, no doubt surprised, but soon turns to acknowledge him.

He’s a young man, fair and handsome, and not at all contrite for having been caught. In fact, Qui-Gon observes, he appears indifferent. 

“She has almost had her fill. We will be on our way soon,” the man says, and turns his back.

Qui-Gon is incredulous that man has the audacity to ignore the present circumstances. His eyes flicker to the windows overlooking the courtyard, hoping that no one has witnessed the scene below, and it urges him to settle the issue promptly.

He marches forward to grab the man's arm, whirling him around in an ironclad hold. He towers over the young man, and still they don’t falter or express concern.

“You are trespassing on private property. Leave now before I inform the authorities,” he declares.

The man tilts his head inquisitively. “And which authority would that be?”

Qui-Gon grits his teeth. He was not in a gaming mood, and the water thief is trying his patience.

“Would you prefer I remove you myself?”

“I would like to see that.” The man issues the challenge with a coy smile, and Qui-Gon’s blood surges.

“Gladly,” he seethes. 

“This proves I can’t leave unattended.”

The amused comment makes Qui-Gon start, turning around to face the newcomer. A smirking man sits upon a horse, and observes the unfolding scene between Qui-Gon and the unnamed stranger. Behind him, an entourage of men sit poised upon their own steeds, ready at a moments notice to intervene.

Qui-Gon hears a sigh and resumes his attention of the young man who doesn’t appear surprised by the parties sudden arrival.

“Is it too much to ask that I go for a morning ride by myself?” he asks the smirking man, evidently annoyed.

“You know as well as I do, your majesty, that would not be wise,” the smirking man responds. Qui-Gon turns back to the stranger, confused. “Who would protect you from farm boys that would threaten his highness?” There is a sudden shift in tone, a warning, and Qui-Gon is quick to release his hold of the man, and step back.

His Highness? No, it can’t be. But as Qui-Gon scrutinises the man, noting the famed blond hair, and the embroidered royal sigil, it all becomes blatantly obvious. He hasn’t the chance to apologise, beg for his pitiful life, before the Prince says:

“If it's any consolation, I was very much convinced.” And offers a sympathising smile. He mounts his horse and passes Qui-Gon without further word. 

“For your silence.” The smirking man, now scowling, flicks a coin before Qui-Gon’s feet.

The Prince leads the group at a gallop across the paddock and into the treeline. Qui-Gon stares long after they have gone, not realising how his life will forever be changed from the serendipitous encounter.

***

[cinna-wanroll]

"it's okay to cry in front of me, you know. you don't have to carry this alone."

You know that feeling when you’re so tired that you know you can’t make yourself get up, can’t force yourself to move, but there’s that nagging discomfort that continues to return, over and over again until you have to give in? 

It was the ache in Satine’s bones as she laid across the sand in the freezing desert night, longing to curl up with something- or someone- else but not having the emotional or physical capacity. Her fingers had gone numb, her toes curled into the worn toe of her boots as she shivered, silent and miserable, in place. 

Underneath the open sky, she and her Jedi protectors laid strewn out, all too tired to have made a fire or made any sort of camp, Qui-Gon’s breathing ragged and uneven as Obi-Wan shuffled anxiously somewhere nearby. Her back might’ve been to him, but she could feel his emotions, his worry and his restlessness. In part because she shared the same feelings, but also because by now she just knew him. There was a part of him now that almost was her, a vast complex of feelings not usually expressed outwardly by the young Jedi.

She shifted onto her back, crossing her hands on her stomach and staring out at the empty darkness that swallowed any light and covered the stars with clouds. The wind picked up it’s pace, teasing her strands of hair out and across her face, obscuring her vision. She ceased her shaking, and closed her eyes against the chilling gust. She felt so alone, so forsaken by the land that surrounded her, so empty and exhausted.��

But too worried to fall asleep. 

Many nights of a let-down guard had taught her better than to let herself drift now, so she was left feeling the sting of a rough wind against her flushed cheeks and the coarseness of sand beneath her. 

Ancient Mando’a tales when she was younger had taught her that the wind would whisper secrets sometimes, if you just listened hard enough. So it was to her dreary state a simple escape from reality, if only for just a brief moment. She closed her eyes but tried not to breath in too deep, knowing that the air would certainly be clogged with gritty particles. No, instead she held her breath completely and listened. 

A storm was coming, she realized as the whistling of the wind changed to a low rumble, and a heavy tone rang across the desert. It took a moment for her tired mind to piece all the clues together, what with the towering dark clouds that clogged the sky and the speed of the gale that brushed the dunes. The low moan of it now crescendoed, and she had to turn back over and cover her ears, pressing her eyes tightly closed and hoping, just hoping, she would make it through another night without facing another disaster- whether of nature or of other force. 

Tears sprang to the corners of her eyes, and she covered her mouth with her free hand, trying hard not to make a sound. 

She was reminded of a night that took place long ago, back when she was six years old. She had been curled up with Bo in her room, while her father was off to go fight somewhere, her mother staying with the two girls. She had been holding a flickering candle, the only living source of light left for them to see by, the only thing distracting the young sisters from breaking down. The downpour pelted at the walls and some of the last desert trees broke apart and flung themselves at their home, along with the rest of nature. 

Satine was quite certain the Force simply enjoyed to watch her suffer.

But instead of worry about the hurricane that raged outside and in her heart, she had tucked herself close to mother, scanning along as D’sarra Kryze read fables and stories of far-off worlds. Stories that promised a better future, stories that told of princes and valiant knights come to rescue their true loves and of framers that became the best pilots the galaxy had ever known. And one she loved in particular, The Bread Gift. Or, in Mando’a; Te shuner dinui. It was about a young boy who learned to make bread in a poor country, and he helped the people grow into wealth and prosperity. When he died, all he asked was that his tradition of bread was kept, so that way if the country ever fell into despair once more there would always be hope for a better future.

Bo had never enjoyed such tales, and Satine could remember her sister’s fits of outrage and frustration at never being able to understand the tales. The younger girl would bang her fists on the ground, cry and cry, all because she felt put-out. Bo-Katan Kryze could scale mountains and shoot a mynock from a tree, but when it came to connections and a focus on the big picture, Satine knew her sister struggled. 

