#so they were already aging by the time their golden cores stopped the aging process for them

[mxtxfanatic]

In mdzs, cultivators usually live long right? So would wangxian also live long like 100 years+ or so without aging much? Since wen Rohan was quite an old man and still looked really young.

Hm, good question! I think wangxian would definitely live an advanced lifespan from how advanced their golden cores are and how disciplined their training is. On top of Wen Ruohan already being considered old by the time the adult cast come up, mxtx has also said that cultivators in mdzs tend to live longer and experience life events later, hence why a lot of the adults haven’t even gotten married well into their 30s. However, we are never told how old the average cultivator lives to, nor is this helped by Wen Ruohan seeming to singlehandedly be killing off the older generations as soon as their heirs are old enough to get drivers licenses, like some sort of orphan-maker sixth sense 😭 Cultivators in mdzs don’t seem to cultivate to ascension or immortality like in other cultivator novels, and the only named “immortal” is Baoshan Sanren (which could just be a title, since in other cultivator novels, the title of “immortal” is given when you reach a certain level of cultivation and not necessarily because you have achieved eternal life and youth).

But all this aside, in short: I definitely think wangxian will be living into their 100s—barring any more bullshit wars or corruption—and I’d dare to wager they would canonically live even longer, all the while maintaining their youthful appearances.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Targets - ao3

- Chapter 2 -

It all happened very suddenly.

Fall was still warm enough for them to go swimming, and so Wei Wuxian had proposed, and Jiang Cheng agreed, that they sneak off to one of the pools not far off from the Lotus Pier. They’d been going further and further away, bored of the same old haunts, looking for adventure – they were eleven, after all, and it was time to start putting that whole attempt the impossible motto stuff into action.

Even if all they were attempting was a secret swim by themselves, with no shidis to have to watch over and no shixiongs to babysit them, it was still worthwhile, and even if they hadn’t exactly been the most subtle about picking up lunch from the kitchens to take with them, Wei Wuxian’s Uncle Jiang had very indulgently pretended not to know what they were up to. Even Madame Yu pretended not to see them as they went out the back gate.

In other words, the whole thing was practically endorsed, although the lack of actual disclosure added a frisson of illicit excitement to it all.

The swimming itself was fine. There was nothing like a nice swim on a warm fall day.

But when they were still playing – splashing at each other and shouting fond insults, each one already mostly thinking about the lunch they’d brought with them even though they’d already eaten all their snacks earlier – a group of men had come walking by, one of them calling out a request for directions. Their accents suggested that they were strangers; naturally, Wei Wuxian had pulled himself out of the water and started providing them, with Jiang Cheng, never one to be left behind, slithering out to stand beside him.

The man smiled upon seeing them both, and Wei Wuxian hadn’t been halfway through the directions when he’d drawn his sword and lunged forward.

Jiang Cheng shrieked and grabbed at Wei Wuxian’s arm, trying to pull him out of the path of the sword, and Wei Wuxian had tried at the same moment to dodge, ideally towards a position that would let him stand in front of Jiang Cheng, who he assumed was the real target here.

Even as he moved, he knew he would be too slow.

The sword would strike him down, and then there would be no one to protect Jiang Cheng.

They were only eleven, Wei Wuxian thought, anguished, angered; only eleven, with their golden cores not yet formed, and the men in front of him were full adults, cultivators, attacking them with spiritual weapons. Even if by some miracle they escape the leader’s blade, there were all the others – they had also drawn their own blades, and there were seven of them. He thought desperately as to what he could do in the split second that he had left to him, thinking that while it probably wouldn’t work if he shoved Jiang Cheng back into the water, telling him to swim to safety and leave Wei Wuxian behind, that was the only thing Wei Wuxian could think of that might work. It would be worth it as long as he bought Jiang Cheng a chance, if he could win even a little extra time at the cost of his life…

He never had the chance to put his thoughts into action.

Before he could even see it, there was a loud sound, metal hitting metal, and suddenly there was a giant standing in front of them, the saber in his hand pressing aside the attacker’s sword. The giant was wielding the fierce saber one-handed, and with the other was holding a kid about their age under his arm, the way one would hold a sack of potatoes – the kid was wearing winter clothes, weirdly enough – but a moment later he all but threw the kid at the two of them and lunged forward, his saber rising up into attack position, and all the attackers’ expressions abruptly changed from smug to horrified.

A moment later the kid hit Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng both and they stumbled backwards, the three of them tangling together, and it took a few seconds for them to wiggle free of each other.

“Hi!” the strange kid chirped. “We should run!”

Swimming would actually be better than running, usually, but not while wearing winter clothing; there was a risk the kid – he seemed younger than them, smaller – could drown, weighed down by the wet and heavy fabric. So instead all three of them got to their feet and headed towards the forest as fast as they could.

Wei Wuxian looked over his shoulder just as they hit the treeline.

“Oh wow,” he said, and came to a stop.

“What are you doing, we need to – oh,” Jiang Cheng said, seeing the same thing he did: the giant’s beautiful swordsmanship, his saber strikes aggressive and fierce and clean as if he was simply practing the steps in a training ground, even though three of the attackers were already bleeding out on the ground. He was like a hurricane, furious and inexorable, and suddenly so many of the things Wei Wuxian’s swordsmanship teachers had tried to convey to him about moving like wind and water, forward and yet fluid, abruptly made sense, clicking in a brilliant moment of enlightenment that was only slightly ruined by the new kid reaching out and grabbing them both by the ears and snapping, “Behind the tree!”

They hid behind the tree.

One of the attackers tried to turn and run, but the giant threw his saber after him, guiding it with a hand sign, turned and threw a talisman at another one’s face, knocking him backwards, and used his shoulder to ward off a blow from the last one, stepping in close and just flat-out punching him in the face. It felt like it was no time at all before they were all lying on the ground, unmoving. Probably dead.

“You didn’t have to grab us like that,” Jiang Cheng grumbled at the kid, who didn’t seem impressed.

“You always watch from a safe location, or else you’ll distract the person fighting,” he responded, sounding like he was reciting by rote. Anyway, Wei Wuxian supposed that it was pretty fair statement. “I mean, what if they’d tried to come after us? Da-ge would’ve still beaten them, of course, but he might’ve gotten hurt in the process, and that would be awful.”

“He’s your da-ge?” Wei Wuxian asked, focusing on the important part. “He’s amazing.”

Jiang Cheng’s irritated expression softened – he’d been wowed by the fighting, too, no doubt – and he nodded furiously.

That appeased the kid, who preened. “Yeah, he’s my blood brother, and he’s the best,” he said. “You should’ve seen us on our way here. We flew here really fast.”

“And we’re going to have to continue onwards really fast,” the giant said, striding towards them with his saber still bloody, although he was pulling out a cleaning cloth already. “If they’ve already gotten here, they may have already reached Yunping, and we only had a single disciple there that we were able to contact…you’ll have to come with me there, and we’ll return here afterwards to talk to the sect leader.”

“My father?” Jiang Cheng said, alarmed. “Wait, where are we going?”

“You were targeted,” the giant said, and Wei Wuxian nodded, having already deduced that Jiang Cheng had been identified. “Both of you.”

He hadn’t expected that.

“There’s another target not far away, in Yunping. I planned to go there only after speaking with Sect Leader Jiang, but there’s no time. We have to go at once.” The giant paused, then rubbed his face. “Forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Qinghe Nie’s Nie Mingjue; I’m the sect leader there.”

That made Wei Wuxian feel better at once: the clothing color, the saber, the name, it all matched up with Qinghe Nie, and they were another of the Great Sects, an ally. Plus, he had in fact just saved their lives.

“Okay,” he said, and elbowed Jiang Cheng when he looked about to disagree. “Let’s go save whoever it is in Yunping.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng finally agreed after another moment of thought. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to – yeah. Let’s go. Can we take our lunch?”

“Oooh, please,” the kid – another Nie, presumably – said. “Grab it and we’ll go.”

Nie Mingjue nodded and put down his saber, letting it float not far above the ground, and that was when Wei Wuxian realized that they would be flying to Yunping on a sword – well, a saber, anyway – instead of going by carriage or horse the way they usually did when they travelled.

Awesome.

His Uncle Jiang would take them flying sometimes, but only rarely, busy as he was. It was a great treat every time, but invariably too short; they’d never gone more than a few li and back, and definitely not as far as Yunping City.

“You can each have one of my layers,” the littler Nie kid, who still hadn’t introduced himself, said. “You’re going to need it. It gets cold up there!”

[itstheanxietyforme]

The Set Up: Part 1

An introduction to Ella Evans, the (willing and totally consenting) sacrificial lamb to my #getmarcusmorenolaidchallenge (see my Set It Up drabble) 

Summary: Seeking an experienced teacher to lead an exciting new classroom! Grades K-8, all core subjects, experience with gifted students a must. Ella Evans just wants this interview to go well. Fate had other plans. 

(Eventual) Pairing: Marcus Moreno x OFC (I am categorically terrible at 1st person writing, thus the creation of this character)

Rating: PG-13 lite. 

Warnings: light swearing, OFC checks out Marcus because duh. Second-hand embarrassment from foot in mouth. Eventual fluff and smut, but slow burn here. 

Ella Evans checks herself over in the bathroom mirror of her modest apartment for the umpteenth time. She had managed to sweep her unruly thick hair into a low bun, though a few waves have already escaped, and her makeup is simple; a little bit of blush and mascara to frame her green-grey eyes. Dressing for an interview always resulted in her agonizing for hours, trying to land on what struck a balance between professional without being overdone. After trying on every combination of skirt, blouse, dress, and dress pant she owned (which was admittedly a small selection but enough to make problematic combinations), she landed on a knee length navy pencil skirt with a crisp red blouse. The only thing that Ella didn’t struggle to narrow down was a pair of sleek black flats; tripping over her own two feet because she attempted to strut in heels was not how she wanted this interview to go. And Ella would be the first to admit that she is far from graceful and with a profession that required hours on her feet, there was no sense in suffering unnecessarily.

The job itself was exciting enough, assuming of course she made it past the first interview. A one class, all subjects K-8 position with highly competitive pay. Given the range of ages and the discretely advertised “excellent teacher to student ratio,” Ella knew it likely meant some intense behaviors or needs amongst the kids. But then again, those had always been the kids that Ella loved most: the ones other teachers “couldn’t handle.” It was hokey, but those were her babies. The fact that the position would also be another 10 grand a year was huge, and would be the push Ella needed to go back to school for another masters. Maybe she could even save up to travel. No getting ahead of myself, she chides herself gently. 

Casting one last nervous glance in the mirror, Ella steels herself with a reminder: I’m a good teacher, and I can do this. On the way out, she grabs her work bag, a worn leather tote with lesson samples, extra copies of her resume and a few other essentials. The details that the school head, a Ms. Granada, has sent her were vague at best, enough so that Ella had briefly entertained the idea of this being a scam. A quick google search though had yielded enough information though to explain that it was a newer program for tweens and the application process posted was impressive. Worst case scenario? She would bolt for doors. Considering her current work environment, more specifically the human slug of boss she had endured for over 5 years now since moving to the area, anything would be an improvement. Hell, I’d work for an alien at this point, she thinks sullenly. 

It only takes a half hour for her to arrive at the coffee shop where the interview was taking place. “Due to massive renovations to our campus taking place this summer, we are unable to hold interviews at our site. We will be holding all interviews off-site and appreciate your understanding.” That’s what the follow up email had said when Ella learned she had an interview. Truthfully, Ella is almost relieved for a more informal environment, especially considering how nervous she is. So when Ella strolls into the small cafe a solid 15 minutes before her scheduled time, she takes a deep breath and tries to calm her nerves. 

Glancing around, Ella can’t see anyone she imagines to be the interview team. She spots a handful of children perched in a booth with mugs of chocolate milk and stacks of coloring books spread out; the booth to the left hosts five women, slowly sipping their drinks and laughing lightly as they glance over every once in a while. The sight makes Ella smile. Several teens or possibly even college students are scattered around, headphones on all of them as they stare mutely at their variety of devices. Beyond that, there are only a few other strays in the small shop, none dressed so formally as to make her assume they’re here to hire. It’s enough time to order a drink and try and calm her nerves. 

As she winds her way up to the counter to order, she is a mere four feet away the bar when she manages to trip on, well, nothing really. A hot flash of adrenaline spikes through her chest as she sails forward, but the panic settles slightly when she inexplicably doesn’t fall. The shock of the near miss reels back, just in time for her to notice what saved her. Or more specifically, who. Two hands are sealed to her arms, and slowly, she is pulled backwards and righted to her feet. It takes Ella a minute to calm her racing heart enough to turn and meet her savior, but the face she finds really does nothing ground her. No one should look that damn good on a Wednesday morning in a freaking coffee shop. And have lightning fast reflexes to boot.

Rich, warm brown eyes study her carefully, dark brows knit in worry. Even behind the glasses he wears, his gaze traps her on the spot as he looks her over carefully. And Ella, almost involuntarily, returns the favor. Dressed in a pair of nice jeans, a pale blue button up, and a leather jacket, he’s the picture of confidence, though the gentleness in his eyes puts her at ease. His skin is golden, and his strong jaw and full lips are dappled with a line of dark hair. He’s distractingly handsome, and it takes longer than is decent for Ella to realize that he’s speaking to her. 

“Miss, are you okay? Can you hear me?” Ugh, even his voice is nice, she thinks ruefully, but then the bell hanging by the front door of the shop chimes and Ella snaps back to reality. Her head snaps up suddenly and she cranes around the Adonis of a man in front of her to see a gorgeous woman stroll in. She’s dressed impeccably in a white skirt suit, complete with terrifying black stilettos and an impossibly nice leather attaché in tow. 

“Oh shit,” Ella mutters, much to the confusion of the man who is still very much so holding onto her arms. “I am so sorry!” She finally manages to say, looking frantically at the clock on the wall. Her interview is in 3 minutes. “I’m so— I mean, I mean thank you,” words spill from her lips as she watches the elegant woman take a seat at a large table near the window and immediately take out a stylus and tablet. Double shit. She looks back to her rescuer, whose eyes are crinkling in a mixture of confusion and mirth. “Seriously, thank you, and I’m sorry, for the, for swearing,” two minutes until her interview, “it wasn’t at you, or anything, it’s just...I just have this big interview in a few minutes and now my nerves are completely shot all to hell.” The confession falls off her tongue before she can stop herself, but she’s silenced when the man suddenly drops her arms. Those dark brows suddenly crease in the middle and the pouty mouth grimaces a little. A look of pity, she thinks, as she has succeeded in making a fool of herself in more ways than one. Before Ella can wedge her foot even more firmly in her mouth, the stunning woman in white appears beside them quite suddenly. 

“Ah, Marcus,” she speaks, her voice sultry and sure. The man, Marcus, returns a tight smile and then glances back at Ella with sympathetic eyes. “I see you have already met our candidate, Ms. Evans.” All of the blood drains from Ella’s face then, and the pit that settles in her stomach is a heavy thing. Suddenly, she wishes she had just knocked herself out cold on the coffee shop floor. In absence of reasonable injury, Ella settles for closing her eyes for a quick moment and saying a prayer to be struck down by lightning. The woman, Ms. Granada, waves a manicured hand to the small table she procured across the shop. “Shall we?” 

[barnesandco]

The Greater Good

Carrying the shield isn’t an easy job; it often requires a great deal of sacrifice, and that can be difficult for Bucky to come to terms with. 

Based on the “Where’s my supersuit?” scene from The Incredibles.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​​ 2020. Word count: 2044. Square filled: “Free Space”

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Mentions of injury, wounds, blood. Mentions of drinking alcohol. Mild angst, slight separation anxiety.

A/N: Idk what to say, y’all. I wish I had the decency to apologize for writing a fic I’ll probably regret posting instead of working on my WIPs, one of which is on hiatus bc I’m a lazy jerk, but such is life. Blame The Incredibles (which I’ve never seen -- I’m not sorry) and @samingtonwilson 's anon. Also, while you're there, go check out Taal's masterlist because she's an incredibly (pun intended) talented, amazing, fantastic writer and every. single. one. of her stories is a must-read.

Honeysuckle and mango, the scented candles on each bedside table flicker in the light breeze drifting through the open window, a sea of dark ink dotted with stars visible beyond. Late summer is cooling into autumn, and the leaves of the tree that shades their bedroom on hot days is slowly turning into an early shade of yellow-orange, that glints in the glow of streetlights to remind Bucky of the specks of gold that set Sam’s eyes alight like a September sunset. It’s been two weeks since Bucky’s seen those eyes, two weeks he's been awake before dawn with more worry than he knows how to run off.

He’s due back today, his husband, after a fortnight of radio silence thanks to a stake-out in the Canadian wilderness, in wait for a lucrative arms deal to occur, and for the team of Avengers to prevent. The mission had been called a day after Bucky broke -- no, shattered -- his arm during a drug bust in California, thereby disqualifying him from participation, and sentencing him to this torturous wait. A wait that has now, finally, come to an end. Almost. 

Bucky lets out a quiet sigh on his way back to the kitchen. Placing a second plate of homemade ravioli and the necessary utensils on a tray table, he returns to the bedroom, putting his food next to where Sam’s waits patiently. Wrings both hands, one made of metal, and the other with a cast on it. Any minute now, he thinks, pulling out the first aid kit from under the bed and putting it on the dresser, ready to use under the bright glow of the lamp next to it. The room is filled with soft light, the smell of pasta, and the ache of Bucky’s heart as he tries to quell the unreasonable nerves that tug at his diaphragm.

Nearly a year of falling asleep with the feel of Sam’s wedding band under the stroking of his thumb, nearly two of being intimately familiar with the texture of his lips, and nearly three of being perfect partners in combat and good friends out of it, yet Sam still makes him nervous. A good nervous, the flutter of nerves in his belly, Bucky determines as he paces the hallway, stopping in front of the mirror to push his hair back. Maybe he’ll ask Sam to cut it tomorrow, once he’s recovered. From his wounds and Bucky’s... affections.

The thought has only just crossed Bucky’s mind when the tap of boots alerts him to someone’s presence at the door. Keys jingle, but he’s too quick, already unlocking the door and throwing it open as Sam lifts his hand to the lock, where it, and the rest of him, freezes at the sight of Bucky, cheeks dusted with a rosy pink already. 

Words stay unspoken, and the sentiment of longing, of unimaginable relief is transferred directly from Bucky’s mouth to Sam’s. His metal arm rises to grip Sam’s suit-clad waist, and Sam’s gloved hands cradle Bucky’s head gently, so at odds with the pressure with which he seeks to draw forth pleasure. Soon, the kiss turns to open mouths, just resting over each other, elevated breaths colliding in the margin of air between them. Bucky breaks away with a sigh, arms around Sam, and forehead against his, eyes closed.

“I missed you, too, Bucky.” Sam smiles, split lip rasping over over Bucky’s, and he pulls back to look at him. Keeps ahold of his hand as he leads him to their room -- taking note of his limp -- and silently begins to peel the suit off his husband’s tired, burdened shoulders. Sam’s sees the trays on the bed and raises an eyebrow at him in question, but Bucky’s spotted the gauze covering the lower left side of his ribs.

“You were shot,” Bucky says lowly, kneeling, and bringing the first aid kit with him to the floor, unfortunately too used to this sort of thing to really be fazed by it. Besides, he doesn’t want to waste any time chewing Sam out for getting hurt, not when he can be sitting next to him with good food and even better laughter, something sorely needed after ages of quiet. He’ll allow the delay in those plans for their evening just enough to redress the wound that has started to bleed through the bandages.

Sam shrugs with the confident nonchalance of someone who knows he isn’t getting told off. “It happens,” he says with a grin. “What’s with dinner in bed?”

“Thought you’d be more comfortable,” Bucky answers. “And we can get down to business quicker,” he quips, ignoring the scoff elicited, as they’re both well aware that Sam’s in no condition for such at the moment.

While Bucky starts cleaning the blood that has seeped out through his staples, Sam takes off the light chain that carries his wedding band, and puts the ring back in its rightful place, on his fourth finger. By the time he’s reached for a shirt in the dresser next to him, Bucky’s done, and he stands so Sam can lean on him while he puts on his favorite pair of sweatpants.

“Hurry up, old man, the food’s goin’ cold and I worked real hard on it,” Bucky says, getting Sam settled in so he’s leaning on the pillows against the headboard, and pours him wine. 

Sam’s eyes widen, shocked. “Old? You’re one to talk.”

“At least I can walk straight,” Bucky retorts, and Sam gestures towards his stomach.

“I was shot.”

“And whose fault is that?” Bucky jokes, and Sam’s mouth snaps shut, his shoulders shudder to contain the building amusement, until they both burst into laughter. Bucky watches Sam’s eyes scrunch tightly shut as he laughs, and he lets the sound spill into his soul like an essence of life. It’s been a while since he heard it, and it sounds just as sweet, as effulgent, as he recalls. 

Recovering from the outburst, Sam breathes slowly, trying not to laugh again. “Okay, alright, I’m sorry. You’re not old, you’re just--” he bites his lip, and Bucky tries not to wince in anticipation of the wound on his lip reopening. “-- mature.” He smirks at him, and Bucky rolls his eyes, putting another piece of ravioli in his mouth. The room goes quiet, and they relish the food and each other’s company. Bucky drinks in the content, relaxed features of Sam’s face. He’s radiating goodness, and that energy that can only be described as unapologetically Sam. 

The golden, shining bubble of a moment is burst by Sam’s phone ringing outside, from the chest of drawers in the entrance, and Sam gives him a look, before going to retrieve it. Bucky recognizes the Captain-voice Sam’s using on the phone, making the gears start to turn in his head, a process that results in him going to pick up the shield lying next to the bed, and hiding it behind their tuxedos, the ones they wore to their wedding, in the closet. Luckily for him, Sam’s call ends just as he’s gotten back to bed, half-eaten plate of pasta in front of him like he never moved.

Bucky’s gut instinct was right. Nobody could have any reason for calling Sam at this hour with the exception of Nick Fury. “Robbery on 9th ave. They’re using Chitauri energy cores,” he says, pulling off the loungewear and putting the suit back on. Zip, boots, gloves, and then--

“Where’s my shield?” He asks, turning to look around the room. “I put it right here.” Sam looks at Bucky and he averts his gaze.

“I don’t know,” he says, entirely unconvincingly, and Sam clenches his jaw in understanding, putting his hands on his hips in wait.

“Bucky.”

Bucky traces the gold veins running along his metal arm. “What?”

“I need my shield,” Sam says softly, stepping forward.

“Why?” It’s Bucky’s turn to put his hands on his hips, and Sam throws his in the air in frustration. Bucky tries to avoid thinking about the veins that protrude along his neck at the movement. This is not the time, Barnes, focus. 

“Why? What do you mean, why?”

“Ask them to send someone else! I've been waiting to see you for two weeks. You can't just leave again.” But Sam’s already on his way to the closet, rummaging, searching first through an unhealthy amount of running shoes -- Bucky’s new vice -- and then his outrageous collection of compression t-shirts. 

“The public is in danger, Bucky,” he says, voice muffled from the closet. 

"My evening is in danger," he replies, crosses his arms and leans in the doorway. 

“Come on, man. I have to go. For the greater good and all.” He looks up from the underwear drawer to send a pleading expression Bucky’s way, and Bucky fixes his glare on a spot on the wall above Sam’s head. Aims his next words at that spot, too.

"���I'm your husband. I'm the greatest good you're ever going to get,” Bucky responds sharply, but Sam continues searching, and soon, Bucky drops the act. “You're injured, Sammy. You're not well enough to go,” he says, pushing off where he’s leaning and stepping forward. Somehow, he lets his arms uncross and clench slowly at his sides, fists that he works to reopen, feeling the stretch of tendons accompany the strain in his voice. Sam helps, taking a hand in each of his, thumb sliding over the base of each of his fingers. The knuckles of his broken arm are covered in plaster, and the metal one whirrs, almost purring. 

“Bucky, look,” Sam says, voice so quiet it’s like he’s relaying a secret in a crowded room, rather than an explanation in an empty one. “I know it's hard, and I'm sorry, but you know that this is what the job takes.” Bucky watches Sam press his mouth thinly together, tries to ignore the logic he knows is present in his partner’s words, but Bucky was never one for ignorant bliss. He’s making an ineffectual effort to suppress the natural conscious that’s telling him to send Sam off, and it isn’t sustainable. “I'll be back before you know it.” Sam’s smooth, low timbre pierces the conflict Bucky is striving to resolve, and the turmoil, the unreasonable bid to restrain Sam from leaving settles like dust after a sandstorm.

Sam’s hands tighten around Bucky’s and he can feel the pulse in them, in the safe, warm skin the touch of which is his home, the surface that brings him back to Earth no matter where his head is going. However, now, Bucky lets go, and retrieves Sam shield. Gives it to him without another word, and accepts the grateful nod of thanks.

He’s almost to the door, Bucky trailing a few steps behind -- resolutely brushing aside the analogy of lost puppies -- when he stops and turns. Gives Bucky a look that would be abstruse if not for years of conversation, of moments that enable Bucky to tell that Sam’s frown, the shine of his eyes, that anxious hand running along the edge of his shield, means only that he’s reluctant. Bucky’s hunch is proven right when Sam comes forward to stand toe-to-toe with him, eyes locked on his.

“Thank you. I’ll be home soon,” he says, leaning to place a kiss on his forehead. Just a touch, a whisper of reassuring force, before he’s moving away again, eye contact only broken when he leaves the threshold of their house, stepping outside.

Bucky holds the back door and watches him deploy his wings. Sam traces a flight path on his arm panel as Bucky looks on, watching the lights shine on his skin like shimmering topaz, beautiful, glowing, alive, and prays that he’ll return to him that way. Again. 

Once he’s done reading mission details and ready to go, Sam looks up again, eyes dancing with mirth and adoration, the former of which he voices in a joke that is meant to disguise his concern for Bucky, even though he’s the one leaving for battle. “Don’t wait up for me. You need your rest, grandpa,” Sam calls, laughter trembling in his throat, taking off in a flash of red, white, and blue. 

[lamortexiii]

Cryptic Mystic: In the End

To bounce off of the previous blog posting, I thought it would be fun to just hop right on into the topic of what happens after we die. After all, we just finished talking about souls and a bit of astral projection last time. From transcending to another place/dimension to reincarnation, there truly is a lot to cover when you start diving into the many beliefs and ideas that surround death and mortality/immortality. But what differentiates the scientific facts from myths and stories of olden days? For those who believe in one defined means to an end for us all, how do you know for a fact that what you believe is true? Have you ever questioned what is life after death? Hell, is there a life after death? Or maybe… it’s something else… something so obscure that our tiny human brains are nowhere near possessing the capabilities to understand it. In the end, readers can decide for themselves what is more likely to be true, or maybe… the answer to this cryptic question has been right in front of us all along? Maybe it is a combination of what we know but do not yet understand. Let’s talk shop, shall we?

Death. Happy for some, a time of joy and celebration for others, but likely a time of sadness and grief for most. Some welcome death with open arms, while yet others fear their mortality. The numerous speculations on what happens after we die is overwhelming. There are far too many ideas and beliefs that people hold in this regard. I’ll briefly cover a few of the more popular beliefs as to not make this blog super lengthy - because, ya know, your attention span and whatnot. 

Scientifically, there are two types of death: clinical death and brain death. Clinical death is characterized by major organ failure (e.g. heart, liver, kidneys, etc.) until the body is completely rendered of functioning and the individual is officially pronounced dead. In brain death, solely the brain stops functioning, but the other organs within the body continue to work within their normal capacities. Creepy fun fact for you: the heart can beat for up to 30 minutes on its own after all brain cells have died. Once the heart stops it’s adios amigo. The remaining major organs that were barely hanging on have now lost blood flow, and life has ended. More creepy death fun facts: the gastrointestinal tract can live on its own for up to 3 days, and the complete decomposition of a body takes roughly 30 years! Crazy science stuff. 

Now let’s take a look at some common beliefs and speculations of what happens when/after we die. Again, I want to remind you, readers, that in my eyes there is no right or wrong answer here. I am a firm believer in everyone having their own beliefs and respect all of them regardless of how obscure some naysayers may think that they are. I enjoy hearing stories from followers that help to further broaden my thought processes. If you ever have an interesting story or want to chime in with your thoughts please feel free to leave a comment here or shoot on over to Instagram and we can rap about it. 

The belief that we transcend to another realm/dimension has been around for thousands of years and has been studied for decades. There is a lot to uncover here between recent scientific discoveries and human belief. Many people believe that many other dimensions exist, however, scientific exploration hasn’t fully found the golden answer to if and what these other dimensions may contain if they do indeed exist. We know that Earth has at least three dimensions: space—length, width, and depth—and one dimension of time. Modern physics posits that there is at least a fourth dimension of space, but that we can’t experience it. Maybe we can? Maybe we do but just haven’t put a label on it? Maybe the odd phenomena that happen across the world that people describe as being ghosts, aliens, and other paranormal activities are actually from the next dimension or another. There has been speculation that extraterrestrials come from another dimension through a portal that is already here on Earth rather than from the sky (outer space). 

Give me an R! Give me an E! Hell, this word is too long and I’m not going to put you through reading a silly cheer for 5 minutes. Reincarnation - yet another commonly held belief of what happens when we die. For those of you who may have never heard of reincarnation, here is the quick and dirty version of the definition. Reincarnation posits that when we die our spirit/soul/whatever you want to call it, moves on to a new host. This host could be a human baby that is born the very second that you die OR you could possibly find yourself reincarnated as an animal, tree, flower, or any other living thing that you can find on Earth. Interesting concept indeed.

My favorite belief, that we go to Heaven or somewhere similar, is one that is believed by millions of people across the world. Wouldn’t it be nice to die and go to another world/place where nothing can do you harm, and just live out the rest of your existence in peace? Well, if you can believe it then it may just happen that way - or maybe not. I am fairly certain I have mentioned this in previous blogs, but religion can be thought of as a coping mechanism for that which we do not know or understand; the human way of putting a label on something to make ourselves feel better or like we are a part of something divine and much greater than us. Which, in all actuality, we very well may be a part of something divine and much greater than us, however, it is my personal opinion that we honestly have no fucking clue about the extent to which that is. 

Now, this next one I threw in here because I personally found it to be interesting. In 2017 I was having a conversation with a friend about mystical things such as portals, extraterrestrials, etc. My friend informed me of a research video on YouTube about a company called CERN. He described this Swiss company as having built a circular-shaped machine that when you throw something into its core it disappears. However, other items have come through this machine and into the room from… wherever the other side is? Basically, these people have created a portal and no one knows about it. You’re welcome for the information. Within this research video, the guy who was describing all of this stuff went on to talk about how China had gifted the statue that sits in front of the CERN building. This particular statue is reported to represent the end of time and hell on Earth. There is a whole mythical background story about this statue - you need to check it out. The irony between the statue and this machine they made is uncanny. It made my jaw drop. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I haven’t been able to find the YouTube video again, so I am not sure if it got taken down because the guy exposed something that was supposed to be secret, or maybe I just suck at YouTube searches. Either way, I encourage you to do some digging on this one, because this type of information could potentially support the whole soul/spirit transcending into another realm/dimension belief. I am not a physicist, so I could be explaining this all wrong. You’ll just have to check out their website for yourself and see what it’s all about. → home.cern

There is also the belief that when we die nothing happens. We are dead and it is the end of who we once were. This belief is often held by Atheists and some Satanists if we’re using labels. However, many people believe this who aren’t subscribed to a religion or don’t want to necessarily put a label on who they are/what they believe. This is the grim reality of our existence. Maybe it all means… nothing… Now isn’t that depressing. 

Then there are near-death experiences, which brings a whole different perspective into the mix. People all over the world have encountered near-death experiences. Many report shockingly similar experiences and stories. Some say they see a white light and follow it to a place of peace. I have heard people say that while they were legally deceased they found themself in a field of flowers or floating within the cosmos. A common theme found within these individuals is that once they have had their near-death experience, they aren’t afraid of death anymore - they welcome it with open arms. One woman on a documentary that I watched even went as far as to say that she didn’t want to come back from where she was and was disappointed when she was revived. These experiences could possibly support the theory of transcending to other dimensions or that there is a “heaven.” I can’t explain it, but I still find the information interesting to ponder upon. 

Our mortality is evident, but what really happens when we die? These are just a short collection of ideas and beliefs that have been around for ages, however, there are many more to consider I’m sure. What do you think? Or should I say: what do you want to believe? Ultimately it’s your choice. Whatever brings you peace, serves you well, and is the right answer for you is what I advise you to turn to. This flesh and blood will decay for each of us one day - it’s inevitable. It is for this very reason why I say live life to the fullest. Regret nothing. Do what best serves you. Do what makes you happy. Take chances. Above all else - be the best version of yourself that makes you happy.

Cryptic Mystic Blog by PsychVVitch

www.LaMorteXiii.com

[orionsangel86]

what are your thoughts on the deancas endgame.. how will they resolve the Empty.. any thoughts?

Ah that old question! How it pains us all! :P

What are my thoughts on DeanCas endgame now? Honestly it changes everyday!

When Cas first made his deal with the Empty, it seemed so damn obvious to me that it would be a lead up to overt canon Destiel. At the time I was pretty sure that there was nothing else that could bring Cas that level of happiness. Now I’m not so sure. Cas’s devotion to Jack has only grown, and the fracturing of the Winchester family at the end of Season 14 was a huge hit to him. I can now easily envisage something as simple as Cas being invited to carve his name on the bunker table being the trigger point, so long as Jack is alive and well. Being part of the Winchester family has definitely been the principle factor the writers have built on for Cas over the past season. I therefore think that if the Empty does come for Cas, it will be from something familial, something like Jack and the Winchesters all sitting around and them paying specific attention to Cas for doing something great, like actually stopping a monster, saving a ton of people, and doing it all the human way, leading to a very impressed Sam and a loved up Dean beaming at him and telling him to carve his initials, and making sure he adds the W.

As much as I would love it and ascend to fandom heaven if it happened, I don’t think the empty deal is gonna be triggered by Dean grabbing and kissing Cas up against his bedroom door, or even actually saying a very clearly romantic “I love you”. Not that I don’t think that will happen at all, but I feel the Empty deal will need to be addressed very soon, and I just can’t see any overt confirmation of Destiel in text before the very end (if at all) at this point.

Please let me explain my thought process on this before anyone get’s upset or jumps on me.

Season 15, imo, has done a lot for Destiel. Since the very first episode we have had a clear emotional storyline specific to Dean and Cas. Their relationship drama has basically fuelled the emotional heart of the season so far. It has lead to journalists, interviewers, and plenty of check marks on Twitter agreeing that whatever Dean and Cas have, it’s something very special, and important to Supernaturals beating core.

The fact is, Dean and Cas are already being written as a romantic couple. They are being written as two people who deeply love each other, to the point that they get ridiculously overly emotional around each other and when the other hurts them. Their relationship is constantly called out by other characters (Belphegor, Rowena) and mirrored to the more overt (however unfair that is) heterosexual relationship in the show (Sam and Eileen).

If we were still living within the era of the Hays Code, if this was The Celluloid Closet, then we would already be championing Destiel as an epic example of queer romance. It IS a queer romance after all. Destiel is real, it exists within the Supernatural story, and the SPN writing team including actual queer writers are 100% on our side and writing Destiel as best they can. This I am 100% certain of at this stage. As a meta writer, I am already validated that my reading of the show and of Destiel as a queer romance in the show is correct. Destiel isn’t something anyone can justifiably call us delusional for seeing anymore. We have come way far beyond that point here. If you see Destiel as a romantic love story, your reading is a correct reading because that IS the story the writers are writing. Season 15 has confirmed that with the Destiel break up story arc and Dean’s prayer. This I say with absolute certainty. Your reading of Destiel as valid and an actual queer love story is correct. It is the story they are telling. People can’t deny Destiel anymore because it is those deniers who at this stage look pretty damn delusional ya know?

I have bolded several lines above because they are important and I really want to stress that this is my stance on the matter. Do not let anyone try to convince you that I feel differently here. If you are a young queer person who sees yourself and your relationship in the DeanCas love story you are valid in seeing that. Exactly as it is, right now, without any need for further confirmation within the story. I am in no way trying to invalidate you by what I am about to say next.

I mentioned the Hays Code and the Celluloid Closet. If you haven’t seen the Celluloid Closet I urge you to watch it as it is a fascinating look into queer coding within the Hays code era. Also, quickly, if you aren’t aware of what I mean by the Hays Code it’s basically the code that Hollywood had to adhere to, setting out rules of what could and couldn’t be portrayed in cinema at the time. Here’s a link to the Wiki article on the history of queer cinema. The introduction of the Hay’s code also meant the introduction of queer coding and subtext rather than explicit dipictions of queer romance in cinema. When I refer to this in relation to Dean and Cas, basically what Supernatural is doing with Dean and Cas is exactly what was done to dipict queer romance in order to get around the Hays code during the era when it was enforced.

So when I say that Destiel is real and valid and being written as a love story, I mean that the writers are basically doing with Destiel what savvy filmmakers had to do to circumvent the Hay’s code during Hollywoods golden age.

Do you see the issue yet?

It is 2020. The Hay’s Code has been abolished for around 50 years.

I fully respect the SPN writing team for trying to tell the Destiel love story as best they can, but at this point in time, even with everything they have already given us, it is still subtext.

Subtext IS a part of the text. What is Canon? What isn’t Canon? Honestly? I’m done with the arguments about it. Believe what each of you want to believe. What I will say is that I don’t think we are going to get anything more overt from the show at this point. The reason I say this is because the writers have now had plenty of ideal opportunities to actually bring the Destiel love story into text. They could have had a single line in 15x07 that confirmed Dean and Lee had a romantic relationship when they were younger. It would have been so easy to do. But they didn’t. Dean’s prayer to Cas, in all it’s glory, could have given us one line more as well. We could have had a love confession. They could have taken it there. Again, it would have been so easy, and it was the ideal opportune moment for Dean to confess. But they didn’t.

I have gone back and forth on this particular question over and over again. The question being will Destiel be brought into explicit undeniable text by series end?

Again, I stress, this question is completely separate to the question of the validity of Destiel already within the text and I swear to God if I get a single argumentative person in my mentions coming at me because they’ve been brainwashed by *people* trying to twist and blur these lines I am going on an even bigger blocking spree to the one I’ve already been on.

In my opinion, the answer to this question resides not with the decisions of the writers (who I fully believe would make it overtly canon in a heartbeat if they could) but with the CW execs. I have my own theories about what goes on behind the scenes, and what I think Dabb has been fighting with since he first took over as showrunner in season 11, and I just really hope that at some point once this is all over we will get a big expose on the truth about Destiel which confirms my speculation and slams the CW execs for not wanting to go there with Supernatural in particular (something I have previously talked about here). I would love for the execs to have given the green light on Destiel being overt by season end, and I am still hoping they have been more lenient this season even if the okay is only for one small moment. Whatever we get or do not get, it will be at the hands of the CW execs and not the writers. That’s the one thing I ask everyone to please keep in mind whatever happens in the end.