Bo always knew how to get what she wanted to in the moment, what seemed right when she needed it to be right. Leading on a whim and a fiery spirit, leading with the unrest of the people rather than thinking about if the people knew what they wanted or needed in the first place. Satine had always thought differently, with compassion and care, never rushing in and always holding true to her own vision, never stirred by the notion of doubt that she wasn’t trying her best for the people she cared for. Because she knew that she was. She’d always hoped Bo would one day discover that same courage within her, even though they stood apart on many ideas. 

But on that particular night, her mother was trying to comfort the upset girl and Satine sat alone, curled up and trying to study the picture of a young hero in a cape. That was when her light had been blown out as the wind roared even higher than before, and she could remember going still, a huge crack of lightning shaking the room. 

She felt the same fear and despair now, the images of pitch-black darkness making her curl up in on herself further. 

Alone, alone, and forgotten-

A warm presence curled up beside her and wrapped an arm around her waist.

She turned around, face-to-face with Obi-Wan, her dashing hero here to save her once more. She held back her tears, trying not to let him know how afraid she was.

“Shh,” he soothed, brushing a rough palm across her cheek, “it’s just a storm. It’ll pass. It’ll pass and it’ll all be over soon, I promise.”

She just looked at him weakly, his eyes the only lights she could find, his warmth the comfort she’d needed. 

She sniffed.

His eyebrows knitted together in concern with that, his hand reaching down to grab hers, tracing across her knuckles lightly, “What’s wrong Tracinya?”

She cast her gaze down, to where his fingers continued to brush against hers.

"It's okay to cry in front of me, you know. You don't have to carry this alone."

With that, she broke, crying into his chest and curling as close to him as she possibly could.

“Ben, Nau, I’m so afraid.”

His voice deepened with his concern, “Why? Because of the hunters?”

She shook her head, mumbling, “I’m afraid I’ll never get to be there for my people. And I’m afraid that if I am, I’ll just fail anyway.” 

He fell silent for a moment, his chest moving up and down in a deep, steady rhythm.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he said finally, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.

She cast him a puzzled expression, her eyes still full of tears the notion seemed so ridiculous to her, so foreign that she couldn’t even compose a complete list of why that was so wrong.

But he smiled so softly, so knowingly that she said nothing, waiting for his reassurance, for his advice.

“Satine, you have endured so much for your people. Just being here, on this mission, risking yourself time and time again but refusing to stop fighting for what you believe in- it shows that no matter what, you’ll make it through with everyone in tact. It shows above all, a rare courage that I’ve seen in the greatest of Jedi masters,” his kind gaze lingered, ever-searching as he continued, “you may let this,” he placed a hand over her heart, making it skip a beat, “get in the way of this,” he pointed to her head, grinning, “but even an out-of-control fire will blaze bright enough for even the lost souls to see.”

She smiled gently, placing her hand atop his, still pressed against her thundering heartbeat, “Well, until it gets too close for comfort. Then they just try to fight it.”

Obi-Wan nodded his head, “yes, well, I recommend you keep this,” he took his hand from under hers and brushed the tip of his thumb across the bottom of her lips, “in check then, Tracinya.”

She scoffed at him, batting him across the chest. His eyes glittered with playfulness, the first raindrops that fell upon his face adding a kind of glistening effect to him. 

Here is where she belonged, of all the places to be caught in a storm, she couldn’t complain about this one. 

Something in the back of her mind told her she couldn’t move, even as she felt her eyes fluttering closed, as she felt him draw closer. 

Her breathing became quicker, feeling his forehead press against hers. Usually this is where they would leave things off, a soft tap of foreheads and then retreating back to their respective quarters, but this time Obi-Wan pulled her closer against him, hand gripping tightly at her waist. 

She almost forgot how to operate for a moment, almost forgot about the cold and the storm, only feeling his breath against her and the racing of her heart with his, the ghost feeling of his thumb against her lips still lingering. 

If they were going to do this, she knew in her heart she couldn’t be the spark- that she would have to wait for him to strike the match and light the flame. Even though it ached as his face hovered mere centimeters from hers- almost as though she could feel every part of him against her, yet she held completely still, waiting for him. 

She felt, saw in her mind, his eyes sweeping over her face, tracing her outline and trying to make that enough. She opened her eyes to return his gaze, letting him know that whatever happened, it was alright. They laid like that for a moment, trying their best to not just feel each other, but to also understand one another. Where they both were- what they wanted, what they needed, and where both of them were going. 

They were silent in the thick of the storm, being as one and feeling as though they were all that existed, as though their shared pain, their shared love, was what threaded the very tapestry of their universe. 

And it was, as she watched all the pain and worry and uncertainty leave his eyes, almost not noticing the moment his lips touched hers, tender and deep.

She let her eyes close once more, a single delicate hand caressing his face, pulling him in closer. A final sign of surrender as he deepened the kiss, pressing as close to her as possible through their soaked tunics and wet hair.

She felt his tongue against her bottom lip and she shuddered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he rolled atop her.

Her mind couldn’t seem to focus, although she felt herself smiling against his kiss. 

The stayed that way for a while, lips gliding across one another in the rain, with Obi-Wan pressing against her and Satine feeling as though she might sink into the now soft, wet sand. 

Eventually his kisses became more desperate instead of deep, and Satine knew there wasn’t much time before Qui-Gon arose and decided they should seek shelter.

With reluctance, she pushed against his chest gently, urging him off of her. 

He ignored her urge, but stopped kissing her for a moment, touching the bridge of his nose to hers, so he could feel her breath and take a moment to recompose himself.

His breathing was ragged and unsteady as he kissed her cheek gently.

“Satine,” he whispered into her ear, closing his eyes for a moment. 

She didn’t know if he was addressing her or simply saying her name, but she asked anyways, “What?”

He bent down further, placing a kiss to her neck where he knew her pulse was.

She gasped softly and he drew back, cupping her cheek, “Thank you.”

Satine felt her cheeks grow hot, and she smiled, “You’re welcome, but I hardly think you should be thanking me.”

He quirked a brow, unable to stop himself from placing one last, quick kiss to her lips, “Oh?”

“I should be thanking you- for comforting me,” she said, sitting up an placing a hand over his heart the same way he had done to her earlier, “you are my rock, and I- thank you. Just, for this. For letting us- well, I’m not sure. But, I- I do-” she paused, unsure if her next words were a part of the out-of-control fire Obi-Wan had mentioned earlier. 

But she decided she didn’t care as she pressed his forehead to his, not taking her hand away from his chest, “I do love you. Even if you can’t say it- I need you to know- I just-” 

He grabbed her hand with both of his keeping it in place and leaning forwards, “I know.”

Those two words meant everything in that moment, and she realized that they were the ones she was looking for. Not a declaration of I love you- that would tear her apart inside- but a validation that she wasn’t alone, a comfort and a reassurance. 

She saw him blush and look down, even in the rain. 

“What is it?” 

He bit his lip, his solemn look turning into a shy little smile.

“Should we- should we do this again sometime?”

Satine felt her heart stop for a moment; he wanted to do this again. 

But her heart sank as she realized the implications of any further action, of any further confessions, and her gaze darkened. 

“No.”

Shock was written across his face, he looked as though she’d stricken him. 

“What?”

She looked away, not willing to meet his gaze, “No. We can’t, and we shouldn’t.”

“But- why?”

Satine grimaced and stood, “You know perfectly well why, Be- Obi-Wan.”

“But we’ve already gone this far, Satine.”

“And that is exactly why we cannot allow this to continue,” she crossed her arms, dejected and lost, letting the heavy raindrops weigh her down and blur her vision, to paste her hair across her face and disguise her turmoil and tears as their own. 

Before he could say anything more, she walked away towards Qui-Gon, 

“Satine, Satine please wait,” he sounded like he was in so much pain and she felt her heart shatter, even as she knelt down to shake Qui-Gon awake. 

I’m sorry, she mouthed through the haze of darkness and rain and thunderclaps, I hope you know I’m doing this because I love you.

(Satine calls Obi-Wan light; Nau and Obi-Wan calls Satine flame; Tracinya)

[val-aquenta]

Here for the Jedi June prompt: There is no chaos, there is harmony.

Sorry this one’s also late, but being busy on Saturday pushed both of these back hehe. 

Here on ao3

10 years was more than enough time in the desert. Force, even one minute was all it took to tire of the constant sweltering heat and blasting sand of Tatooine. The place was barely habitable with its krayt dragons and sandstorms and heat, and yet it managed to hold so much life regardless. Obi-Wan had to respect and admire the Tatooine natives for remaining so long on the planet. The Jawas who remained, and the Tuskens who prospered in the arid landscape. He felt he was… withering away here, parts of him chipping away and disappearing into the sand. He would not last long as they did, but he had to endure a while more. For Luke. 

A tear dripping dripping and then being whisked away-

A decade, though, was a long time. And Ben felt that he was falling apart. Still, he had flashes of old memories, phantom pains and feelings of burning heat, words spoken and not spoken that could have changed so much, regrets that had so much power on him, but so little power elsewhere. Even with the grounding presence of his banthas, the neighbouring Krayt dragon, and the natives that wandered the land, he felt unmoored. He was not built for this life, evident in the wrinkles on his hand, and the silver on his head. 

Smooth hands in the sand, lingering warmth, the cold stone, carved-

Today, though, there was a… heightened sense of failure that hung over him quietly. A silent grief that he had learned to live with had a sharper edge today. He methodically prepared himself to go out. The last thing he wished to do today was wallow inside his home all day. He wrapped his arms in a light cream strip of fabric, tieing and pinning them beneath the flowy sleeves of the tunic that reminded him a bit too much of his old tunics, now torn and gathering dust in the depths of his closet. The lunch he had prepared was stuffed into the large pockets of his robes and that, along with his staff, was all he needed before he ventured outside. 

Sand whipping burying something deep. Always changing, hiding and revealing-

Ben continued to move, unsure of his destination. He had not planned to do anything today. Vaporators were working optimally, the banthas were grazing far from home, the Krayt was silent, and Luke was… hidden away. He had, well, nothing to do really. He’d always thought he’d have a purpose with the Jedi, a purpose to serve the Republic’s citizens, and yet, it seemed not so.

Bloody hands and symbols on a grey stone, a tear and another dropping-

The cloak snapped behind him, the only sound other than the shifting sands that followed him. His staff descended into the orange sands, leaving little holes behind him as he walked. Soon, he entered a canyon and, grateful for the shade, he entered a small cave. By now the suns were at the zenith and the heat was just this side of unbearable. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan began to eat, still wondering where the Force was trying to push him. He finished with a fruit, purple with cream spots all over. It was sweet yet with a light tang, reminiscent of some delicacy he’d had in Ryloth with Qui-Gon many years ago.

A mask of fabric snapping, whipping through the wind-

Once he finished, he once more began his journey, travelling further down the canyon. He stuck to the walls, stopping every now and then to take a sip of water. Eventually, the Force pushed him back onto the dunes, so he followed dutifully. He wrapped the cloak further up and began his walk once more.  

Sudden and strong enough to strip flesh from bone, struggling to move through the-

The sun beat down mercilessly as the Force slowly drew him to a stop. The presence which had guided him slowly and kindly nudging him through the desert dissipated as quickly as it had begun to push him here. He huffed, slightly annoyed, but looked around him nonetheless. It looked very… normal. It looked exactly like every part of Tatooine that ever existed. Dry, hot, and incredibly boring. “What is it? Why bring me here?” The Force stayed quiet, and Ben sighed. He had not exactly expected the Force to answer, but there was always hope it would. 

A grief as loud and powerful as the sand moving. Loss and a yawning chasm, empty and silent and dark and-

Ben kneeled in the sand, staff held loosely across his lap, and closed his eyes, careful that his hood blocked out most of the light. Slowly his breaths went in and out, and he began to meditate on the location and its mystery. Time passed as he examined the location with his senses, and he felt the wind pick up, jostling his robe. There was an imprint in the Force, loneliness and grief that felt strangely familiar. A pain that seemed to be controlled yet so very vast. Ben chased the feeling until he realised exactly what happened and he pulled himself from it, shaking with fear and anger. “No…” He breathed, refusing to touch the memory embedded here that brought slight shame to him even all these years past. “No.”