As far as what I think may or may not happen...

I would love for the Empty to take Cas because Dean confesses his love and kisses him. Or even if the Empty takes Cas because of other things, having Dean then rescue Cas from the Empty in a poetic reverse of Cas rescuing Dean from Hell, with the big reunion being their overt textual getting together. I feel like the story could go in so many different directions right now as I don’t actually feel like the plot of season 15 is all that coherant so far. The main key notes were Dean and Cas’s relationship drama, Sam and Eileen’s reunion, Chuck messing with the boys and Jack’s return. I think that things will ramp up pretty quickly in this final run of episodes from mid March to the finale, and I think a lot of storylines will get addressed and resolved in a short space of time, at this point, if anything overt does happen for Dean and Cas, it will happen quickly, and the story will move on, or it will be left in the subtext until the very final episode, or it will remain in subtext completely.

Personally, I think that Dean and Cas’s love story will remain subtextual until the very end, with potentially an “I love you” from Dean that will be interpreted as platonic by all major media sources much to all of our frustrations (a repeat of the Season 12 Cas “I love you”) (As Dean needs to tell Cas he loves him as a plot point at this stage, regardless of whether it is romantic or platonic the story basically demands it be said). I am still quietly confident that Dean and Cas will end the season together in some way, either living or dead, I don’t think that their story or their individual story arcs work if they are separated, and I will be stunned and hurt the same way I was for Game Of Thrones if the show does take a different route.

Therefore, since I see the show ending with Dean and Cas together, I can potentially see them taking each others hands in one final shot that basically subtly confirms that they are an item without ever actually textually stating anything more or giving us a kiss or anything. I personally, would be very satisfied with this. If it doesn’t happen though, if I’m totally honest, I would also be satisfied so long as they are still together by the shows end, as I have continually stressed, Destiel is already a real and valid love story that totally validates me as a meta writer, even if it isn’t technically “canon” by all major definitions of the term. (Again I stg if anyone comes at me for saying this I am blocking without devoting a second of my time to arguing with you I am literally at zero tolerance on this ridiculous argument right now and refuse to be dragged back into the bullshit).

Whatever happens, I am loving what we are getting so far. I’ve really been enjoying this season especially the Dean and Cas storyline because it has been so intense and emotional and I LIVE FOR IT! :D I know I’ll be a puddle of tears whatever happens and I just hope that it keeps up this excellent trajectory because so far I’ve been really pleased with everything else we’ve got even if I was slightly disappointed by the show not pushing 15x07 and 15x09 just that tiny bit further into overt canon confirmation of Bi!Dean and Destiel. We’ll see. As I have already said several times, I am feeling pretty validated by my interpretation of Dean and Cas’s relationship over the past so many years I’ve been writing about them. I am confident that I will continue to feel validated as we reach the final run of episodes, and I will continue to be optimistic that Dean and Cas will get a satisfying ending together, whether that includes overt textual Destiel confirmation or not.

[mirrorsandpacts]

Angel of Death - Simeon x F! Reader

You stood there admiring the field of flowers in heaven, in awe with the picturesque view. Simeon stood there behind you, his mask of calmness cracked a little more the longer he stood watching you. Tightly gripped behind him was the holy scythe, yet to him it was cursed. Once the directives were given, he is unable to stop the scythe from filling his head with instructions. He used to think of nothing about it, that it was merely God's will. However, now those words fill his heart with nothing but dread. ~ "Simeon, Heaven's Gardener. Please proceed to enter Father's chambers" He stepped into the chamber. It was a very spacious room with white marble walls supported by gold pillars; its high ceiling reflected the stars, constellations as well as the universe itself. The guards announced his presence to Him. Walking to the grand throne, he bowed to Father, his right hand upon his heart. "What do you need of me today?" His eyes were downcast as a sign of respect. Since here was no one else in the room, he knows what He had been called for. "Simeon, here is the list for today." A scroll containing the names of humans floated in front of Simeon. Yes, this list contained the names of those who will die before their proper time. Whether it due to sickness, accidents or even a victim of crime. He was assigned to deal with them all. Simeon doesn't know how they will die, but it does not matter anyway. Those who were in this list were chosen by Him to sit on His altar, a great honour. They are worthy due to their purity and/or kindness that they have shown throughout their short life. Not many angels actually know of his position, as the angel of death, not even Luke. But those who do know wouldn't dare cross with the dark-skinned angel. They keep themselves silent for death is something unknown to them and they fear it. However, because of Simeon's angelic behaviour even those who know of his special position brushed it away and thought nothing of it after a few years. Simeon unfurled the scroll and right before his eyes, letters burned themselves on the holy paper. Names, age, occupation; every detail he ever needed would be printed there. The holy markings beneath his black gloves shined bright, signifying the job has been accepted. A golden line forms in front of Simeon, showing him the way to the chosen human that He called to His side. Simeon gave Him a final bow before he setting off to collect those souls. Using his pure white wings, he flew down to the human realm, following the line. He disguised himself in the human world, going by many names in order to do his job. It wasn't the easiest job in the world. He had to observe their sufferings; be with them during their final moments yet doing nothing that might hinder his work. ~ Of all places, Simeon could have chose, he chose here, his beautiful flower garden. He truly had a green thumb for all the flowers he grew in the vast field were exuberant as if they have a life of their own. It was fitting for the title, Heaven's Gardener and much like cutting the stems of plants, he too cut the lives of people. It should be normal but why does his heart falters. Why is his throat dry? It's simple, he always does this. So why was it so hard to even unsheath the scythe? ~ This was his 100th soul for today, a newborn baby. The handsome angel stretched out his arms as the golden threads from his markings formed a gleaming golden scythe. He plunged the weapon into the heart of the baby and it began extracting it's soul. The physical body is unharmed of course for the scythe could only be used for souls. The tip of the scythe was to break the barrier of the body which encases the soul to allow it to be extracted by the gleaming weapon. The baby was already dying due to an infection there was nothing anyone could do. A bowed head and a silent prayer, that is all he could offer to the grieving parents. He felt his heart becoming weary. He was tired of seeing such heart breaking scenes. But a job is a job, and this particular one doesn't have a candidate to replace him. Who would want this job after all? He would give anything for someone to take this burden. But then again, he would feel sorry for the poor angel which took over. So, might as well, he carry this burden alone. He was resting on top of a high rise building when his D. D. D. rang. He thought it might be a call from Luke or even, Satan but he was pleasantly surprised to hear your voice. He placed the phone at his ear to hear you better. You chuckled. "Simeon.... this is a video call..." Your amused voice brightened up his day immediately. He really didn't now how to use these gadgets but he's learning. "So, what do I do?" He asked innocently. "You just look at the screen like you usually do. So you can see me." "Like this?" He looked at the screen to see the face of the light of his life staring back at him. His smile widened at the instant he saw you. You looked as elegant as ever. Both of you exchanged words and smiles and soon it was time for Simeon to continue with his work. "Don't forget our date tomorrow." "I wouldn't miss it for the world." The words in his head which were silent throughout the exchange, suddenly spoke up. "It's her." Simeon was taken aback. What ever could those voices mean? He checked his scroll again. Written in black letters, he saw your name there in the last column. He couldn't believe it. How could this happened? He tried to rub it with his thumb, thinking that it will smudge or be erased but it was still there. How could this be? He tried using his feathered pen to strike your name off but the paper seemed to absorb any liquid. In a last bid attempt, he tore the paper but it was futile. The paper regenerated and place itself upon his palms once more, as if nothing happened. The holy markings on his arms burned brightly as if he was branded by red hot iron, a warning. The words in his head blared loudly. He can't disobey the order. He had to kill you. ~ He had always wanted to bring you to his favourite place, but not like this. Why must it be this way? "Simeon?" She looked worriedly at him, her eyes reflected his. "Is everything alright?" His tears were on the edge of his eyelids. Why must she die? He knew that she would go someday but ... "Simeon... I know things can be hard but whatever it is, I will always be with you. Even if you wouldn't confide in me on the matter." She embraced him as if she wanted to drive away the sadness. She wanted to be there for him. However, that sweet gesture only caused his heart to sink further into the soil. How could he drive the scythe into her? ~ Simeon will never tell you how happy he was when you confessed to him. With bright red cheeks and tightly shut eyelids, you said those words, the words where he had heard humans speak a million times yet it was somehow endearing to know that those words were meant solely for him. The moonlight of Devildom had cast a soft glow upon your features. Oh how happy she had looked when he said yes. Her eyes gleamed, telling him of her happiness which could not be formed by words. He chuckled at her infectious enthusiasm. As their lips met for a short yet sweet kiss, he wished nothing more for her happiness and longevity. How could his past self forgive him for what he was about to do? ~ Despite being with the 7 brothers, she was not tainted. Her smile was infectious. Her laugh was genuine. Her flaws made her more endearing than she already is. He thought to himself "Of course, they had to take the most beautiful flower in the garden." The difference is only that this time the flower was you. The returned your warm hug. It would be only a few minutes more till his markings completely take over the function of his arms but until then he wanted to savour this last moment with you. "I'm sorry. I truly love you. Forgive... me," He kissed her forehead as his hands plunged the weapon deep into her soul. The extraction had begun. She had only but a few seconds left. Her face contorted to one of surprise and pain. Due to the extraction process, he could see into her heart in his mind as they were temporarily connected. He could see her pain, her shock. He expected her to hate him; resent him but what he saw next shook his core. As her eyes met him, her heart reflected forgiveness and appreciation along with the thousand memories they made together. He is killing her but yet those clear eyes showed no ill feeling towards her betrayer. How he wished that she would curse him; be mad at him. It was the right thing to feel. She shouldn't forgive him at all. Then, he understood that she had truly loved the gardener. She was so happy that her feelings were reciprocated by him. She cupped his dark skinned cheeks gently, making sure that he would hear her last words. "I knew my life was too good to last. Thank you for everything Simeon." Her lips met his for one final goodbye. "Thank you for being with me. I'm glad that fate brought us together." How can she say that when fate was separating them? How could she be so optimistic? He wanted to ask her but her body had turned cold. Her eyes closed ever so gently. The process was complete. The sounds in his head ceased. The holy weapon disintegrated, signalling the end of his job. There, in Heaven's Garden, the flower fell gently to the ground. There was a slight pain at the placed she was plucked but she knew that it would be temporary. She knew who had pluck her yet she still bloomed wholeheartedly for that person, the light of her life, for the last time. With a dying breath, her soft petals grazed the lips of the immortal gardener. Her beautiful earthly form was unscarred yet it was missing that shine which made her truly special. Her ethereal form or also known as her soul, would only glow. She can no longer talk to him nor touch him, much like a plastic flower. Everlasting but devoid of life, merely being there like an accessory. No longer the love of his life that he had given his heart to. Screaming apologies to the wind, the angel clutched the flower tightly to his heart. His most prized flower whom he had watched over so tenderly needed to be presented to Him. He wanted her so. The poor gardener of the Celestial Realm had to comply; no matter how much he loved his precious beloved flower. The flower which bloomed so breathtakingly, solely for him. He traced his thumb over the delicate petals one last time. His angelic tears wetting it. He wanted the flower to do something, say something, give any indication that might give him any hope. If she'd move, he'd throw everything away for her. However, the flower had been plucked and no matter how much water he supplied to the flower, she was already dead from the moment her life force was separated from its stem. The only thing Simeon could do was cradle the flower in his arms before he needed to present the flower. He was to place her on the altar of God where there she shall forever remain by His side, where she will bloom eternally. Every day the gardener would bring the most beautiful flowers to put at God's altar. Sometimes a daisy, sometimes a rose to accompany the flower. At times, he would even arranged them into beautiful bouquets, knowing that if she were still alive, she would love them. She loved anything that he did after all. He would even occasionally strike a conversation with the flower even if he knew in his heart she will never reply. He imagined her voice, her laughter, her warmth through memories but they were merely that. It can never be compared with her living and breathing by his side. He could only dream of her on the other side of the ethereal glass. If by chance, you managed to go up to God's altar, please do keep a lookout for the dark-skinned gardener and his flower. You'll notice his gaze softly follow the flower, endlessly yearning for her as she glows upon the celestial altar forever. ~ Extra:- "Father, why must she die?" The archangel Michael, questioned Him. "It is the law of nature. Every human will perish one day." Michael knew that He had deliberately done this. The archangel had caught a glimpse of her before. She was to live a long life. He only questioned because he wanted to hear the truth. He pitied Simeon who is now almost like an empty shell of the cheerful person he once was. Maybe He didn't want any more angel to follow the path of the 7 brothers but the way He carried it out was ruthless. Micheal could only look on at the two star-crossed lovers who were mercilessly parted by the hands of cruel fate. ~In a field full of flowers, which do you pick first? The most beautiful ones are the ones which will be picked first. ~

~ Yun ~

Hope you guys enjoy it. 

Extra information. What I thought for God's Altar was like a glass wall, where only the most purest souls are inside. These souls won't be reborn anymore because they have said to reach the final stage of purity. The souls usually look like a glowing golden orb but sometimes they flicker and you can see the final form that they took before they managed to get in there. They are silent and unmoving. No one managed to go in nor has any soul managed to escape. Only He can place the soul in there. Once he puts them in, there is no way of taking them out. In any case, if the wall gets destroyed, all those souls will be destroyed as well. That is why not even the brothers took action.

[jincherie]

moon magic | jhs

✩ — pairing: hoseok x reader ✩ — genre: mermaid au, pirate au, magic au, fluff ✩ — words: 33.8k+ (a part of me died. this is a horcrux now) ✩ — rating: sfw ✩ — warnings: uh minor dismemberment (a hand, belonging to a bad guy), otherwise its kind of just soft and gooey and magical... lord help me ✩ — notes: very very very VERY VERY LATE birthday fic for miss @readyplayerhobi !!! i’m so sorry it’s so late tali !!! and so sorry it’s such a monster, this was meant to be around 20k max and here i am completely out of control and barely sane kjfnldkffljdb i hope its not too disappointing!! (also fair warning; i didnt get to completely finish skimming this so some typos may be present dnjhbg)

You've never paid much mind to the moon, but you quickly learn that even though you've never really thought of the her, she has always watched over you. What better to heal an grieving heart, than the luminous, rippling magic of the moon? And maybe a merman, or two. You know, for good measure.

— posted; 13.07.2019

In all honesty, you’ve never really paid much mind to the moon.

It is something that is ever-present— yet also something that can wax, illuminating the earth beneath its majesty, and wane, robbing the skies of the orb that bathes the landscape in a silver glow. To the normal civilian, the moon is likely a symbol of beauty and the unknown, or perhaps just something the odd commoner didn’t spare even a second thought. You don’t normally pay much mind to the moon, except to admire it. You don’t think you’ve ever held the silver sun in any sort of contempt, until now, that is. The moon is decidedly bright tonight, which under other circumstances might normally make you smile, but actually serves to be more of an inconvenience on this eve in particular than anything.

It’s awfully hard to slink through the night and assassinate someone when the moon eliminates the security and comfort that the usual deep shadows the night-time hours provide, after all.

You admit that as far as assassination attempts go, this one is pretty poorly timed. You’re not entirely to blame though—this wasn’t your first choice by far. You like to think you’re a bit more conniving than that. No, your carefully plotted and thought-out schemes were suddenly pushed way ahead of schedule only yesterday when, to your complete and utter alarm, the subject of those plots and schemes was reported to be only a town away down the coastline. You’re quick on your feet, and you knew immediately upon hearing it that this meant the despicable Pirate Lord you’ve been tracking for the better half of your adult life would be passing the town you’re residing in within the next day. You were right, as expected, and had proven yourself unable to resist the opportunity that had presented itself so easily and readily to you. You expected to spend many months more tracking the elusive pirate, but he’s gone and sailed right into your waiting arms! It’s as though the universe is giving you the go-ahead, and you can’t even think of resisting the temptation of this golden opportunity when the thing you’ve wanted most since you were a mere seventeen years old is so close, so near your greedy clutches.

So, you decided after minimal deliberation that come nightfall the next day, you were going to head out and embark on your long-awaited goal to kill the Pirate Lord Ezra. Hence, here you are, currently trying to sleuth through the night and fulfil a desire for revenge that has had years to simmer, bubble and brew into something ugly and all-consuming to its core. You aren’t proud of the way the anger and hate has clung so firmly to the root of your being all these years, but at this point… you don’t really have anything else to live for. If you weren’t living your life planning this act of vengeance, then what would you be doing?

The reason you spent years plotting and perfecting the best way to fulfil this burning need for revenge, was because the initial act that incurred your wrath cost you your family. You have no one, and if you don’t cling to this and let it bind your being together, then what is stopping you from crumbling to dust and floating to the abyss? You don’t want to ponder it and don’t often entertain the thought, because the answer…

The answer is nothing, and that is exactly why you are here—scaling the side of the large, looming ship that belonged to the pirate that had wronged you so.

Pirate Lord Ezra. He isn’t what one would call haphazard, or aimlessly bloodthirsty. He kills, pillages and steals, like any respectable pirate, but each and every act he performs is done so with the utmost care and cold, ruthless calculation. He isn’t the most intelligent being you’ve ever encountered, but he is conniving, and crafty, and more than capable of getting himself out of sticky situations no matter how dire. It was how he’d managed to live so long even as a wanted criminal, after all.

But, you suppose in his old age he has begun to grow… careless.

You met no resistance or obstacle earlier as you rowed to the location where he was reported to be—you’d taken the time to paint your small craft so that it matched the night and sea—and you meet no obstacle now, as you grip the thick, coarse ropes that sling over the top of the bulwarks and hang heavily down the sides of the ship. You have to admit, it is a beautiful ship—you almost feel sorry for the plans you have in store for it.

The weight of the daggers fastened to your sides ground you in a sense, the cool of their metal permeating through your worn pants to keep your thoughts rooted in the present moment. This is happening, you’re finally doing this, the moment you’ve waited so long for is finally here. You can hardly believe it, yet you’re already so far into the execution of your plans that you don’t have time to stop and process it.

Were you not wearing the leather gloves you’d slipped on earlier, your hands would probably be throbbing and grazed from the coarse, sea-salt ridden ropes by now. You never really realised just how massive these ships were until you got up close and personal with them, and now as you’re scaling up the side of one it seems endless in its looming height. Even so, it isn’t long before you near the top of the ship’s side, having long since passed the closed windows where canons peaked through in the midst of battle. The sea is calm and the gentle rocking of the ship is easy to get accustomed to—soon your body moves in harmony with rolling of the waves. You think perhaps you’re a little too good at this ‘sneaking onto a pirate ship in the middle of the night’ thing.

You freeze barely a metre from the top, the sound of rough voices and hoarse, deep chuckles stilling your blood in your veins. A few of the crewmen moving past, likely on their rounds. You take the moment to think things through—you were hoping that most of the crew would be asleep and you’d be able to slip on board with no problem, but now that you think about it… you might have been a bit naïve to think that there wouldn’t be many pirates skulking across the deck. Glancing down, you get an idea of how to proceed. To the side, at a slightly different level to the line of canon openings, is a set of windows at varying heights. You absolutely despise the man, but you had to give the Pirate Lord some credit—the ship was impressive in its absolute size and majesty.

Thinking quick, you decide the best way in from now would be to slip in through one of those windows. From what you can see, the one closest to you is somewhat ajar, no doubt to let the cool sea breeze in. Moving as fast as you can while still remaining unnoticed, you shift to the window and peak in. It seems to be a restroom of sorts, small in size and containing several buckets and a jug. In all honesty, this room is dusty and grimy and doesn’t seem like it’s received much attention in the past few, well… years. Considering that they’re pirates though, you’re not really all that surprised at the discovery of their lax hygiene habits.

After watching for a moment to be sure no one is wondering into the room anytime soon, you ease the window open, wary of any rusty hinges, before shifting your body and using muscles you didn’t even know you had to slip in through the opening. Your feet touch the floor with a soft thud and a creak, the wood clearly unused to having any weight on it. You remain stock still for a moment, doubting that that soft noise was enough to wake a bunch of drunken pirates, but still cautious nonetheless. When it becomes clear that you’re not about to be discovered any time soon, you ease your way with careful steps to the door of the room and embark on the second phase of your mission.

Find the Pirate Lord.

You’re not sure how many rooms you slip into and search in the quiet of night as you attempt to locate the heinous man so worthy of your despise, but you’re quick to find out that it’s a lot. This ship is even bigger than you anticipated on the inside, and built like a maze beneath the deck. You know from stories that the captain doesn’t sleep in the usual quarters above the deck, but haven’t been able to discern through rumours or otherwise where exactly it was that he did sleep.

Silent as the night, you slip through hall after hall, peering into each room you’re able. You meld to the walls and sink into the shadows whenever voices grow too near, and the one time a pirate stumbles drunkenly past you in the hall he doesn’t even see you—in fact, you’re pretty sure he’s walking with his eyes closed. Fortunate for you, but unfortunate for him if he ends up walking into something. He disappears around the corner a moment later and you barely have time to let out your breath before there’s a loud thunk and grunt of pain from that direction, followed by a long string of grumbled, slurred curses. Well, it seems he did run into something after all. You wait until you hear his footsteps fade completely before you move once more.

With each new room you search that yields no results, you grow a little more frustrated. It’s as though the Pirate Lord isn’t even here, on his own ship. Where could he be? You feel like you’ve mapped out every single room possible beneath the creaking wood of the deck. Somewhat on edge and increasingly frustrated, you have to consciously soften your steps from their instinctive stomp as you turn down another hall. You barely get three feet down before a sound crosses your ears that gives you pause. Was that… splashing?

Of course it seems ridiculous that you’d be confused about the sound of water when you’re on a pirate ship in the ocean, but at this point you’ve delved so deep into the bowels of the ship that you shouldn’t be able to hear anything like splashing or waves. Confused, you sneak closer to the origins of the sound—a single door at the end of the hall. Strangely enough, there aren’t any other doors on either side as you shift quietly down. Definitely strange, but not your biggest concern at the moment.

You’re scarcely a few feet from the door when the splashing sounds again, and this time it rings distinctly like water sloshing against the edge of a container, like a tub. You pause, fighting the embarrassed heat that tries to colour your cheeks. You don’t know whether to be more surprised that one of the pirates is likely bathing behind these doors or at the fact you’d managed to happen upon them while they were.

You’re ready to dismiss it and flee, return to your original objective, when another sound leaks through the cracks in the door and your heart skips a beat in surprise. A whimper, like someone is in pain. A fresh barrage of thoughts flood your mind suddenly as you stand in place, conflicted. What if it’s a prisoner? What if it is someone innocent behind those doors, hurt and maybe even dying? You know you won’t be able to live with yourself if you leave without checking, the guilt will eat you alive.

With a resigned sigh, you approach the door and place your hand over the rusty handle, attempting to turn it slowly. It creaks ever so slightly, but doesn’t move far. Locked. Grumbling softly to yourself and checking behind you to make sure no one snuck up on you in your momentary lapse of concentration, you pull out the little kit you made for such an occasion and get to work picking the lock with the tiny instruments.

You’re pretty good at what you do, and so it isn’t long before you hear the soft, tell-tale click that lets you know the door is now unlocked and free to open. You check the coast is clear behind you once more before placing your hand on the handle again and twisting softly. It creaks as it did last time, but there is no resistance as you manage to open the door successfully. You hear your heart beat loudly against your eardrum for a moment as the wood swings open and you step inside.

You don’t make it past two steps before you freeze in place, the breath whooshing out of your lungs and your eyes shooting wide.

The room is lit dimly by an oil lantern hanging from the ceiling, yet the soft glow it offers is more than enough for you to see the entirety of what the room holds.

Gold. Piles and piles of gold. Coins and trinkets, goblets, jewellery—there is so much gold that glimmers in the low light you almost don’t know how to process it. The room is full of it, the piles reaching the ceiling in some places. Other precious items litter the floor, buried in the mounds of coins and treasures. Some statues, jewel-encrusted boxes, the like. Briefly, you are reminded of a dragon’s hoard. This… you’ve stumbled into the treasure room of the great Pirate Lord Ezra.

And right smack bang in the middle of it is something you never thought you would ever see with your own two eyes.

A tub, as you suspected, full of water sits in the midst of the treasure. And inside the tub lays a man, head lolling in unconsciousness as his body sways with the water and the rocking of the ship, chained to the wall, the iron links thick and heavy where they wind around his wrists and forearms. His upper body is human where it enters the water, but where it leaves there is a long, glimmering tail in place of where there should be legs. A merman. You can hardly catch your breath, the shock almost enough to knock you off your feet. You came here to assassinate a pirate and instead stumbled upon his captive merman. This mission has gone so awry you don’t know if you can even recover it.

But as you take a moment to peer at the creature, registering his appearance, you realise the answer. You can’t return to your original goal in this venture. The merman before you is beautiful; his face and torso are an ideal sculptors can only dream of achieving in their creations, and his tail is completely and utterly mesmerising with the way the scales shift and glimmer different colours despite an inky undertone, not unlike an oil slick. Yet despite this, his cheeks are gaunt and skin pallid and sallow, littered with bruises and patches of rawness. He’s thin, and you can see deep maroon blood trickling from where the chains bite into his wrists and have rubbed them raw.

You don’t have words for the roiling combination of horror, shock, and complete and utter sadness that sinks deep within you at the realisation that what you’ve just discovered is real and you’re standing here, facing it. The poor creature, chained and left to perish as nothing more than a trophy.

This, the sight before you and the feelings now running rampant within you, is why you cannot turn away and resume your original goal.

A part of you is disappointed and upset that you won’t get to kill the man who killed your family like you intended, but right now you want nothing more than to free this creature. You’ll get another chance, you reassure yourself. Even if it takes another eleven years to track him down you’ll find him eventually, and you’ll be able to sleep better knowing you freed this merman along the way.

Once you’re firm in your resolve, you take the steps necessary to bridge the gap between you and the creature, gaze sweeping over his form. The end of his tail is exposed to the air, and you notice it appears incredibly dehydrated—the long, wispy fins that trail along the sides and flare from the bottom are pinched and shrivelled, twitching every so often. You wonder for a moment why he hasn’t splashed water over his tail to keep it hydrated but quickly realise that with the way his hands and arms are bound that he can’t, and the tub is too tiny to fit the long, draping expanse of his tail in.

You decide that first thing’s first, you need to get him in a better state than what he is currently. You reach into the water, cupping a generous amount in your hands, and begin to pour it over the parts of his tail and anatomy that aren’t currently submerged. The result is instantaneous—the wispy fins that had pinched and curled up unfurled the second they touched the water, his skin and scales appearing to soak up the fluid greedily. You distantly register the way his breath stutters, picking up slightly in an uneven manner, and figure that he’s probably going to wake soon. You continue wetting the rest of his form until you’re satisfied, at which point you turn back to face him.

And promptly nearly scream in fright because when you look to him, he is already looking at you.

Your fight or flight response doesn’t remain in gear, however, because the poor creature looks absolutely terrified as he watches you, eyes already glistening. You don’t know if mercreatures can cry and you don’t want to find out—you hurry to soothe him, feeling terrible that he’s experienced such horror that this is the first reaction he gives upon seeing you.

“Woah, hey I’m sorry! It’s okay! I’m not going to hurt you.” Your hands are up and you speak softly if a little quickly. You don’t need him to scream or anything and you don’t want to be loud enough yourself to catch anyone’s attention. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I’m…”

You swallow, disarmed for a moment at the way his large, dark eyes are holding yours. “I’m going to help get you out of here.”

You’re unsure if he understands what you say, but something in his gaze shifts nonetheless. Acceptance, you realise, as some of the tension in his shoulders leaves and he sags back against the wall of the tub, visibly exhausted. You realise upon gazing at his face that you’ve wet everywhere else but there���his lips, shapely with a natural downturned pout, are cracked and dry, the skin of his face appearing rough and slightly raw near his hairline and under his jaw.

Nervous now that he’s awake while you’re doing this, you cup some more water in your hands. He watches the movement like a hawk, shifting slightly.

“Close your eyes, please,” you tell him softly, despite the fact the salty water probably won’t hurt his eyes as it does yours. He blinks at you, yet despite the oddity of your request he does so anyway.

You lift your hands and part them over his head, allowing the water to flow down his face and over the rest of his skull. The inky curls atop his scalp soak up the water greedily, twirling strands sticking to his forehead as the water plasters them to his skin. The second the cool fluid touches him he takes in a shaky, sharp inhale, lashes fluttering as droplets tickle them. You repeat the motion a few more times, cupping water in your hands separately and releasing it over the tender-looking areas over the sides of his face. You wet your hand and retrieve more water to brush over the raw patches near his hairline and under his jaw, and can’t help but gasp when the second they’re soaked in the fluid little scales shimmy to the surface, embedded in the skin. Another glance to the rest of his body reveals the same thing has happened in some areas on his human parts, the dark scales appearing in a patch at the outer corners of his eyes and making them appear dramatic and elongated. A glance to the floor where similar scales litter the wood near your feet and you realise they must have dried and shed, falling off when they weren’t kept wet.

You don’t realise you’re cupping his face in your palm still as you ponder until you feel soft lashes brush your thumb. You look up in surprise to catch him peering at you once more. Cheeks hot, you retract your hand and clear your throat nervously.

“Right,” you say, more for your benefit than his. “Now you look a little less like you’re dying, lets get you out of those chains, huh?”

He doesn’t say anything, but an eager glint slips into his deep brown eyes and he wriggles, shifting anxiously. You rise from where you were crouched, thighs and knees protesting greatly, and let out a slight pained grunt as you peer over at the chains.

They’re not wrapped that complicatedly, you realise, it’s just that they’re thick and heavy and there’s a few of them there. You reach forward, catching the end of one in your hand, and pull it out of a loop it was threaded through, the links brushing his arm as you do so. A hiss from below you startles you mid-motion—you glance down to see an expression of pain on the merman’s face, and return your eyes to his arm as realisation washes over you along with immediate guilt. Where the iron links brushed his skin there are now red welts, as thought it burned him upon contact. Oddly enough, the idea isn’t that foreign to you—iron is meant to ward off faeries in legends, isn’t it? You’re not surprised that another kind of ‘magical’ creature is repelled by it as well.

“Sorry,” you whisper, and you mean it. From then on you unwind the chains with the utmost care, making sure you don’t touch him with them more than necessary.

It takes a bit longer than you would like, but eventually you get his arms and wrists free of the wretched chains. The male is sagged against the side of the tub, his arms and wrists submerged in the water. You watch, fascinated, as the fluid seems to kickstart their healing—the open wounds begin to stitch back together and the red welts begin to lessen in their intensity. You allow him a few moments more to recover before you speak.

“I’m going to get you out,” you say to him, meeting his gaze as his eyes flutter open. “But we need to go now. The longer we’re here, the riskier it is and the harder it will be to get away. Are you ready?”

The male seems a little conflicted, somewhat at a loss, and you realise it’s probably because from the looks of it he’d been here long enough that he’d probably come to terms with dying here. Nonetheless, a resolved expression filters across his features and he nods in response. You offer him a smile.

“Alright. I’ll have to lift you and carry you, but first…”

If you’re going to be tracking the pirate for even more years to come after this, you’re going to need resources. You grab a big handful of gold coins and slip them into a small, secure pouch at your waist. That ought to do you for a while.

The merman seems somewhat amused as you turn back to him, and you have the presence of mind to be a little sheepish. “What? I’m going to find a better use for it than he will.”

The merman has the nerve to roll his eyes and you sputter for a moment before the creaking of the ceiling splits the air and the two of you freeze. A detached sort of panic sinks into your abdomen, a sense of renewed urgency filling your bones, and you turn to the merman once more. “Alright, time to go.”

Getting him out of the tub isn’t a struggle, but finding the optimal position to hold him in is. He’s not all that heavy in his current state but he is slippery, so you need to utilise his grip in combination with your own. He ends up with his arms looped around your neck in an abridged sort of piggy-back. He doesn’t have legs to put either side of your waist so it’s just his tail that ducks under one arm and winds around your waist like a coil. You had no idea that the limb had that kind of flexibility and now that you know you have no idea what to do with the information.

Surprisingly, navigating out of the hallway you’re in is easier than the time you had finding it (by accident, that is). Hall by hall, corner by corner, your hands are full both figuratively and literally with the merman and both making sure he’s not drying out too quickly and you’re not running into any unwelcome characters. You realise soon into your departure that the only way you will be able to free the merman properly is from the deck—trying to find a room with windows like the one you came in from will take too long and run a greater risk. No, better to run upstairs and leap overboard before they can think twice.

The heavens appear to be smiling upon you, as it doesn’t take long at all before you stumble across the main staircase that leads to the top of the deck. You freeze at the base, taking a moment to steel yourself. This night has taken a turn you didn’t expect in the least but now you just… you just have to go with it. Another shaky inhale, you become aware of the merman’s soft pants against your neck, the sound somewhat laboured. Right. You don’t have time to spare dillydallying, you don’t want the merman to arrive at death’s door for the second time in one night. You shift, making sure the dagger against your thigh is ready and accessible before you bite the bullet and dart up the stairs as quickly and quietly as possible.

It is eerily silent, and you should have been more suspicious but you couldn’t focus on anything but getting out of here. It proves to be a slight downfall for you.

The second you breach the deck, you’re made aware of the fact that you aren’t alone—pirates are scattered around, some drinking others performing typical seafaring tasks, and you have all of about two seconds before they see you and register your presence. The second you turn to dash to the side of the ship, you’re spotted.

“What? Oi! Who the hell are you?! Stop right there!”

Instantly, you’re in the open and a clear target. There are a few shocked shouts at the sight of what you’re carrying, but you tune it all out as you dart for the side, legs burning from the effort.

“Oi, that’s the captain’s treasure—STOP HER!”

You swing the merman around your body, setting him on the railing, and offer him an apologetic look as you bid him good bye. His eyes are wide and scared as you speak in a rush, “It was nice meeting you. Get as far away as you can, alright?”

You don’t wait for him to nod. You place your hands on his chest and hip and with a great heave you push him off the railing, over the side of the ship. His tail and fins whip in the air after him before disappearing from view. Barely a second later does the loud splash of his body entering the water greet you and you almost let out a sigh of relief—

Except there’s suddenly a loud, deafening BANG from behind you and the wood near your hand is splintering, shards flying into the air from the impact of the bullet. You jerk back instantly, remembering where you are just in time to dodge the swing aimed at you by a pirate with a nasty beard and a hanging gut. He lets out an angry growl and lunges for you again with the large, curved sword clenched in his meaty fist. Your eyes dart around, looking for a quick escape.

You spy a bottle to the side, a haphazard plan forming in your mind as you see a torch hanging not too far from your head. You have barely seconds to think this through and act as more pirate lurch forward and you dodge, leg kicking out and knocking the bottle to the deck. It smashes upon impact, rum spilling and soaking into the boards, and a sick sense of glee tickles your ribs as you rip your dagger from your thigh and leap up, just barely managing to dislodge the torch and send it tumbling down.

The pirates roar in rage and panic as the second the open flame touches the ground it sparks and flares, barely a split-second passing before larger flames begin to lick and devour the wood of the deck.

“You wench!”

“You’re going to get it, girlie!”

You bite back a scream as another pirate lunges for you, tall and skinny but somewhat uncoordinated. The tip of his sword grazes your arm and at the sting you can’t help but yelp. You’re surrounded by furious pirates, all of which much more experienced and stronger than you. Cutthroats. You refuse to let this be how you die, not when you have unresolved business here.

You’re not good at combat, so when the pirates come at you one by one you dodge like hell. Your scrambling knocks several more bottles to the ground and fortuitously, they feed the ravenous flames that begin to spread along the deck and lick at the base of the main mast. Your little dagger is doing nothing to help you here, meant for stealth and assassination rather than hands on combat. Your eyes rake the scene for something, anything you can grab to defend yourself better.

There. To the other side of the deck, a barrel resting against the railings. You can see steel and fabric-wrapped handles peaking from within, and without thinking the second you see an opening you dart for it.

“Someone get the cap’n!”

“No need. Insolent girl.”

You’re intercepted right before the barrel as the sound of the baritone freezes your blood in your veins, terror curdling your insides. You can’t breathe for a moment but a moment is all that’s needed for a large hand to grab you by the collar and haul you into the air.

The deck of his ship is steadily going up in flames behind him, something that should overjoy you, yet it only serves to feed the absolute fear and horror crashing around in your abdomen. Pirate Lord Ezra, a hulking giant of a man, holds you in the air, a few feet from the ground, as easily as if he were holding a kitten by the scruff of its neck. The material of your collar cuts into your throat, breath becoming short and panicked as you’re suddenly faced with the man of your nightmares.

You’d come here to kill him, to slit his throat without mercy, but now, confronted with the furious snarl curling his lips and the promise of a gruesome death in his beady eyes—you’re suddenly forced to the realisation of how completely and utterly unprepared you are. Gold glints at you as he flashes his teeth, coarse beard threaded with beads and silver, as is the wild, inky mane that flares from his broad skull. His breath reeks of an indiscernible alcohol and the thick hand gripping your collar is covered in rings and jewels. His presence is overwhelming and you will always be enraged by his existence but right now, more than anything, you’re terrified.

The Pirate Lord absolutely bellows his laughter when you attempt to struggle, legs kicking. “Don’t try it, girlie. You’re not going anywhere. You think the punishment is going to be light for stealing from me, from my personal treasure room, and setting my ship on fire? How foolish of you.”

You try and calm your panicked breaths enough to just think, very aware that if you’re going to get away you have to do something in the next few seconds. The deck is beginning to disappear beneath smoke and flames, the fire about to spread too far to be stopped, and the grip on your collar tightens. Some of his crew scramble to put out the flames and the rest remain surrounding you. The only side not barred by leering pirates is your right, where the railing and the inky expanse of the ocean await you.

“You bastard,” you spit, seething despite your terror, and attempt to lash and kick him. The pirate seems a cross between enraged and humoured as he dodges with ease.

“Oh the heavens have blessed us today, ‘ave they? The ones with some fight‘re always the most fun to break,” the pirate leers, pulling you closer. You panic for a second before you remember the item in your hold and, at a loss for how else to escape this situation, decide to pull a hail Mary and just fucking go for it.

“Fuck you!” you curse him with all the venom you can muster, and then you whip your arm up. The dagger in your hold embeds itself in his forearm and with a roar his hand releases its grip, dropping you to the ground. You’re dazed for the split-second you hit the ground, but lurch to your feet immediately.