Hands shaking as they carved and kept carving and kept moving and-

He opened his eyes finally to be surprised by the sandstorm rolling in. Cursing as he leapt up, he began to walk home rapidly, wishing that he had not been so foolish to walk so far from his home. Despite that, Ben knew that, deep down, he would never have ignored the call on the Force, but he was still somewhat annoyed. A scarf was quickly tied around his mouth and goggles fit onto his head. Quickly, the sandstorm began to pick up, and soon it was a roaring mass around his ears that, with some aid from the Force, he was able to keep from harming him. He blinked, memories bleeding into the present for just a moment.

Stumbling stumbling, no purpose here. Just sand and more sand and all of them-

It had been a day similar to this when a sandstorm had rolled past, unexpected by all except the old woman from the fruit stalls. He’d been caught then, by surprise, while he had laid a stone amid the dune sea. Obi-Wan, because parts of him had still been so Obi-Wan back then, had snapped, and the tears had started and started and not stopped, the only saving grace being his hasty use of the Force, expelling the sand from hitting his face and gouging deep. He’d mourned there, even during the sandstorm, carving that stone until his hands had begun to bleed. Only when he was finished had he replaced his gloves and just sat there, staring at the tiny placard, the only sign of remembrance of his family that he had. The Jedi Order’s symbol, a phoenix rising with a beam of light was beautiful, and already being covered by sand. The names of his friends, of his family, were already being smoothed out by sand. He’d almost wished, for just a moment that he had also been buried in the sand with them, but he had more to do in life it seemed, so he had stood and left, the pain almost bringing him back down, crashing to the sand. 

Granule by granule, covering them up, swallowing them until nothing was there.

The Force danced, just out of reach, still trying to lead him back, and Ben almost felt like ignoring out of pettiness, but he only groaned and turned back. He trudged back moodily, cresting the dune and then tripping and receiving a faceful of sand. He lay there for a moment out of frustration before he stood and twisted to see what he’d tripped over. On the gleaming sand, accompanied by the Force’s quiet ‘I told you so’ lay his carved stone, the light grey stark against the orange sand. Ben scurried forwards and clutched onto it, resting it on his lap. He pushed some sand off, and sure enough, the symbol of the order remained. The sand had erased the shallowly carved names, but the symbol was there. Ben did not know how long he sat there, but it was long enough for the sandstorm to peter out, and for hunger to make itself known in his stomach. ‘Take it’ the Force whispered, ‘let it bring you comfort,’ and Ben listened once more.  Holding onto his stone, filled with his grief and pain, Ben feel sthat it is one of the few times he has turly been at peace since he got to Tatooine, and he smiles for it. 

[blahblahwritings]

Contracts and Captains - III.

A/N: I’m definitely making this a Billy fic sorry lmao. 

Words: 1844

Warnings: Drinking and vomit.

It had been a month since Mr Gates had approached you and you had returned to him with a lead each week for them to hunt, bringing them and yourself plenty of money. You’d given them merchant ships carrying dyes, spices, tobacco, sugar and more that turned a favourable profit when brought back which didn’t go unnoticed by Miss Guthrie. Although you hadn’t talked since the job she needed, she seemed to have let the whole ordeal go after learning you were part of the reason Flint was bringing in more prizes.

The Walrus had returned early this morning and so you were currently walking down to the beach as they unloaded their cargo, hoping to find Flint or Gates to hand them another lead. It had taken a little while for you to find one this time so you had sent letters to some old friends in Port Royal asking for information which you were hoping would bear fruit. If not, you may very well be hunting out new employment.

The sun was still low as you found the crew, tired but in high spirits. They were laughing as they worked, and you’d caught word of a celebration at the tavern tonight as you passed by them to the old wooden dock. A longboat was slowly advancing toward the shore, the familiar faces of the captain and quartermaster among a couple of other crew members sat inside. You shot a friendly smile as they climbed out and quickly moved to join them.

“Another successful haul?” You chimed, gesturing to the surrounding crates and chests. The captain gave a small smirk, squinting against the light of the sun as Gates chuckled.

“Couldn’t have done it without your intel Miss Devereux, accurate as usual.” Mr gates clapped you on the back and you playfully rolled your eyes. “I assume you have our next target.” Flint said flatly. As much as you had proved they could trust you, he seemed a little cold to you since day one. He would give small smiles and be civil but never deviated into any kind of action that could be misconstrued as friendship. He preferred this to be more... professional. You were used to it with the men who would give you one off contracts but never in long-term work.

“I do, captain, here.” You dug through your pouch tied to your thick leather belt and handed him a piece of paper with times and coordinates scrawled across it. He inspected the page with furrowed brows before handing it to Mr Gates and nodded his thanks. “I have to take care of some business, I trust you’ll organise this, Gates. Excuse me.” He spoke briefly before leaving for the town.

“We appreciate you working for us, the crew are, of course, very happy with the results and if you’d like to meet them, I believe they’re having a celebration tonight if you’re interested.” He cocked a brow. The invitation was a little unexpected, seeing as the captain obviously seemed to be apprehensive about you. “Flint is Flint, he keeps everyone at a distance, you shouldn’t feel put off by it. You deserve a drink with the crew you’ve been working for and they should know who you are. Lord knows they’re curious having watched our little talks. If not for yourself, do it for me, I’m sick of the questions.” He laughed lightheartedly though you could tell there was some truth to his exhaustion with the crew. A chuckle left you. “Fine, but I’m not getting drunk.”

--

You were drunk. You’d damn the crew all to hell if you weren’t having such a good time. Gates had brought you along and introduced you to the men who were almost all intoxicated before you’d even arrived so they took to you very quickly, the armourer, Logan throwing an arm around your shoulders and offering you drinks. You drank for free mostly, the men refusing to let you pay as ‘a sign of their appreciation for your leads’.

So here you were, sitting in the corner of the tavern, singing your heart out to some old shanty alongside the others, feeling like part of the crew yourself as the room swayed. Your mug was empty and you’d made the decision that if the room was moving as you were still, you shouldn’t drink any more. Then there was a bang as another mug of rum was put in front of you. You half grimaced, half cackled as you took it, sipping the dark liquid despite your head telling you otherwise.