He roars and spits in rage; you hear the sound of the dagger clattering to the ground as you turn to the barrel. You can tell, can feel he’s going to reach for you with his good hand, and in a fit of adrenaline-fuelled terror you grasp the handle sticking out the most and pull it out in one smooth movement.

The next few things happen very quickly. The pirate curses at you as you turn on your heel, reaching for you as expected. His hand grows closer than you anticipate and you panic, your arm raising as you complete your turn then swinging down with all the strength you can muster. You watch, eyes wide, as the curved blade comes down in a perfect arc right where the base of the pirate’s hand melts into his forearm. The steel sinks into his wrist so easily you’re almost nauseated, the blade catching only barely on the bone before continuing through the flesh and severing it completely. There’s a half-beat of stillness in the air before his dismembered hand drops to the wooden deck  with a heavy thud and then the pirate lord is releasing a deep, strangled scream of pain, voice abrasive and coarse against your eardrums. The crew surrounding you exclaim and shout in shock, and you realise that if you’re going to flee it’s got to be now or never. You throw the sword away, turning as you do so, and scramble onto the thick railing.

You rake in a big breath and then you’re leaping forward, bringing your arms together above you as you dive down to the inky depths. Moonlight chases your form as you break the surface, the water washing over you like liquid ice. When you resurface, gasping for air, it’s to a world aglow with silver moonlight and blazing flames. The fire spread much more than you anticipated, and you watch as various items are thrown overboard in the chaos atop the deck. You keep low, only your head bobbing just above water in case they’re looking for you. Your limbs begin to tire quickly from treading water though, and you ache to let them rest. You look around, but the small boat you’d taken here is nowhere to be found. As the ship turns in its path, sailing in a blaze away from where you are, you allow yourself to swim away while seeking something to cling onto.

Perhaps the heavens are smiling upon you, you think as you catch sight of a large crate and barrel floating none too far from where you are. There is a length of rope tied around the barrel that is floating along the surface of the water, and in a momentary stroke of genius you use it to fasten the two items together.

There you go. A makeshift raft and your only floatation device for the time being.

After hauling yourself out of the water and onto the two items as well as you can considering their unstable floating nature, you take a moment to look around more than you did before. A sense of horror begins to sink into your bones as you realise, belatedly that you don’t recognise where you are and you don’t see any land nearby. You feel like an idiot—they must have pulled the anchor and left while you were on board. You have no idea which direction they went from the coastline, and therefore no idea where to go from here—not that you’d be making much headway with only your legs and arms for propulsion. Well… at least you freed that merman.

You flop back against the makeshift raft, glaring at the sky and pretending the wetness dripping down your cheeks is seawater and not tears. The chattering of your teeth and harsh nip of the air against your soaked form is another thing you ignore. You have such a mixture of emotions inside you that you have no idea how to even begin to unpack. It’s an acidic cocktail that climbs your oesophagus, burning your nose and behind your eyes. You don’t regret freeing the merman at all, but as the knowledge that you’ve lost the trail of the pirate king again and won’t have another opportunity like tonight for god knows how long sinks in, you feel a pit of hopelessness and despair opening up inside you. And deep within the pit, anger begins to bubble—at yourself, and the pirate king, hell even the moon. What did you ever do to her? You feel like she’s mocking you from where she sits, perched full and plump amongst the stars. Well, at least she isn’t alone.

Wiping the wetness from your face, you pull your legs from the water and curl up on the crate, trying not to tip it in the process. It’s cold, soaked to the bone as you were, and you feel regret despite not knowing which part of the night spawned it. Floating alone on the ocean in the aftermath of your assassination attempt gone awry, you’re left to your thoughts with only the moon and the inky depths of the ocean for company.

x     +     x     +     x     +     x

 One might think that chopping off the hand of your greatest nemesis would alleviate some of the rage you’ve held for them since childhood. One would be wrong, however. You don’t feel better at all.

You’ve been adrift for two days now. Objectively, not that long. But realistically, you’ve felt every second of it. You have enough loose clothing that you can cover your exposed skin from the sun, but you’re so hungry and so thirsty that you’re beginning to think maybe you should just let the elements claim you so you’re not suffering anymore. You’ve even considered drowning yourself, or praying to the heavens for a sea storm, a few times.

You’re being dramatic. You know this, and you’re annoyed at yourself. You can’t die, you won’t die—you refuse to accept death as an possibility in this scenario. Not when you still haven’t exacted the revenge you’ve been planning and plotting for so long. Instead of accepting your loss the other night, the day’s you’ve spent left to your own thoughts have done nothing but stoke the rage and regret inside you. You hate that man, and you wish you’d aimed for his throat that night instead of his stupid hand. You hadn’t killed him, hadn’t risked his life—you’d just managed to make him more of a pirate. Next time you see him, he’ll probably have a hook. If you see him, that is. The reason you’re so annoyed at yourself is because this feels like it was your one opportunity to carry out your plan and you fucked it up. Realistically, you probably won’t get another chance as perfect as that.

This kind of inner monologue was what plagues you in your waking hours. A part of you realises that it’s a defence mechanism, focusing on your anger so you don’t feel quite feel the hunger or the thirst as much. If you’re too busy thinking to be feeling how much your body is crying out for help, then perhaps it will increase your chances of survival. And you have to survive, because you have unfinished business here still.

As your second day melts into night, however, you realise that perhaps there’s another reason you’re feeding into the anger. Perhaps, an alarming part of you fears that you might not have a choice but to accept the direction your fate is currently headed. With each hour that ticks over and each pang of hunger and burn of thirst that torments your senses, you become a little more resigned to your fate.

x     +     x     +     x

It’s kind of miraculous you’ve been alive this long, in all honesty.

You can practically feel yourself melting into a delirium of sorts as the sun moves through the sky, warming you before the cool embrace of night. You think it’s been three days that you’ve been drifting. Again, not that long, but when you’re without drinkable water and have no method of getting any… well, let’s say you’re feeling it.

Your mouth and throat feel so dry and constricted that a part of you wonders if you’ll even be able to talk again, should you happen to survive this experience. You almost roll your eyes at yourself—why, on the brink of death, are you so dramatic? You don’t remember being like this, or maybe you have always been like this and are only noticing now because it’s the first time you’ve literally only had yourself for company for so long. Gods, you’re unbearable. Why had you attempted to kill the pirate lord when you could have just locked yourself in the room with him and tortured him that way.

The thought makes you let out a delirious little giggle, unfocused gaze directed to the stars. It’s your fourth night and you feel oddly at peace. At some point over the day the anger you felt bled away and now you’re just… existing. You’ve reached a point that you could probably call acceptance. Even now there’s a part of you that resists that notion, but it’s…. significantly quieter. Much easier to block out. In the absence of that particularly loud voice, you find your mind wandering. When the sunset bled into dusk you’d been thinking about whether anyone had ever counted how many stars there are in the sky. That was a few hours ago, and now you’re onto better, more evolved topics of mental conversation.

Like what would it look like, if the moon had oceans on it too?

It would probably have splotches of blue. Or, what if it was a different colour? Personally, you’re partial to purple. The idea of a purple-spotted moon makes you smile. Ah, if only.

Registering the familiar ache in your back that comes when you lay on it for too long, the odd angles and edges of your ‘raft’ most unkind to your squishy human body, you roll weakly onto your stomach with a sigh, resting your face on your forearm. Against your better judgement, you let your toes dip just barely into the water. The fact you’ve barely seen any sea life apart from a few fish this entire time alarms you more than it comforts you. You’d rather keep being safe than sorry, but it’s too taxing to hold your legs up constantly so you begrudgingly let them lower and hope its not your downfall.

You’re drifting off, dissociating a little as you stare at the moonlight glimmering along the water’s surface. The rocking of your crate and barrel structure is almost comforting at this point, a source of consistency and security. Your gaze is a little unfocused, and that is probably why it takes a while for you to register the sudden strange glimmer that the inky water before you adopts. You squint, staring a little harder. It’s like something is glowing, deep beneath the surface, luminescent greens and blues shining through the murky filter of the ocean to greet your eyes.

Great, now you’re hallucinating.

Except, it doesn’t stop and fade as you expect a hallucination would. Your apathy is replaced by a healthy dose of shock and alarm as the glowing object seems to grow closer, nearing the surface and brightening as it does. To your sudden horror, the closer it gets the more you are able to make out the shape, and it begins to resemble something big, moving quickly through the depths.

You don’t even have the energy to scramble back when whatever it is breaks the surface, merely pinching your eyes shut and hoping for a quick death if your time really has come. Tiny droplets sprinkle against your skin and apart from the soft sloshing of water, there is silence. Surprised and slightly unnerved, you peek your eyes open cautiously. The sight they take in you robs the breath from your lungs.

It's the merman.

You can barely take in your next breath from the shock and the way your heart stutters in your chest; you'd thought so before, but especially now in this moment, he is beautiful. His face is fuller, body healed and features less gaunt than when you last saw him. Inky hair curls across his forehead, droplets slipping in glimmering trails of moonlight down his face. Now that you're no longer at risk of being skinned alive by pirates, you can take your time and appreciate the pert slope of his nose, the strong set of his jaw and the high arch of his cheekbones. Raven, iridescent scales speckle his skin on the outskirts of his face and the outer edge of his eyes, which glimmer deep cocoa as they bore into your own. His shapely lips are held in a neutral line, parting slightly as he regards you.

It's easy to forget that the last time you saw him, you pushed him from the railing of a pirate ship.

There is something completely different about him from then, though. The glow that you'd glimpsed through the water earlier is in fact coming from a series of tattoo-like patterns that curl and sprawl over his skin, reacting to the moonlight and fading to obscurity in the shadows and valleys of his form.

For a moment, the two of you do nothing but sit and watch the other. His eyes sweep over you, taking in the tired and beaten nature of your crummy raft and limp body sprawled over it. It is ridiculous, considering you have spent the past however-many days refusing to accept death as your fate, but now you find your eyes stinging and your chin wobbling. How kind of the universe to provide you company in these moments that you realise suddenly really might be your last.

The merman is more than alarmed at the sudden reversal of your roles. He panics slightly, eyes widening and hands flying from the water, flinging droplets over your skin once more. His fingers twitch, hands moving towards your face before halting, hesitant.

You stare at him a moment longer, watching as his features shift ever so slightly with each thought that runs through his head. You're a little delirious, maybe, but also absolutely mesmerised. You can't stop marvelling, can't tear your gaze from his face-- gods, he's beautiful.

He opens his mouth, lips parting, and to your surprise you catch movement from the corner of your eyes-- gills, you realise quickly, that sit on either side of his neck underneath his jaw and flare before sealing closed as he attempts to take in oxygen. You watch his throat bob, as though he is trying to speak to you, but nothing comes out but a rasp and soft, wet, gurgle. He snaps his mouth shut, eyes sweeping over your sad body once more before a frown tugs his lips. He bobs lower in the water, the fluid lapping softly over glowing, marked shoulders.

This time, when he reaches forward with his hands, he no longer hesitates. His skin is surprisingly smooth, the pads of his fingers like silk as they brush over your cheekbones. They come away wetter than before and you realise belatedly that your eyes still sting and you are crying.

How embarrassing, you think distantly, yet you can't seem to stop.

He holds your gaze a moment longer, eyes darting over your face, before he leans back, putting a little bit of distance between you. He reaches out one hand, the other slipping into the water, and pats the top of your knuckles softly. In a way, it reminds you of the way pet owners tell their dogs to sit and stay. He lingers for another brief moment, and then before you can blink he suddenly drops back beneath the surface with a plop. The glow of his markings remain visible for only a moment before they, too, disappear from your sight.

It takes a second before alarm registers in you, and even longer for you to decipher the cause of the sudden gaping fissure of loss that splits your insides. You thought you were going to have company in the last moments of your life, you were relieved you weren’t going to die alone—but the merman just left as quickly as he came and you’ve never felt quite as gutted as you do now. You saved his life and for what? So he could leave you alone when you actually needed him? You realise distantly how irrational and overemotional you’re being, no doubt fuelled by delirium and all the other lovely things your days floating at sea have brought about, but you can’t help it. It’s a ridiculous thing to feel betrayed over—by a mythical creature you didn’t even know really existed until a few days ago, of all things—but still, it stings.

You don’t know how long you stare into the water miserably, but eventually your eyes begin to burn and, regrettably, you allow them to close. It’s not quite a proper sleep that you slip into, your body exhausted but still incredibly on edge, but something in between rest and waking. Hence, when the familiar sound of water rippling and parting as something breaks the surface greets your ears once more, you’re quick to rouse in alarm.

Eyes shooting open, your vision remains blurry for a moment before you blink it away and a gasp catches in your throat, your chest warming.

The merman came back.

He seems to realise that you thought he’d left for good, an apologetic expression filtering across his features. You sniffle, mouth and throat too dry to say anything, but your attention is drawn when he pulls his hands from the water. To your surprise, he is cupping something in his hold, a small treasure box of sorts that looks like it’s spent most of its life at the bottom of the ocean but would have gleamed gold in its prime. Perplexed and curious, you watch as he lifts the lid and retrieves something wrapped in green and an old, barnacle-decorated flask from within. Mindful of where your weight is distributed on the raft, he sets it next to you, waiting a moment to make sure it won’t fall. As soon as he sees it’s stable, he sets the wrapped item next to it, taking the flask into both hands.

With nimble fingers, he undoes the top and cleans around the neck and mouth of the bottle, revealing gleaming silver where the layers of sea grime have been wiped clear. He seems a little sheepish about its less than ideal state as you watch him, but is sure to wipe it as spotless as possible before he holds it out to you.

For a moment, you simply stare at it and wonder, does he know that you can’t drink seawater? Is it even water that is inside? Sniffling a bit, you shift just barely so you’re leaning on your elbow and sniff the mouth of the bottle where its offered to you. The indescribable but distinct, slightly-metallic smell of fresh water greets your nostrils and you blink in surprise, mouth falling open as you look to the merman in shock. He’s watching your reaction curiously, waiting patiently, and when he sees you’re not going to resist he carefully brings the container to your lips. You’re too shocked and excited at the prospect of finally having some water to ease the sticky desert in your mouth and throat to protest, allowing him to feed it to you with ease.

The second the water touches your tongue and slides down your throat like a liquid cure, you feel as though you could cry. You try and be as conservative with the water as possible, desperately trying not to let any escape your mouth as you gulp it down. All too soon though the flow of water comes to an end, the flask empty before you can completely sate your thirst. It almost makes you cry again, running out, but you focus on how grateful you are to have had any at all instead of moping further.

You sniffle, eyes stinging as an overwhelming wave of gratitude surges through you for the creature bobbing in the water before you.

“Thank you,” you manage to croak, throat and vocal chords aching slightly after days of remaining unused. You sniffle again, letting your face drop to your arm so you can wipe away the snot. “Thank you…”

When you manage to lift your head back up, the merman is smiling at you softly, a fond curve to his eyes. He screws the lid back on the flask, swapping it with the wrapped item he’d put down earlier. Feeling somewhat rejuvenated now you’re a little less dehydrated than you had been, you watch him a little more actively as he gingerly pinches the green material—which you realise now is seaweed—between his fingers and, with careful hands, unravels it from the item held within. Instantly, a salty, warm aroma wafts up to your nose and your mouth is salivating before it even registers in your head that you’re currently looking at food.

In his palms, cupped together to hold it better, is a neat line of fish that, upon closer inspection, appears to have been boiled. Curious as to how the merman had brought you cooked food but unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth, you send him a wide-eyed look. “For… for me?”

When he nods, you almost cry again. God, days at sea and you turn into the biggest crybaby to ever exist.

He waits as you gratefully and eagerly begin eating what he brought for you, retrieving chunks of fish and feeding you carefully. The flavour is bland but in this scenario it’s definitely not a deal-breaker. You’re so thankful that something edible is even touching your tongue, you don’t care that its boiled, unseasoned fish in the least. In all honesty, after days of eating nothing you think this might be the best meal you’ve ever had.

When you’re done devouring the fish, the merman folds the seaweed and tucks it back into the treasure box with the flask, closing the lid. He smiles as you thank him again, and holds up a hand as though telling you to wait. He ducks back beneath the water, but this time you’re hopeful that he’ll return.

And he does, not long after he disappears. Definitely a quicker trip than last time, although you suppose that is to be expected since he was gathering food and freshwater for you to drink. You have no idea how or where he got it from, but you’re eternally thankful either way.

He smiles at you as soon as he resurfaces, water dripping down his face and plastering inky strands to his forehead before he shakes his head and they fling up, curling away from his scalp wildly. Once more, you're mesmerised by the way the moonlight makes him literally glow-- from his luminescent marks to the way the iridescent scales glittering across his skin catch the light. If you peer further into the inky depths, you can just barely catch sight of the oil-slick tail curling and winding to tread the water and keep him afloat, wispy finds trailing behind it and glowing in a similar manner to the marks across his skin.

Tenderly, the merman reaches to brush some of the salt-crusted hair from your forehead, offering a small smile. You've only just finished munching and feel much more energised as a result of some actual food and water entering your body, but the second his fingers drag across your skin like silk it is as though all the exhaustion your body held in the past few days comes crashing down on you at once. Your eyes droop, and you struggle to keep them open because he's still here and you want to look at him while you can. You don't know if this was it, if this was what he was doing to repay you and you wouldn't see him after this. If that was the case, you wanted to remember everything about the way he looks and makes you feel in this moment.

The merman's lips curl slightly at the edges, apparently endeared by your struggle to remain awake, and he lifts his hands partly from the water to place them flat against the crate before they search for a groove in the wood that allows his fingers to find a proper grip. His body tilts and you don't notice it at first, as exhausted as you are, but soon catch on that he's turning your raft. Once he seems appeased by the direction it's 'facing', he adjusts his grip and leans back slightly. It takes you another moment to realise that he's actually pulling you in a certain direction, propelling the two of you steadily with his tail beneath the surface. What a sight you must be to anything that passes, you think. A girl lying draped across a barrel and a crate, being pulled by a glowing mercreature.

You wish to stay up, to watch the merman a little more. A part of you wants to talk to him, but you're also very aware that he can't respond and so it isn't much of a pressing matter to you. Gradually, the sound of the ocean and the gentle knocking of the water against your craft as it's dragged through the waves is enough to lull you to sleep. For the first time in a few days you welcome it, allowing yourself to go easily. The last thing you see before your eyes close fully is the merman's beautiful features tugged into a fond smile, illuminated by a halo of moonlight and a crown of stars.

x x x x x x x

Each night after that, the merman returns to keep you company. He always brings the same small treasure chest and a flask of fresh water, but to your pleasant surprise also tries to change up the food that he wraps in seaweed. So far you've been treated to a few different kinds of fish, some crab and other seafood that you admittedly don't know the name of. Some of them tasted better than others, but no matter what he brings you're grateful. He's the only reason you haven't perished out here.

There is a routine that the two of you have fallen into. Every time he comes, he will feed you and then return the items to wherever he retrieved them from. When he pops back up he grasps your 'raft' and does the same as he did the first night, pulling you through the ocean towards a destination that you don't know and have no way of inquiring about. You've since outgrown your hesitance to talk, and now chatter away aimlessly at him whenever he seems willing to listen. Some days he surfaces in a better mood than others, but always by the end of his visit you manage to have him smiling again. You only ever see him once the sun has fallen past the horizon and the moon has risen in her wake, but you swear that every time he flashes a soft smile at you the sun peaks back out for a moment to bask you in her warmth.

Call it sad or pathetic, but you're starting to develop a bit of a crush on this creature.

How can you not? When he has done nothing but go out of his way to help you and ensure you survive, feeding you and guiding you and keeping you company in the hours where you would otherwise be most prone to going insane bit by bit? You make sure to thank him every day, after every kind act he does for you, and even though he can't communicate as you do above the water it's clear he is aware of your gratitude.

The routine holds true for a few nights, although you lost count at some point you know a fair few have passed. One night, however, the merman doesn't show at the usual time; he's made a habit of popping up in the hour after dusk settles and when time ticks over and it becomes several hours past the time he usually arrives, you grow a little concerned. Well, concerned and a little sad. A part of you worries if he has finally decided to stop coming, and another, smaller part wonders if this whole ordeal was just an elaborate hallucination that resulted from your parched, starved state before you 'met him'.

Thankfully, the merman shows up; he rises from the depths with his telltale glow just before you're about to doze off, drooping eyes shooting wide open at the sight of him. You almost ask him where he was before biting your tongue on the matter, realising he wouldn't be able to answer you anyway. Instead, you allow your eyes to sweep over him for any clues that might suggest why he took longer than usual today.

You've accepted the fact that your mercreature friend quite literally glows in the moonlight, but tonight he appears especially radiant. It takes you a moment to realise that it's because the entire time since he broke the surface, the grin hasn't left his face. You're not sure what has happened in his world that he's so pleased about, but his happiness is apparently contagious. It completely washes away your earlier mood and you find yourself smiling as you chat to him in between bites of seaweed and fish.

Contrary to what you expect, when he finishes feeding you tonight (something he insists on doing even though you've long since regained the strength needed to feed yourself) he doesn't immediately dart off beneath the waves to return the treasure box. Instead, he places the box on the raft with the materials inside, then dips his hands beneath the water to reach for his waist. When they return above the surface they're clutching a small, woven pouch in their grasp. The merman seems almost giddy as he opens it up, nimble fingers tugging the twisted string loose enough to fit his hand inside.

You feel your mouth drop at the items he withdraws, presenting them in his damp hand for you to gaze upon. In his palm are three pearls; one white like a drop of pure moonlight, one shimmering, iridescent black like his scales, and one that gleamed pretty and nacreous with a soft undertone that, oddly enough, resembles the colour of your eyes. You're unable to help the way you stare at them in awe for a moment, before looking up to catch his gaze on you. Your head tilts as you send him a questioning look, unsure exactly what he wants from you.

He smiles, endeared by your mannerisms. He places his pouch beside you, using his now free hand to place his fingers on his lips. He then points them to the pearls in his palm, before moving them slightly closer to you. Your cheeks heat as you catch onto what he is trying to tell you.

"You... want me to kiss them?" you attempt to clarify, blush intensifying when he nods. "Why?"

His smile simply grows and adopts a somewhat cheeky edge, eyes curving with glee. His markings cast a soft glow on the pearls in his palm, but it's less strong now that he is holding them closer to you and further from his body.

You're a little embarrassed and bashful, but you suppose what is the worst that can happen? With warm cheeks you allow your head to dip and your lips to brush the pearls, careful not to kiss his palm on accident. For some reason that feels as though it would be a little too intimate, and you're already trying not to combust as it is.

To your surprise, when you pull your head back up the merman is positively beaming at you, something neither you nor your heart are really ready for. He grabs the pouch, quickly depositing them back inside before plopping it back in the water and fastening it around his waist; the only reason you can see what he is doing is because of the moonlight making him glow. He pats your hand with his own, the action he usually does to reassure you that he'll be right back, and then he's grabbing the treasure box and ducking beneath the surface as usual.

It feels like it takes a little longer for him to return this time, but you have no way of knowing for sure. He breaks the surface, still grinning, and goes about gripping the raft and beginning to tug it along as he usually does. You're a little ashamed to say that somewhere along the way, in between your one-sided chatter and admiration of his beauty, you fall asleep earlier than you usually do. It's probably due to the fact he appeared later than normal, but you digress. If you stayed up even a little longer, you'd probably have a little more of an idea about the scene that greets you when you crack your eyes open the next morning.

You wake up to the feeling of sand.

Admittedly, it is an alarming thing to wake up to when you've gotten used to sleeping with the feeling of rough, unforgiving wood beneath you and the rocking lull of the ocean. In the few seconds after you rejoin the world of the living to the familiar feeling of the sun beating down on you, there is a sense of acceptance that settles within your being. Then you move and grains of sand move with you and you're darting into a sitting position with wide eyes, blinking rapidly so your vision clears and you can see where the hell you are.

It doesn't take you long to figure out you're on a beach.

You scramble to a stand, legs incredibly wobbly and so unsteady you almost tumble several times before you manage to right yourself properly. Subconsciously your eyes sweep the strip of sand for the items that kept you afloat all this time, and you're strangely relieved to see them not too far from the indent in the sand where you must have washed up. God, you must have been knocked the hell out to wash up on a beach and stay asleep through the whole thing.

It's right about now that it really sinks in-- you washed up, you're on land right now. The realisation has your legs wobbling from shock and tears of happiness stinging your eyes, elation filling your chest. God, you didn't think you'd ever see land again! The urge rises within you to drop and kiss the ground and it takes all of your willpower to fight it. As happy as you are to feel sand beneath your feet, you're not exactly keen to have it anywhere near your mouth.

The sun is especially potent today, almost harsh against your skin even though it can't be any later than mid morning. You're relieved to have the option of shade, finally, and whip around to face the treeline behind you giddily. From here you can catch glimpses of hills and a small mountain, the island nothing massive but definitely no small matter. You can't help but envision it ripe with fresh water and foods of all kinds, incredibly optimistic now that you're no longer stranded at sea.

It hits you about three steps towards the treeline that the reason you were able to get here at all is  because of the merman. You feel a mixture of emotions swirling inside you at the sudden realisation, warmth blooming in your abdomen and climbing up your spine to bud and blossom behind your ribs. You owe that merman your life.

Despite knowing that you wouldn’t see him, you still can’t help but peer over your shoulder and let your eyes sweep across the horizon, searching for a small glimmer or even a bit of glow amongst the waves and the horizon. Nothing greets you, of course, but for some reason… for some reason you feel as though wherever he is, he isn’t all that far away. It soothes you, that feeling, and you turn to the treeline with renewed optimism and excitement.

Food other than fish and seafood, here you come!

x     +     x     +     x     +     x

The first night you spend on the island, the merman doesn’t come.

You don’t know why, but for some reason you’d just taken it for granted that come the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon, you’d see his cheery, glowing visage popping up amongst the waves as you usually do. In your scavenging of the forest near where you washed up, you manage to find a few fruits—some of which you recognise, thankfully—and you gather them in your shirt to bring back to the beach at nightfall, where you plop onto the sand and await the arrival of your fishy friend. You think that if you weren’t so exhausted you probably would have stayed up the whole night waiting for him. You crash, though, a few hours into the night, and it wouldn’t matter even if you try and push yourself and stay up. The merman doesn’t come.

On your second day occupying the island, you venture further inland and manage to find a cute little cave next to a crystalline lagoon of sorts, the bottom of which is so deep and blue you can’t even see where it ends. The cave on the other hand appears shallow from the outside, but has a considerable amount of room on the inside. You’re already planning to gather some wood and materials to block it off and make it a bit more habitable—after you clear out all the spiders and weird little lizards you see in there, though. You get some more fruit and food and begin a stockpile of sorts. When day bleeds into night and the moon’s rays kiss your skin once more, you head back to the beach and settle down, waiting once more. The merman doesn’t come.

The following days, the routine varies but always ends the same. When each day draws to a close, you finish what you’re doing and head to the beach where you washed up, settling down and waiting. With each day that passes and the merman doesn’t show, you begin to lose a little hope. Each time you fall asleep on the sand and wake to the warmth of the sun and an empty beach, the part of you that wonders if you’re just crazy and imagined the whole thing grows a little louder.

You miss him.

It doesn’t take you long to realise that in the short time you spent with him, you grew to like him, a lot. You also realise part of it is probably just that without him, your days at sea would have been incredibly lonely and no doubt would have driven you insane eventually. Perhaps you’ve grown a bit attached to him, but aside from that… you’ve grown to like him. Hell, he hasn’t ever uttered a word to you and he’s currently missing, but you miss the solace you found in his bright smile, his warm eyes and his… his glow, as stupid as that sounds.

It’s perhaps a week after you arrived on the island—something that you’re keeping track of with a little rock and tally in your cave— that the little routine you’ve settled into is disrupted. Contrary to how the rest of your days were spent, last night you curled up alongside the lagoon, the sand there a little softer than the beach, and admired the brightness of the stars against the deep ink of the sky—it was a fresh, waxing moon, and from that information you guess that you’ve been missing from civilisation for probably… around or a little more than three weeks. But the main point is that you fell asleep next to the lagoon instead of next to the ocean.

Which is why the sight you wake up to the next morning gives you such a heart attack.

These past few days you’ve woken up on your own, your body clock set to rouse you a few hours after sunrise. Today, however, it’s a persistent prodding that brings you from the clutches of sleep. Mumbling to yourself softly, you crack your eyes open and blink blearily; when your vision clears, it reveals a shockingly familiar face barely inches from your own. You scream.

The merman jerks back, eyes wide as you scramble away in fright, heart pounding against your chest and breathing uneven.

“What.” Your voice is sharp and strangled until you clear your throat and try again, managing to calm down a little. “What on… where did you go?!”

The merman seems amused that it’s the first time you see him in over a week, and that’s the first thing to come out of your mouth. You’re too shocked to see him the second you wake up—at daytime nonetheless!— to keep your tongue in check. You’re halfway to wondering how long he’s been there when you realise another important factor; you fell asleep next to the lagoon last night. Your eyes immediately dart down, and to your surprise you see that he’s leaning over the edge of the lagoon on his elbows, his body from hips-down immersed in the crystalline waters. You catch movement from the corner of your eye and when you direct your gaze to it, your jaw drops. His tail swirls behind him, long and graceful and so pretty with the fins trailing behind it like ribbons and glimmering, opalescent gossamer, and his scales gleam brilliantly in the sunlight. His markings aren’t activated, but the iridescent shimmer of his scales makes up for it you think. You sputter as he lays there watching you, amused. Just as you go to speak again, he opens his mouth and does the last thing you expect him to do.

“Miss me, did you?”

You balk, mouth dropping open at the deep and husky, velvety tone that brushes your ears; it appears to come from the merman, and it takes several long moments for the observation to settle in. When it does, you let out a belated noise of shock and scramble back over to the merman.

“What! Since when can you talk! Have you been able to talk this whole time?!” the words tumble out of your mouth so fast it’s a wonder he can keep up. He’s grinning at your current state of shock, incredibly amused and staring with a fond look in his gaze.

“No, I could not talk before,” he says, still speaking softly—it takes you a moment to realise it’s probably so he doesn’t strain this new voice. “My speech organs were not adapted to speaking above the water.”

“Wh—then why can you—how can you talk to me now?” you continue looking at him with wide eyes, still reeling from the barrage of shocking things you’ve been faced with this morning. The merman looks kind of dazed even as you fire more questions at him, chin resting in his palm as he stares at you somewhat dreamily. It has your cheeks warming and heart skipping a beat.

“I asked a sea witch for help,” he answers simply after a few moments, blinking once lazily before a slow, fond smile stretches his lips further. “She wasn’t very agreeable at first, I had to bribe her. Then, once she performed the spell, I had to wait a few days for it to take effect and for me to heal. That is why I was gone. I am sorry if I worried you, human.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” you say immediately, averting your eyes and scratching the back of your neck. “I’m… I’m sure you have a life, too. You know, one that doesn’t revolve around keeping some dumb human alive.”

The merman fights a smile at your words, a faux stern expression filtering across his features. “I wouldn’t spend my time keeping just any dumb human alive, you know. Only the ones I owe my life to.”

You can’t help the smile that slips onto your lips at that. “Sweet of you,” you note, head tilting as something occurs to you suddenly. “Wait—you had to bribe a sea witch? Is that why you brought those pearls?”

The merman shrugs, tail twisting and arching from the water for a moment. He slaps it back down and grins when you let out a gasp at the cool droplets of water that spray on you as a result. “Yes, and no. I bribed her with some precious things from my home, but the pearls I needed for the spell.”

You let out a noise to indicate that you understand, even though you don’t really. “Huh. Well, uh… I’m… I’m glad you came back. I was getting lonely. And thank you, you know… for keeping me alive and bringing me here, wherever here is.”

The merman sways slightly, leaning closer as he beams. Some of his raven locks fall across his forehead from the movement, just shy of his lashes that are still wet and clinging together.  “It’s no problem, pretty pearl. The least I could do, really.”

Now that he can talk to you he seems to be filled with a new sort of zest and confidence, his hand leaving where it was rested against his bicep to reach and brush a lock of your hair that hangs loose by your face. You flush, and he hums. “And this isn’t just anywhere. It’s my home, the centre of my kingdom.”

You must appear as confused as you feel because he lets out a low chuckle, eyes pinching shut in mirth. You’re disarmed to note that he’s just as beautiful and radiant in the sunlight as he is beneath the glow of the moon, honey skin glowing gold and oil-slick scales shimmering through a rainbow of colours as they catch the light.

“Beneath the water, pretty pearl,” he enlightens you, a fond note entering his tone. “This island sits atop a massive network of underwater cave systems that span for miles. It’s the centrepiece, the capital city in the Kingdom of Sand. This island is part of the highest collection of caves, where the royal family live.”

He lets out an amused snicker, “You’re essentially living on the roof of the palace.”

Your mouth drops open, your mind doing a double-take at the load of information it has just received. Your eyes sweep over him as your thoughts attempt to order, taking in the string of pearls and shells around his throat you hadn’t noticed before, along with the silver metal slipped over his fingers. The only reason you see them now is because they glint in the light as he moves.  

“The palace?” you squeak, thinking about how just yesterday you took a quick dip in one of the other deep lagoons on the island to clean yourself off a bit. “Oh no… will I be in trouble? Will you be in trouble? You’re in the water right now, are you allowed to be here?!”

The merman grins brightly, laughing loudly at your fluster and panic. “I don’t think someone would get in trouble for roaming their own home, pretty pearl.”

He only has to wait a moment for his words to sink in and an alarmed noise to tear from your throat. “Wh—you--?!”

The merman pushed off from the bank, bobbing in the middle of the lagoon; he bends his upper half in an attempt at a bow, one hand extending to the side as the tips of his hair brush the water. “Third prince of the Sand Kingdom and third in line for the throne, Jung Hoseok, at your service.”

When he returns from the position it’s to the sight of you gaping like a fish and he can’t help the loud laugh that tears from him once more.

Well. This is certainly something to think about.

x     +     x     +     x     +     x

 It admittedly takes you a while to recover from the abrupt discovery that the merman you saved from a pirate’s ship, and who then went on to save you in return, is the prince of an underwater kingdom.

One of seven princes, actually.

That was another little tidbit that left you reeling when you heard it. After you woke up to the merman, Hoseok, poking you awake that day, you spent a long time afterwards talking. Making up for lost time, you suppose. He filled you in on a lot of things, like where he went and even how he prepared some of the food you ate, when you asked (they use underwater geysers to cook the meat). With an almost alarming amount of ease, you sink back into a comfortable routine with him—it doesn’t matter to you that he’s a prince, because he still acts the same as before and hence you still treat him the same. It probably should alarm you, you might get in trouble, but you’re too busy enjoying his return to care in all honesty.

Upon your arrival on the island, Hoseok’s visitation schedule flipped from night to day. Well, you say that because he makes sure to wake you somehow each morning—he is an obnoxiously early riser—but really, most of the time he ends up keeping you company into the night-time hours anyway. On the days he can, that is. You learn quickly that the only reason one of the oldest princes can spend so much time away from his kingdom and with you is because every time he visits he is, in actuality, shirking his duties.

You find this out thanks to a new character that pops up in one of the lagoons as you’re bickering with Hoseok about fish one day (perhaps a dumb argument to be having with a merman, but you digress). The male has stuck to you the whole morning thus far, ducking into the water and popping up in the next lagoon or water hole wherever you venture next. The lagoons and water holes are all connected by caves beneath, something he truly enjoys taking advantage of. You’re in a quaint little nook of the island near the base of the mountain, a little alcove with a water hole and tall palms draping over to offer generous shade. There are a few large rocks lining the edge of the water, and you use these to lay your primitive tools down on. Being stranded on an island has brought out your inner survivalist, it seems. You wish to say you’re thriving but you don’t think you can stretch it that far.

Hoseok is floating on his back, propelling himself in circles around the small body of water with lazy rolls of his tail, his fingers tapping against the water surface to disrupt the tension. He’s particularly stunning today, the sun bathing him in gold and making him glimmer in more ways than one. You don’t think you’ll ever stop being amazed at his beauty, really. You do find yourself growing tired of his sass, though. You should have known from that first eyeroll on the pirate ship that he had a lot of attitude and no intention of containing it.

“You can’t argue that boiled fish is better than smoked fish when you’ve only ever tried one of them,” you tell him as you attempt to crack into a coconut with a large, jagged rock you found. You’re making progress, but it’s slower than you’d like. “That’s biased.”

The merman snorts, closing his eyes and splashing some water over his face and chest to keep himself cool. “It’s not biased, it’s called being right.”

You have to take a moment so you don’t clutch the rock too tight, consciously loosening your grip. God, he’s annoying—you like him a little too much.

“Well, you’re wrong so you’re not very good at being right,” you shoot back, before a sudden thought occurs to you and you turn to him accusingly. “On the topic of fish, if you’re a prince and third in line for the throne then why did all the fish you brought me taste so bland? Don’t you have chefs?”

At this, Hoseok lets out an offended noise and splashes into an upright position. His voice is indignant as it pierces your ears, and when you look up his cheeks have warmed to a bright pink, his ears suffering a similar fate. “Excuse me? I made that myself, it was not bland.”

For a moment you feel a little guilty for calling his cooking bland, then it hits you that he cooked for you to keep you alive and you can feel your cheeks flush with heat barely a split second later. To distract from the embarrassment, you open your mouth to fire something back. You don’t get to say anything though, because another voice cuts through the space that is neither Hoseok’s nor yours.

“So this is where you’ve been zipping off to all secretive every day, hyung.”

Hoseok jerks in alarm, water splashing about as he whips around to face a figure that you just now notice has popped up to the edge of the water hole. It’s another merman, you gather from the shimmer of scales you glimpse beneath the surface of the water, with big brown eyes and a messy mop of dripping black hair. His wide eyes flick between your shocked self and Hoseok, who is only just recovering from the fright, and a small smile of mischief curls his lips.

“Jungkookie,” Hoseok’s voice sounds in a warning, but you can tell there’s no bite behind it. From the fond set of his eyes as he regards the other male and the affectionate twinge hidden deep in his tone, you hedge a bet that this must be one of his brothers. “Shouldn’t you know better than to sneak up on people—namely, on me? And what are you doing here?!”

“I followed you when you left this morning,” the male says without a shred of fear for any repercussions, voice smooth and clear as his gaze fixes on you. He wades over, close enough for you to catch the fiery glimmer of cherry scales embedded in his skin that gleam sunset in the light, curious eyes never leaving you as he continues to talk. “I wanted to pop up earlier but Taehyung needed my help with something, so I left then came back. This is where you’ve been coming, huh?”

He turns to Hoseok now, a teasing grin tugging his lips despite the somewhat nervous way his fingers come to play with the gold pearls around his neck. “The others are going to tease you if they find out you’ve been keeping a pretty human girl all to yourself.”