This was going to be a disaster tomorrow. The moon was high in the sky as you stood from the table, walking outside in pursuit of some fresh air. You were leaning against the wall of the tavern, desperately trying to get the floor to stay straight as someone walked toward you.

“I’m assuming they’re having quite the night by the looks of you.” An unfamiliar voice sounded above you. It took everything you had to stand up straight and look at the man. He was tall, far taller than the others and he wore an old shirt, sleeves rolled to the tops of his arms. His arms, Jesus, they were big. You’d have been ashamed of staring at them for so long had you been sober but those thoughts quickly faded as you met his eyes. Your body wobbled and you pressed your shoulder against the wall to keep you upright. “I’m Billy Bones, Boatswain.” He introduced, scanning you to ensure you weren’t just going to tumble right there.

“Try sayn’ tha three times” You slurred with a giggle. He scoffed, a smirk apparent on his face, knowing you were trashed. “Am ‘Lizbeth Devreux” You smiled at him, offering a hand to him in greeting but stumbling in the process. He quickly steadied you, hands on your shoulders. You tried to play it off as if you were perfectly sober but, well, you weren’t at all. Your stomach lurched and you pushed away from him, turning and falling to your knees unceremoniously. You wretched twice before the contents of your stomach made an appearance onto the sandy floor. Billy’s nose scrunched up at the stench but knelt beside you, pulling your hair back so it didn’t get caught in the mess. You kept bringing up the liquids from the long night  for a few more seconds before collapsing back onto your behind, head leaning against the wood.

A groan of discomfort left you as you were forced to open your eyes again, the feeling of being spun threatening to make you vomit again. Billy gave you a pitiful smile and grabbed your hand, hoisting you up off the floor. “Let’s get you some food.” He said.

“I’m sorry ’m such a mess, I don’ usually get in this state.” You said slightly clearer than before, finding your footing. You hated that you’d just vomited in front of the boatswain of all the crew and he was handsome too which made it worse in your head. Another lighthearted scoff from him. “It’s alright, I guess you’ll just owe me one.” He jeered, raising his eyebrows at you and you laughed. “Deal.” You replied.

He had a hand outstretched behind your back, not touching but there just in case you were to fall again. Walking back into the tavern and through the crowd, you both found a seat at the bar and he ordered you some warm stew and bread. Stopping him as he went to pay with a few coins, you took out your own money and handed it to the barman.

“You’ve done enough and the crew have been paying for my drinks all night at least let me buy my own food.” You insisted. A smile found its way on his face as he nodded. You grazed at the meal, the feeling of it filling you taking away some of the nausea and decided to strike up a conversation. “Why aren’t you drinking with the rest of them?” You questioned, blowing lightly on a spoonful before eating it. His lips were brought into a tight line for a moment.

“I don’t drink very often and I’ve learned from past mistakes that drinking with the men has… painful outcomes.” He gave you another glance and a small smile. You snorted, looking away for a moment towards the crew, Logan was making his way over, bumping and crashing into every table and chair in his path until he reached you.

“Trus’ Billy Bones to take the lady to dinner.” He prodded, beaming. Your eyebrows flew up, nearly choking on your next bite. Billy rolled his eyes and looked at the armourer. “That is not what this is, I’m just making sure she was still in one piece after a night with you lot.” The taller man returned as you looked between the two of them. “Well res’ assured we’ve invited her into the crew with open arms and plenty o’ rum, she's a fine drinker and keeps up with the best of us.” Logan shot you a wink and a pat on the shoulder. “Now, if y’don’t mind I’m gon go see my beloved Charlotte.” His speech slurred as he turned on his heel and headed through the crowd and across the street to the brothel.

“Well, good to know I kept up.” You laughed, turning and finishing the last of the stew. The world was surely spinning a lot less and you thanked Billy for looking after you. “What did he mean? Trust you to take a lady to dinner?” He sighed and his shoulders slumped as he looked back at you with a look that said ‘please don’t’. This only led you to be more curious, cocking an eyebrow and leaning in slightly. “Come on, you wouldn’t leave a lady in suspense would you?” A snigger left you as you teased him, knowing that you were anything but a lady. He snorted, the recent memory of you puking your guts up just an hour ago replaying in his head.

“The men like to joke, I just don’t think women should be bought, I mean good for them because they make a living and all but I prefer to earn their fondness.” He explained, a light blush on his cheeks as he stood. You tried not to smirk or laugh, your mouth struggling to stay in a straight line not because it was funny but because it took you by surprise, a big burly pirate wooing a girl with wine and chivalry. “Don’t- Please don’t laugh.” He chuckled, throwing his head back and betraying himself.

“No! No, it- you just shocked me a little. I don’t usually take pirates for the romantic type.” You grinned. “It’s sweet really.” You added hoping to reassure him. He huffed out another sigh.

“Come on, you should probably go get some rest.” He didn’t look you in the eye as he led you to your room, leaving you to sober up for the night.

[theparanormalperiodical]

The Paranormal Guide To The Paris Catacombs - And The 11 Other Haunted Catacombs And Underground Tunnels That'll Scare The Sh*T Out Of You

The carol was right: we are in the bleak midwinter.

A blanket of snow might not be lingering outside my bedroom window, nor do I feel full of post Christmas cheer (well, aside from the increase in my chances of type 2 diabetes), but what I do have is shared with everyone reading this right now:

We all wanna go on holiday.

A cray cray vacay in the sun? A booze up in ‘Biza? A peruse around Paris? Sign me the f*ck up. 

So, I thought “well if I don’t have the time to go to Paris nor the money cause graduate entry level jobs are sh*t and I still don’t know how I’m going to afford to live in London in terms of rent and travel coasts cause god everything costs money”, why not travel to Paris online and take you with me?

*Cue ‘ahhhhhh’ sounds from the audience.*

A quick glance at the Eiffel Tower? A croissant overlooking the Notre Dame? A walk along the Seine and a laugh in the rain?

You see, we do things differently, here at the Paranormal Periodical. We aren’t sticking ‘round for the Instagram pics, and we won’t be stopping at Chanel, either. We are heading straight for the Catacombs.