Hoseok flushes deeply, attempting to hide it behind a glare he directs to the other. “They won’t find out if you keep your mouth shut, Jungkookie.”

The merman giggles, the nature of the sound letting you know he most definitely isn’t going to keep his mouth shut, and turns back to you. “Of course, hyung. It’s nice to meet you, by the way. I’m Jungkook, seventh prince of the Sand Kingdom and the one stuck with picking up all the duties Hoseok-hyung has been shirking when he comes to visit you, at your service.”

You direct an amused look to Hoseok, the merman in question looking a little more than mortified. “I’m y/n. I found your brother on a pirate ship and pushed him overboard. It’s nice to meet you.”

At your words, the doe-eyed male lights up. He lurches forward, upper half propelling from the water enough that he’s able to snatch your hands in his grasp. You nearly get pulled in before he stabilises himself, but still end up bending slightly.

“That was you! You’re the one that saved him?” He seems to be in awe, looking upon you in open admiration. “Hoseok was missing for so long, we—we feared the worst. Then he suddenly came home all beat up and told us what happened. He was kind of grounded but he kept leaving without telling us where he was going and escaping the guards anyway.”

Hoseok huffs at this, preening slightly. You snort.

“Was he sneaking out to see you this whole time?” Jungkook asks, hands still cupping yours tightly. Even if you wanted to, you realise that you can’t even think of lying to him when he looks up at you with those big starry eyes like that.

“Uh, yeah,” you answer, kind of sheepish and slightly guilty for getting Hoseok in a little trouble. “I was kind of stranded at sea and he kept me alive by bringing me food and water and uh… bringing me here.”

The young merman looks up in awe for a moment, blinking as your words sink in, before he’s dropping your hands and lurching away with a gasp. He propels himself over to his brother and latches on in a flurry of cherry scales and chaotic splashes.

“Aww, Hoseok-hyung!” he coos, the older grimacing and attempting to peel him off. The familiarity of brotherly antics makes you grin uncontrollably, a warm feeling settling in your chest and tickling the bottom of your ribs. “That’s so kind of you! Who knew you were so soft? Wait until the others—”

“Jungkook if you spill a single word—” Hoseok’s protests are met by a splash and he sputters incredulously. You get the feeling Jungkook is a bit of an unstoppable force.

“—they’re going to be so impressed!” the younger male releases his brother, but only to zip back to you and clutch one of your hands again. “Will you meet them? They’ll want to meet you for sure!”

"Uhh," you drag the sound out, eyes flicking between the two for help. Hoseok appears somewhat panicked and in the spirit of winning in some way after the argument you were in, you decide on an answer. "...sure."

Jungkook positively beams at you, alarming you with the sight of bunny teeth and, right next to them, sharp incisors. You suddenly wonder if Hoseok has a mouth of sharper than usual teeth as well and you just haven't noticed or if it's a Jungkook-only thing.

"Excellent!" he shakes your hand in his grasp, almost tugging you into the water on accident from the slightest bit too much strength he has in the motion. "They're a bit busy with their duties so I'm not sure when, but definitely—"

"Jungkook," Hoseok's voice breaks the bright-eyed male from his thoughts, levelling him with a glare as he turns over his shoulder in question. "You have ten seconds to leave before I seal your mouth shut myself."

In all honesty, you doubt Hoseok would actually follow through with the motion but the promise in his voice makes you shiver for Jungkook— who, to your minimal surprise, seems to be largely unaffected by it. He does grin however, his eyes adopting a mischievous glint, and he releases your hand to wade away, body shifting into a prepared stance.

"You won't do it," he teases obnoxiously, and it's such a little brother thing to do that for a moment you're overtaken by a wave of fondness and sadness that mix together in a peculiar cocktail inside you.

“Would you like to stay and find out?” Hoseok’s brows shoot up, water sloshing as he straightens and advances slightly. “I’ll start counting now—one… two….”

Jungkook wriggles in the water, squinting like he is trying to suss out whether his brother is going to follow through or not.

“three… four… five… six…”

Jungkook has the biggest grin on his face, incredibly amused, and you catch the moment that Hoseok realises that his brother is calling his bluff. Annoyed, he changes tactics and lurches forward to dive for the cheeky merman who is testing his patience so.

“—seven-eight-nine-ten!”

Jungkook lets out an alarmed yelp that melts into a laugh before he is spinning and diving into the water, just barely managing to dodge Hoseok’s arms as they swipe through the air where he was. The older male spears his hands into the water in a half-hearted attempt to catch his tail but it seems the younger is too quick. You watch, barely restraining a laugh, as glimmering cherry and inky hair disappear into the deep blue depths of the lagoon. A moment passes and then it’s just you and Hoseok alone once more.

In the few seconds that filter past in the aftermath of the visit, you realise something suddenly that has you turning to Hoseok immediately for an answer. “Wait… if your anatomy isn’t suited to speech above water, and you had to bribe a sea witch, how was he…?”

Hoseok, significantly less agitated now his younger brother is gone and out of his hair, turns to face you, rolling onto his back in the process. The water embraces him tenderly as he does so, tail beginning to resume the lazy propulsions from earlier.

“Ah, Jungkook did the same thing as me—although, much earlier. He is how I knew what to do.” It’s an explanation, but you’re still a little curious and from the amused curve to the merman’s lips, it’s obvious. “He is the youngest and has always had the most freedom—of us, he is probably the most curious about humans too. He went to a sea witch long ago so that he could have a voice that worked above water and he could communicate with them.”

A fond smile slips over his features now. “But contrary to what you just saw, Jungkookie is a little shy… if I weren’t here, I doubt he would have revealed himself to you. He’s always been too shy to reveal himself to any humans and actually use the voice he got. The most he’s done is sing to pirates and make them fall overboard, I believe.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at that, and it widens the smile on Hoseok’s face in turn. When you catch the fond way he regards you for a moment, your whole face heats in a blush.

“Well, at least he got to use it just then,” you muse. Hoseok lets out a laugh and agrees, taking a moment to dip himself into the water completely and refresh before resurfacing with a bright smile.

“By the way, where were we? I believe I was telling you how wrong you were?”

You roll your eyes so heavily you almost see stars and the merman erupts into laughter once more. Here you go again—is he really a better alternative to being alone on the island? You suppose you’ll find out.

x     x     x     x     x     x

 In due time, you actually get to meet all of Hoseok’s brothers. You thought you had a lot to deal with, when your siblings were still around, but you realise it was nothing compared to the chaos of six siblings—brothers, no less—all in a similar age range.

Next after Jungkook, you meet the other two youngest in the family. The twins who, while aren't identical in appearance, are definitely identical in their inclination to trouble and mischief and make sure you know it. You've heard the phrase double trouble thrown around every so often regarding twins in your town, but it wasn't until you encountered Jimin and Taehyung that you really understood the implications of it.

Your very first meeting with them, they choose to wake you up in Hoseok's stead with sprinkles of salty water and by prodding you with a soggy stick. Needless to say, rousing from sleep to the sight of two unfamiliar faces crowding close to yours, lower bodies immersed in the water of the lagoon you'd mistakenly fallen asleep next to again, gives you the absolute fright of your life. They let out melodious peals of laughter at the borderline screech you emit, one a low baritone and the other a complimentary airy, lilting tenor. Hoseok pops up with a menacing glare not long after and proceeds to smack the both of them for frightening the life out of you, but nonetheless their first impression is made and you're now all the wiser to the cheeky, playful antics of Hoseok's youngest siblings.

"But it's boring down there!" the merman with the low voice and dark brown hair that curls endearingly at the nape of his neck— Taehyung, you learn quickly— whines to his older brother. Hoseok has just told them to go away and annoy one of their other brothers, but to no success thus far. "Everyone else is busy doing their duties. I really thought Yoongi was going to kill me when I swam near him earlier."

Hoseok remains steadfast, arms crossed over his chest as he stares with narrowed eyes at the twins. Jimin, with his inky hair and pink-toned tail, is grinning unabashedly at him. Hoseok retorts, "You have duties too, you know. Do you want me to tell our parents you're shirking them again?"

At the panicked protests that follow, you presume Hoseok has found his leverage. Begrudgingly, the two mermen slink back into the water, but not without sparing you longing, curious gazes that tell you they’re most definitely going to be back to bother you soon. When they finally disappear beneath the surface, Hoseok lets out a huff and you have to laugh.  When you question him as to how those two brothers managed to speak above water, he informs you somewhat sheepishly that all of his brothers went about getting the ability to speak since they learnt of you from Jungkook. You’re quite a popular topic of conversation beneath the water, it seems.

You don't even get a whole day to recover from that particular meeting when you run into another of his siblings. The rest of the morning you spent with Hoseok, him giving you tips on catching fish—which you found incredibly funny by the way. Eventually he had to dip back beneath the surface as well and you needed to gather some things from the island—you’re in the process of making a little hut-slash-some-walls for that ideal cave you found, and need more materials.

In your venturing, you stumble upon another little water hole you’ve not been to yet and immediately halt in your steps, eyes wide as you take in the sight before you. Yet another merman greets your eyes, with soft black hair gleaming like silk in the sun and his deep blue tail shimmering like a glittery extension of the water. He’s sprawled over a large rock lazily, soaking in the sun, and it takes you a moment upon glancing to his face to realise that he is asleep.

Well, was asleep. Not long after you look to his face one of his eyes cracks open and you let out an alarmed squeak at being caught staring and intruding upon whatever private moment he was having.

The merman huffs, letting out a great, deep breath and then a yawn before he rolls onto his stomach on the rock and rests his face in his palm, gaze on you.

“You’re Hoseok’s human, right?”

You fluster for a number of reasons at his words, but namely because you realise he must be one of Hoseok’s brothers if he’s talking to you, and because he’d called you Hoseok’s human. The butterflies that erupted in your stomach at that are something you’re not quite ready to delve into yet, so you push them to the backburner and decide to move forward and talk instead.

“If you mean the one he met on the pirate ship, then yes.”

The merman lets out a hum, gaze burning with curiosity as it sweeps over you. You come to a stop by the edge of the water hole and plop down, crossing your legs. The merman watches the movement, absolutely fascinated.

“Ah yes, you are the one.” He simply stares at you for a moment before continuing, “I’m Yoongi, second in line.”

You note already from this interaction that he is very to-the-point and can’t help but wonder at the stark contrast some of the brothers’ personalities are to one another. He lets his free hand drop to the surface of the water and his fingers to wriggle and make ripples. A cool breeze filters through the air and you can’t help but wonder if he gets cold like he is, with half of his body in the water and the rest exposed to the elements.

“y/n,” you return the sentiment, smiling. “Nice to meet you.”

So far you’ve enjoyed meeting all of Hoseok’s brothers— yes, even the twins from this morning— and Yoongi proves to be no exception. He’s very calm, easy to talk to, and as you find out he is also very upfront and blunt. He tells you not long into your meeting that he isn’t actually meant to be up here napping, but that he is avoiding one of the princely duties he has that he finds to be most laborious. He even goes so far as to tell you that you’ll probably meet another brother soon, because they usually get sent to retrieve him.

He’s not far from the truth, it seems, as the two of you can’t have been there more than ten minutes before another unfamiliar head is popping from the water, and then another barely a split second later.

“Yoongi,” the first merman that popped up says this flatly, looking unimpressed. “I swear, if you don’t stop running away from your dance lessons I’m going to chain you to the palace walls. If I have to suffer and dance, then so do you.”

Perplexed if not incredibly amused, you simply sit and watch the interaction for a bit. Yoongi groans, exaggerated and full-bodied, slipping from the rock and back into the water with a sulky splash.

“You’re such a buzz kill, Seokjin. I can’t believe they sent you after me.”

“Well, technically they sent both of us,” chimes the other merman that had popped up, the only one of the two that had actually noticed your presence. He seems a cross between curious and alarmed, but appears to be leaning more towards the former. As he observes how at-ease Yoongi is in your vicinity, he seems to connect the dots and realise who you are.

“They’re so persistent these days,” Yoongi grumbles, yawning and splashing his face with a cupped handful of water. “I can barely catch a break.”

“You do nothing but catch breaks,” the first merman, Seokjin as you gather, speaks again, seeming a cross between amused and annoyed. His brother, the one who had already noticed you, bumps him with his elbow after he’s done speaking and nods his head in your direction; it takes all you have not to laugh when the Seokjin’s mouth drops open the second he catches sight of you.

“Wh— Yoongi, you’re skipping your duties to consort with humans?!” he chokes on his words almost, they come out so rapidly. “What are you, Hoseok?”

At that, you let out a snort, and Yoongi looks like he’s trying desperately not to crack his smooth-faced façade and laugh. He gives his brother the moment that is needed for him to have the realisation that lingers on the horizon, imminent; none of you have to wait long before Seokjin spins around suddenly, whipping to face you and splashing water everywhere in the process.

“You’re Hoseok’s human!” he proclaims, pointing a finger your way. The sandy locks atop his head drip water onto his cheekbones, wet lashes fluttering in his incredulity. “I was wondering where you were hiding! I thought for sure we would have met you before now. Hoseok is better at keeping you to himself than I thought, it seems.”

You’re unsure what to say, but you’re a little flustered, your cheeks warming slightly. You settle for a simple introduction. “Ah, yeah… I’m y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

At once, the sandy-haired merman (who you’ve gathered is quite the flamboyant character by this point) dips into a bow. You still don’t understand how they can do that when they’re bobbing like buoys in the water, but he does it with perfect form.

“Seokjin, crown prince, at your service.” His voice is significantly more honeyed than earlier, and you don’t doubt he’s playing it up a little bit for show. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the human everyone has been raving about beneath the surface.”

You feel your cheeks heat even more at that comment, but don’t get too long to dwell on it before the third merman currently before you wades closer, offering you a kind, dimpled smile. His hair is a similar sandy colour to Seokjin’s, although in a different style that definitely works well to flatter his features.

“I’m Namjoon, fourth in line,” he introduces, offering a hand for you to shake. Surprised that he knew of the human custom, you shake it and grin at him. He continues after releasing your hand. “It really is nice to be able to put a face to the name.”

This time you really can’t fight the blush that colours your cheeks. “Gosh, is everyone really talking about me that much down there? How embarrassing…”

At this, Yoongi lets out a chuckle and Namjoon appears sheepish. Seokjin merely grins. “You’re a hot topic of conversation among the royal family, it seems. Lucky you!”

While part of you is strangely flattered, the rest of you feels anything but lucky. How are you supposed to know what kind of things they’re saying down there when you can’t even breathe underwater, let alone listen?

You decide you’ll just have to let it go—you can’t control what they’re saying, and can only hope its good things. After all, none of Hoseok’s brothers seemed to dislike you at all, as far as you’re aware.

Contrary to what Seokjin and Namjoon said they’d come to do—that being retrieve Yoongi and drag him back to whatever duty he was shirking—they end up staying above the surface with you a little longer. You’ve noticed they’re very curious, these mermen, and completely and utterly eager to know everything they can about the world above their own. They’re willing to pull every single detail they can from you, particularly about different types of foods and their tastes, in Seokjin’s case.

You end up talking well into the afternoon, until Hoseok eventually surfaces and sends them a grumpy look for hogging your time (“I looked everywhere for you!” he’d exclaimed the second he broke the surface). But really, you don’t mind how long you spent simply chatting with them. Hoseok, and his brothers, are somehow all the loveliest, kindest beings you’ve ever met. You don’t regret a single second you spend in their presence. Plus, being around them and bearing witness to their playful bickering and sibling antics is… nice. It makes you feel like you’re part of something, even as a spectator of sorts. It’s the closest you’ve felt to having a family in a long time.

It’s nice, and you can’t help but notice that the part of you that longs to stay and continue existing here, in this bubble of happiness and simplicity you’ve found yourself in, seems to grow larger and larger by the day.

x     x     x     x     x  

You’ve made a lot of fond memories on this island, in the little time you’ve been here, but even as bright as your days have been and as peaceful as your nights spent bathing in moonlight, happiness would mean nothing without the lows to balance it out.

It is one such low that you find yourself in tonight.

You’re not quite sure where Hoseok is, or what really spun you into this peculiar mood in the first place, but you’re actually a little grateful that you have this moment to yourself.

It seems that tonight, as the moon gleams across the surface of the ocean and casts the sand in a cool blue glow, it is the time to fall into a brief moment of introspection. You’ve been nothing short of content lately, really, and that shouldn’t be something to give you pause. But the reason you’d ended up here, on this island with all these new friends, in the first place… was because your life prior was anything but full of content.

The only reason you’d pushed on, really, had been your drive for exacting revenge upon Ezra, the Pirate Lord who had cost you everything. It had been your sole reason for living, at times— the only reason you ate, slept, did what you needed to keep yourself in a state of survival. Objectively, it’s very pitiful—possibly the worst way you could have possibly handled the grief thrust upon you so suddenly. But when you’ve been relying on a reason such as that for so long, used it as a crutch and clutched to it as tightly as you have, what are you supposed to do when the cause you’ve shaped your life around begins to lose meaning to you?

That is kind of what you’re dealing with now.

The only reason you’d have to leave this island, would be to chase down the Pirate Lord and continue where you left off in exacting your revenge before the whole merman hitch in your plans. Your life, as it is in this moment, currently has nothing else to offer as motivation or drive. Your life outside of this island existed around tracking that pirate and counting down the days until you could pay him back for what he did to you. So if you left, what would you have to return to except a life that you could barely say you were really living?

You’re coming to realise and accept that, really, you don’t want to leave. Somehow, at some point, following the plans you’d spend years forming and killing Ezra began to mean less to you than staying here on this island with a bunch of royal mermen and yourself for company. That’s how it is now, you’re realising. The blazing inferno of rage and hatred inside of you that drove you for so long has begun to fade and you don’t quite know what to do with yourself in the absence of its scorching, all-encompassing heat and the light, airy contentment and happiness that has replaced it.

You’re not sure how long you spend ruminating on this, turning it over again and again and again in your head, but it is probably a few hours. You’re a little scared of this development, unsure and apprehensive. A part of you knows the right path to take, knows what you will have to let go off, but for now… You don’t think you’re ready quite yet to face it.

“Got a lot on your mind, pretty pearl?”

You jump almost a foot in the air, nearly slipping from the large rock you’re perched so precariously on. At the sound of Hoseok’s voice, you wonder how the hell you’re hearing it—before you remember a split second later that instead of the beach, you’d chosen to spend this night thinking on the strip of rocks that extends into the shallows of the ocean. The rock you’re sitting on is massive and in the water where it’s deep enough for Hoseok to swim, evidently. You wonder how he found you when usually you’re by one of the water holes further inland of the island.

When you turn to face him, it’s hard not to let all the air your lungs hold escape in a stunned whoosh. As always, the merman is beautiful, and beneath the moon’s rays his markings glow and he’s positively radiant.

His dark hair is still dripping from his time beneath the surface, curling cutely across his forehead. His scales glimmer in the moonlight and his eyes are large and hold something indecipherable in their depths as they regard you. He has draped his upper half over the rock beside you and is resting his chin on his hand as he stares your way. It makes your stomach flutter and dip.

“You could say that,” you say, still trying to calm your heart from the fright he gave you. Hoseok blinks up at you, waiting patiently in case you want to disclose more. You let out a sigh, figuring that you may as well.

“I was thinking… about the Pirate Lord, the one that held you hostage.”

You might have expected Hoseok’s features to contort into a look of distaste, and you do see the barest traces of a frown around his lips, but to your surprise his expression overall remains somewhat neutral. If anything, he seems curious as to where you’re going with this.

“That oaf?” the merman questions, eliciting the barest smile from you. “What did he do to have the privilege of occupying your thoughts?”

The soft smile on your lips turns to a grimace before you can stop it, and Hoseok seems to sense his folly. He retracts slightly, before moving forward and reaching to brush your hand. You welcome the touch, turning your palm up, and he wastes no time grasping your hand and intertwining your fingers, playing with your fingertips.

“When I was much younger, barely a teenager, my younger siblings and I accompanied my parents on a trip to an island about a day’s sail away.” A heavy, unsteady breath leaves you as you try to order your thoughts and keep yourself in check. It has been long enough since the incident that you no longer cry when thinking about it, usually, but still… you are feeling especially vulnerable tonight. “My parents had two different professions, but shared a common ground. My mother cooked for high-end restaurants and my father was a healer. They were going to the island for ingredients, since it was meant to have an abundance.”

You can almost feel Hoseok’s eyes sweeping over your features as you continue. “They didn’t want to leave us alone, and thought it would be a nice few days to spend together, so they took us along. It went well, for the most part. It was on the trip back that things went sour.”

Biting your lip, you sniffled slightly before pushing on. “The small ship we’d paid to ferry us had the misfortune of crossing the path of a pirate ship on the way back. It was Ezra’s ship, and when they boarded they were ruthless. They took everything, all the wealth and supplies…. He took everything, including my family.”

“The only reason I wasn’t killed that day,” you sniffle once more, eyes stinging. “Was because my mother pushed me overboard. She didn’t get to push my siblings after me before the pirates got them. And I… I watched as bodies fell into the water around me, and the pirates stripped that ship bare. I watched as they sailed away, leaving nothing but destruction and despair in their wake. I…”

“I somehow managed to get back onto the ship, because I knew I’d probably get eaten by sharks if I stayed in the water—or I’d drown. I was found a few days later by chance, but… I’ll never forgive that pirate for what he did. I can’t. That’s why I was on the ship that night,” you say, your voice choking only slightly in your throat as you turn to face Hoseok. “I went to kill him.”

To your surprise, Hoseok’s eyes are glistening as he stares at you, lips pressed together but chin wobbling slightly. “I’m sorry, y/n…”

His voice is huskier, rougher than usual in his upset as it greets your ears—you hurry and smack his hand gently, reprimanding. He jerks in surprise, eyes shooting wide. “It’s not your fault, silly boy. I’m glad I ended up finding you, and pushing you overboard. I was going to set the whole ship on fire, you know. I don’t think that would have fared well for you.”

Hoseok musters a laugh. “No, probably not,” he agrees.

You chuckle a little as well, allowing a small blanket of silence to fall between you for a moment. A part of you wants to continue, to spill the rest of your thoughts to the sweet merman currently tracing patterns over the back of your hand with his thumb, but you don’t even know how to begin processing them yourself. A lot of the mess in your mind and heart aren’t even thoughts yet, still in the rudimentary stages where they exist as nothing but pure feelings and energies, and have yet to be dissected by your rational mind. You think that tonight you’re a bit too tired to begin that process.

Distantly, you register the sound of shuffling beside you, indicating that Hoseok is shifting, and think nothing of it. That is, until his hand tightens around yours just moments before he hauls back and gives a firm tug to your arm that pulls you completely off balance.

“HOSEOK—!” you shriek, flying from the rock with how hard he yanked you. You tumble into the water, deep enough that you can’t touch, with only Hoseok’s grip on your hand tethering you to anything solid. Your entire form is immediately drenched in cool water, salt gracing your tastebuds and burning your nose a little.

When your head breaches the surface you direct your glare to the merman that seems entirely too happy with himself.

“What the hell, Hoseok?!” you cry, shaking your head slightly and blinking away the salty water. Your legs do their best to keep you above the water, and you let out an ‘eep!’ as something smooth and cool brushes your ankle, followed by something wispy. Hoseok’s tail, you realise belatedly.

Seeing that you’re struggling to tread water with one of your hands bound in his, the merman takes the liberty of pulling you closer to him; the sea is calm today, and only the gentlest rocking of waves lap against your skin as you draw closer. The second you’re within reach and his hand comes to clutch your waist, you grip his arm with your free hand.

The merman laughs at how you cling to him, freeing your hand so that he can slip both arms around your waist and entwine his hands at your lower back. You can feel your cheeks warm, face overwhelmingly hot, and your heart pattering against your chest overexcitedly.

“I’m about to cheer you up,” he says sweetly, confidently, with the brightest smile. You can’t stop the way any annoyance you feel instantly flees your body, form going slack in his grasp. He’s more than strong enough to hold you up, his powerful tail treading below you and pushing the two of you a little further out to sea, presumably so he has more room to move.

“I’m not that sad,” you argue weakly, unable to help the fond twitch of your own lips. Hoseok laughs, adjusting his hold on you and making your heartrate spike.

“No sadness is better than a little sadness!” he says, finally coming to a halt a little further out than the rocks. You know for sure you can’t touch here, and wonder what exactly he’s up to that requires pulling you into the water with him. “In my experience, something that always cheers me up is dancing. So…”

Your brows shoot up, an undertone of panic seeping into your voice, “Wait, you remember I can’t breathe underwater right?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes, drumming his fingers against your lower back and getting them caught in the floating material of your shirt. “Yes. Merfolk dance underwater but that doesn’t mean you have to, sweet pearl.”

You keep your suspicious gaze on him for a moment, but decide to go with it when he begins to clutch you closer and use his tail to spin the two of you around. The water sloshes and laps at you as you move through it, a giddy feeling entering your stomach.

“That’s good,” you smile, meeting his eyes and feeling yourself grow trapped in their glimmering depths. “I don’t feel like drowning tonight, you know?”

Hoseok lets out a tinkling laugh, head tilting back from the force of it. When he returns his gaze to yours, he doesn’t say anything. He simply smiles, and begins to spin the two of you faster.

Fluidly, with grace you’re not surprised that he possesses, Hoseok spins and twirls the two of you. When it seems you grow comfortable with the movement he’s set up, he begins to branch out and twirl you a little differently. He begins humming his own little tune and grips your waist to lift you into the air slightly—it pulls a flustered shriek from you and it takes all he has not to break his tune to laugh.

Spin you in, spin you out—every time he pulls you back to him he leans in and brushes his nose against yours, nuzzling against your cheek just barely. You can barely keep up with the overexcited beating of your heart, stomach a maelstrom of butterflies, and can’t contain the soft laughter that bubbles up from the depths of your being at his cute antics.

He said that he would cheer you up, and that’s exactly what he does—it has to be the early hours of the morning but you’re wide awake and all you can focus on is the warmth where his body meets yours and the gentle caress of his fins, his hands, his nose against your own. It feels like your heart is about to burst.

Dancing in the waves with him, it’s as though your heart has never before known pain, heartbreak, or grief. He lights the darkest parts of your world with his moonkissed glow and his beaming smile, and you never want it to end. Just for tonight, you allow yourself to bask in the realisation that has been haunting you so persistently lately, allow the magic of the moon and its light to wash over you.

You want to stay. And here in Hoseok’s arms, you can’t imagine feeling any other way.

x     x     x     x     x     x

“I still stand by what I said—I think this cave is a little too risky for you to be adventuring in…”

Brow raised, you send Hoseok a probing look over your shoulder. It’s been almost a week since that night spent dancing beneath the moon, and Hoseok has hardly split from your side since.

“I’ve been in this cave before? We’ve both been in this cave before?” You pat one of the rocks jutting from the wall, as though to emphasise its sturdiness and reliability. “What makes you say this now? Every time I’ve come in to get those berries you’ve accompanied me and never said anything before.”

Hoseok shifts, tip of his tail lashing near the surface of the water and leaving ripples in its wake. He seems uncertain, yet somehow also determined. It’s an interesting combination and you wonder how it is that he has it.

“I don’t know,” he says, voice trailing off. “Something just feels… off, today.”

You tilt your head, surveying him for a moment. The merman appears a little conflicted, having this sensation within him but not knowing the cause. He continues to follow you deeper into the cave, however, eyes sweeping over the rocks and water as he bickers with a little less zest than usual. Luminescent algae are what illuminate your path, glowing from beneath the water and scattered in patches across the cave wall. The channel of water he’s swimming in alongside your narrow rock path isn’t consistent, and before long he’s popping in and out of small water pools to keep up. He disappears for a while, a long stretch of rock between the pool he was just in and the next one, and when he resurfaces he still seems a little on edge. You’re curious as to what has him so uneasy, but don’t want to give him the excuse to drag you out by humouring him. You want those berries, damn it!

You get far enough into the cave and close enough to the berries you’re eagerly searching for that you all but dismiss Hoseok’s worries completely from your mind. That is, until something happens that proves they were warranted. It’s no one’s fault, of course. It couldn’t have occurred if the cave wasn’t structurally compromised in the first place.

When you next step, your hand rests a little too hard on a rock that is a little too unstable in the structure. It comes loose, falling into the water with a pronounced plop, and both Hoseok and yourself are still in silence for a moment. Then there is a great, grinding creak and the wall the rock came from begins to crumble and tumble. One harsh sound of rock smacking into rock greets your ears before it duplicates, again and again in barely milliseconds so that you’re left with an abrasive cacophony against your ears. Hoseok just barely manages to snag your wrist in time to yank you into the water and out of the way.

Your vision is obscured by water and bubbles of air rushing to the surface, something you don’t get to do until a few moments later when Hoseok’s grip shifts and he hauls you up instead of holding you down, out of the way of rocks that pelt and sink into the water.

The second your head breaches the surface you’re gasping in air greedily, eyes clenched shut until you can finally crack them open without making them sting. Your vision is slightly blurry but after a few blinks it clears, revealing a panicked-looking Hoseok who is brushing his hands all over your face and body, checking for injuries. Heat graces your cheeks despite the poor timing and you smack his arm as you attempt to hastily tread water. You didn’t realise it just before, momentarily distracted by Hoseok as you so often found yourself to be, but that cave-in had, well, literally caved you in. You felt the slightest tendrils of panic begin to scratch at the bottom of your lungs as it sank in that all the air you’re breathing from is coming from the little pocket your head is in, the water at your shoulders and rock hovering barely a foot above your head.

“y/n,” Hoseok’s hands move to cup your cheeks, refocusing your attention on him. “y/n, are you alright? Did you get hurt anywhere?”

Somewhat flustered despite the situation at his care and concern, you can only manage to shake your head. Hoseok releases a great huff of relief at that, pulling closer and wrapping his arms around your waist while using his powerful tail to keep the two of you afloat. You shoot him a grateful look—you’re not a poor swimmer at all, but even you grow tired after treading water for some time.

“I knew I had a bad feeling for a reason,” he fusses, moving as though he’s pacing in the water, with you attached to him. It would be a funny sight, were this any other situation. “We need to get you out of here before it collapses any more. Alright, on the count of three—”

He stops suddenly, eyes staring into the wall as grim realisation washes over him. “No, no… that won’t work.”

You think you know where his thoughts have gone, but ask just in case. “What won’t work?”

Hoseok turns his gaze to you, looking incredibly conflicted and slightly remorseful.

“I was going to ask you to hold your breath, and then I would duck us under and take us out of this pocket but… the nearest water opening is too far—you won’t be able to hold your breath that long.”

You try not to let it show on your face, but it feels as though a pit of dread has opened up in your stomach at his words. Even with your stellar acting, he seems to sense your inner reaction. His fingers tighten in their hold on you, his teeth coming to sink into his bottom lip.

“- -- -- --” he says suddenly, the words unfamiliar to your ears but said with enough heat that you’re able to gather they’re probably curses, in whatever language makes up his mother tongue. “Gods, okay, what do I do, what do I do—”

His breath is coming shorter with each word and it doesn’t take much for you to realise he’s panicking.

“Hoseok,” you cut his frantic gibberish off and bring your hands to cup his cheeks, forcing him to face you. “Calm down, it’s okay. There’s a way out of this.”

The merman shoots you a look that seems to be a cross between exasperated and incredulous, before he decides to heed your advice and takes a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed. You brush your thumb over his cheekbone, watching as a stray droplet of water slides down from his hairline and over the sculpted planes of his face.

“Okay, there’s a way,” Hoseok breathes in through his nose and then out through his mouth. “I just have to…”

There is the briefest moment of silence, in which your own panic begins to return a little, before Hoseok is jumping in the water and taking you with him as his tail propels the two of you upwards. You yelp, head narrowly missing the rock barely a foot above your head, and Hoseok shoots you an apologetic look. It doesn’t last long, soon making way for relief.

He frees an arm to reach down into the water, and you’re sure the algae would be light enough for you to see what he is doing, but you don’t really want to look down into the bottomless water pit right now. Hoseok doesn’t leave you wondering for long, hand coming back up with something in his grasp.

His fist uncurls, revealing an oddly shaped violet pearl sitting in the centre of his palm. He brings it to his face, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

“Namjoon,” he says, “I need your help.”

Then, surprising you less than you might have expected, he brings the pearl to his lips before turning his hand upside down and dropping it into the water. You do look down this time, watching as it sinks quickly down, down, down—until it disappears deep into the inky blackness that even the glowing algae can’t penetrate with its light.

As soon as the pearl leaves his grasp, Hoseok is quick to return his arm to where it had been around your waist. His touch elicits an inappropriate round of butterflies, and in the interest of not making a fool of yourself in such close quarters, you do your best to ignore it.

“What will the pearl do?” you ask, voice mostly level aside from a tremble at the end. Hoseok notices it immediately and leans his head forward, brushing his nose with yours and offering a reassuring smile. You’re glad to see he’s stopped panicking for the time being.

“It will find Namjoon,” he informs you, voice a soft murmur as he allows his eyes to close and he presses your foreheads together. It makes your stomach dip and your heart leap. “And, hopefully, Namjoon will come to help us.”

“Why Namjoon?” you inquire, more than a little curious.

“Because he’s an apprentice to the sea witch.”

To your surprise, it’s not Hoseok’s voice that answers you, but that of the merman in question. You turn in shock, ripping your face away from Hoseok’s as heat blooms across your cheeks; you hadn’t even heard him surface. The dimpled male merely smiles cheekily at the two of you, before turning his gaze to the tiny pocket of air the three of you are now occupying.

“Well, how did this happen?” he asks, eyes flicking between the two of you as he waits for answers.

“The cave, well… caved us in.” Hoseok huffs, giving the rock above and around you the stink eye. He turns back to his brother. “I need your help because, well… we’re stuck and the next closest pocket of air or water hole… they’re too far away.”

He doesn’t need to spell out the fact that you’re just human, and can’t hold your breath that long, because Namjoon seems to grasp the issue at hand the second Hoseok informs him of the situation. His teeth sink into his lip as he falls into deep thought, eyes flicking between you, Hoseok, and then the rocks and cave remnants around you.

“You’re right,” he murmurs softly in response to Hoseok, so quiet you’d almost think he is mumbling to himself. He hums shortly, once, and then he’s looking up with something gleaming behind his eyes.

“I—”

Just as Namjoon goes to speak and enlighten you on the solution he’s come up with, there is a dreadful creak and groan as the rocks shift above you, some dust sprinkling down to the water from where they press and grind against each other. A brief surge of fear bolts through you, your breath catching. You barely take note of it yourself, but Hoseok is so utterly attuned to you and your mannerisms that he catches it immediately. He alters his grip, hugging your closer and bringing a hand to brush along the nape of your neck, fingers playing and attempting to card through the tangled, wet locks there, with minimal success. The movement wrenches an instinctive shiver from you though, and you turn your gaze from the rocks to him, successfully distracted from your brief spell of worry.

Namjoon surveys the ceiling carefully for a moment, before he returns his eyes to the two of you and resumes where he’d been cut off. “I think I have an idea, but… I don’t know if it will work. I’ve never tried it before. Sunmi refused to tell me about it, and Hyolyn hasn’t really taught me much about it yet…”

There’s a little bit of a nervous undercurrent to his voice, but you’re not really in a position to be doubting him. If you can’t get out of this pocket, then, well…

You gulp. You have to get out of this pocket.

“Anything, Joon,” Hoseok says, a pleading note in his tone. “If you have an idea, I trust you.”

Namjoon stares at his brother for a moment, biting his lip as he thinks it through, before finally he nods. “Alright. I’ll be right back.”

And then he’s dipping back into the water and disappearing down, down, down into the depths of the hole you were currently afloat in. Well, you say afloat, but really it’s just Hoseok keeping the two of you with your heads above the surface. You have to credit his tail, the powerful limb treading water effortlessly below you. Every so often one of his wispy fins will brush your leg, and you can’t help but let out a short giggle. Every time, without fail, the noise brings a bright smile to Hoseok’s lips, and subsequent heat to your cheeks as you realise he has been watching you the whole time.  

Trying to distract yourself from the possible undesirable outcome of the situation, you choose to voice the question that floated to the top of your mind when Namjoon was here.

“Who are Sunmi and Hyolyn?” you ask, tilting your head minutely. Unbeknownst to you, Hoseok has to bite his lip so he doesn’t coo in adoration.

“They’re sea witches,” he says, getting straight to the point. “Hyolyn isn’t affiliated with the court, she lives on the outer reaches of the kingdom and prefers her solitude. Sunmi studied under her, much like Namjoon is, and chose to pledge her services to the court. Namjoon was meant to become apprentice to only Sunmi, but he has ended up bouncing between both in his thirst for knowledge.”

You nod as he finishes telling you, soaking up the information. You hadn’t known before that Namjoon was a witch’s apprentice, and now that you do know… well, you don’t really know what to do with the information. With every little tidbit Hoseok tells you, you fall a little more in love with his world, and… its occupants, evidently. It’s as though you’ve stumbled into the prettiest of spiderwebs, and each new thing you learn has you wrapped more and more in sticky silk. You’re in so deep now, can you bare to depart this world that you’re coming to recognise as your own?

An alarming series of thoughts, you realise. You decide to leave unpacking them for another day.

The two of you talk softly to pass time, a nervous undercurrent growing more tangible in the air the longer Namjoon is away. It’s as Hoseok tells you about some of the other members of the court that there is a soft splash and Namjoon resurfaces next to you, water cascading down his face from the abruptness of the motion. He shakes his head, showering you and Hoseok in a generous amount of droplets, before grinning at the two of you.

“Okay, I have what I need.” He reaches down, pulling something from a satchel at his side. When his hand rises and parts the water surface, there is a flower sitting in the centre of his palm. It’s deep purple and marine, with thin, fluorescent patterns curling across the petals. It’s coated in a shimmering sheen that reflects blue as it shifts in the light. “We should hurry—Hyolyn warned that the caves won’t last much longer before they continue crumbling.”

His words elicit a funny sensation in your abdomen, a mixture between dread and anticipation with a sprinkling of inappropriate excitement.

“Do what?” Hoseok asks, eyeing the flower dubiously. “What is the Trench Bloom for?”

Namjoon, despite seeming as though he’d anticipated the question, still appears somewhat exasperated. “It’s easier if I show you.”

Somewhat confused but also much, much more curious, you focus on Namjoon as he faces you. “Okay, y/n. I am going to do something in a moment, but after that I need you to put this flower in your mouth, and then I need you to dip under the water. When you’re under there, move the flower to the back of your throat—you don’t have to swallow it but it’s okay if you do. What I’m trying to do will still work.”