And if that doesn’t satisfy your need for spooky, are you up for venturing a bit further? Hell yeah, we goin’ on a rooooadtripppp!

Today’s article is going to take us through the creepy AF history and hauntings of the Paris catacombs, and the 11 other haunted catacombs and underground tunnels that you gotta hear about.

Prepare your emotional well-being…

Soyons effrayants!

The Basic-bitch History Of The Paris Catacombs 

In short, unspooky terms, the catacombs are 200 miles of caves, quarries and tunnels, brimming with 6 million corpses. Ah, f*ck. That was heckin’ spooky, wasn't it?

But it’s not just the fact that there’s, like, a lot of dead French people there that makes the catacombs famous. It’s both the #aesthetic of death and the twisting labyrinth so many have been lost to that gets my stamp of approval. 

Unfortunately, the aesthetic isn’t the only creepy component of the catacombs. The history is terrible. Which is fine. This is fine. 

During the most iconic moments of French history - basically anything in the 18th century, like someone sneezing in a certain tone would probably spark a rebellion - there were a lot of bodies littering Paris. And I mean a lot, the cemeteries could not cope. 

Corpses cloggin’ up the streets are a problem, obviously. Merchants were complaining about the scent of rotting corpses putting off potential customers, there was a growing threat of disease, and as a result of their rainy weather, mud was making the bodies crash through walls and cellars. 

(Quelle surprise!)

Yeah, it’s pretty bad.

The most famous case of corpses causing issues is the collapse of the Saint Innocents Cemetery –  you know, when rotting bodies crashed through the wall of an innocent cellar which was being used as a restaurant.

Delicious.

Intrigued? So were Parisians from 200 years ago. The current obsession with the catacombs didn’t start with the recent films such as As Above So Below (2014), nor the clickbait fest that is now YouTube; it actually started about 100 years after their constructions began. 

The 19th century was when the interest piqued, but it was less the discussion of the spirits that roamed below the streets of Paris, and more the cool hip restaurants and hang outs that made the posh Parisians obsessed with these, um, new haunts. 

(Sorry.)

For some reason the French just can’t stop eating next to corpses and cemeteries. Beyond Parisians enjoying a baguette next to past victims of the plague, the use of the catacombs has figured pretty well within French history, too: from the rebels of the French revolution using the catacombs to murder monarchists, to the use of it by both the Nazis and the French resistance to make their moves in WW2. 

But this use of these tunnels doesn’t just piece together the paranormal patchwork of this haunted city. The other catacombs and underground tunnels’ partake in this, too. Because when you combine dead people and trapped people, you just get a lot of sh*t. 

Already hiding under the covers and looking up the quickest ways to exorcise a house for fear that a corpse circa 1730 is stuffed in your wall, garlic necklace ‘n’ all?

Prepare to get even more freaked the f*ck out.

The Haunting Of The Paris Catacombs

Unsurprisingly, the catacombs - yes, you know, the ones full of the same amount of corpses as London’s current living population - is listed as one of the most haunted locations in the world.

Whether it’s the 6 million lost spirits, the ghosts of those who died lost and alone, or simply the fact that its underneath one of the most historic cities, there’s no doubt that if somewhere gon’ have a ghost, it’s gon’ be here.

Add on top of that the general deathiness if the place, and visitors will be much more receptive to potential paranormal activity! Its dark, it smells, it’s a rather humid 15 degrees, and you are surrounded by the dead. With creepy inscriptions and skull and bone sculptures, we are possibly more likely to think “welp this sh*t’s gotta be haunted”.

But specific reports beyond “I felt a presence and yeah I was surrounded by tourists but my ghost-dar is like my gay-dar I can spot a pansexual and a poltergeist within 13 seconds when I walk in a room” are also noted.

Cold spots, being touched by invisible hands, whispers and voices, shadow figures, and the feeling of being followed are just a few traces of activity already claimed. I have tried to find more information on the spooky events that lurk beneath the streets, but there isn't that much discussion of it, let alone any specific cases of note.

Phew! So, no ghosts down here than, ahaha brilliant, I’m just gonna go take a shower in a Holy font now byeeeee-

Hold your horses.

There’s many more catacombs and there’s many more tunnels we have yet to explore, and they are crawling with otherworldly beings.

The #Aesthetic Of Death

Aside from the rather general hauntings witnessed, what really makes this location the place to be is the celebration of death. And we can only start the discussion of this by talking about the history of the dead in the catacombs. 

Their entrance into the current resting place is pretty wild, actually. They would be carted out in the dead of the night, with priests chanting behind them, creating a pretty casual procession, if you’re asking me.

I mean, of course, this is what I do when I pop to the corner shop for a pint of milk, but I’m not like the other girls, so…

This rehoming is what birthed the aesthetic of the catacombs: the workers arranged the bones in artistic and, like, totally traumatic sculptures - it’s this creepy-ass art which makes the catacombs quite so famous.

Take The Barrel: this is one of the most iconic examples of this celebration of death, and it’s even a support beam erected from the skulls and bones of past Parisians. Even if brittle human bone for 300 years ago doesn’t sound too supportive for an underground structure attempting to hold up the ground. 

“So, there’s literally bones within touching distance just clogging up the catacombs? Surely that’ll make it spirit-central?”

Not quite. Paranormal theories actually dispute this.

Spirits don’t remain attached to their dead body. Ghosts reportedly remain attached to the location of their death, whereas spirits are entities which basically wander around the earth and different plains. So, just because the bodies are there, doesn’t mean the dead are.

(Is it just me or does that last sentence just sound so like inspirational I don’t even think it’s inspiring if anything it’s a bit give up in your dreams but bitch IT’S CONVINCED ME TO GIVE UP ON MY DREAMS.)

Loads Of People Go Missing Here, Which Is, You Know, Fine.

There might not be much specific-supernatural-stuff going on, but there is an ungodly amount of people that go missing down there.

Great. 

Of the 200 miles of tunnels and caves, the public are only legally allowed to witness 1.2 miles of it. The French government has quite a wrangle on the catacombs, with guards patrolling and influence over those that go there. In fact, the cast and crew behind As Above So Below (2014) were given permission by the French government to even film there!

“Is it ‘cause the government doesn’t want us mortals to know about that spooky-ass shizz going on down there?”

No. 

It’s probably because exploring the catacombs is a suicide mission. And this is what gives the catacombs their frightful name. 

It’s even illegal to enter the catacombs without official guidance since 1985! 

This is because the building of the catacombs was officially f*cked up. It was an act of desperation with minimal planning and quick solutions; and it’s no surprise that tales of innocent explorers has littered the catacombs since their creation.

These stories have inspired the films documenting the catacombs, including one which had Pink in it, which I mean, 11/10 must watch, f*ck the information on the catacombs, I want to see Pink, dammit.

I don’t know about you, but whilst hauntings do give me the heebiejeebies... but being trapped? Nah, mate, not doing that. 

Unfortunately, there are people that do that. Heck, they’re probably doing it as we speak! And they are called cataphiles - young adults desperate for a little adventure. But instead of smoking stolen cigarettes outside of the local off licence, they get lost in underground tunnels. Obviously, this often ends rather badly. 

Even as recently as 2017, two teenagers were found after 3 days of being lost in the catacombs having entered through one of the many off-the-grid entrances. But it’s not just these youths that are getting lost and trapped - even the experienced have been left there to die. 

The first reported case was in 1793. Some hospital doorman supposedly got lost down there, and died alone and afraid. His body was found 11 years later. 

Fact is, you probably won't be murdered by a psycho-clown or possessed by a demon down in the catacombs - you will suffer a much more tragic fate. But these stories aren’t the only thing giving the catacombs their creepy name: it’s a piece of antique clickbait which established this tourist hotspot as a, uh, cold spot. 

The story goes that a camcorder was found in the nineties in the catacombs. Once they’d wiped off the thick layer of dust amassed over the years, the finders of the camera discovered that it contained footage of a man exploring the catacombs - and then getting lost.

It then recorded the descent of a man into madness. Our final clip is of this man dropping the camera, and running for his life. We do not know why.

This footage has been disregarded as a hoax, particularly as it was used in a documentary for added dramatic effect. But as a short film, it was one of the founding fathers of found footage horror, marking the value of this location as a truly terrifying site. 

(Mon dieu!)

What About The Other Haunted Underground Catacombs And Tunnels That Unfortunately Exist?

#1 - The Odessa Catacombs

In 2005, ‘Masha’ began to trend on the web. Stories of separation, starvation, and pictures of a mangled corpse soon began to circulate, too. Yet despite the rumours regarding Masha’s fate, one thing is for sure:

The Odessa catacombs - a labyrinth of limestone mines lying beneath the streets of Ukraine - has witnessed a series of grotesque events, all of which could easily include the death of Masha.

The story goes that a group of teenagers entered the tunnel in 2005, and one girl - Masha - became separated. Lost and alone, she died of either starvation or dehydration. And it’s no surprise: Masha had no chance of escape, nor survival.

These limestone mines clock up 1500 miles in total, and deservedly have been given the title of the largest catacombs in the world. 

These cold, dark tunnels have been used throughout Ukraine’s modern history, including being used as the location for the execution of captured Nazi soldiers during the war - but these were not the only murders committed there.

In 2011, the body of a murder victim was found in the catacombs having been left there for 6 months. And in 2015, yet another innocent Ukrainian met a similar fate. A teenage girl was bludgeoned to death with an axe in the catacombs by her 20 year old boyfriend. 

On top of that, this labyrinth encompasses storm drains, caves, drainage tunnels, and basements. And, of course, every urban legend ever seems to start in these dark’n’damp cracks and crevices.

“So this place is like totally haunted, right?”

Uhhh… 

Of course claims of hauntings stick close to these catacombs, but specific stories are hard to pinpoint due to the limited access we have to actually explore them. Despite this, there’s no doubt about it: this catacomb is creepy AF.

#2 - Bethnal Green Underground

London has witnessed many major historic moments, and is haunted by both the politics and the paranormal as a result of these events. Bethnal Green underground is no different.

The story goes that during an air raid test in the thick of WW2 panic broke out.

Which, honestly, I’m not surprised, I’d freak the f*ck out, too if I thought an air raid was about to go down. 

In an attempt to avoid being bombed, a mad rush of people descended into Bethnal Green underground. The thing is, when you have a huge group of people run for their lives into a very small area underground, sh*t is bound to happen.

And it did.

173 people were trampled to death that day. And some claim they never really left the station.

To this day, screams from women and children still echo ‘round the station, and have been reported by passengers and staff alike. Its for this reason that this activity has been dubbed ‘imprint haunting’.

This is when moments with an atmosphere of high energy are imprinted onto the surroundings, and are repeated or re-enacted. 

And yes, being trampled to death whilst running from a potential bombing definitely makes the grade.

#3 - Savannah’s Underground Tunnels

*Cue The Office memes*

As much as I love Oscar being an actual cinnamon-role, the memes about Savannah stop there. Things are about to get gruesome. 

Like most of the other underground tunnels and catacombs on this list, these tunnels have witnessed a variety of people being smuggled, killed and buried. This reached its peak of activity in the 19th century.

Take the Yellow Fever epidemic when victims of the virus were buried under the hospital in these tunnels, or when slaves were transported from the harbours to their new masters having experienced tortuous journeys on ships.

But if that wasn’t enough, these tunnels are now reportedly haunted by ghosts still trapped there. The main activity reported and recorded is that of ghostly moans from innocent victims once buried or smuggled through these tunnels - but it’s not traced back to the slaves, nor to those that were left to die in the hospitals:

It’s the sailors once smuggled out to sea.

Legend has it that a tavern is connected to one of the tunnels, and that it was a popular haunt of local sailors. If they just so happened to get absolutely paraletic, they would be smuggled to the ships to continue their duties. In fact, many would wake up hungover and miles out to sea!

Captains supposedly would make a point of hiring such drunkards in order to ensure that their workers - even if they weren’t in the mood for the 9 to 5 - would always make their first shift. 

Even if it was against their will. And they were f*ckin’ legless.

#4 - The Drakelow Tunnels

Worcestershire might not sound like the haunting hotspot of Britain… but yeah, no, its not. There’s no plot twist here.