When you nod, he mirrors the motion, giving you the flower to hold. He reaches down again, pulling a small sealed shell from the satchel around his waist. Once it is out of the water, he uses one of his nails to crack it open, revealing a small pile of dark powder sitting within its pearlescent walls—it takes a moment before the grains catch in the light and you realise it’s actually finely crushed pearls. Namjoon wets his thumb, getting Hoseok to face you towards him before he dabs his thumb in the powder and swipes it in three lines across either side of your neck, and then in a line down your sternum. He remains focused, but you can’t help but blush at the action—a sneaky glance to the side reveals a certain tick in Hoseok’s jaw as he observes what is happening, still confused but thankful for the help.

“Alright,” Namjoon mumbles, and once more you wonder whether its for your benefit or his own. “Okay, time for your part. You might see some white or blue light—don’t worry, it’s just moon magic.”

“Moon magic?” you can’t help but question, brows raising. “Isn’t it daytime still?”

Namjoon chuckles softly, closing the shell and placing it away. “The moon is one with the ocean and the tides, and just as we are one with the ocean we are connected to the moon. The magic that runs through our veins, is moon magic.”

“Oh,” you say in understanding, mind racing. It takes a little strength to refocus and bring your mind back to the present, where there are somehow certainly more pressing matters than magic. “That’s fair. Okay, I’ll… I’ll do that thing now.”

Namjoon nods encouragingly at you, and you feel Hoseok’s hands stroke reassuringly down your back. You shoot him a thankful smile, before returning your attention to the task at hand. Swallowing your pride, you open your mouth and deposit the small flower inside, brows raising as it instantly begins to dissolve on your tongue and a salty, sweet flavour melts across your tastebuds. You take in a breath through your nose, before you feel Hoseok’s grip loosen and you let yourself drop a few feet beneath the surface, water cold as it splashes and caresses your exposed skin.

As soon as you’re under, you do as you were instructed and move the flower to the back of your mouth—still with no idea as to what it’s actually going to do. You can’t think of any possible way that a flower is going to be the solution to your limited human capabilities, but then again… this is magic, you suppose.

Just as you manage to fight the urge to swallow, Hoseok and Namjoon join you beneath the surface. Hoseok hovers, tail lashing and fins flaring, the twitch of his fingers conveying a barely restrained urge to reach out for you. You don’t know when exactly the merman started being so outright protective and caring towards you, but even now as your lungs begin to weigh the slightest bit heavier in your chest, it makes your heart skip a beat.

Namjoon opens his mouth, speaking things that you can barely manage to catch a hint of through the water in your ears. He reaches forward, light hair floating in the water like a halo, and presses his hand firmly against your sternum where he’d painted a line with crushed pearl earlier. Hoseok’s teeth gnash together as he watches, taking note of the bubbles of air escaping you and growing anxious.

Before you even begin to doubt Namjoon and whatever his idea is, you start to feel it. It’s like a tingle, a live current beneath your skin. It runs up your spine and circles around the crown of your head, before coursing back down and stimulating the nerves in your arms, and legs, with a soft prickle. The current runs an exhilarating loop of your body before it changes course, growing centred around your throat, chest and shoulders. A large gasp escapes you as the sensation intensifies, the large bubble of air obscured by a glow that begins to make itself known around your body. Alright, you seemed fine with the knowledge of magic earlier but seeing it in action actually makes it sink in, and you’re a little alarmed.

The buzzing beneath your skin grows louder until you can hear it ringing, a low tone in your ears. Your chest burns and just when your arms flail and your lungs ache too much to bear, it all stops. It’s over, and relief courses through you. You let out the remaining air in your mouth in a huff, flower having already dissolved on your tongue, and greedily breathe in the oxygen you were deprived of now that the spell is done.

Wait a minute—breathe in?

Your eyes shoot open from where you hadn’t even realised they were closed, arms whipping through the water in shock as you realise that yes, you just took a breath underwater and didn’t drown, and yes you just did it again and you’re still not drowning!

Unable to stop the knee-jerk reaction, you let out a laugh, slapping a hand over your mouth as no bubbles escape and looking, wide-eyed, between the two mermen. Namjoon is grinning brightly, clearly ecstatic that the spell has worked, and Hoseok seems a cross between discombobulated, shocked, and cautiously excited.

“I can breathe!” you burst, expecting a muffled noise but receiving a crisp rendition of your voice instead. You slap a hand to your cheeks, eyes still wide. “I can talk?!”

Namjoon bursts into laughter, and you hear every note of it clear as day, as though you’re above the surface again. Hoseok’s concerned expression has now bled into one of excitement, and the second the shock wears off he’s darting forward. His fingers run all over you, toughing your face, cheeks, lips, throat, neck—all in wonderment.

“Y-you can breathe!” he bursts, in a similar fashion to the way you did just a minute prior. His fingers catch on something that feels odd at your throat, and your own fingers rise to investigate. They brush upon slits in the flesh, clean and without pain.

Were they…?

You shoot Hoseok a questioning look, and he nods. “Gills.”

You don’t know how to feel about that, but it has saved your life so you’ll take it.

“Oh my gosh,” you say, tone light in disbelief. “I’m breathing underwater? How long will I be able to…?”

Namjoon picks up on the question currently occupying your mind, and offers you a kind smile. His tail whips as he adjusts his position, long, thin fins trailing through the water like ribbon.

“The spell should last around three hours—so you can spend some time sightseeing before you have to return to the surface,” he informs you, dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Just make sure that you return when your lungs begin to burn again—that will mean the spell is about to end. Alright?”

You nod hastily, excitement beginning to bubble in your abdomen. You don’t even get to voice your thanks before Hoseok is grabbing you by the wrists and spinning you to face him, a smile brighter than the sun almost blinding you for a moment. God, he’s beautiful.

“y/n, sightseeing!” he bursts, unable to contain himself now that the danger of the situation is mostly behind you. He’s almost vibrating with excitement as he spins you with him, just narrowly avoiding the close rock walls of the pool. “I can show you everything I’ve told you about! And more! There’s so much I haven’t even had a chance to tell you yet!”

Namjoon laughs, reaching out to halt Hoseok before he makes you too dizzy—you might be able to breathe now but the spell didn’t alter your sense of equilibrium all that much. You really don’t want to find out how it would go down if you vomited underwater.

Thankfully, Hoseok quickly takes the hint and simply adjusts so he’s holding you around the waist, saving you the trouble of treading water. It’s thoughtful yet subtle, and so very Hoseok that your heart warms in your chest and feels as though it’s glowing as luminous as the algae lighting the cave. Still, even though he has stopped spinning you, Hoseok just can’t take the grin off his face.

“I have to return to my duties—you called me in the middle of a lesson—but show her the sights, hyung,” Namjoon smiles, light hair floating endearingly across his forehead. “Take her around—oh, you should show her the palace, too. I’m sure the others would love to see her as well.”

Hoseok huffs at the last part, but otherwise seems to completely agree with his brother’s sentiment. “I will.”

Namjoon nods, bidding you farewell with another smile before he’s turning in the water and shooting down into the depths of the pool, propelled with a single powerful stroke of his tail. You watch him disappear with wide eyes, in awe at his speed. You can’t imagine being able to move that fast on land, let alone in the water!

“Come on, y/n, let’s get out of here.” The bright tone of Hoseok’s voice returns your attention to the merman before you. When you look at him again, you’re momentarily taken aback—sure, he’s always stunning, but sometimes it really takes you out. Like now. Inky hair and oil-slick scales glimmering in the low glow of the algae, his eyes bright and wide as he stares at you with something indecipherable that makes your heart dip and race. “We have so many places to go before your time is up!”

His words are somewhat ominous, despite the fact you know what he means, and you can’t help but think he’s lucky that he’s so cute and you’re in love with him, or else he’d get a smack for frightening you.

Wait, back up. You’re what now?

You don’t even have time to dwell on the very abrupt and unwarranted thought that just blared its way through your mind like a foghorn, because Hoseok is looping your arms and entwining your fingers with his. Usually, Hoseok is cool to the touch, thanks to the fact his body runs at a lower temperature than yours, but now that you’re deep in water that is much cooler, his skin offers a pleasant warmth where it brushes your own. It’s addictive, and you have to fight to stop yourself from initiating more contact than you can get away with.

Beginning to chatter excitedly about where he’s going to take you, Hoseok turns in the water, and begins to pull you down. Your heart begins to race for a different reason, the further down you venture—with each moment that passes it gets darker, denser. The water feels thicker, heavier, but you’re still able to breathe and it’s salty on your tongue yet uncharacteristically refreshing and crisp against your throat. The darkness and confined walls of the tunnel are what have your pulse thudding a little louder in your ears, a fear of the unknown combining with the exhilarating anticipation of a new adventure to synthesise a titillating cocktail of sensations within you.

It does scare you a little, yes, but you trust Hoseok—and even if he were to lead you to certain doom at the end of this tunnel, you’d accept it with a smile because the whole way there he held your hand like it is the most precious thing he’ll ever touch.

God, you’re so whipped. How did you never notice this before?!

You spend enough time in the tunnel that you’re painfully aware of it. It isn’t long though, before, to your surprise, it begins to curve and bend, each one taking you in a new direction. Hoseok handles the turns with ease, pulling your body with his easily and fluidly. You round one last corner, zooming  down another tunnel and suddenly there is light, glaring at you in the rapidly-approaching distance— Hoseok speeds up, pulling you effortlessly beside him, and soon you’re breaking out into an open space, the sudden brightness blinding you for a moment.

When your eyes adjust, a loud gasp leaves you. The sight before you, in a word, is magnificent. All your turning and winding in the tunnels has lead you here; to a massive, open space—the ceiling is littered with holes of various sizes, short tunnels that cast sunlight into the area from above, illuminating the floor and walls that blend from pale brown rock to soft sandstone, patterns refracted from the surface of the water dancing across in pools of light.

Scattered over the wall are the occasional crack and fissure, long wefts of kelp and pretty flowers you’d never seen before but are instantly in love with sprouting from inside and drifting with the minimal current.  It’s breathtaking, the glimpses of blue sky and greenery above with the warm tones of the rock around you. Splotches of colour sit along the bottom corners of the room, different types of coral twining around each other like intricate blooms. Your admiration of your current surroundings is cut off when Hoseok suddenly jumps in front of you, recapturing your attention with a bright grin and excited lash of his tail.

“This isn’t the palace yet! This is just a little area above it, the tunnels lead to most of the waterholes on the island—I sometimes come here to think or dance. I think Yoongi used to come here to nap too before he discovered that above the surface is a better hiding spot.” Hoseok is babbling now, words coming out so fast you can feel his excitement and enthusiasm, and you don’t have the heart to tell him to slow down. His hands grasp yours, swinging them around like a child.

“There are so many things to show you, what should we see first? The palace? The gardens? The city centre?” Hoseok begins to pull you towards one of the bigger holes, the opening of a tunnel that seems to lead downwards and is lit from within. A gasp escapes him suddenly, and he shoots you a wide-eyed look. “Oh! I know! Hold on, I know where to take you!”

And all you can do is hold on, really, because in the next second he’s diving down the tunnel at breakneck speed and dragging you like a doll behind him. Admittedly, with a little more care than that phrase implies. But still, you’re quite taken aback. This whole time Hoseok has had such boundless energy, and you never knew? Being completely submerged in the water, his natural element, his home— it really makes him into another person. It sets him free.

It’s beautiful to witness.

Hoseok is sure to make the most of your limited time underwater, packing the few hours as full of experiences as he can. You do, as a human breathing underwater, garner a few odd looks here and there from the occasional merfolk you pass on your ventures, but it doesn’t dampen your mood in the slightest. And even if it did, you have a very distinct feeling Hoseok wouldn’t let that be the case for very long.

He’s almost glowing with happiness as he shows you the underwater city that is his home. First, he takes you to the very outskirts of the civilisation, showing you the large, impossibly deep fissure that stretches for miles and appears like a moat around half of the city. It’s stunning, the very bottom pitch black and broken only by the glimmer of bubbles as they make their way to the surface, released from geysers and cracks in the sea floor. When you see it, you immediately want to get closer, but Hoseok halts you with a cheerful warning—apparently the fissure is prone at any moment to releasing massive gusts of scorching water and steam, forming a makeshift wall around the kingdom edges. He informs you that it’s actually usually always alive, and that you’ve actually just managed to catch one of the times that the geysers cool down.

Right as he finishes informing you of that, the aforementioned trenches grumble and groan, and the wall of heated water and air he mentioned shoots up with magnificent force. Awe-inspiring as it is, you nearly scare half to death as a result, and your reaction is something Hoseok isn’t keen on letting go of anytime soon. He needs fodder for future arguments should he begin to lose, after all.

Not a minute of your time is wasted. Hoseok shows you the sights from the outer parts of the city, and makes his way inwards bit by bit. He shows you the markets district, where merfolk set up their stalls and trade goods for lost treasures and the like. Beautiful silken material is sold at a stall closest to the town centre, fabric rippling and flowing like tendrils of coloured ink in the water. Hoseok tells you what they’re made of, a long list of ingredient names that mean nothing to you and yet the bright smile on his face keeps you hooked on every word. You visit almost every stall there, the vendors cheering and greeting Hoseok enthusiastically the second they see him. He gifts you two things – a necklace with mother of pearl and obsidian beads, and a large blanket spun from the finest materials the kingdom has to offer, so you can ‘keep warm on land as the cooler months approach’—both of which he pays the vendors handsomely for with several golden and silver human trinkets from his pouch. You have no idea where they came from or whether he has been carrying them this whole time, but you’re not about to stop him. He’s generous, so kind, and he’s so loved. You can see it in the eyes of those you pass as they fall upon him, how they light up and smile. They love their prince, and when you mention this to Hoseok he laughs and tells you that, actually, it’s probably the youngest three princes that are most beloved by all.

You refuse to believe it.

He takes you deeper into the kingdom, stopping by parks and stone playgrounds and getting unwittingly side-tracked by all the spritely little merchildren who haven’t grown into their fins yet. They zip about, weaving in and out and all around the stones so speedily and with such utter joy you’re half a beat away from offering to join them as well. With Hoseok, they seem to have even more fun, if possible. He plays with them, gives them his all, but even then he is conscious of the time he has with you down here and he sadly bids them farewell before long. It kind of hurts to say goodbye (somehow the little underwater cherubs managed to worm their way into your heart in the less than ten minutes  you were with them), but not a moment is spared dwelling on the feeling because Hoseok has already entwined your hands together and is leading you to the next destination.

It’s a vast field of underwater flora that he shows you next, and it’s just as breathtaking as everything else you’ve seen so far. High, looming arches of sandstone litter the area, vines with long, gossamer leaves and large-petaled flowers winding around them and floating, dancing with the current. Along the floor is a sea of vibrant anemone, all of them waving at you as you grow closer, tendrils entangling with their neighbours. There are other plants, more than you can name or take in, but it all adds together for probably some of the most beautiful scenery you’ve ever seen. It’s wild, left to nature, and so, so mesmerising. You can feel your heart ache at the beauty. Hoseok lets you linger here a little longer, admiring you when you’re not looking as you tickle some of the plants and giggle at their response.

The monuments, the landmarks, the palace—Hoseok shows you it all. By the time you arrive and see the palace properly, you don’t have much longer of the spell left to enjoy. Still, Hoseok tries to do as much as possible in the time you have left.

Miraculously yet almost unsurprisingly, you manage to run into Hoseok’s brothers one by one, and end up collecting them in your ‘tour group’ as you go along. Eventually, you have them all, and Hoseok decides it’s the perfect setting to spend the last of your time doing something fun. It becomes clear what that is when they lead you to a room with something you recognise in the corner, melding to the wall.

They decide to put on a show for you.

Being mermen, you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are that they’re all incredibly gifted with music, singing and instruments. Some of them play things you’ve never seen before in your life, Yoongi having found an organ somewhere over the years and dragged it home. He plays it with unexpected finesse, and sets the baseline for a melody you don’t think you’ll ever forget.

All of them can sing, but you note that Jimin, Jungkook, Seokjin and Taehyung throw themselves into it the most. Namjoon switches between instruments and harmonising, smiling brightly the whole time. Seokjin sings, belting notes and hitting dulcet tones you’re grateful to be able to hear as they are, and sometimes he tinkers with a metallic little instrument, a soft melody resulting from his nimble fingerwork. Hoseok dances, twirling, dipping and weaving with such grace that it’s all you can do not to become completely mesmerised and bewitched by this, his most earnest form. Before long, Jimin and Jungkook join him, the former dragging along Taehyung. The dance is odd from then on out, shifting between goofy and endearing and heart-wrenchingly hypnotic. You watch happily, sometimes joining in and sometimes retreating; throughout the whole time, Hoseok keeps his gaze on you, and tries to ignore the way his heart throbs as he realises just how perfectly you fit into his world, and just how much he doesn’t want to see it without you again.

By the time their show is over and you begin to feel the weight of your lungs in your chest once more, you’ve decidedly had the best day of your life, even if it did start with a near-death experience. Having shirked his duties to spend time with you, Hoseok can only escort you to the surface, and makes it known with a potent pout how upset he is that he can’t spend anymore time with you afterwards. A cheeky pinch of his cheeks brings the smile back, however, and his mood is somewhat lifted for the rest of the trip up.

The first lungful of air you take after breaching the surface is odd, almost alien, but quickly becomes familiar again when you pull yourself out of the lagoon and onto the sand by your home. A strange shift, but you don’t think you’ll ever forget what it was like to breathe underwater.

Hoseok appears torn, clearly wanting to stay but being obligated to go, and with a quick peck to your forehead (which he had to pull himself halfway out of the water to achieve, mind you) and a longing look, he bids you farewell and dips back beneath the surface.

You sit there for a while after, gazing at the water.

All the thoughts you procrastinated throughout the day come rushing back at once and you’re forced to confront them at last. As your feet sink familiarly into fine sand, the edge of the lagoon lapping at your toes, you’re stunned with the realisation that yes, in such a short time you’ve fallen in love with Hoseok’s world.

And as you climb to your feet and make your way back to your home a while later, it’s with the startling knowledge that even that pales in comparison to your affection for the merman himself.

x     x     x     x     x     x

“Do you want her to stay, hyung?”

“I… I haven’t even…”

“You like her, don’t you, hyung?”

“…”

“We know, Hobi. We see it when you look at her. It’s easy to see what you want—but do you, yourself, know what that is?”

x     x     x     x     x     x

 If someone had told you before you climbed into your boat and rowed out to Pirate Lord Ezra’s ship to assassinate him, that this was what you had to expect in the months following that decision, you’d have sent them to the local doctor for fear they’d come down with something serious.

You don’t think you could have ever guessed your future would become so intricately intertwined with that of mythical beings hiding deep in the oceans. Months, you’ve spent here on this island that has become a home to you, and every day has been a new adventure, a new story to retell in time and a new memory to look back upon fondly. In the absence of the family you’ve grieved over for so long, you’ve managed to find another. Your parents and siblings are never forgotten—but you’ve opened your heart to let others in.

In your time on the island, you’ve begun to do something that you never would have imagined before.

You’ve begun to heal.

The wounds that festered inside you for years on end, the pits of grief and sores of hatred that oozed magma over your insides and set them alight—you can barely feel them anymore.  Each day on the island, with Hoseok and his mischievous brothers, smoothed a balm over them, soothing the ache and making the weight over your chest a little more bearable.

Of course, you’re definitely not upset at the prospect; but you are a little scared. Anxious that despite how far you feel you’ve come, how much you’ve let go, the second you catch wind of the pirate again it will all be shot to hell. You’re terrified of relapsing and going straight back to square one. Because you hadn’t realised it completely before now, but at square one, you were miserable. You don’t ever want to go back to that.

You have a feeling, though, that as long as you’re around Hoseok, you won’t lose all the progress you’ve made. You’ve had a lot of time so far to come to terms with what Hoseok is to you, how you feel about him. When you first saw him, sick and dying on Ezra’s ship, you didn’t expect that eventually you’d fall in love with him. It feels like something an idiot would do, with the gap between your worlds being so large, but… Hoseok makes you happy. He brings you joy and makes you feel treasured, appreciated. You can’t bring yourself to try and stomp out the feelings, and even if you did try you wouldn’t be able to—they’ve had months to bud and bloom and now they’ve matured into something magnificent, something beautiful and irrevocably rooted in your very being.

You doubt you would have even been able to stop yourself from crushing on him in the first place, really. Hoseok is the sweetest summer bloom, with the brightest petals and the most luminous glow beneath the sun. And it was kind of inevitable that you were drawn to him. You’re just a wee little bumblebee, and in each other you find the perfect solution to needs and longings you hadn’t even realised before now. Almost all of Hoseok’s brothers have confessed to you at some point, that they’ve never seen their brother shine as brightly as he has since he met you.

It flustered you to hear that, but you can’t deny the giddy butterflies it set free in your tummy.

It’s as though there are always butterflies of some sort in your tummy, these days. Even as you sit here now, basking in the afternoon sun by your lagoon with Hoseok and Jungkook playing about in the water, shielded from the sun by the trees overhanging the sides, you feel them. It’s from the way every so often Hoseok will look over and check if you’re still watching, if you’re comfortable, if you need anything. Hoseok has a lot of caring little actions he does that never fail to make your heart skip.

It’s peaceful this afternoon, a soothing air washing over you. The breeze, the faint smell of the ocean it carries. You’re very content where you are. The peaceful energy isn’t reciprocated by the other two occupants of the space, though.

“y/n! Hoseok-hyung won’t let me throw him in the air!”

Jungkook’s brief wail is accompanied by a smack of his hands into the water, cold droplets flying and making you jump at the contrast as they hit your heated skin.

Hoseok sends his youngest brother a dubious look. “For good reason—you’re going to end up hurting me or yourself or both of us. I’m saving us both the trouble.”

“He’s being mean, y/n!” Jungkook bolts across the lagoon, sidling up to the rock you’re perched on with eyes already assuming their usual starry-eyed look. “y/n, we’re friends right? Tell him to let me throw him in the air. I want to see how high he will go!”

Hoseok, for some reason, seems slightly panicked. “y/n, don’t you dare think of siding with him—”

Well, you weren’t going to. But if he insists….

“I mean, I was gonna tell him no,” you say, smiling. “But since you don’t want me to—”

Unfortunately, you don’t get to finish teasing Hoseok like you want to. Your words are cut off by the sudden appearance of Jimin and Taehyung, their arrival bringing a generous splash of water that almost drenches you.

“y/n!” Jimin gasps, making a beeline for you with Taehyung hot on his tail. You don’t even get to breathe before they’re grabbing your hands, almost frantic. “y/n! There’s—there’s a—”

“There’s a ship! On the horizon!” Taehyung is unable to contain himself, the words bursting forth as his brother attempts to get across the same message. The words don’t even register as he continues, eyes wide and mouth running a mile a minute. “This is the first time a ship has come so close in almost fifty years, usually they’re turned away by the wards!”

You feel as though you’ve frozen in place. Jimin reclaims your attention as he continues where his brother leaves off, “They’re close enough that if you make enough commotion they’ll see you, y/n. They can take you home!”

A few beats pass in suspense before their words hit you all at once—there’s a ship?! The entire time you’ve been on this island, you haven’t seen hide nor hair of any other humans. It’s as though you’ve been existing in a pocket of the universe that is only for your eyes and those of the mercreatures you share it with. In all honesty, some days you forget completely that this world isn’t your own, that there’s another one waiting for you just across the ocean.

“There’s—there’s a ship?” you can’t help but request confirmation, eyes wide in shock. You’re taken aback by its presence, not because you thought that you would always be stranded here, but because it is like a bucket of icy water has been poured over you and you have been thrust into the sudden and stark realisation that being rescued from this island was something you probably should have been longing for this whole time.

But you hadn’t.

The two twins nod, still vibrating with the excitement and fuss of the whole situation. You want to look at the other two mermen in the lagoon, but can’t seem to make your head move. A pit threatens to open in your stomach at the thought of looking at Hoseok right now. Your mouth opens and closes for a moment, realisation hitting you that you should probably get up and look. It’s the normal thing to do. You force yourself to shift on the rock where you sit, preparing to stand.

“Which beach?” you barely manage to whisper. The twins point behind you, towards the beach you’d spent a lot of time on when you first arrived. The beach where Hoseok dragged you into the water and made you dance with him.

You nod, standing, and this time your gaze moves of its own accord—to Jungkook, who is looking at you with a surprising amount of distress, brows pinched and expression fallen. The youngest’s sadness makes your heart cinch, so you turn your gaze to Hoseok. A mistake.

The only word that comes to mind to describe how Hoseok looks, is gutted. It’s as though you’ve taken something he holds dear and crushed it to pieces right in front of him. He’s still as stone in the water, stunned and frozen as something indecipherable crosses his features.

“y/n…” Jungkook says suddenly, voice thick. When you look again, its as though he’s pleading with his eyes.

“I’ll… I’ll go have a look,” you say, turning and trying not to look at anyone as you do. Even so, you still manage to catch a glimpse of Hoseok’s face as you leave.

And the hurt in his eyes nearly breaks your stride.

You leave the lagoon, heading to the beach hastily. Your mind is a mess—why are you going? But why wouldn’t you go? There’s something deep within you, something you want more desperately than anything ever before, but you can’t figure out what it is. In your daze, you walk into a few bushes on your path and end up with a few scrapes. You don’t even feel it, too preoccupied with the plethora of confusion and distress in your mind.

A ship is here. You should be happy. You don’t belong here, the ship will take you home.

But… that doesn’t feel quite right.

Still, you continue walking the well-worn path you’ve made through the trees to the beach. Gazing upon the lush greenery you pass with a strange sensation building in your chest. As soon as you approach the edge of the forest, you’re able to see it. There, just on the horizon, is a ship. It doesn’t seem to be a pirate ship, appearing more like a cargo carrier. The perfect opportunity. If you want to go home, all you need to do is make a commotion, and catch their attention.

But… do you want to go home?

No, that’s not the right question, because out there doesn’t feel like your home anymore. Your home, is here. Do you want to leave it? Do you want to return to a world where your existence is shaped around tracking down and killing a man who has likely already forgotten you even exist? The old you might have, the one who had only found purpose in avenging the family she lost. But this you… she doesn’t want that.

You take a moment to delve into your thoughts, staring absently at the ship as you do so. You’re sure anyone normal would want to leave a ‘deserted island’ the first chance they got, but you… you want to stay. Why is that? Is it the peace you’ve found here? The way you’ve begun to heal? To experience life in a way you haven’t in years? Maybe. But it’s also something else. Your thoughts keep coming back to the realisation you had when you were underwater, with Hoseok.

Yes, you want to stay for all of those reasons, but most of all, you want to stay because you don’t want to go back to a world without Hoseok.

Love has really pulled a fast one on you with this, you think. You couldn’t have ever accounted for falling in love with the merman that saved your life and brought you to this island. But, it happened, and now… well, you’re in love with the merman that saved your life and brought you to this island.

And you want to stay here. With him.  

You blink back into the present moment, eyes focusing from where they were resting on the ship in the distance. Without even realising, you’ve already come to a decision—perhaps a while ago, before today. You’re not going to flag down the ship, and you’re not going to try and leave. You want to stay here, with Hoseok, and his brothers, and his magical world, and that’s exactly what you’re going to do.  

The future you want is here, and you’re not going to run away from it.

The affirmation brings a certain sense of peace to the anxious roiling of your stomach, nerves finally calming from where they were crackling under your skin. Basking in this new sense of… ease, you simply stand, and watch as the ship continues across the horizon. Bit by bit, minute by minute, it grows smaller and smaller until eventually dusk tickles the sky where it meets the sea and the ship is nowhere to be seen.

It’s gone, and you don’t feel a single ounce of regret.

All at once, you come back to the present moment and realise that you just kind of up and left everyone in suspense. You wonder, do they think you attempted to call to the ship? A part of you is saddened by the thought that maybe that was what they wanted, but then you remember the crestfallen look on Jungkook’s face, and Hoseok’s— oh.

You wonder if Hoseok realised you weren’t going to leave.

Briefly, there is a moment of insecurity that flashes through you—what if he wanted you to leave, too? What if he never entertained the idea of you staying? It takes a bit of effort, but you manage to dismiss those worries. No… the way Hoseok looked at you as you walked away—he looked like you’d reached into his chest and carved out his heart with your bare hands. You have a feeling that he didn’t want you to go. A part of you hopes, secretly, for something else, a little more, but… you don’t dare entertain such things just yet.

With the side of the island beginning to darken as the sun drops behind the great hills and peaks, late afternoon bleeding into dusk, you decide to go back. It doesn’t take long, feeling as though you merely blinked before you were back at the lagoon. A part of you expected all four mermen to be in the waters still, but to your surprise it is only three of the four that greet you. The twins brighten up at your appearance, Jungkook lurching up and gasping.

“y/n!” He swims over to the edge of the lagoon, where it is still deep enough for him and his tail to fit. “You didn’t go?”

You’re touched that he seems to be so relieved that you stayed, but you can’t help but notice the one particular absence that is glaring you in the face. “Yeah, I… I don’t want to leave. I’m happy here, you know?”

All three males seem delighted at the words you offer them, sharing a look that you don’t quite catch. You can’t help but ask the question pressing against your lips, stomach dropping anxiously. “Where… where’s Hoseok?”

At that, they share another look, this one a little more knowing. For once Jungkook is quiet, biting his lip, but the twins are more than happy to expose their brother.

“He thought you were going to leave,” Jimin admits seriously, looking at you for once without an ounce of mirth. “He didn’t say it, but he was really upset and swam away after you left. Do you want to see him?”

The question he tacks on has an oddly hopeful note, and you can’t help but smile softly. “Yes, if that’s okay. Do you know where he went?”

“To his favourite place,” Taehyung informs you, smiling brightly. “The one above ground, not the one below.”

At his words, you feel nothing but complete and utter confusion. His favourite place? You thought it was the underwater cavern where he went to think… Before you can open your mouth and ask for some clarification, the twins return to their usual cheeky selves and take a hold of each of Jungkook’s arms; the youngest is understandably alarmed.

“Go find him, tell him why you decided to stay,” Jimin instructs you, a knowing look in his eyes that makes you feel as though he sees right through any pretences you might have. “He’ll be happier than you can believe.”

With that, the twins let out a hasty farewell, and Jungkook looks between them in worry. Just as he goes to protest, the other two grip him firmly and with a strong flourish of their tails, they dive back into the lagoon—dragging Jungkook with them. The splash of water that results is massive, mostly due to Jungkook’s flailing, and if you weren’t currently trying to figure out where on earth Hoseok is, you might have laughed.

In the silence that follows their departure, broken only by the soft, peaceful sounds of nature around you, you fall into your own thoughts. Hoseok has shown you many places around the island and even underwater, but you don’t think you’ve ever heard him explicitly say that they’re his favourite. To be honest, he is the type of guy where everything is his favourite. So, understandably, you’re a little stumped. Your insides are torn between a sense of urgency and a conflicting sense of ease. You’re in a bit of an emotional limbo, but you can’t really do anything about it until you find Hoseok.

Where do you even begin to search…

You try thinking about it logically; if it’s his favourite place, then it must be somewhere that has meaning to him? You blink. Even now, you’re stumped. He’s never confessed anything like that either, and as much of an open book as he is, beneath that he is incredibly hard to read.

Those damn twins… couldn’t they have just told you where he is?!

With a sigh, you decide to think as you go. You may as well begin to look, before daylight runs out and you have to run and grab a glowing rock that Hoseok gifted you one day a while ago. You’ve been using it to illuminate your cave, but it will help if you need to illuminate where you’re walking in the trees.

A few places come to mind as you walk, but none of them really spark as you think of them, and none of them turn up fruitful. He isn’t by the citrus tree, or the large rock-man you made in his honour. It gets darker bit by bit as you go along, still no closer to finding the strangely elusive merman and growing a little frantic. You try some of the places that mean a lot to you, wondering if they might be something you share in common. They all turn out unsuccessful, barren of the handsome merman you’re attempting to track down, and you have to fight to prevent yourself from getting too bummed. He’s here somewhere, you just have to pinpoint the right place.

It’s very almost near dark by the time you think you’ve exhausted every possible option, having searched almost the entire portion of the island by now. The sun has long since disappeared, and now it is rays of moonlight that begin to drip to the earth between gaps in the foliage, shifting as the breeze rustles the leaves above. You pause at that observation, something niggling in the back of your mind. The moonlight… oh.

With a renewed sense of energy and determination, you turn on your heel and begin in the direction of the beach on the opposite side of the island to where you’d been earlier. It isn’t as clear as the other side, littered with more rocks and pools, boulders that extend into the water creating little alcoves and pockets of privacy. That side of the island also tends to gather more pretty shells and bits and pieces. You return with quite an armful every time you venture there.

You think you know where he might have gone.

You can’t remember when exactly, but it hadn’t been too long ago that you’d spent the night with Hoseok beneath the moon, gazing up at the stars and revelling in their beauty, as you so often did. What made this particular evening stand out, however, was that at the end of the night, right before the merman left and returned to his home, you gave him a gift.

A blush heats your cheeks as you remember; it wasn’t anything special, just a dumb little necklace made of shells and some pretty sea glass that you found. It had taken you almost a week to pull together in a way that made it sturdy and presentable. It really wasn’t much, very crude compared to some of the jewellery you’d seen adorning his golden skin. But when you pulled it from behind your back and gave it to him, Hoseok had looked at it like it was an item that fell directly from the heavens and into his hold.

He’d stared at it a few moments, allowing it to run over his fingers like he was playing with water, shells and glass tinkling against each other, until he finally snapped out of it and gave you a look that was so open and full of elation that in combination with his marks and pretty features, it really almost blinded you. With the necklace carefully clutched in his hand, he’d then proceeded to launch himself at you and drag you into a hug that had your face steaming from how long it went on (not that you were complaining).

You still don’t know why the necklace seemed to be such a precious item to him, but the hunch the memory gave you seems to be right as the second you step onto the sand in the little alcove where you gave it to him, you see the telltale glow of his markings soaking in the moonlight and the glimmer of his oil slick tail as the end flicks lazily in the water.

He’s beached himself a little, laying on his back with his arms spread out and the tide lapping at his hips where skin blends into iridescent scales. His eyes are on the inky expanse of the sky, reflecting the sea of stars that gaze down upon the two of you. For a moment, you simply stand and observe him. At first glance he is as mesmerising as ever, but upon closer inspection his hair is a little wilder than usual, salt-crusted waves curling without order and shifting in the breeze. The sand from his shoulders down is a little damper than the rest above him, and you wonder if he’s been here, laying in the same position uncaringly while the tide slowly recedes. Your next look reveals his red-rimmed eyes and your ears pick up soft, almost indiscernible sniffles and you realise that yes, he’s been laying in the same spot probably the entire afternoon.

For a moment, you’re completely stumped as to how to approach him. From what you know, he’s upset either because you left or because you tried to leave, or because you want to leave. None of those are true, but either way he’s not really expecting to see you come down the shore and sit next to him—he’s a little jumpy, and you don’t want to frighten him half to death. In a bid to find something that will spark an idea, you let your gaze wonder around you. Fortuitously, you see a small shrub with tiny white flowers in bunches a little to your left and have something to go with. As quietly as possible, you pick a few and begin to descend silently down the sand, separating the tiny buds from their stems so that you have a handful of many tiny flowers.

The only sound that filters into your ears is that of the waves crashing softly against the rocks and sand, and the soft rustle of the trees in the breeze—you hope it’s the same for Hoseok. You feel a little nervous for some reason, but the familiar scent of salt and sea in the air helps to mollify those nerves. The sand is soft against your bare feet, embracing them like a lost friend and keeping your presence secret for the moment.

By the time you arrive almost a foot from the raven-haired merman, he has closed his eyes and is simply laying, basking in the moonlight. There are trails down his cheeks, but you can’t tell how fresh they are even with the helpful glow of his moon marks.

Silently as you can, you ease into a sitting position on the sand by his shoulders. The soft material of the clothes Hoseok’s brothers gave you grows a little damp as you sink down, the tide only recently having kissed this portion of sand. He still hasn’t noticed you, and you take a slow breath before holding up your two hands with the flowers cupped inside, and letting them fall over his face.

They’re so tiny that the most they do is tickle him, but evidently, he seems to be very ticklish; his face twists and contorts, brows and eyes twitching at the sensations. It isn’t long before his eyes flutter open, searching for the source of the sensation. They flit about in alarm, before they finally fall on you and the merman freezes. Two beats pass and then he’s lurching up, small clumps of wet sand sticking to him before falling off, along with all the flowers that you sprinkled over him—save for a few that cling to some of his curls. There are grains stuck to the hair at the back of his head, and his arms are covered completely on the sides—it makes for a look that seems a little wild, but still… he looks good. It isn’t fair.

His incredible good looks aside, he’s looking at you like he saw a ghost. You simply sit for a moment, making sure he isn’t about to topple over before you speak.

“Taehyung told me you might be here,” you say, a soft smile on your lips. “Or, well—he said ‘your favourite place’ above ground. It took me a while.”

“What are you doing here?” Hoseok asks before he can process your words, disbelief colouring his tone. He lifts one of his hands as though to touch you, but it hesitates midway between your bodies. “Didn’t the ship go already? You missed it?”

Reaching out for the hand that is still hanging mid-air, you take the opportunity to intertwine your fingers and bring your clasped hands close to your chest. Hoseok’s eyes shoot wide at the motion, appearing very much still bewildered by the current situation. His cheeks are flushed slightly behind his marks, and you’re not sure whether its from lying out of the water all afternoon or something else.

“Why? You want me to leave?” you joke, unable to help your laugh at the merman’s immediate aghast expression. Before he can belt out a protest, you soothe him, “I’m kidding. The ship is gone. I didn’t flag it down.”

Hoseok looks at you, perplexed, his eyes flicking over every one of your features as though searching for something that will inform him of the meaning behind your words.

“Wh—I mean, I know we have never really talked about it but… why? You… You are technically stranded here. Don’t you want to leave?”

Your eyes sweep his face as he speaks, picking up the saddened turn of his brows and crease of his eyes. You swear you catch his chin wobbling slightly, but can’t be sure. Something rises within you, pressing against your chest in effort to burst free. Now. You’re going to tell him now.

“Hoseok… I want to stay.” You reach out, tenderly brushing some of the sand from his cheek with your thumb. “I want to stay on this island, and I want to stay with you.”

He’s frozen, staring at you with wide eyes, and you continue, giving a voice to the simple wants and desires that reside deep within you.

“I’m happy here, and you… you make me happy, so, so happy.” Deep breath in, deep breath out. “Hobi, you mean more to me than some stupid, ancient grudge, than a world that I turned my back on years ago. You’re what I treasure most and I don’t… I don’t want to let that go.”

In the moments that follow your sudden, somewhat premeditated confession, there is silence. One beat, two beats. You scan his face for any indication of his response, and you swear his eyes begin to mist. You don’t get to analyse it though, because in the next second the merman makes a choked noise and lurches forward, arms wrapping around you as the weight of his body sends the two of you crashing back against the sand. Having fallen at an odd angle, the two of you proceed to roll down into the surf.