England was one of the countries most affected by the World Wars, still bearing the scars to this day. And, just like Bethnal Green underground, it’s the supernatural scars that always seem to stick out.

During the construction of these tunnels, several construction workers were reported to have died - and gruesome deaths at that. Despite this, in 1941, the tunnels achieved their purpose of being factories for airplane parts, and even became bunkers designed to protect citizens during the Cold War in case nuclear war broke out. 

But it was when the tunnels were opened to the public that the paranormal scars began to cut through the past political inflictions. And it’s all down to this bloke called Oswald, reportedly one of the workers who met his fate when building the tunnels.

Fancy a visit?

Then you’ll probably feel a shove in your back, or perhaps something pull on your hair - Oswald is no playful poltergeist. He is a vengeful spirit with a violent streak. 

#5 - The Shanghai Tunnels, Portland

I have no idea why these tunnels bare the name of a Chinese city, but that is for sure not the only mystery on the table. 

Well, I say mystery - I think ‘misery’ is the correct term to use here.

These tunnels were once used to transport supplies from city harbour to local businesses. You know, food for restaurants and hotels, alcohol to bars and brothels, and sex slaves to most of these establishments. 

Nina, however, was one of the woman forced into slavery who testified against her plight, shedding light on the men who trafficked her and her fellow slaves. She was murdered for speaking out, and killed in the most pimpish fashion: being pushed down an elevator shaft in the hotel where she worked.

But Nina never actually left The Merchant Hotel.

She still wanders ‘round the rooms, following the steps down the basement in a black dress and fragranced with a distinctive perfume. She also plays tricks on the staff, perhaps seeking vengeance for those that once reduced her to her final fate…

But she doesn’t stop there: she is often seen in the tunnels, reportedly searching for sex slaves she can rescue or protect from the harm she once faced.

#6 - The Santa Priscilla Catacombs

Italian history has a habit of stumbling into twisted spiritual stories, like the Demonic tales haunting Turin, or the really-weird rumours about Rome, but the Santa Priscilla Catacombs have their own scandalous - and supernatural - past. 

In the 17th century, the catacombs were plundered on the orders of the Vatican - this is considered a component in the ‘destruction’ of the catacombs. Among the treasures found were frescoes - watercolour paintings - which depicted female priests leading a mass. This evidence contradicted the bible, and so the paintings were destroyed.

But if you dare venture down to the catacombs, you won’t just find scraps of biblical history. Instead, you’ll find cursed catacombs and angry spirits. 

It is claimed that the catacombs were destroyed thanks to the angry and aggressive spirits who sought privacy. Fair enough. They’ve even been rumoured to go beyond the realms of the catacombs, and pushed a carriage up above into a nearby river .

#7 + #8 - The Tennessee Coal Mines (DOUBLE WHAMMY WHADDUPPPPP)

Dark histories have already plagued this post enough, but thanks to the past events contained within the Tennessee coal mines, it seems like the sh*t just doesn’t stop.

When slavery was abolished in the US, southern states had to trade in the slave-based support for their economies for new methods of financial stability. The Knoxville Mine Corporation was one of the companies behind this shift, and hired convicts to work in their coal mines in 1877.

But things went south - yes, even further than the states themselves - when the convicts defied the guards by lighting a fire to cook food. 

Oh, I should say here that the mines were full of methane gas. Fires, flammable gases, tight underground tunnels…

It’s all a bit deathy. 

So, you won’t be surprised to hear that in 1902, a fire killed over 200 men - but it wasn’t the workers that set the mine alight. It was the ghosts of the convicts who were hungry for vengeance on those that forced them to work in the mines…

Well, that or they wanted a quick snack.

#9 - Fife’s Nuclear Bunker

It was only 4 years ago that yet another nuclear bunker was added to the list of places you wouldn’t want to be in past 8.30pm.

In one of Scotland’s nuclear bunker, a gaggle of mediums claimed that paranormal activity had occurred thanks to the ghosts of military personnel. But it's not just paranormal investigators that have noted the supernatural. Tourists themselves have become sick upon visiting, and others have even fainted thanks to the power of the paranormal felt here.

On top of this, pictures catching glimpses of shadowy figures in former offices have confirmed spooky goings on. Heck, one couple even claimed a spirit followed them home, leaving traces of activity such as moving objects about the house and draining mobile phone batteries. 

#10 - The Edinburgh Vaults

Our next underground spook-fest sticks to Scotland, and roots itself in the capital. Also known as the South Bridge Vaults, these are a series of chambers that have witnessed over 200 years worth of history. They’ve been taverns, they've been workshops, they've been storage space for less-than-legal activities…

But it was only during the 1820s that the conditions pushed out the businesses and made way for the poor to move in. The vaults have been investigated by many a TV show, from the iconic (a visit from the team behind Ghost Adventures), to the memeable (a one-off TV special with Joe Swash).

Yes, paranormal investigative-icon, Joe Swash.

But even outside of this meme, some activity was picked up: during the audio recorded overnight, a variety of voices can be heard before the sound of a child yelling. Silence then falls upon the vaults.

The danger of lurking about in the chaotic vaults - teamed with the supernatural rumours echoing off its walls - have meant it is now closed off to the public.

#11 - Sydney’s Train Stations (Yep, All Of ‘Em)

Most underground stations have a creepy claim to fame, but Sydney’s station have their very own set of tales that make me want to skip out a holiday in Australia altogether.

It was all unveiled when a former worker at the station revealed a network of tunnels underneath the city’s stations. There are tunnels, there’s a bomb shelter, and there’s a lake.

(Like, a lake. An actual lake. How in the hell do you put a lake underground?!)

There are also 2 hidden platforms that have never been used - well, according to known records, anyway. Platforms 26 and 27 were built over a cemetery and have witnessed traces of paranormal activity seen and heard by staff. Hearing whispering voices or perhaps the giggles of children playing confirms the creepiness of this location.

Who’s Up For A Gander In The Underground?

Nope, not me. No thanks. 

Go on your own and report back pls. 

#Living for this post? Then you’ll be #dyin’ to check out my other ones! 

(I’m sorry.) 

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