You don’t notice though, because Hoseok has his lips pressed firmly to your own and it’s like your heart is about to burst clean out of your chest.

Only when the two of you splash into the water, does he release you—and even then you’re still tight in his hold as he peppers soft, featherlight kisses across everywhere he can reach on your face. Your forehead, eyelids, nose, cheek—nowhere is safe. You can’t help but squeal at the ticklish sensations, making him erupt into a sudden, deep laugh that fills your bones with happiness.

He sits up, bringing you with him, and pulls back with his arms around your waist. He’s grinning so wide his eyes are almost disappearing, his moon marks glowing brighter than ever,

“I love you too, precious pearl,” he confesses, with such vulnerability and sincerity that it actually makes you embarrassed, heat washing almost violently over your face and neck.

You can’t help but sputter, squirming on his lap and ignoring the water you’re sitting in, “I n-never said that!”

Hoseok leans in and brushes the tip of his elfish nose against your own. “But you meant it.”

He has you there. Blushing madly, you let out a huff and he coos. “Don’t get cocky, Mr. Fish, or I’ll take it back.”

Another laugh tumbles from his throat, eyes gleaming with mirth and mischief. “You can’t take it back. You technically proposed to me here, you know.”

At that, you balk, running through the events of the past few minutes and trying to figure out whether he is messing with you or not. “I—I did not!”

“You did,” he hums, pressing surprise kisses to the apples of your cheeks that make you squeak. “Not just now, but that other time we were here. That’s why this is my favourite place.”

At your lost look, he decides to have mercy and let you in with an amused smirk. “For merpeople, when there is someone that they want to spend the rest of their lives with, they go out and gather precious items and fashion them into a piece of jewellery. They then give it to them under the light of the moon, as a proposal and a sign of undying love and commitment.”

The merman blushes now, smiling sheepishly. “I knew you had no idea, and that you didn’t really mean it that way but… it made me happy.”

Learning this, your face feels as though it is on fire, and you wouldn’t be surprised if there was steam coming from your cheeks. Even more embarrassing, are the words coming out of your mouth next. “Oh… Well, I mean… I didn’t know, but… Now that I do, I’d do it again.”

Your words make Hoseok’s breath hitch, and he stares at you intensely for a moment before he lets out a sharp noise and suddenly you’re being attacked with another shower of kisses and affection.

“I’m holding you to that!” He exclaims, rolling the two of you back against the sand as he continues his onslaught between words. “That’s a promise!”

You’re torn between laughing and squealing, instead using your hands to still him so you can press a kiss of your own to his lips. This halts him for only a moment before he’s wriggling giddily and letting out a happy yell once more, wrapping you into a big bear hug.

“And now you can never, ever, ever leave!” he says, before amending in a smaller tone, “Please don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” you tell him, grinning. “Never, ever, ever.”

And under the light of the bodies in the sky, your words entwine into a promise made to last, sealed with the kiss of the sea and the glow of the merman beneath you.

x     x     x     x     x     x

[four months later; full moon]

The crash of the waves and the soft rustle of the tree line behind you blend into a soothing white noise, lifting your heart high in euphoria. Salt brushes your tastebuds and nostrils, breeze playing with hair that you’ve taken the liberty of attempting to style a little, just for today. You’re standing waist-deep in water, clothing floating around you in a silky halo, vibrating with nerves and excitement, and Hoseok is before you, hands clasped in your own.

A beautiful vine you remember seeing grow along the sea floor in Hoseok’s kingdom beneath the waves is wrapped around both of your wrists, t3ravelling down his arm to climb your own. The flowers are soft against your skin, sweet-smelling and glowing slightly in the night. Hoseok sways your hands slightly, grinning in such a way you can feel every inch of his happiness, and you can’t help but smile back. Off to the side, deeper in the surf, are five of Hoseok’s brothers, identified by the way their markings light beneath the moon. The sixth, Namjoon, is beside you and Hoseok, resting in the middle. A small crab clings onto a choker around his neck, simply hanging in content.

Another crash of the waves, and Namjoon continues where he left off, speaking with a clear voice that seems to reach the heavens themselves. One of his hands is grasping where yours is entwined with Hoseok’s, and the skin there glows with warmth.

“And the moon, who has given her blessing for this union and happily bound your souls, has bestowed a gift upon the two children born beneath her rays. As she waxes, so shall her human child live beneath the sea with her companion. And as she wanes, so shall her merchild live on land with his companion.”

Hoseok is almost vibrating in place before you, hands clutching yours tightly. Namjoon smiles, exuding happiness for his brother.

“She has guided you across oceans and lands to be with each other, and now she allows you to remain so. Feel her love and magic wash over you and course through your veins. With her blessing, you may now meet, and seal this ceremony.”

Almost before Namjoon has even finished speaking, there is a slight burn along your arms and Hoseok is letting go of your hands to lurch towards you, holding you close as you both fall into the water once more. Your surprised, elated squeal is cut off as you are submerged, but he simply stops you with an eager kiss of your lips. Instantly, you melt against him, feeling your hair float and tickle your cheeks as you kiss him back, butterflies running amok inside you. As you rise back to the surface, now completely drenched, it’s to the sound of loud cheering and whooping from Hoseok’s family. Delighted and amused, you send them a bright grin that they happily return.

When you turn to him, he seems a little sheepish, somewhat embarrassed, but you quickly and successfully distract him with a quick kiss.

“Now you know for sure I’m not gonna leave, never, ever, ever,” you tease softly, enjoying the way he flushes instantly at the reference to his moment of weakness four months ago. “I love you, Hobi.”

“Love you too, precious pearl,” he returns, almost shyly, before he’s pressing his forehead against yours and his brothers are making teasing noises in the background.

Your heart leaps, soars, and it will never feel any more content as it does now. You’re in awe, reflecting for a moment where you’ve come from to be here now. You have many things to thank, you suppose, but most of all, you thank the moon. For it was her, and her magic, that brought you to Hoseok, and let you into his world.

It was the moon, and her magic, that brought you home.

masterlist | ko-fi

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[highqueenofelfhame]

if i had a soul to steal // 4.21 // thirteen.

From the second she heard the door open, her hand reached for the gun she knew lay on the nightstand, then disappeared back under her pillow. Thought it was likely it was just Rowan, she couldn’t be too careful and she had learned that the hard way.

Like the time she thought it was Rowan and spent a handful of minutes fighting for her life only to be taken and tortured for seven years. 

A heavy body dropped onto the bed beside her and she knew two things immediately: the first was that it definitely wasn’t Rowan. Never had he ever woken her up like that in their entire relationship. The second was that she didn’t have time to think up another plan, because with such a rude awakening anyone would be immediately awake and complaining. So instead of taking even a second to consider her options, she whipped her hand from beneath the pillow and slammed it into the face of whoever took up Rowan’s place in bed. 

A voice she recognized swore and, because she couldn’t trust anybody right now, she scrambled to get out of bed, and about halfway through the notion she realized just how injured she still was. The immediate and quick movement sent a sharp, searing pain to the wound that was barely beginning to heal in her side and having overshot the distance to get out of bed, she slammed to the floor. Aelin had no control over the series of curses that spilled from her mouth and instead pushed herself to her feet. One hand went to the wound, the other rose to point a gun at the trespasser. 

Fenrys Moonbeam rolled off the bed and moved around to stand in front of her, one hand raised in surrender and the other raised to his temple. 

“I thought you were supposed to be crippled. Shit. Not to mention, weren’t you a hell of a lot more mellow?” It was then that he opened his eyes to look at her and his eyes widened at her appearance. 

Risking a moment, Aelin shifted her gaze from his bleeding temple to the too-warm and suddenly damp spot at her side and she groaned. Blood was soaking through the white shirt that she wore and just as she looked back up to Fenrys to grill him to find if he could be trusted or not, the front door slammed into the wall and footsteps were pounding through the cabin. Fenrys mumbled another swear word, likely knowing that Rowan was going to kick his ass when he found the compromising position the two were in. This was going to be worse than any prank Aelin and Fenrys had ever played on him, because in none of those pranks did it look like Fenrys was responsible for stabbing the life out of his wife. This reality, however, did. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” 

“Before you go getting all stabby or shooty, she did that to herself. I merely sat down in bed—”

“I would not classify what you did as sitting down in bed,” Aelin hissed, but it was hard to keep her lips from tugging up at the corners. She had hardly seen the golden brother since her return, and until five minutes ago, had missed him. 

“—and she freaked out and fell out of bed. I’m not sure what happened while she was on the floor.”

“She has a two-inch stab wound held together with string, you moron,” Rowan shoved him out of the way and made for Aelin, “and you’re just letting her stand here?”

“You broke the godsdamn door in before I could help her!” This time, Aelin did smile, and nodded slightly to tell Rowan it was the truth. It didn’t help the situation at all, Rowan still carefully deposited her back onto the bed and raised her shirt and began quick work of inspecting her wound to figure out how bad she had managed to hurt herself. 

It was pretty bad, apparently, because he gave her a look sharp enough to deepen the wound altogether. Aelin merely shrugged.

~*~ 

After a very loud, very heated discussion, it was determined that Fenrys was no more a threat to Aelin than Rowan was. Fenrys and Aelin had always shared a special bond, the kind that best friends do where they would lay everything down for the other. It was a deep, but purely platonic, love that could not be wavered. Even by an assumed death, or a gash to the temple. 

It was halfway through that discussion when the conversation had turned from Fenrys to Aelin. Aelin, who was sitting at the table across from her conspiracy board and staring intently at the strings and blurred letters that she could hardly decipher, but it had been pertinent to get it all down while she was remembering things so freshly. 

“I want you to take me back to the cabin,” she had said, referring to the cabin she’d been found in, ignoring the shouting between Rowan and Fenrys, not particularly caring if they were listening. She had hardly noticed when they stopped yelling at each other and spun to look at her like she was absolutely out of her mind. 

Maybe she was. Maybe she was losing it, or had already lost it, or maybe since being pulled out of that tank in a cement basement she’d never really had it together at all. 

“Absolutely not,” Rowan said flatly, his voice an icy chill down her spine that didn’t register as much as it should have. 

“It’s not a request.” Where Rowan was all ice, Aelin was all fire. His ears burned at her words and they made his mouth dry with ash. Taking her back to the cabin was a huge risk and one he wasn’t so sure he was willing to take. Was anything worth risking her safety? Was it worth the risk of her getting arrested? Or taken from him in any capacity? “You can take me yourself or I can turn myself in under the single condition they take me there first.” The golden core of her eyes seared into him, burning holes where his eyes ought to be. Damn her. 

The answer was a huge and resounding no, one he didn’t have to even think about. But there was also no getting around her demand. When Aelin wanted something she got it by any means necessary. He knew that her threat to go by police or taxi were not empty, and at least if he was with her he might have some sort of control on the situation. 

It was how the three of them ended up in the Jeep Fenrys had driven in on the way to the place that Aelin had been found.

~*~

Nothing. 

There was absolutely nothing that told her a single damn thing about the person that had kidnapped and kept her hostage here. There was nothing on the walls, nothing in the now-empty tank, nothing washed halfway down a drain that told her anything of what happened here.

The things she couldn’t remember were still forgotten, the words and images choked down somewhere between her throat and stomach dying to get out with no release. There was still an empty space where a face should have been in her mind of the person that had brought her food or water or had beaten her until she was bruised and bloody and resembled little more than bleeding pulp. 

The only clues left behind were the drops of blood that had been processed by the bureau weeks ago upon her discovery, all of which had apparently belonged to Aelin. 

It was frustrating to say the least, that the only place she could remember being harbored no leads, no information. There was nothing here that wasn’t in her head. The only difference was that her hands were shaking harder than they did when she woke from her dreams. 

In an attempt to calm herself, to ground herself somewhere to the world, she rest her forehead against the cold, concrete wall and closed her eyes. One of her hands had her fingers splayed wide against the wall and the other was soon encapsulated by Rowan’s warm fingers that seemed to thaw her out and bring her down from whatever panic was trying to claw its way out. 

His touch reminded her that there was a door behind them, with stairs that led up and out. She was not trapped here. Nothing was keeping her here. Nothing could keep her with Rowan and Fenrys behind her. Rowan’s broad hand on her lower back had her lifting her head to look at him and she merely shook her head once. 

“There’s nothing here.” There was a resigned sigh in her voice, and Rowan leaned forehead to rest his forehead against her temple, nose grazing the side of her face, her jaw. Lips pressed beneath her ear, to her hair. “I needed to find something here.” 

But she didn’t. So when Rowan tugged on her fingers to lead her away, she let him. 

~*~

They thought she was sleeping. Aelin, with her head in Rowan’s lap in the back seat while Fenrys drove back toward their cabin and his fingers scratching at her scalp to soothe her. Eyes closed, her mind was wide awake so when Fenrys explained to Rowan that Lorcan was wavering in her innocence, she heard everything. 

Knowing she had never been his favorite person was one thing, but the fact that Lorcan was open to the idea that she was a murderer, had potentially kidnapped herself and was a danger to society was another thing entirely. Aelin couldn’t believe that anyone who knew her on such a personal level would ever even contemplate that she would leave Willow and Rowan behind. 

Willow. Her heart ached with a ferocity she was becoming all too familiar with. With every beat she felt like she was losing the life in her, the irony being that she had just gotten it back. But for how long? She was running out of time. She was a fugitive. Rowan was breaking so many different laws. Fenrys was breaking dozens of them. Everyone putting everything at risk for her and she couldn’t stand it. What would come of Willow, growing up in a world where her mother was a murderer? Where her mother was crazy? 

After what felt like ages, they pulled into a diner. It wasn’t quite in the middle of nowhere, but not in the hub of the city. It was somewhere they had brought Willow to when she was young, but not the same place Rowan had met Lyria. After Rowan mussed her hair and tugged a hat over her head, she wasn’t quite as recognizable. Aelin still lacked color in her face from the injury she bore, and with sunglasses on her nose to hide her brilliant blue eyes there wasn’t anything extraordinary about her.

Upon entering, they sat in a booth near a window. Aelin’s stomach grumbling so loudly it was almost comical. It was a risk, stopping to eat, but after Aelin’s constant insistence Rowan gave up and told Fenrys to pull off at the next stop. 

“Chocolate pancakes with strawberries, please,” she requested, handing off her menu before turning to lean into Rowan’s side. On the other side of the booth, Fenrys watched her closely. 

“You’ve looked better, I gotta say,” he drawled, eliciting a short from the golden blonde. Aelin didn’t have to look at Rowan to see his eye roll. She could feel it. 

“That bruise looks lovely on your face,” she crooned back, burrowing cold fingers beneath Rowan’s shirt. Fenrys laughed then earned a glare from Rowan that silently told him to keep it down. 

Their midnight dinner went smoothly, no hiccups, no police being called on the most wanted criminal in the country. It wasn’t until they were leaving, when her shoulder crashed with another set of broad ones that she was recognized. 

“Laena?” 

Something in her head throbbed, the nickname jerking her back several decades while she looked up into the too-handsome face of Archer Finn. 

Laena. The nickname gifted to her at the orphanage she stayed in for the year before the government managed to locate her Ashryver family, before they could get the adoption details in order. 

“I’m sorry,” Rowan said. “I think you have the wrong person.” He guided her back to the car, but she couldn’t stop the glances she sent over her shoulder. 

Faces of two young boys that she had played with, long since forgotten and buried under a mental suppression so black she had forgotten they existed at all. 

@starseternalnighttriumphant​ @musicmaam​ @city-of-fae​ @empire-of-wildfire​ @the-regal-warrior​ @schmlip-scribble​ @kandasboi​ 

idk guys i’m trying to be better at tagging but i dont have the mental energy and i’m lazy lmfao

[alternatearchiver]

After Wei Ying died, Lan Wangji was devastated. He had a reason to live on, which was to raise and love and protect a-Yuan, the last connection he had left to Wei Ying, but it wasn’t the same as having his true love by his side. If Lan Wangji could go back in time he would make so many different choices, and would stand by Wei Ying’s side even as the rest of the world stood against him. Maybe then Wei Ying would still be alive today, and Lan Wangji’s heart would not be completely shattered. But there was no point in thinking about the what-ifs, because there was nothing that Lan Wangji could do to change the past. All he could do was make sure that it wouldn’t be possible for such a horrific tragedy to ever happen again.

,,,

Lan Sizhui was a very good kid, a model Lan. Most of the time, Lan Wangji just felt proud of his son, but there were some times where he felt regret that there was not more of Wei Ying’s influence, since it had apparently been just as destroyed by that fever as the memories were. 

Still, for the most part, Lan Wangji was just grateful to be a part of Lan Sizhui’s life. Now that he’d finished healing from his punishment scars (though he was sure that there would always be some pain from those marks), Lan Wangji decided to take Lan Sizhui on a little field trip down to Caiyi Town. It was a few days from Lan Sizhui’s birthday (which Lan Wangji had decided on making the day he had discovered Lan Sizhui and brought him back to the Cloud Recesses, since he didn’t know the actual date), and Lan Sizhui was turning eight. 

Lan Sizhui seemed excited to go down to the town, since he had refused to go on outings away from the Cloud Recesses while Lan Wangji was healing, something about being afraid that Lan Wangji would disappear while Lan Sizhui was gone. So now they were heading out together, and Lan Wangji had brought his purse, ready to buy several presents for Lan Sizhui, even if his uncle would probably consider it excessive. But his uncle’s opinion did not mean as much to him these days, not when compared to the look on Wei Ying’s face whenever he’d looked at little a-Yuan, wanting to provide the best life possible for the boy. 

Lan Wangji never bothered bartering with the merchants. He was sure that he could manage to drive the prices down if it tried, but it’s not as though he didn’t have the money, and besides that, it was times like these where he could almost imagine the sound of Wei Ying’s laughter in his ears, teasing him for paying full price. 

Apparently the merchant in front of him felt bad that Lan Wangji was not trying to lower the price. “Ah, but for such a impressive young master as yourself, this price is really too much. Perhaps I can offer a special discount, as a thanks for the work you do to keep Gusu safe.”

“No need,” Lan Wangji said stiffly. If it was for Lan Sizhui, he would pay any amount of money, no matter how outrageous. And besides, supporting the local merchants could only be seen as a good thing. The merchant still looked awkward, and opened his mouth to say something else. Lan Wangji silently berated himself for being rude as he looked away, to glance down at Lan Sizhui. His heart seemed to stop beating as he realized that his son was no longer standing next to him. He immediately looked back at the merchant. “Did you see where the boy with me went?”

The merchant’s eyes widened at the frantic tone in Lan Wangji’s usually flat voice. He nodded to somewhere behind Lan Wangji. “I wasn’t paying close attention, but I think he might’ve wandered off towards that alley.”

Lan Wangji slammed down some money without checking how much it was, shoved the toy into his sleeve, and then rushed off to the alley. “Lan Sizhui?” He was on edge, prepared to fight off whoever might have lured away his normally well-behaved child.

It was a relief to hear Lan Sizhui’s voice, sounding unharmed as his bright white robes slowly came into sight out of the shadows of the alley. “Father, I made a friend.” There was a small smile playing across his face. 

The tension didn’t leave Lan Wangji’s muscles until he heard a child’s laughter, and Lan Sizhui’s friend emerged from the shadows as well. It was just a young boy, who looked perhaps a few years younger than Lan Sizhui. The boy had dirt smeared on his cheeks and wavy black hair that stuck out all over the place. Lan Wangji even let himself offer a tiny smile to the boy, grateful to see Lan Sizhui connecting with another child. Lan Sizhui was usually far too solemn for someone of his age. “Hello, young master.”

The boy giggled at the formal address. “a-Yuan, your dad is funny!” 

Something about the boy felt strangely familiar. Which didn’t make much sense, since Lan Wangji had been bedridden the past few years, and this boy didn’t look old enough for Lan Wangji to have encountered him before that. “What is your name?”

The boy snorted like the question was a joke, then nearly toppled over from bowing forward with such exaggeration. When he looked back up at Lan Wangji, he was still grinning. “a-Ying is a-Ying!” he proclaimed as though it should have been obvious. 

That name sent a stab of pain through his heart, and then Lan Wangji took a few steps closer, to really examine the child. Those playful silver eyes, that smile so bright it nearly hurt to look at… the fact that Wei Ying had died a little over three years ago, and this a-Ying looked to be about that old… “Wei Ying?” he murmured, terrified to be wrong.

a-Ying blinked a few times, then shook his head. “Just a-Ying.”

Lan Wangji knew Lan Sizhui was looking at him in confusion, but Lan Wangji could barely focus over the sound of his beating heart. “How old is a-Ying? Where are your parents?”

a-Ying furrowed his brows adorably as he thought about it, then finally held up three fingers. “a-Ying is this many! And…” that beautiful smile faltered for less than a second before fixing itself. “a-Ying is alone.”

It was too good to be true, and yet it had to be true. For all the suffering that Lan Wangji had been through, he was being gifted with a very precious second chance. And it was a second chance for Wei Ying as well, to grow up in a home where he would be loved and cared for, and never made to feel like his life wasn’t as important as someone else’s. Even Lan Wangji didn’t know the full extent of the damage that had been done to Wei Ying in the Jiang household, but he was determined to not let history repeat itself.

So Lan Wangji knelt down on one knee, and slowly reached out his hand toward the little boy. “Would a-Ying like to come home with us?”

Lan Sizhui’s eyes lit up at the idea, and he looked at Lan Wangji excitedly. “I can have a brother?”

“For now,” Lan Wangji allowed. “Someday a-Ying will be my wife.” He could already picture the wedding ceremony, with Wei Ying veiled in red, and Lan Wangji would get the chance to wrap his forehead ribbon around Wei Ying’s wrist and mean it, and they would finally get the happy ending that had been torn away from them by the war and by everything Wei Ying had suffered through. Lan Wangji looked at a-Ying, who was watching him with large, pensive eyes. “Would a-Ying like that?”

a-Ying tilted his head to the side and reached up to rub at his nose, and even though Lan Wangji had never met his Wei Ying at such a young age, the movement was so familiar that it left no doubt in his mind that this really was his Wei Ying. “Wife? Isn’t that like, hm, kissing stuff?”

Lan Wangji let out a soft laugh. “Eventually. Not until a-Ying is older, though.” Lan Wangji thought of the very first time they’d fought on the rooftops in the moonlight, when they were sixteen years old. Even then, Lan Wangji had wanted to kiss that smug look off of the beautiful stranger’s face, though at the time he hadn’t really understood those feelings. Now Lan Wangji was going to get a second chance, because someday Wei Ying would be sixteen again, and he would surely be just as wild and beautiful as he had been the first time around. 

Lan Sizhui didn’t seem to fully understand the wife part either, but he did seem very excited about the idea of bringing his new friend home, even though they couldn’t have known each other for longer than ten or fifteen minutes. Maybe there was some part of Lan Sizhui, deep down, that recognized the person who had loved him so dearly. “There’s toys at home,” he explained to a-Ying like he was trying to close a business deal. “And books, and paint, and, and, lots of food.”

a-Ying only thought about it for a few more seconds before he seemed to decide that that was enough on offer. “Okay!” He leaped towards Lan Wangji, and let himself get picked up and balanced on one of Lan Wangji’s hips. The mention of food was good, because Lan Wangji wanted a-Ying to be happy more than anything, so he went over to a stall selling spices and bought several bottles of the most outrageously red looking ones. a-Ying clung tightly to Lan Wangji as he looked down to have a half-shouted conversation back and forth with Lan Sizhui, and Lan Wangji couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so at peace.

,,,

a-Ying, who’s name was now officially Lan Ying (since Lan Wangji could not have renamed him Wei Ying without risking his brother’s suspicions), was a naturally talented child when it came to pretty much everything. When he was willing to learn, he would often surpass his peers without much effort. The real challenge was getting him to settle down and pay attention long enough for him to learn anything.

To keep a-Ying away from his uncle’s wrath, Lan Wangji had quickly decided to take personal responsibility for all of a-Ying’s lessons. It had been a bit of a challenge at first, but with the right incentives, usually praise and signs of affection, a-Ying would get serious with his studies. It didn’t take him very long at all to begin the process of building his golden core.

“Lan Zhan?”

“Mn?” The rules were that in public, a-Ying was to refer to him as Hanguang-Jun, but when it was just the two of them, a-Ying could refer to him by his personal name. Once a-Ying realized what a privilege that was, he’d stopped calling Lan Wangji anything but Lan Zhan when they were in private.

a-Ying let out a long sigh, then slumped over his desk. “Too many rules,” he grumbled. “Can’t learn them all. I wanna go play in the river.”

Lan Wangji raised one eyebrow and waited patiently until a-Ying looked up to meet his eyes before he spoke. “a-Ying must know all the rules if he wants to be a good wife.”

a-Ying looked a bit uncertain about that, but like usual, he accepted that as an adult, Lan Wangji knew what he was talking about. a-Ying let out a long, exaggerated sigh, then went back to copying out the rules. The scene made Lan Wangji so nostalgic for the days he had been overseeing a teenage Wei Ying’s punishment. Lan Wangji was determined to appreciate this time together now, in a way he hadn’t when he was younger, back before he’d understood how easily he could lose everything. 

A little while later, Lan Wangji was distracted from the book he was reading by the sudden weight plopping down on his lap. Lan Wangji’s arm automatically reached out to steady the boy. “Lan Zhan! I drew you!” He dropped down the paper he’d been holding, revealing a childish portrait of Lan Wangji, one hand holding a-Ying’s and one hand holding Lan Sizhui’s. Though it was clearly the work of a child, it showed a lot of potential skill. “What do you think?”

“Thank you, a-Ying. It’s very beautiful.” He leaned forward slightly to kiss the top of a-Ying’s head, and a-Ying let out a loud noise of joy before squirming out of Lan Wangji’s grasp and returning to his desk so that he could finish his assigned work. Lan Wangji found it impossible not to smile fondly down at the painting. Nothing could replace the one that had been destroyed when the Cloud Recesses were burned, but he would treasure this one all the same.

,,,

Lan Sizhui was with his peers, practicing sword forms, the first time Lan Wangji brought a-Ying to the Cold Pond. By now he knew better than to expect that a-Ying retained any memories of his previous life, but Lan Wangji still took pleasure in showing off the places that had been important to them both.

They both stripped and slipped into the water. Even the shallow end was high enough to come up to just below a-Ying’s nipples. a-Ying immediately yelped as the cold water stung his skin, and began hopping around. This time it was easy for Lan Wangji to pull a-Ying close to his side and warm the boy up. He sat down on a natural bench formed at the side of the pond, and gently pulled a-Ying down onto his lap.

The peaceful meditation lasted surprisingly longer than Lan Wangji would have expected from someone as restless as a-Ying. a-Ying began squirming around, and Lan Wangji was grateful for the frigid temperature of the water. He did not think of himself as a pervert, but when it came to Wei Ying, Lan Wangji didn’t trust how his body would react. 

Lan Wangji closed his eyes to try and focus on letting the water promote healing and circulation of spiritual energy, so he did not realize exactly how much a-Ying was moving around until a small hand landed on Lan Wangji’s cock. Lan Wangji’s eyes snapped open, and he jolted up, accidentally tumbling a-Ying down into the water.

a-Ying emerged without any help, wet hair plastered down his back, and he looked up at Lan Wangji in confusion. “What was that? Did I do something wrong?” Lan Wangji took a few deep breaths, then shook his head. “No, a-Ying did nothing wrong. But that place you touched is only for grown ups.” Then to prevent any future misunderstandings, he added, “Because you will be my wife, you are the only one who can touch me there, and I am the only one who can touch you there.” a-Ying glanced down, though the foggy water covered him too much to see his own little cock. Lan Wangji moved his hand closer so that he could point out the spot he was talking about, and hesitated for a moment when he didn’t feel what he was expecting. Then he back off, pretty sure that his point had been made. 

a-Ying looked back up at Lan Wangji while biting one lip, like he was considering whether or not to ask something. But he knew he was safe with Lan Wangji, and was always allowed to ask what was on his mind. “I overheard some of the other boys saying it could… feel good?”

“Has a-Ying experienced that?” The boy shook his head, and Lan Wangji felt a sudden wave of possessiveness sweep through him. He offered a-Ying a small smile. “Even a-Ying is not allowed to touch himself there, only I am. When a-Ying is old enough, I will help.” 

,,,

“Father, can I talk to you?” Lan Wangji looked up from the papers he’d been graded, and made a soft sound of assent as he tilted his head. Lan Sizhui didn’t fidget, but there was clearly something about his body language that indicated he was feeling awkward. “It’s about Lan Ying.” 

Now that really got Lan Wangji’s attention. He had assumed that Lan Sizhui had just come here to go over last minute details for the upcoming trip. Lan Sizhui and the other juniors in his age group would be going off on their first night hunt without adult supervision- though of course Lan Wangji (and a-Ying) would be waiting in the nearby town to jump in if anything went wrong. It was hard to believe that it had already been thirteen years since Wei Ying’s death. Ten years since Wei Ying had been returned to him. 

There was a slight hint of a frown on Lan Sizhui’s face. “Lan Ying said some things that have me concerned.” Lan Wangji gestured for Lan Sizhui to continue. If there was anything wrong with a-Ying, then of course Lan Wangji would want to know about it immediately. “A sister from Caiyi flirted with him the other day, and when he turned her down, he said it’s because… because he’s saving himself for you.” 

In some ways, it was surprising that this conversation had not come up sooner. Since the day Lan Wangji had first taken a-Ying in, a-Ying and Lan Sizhui had essentially been treated as brothers, and Lan Wangji hadn’t had the heart to take away a relationship that was so meaningful to the both of them. But Lan Wangji could not allow for discontent to come about because of their future roles. “Lan Ying and I are betrothed. When he comes of age, we will marry. He is aware of this.”

Lan Sizhui frowned with uncertainty. “But he’s so much younger than you. And haven’t you been raising him as your son?”

Lan Wangji patiently shook his head. “This future has never been kept secret. I understand if you will never think of him as your parent.” Lan Sizhui still looked somewhat troubled by the revelation, but in the end he left to finish up the preparations for his night hunt.

When a-Ying got home that night, Lan Wangji pulled him into a tight hug and pressed a light kiss to the boy’s forehead. a-Ying giggled. “What’s this for?”

“a-Ying has been a very good boy,” Lan Wangji told him. “a-Ying remembers who he belongs with even when others try to seduce him.”

a-Ying grinned. “Does this mean we can finally practice kissing?” It’s something he’d started asking about recently, presumably as offers from those closer to his age were being thrown his way.

Lan Wangji shook his head, but still held a-Ying just as tightly. “Not until we are married.” Even now, Lan Wangji found himself wanting to give in, to hear the kinds of noises a-Ying would make when kissed for the first time, among other things, but Lan Wangji could be patient. He did not want to interfere with a-Ying’s natural development by getting sexually involved while a-Ying was still maturing. But it was alright. Lan Wangji had already waited many years to be with his Wei Ying, and he could afford to meet a few more.

,,,

Lan Wangji hurried towards Mo Manor as soon as he saw the emergency flare set off. He ordered a-Ying to stay in their room in the inn, but it did not surprise him when a-Ying followed him to the manor. Lan Wangji couldn’t help but notice how beautiful a-Ying looked as his skin glistened with sweat and he grinned triumphantly at the corpses he defeated. All of Wei Ying’s talents and hard work had clearly carried over into this life as well.

Some of the juniors seemed a bit annoyed that someone even younger than them had helped come to the rescue, but most of them were just grateful for the help. It didn’t hurt that a-Ying didn’t tend to talk down to those less talented; instead he was more likely to offer them some pointers so that they could improve in the future.

As the group of Lans wandered through the forest later, there was a commotion caused by Sect Leader Jiang and his nephew. Up until that moment, Lan Wangji had never brought a-Ying to Lotus Pier to see Jiang Wanyin. He had not seen the point in doing so, when Jiang Wanyin held responsibility for the end of Wei Ying’s life. 

Which meant that this was the first time Jiang Wanyin’s eyes saw a-Ying, and even though it had obviously been many years since he had seen Wei Ying at this age, it was clear that he immediately recognized the boy. “What-?” The whip in his hand began to crackle with purple electricity. “What is the meaning of this, Hanguang-Jun?”

a-Ying furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, clearly not recognizing the man who had once been called his brother. Not that Jiang Wanyin had any right to call himself such anymore, after everything he’d done. a-Ying tried to move closer, but Lan Wangji reached out to put his arm in front of a-Ying’s chest, gently blocking the way. a-Ying gave Lan Wangji a weird look, then looked over at Jiang Wanyin. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve met before.” He bowed deeply enough to show an appropriate amount of respect. “This one is Lan Ying.”

Jiang Wanyin’s scowl deepened. “What the hell did you do?”

Without looking away from the angry Jiang sect leader, Lan Wangji instructed the juniors to all continue on with their business. It’s not as though Lan Wangji thought there was any chance that Jiang Wanyin would be able to take a-Ying away, it’s just that the kids didn’t need to see if a fight broke out between two highly respected members of the cultivation world.

As the juniors turned to leave, though, Jiang Wanyin abruptly struck with Zidian, and Lan Wangji cursed himself for not being quick enough to stop the whip from cracking across a-Ying’s back and sending him sprawling forward. Lan Sizhui and the others were quick to rush to a-Ying’s side and help him back up to his feet. a-Ying’s eyes were teary, but he kept his face strong.

Lan Wangji glared at Jiang Wanyin. He had wanted for a-Ying to live a life where he would never be whipped, and now Jiang Wanyin had dared to ruin that, to hurt Lan Wangji’s most precious person. There was absolutely no chance of avoiding a fight now.

,,,

When they returned to the inn, Lan Wangji led a-Ying up to their room while the rest of the juniors were left to figure out things for themselves. Lan Wangji closed and locked the door behind him, then pulled a-Ying into a tight hug. a-Ying eagerly accepted the affection. Then Lan Wangji stepped back slightly so that he could begin tugging off a-Ying’s robes.

a-Ying frowned at him. “Lan Zhan, what-?”

“Need to take care of a-Ying,” Lan Wangji informed him. It wasn’t too difficult to strip a-Ying down to his smallclothes, and then he pushed a-Ying to lie down on the bed on his stomach. Lan Wangji knelt over him and began very carefully massaging some healing ointment across the bright red mark that had been left behind by that whip. “a-Ying was so brave today,” Lan Wangji murmured. “Such a good boy for me.”

a-Ying turned his head to the side so he could scowl up at Lan Wangji. “‘m not a boy, I’m basically grown up.”

Still shaken by the earlier events, all Lan Wangji could think about was reassuring himself that his Wei Ying was really okay, and that he had not lost this precious second chance. “Mn. a-Ying is very grown up. Nearly ready to be my wife.” That made a bright red blush rise to a-Ying’s cheeks, which was very satisfying to watch. 

Lan Wangji was going to just leave it at that, but as he got up and gently slid the blanket up to cover a-Ying, a-Ying let out a small whimper. “Hurts,” he said quietly.

He really shouldn’t, but… Lan Wangji was pretty sure that both of them needed some closeness to reassure themselves. “Can make a-Ying feel better, forget about the pain.” a-Ying nodded, and Lan Wangji added, “Something only for adults, though.”

a-Ying pouted up at Lan Wangji, though the effect was somewhat lost by the way his eyes seemed partially glazed over in pain. “I’m practically an adult already,” a-Ying insisted again. “Whatever it is, I can handle it!”

Lan Wangji gave his beloved a-Ying a long look, and then nodded. He very gently removed the blanket, then started tugging a-Ying’s small clothes off of him. a-Ying let out a small noise of confusion, but didn’t wiggle around too much, so Lan Wangji offered a soft, “Good boy.” Once a-Ying was completely bare to him, Lan Wangji bent over and ran his tongue over a-Ying’s pink pussy. a-Ying shivered and let out a startled noise, but Lan Wangji reached up to hold a-Ying’s hips to keep the boy still. 

Lan Wangji could feel his own cock harden as he slowly shifted from gentle licks to more aggressive ones, soaking up each mewl of pleasure that a-Ying let out. It made Lan Wangji happy to know that he could make his beloved feel so good, even though he’d never actually done this before.

a-Ying’s pussy began to slowly slick up as a-Ying began to move more, as if he somehow thought he still needed to seduce Lan Wangji at this point. When he thought that a-Ying seemed relaxed enough, Lan Wangji pushed his tongue inside, and began to eat a-Ying out with much enthusiasm. a-Ying squirmed around more and more, until he finally let out a loud startled, “Lan Zhan!” and there was a gush of slick and a-Ying’s pussy clenched around Lan Wangji’s tongue like it was trying to suck him further in.

Lan Wangji finally sat up, and pulled out a small cloth to wipe his messy face with. His jaw was slightly sore, but it was entirely worth it for how relaxed a-Ying’s body looked, and when Lan Wangji got up, he could see the blissed out look on a-Ying’s adorable face. It would seem that this was indeed an effective strategy for relieving pain.

a-Ying let out a little sleepy noise, then reached out to snag his hand on Lan Wangji’s sleeve. “What… what about you?”

Lan Wangji reached down to gently stroke the top of a-Ying’s head. ���When we are married,” he reminded the boy, even though he could feel his cock straining almost painfully against his robes.

a-Ying sighed. “I hope we can get married soon.” Then he let go of Lan Wangji’s sleeve and drifted off to sleep. Lan Wangji thought he might burst from all the love he felt towards this boy. 

,,,

After that, it seemed pointless to hold back on kissing, so that became a regular part of their routine when they were alone. Even though a-Ying was the one who had requested ‘kissing stuff’ a few years ago, the boy was very shy, and would often resort to giving Lan Wangji seductive looks rather than initiating things himself.

As a-Ying went out on more night hunts, and experimented more with talismans and cultivation, there were more injuries, but he always seemed quite happy with Lan Wangji’s method of helping him work through the pain. Lan Wangji still didn’t let a-Ying touch him in return, because he did have some morals, but it was getting more and more difficult to refuse when a-Ying looked up at him with those eyes. 

The years seemed to pass by so quickly, and before Lan Wangji knew it, a-Ying was eighteen. Finally old enough for them to be married for real, and then they would no longer need to sneak around. And Lan Wangji could finally feel what it would be like to fully connect with the person he loved most. 

Lan Xichen seemed somewhat troubled when Lan Wangji went to him to request the planning begin for his and a-Ying’s wedding. “Isn’t Lan Ying like a son to you? Like a brother to Lan Sizhui?”

Lan Wangji shook his head. “Our relationship is not familial.”

Even though he still looked concerned, after having a long conversation in private with a-Ying, Lan Xichen finally relented and agreed to the marriage. He did pull his brother aside, though, before Lan Wangji could return to the jingshi. “Wangji… I know it’s been many years, and my memory could be failing me, but does your Lan Ying not bear a striking resemblance to Wei Wuxian?”

Lan Wangji hesitated for a moment before answering honestly. “Yes.” Then he turned and left without another word.

,,,

The ceremony was very beautiful, befitting a sect leader’s brother, but Lan Wangji hardly paid attention to any of the decorations or food. All he could look at was a-Ying, who seemed to be practically glowing with happiness even beneath his red veil. 

When it was time for a-Ying to excuse himself and get escorted to the jingshi, Lan Wangji could hardly sit still. He was almost tempted to take a sip of the emperor’s smile that was left in a-Ying’s glass- it was one of the rare occasions where alcohol was allowed in the Cloud Recesses, and a-Ying had shamelessly begged Lan Wangji for his favorite kind. 

But Lan Wangji knew that if he drank he would most likely forget most of his wedding night, which is something he couldn’t bear the thought of. Lan Wangji planned on savoring this night in his memories for the rest of his entire life.

It felt like forever before Lan Wangji was finally allowed to return to his home. He should have known that a-Ying wouldn’t just wait around patiently. Instead he had already rid himself of his veil and outer robes, and was lounging back on the bed, a bright grin made even more lovely by the dark red painted on his lips. “Husband,” he all but purred out. Lan Wangji could hardly be expected to restrain himself at a sight like that. He went to grab some oil from the jar that had been left on the bedside table, but a-Ying shook his head. “I had plenty of time while waiting, and I got so bored… but now er-gege is here to entertain me, right?”

Lan Wangji let out an almost inhuman growl before ripping a-Ying’s robes into shreds. As they shared a long, messy kiss, Lan Wangji reached down to test a-Ying, and found that he could easily slip several fingers into the warm, wet cunt. Lan Wangji didn’t even bother to strip out of his own robes; he just pulled them aside enough to pull out his hard cock, stroked himself a few times, then carefully pushed into his new wife’s body. 

He slid in so easily, and was surrounded by warmth and pressure, and it was so good. “a-Ying is so perfect,” he growled out as he started moving, increasing his speed with each little gasp that was pulled from a-Ying’s lips. “a-Ying’s body was made for this, made for me.”

“Yes, for you!” a-Ying agreed breathlessly. “Everything is for you, Lan Zhan, I love you so much!” Neither of them lasted very long their first time, but that was alright, because they had the rest of their lives to practice. Lan Wangji was so grateful to have been able to find a-Ying that day, because he was never going to let go of his beloved again. 

[nutty1005]

Period Dramas – An Analysis on Xiao Zhan's Character Portrayal Part 1

This is a series of short articles by the same author which will be a 6 part analysis on Xiao Zhan’s various roles.

Part 1.1 – Wei Wuxian

Part 1.2 – Wei Wuxian

Part 1.3 – Wei Wuxian

Part 2.1 – Yan Bingyun

Part 3.1 – Period Dramas

Part 3.2 – Period Dramas

Original Article: https://www.weibo.com/ttarticle/p/show?id=2309404475300028219446 Original Author: 诗债累累

We frequently read about actors being so good that they meld into the role and become unrecognizable, and these performances showcased the actor’s ability to differentiate their roles and produce unique features. To the actor, this is also a mission of highest importance: to complete a performance with his creativity and imagination, and imprint an unique touch to his roles – “I acted this”.

Although this is not some technical jargon, this brings forth some curious questions from the audiences:

How did the actor enter his role to create a vivid, living and realistic character?

How did the actor forget his own personality?

How did the actor create his roles such that they are unique?

One of the common methods used in training acting:

“When you are portraying a character, it is like you finding an astonishing item, and then you run into a house full of people, but now you have to explain to them this incident with your back facing them.”

Perhaps you may find this requirement strange, but to the actor, after being asked to portray a specific scene in several different manners, to reposition themselves multiple times to match the camera angle – sometimes it seemed as though you are facing your partner, but due to camera positioning, you were actually positioned facing away.

So, how do you portray the character?

We would have to start with the relationship between the actor and the character.

For easy understanding, I have tabulated Xiao Zhan’s main roles thus far, using their character features in the drama as the basis, since “Jade Dynasty” was only the first portion of the novel, and might have adaptation differences.

This is something that all of us can consider – while the emotions for Beitang Moran and Yan Bingyun were both restrained, what differences were there? What are the differences between Wei Wuxian’s teasing and sharp words, and Zhang Xiaofan’s simple and straightforwardness? From the tragic story lines of both Wei Wuxian and Zhang Xiaofan, what were their differences when they were seeking their own deaths? 

(1) An actor does not create a character —- The first layer comes from the completeness of a character

A character is actually created by the script writer, then the director. If the drama is adapted from a novel, it is first created by the author, then the script writer and then finally the director.

When the actor receives the role, it is, in fact, an already processed piece of work, and this piece of work contains his lines, his basic emotions and actions (usually written by the script writer), how the positioning of the character is like, and how he is supposed to interact with his partner (usually written by the director).

As such, the first thing the actor needs to do is to clearly understand his performance mission, understand the actions which the character needs to do, and the purpose of the character. Using the actions and the purpose, discover the main story, such that he will be able to sustain the performance regardless of the retakes, and also aid him in clearing his thoughts quickly.

Based on the above explanation, we could say that the performance missions for Beitang Moran, Wei Wuxian, Yan Bingyun and Zhang Xiaofan were complete.

Example: Beitang Moran and Wei Wuxian

(1) Beitang Moran

Background: Regent with military power Action: To create resistance and difficulties for the protagonist Purpose: To improve the eventual ruler

This character was the nation’s second highest in power. He honed the Emperor’s ruling skills, and also honed his own. He knew that the nation was their home and while he was given great power, he wanted to return the power back to the Emperor once he had mature. This set Moran apart from the other court officials.

Besides Xiao Zhan’s looks, this character was attractive because of the sense of power. This power came from the political power as well as the strength of the character. The underlying line was “Everyone desires peace, if you are not worthy, I will take over”.

With this in mind, Xiao Zhan’s portrayal included a hidden sense of pressure, a sense of gravity that contrasted greatly with the general comical script. This quickly added charm to the character, and he also adjusted his vocal tone higher in consideration that this was a web drama (hence more lighthearted) and the age range of the target audience (teenagers), the direction was more haughty than noble.

If this character was written in a serious political drama, and 40 year old Xiao Zhan redid this character again, he would have gone for a deeper vocal range, portrayed nobility and regalness, and added more gravity to the role.

(2) Wei Wuxian (during Guanyin Temple)

Background: Self reconciled, moved on Action: To understand the truth, to rescue everyone Purpose: To save everyone’s lives (it was not important for Jin Guangyao to die, nor to understand the mystery behind Jin Guangyao’s actions) Additional Surprise: To discover the ridiculous reasons behind his demise

The scene at Guanyin Temple was the most complex, as there were many characters joining the scene one by one, escalating the incident with every step:

Discovering the truth behind the Sword Spirit

Unveiling the truth behind Qiong Qi Path – the turning point of Wei Wuxian’s life

Understanding Jin Guangyao’s background

After every step, the Wei Wuxian’s stance and attitude kept changing. When facing every other participant of the scene, he had to show different details to convey their relationship. This was one of Xiao Zhan’s most complex scene, with each unveiling of the truth, every interaction and attitude with other characters had to be adjusted.

To Jin Guangyao:

He was at a disadvantage, hence trying to buy time and discover his opponent’s weakness

He was in shock, after understanding that his demise was based on nothing but unreasonable and unprovoked malice and hatred

To Jiang Cheng:

He discovered that the truth about the Golden Core was made known

He had to comfort Jiang Cheng

At the same time, he was released from the burden of hiding the truth

To Jin Ling:

He had to rescuing him

He released himself from the guilt of accidentally killing Jin Zixuan, but also knew that he had an indirect relation to it

To Lan Wangji:

He realised that the truth about the Golden Core was made known

He felt that there was no need to hide the truth anymore

To Lan Xize (Zewu Jun):

He studied his interactions to understand his attitude, since he and Jin Guangyao were close friends

To Su Minshan:

He understood why he rather be Jin Guangyao’s lap dog

He understood why he would set him up.

The completeness of the scene was done extremely well, with high concentration of lines and interactions between different characters. The emotional flow and attitude changes after discovering each piece of truth was clean and smooth. The emotions went from anxiety to anguish (for one self) to resolution, interlaced with psychological and physical fights.

(2) An actor needs to add his own touch to the character —- The second layer comes from the special touches he adds to the character, besides what was scripted

There was once a great drama teacher once said, even though everyone acts a character in the same way, you should still try to twist your thumb differently.

Here, we will use the example of Zhang Xiaofan to see how the performance of a classic character is created. (TN: Jade Dynasty is a very popular classic fantasy novel.)

Zhang Xiaofan had quite a few scenes where he had to act without props, such as the scene with the Water Dragon, as well as the stick that is not there.

Action: To counter his lack of progress in skills by cooking and cleaning, or taking on the blame for his fellow disciples Purpose: To repay his benefactor sect (and to court his Shijie)

Xiaofan was a character that was easy to have performance ideas: to portray the kindness and innocence of the character, with optimism and open-mindedness. As compared with his other characters, he made the following adjustments:

He changed the way he smiled, by raising his head, and to openly smile by showing his teeth.

He added a lot of miscellaneous movements, such as scratching his head, wiping his hands and touching his face.

And we summarize his performance points below:

To animals:

He treated all creatures equally – he treated everyone the same, regardless of person, monkey, Water Dragon, or dog

To Shijie:

He had puppy love, immediate facial expressions upon seeing her

He always wiped his hands before holding her hands

He felt he was Jilted (he thought his Shijie liked him too), and ran to the mountain top to shout his thoughts out

To vengeance:

Although he kept saying that he did not have the ability to do anything, the thought always remained in his heart. The moment he found out the truth about his village, plus he had gained enough power to take revenge, he did not stop his hand

To truth:

He wished for his own death, fragile but sincere, after his dreams were shattered, it was all just his ill fate, and he was defeated by it.

After all of these designs, Zhang Xiaofan became someone that was more relatable, with blood and soul in the earlier part of the movie, and contrasted greatly with the latter part when he fell to evil, and this contrast elevated the tragedy.

Conclusion

Actors are like a sponge for emotions, a machine for rationality. They have to be absorb all emotions but yet memorize these emotions and actions rationally, in order to repeat endlessly.

In contemporary works, a common theory used is “emotional memory”, to let the actors use their own past experiences and emotions to directly or indirectly apply on their character, and understand how the performance is generated.

During these type of performances, the weight of the role hinges on the actor himself. For example, in “The Most Beautiful Performance” where Xiao Zhan acted in the short clip “Buying Ears”, because Xiao Zhan was brought up by his grandmother, he was able to apply that emotion when he acted the role of a hearing impaired deliveryman calling his grandmother (who was also hearing impaired). Or in “Family Rules”, where his lifelike performance of getting beaten up by his father, was probably also inferred from his real life – in his People Magazine interview, he spoke about how his parents would take turns in disciplining him.

Life experiences are a valuable treasure trove to actors, as they contain living material. The more living material there are, the better and faster it is for actors to be able to find the right emotional experience. As such, realistic material + lifelike performance + relatable experiences will have an advantage in reaching his audiences.

In the current day and age where scripts are often from the fantasy genre, the characters abandon realism, experience great ups and downs, have beyond human capabilities – these roles will need to move the weight from the actor to the character. Actors need to participate in the creation of the character, simply drawing from their life experiences will not be enough, and thus attempt to discover how the character felt. With more experiences, their treasure trove will contain more living material, and will be able to inject realism in their characters.

[fireteam-dauntless]

A Tale of Two Guardians XXVII

Part 1 of the Destined Series Chapter 27 : The Promethean Code masterlist

word count : 2.5k tag list : @mail-me-a-snail @basically-nacl @shins-wife @speed-boop

I stirred a bit from my sleep the next morning when I felt my body being adjusted.  I sighed quietly and rolled over.  I was startled awake when the door then flew open, and hit the wall with a loud thud. Before the intruder could announce themselves, I threw a Thunderstrike their way and hit them square in the chest, killing him instantly.  I jumped up, reached for my sword on the table, only it wasn’t there.  It started to process in my brain that this wasn’t my apartment, it took me another moment to recognize the Ghost, and Maverick was holding in his laughter as he walked over and revived him.  Skinner stood in the living room, staring me down like he was ready to stab me for it.

“Oh Fuck!”  I exclaimed, my face flushing bright. “I’m so sorry Skinner! It’s a natural reflex!”  I then turned to Maverick, who had a smug look on his face. “Why didn’t you wake me up and tell me he was coming?!”

“Because I wanted to see what would happen. And I was not disappointed.” he said trying to hide his laughter.

Skinner then looked at Maverick with revenge filled eyes and said, “Oh you cheeky motherfucker, I’ll get you back.”

“I’m sure you will, now that we’re all here we need to talk about our next mission.”

“Wait, what mission?”  I asked.

“Well we have to go steal something.”

“Steal something?  From who?”

“...From Rasputian…”

I must have been the only one in the room that was clueless, because I looked between both of them and they were staring at me expectantly. “Umm who’s that?” I pressed.

“A Warmind.”

“A Warmind?” I was dumbfounded.  Warminds are Golden Age Artificial Intelligence that connected the entire solar system through warsats, satellites, and weapons.  “I thought they were lost during the Collapse?”

“Well, they were, until we activated the last array in Old Russia and reactivated him,” Maverick answered.

“He should be okay, right?”  The thought of venturing into a Warmind made a pit form in my stomach.  This may be familiar for Maverick and Skinner, but this was uncharted territory for me.

“After we ran Omnigul out of there, Zavala sent in a few teams to seal the vault. Only one team came back.”  Skinner said, and promptly took a bow.

“Oh, then why are we going to a killer A.I. then?”  I crossed my arms and glared at both of them.  I didn’t like this idea one bit, but if there was no other way, then maybe we didn’t have a choice. 

“Because we are the only ones to come out alive in recent times.”

“Fair enough. So what’s the plan Mav?”  I walked over to the table, where the two of them were standing over the mission summary that they got from Cayde.

“Well we land in the Forgotten Shore, make our way to his bunker, go in, find the codes, take the codes and get out. Should be simple enough, the Vault's been sealed since Omnigul, so nothing could have gotten in.”

“So let me get this straight.”  I took a deep breath and rubbed my temples.  Why did mission summaries and plans always have to be discussed right after I woke up?  “We're headed into the deadliest Golden Age Warmind and stealing from it?”

“That’s the gist of it yeah.”

I looked at the two of them, standing there as if this mission was no big deal, and sighed in defeat.  “What have I gotten myself into with you guys?” 

“A lot of fun, duh.” Skinner cackled.

“Well let’s get going then.”  I split off from them, giving Maverick’s hand a small squeeze before I left to get changed into my armor.  Skinner must have noticed, because I could hear him giggling like a giddy schoolgirl and the muffled sound of their voices.  I shook my head and smiled.  As much as these guys had a tendency to lead me down suicide missions, I don’t think I could live a day without them anymore.

— — — — —

We all boarded our ships later on in the morning and flew out of the Hanger, though we stayed in the atmosphere and fell into formation.  Our Ghosts synchronized our ships and we all set a course for the Forgotten Shore.  Before we arrived Eris came over sounding both angry and concerned "Stealing from Rasputian… You are entering a world you do not understand."

"Don't worry about her Fireteam." Cayde interjected, "She's still mad about what you did to her ship. We need stealth tech to slip by the Taken and Warmind's bunker has the codes we need."

"Do you really think it should be this easy?" I asked Maverick.

"Honestly no," Mav sighed, "I can almost say for certain that we are going to see some Taken in there."

"But the Vault's been sealed for months!" Skinner protested.  "There's no way Taken could have breached it."

"And that's where you're wrong, I've seen enough Taken coming out of thin air and the walls to know better.  But for now let's hope we don't have to fight Taken."

We landed in the Forgotten Shore and Maverick asked, "Cayde how do you know Rasputian will still have the codes?"

"I already stole it once, used my last copy making that stealth drive you blew up.  Eh, it was getting old anyways." He said.

We hopped on our sparrows and rode over the shore.  I followed Maverick and Skinner to an old building, and we quickly dispatched the Fallen that were outside of it. We made our way to the bunker in the basement of the building.  As we began to descend the stairs, it must have finally clicked with Maverick that we couldn’t get into the Vault if it was sealed.

"Cayde, how are we supposed to get inside?"  He asked.  

"You've got the same bypass frequency that got me inside."

"He will protect his domain." Eris warned.

Maverick didn’t even have to input the codes, the doors opened on their own.  As the door opened, we saw more Taken rifts and my heart sank.  It was never going to be that easy. I reloaded my weapon and followed Maverick inside, Skinner bringing up the rear.

"More interdimensional goo, the Taken are here," Maverick reported.

"What? Not possible," Cayde said "We sealed the vault after the Omnigul breach."

“Cayde look at this.”  He had his Ghost turn on a video feed to the Vanguard channel.

“Oh that does look bad. Okay, so if you see them ah, just shoot’em."

We make our way further into the vault and head toward the end of the hall before Taken started popping out of thin air as they normally do.

“How did they get in there?” Cayde asked.

“The Taken are not bound by terrestrial constraints.” Eris said.

“Yeah, I bet they’ll be constrained by terrestrial bullets.” Cayde added.

With that, we charged at the Taken.  We cut down the Thrall and thinned their ranks.  I hung back a bit and started sniping the Vandals and Captains towards that back of the room.  The Vandals, however, became Maverick’s main aim of aggression.  Most likely because they cast their own ward. Once everything was gone, I caught up to Skinner and Maverick and they led me further into the Vault.  This place was familiar to them, they knew the halls like the back of their hands.

We began to push toward the end of the hall where more Taken began popping out. More Thrall, a Vandal, and a Captain.  Captains have a tendency to throw literal Darkness blast at us, not to mention they teleport way too damn much, more than the Thrall do.  When everything else was dead, Skinner and I stood next to each other, watching Maverick ruthlessly blast off the captain’s leg with his shotgun, let it collapse, before lining up his gun and blasting off it’s head.

“Really?” I asked.  “Was that necessary?”

“What? He was pissing me off!” he snapped back.

“Nice one Mav!” Skinner said as he laughed and clapped at the display of aggression.

“Listen, Storm, if it was a normal Captain I would have shown it mercy. But these aren’t Fallen Captain’s anymore.  Killing them is mercy at this point”

“Okay I’ll keep your word on that one,” I said in defeat.  As much I hated the Taken and as much as my morals wanted to spare every creature, regardless of its nature, I knew he was right.  “Now let’s keep moving.”

We continued through the bunker walking through what looked like a cooling chamber, most likely for the computer cores. 

Maverick’s Ghost commented, “I can’t believe the Taken can track us so easily.  Oryx really does hate us.”

“Well you did kill his son.” Dawn pointed out.

“Yeah, please don’t remind me.  Skinner and I have a small army after us to do the reminding for you.”

“Which is exactly why we’re here. We need those cloaking codes.”  Cayde piped in.

We left the cooling room and took another left as a door opened for us.  Rasputin was leading us right to his data center.

“Do you think Rasputian is guiding us to the codes?” I asked.

“It’s entirely possible, he probably recognizes us and the threat at hand.” Maverick replied.

We went through the door and more Taken came out to greet us.  This seemed to be never ending.  The Taken Centurions were interesting to deal with; they summon this seeking missile to try and kill us thankfully it's shootable, it’s very similar to my axion dart grenades.

We fight through them with little problems. After they’re all dead the next door unlocks and opens. We follow the door down to what looks like a power tunnel and more Taken Thrall popped in. We cut them down easily and proceeded to the only door in that room. The next area was a small intersection where we stopped to catch our breaths.

“Ugh I’m covered in Taken goo again!” I exclaimed in annoyance.  I shook off my hands and watched it cake the wall.  I wasn’t looking forward to cleaning my armor when we got back.

“Oh, you’re covered in goo.” Mav muttered bitterly, and Skinner and I turned to face him. My eyes widened at the sight.  Taken goo covered most of his armor.

Skinner almost died of laughter. “Oh no! Look out for the Taken Titan!”

I couldn’t help it.  I laughed along with Skinner. “Wow, I thought I was covered but never mind.”

Maverick sighed.  “Very funny, you guys.”  He shook off his hands and wiped the goo off the face of his helmet.  We used this time to take a breather; we reloaded our weapons and replenished our ammunition. We went to the open door. As with the other rooms, more Taken came to try and stop us.  At this point, it was tiring

“Alright I’m done with these Taken. Skinner if you would please?” Mav asked, making a grandiose sweeping motion in front of him.

“My pleasure, Metal Man.” He said.

Shortly after, he brought out his knife and Arc Light swirled about his body.  He then began to cut down all the Taken in the room and more that they came after the first wave. After they were all dead Skinner took a bow.

“Hope you two enjoyed the show!  I know I enjoyed making it. It’s a shame though, I wanted to cut open one of those Vandals.”

I rolled my eyes at him and patted him on the shoulder as Maverick and I walked by.  “Excellent work, Skinner.”

“Alright now, let’s go.  We must be close.” 

We went through the door, and another… and another… and another… and another, until it finally opened up to the control center.  "Really? How many damn doors does he need?" I commented, my annoyance clear in my voice.  And just like that, Taken spawned into the room.

“Okay, enough's enough,” Maverick growled as Solar Light illuminated his entire body.  With that, he pulled solar hammers out of thin air and threw them at the Psions and Centurions in the room.  He cleared them out in no time.

“Cayde we’re clear which console are we looking for?” He asked as the Solar energy faded from his body. Skinner and I walked closer to him.

“Umm, the one in the back I think.” He said.

“Found it.”

“Alright, see what you can pull out of Rasputian. Hmm, there’s a joke there somewhere.”

Mav deployed his Ghost and it scanned the computer.

“These cryptosystems follow no logic I understand. I’m not sure it can be modified to work on a Guardian.” 

“Where do you think Bladedancers got their cloaking ability?” He said mockingly, “Grab the codes, I’ll upload my modifications.”

“If the Vanguard is satisfied, we can finally end this. Return to the Moon. Steal Crota’s soul.”

The three of us followed the path back out of the bunker; there were no Taken left to slow us down as we headed into the early afternoon sunlight and transmatted back into our ships.

“That was a successful mission if I do say so myself,” Maverick said over the private channel.

“Yes it was,” Skinner agreed.  “And I’m, uh, I’m gonna head to the bar.  I’ll catch you guys tomorrow.” He dropped out of the channel as silence fell between the Maverick and I.

When we landed in the Hanger, I turned to Maverick.  “I’m going to head home to wash off all this goo.  You’re welcome to join me for a pot of coffee.”

“I’m actually going to head home, too.  Have a good night though, Angel.”

— — — — — 

A few hours later I was sitting in my living area, glimmer piled on the table, and I was finishing up getting the Taken goo off of my armor. It was around midnight now and it was pouring rain outside.  I sat back on the couch when I finished and yawned.  I looked over at my Ghost.  “Ghost, open a channel with Maverick.”

I waited a couple of minutes before he answered.  “Yeah?” He asked aloud, like he didn’t really pay attention to who had called him, or that he was preoccupied with something.

“Allô, mon chérie,”  I said softly.

“Oh, Storm, hey… everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.”  I paused for a moment, and fiddled with the ends of my sleeves.  “Mav… I know where we’re going tomorrow.  Are you sure you guys are going to be okay.”

There was silence on his end.

“Mav?”

“I’ll be fine, Skinner will be fine.  Don’t worry about it.”  There was a chill in his voice that made me doubt him.  “You should get some sleep.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek.  “Maverick…”

“Angel, please…”  He was pleading with me now.  “Get some rest.”

“Okay.  Je t’aime, mon chérie.  Bonne nuit et fait de beaux rêves…”*

“Good night, Angel.”

--- translations ---

* I love you, my dear.  Good night and sweet dreams...”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Complications - ao3 or part 1, part 2

-

Nie Mingjue brought his hand down on the desk with a little too much strength, causing an audible crack that sounded not unlike thunder.

Wei Wuxian, who’d been pacing in front of his desk for longer than Nie Mingjue cared to contemplate, froze in place.

“Your increasingly less subtle insinuations aside, Sect Leader Jiang is, to the best of my knowledge, fine,” Nie Mingjue growled. “Now I’m going to ask for the second time, and this time I want an actual answer – why are you making your family disputes my problem?”

“Family disputes?” Wei Wuxian squawked, reverting back to his usual arrogance in his irritation. “My sect leader is missing, and your Nie sect has taken over his position in battle –”

“Someone had to, since you didn’t,” Nie Mingjue said, and watched as Wei Wuxian flinched. “I’ve already told you that he requested that I do it. I don’t actually think you doubt my word, and it’s already been over two months since he retired from the battlefield – why are you making such a fuss now?”

Wei Wuxian’s lips tightened.

“Is it because of the prisoners of war you brought back?” Nie Mingjue asked.

Wei Wuxian tensed. “What makes you say that?”

“Wen Qing was once a very promising doctor,” Nie Mingjue said. “And you have been very obviously looking for someone, the way you’ve been tearing through the battlefields and visit all the prisoner of war camps afterwards – you were clearly looking for her. The only thing I don’t understand is why.”

Wei Wuxian crossed his arms over his chest. “You said it yourself; she’s a doctor.”

“I’ve never heard of her having that sort of specialization, but I suppose anything is possible,” Nie Mingjue said. “But at any rate, it’s rather besides the point now, isn’t it? I just received word from my brother that although it came early, the danger was passed without great difficulty –”

Wei Wuxian actually grabbed the letter off of Nie Mingjue’s desk in an action so mindbogglingly rude that Nie Mingjue’s brain took a few moments to process that he’d actually done that.

“Wei Wuxian!” he roared.

“This letter doesn’t make any sense,” Wei Wuxian said, as if that was the problem with what he’d just done. “Are the references to him having good hips supposed to be some sort of code – ah!”

The last one was due to Baxia whistling through the air as she tore towards his throat, stopping only a hair’s breadth away.

“Do you know what you did wrong?” Nie Mingjue growled.

“I read your mail without asking for permission,” Wei Wuxian said, his eyes wide and round as the moon. “I was rude, and insulted you, and, uh – am extremely irritating?”

Nie Mingjue waved his hand and Baxia returned to her place, though he didn’t bother pulling back her menacing aura.  

“You’re not normally this disrespectful,” he growled. “Explain.”

Wei Wuxian’s shoulders were up by his ears. “You said there was a danger,” he mumbled. “I didn’t…was it really that serious?”

Nie Mingjue’s eyebrows went up. “Do you even know what the fatality rates involved are, especially when it comes as early as that?  It was extremely dangerous. Luckily, it seems everyone is safe.”

“Everyone? Did he – were other people put at risk?” Wei Wuxian started pacing again, much to Nie Mingjue’s annoyance. “I don’t know how qi deviations work. Was anyone else hurt?”

“Qi deviations?” Nie Mingjue said blankly, and unfortunately he put together that Jiang Cheng had apparently not told Wei Wuxian at approximately the same moment that Wei Wuxian figured out that Jiang Cheng had (apparently) lied to his face about where he was going.

“He said that was why he was going to ground with the Nie sect!” Wei Wuxian was all but exploding, his face bright red in futile anger. 

It occurred to Nie Mingjue that it was actually a relatively rare look on him, no matter how much people said things about the effects of demonic cultivation on the temperament. An interesting thought, to be followed up with at a later time.

“Because you had experience with – damnit! I can’t believe he – should have known – why did he go with you lot anyway? Sure, he likes Nie Huaisang well enough, but he could have gone to where shijie is, or with his grandmother, or – something!”

“Young Mistress Jiang is with the Jin sect; that would have been a disaster, and obviously there was no way to justify the risk of bringing her closer to battle just for his own comfort,” Nie Mingjue said, his own anger extinguished by the sheer amount by which he’d fucked this up. He hoped Jiang Cheng would forgive him. “And neither the Jiang sect or the Yu sect can spare doctors the way my Nie sect can.”

“What was wrong with him, then, if it wasn’t his qi or his golden core?” Wei Wuxian demanded. “Do you know? You do, don’t you? Why would he tell you and not me? Why –”

“Da-ge! Da-ge, are you here –”

Nie Mingjue closed his eyes briefly. That was the last thing he needed.

“Huaisang,” he said without opening his eyes. “Are you allowed in Heijan?”

“No,” his younger brother said without the slightest hint of shame as he came in through the opening to Nie Mingjue’s tent. “But it’s not like you’ve actually had any problems beating off the Wens for ages, and I hitched a ride on the post; I’ll go back first thing in the morning.”

“The post is for carrying mail, not idiots!”

“You say that, and yet – Wei-xiong! Hey! What’s gotten you in such a mood?”

Nie Mingjue opened his eyes and Baxia immediate began rattling a vicious warning. “Put my brother down this instant.”

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian said, dropping his hands from Nie Huaisang’s robes with admirable speed. “But you wrote the letter – that means you were with Jiang Cheng, weren’t you? He’s all right?”

“He’s fine,” Nie Huaisang said, brightening. “The danger’s passed, and everyone’s healthy and loud. Incredibly loud. I’ve never heard such lungs.”

“Should you be mentioning that?” Nie Mingjue asked, eyes sliding towards Wei Wuxian. “If Sect Leader Jiang was planning on explaining himself…”

“Oh, no, he asked me to tell Wei-xiong about it,” Nie Huaisang assured him. “He said the conversation was the only thing he could think of that was likely to be more excruciating than what he’d just experienced, so I volunteered.”

“Excruciating? Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian’s voice was getting a bit dangerous. Also, shrill. “Nie-xiong, don’t keep me in suspense like this! What’s wrong with Jiang Cheng?”

“Nothing! He’s fine now, like I said,” Nie Huaisang said. “And your shizi is doing great, too. Like I said: lungs.”

“My…shizi?”

“So it’s a boy, then?” Nie Mingjue said, and held out his hand.  

“I hate you personally, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang informed him, and put the promised scroll in his hand. “Why do I keep gambling against you? I always lose. At least I’ve smartened up and no longer bet saber training time…”

“Shizi,” Wei Wuxian repeatedly blankly, as if he’d never heard the term for martial nephew before. “Jiang Cheng – a shizi – but that means –”

Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang exchanged looks and went over to Wei Wuxian at once, Nie Mingjue catching him by the arms and guiding him down into a seated position while Nie Huaisang brought him a jar of fortified wine.

“We’ve been calling him A-Lian,” Nie Huaisang said helpfully. “Well, I have, anyway. Jiang Cheng’s just been calling him ‘brat’ the same way he did the entire pregnancy, but he smiles every time he does so I think it means he’s happy.”

Wei Wuxian was counting on his fingers, so Nie Mingjue reached out and grabbed his hand to make him stop.

“Yes,” he said, as kindly as he could manage. “It happened at that time. He got over it. Now you know, and now you have a shizi to help take care of. Dare we all hope that means that you are finally going to stop fucking around with demonic cultivation and get back to helping him the way you’re supposed to?”

He wasn’t expecting Wei Wuxian to break down into tears.

“Oh, no, I know that this is; it’s fine, I’ve got this,” Nie Huaisang said, and Nie Mingjue had never been happier to hear those (highly uncharacteristic) words. “Don’t worry, da-ge. This is the classic Yunmeng pre-confession bout of emotionality. I’ve seen it at least a dozen times with Jiang Cheng these past few months. Bring more wine and we’ll get him through it intact.”

Wei Wuxian’s sobbing just got worse.

Nie Mingjue decided to go get more wine. Possibly back-up assistance as well – someone Wei Wuxian liked who could help comfort him.

Wait.

Did Wei Wuxian like anyone?

“Sect Leader Nie,” Lan Wangji greeted politely – he was coming back from a patrol. “Is there any chance that you’ve seen Wei Ying?”

Nie Mingjue squinted at him. “You call each other by your given names?”

He hadn’t noticed that before. Though to judge from Lan Wangji’s taken aback expression, he might not have noticed it either.

“Never mind,” Nie Mingjue said. “You’ll do.”

[curiosity-killed]

a bow for the bad decisions: 21

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(on ao3)

Jin Ling and Ruxia arrive to breakfast dressed for the trip to Lanling and looking, respectively, somewhat contrite and as if they’d already fought about whether to apologize or not. Jiang Cheng allows himself one surreptitious sigh before settling in for whatever’s about to happen. They don’t get in trouble all that often, but as they’ve gotten older, they’ve gotten more precocious. He’s convinced it’s Lanling’s gold spoiling them, but jie says they’ll grow out of it. She always grins, a little mischievous, and pokes his cheek when she says it, like he’s proof. He’s pretty sure he’s not, and Wei Wuxian certainly wasn’t. Isn’t. He’s going to have a headache before the day has even started. “Uncle, Auntie Qing,” Jin Ling starts as he and a-Mu both fold their hands before themselves to bow, “we are sorry for our behavior on Dafan Mountain and to have caused you worry.” There’s a noise like a-Mu starting to protest before a-Ling unsubtly shifts his foot to press down on her toes. She shoots him a sideways glare and wrenches her foot out from under his. Left unchecked, the two of them will devolve into a wrestling match here on the pavilion floor, their apology completely forgotten.

“That’s enough,” Jiang Cheng says. “Sit down.”

They shuffle into their seats with Jin Ling sitting nearest a-Lu, who promptly beams up at him and pushes a bowl of dry noodles his way. Jin Ling is still frowning, but his expression softens and he gives her the tiniest corner of a smile. One of his hands has slipped over to worry at the bracelet around his wrist, the dark beads stretched along a longer band than the original. Jiang Cheng remembers, still, the feeling of them as he hunched over his desk to carefully piece them back in place on the new band. There had been power in each of the beads, the result of all Wei Wuxian’s extraordinary intent coming to bear on the delicate carvings and careful lacquer. Separate, they had been remarkable; together, they hum like a soft echo of the shields around Lotus Pier. “Do you two understand what you did wrong?” he asks. “We shouldn’t have gone after the fairy statue without you,” Jin Ling says, toneless. “And we should have sent off our flares before the Ghost General appeared. I shouldn’t have tried to attack it on my own and a-Mu should’ve stayed with the juniors. And we shouldn’t have attacked Mo Xuanyu, I guess.” It’s not the most heartfelt admission, but at least he’s picked out what he did wrong. Jiang Cheng remembers Father asking him the same question when he was a child and the dog-eared disappointment when he didn’t answer correctly. He’d hated that look so much, hated it more once Wei Wuxian was there to give the right answer and get such warm approval. “Do you know why it was wrong?” Wen Qing asks, tapping a-Lu’s hand absently to remind her to eat instead of gawking at her older cousins. Jin Ling shifts a little, eyes skating sideways toward his sister, but Ruxia is busy scowling down at her noodles and not eating them. “It could have gotten us hurt or the other disciples?” he offers. “Since we didn’t have complete information and went ahead anyway.” “And you shouldn’t attack strangers without being provoked,” Jiang Cheng says pointedly. It’s one thing if the kids want to start dueling. They’re too young for it, but at least that would be a controlled setting. If they go around picking fights with any adult that happens to look at them funny, they’re going to get hurt. Cultivators should know better than to be goaded into a fight by kids, but that isn’t always true and there are plenty of rogues out there who abide by no rules. “He wasn’t a stranger!” Ruxia finally bursts out. “Mo Xuanyu’s a — a demented lunatic. He attacked Qin-shenshen and he uses the dark arts. You go around punishing anyone who uses demonic cultivation, why should he be spared? Just because you think he’s actually the Yiling laozu returned? Doesn’t that mean he deserves to die even more?” “Jin Ruxia!” Wen Qing snaps. Ruxia cuts off, hands balled up into fists and jaw quivering with tightly-clenched anger. Jin Ling stares stubbornly at his breakfast, half-eaten, while a-Lu gapes at her. “Jin Ruxia, you know better than to speak to your uncle like that,” Wen Qing scolds. “If you have a question, you may ask it civilly. There is no yelling at meals.” If Wen Qing had it her way, there wouldn’t be yelling at all. Even when she disciplines, it’s with a firm and even voice. She rarely snaps except when pushed to the limits of her temper, and even then, her voice is more cutting than raised. “Do you understand?” Wen Qing prompts. “Yes, jiumu,” Ruxia mutters. “Do you have a question?” Jiang Cheng asks. He’s always a little skeptical of this whole process, even now. It had worked well when they were little, around a-Lu’s age, and he could turn all their nonsensical questions on themselves. Now that they’re older, they’re both less willing to actually ask questions and more likely to bring up convoluted topics when they do. If either of them ask about Wei Wuxian on the mountainside, he doesn’t know what he’ll say. How can he tell them that their da-jiujiu is back from the dead and running about as someone else? It’s not like it actually makes any sense to him to begin with. “No, jiujiu,” Ruxia says, still scowling down at her breakfast. He waits a beat in case she decides to speak up. When she doesn’t, he sighs and shakes his head. “Eat your breakfast,” he says. “You better not fall asleep on the way to Lanling.” She nods mutely and finally starts in on her noodles. For a few minutes, the room is as quiet as a Lan dining hall. Finally, a-Lu breaks the peace by announcing the lessons she’s supposed to have today, and as Jin Ling lets her regale him, the room settles into something like normalcy. “What will you be up to while we’re gone?” Jiang Cheng asks after breakfast, when they’ve both stopped by his office to pick up what they need for the day. “Lai Yuanxing just returned from the west,” Wen Qing says, eyeing a report as if to determine whether it’s the one she wants. “I imagine they’ll have plenty to report.” Jiang Cheng frowns as he tugs closed a giankun pouch. Both Yunmeng Wen resettlement camps are in the western quarter, one closer to Meishan and the other bordering Qishan itself. “Bujue left for Xiaodanshui this morning,” he says. “There’ve been reports of some kind of fierce corpse nearby.” Looking up from the report, Wen Qing frowns. “Fierce corpses? The cultivators stationed there oversee all the burials,” she says. “There haven’t been any murders or suspicious deaths, either.” Ostensibly the guards to ensure the Wens stay docile, the cultivators in charge of both resettlement camps have been hand-picked by Jiang Cheng and Bujue, along with Wen Qing’s input at times. All of them are strong cultivators with a stubborn sense of duty, ones who couldn’t be bribed into looking the other way if someone were to try to attack the refugees under their watch. He frowns and picks Sandu up from the sword rack. “There were reports of disappearances a few years ago, weren’t there?” he asks. “Around a-Lu’s first birthday.” Pursing her lips, Wen Qing tucks the papers into her stack and crosses her arm under them. After a moment, she nods. “I’d forgotten,” she admits. “I’ll take a look over those reports before Yuanxing comes in. They may have some insight.” They leave together, walking side-by-side toward the main wings. “Is Suichun back as well? He was in the north this year, wasn’t he?” he asks. “His last letter suggested he’d be back in the next week or so,” Wen Qing answers. Jiang Cheng warms at the quiet smile in her voice. She’ll never admit it, but she’s always proud of her two favorite apprentices. The both of them have grown into skilled physicians and dedicated disciples. Jiang Cheng would be proud of them even if Wen Qing weren’t so obviously fond. “How long do you think it’ll take for them to be inseparable again?” he asks. Shooting him a sidelong look, Wen Qing shakes her head in disbelief but there’s a smile curling the corners of her lips. “You just want them to marry so you can have another wedding at Lotus Pier,” she teases. He scoffs, and she laughs. Having reached the infirmary door, they pause. Wen Qing’s smile has turned a little mischievous, her eyes narrowing. “They’ll volunteer to take the same assignment first,” she wagers, “then come back to settle here for at least a year. There won’t be an engagement before Yuanxing turns thirty.” Jiang Cheng laughs at the precision and shakes his head before leaning in to drop a kiss on her lips. “I bow to my wife’s superior insight,” he jokes. Rolling her eyes, Wen Qing swats his arm with the back of her hand before tugging him back down for a proper goodbye kiss. “Be safe,” she says when they part. “Come home to me.” “Always,” he promises. The trip to Jinlintai is quiet and easy. Ruxia doesn’t fall asleep on the sword, and she doesn’t protest being bundled with Xingtao. Normally, Jiang Cheng would split the trip so that Jin Ling could fly on his own partway for practice, but he doesn’t want to delay today. Jin Ling frowns a little when he’s told to step onto Sandu, but he settles in with minimal pouting. As they near the edges of Carp Tower, a pulse of spiritual energy brushes against them, and Jiang Cheng frowns. It’s powerful, dense — the result of many cores working in tandem. “Zongzhu, look,” Xingtao says, nodding down. Cultivators are spaced out along the wall, swords drawn as they activate a complex array. Golden energy surges up in a dome, and Jiang Cheng pulls back. They hover there, just out of range, as the shield settles over the tower and then disperses. Establishing it, then, not activating it. They descend into the central receiving courtyard and find Jin Guangyao standing there already, supervising the shielding. “Jin Guangyao,” Jiang Cheng greets with a salute. “Jiang-zongzhu,” Jin Guangyao answers with a smile. “And a-Ling and Ruxia, back from the hunt.” The kids dismount and salute. For the first time since Dafan Mountain, Ruxia wears something almost approaching a smile. “Good morning, xiao-shushu,” they chorus. Smiling, he looks over the both of them briefly. “I’m sure you’ll have stories to tell me of the hunt,” he says, “but why don’t you go wash up and rest after your journey?” Bobbing in acceptance, the two head off to their own chambers. Ruxia shoves Jin Ling as they near the end of the hall, almost out of sight, and Jin Ling immediately retaliates by trying to hook her into a headlock. Watching them, Jiang Cheng does his best not to sigh. He turns back to Jin Guangyao. “What’s with the shield?” he asks as they start off toward Jin Zixuan’s study. “Expecting someone?” Jin Guangyao makes a little humming noise, noncommittal. “We did hear reports of Dafan Mountain,” he says, and Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows raise. “You’re that worried about one demonic cultivator showing up?” he scoffs. “I thought this Mo Xuanyu was supposed to be weak anyway.” Maybe if he downplays it, if he acts like this was just some errant stranger, it will help. He’s not sure he believes Jin Guangyao’s really involved in all this, but — well, giving himself a little time to figure it out isn’t going to hurt any. Jin Guangyao gives him a curious look from the corner of his eyes. “We heard the Ghost General had been sighted as well,” he says mildly. “With his return and the unrest in some of the Wen settlements, some worry that there may be a greater conspiracy at work.” Scowling, Jiang Cheng crosses his arms. “What unrest?” he demands. “Oh, apologies, Jiang-zongzhu,” Jin Guangyao says. “The Lan sect has had two minor uprisings in the last year, and just a few months ago, there was a violent attack in a settlement camp in Qinghe.” Irritation tugs at Jiang Cheng’s skin. Lan Xichen is perfectly polite when they encounter each other, but there’s a gulf between Gusu Lan and Yunmeng Jiang that everyone carefully talks around. Early on after Wei Wuxian’s death, he might have tried to bridge the gap, but he no longer cares. Let them think themselves superior, let them hide in their austere mountains. Their trade relationships have remained steady, but he has no interest in deepening relations between their sects. Naturally, they wouldn’t mention anything about resettlement issues to him. It’s not improper, after all: Jin Guangyao is the chief cultivator, in charge of handling such intersect issues, and he’s Lan Xichen’s sworn brother. It’s not wrong of him to pass that information through the official channels — but it still grates. “Please don’t trouble yourself over this, Jiang-zongzhu,” Jin Guanyao says. “I know how you and Madam Jiang have worked to promote peaceful resettlement. You mustn’t think these troubles reflect on your work.” He knows it doesn’t reflect on them — what authority do they have in any other sect? But it makes things more difficult, makes it harder for Wen Qing to fight for better medicine in the camps and easier for the smaller sects to make snide asides about a Wen as the lady of a Great Sect. They part halfway between the courtyard and study, Jin Guangyao called away by some urgent matter for the chief cultivator. Frustration has worked knots into Jiang Cheng’s shoulders, and he fumes as he continues through the opulent maze of the tower. It’s all stupid and petty, these old squabbles and personal tiffs. It doesn’t matter that Wei Wuxian was dead by the time they started, he’s fine pinning the blame on him right now. After all, if Wei Wuxian’s beloved Lan Zhan wasn’t such a prick, then maybe Lan Xichen would think to include Jiang Cheng in news of unrest. Maybe Wei Wuxian should have kept Lan Wangji close enough that he was caught up in the same backlash that ripped Wei Wuxian apart, maybe if he were— He stops short and forces himself to exhale, scrunching his eyes shut. No. Lan Wangji wouldn’t have gotten close enough if Jiang Cheng had spotted him sooner, caught up to Wei Wuxian before he did. Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have needed to use the Seal if Jiang Cheng had acted faster, smuggled the remnants into Yunmeng so he had no one there to protect. No one would have been there at all if Jiang Cheng had just gone and gotten his brother himself, made sure he made it to Jin Ling’s celebrations. There’s plenty of blame to go around. Drawing in a breath, he forces himself to set aside the memories and move forward. He finds jie and Jin Zixuan in their shared study, and jie rises as soon as she spies him, delight drawing out a broad smile. “A-Cheng,” she greets, reaching out for both his hands. “Jie,” he greets and nods toward Jin Zixuan. “Zixuan.” Jie frowns, delicate brow furrowing. “A-Cheng, what’s wrong?” she asks. “Has something happened?” Jin Zixuan glances between them with a frown. As much as he and Jin Guangyao have become friendly over the years, he’s never seemed to quite understand the closeness of his wife’s family. “Yes.” Jiang Cheng pauses, swallows. “You may want to sit down.” “A-Cheng?” Worry blooms in jie’s tone, but she draws him to sit before her at her desk. Jin Zixuan crosses the room, standing behind her and resting a hand on her shoulder. “Wei Wuxian is back,” Jiang Cheng says. “He appeared on Dafan Mountain and summoned Wen Ning. It’s him.” Jie breathes in sharply, hands tightening around his. Behind her, Jin Zixuan’s frown has deepened. “Wei Wuxian died thirteen years ago. You—” He pauses, seeming to redirect his words. “—You saw it.” “Are you sure?” jie asks. It’s not quite hope in her eyes, not yet. She won’t let herself hope unless he’s certain. For as gentle as jie is, she’s always been the most pragmatic of their trio. He nods. “A-Ling and a-Mu ran into him first and thought he was some Mo Xuanyu,” he says, “but he protected them against the dancing fairy statue and summoned Wen Ning on a dizi. And—” He hates this part. He swallows and forces the words out. “Lan Wangji protected him,” he says, “and took him back to Gusu.” This time, even Jin Zixuan’s eyes widen. Everyone’s heard stories of Lan Wangji’s exploits over the years — how he appears wherever the chaos is, never shies from night hunts with neither glory nor renown. He always fights alone and is never seen with anyone but his own brother or junior disciples. There have been rumors over the years, whispers that he’s little more than a rogue cultivator, strong enough to think himself outside law or tradition. “Oh,” jie breathes out. Tears have gathered in her eyes, and her lips tremble. “Oh, a-Cheng, a-Xian’s alive.” Jin Zixuan’s hand tightens on her shoulder, but Jiang Cheng can’t tell if it’s to comfort her or because of his own stress. The last time Jin Zixuan saw his elder brother-in-law… “Lan Wangji has him now,” Jiang Cheng says. A watery smile pulls up jie’s lips, making a few tears slip down her cheek. She reaches up to brush her palm against his cheek. “Oh, a-Cheng, he’ll come home,” she says. “He’ll come home.” She says it with such gentle conviction, like a truth she knows as surely as her heartbeat. He doesn’t want to disappoint her, doesn’t want to tell her that he doesn’t think that’s true this time. “Did he — did he seem alright?” jie asks, hopeful. He pauses, tries to think over the few moments he saw his brother — both when he knew it was Wei Wuxian and before, when he thought it was some meddling uncle on the kids’ other side. It’s not like he has much comparison; his last memories of Wei Wuxian before are hardly a picture of health. “Skinny,” he says, but Wei Wuxian had always been thin since the war, hollowed out, stretched thin. “We didn’t exactly talk.” Jie gives him a knowing look, like she can read exactly what he isn’t saying: that they didn’t talk because Jiang Cheng reacted the way he always did and then everything was too messy to get a word in. “Right,” she says briskly, swiping away her tears. “We’ll have to get him back to Lotus Pier and eating plenty. He never did take care of himself without a reminder. I can write to Lan Wangji and remind him of a-Xian’s place in Lotus Pier.” She pauses, amends, “Politely.” Jiang Cheng frowns, briefly bewildered by the efficiency of the women in his life before refocusing on his current consternation. “You write to Lan Wangji?” he asks. Jie’s expression softens, and she gives his hand a little squeeze.

“I know you two don’t get along,” she admits gently, “but he lost a-Xian, too.” Looking away, Jiang Cheng feels something like betrayal itching up the back of his neck. Oh, he knows Lan Wangji lost Wei Wuxian, too. Lan Wangji has made that very clear. “A-Cheng,” jie coaxes. He breathes out, gives a tight nod. It’s stupid to feel betrayed. He never told jie what happened with Lan Wangji, after all. He only confessed about the core, about Wei Wuxian’s terrible gift and his own pointless sacrifice. Jie’s always been kind and welcoming; there’s no reason for her to suspect anything behind his and Lan Wangji’s bitter animosity other than Jiang Cheng’s own personality. “I don’t understand how he and the gh— Wen Qionglin can be alive,” Jin Zixuan says. “He’s been missing since Wei Wuxian’s death; everyone thought he was destroyed when the Stygian Tiger Seal was.” Jiang Cheng hesitates. Wen Qing was so sure last night, but he isn’t. Accusing Jin Guangyao with no proof will get them nowhere — not when he’s the chief cultivator and Jin Zixuan’s own brother. “Could it have to do with the Wen rebellion?” Startling, he gapes at jie. She frowns and taps the back of his hand. “A-Cheng, don’t give me that look,” she scolds. “Of course I know Wen Qing isn’t plotting to seize power. But it seems an awful coincidence that there is such worry about the Wen refugees and now a-Xian and Wen Ning reappearing, doesn’t it?” Jin Zixuan purses his lips. “You think someone in one of the camps summoned them?” he asks. Thinning her lips, jie hesitates. There’s a rare frown creasing her brows, giving her a more serious look than she often wears. Even now as Madam Jin, she wears her customary sweetness like a favorite robe. He’d thought that her new rank might make her more upfront with her shrewdness, but perhaps Lanling teaches every resident to hide their skill. “I’m not sure,” she says finally. “I think, if the sects thought that the Wens were raising Wei Wuxian and the Ghost General, it could quickly cause panic and penalties for the refugees.” “But why now?” Jin Zixuan presses. “It’s been thirteen years, and the major sects all agreed to the relocation plan.” He’s frowning fully now, lips tight and brow wrinkled. Over the last few years, he’s started to show hints of lines by his eyes and mouth, the first suggestions of aging. By the age of twenty, Jin Zixuan had cultivated a strong enough golden core to slow his own aging. Now, permanently damaged, that accomplishment is long gone. “If someone wanted an excuse to punish the Wen refugees,” he says slowly, “summoning Wei Wuxian would be…dangerous. He was capable even before the Burial Mounds.” Jiang Cheng wonders, a little, who Jin Zixuan is thinking of, which Wei Wuxian. Is he remembering the loud-mouthed boy who punched him in the face in Gusu or the haunted general who laid waste to hundreds in the war? Before he can say anything, there’s a soft burn against his wrist, and a spark bursts into a single scarlet flame. It burns up, revealing the soft yellow paper of a Wen message talisman. Wen Qing’s handwriting is a familiar comfort, even if he’s uneasy with the news it brings. “What is it?” jie asks. “Lan Wangji is headed to Qinghe,” he says. “There’s some night hunt he’s following for the Lan sect.” Where he goes, Wei Wuxian is surely following. It’s the inverse of their old habit. Jie nods and gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “Go on, then,” she says. “I imagine a-Ling will go racing after you if you don’t take him.” Jiang Cheng flushes a little in surprise, but jie only smiles a little as if she had read his thoughts before he’d had the chance to think them. “Are you sure?” Jin Zixuan asks. Tilting her head up to smile at him, she pats his hand. “It will be alright, a-Xuan,” she soothes. “A-Cheng will watch out for him.” He relents as quickly as that, smiling down at her as if on instinct. Jie’s smile widens, turns her eyes to crescents. “Anyway,” she says, turning back to Jiang Cheng with something softer and a little sadder in her eyes, “it seems it may be time for a-Ling to meet his da-jiujiu.” Drawing in a breath, Jiang Cheng nods. They’ve always walked such a careful line with the kids. They’ve all grown up with stories of their da-jiujiu, of the Twin Prides of Yunmeng, but they’ve also grown up hearing stories of the Yiling laozu, Wei Wuxian. They’d talked it over back when Jin Ling was young and a-Mu just a baby. Wei Wuxian is their brother — would always be their brother in death or life — and neither of them could imagine raising children without him in their lives at all. If he could not be there in person, at least they would know stories of his laughter and bravery and love. But the world is far larger than their family, and even as they’ve done their best to keep these two tales separate, they’ve always known the day would come when one of them put it together. The Yiling laozu would become Wei Wuxian, would become Sandu Shengshou’s shixiong — and all at once, the fairytale would crumble. They’ve always known it was coming. He had just hoped they had a little longer. “We’ll be careful,” he promises. He pauses before looking up to meet Jin Zixuan’s eyes. “And it should stay between us.” Immediately, Jin Zixuan’s brow furrows in both consternation and displeasure. “You think a-Yao has something to do with this?” he asks. “No,” Jiang Cheng says, then winces. He’s not sure. He hates uncertainty. “I don’t know.” Jie squeezes Jin Zixuan’s hand, draws his focus to her. “A secret becomes less the more people know it,” she says. Grudging acceptance seems to cross his face, and he sighs, rubbing his temple. Jie smiles, a little tired, a little sad. Jiang Cheng’s had almost three days to come to terms with these revelations, and he’s still overwhelmed. He can only imagine the waves now buffeting her. “Right,” Jin Zixuan says. “Until we know why they’re back, it’s better to contain it. Once we know, though — a-Yao is clever and resourceful. It would be good to have his help.” Wen Qing’s sure condemnation echoes in Jiang Cheng’s ears, but jie just gives an easy nod. “Once we have a clearer picture, we’ll want all the help we can get,” she says. Her tone firms, smile slipping into something more set, a flicker of their mother’s iron will. “We’re going to keep a-Xian safe this time.”

[marzaid]

Could you imagine if after Lan Wangji visits the Burial Mounds he hoes straight to Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren and is like “look I know you don’t trust Wei Ying but you are coming with me back to the Burial Mounds.” So they take a family trip to the Burial Mounds, unexpectedly, and are greeted by Wen Ning, the Ghost General, who seems harmless. They ask to speak with We Wuxian, who is very anxious because he might trust Lan Wangji but he isn’t sure about the rest of his family. The Lans find how they’re just trying to farm and make do with what they have.

Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren are very confused because they were told by a Jin Guangshan that Wei Wuxian was forming an evil army but apparently he picked up fatherhood and farming instead? A-Yuan calls Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren uncle and great uncle respectively because he just assumes that they’re family. Lan Xichen takes it in stride because honestly A-Yuan is the most adorable child and I headcanon that Lan Xichen adores children. Lan Qiren is conflicted because on one hand this child is adorable and he probably secretly likes kids but on the other this child is apparently Wei Wuxian’s??

Anyway so the Lans all collectively lose their shit and go to Jiang Cheng because they want to know if he was aware of this, which he was but he had no power to take care of his brother. Lan Xichen is like “hmmm I will call my sworn brothers here” and Jiang Cheng is having a hard time because Jiang Yanli’s wedding is probably in a day or so so he’s STRESSED. They agree to let Jiang Yanli get married first even because trying to clear Wei Wuxian’s name will be a long arduous process that might delay their wedding. Plus the marriage will give them another Jin to persuade. So they get married and the Jiang siblings tell Wei Wuxian the plan.

About a week or so after the wedding everyone is called to Lotus Pier and the situation is explained. Nie Mingjue refuses to believe without seeing it first, so suddenly there are group tours of the Burial Mounds. Wei Wuxian and the Wens are tired and confused and they just want to live in peace maybe find a better place to reside that doesn’t have resentful energy and dead bodies but they’ll take what they’re given. Nie Mingjue might have hated the Wens but he’s a fair man (y’all can fight me on this one he is fair and kind fuck you), so he also backs the campaign to bring justice because he doesn’t believe in involving civilians in the fight. He also has a long conversation with Wen Qing because he wanted to understand why she never came forward if she didn’t agree with her uncle and cousins and learns that her younger brother’s life was what she was trying to protect. He thinks of Nie Huaisang and understands immediately as he would do anything to protect his brother as well.

Jin Zixuan and Jin Guangyao also go on one of the tours of the Burial Mounds and their reactions are very different. Jin Zixuan is horrified are the implications of what his family has done and vows as heir apparent to the Jin sect to do something about it. His father refuses to go, no surprise there, but Madam Jin and some of the elders go on one and they are equally as horrified, vowing to help in whatever way they can. Jin Guangyao, on the other hand, sees his plan falling apart and is freaking out. If everyone sides with Wei Wuxian and the Wens then he, Jin Guangyao, won’t be able to use him as a scapegoat and a means to help himself rise to power. He tries to frame Wei Wuxian by setting out traps around the Burial Mounds for people coming in on tours. The problem is that they catch some innocent civilians instead and Wei Wuxian is furious threatening to put up a barrier to stop anyone from coming in at all.

The other issue for Jin Guangyao was that he had promised Jin Guangshan that he would get the Yin Tiger Seal but was unable to convince anyone that the chief cultivator should have it. One of the agreements between Wei Wuxian and everyone else was that he would give half the seal to the Lan and the other half to the Nie. This way they could have it destroyed publicly. He originally wanted to hand it over to Jiang Cheng but other cultivators especially from smaller sects were wary of this and thought that the Jiang would use it to take over. So the Lan and Nie split it since they are considered the most fair of the major sects.

The Yin Tiger Seal is destroyed and the crimes of Jin Guangshan and crew are revealed. The rest of the sects, especially the smaller ones, want Jin Guangshan to step down both as chief cultivator and sect leader but he refuses. Even within the Jin sect there’s a rift. Half the sect wants him to step down and the other half support him for various reasons. The half that want him to step down rally behind Jin Zixuan and nominate him as their sect leader refusing to acknowledge Jin Guangshan. They work together with the other sects to rectify the wrongs their sect committed. However, there’s the part of the sect that still supports Jin Guangshan and they won’t go down without a fight.

Surprisingly, there are people from other sects that also rally behind Jin Guangshan and the remnants of his sect that stayed with him. They form an army hellbent on taking down Wei Wuxian and the rest of the Wen and anyone that gets in their way. Jin Guangyao, who has been vying for his fathers approval his entire life, stays by his fathers side despite the evidence and knowing that it’s wrong. He tries to convince Lan Xichen of this but is unsuccessful. The trust and affection he built up from Lan Xichen is gone and maybe he’s devastated but he convinces himself that once he has his fathers approval and then once he is chief cultivator and the most powerful that Lan Xichen will come crawling back. He won’t but Jin Guangyao keeps trying to convince himself otherwise.

A battle at the Burial Mounds ensues and Wei Wuxian is only just able to ensure that the Wens are taken to safety. The other sects back Wei Wuxian and there is another long, exhausting series of bloody battles just like those of the Sunshot campaign. Wei Wuxian uses resentful energy as best as he can but at some point realizes that he’s been regrowing a golden core (this is a thing in my mind let me dream). He uses a combination of spiritual and resentful energy and teaches Jiang Cheng, Jiang Yanli, and the rest of the Jiangi how to do it. They don’t have to use it to the extent that he used to but they still understand how to control it when needed (new Jiang technique besides what Jiang Cheng eventually develops too).

Jin Guangshan falls and his supporters lose. Some of them abandon him as they start seeing his side losing the war, others abandon him right after his death. There are still those who are extremely loyal to Jin Guangshan even after the man’s death but they become a small minority. Maybe they for, their own sect under Jin Guangyao. He can’t take the Jin name anymore because Jin Zixuan is still alive and rightfully claims that name. Maybe he goes back to Meng Yao, who knows, but he is still the face of that small group that want justice for their cause even if their cause means death to innocent people.

After the war is finally through, the position of chief cultivator is abolished, as none of the sects like the idea of one man having that much power. They saw it with Wen Ruohan, with Jin a Guangshan, and arguably with Wei Wuxian. They opt for a democratic panel where representatives from each sect regardless of their size have regular discussions to sort out problems arise. These discussions are not set in one spot and regularly move so that each sect regardless of size takes a turn at hosting everyone.

Wei Wuxian is reinstated as head disciple and right hand man of Jiang though if anyone asks Jiang Cheng he stubbornly says that it was a temporary hiatus. The rest of the Wen settle in Yunmeng because they liked being close to We Wuxian as they see him and now by extension the Jiang as their family. Uncle Four opens the best liquor shop in all of Yunmeng that has people from all over coming to it for a try of all his different brews. Wen Qing and Wen Ning because the official doctors of the Jiang but also regularly take people from anywhere and occasionally travel if needed. Granny and A-Yuan live in Lotus Pier with Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng and Granny becomes everyone’s Granny. She cares for the young disciples and also always makes sure that Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng are taking care of themselves. How can they deny her anything anyway? Are you going to disappoint Granny? Plus she has Jiang Yanli on speed dial and they would die rather than make their big sister sad. A-Yuan becomes a new disciple of the Jiang.

It’s decided at one of the discussion conferences that it would be good for young disciples as they near adulthood to learn from other sects. Not necessarily all their techniques but to meet new people gain more knowledge. Some sects have occasional workshops while some of the bigger sects invite disciples to have an extended stay. A-Yuan, who’s already best friends with His cousin Jin Ling at this point, becomes good friends with the other juniors his age as well, Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen. The four of them form an unbreakable group.

The Jiang under Jiang Cheng grow exponentially because he takes in people that remind him of Wei Wuxian. People in bad situations and in bad spots and gives them a safe haven. There’s a running joke among the disciples to see which brother, Jiang Cheng or Wei Wuxian, adopts more kids to take care of.

Somewhere along the way Wangxian probably elopes. Maybe right in the middle of the war. Jiang Cheng loses his shit because he’s been planning Wei Wuxian’s wedding since he moved to Lotus Pier when they were kids. So they have a ceremony when things settled down that neither Wei Wuxian nor Lan Wangji could say no to because their respective brothers had been so excited at the prospect of a wedding.

In the end, things are finally peaceful. Occasionally, some tries to rise up and gain power and hurt others but they’ve got a pretty good handle on things.

Everyone lives and is happy. The end.

[caspian-skye]

The Apoptosis Project Ch.8, Making a Statement

“Twenty-five years after Salem's defeat, twins Caspian and Lazula Skye are finally of age to attend their father's academy; just in time for the Creatures of Grimm to return. While fighting the revived horror alongside Frontline Biomedical's controversial Organic Androids, they begin to unravel a web of secrets ensnaring more than they could have ever known.”  

"Okay, let's go ahead and get started for the day!" Professor Corvis-Braun began eagerly. Caspian looked to the lecture hall's stage, where Lilly's mother peeked over the podium. Whenever Caspian had seen the diminutive, feathery-haired woman in the past, she wore some stylish mixture of cardigan, blazer, skirt, sweater, vest, and tights. Her outfit never strayed away from moody hues of black, white, midnight blue, and silver. Apparently, her work attire was no exception.

"Welcome to your first day of Interspecies History!" the professor announced. A pair of dark eyes flicked to the full rows of long, rounded tables forming eight half-circles up to the back of the room. "I'm Professor Corvis-Braun, but you can call me Professor Corvis if it's easier. Or Professor Braun, I love my husband. This class has the reputation of being a bit dry, especially at a school that teaches Grimm Studies and Practical Weapons Training. But! It's important. Plus, every year I've had a handful of students that really take to this class, so that might end up being you!" She took a sip from her water before continuing. "This is a special year for me, because my own daughter happens to be in this room! I won't call her out, but-"

Lilly smiled and turned, waving to the rows behind her.

"Oh! Well then, that's her," Professor Corvis confirmed above a chorus of laughter and "aww"-s. "Anyway, though faunus are equal in law now, and a big city like this sees very little overt racism, we're living in quite an important time right now. Can anyone tell me why this class has become so relevant?"

After several seconds, she pointed to a hand toward the back of the room.

"The Red Claw?"

Professor Corvis-Braun pulled back a bit in surprise. "Yes! I mean, that wasn't the answer I was looking for, but that's an important issue we'll cover in depth starting next week. Any other answers? Good answer, by the way."

At the furthest section of the room, a few rows back, Noxis raised his hand. Professor Corvis called on him.

"I wouldn't count them as a species," Noxis began, leaning back in his chair. "But are you talking about Organds?"

By the end of his first lecture at Sentinel, Caspian's wrist burned from writing, and his stomach was empty. The beginning of class saw a quick, broad overview of course content, which eventually shifted into administrative and logistic details of the class. Professor Corvis finished with a minute to spare, just as the zipping and shuffling of all the backpacks in the room began to drown her out.

Caspian clutched his stomach. "Man, I'm hungry. After Grimm Studies, you guys wanna meet at The Roots?"

"I'm down. I'll ask Ichigo," Rowan agreed.

"I suppose I'll stop by for a bit," Lilly said. "I'm meeting a new friend later this afternoon, though."

Unease crept into Caspian's mind. A new friend...

"Want to come to The Roots after next class?" Caspian typed into his Holoband. He looked across the room.

Noxis flashed his Holoband's screen, looking at it for a few seconds. He shut it off, slung his bag over a shoulder, and made his way out the door.

As Cedar Hall, Sentinel's first-year dormitory building, was built into the side of the steep hill holding the academy above the bay, The Roots Cafe was below ground level on one side, but well above the street on the other. One wall was almost entirely windows, revealing the impressive view from shopping center to the North, to the flat tract of land across the street that held the SFC, sports fields and sparring courts to the South. Looming furthest away, against a backdrop of skyscrapers and sea, was Sentinel Stadium.

The Roots itself was quite cozy, Caspian thought. The side furthest from the windows was a winding maze of counters and kiosks. It got fairly busy at dinner, but the food seemed decent so far, a selection from all over Remnant. Toward the windows, comfortable booths and tables in many shades of brown found space among gently curving half-walls and wooden pillars. At each end of the cafeteria was a near-abstract mural of huntsmen and Grimm.

The day after initiation, Rowan found a round table nestled in a half-circle alcove facing the window. Every meal since, he had refused to sit anywhere else.

"The flesh of Frontline Biomedical Technology's Organic Androids is created from human stem cells. The 'organic components,' as they are called, are mounted onto a titanium alloy and carbon-fiber frame, making Organic Androids nearly indistinguishable from humans," Caspian read. "Though they look much like us, what would be their brain is actually called a 'Brain-Core System.' The 'core,' in the android's chest, handles power and low-level internal functioning. The 'brain,' in the android's head, allows for higher-level processing. However, it should be noted both brain and core are incapable of thought and emotion."

Caspian looked up to Lilly expectantly.

"I see..." she pondered. "I think you do a wonderful job of setting up the issue, and differentiating between Organd and human. However, I fail to see the main point of your paper. I believe it would be helpful if you transitioned into your main point from what you have now." She looked to him. "Do you have any ideas?"

Caspian pursed his lips. "Hmm... I guess, I'll talk about how people generally respect Frontline because of its medical advancements, but there's a lot of distrust toward Organds." He looked up from his screen. "People don't like things that look so human and... aren't."

"Why'd your mom have to go and assign a paper on the first day of class?" Rowan complained. "Always seemed like a nice lady, but that's just cruel."

Lilly's lips drew up in a muted smile of amusement. "It's only two to three pages, and is worth a very small portion of your grade," she reminded. "This is more a measure of your starting point than anything. Have you started?"

"It's due Monday, right?"

"Yes."

"Nope. I think I'll start Saturday. Maybe Sunday," Rowan responded. He tore into his sandwich.

"I think I'll distinguish between combat models and companion models too, because their internal coding and ability to fight is different enough to note," Caspian commented, leaning into his laptop. He struggled to type a few words with his left hand, his right still wrapped up in a sling. "Writing an essay is hard enough with two functional hands."

"What about third gen Organds?" Ichigo inquired.

"They're not out yet. I might mention them, but I don't think I know enough to say much about them..."

Rowan raised a finger, gulping down an ambitious bite of his lunch. "You hear that the third gen ones are gonna be able to eat? Isn't that weird?"

"They can't digest though, what happens to the food?" Ichigo questioned.

"Damn, good question," Rowan admitted. He flicked on his Holoband, typing up a search.

"We're eating," Lilly reminded. "Perhaps we should leave this question for later?"

"...So who's the new friend, Lilly?" Caspian asked, attempting to pass off his budding jealousy as innocent curiosity.

Lilly smiled gently. "Her name is Aspen. She's a second-year, we happened to run into each other when I was exploring the campus libraries."

Good. A girl.

Lilly looked down to her Holoband in surprise, and switched it on. "Oh, that's her right now!" she announced. She dabbed at her lips with a napkin, and shuffled across the half-circle booth until she was free of the table.

"I'll see you later!" Caspian bid with a grin.

Lilly waved, and was on her way.

"Y'know, one of these days it won't be a girl!" Rowan chided.

Caspian balled a napkin in his fist. "I know..."

"When are you gonna make your move? Sentinel's full of dudes. I'm just trying to help you along! You've got that 'childhood friend' thing going for you, but-"

"Can we please talk about anything else?"

-

Sentinel's dorms were a rough transition for Lazula. She had grown so used to her plush bed, giant bathtub in a bathroom with marble floor and golden faucets, and gourmet food whenever she liked. Now in the land of shared showers, standard-issue mattresses, and long lines in The Roots, at least getting up for her morning routine was easier.

Only a few days in, Lazula fell into her routine. Every morning, she would wake exactly at six. She would grab a healthy bite, and run the trail around Sentinel's campus. The loop was almost exactly two miles, so would take eleven or twelve minutes. Then to the Student Fitness Center right as it opened, when no one was around to gawk at her, or the weight she put on bar and machine alike. She would be back before nine to shower and take a second breakfast, making it just in time for her first class.

Classes had just concluded for the day, so the SFC was a bit more crowded than usual. Lazula walked up to the front desk, nodding to the attendant as she neared.

"Where can I find the Sparring Team?" she asked. "I heard there's a meeting here today."

"Oh, that would be..." the student at the front desk began. He keyed a search into the computer. "Room 202. Right up those stairs, first court on the left."

"Thanks." Raising her wrist up to the sensor, her Holoband pulsed once with vibration, and the hard-light door allowed her through. She went to the locker room first, donning her combat attire in its entirety before continuing onto room 202.

"As is the case every year, let's start by talking recruitment," a young man's voice declared from behind the door. Strong, but friendly. Lazula had heard the voice before. "Cole is already working on designing flyers, and I'd like to start handing them out in front of the library starting next week. I'll also ask the Headmaster if-"

The door shut loudly behind Lazula, drawing everyone's eyes to her. One hand rested on Impetus's hilt as Lazula locked eyes with the man, cocking her head back ever slightly.

"I challenge you to a duel."

He cracked a grin. The same impossibly white, straight-toothed smile that decorated Sentinel's promotional material, and advertisements for countless brands having nothing to do with huntsmen. His hair was styled just as neat as the pictures, a close shave on the sides and back of his head, with hair in front and top swept to the side in golden waves, one unruly lock drooping to his brow. She had never realized how thoroughly dark his eyes were.

"And here I was, wondering how long I should wait for you to settle in before challenging you," Midas welcomed. "I admire your initiative."

"I'm a twelve-time tournament champion at a new school with some of the strongest huntsmen in Vale," Lazula reminded. "It only makes sense I challenge the very strongest one here, and beat him."

Midas's smile continued. "Well, then. I accept your challenge."

Lazula drew Impetus from its sheath, positioning her feet and staring down her opponent.

"...After our warm-ups, of course!"

Lazula's shoulders sunk, and she sheathed her blade.

"Sure."

After a quick jog down to the water's edge and back, and a bit of dynamic stretching, Lazula and the rest of the Sparring Team returned to their room in the SFC. She had been sizing up Midas from the moment she agreed to warm up. She knew he fought with Resplendence, a halberd that unfolded into a bow, and channeled the electricity Midas produced with his semblance. He was well built but still looked nimble, and kept up with her on the run down to the water. He had a height advantage of over half a foot.

"By default, Sparring Team matches use a safety parameter of twenty percent. Is that alright?" Midas asked.

"Seems fair."

"Good." Midas pinched the screen he projected from his Holoband and flicked it upward. It hit a strange metallic structure suspended from the ceiling, and two screens flashed above the pair, displaying their names, pictures, and aura level.

Midas and Lazula took their places at opposing ends of the court. "It's too bad we're inside," Lazula said. "I'll have to hold back a bit if I don't want to break something."

Midas grinned. "I can hold back too! It's only fair."

Lazula shook her head. "That won't be necessary."

The excited buzz of the room quieted as a girl in robes of silvery blue stepped between them. "This is an impromptu sparring match between Team Captain Midas Baine, and challenger Lazula Skye," she announced. "The first combatant to decrease their enemy's aura level to twenty percent, or the combatant with highest aura level after five minutes, will be declared winner." She turned to Midas, then Lazula. "The match will begin after a ten second countdown."

As the clock began to count down, Lazula unsheathed Impetus, hearing the familiar, comforting sound of steel leaving its sheath. She pointed it at the ready, lowering her head.

As soon as she heard the tone, Lazula tore toward Midas. He stood his ground, halberd at the ready. Lazula smirked. "People should know by now that some attacks are just too strong to parry," she thought. She swung her blade across her body, but slashed through air.

Midas had spun around the side of her attack, and she felt a heavy strike down her back. Before she could turn, Midas spun his weapon and jabbed her spine, flinging her forward as she yelped with surprise and pain.

No one had hit her like that in a while, she recalled. Her first tournament? Or was it the second, over in Vacuo? It didn't matter now.

"No way! Look at her aura!" a voice called from the crowd.

"Ninety-five percent?! After a hit like that?"

She ducked under a slash parallel to the floor, pivoting into Midas and springing up with a vicious bash by Aegis. She slashed twice as he was knocked off balance, but her third swing was met by the shaft of his weapon. Cracking a grin, Midas channeled electricity down the length of his arm and into his weapon.

Lazula ripped Impetus away just as electricity began to course its way into Resplendence. She flung his weapon away and met him with an elbow to the chestplate before spinning and knocking him back with her shield. Midas slid backward, and used the distance between them to transform his weapon into a bow. He drew as Lazula ran forward, but at the last minute lowered his shot and let fly a bolt of lightning into Lazula's boots.

Electricity crackled across the ground as Lazula leapt over the attack, and crashed down on Midas with her blade. As his weapon rose to meet hers she channeled her semblance, taking his resistance into her own swing and amplifying it. Resplendence gave way, and Lazula slashed across his chest.

Midas's recovery was impressive. By the time Lazula swung back at him, he regained focus and parried her strike. A second and a third attack were met as well. Lazula took a split second to drop back and regain her focus before lunging at the golden-haired huntsman once more. "He's faster than me," Lazula realized. No matter how quickly she attacked, Midas's spinning of body and weapon alike caught her blade and tossed it back.

Finally, Impetus swung into Resplendence's axehead. Midas grinned, twisting his weapon until her blade was locked in his. Electricity crackled around him once more as Lazula attempted to rip her weapon free to no avail. She felt heat on her hands, then a seizing of her muscles, as if some searing entity inside of her arm controlled it from within. She let go of Impetus, and the Sparring Team scattered as the blade was flung their way. Midas turned and brought the head of Resplendence down on his unarmed foe.

Lazula blocked the attack with Aegis. Channeling as much of her semblance as she deemed safe, she wrenched her arm outward. Midas's armor crushed with the weight of her blow. He was flung back, providing Lazula an opening to retrieve Impetus.

She eyed the screen above her as she picked up her blade. She had been hit a few more times since, but her aura was still above ninety percent. Midas's hovered just over forty. The huntsman panted at the far side of the room, shoulders hunched. Letting out one last breath, he straightened and transformed Resplendence back into a bow.

Lazula raised Aegis to block a lightning bolt, then a second. She ran forward, keeping an eye out for more as she approached. She and Midas were locked in combat for several more seconds, before Midas ducked under one of her swings, and spun on the floor in an attempt to sweep her feet from under her.

Lazula buried Impetus's tip, vaulting over Midas's attack. She took its force into her blade and channeled it into her legs, blasting Midas with a potent kick to the gut. He rolled into the nearest wall, losing Resplendence. Lazula jumped after him, finishing their fight with a final strike.

The Sparring Team broke into hoots and cheers of excitement. With one foot on the ground, Lazula stepped on Midas's chestplate, bringing Impetus's tip dangerously close to his throat.

Her triumphant glare softened. She sheathed her weapon and extended a hand.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" she asked as Midas took her hand. "That last hit was a bit much for how much aura you had left."

Midas met her worry with an easy smile as he walked over to grab Resplendence. "No need to worry about me, I'm durable!"

Lazula huffed in amusement. "You're not bad. That was fun." She looked to the crowd that began to fill the sparring court, then back to Midas. "How do I join the team?"

Midas shook his head with another smile.

"After a fight like that, you're in."