#I’m just irritated watching people whine or centre themselves

[artschoolglasses]

Americans not giving a shit about the wildfires burning down forests and homes in Canada until smoke starts spreading across the border. Meanwhile Indigenous communities across the country are far more likely to be impacted by the fires and I’ve seen all of one link to a charity and about nine million memes. 🙃

[foxghost]

Joyful Reunion, Chapter 112

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 3, Chapter 24 (Part 7)

Right there behind the stone statue at the top of the stairs is a wide platform, and behind the platform is a set of derelict buildings stacked out of bricks. It’s eerily quiet on top of the platform as it’s little frequented, and green creeper vines have climbed all the way up from the base of the foundations miles below. Nothing marks the years’ passing in the mountains, as though time itself is frozen here.

“Is this where you trained?” Duan Ling asks.

“Yes. This is White Tiger Hall,” Wu Du replies, climbing the steps with Duan Ling until they’re before the great hall. A plaque is barely hanging on high above them with three characters written in ancient seal script: White Tiger Hall.

“We’ll sleep here tonight. It may still be a bit cold in the mountains, but I think …”

“That’s quite alright,” Duan Ling replies, standing in front of the great hall, he stretches, facing the green hills beyond and their misty clouds. It reminds him of a line of poetry: my mind expands to take in this expanse of clouds; the sight of homecoming birds stretches the edge of my vision.2 From the moment they left Jiangzhou he’s enjoyed the first true days of leaving all his worries behind. Here, he doesn’t have to worry about anyone coming to kill him, and neither does he have to worry about saying anything by accident that can get him killed. They can sleep soundly and let themselves relax.

He turns back to glance at Wu Du. Wu Du is inside the great hall, sweeping the stone paths clean. When he finds a bird’s nest on a chair, he picks up the nest and wipes down the chair before putting it back.

“Eh?” Duan Ling spies a small animal dodging behind a pillar and walks quickly over. It’s a squirrel. When it hears footsteps it stops, turns around, and hesitatingly stares at Duan Ling.

“Animals in the mountains aren’t afraid of people,” Wu Du explains.

“Are there other people here?”

“No. Even back then it was just me, my master, his wife, and Shijie.”

Recalling the Xunchun who lost her life in Shangjing, Duan Ling lets out a sigh.

Once Wu Du finishes cleaning he adds, “Duan Ling, come. Let’s go meet the White Tiger.”

Duan Ling walks to the centre of the main hall, and looks up at a white tiger carved out of white marble enshrined in the altar. Its eyes are sunken as if gems used to be set in them, but they’re long lost, presumably stolen by thieves. A mottled, dilapidated mural of “A Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains”3 has been painted on the wall behind it, with seven Weiqi pieces carved out of marble inlaid into the mural.4

“I’m the seventeenth generation disciple, successor of the lineage of poison,” Wu Du says to the white tiger statue, “current leader of the White Tiger Hall, Wu Du. I’m here today with the crown prince of the central plains.”

Duan Ling cannot help but be awestruck, and his back straightens at Wu Du’s words. Wu Du stands tall in front of the statue, holding the index and middle fingers of his left hand to the back of his right hand to bow as a part of a special ritual on his pilgrimage to the White Tiger. "Lord White Tiger, please bless …

“What’re you called again?” Wu Du pauses to ask Duan Ling.

“What?”

“Your name.”

Duan Ling stares at Wu Du speechlessly. Wu Du stares silently back.

“What kind of a sect leader are you?” Duan Ling doesn’t even know what to tell him.

Wu Du whines, “That day you shocked me right out of my head, so how was I supposed to remember anything? Say it already.”

“Li Ruo, here to pay my respects,” Duan Ling takes one step forward. He knows that the White Tiger constellation is the god of soldiers and warfare, in control of everything that has to do with slaughter. He bows. “I pray for Great Chen to triumph in every battle, to be victorious in every war.”

Wu Du cracks a grin, and turns to the statue. “I pray you’ll bless and protect the crown prince of Great Chen, Li Ruo, and to allow him a smooth return to the imperial court.”

They each finish talking to the White Tiger, and afterwards, they look up together in silence, staring at the statue with its missing eyes. A draft brushes them by, pouring from the back of the main hall and rushing out the entrance, setting the fringes of their robes fluttering — as if a fierce tiger has just crossed the forest, setting all the leaves in the trees rustling.

“Where did its eyes go?” Duan Ling asks Wu Du.

“No idea. It’s never had them as far as I can remember, so they must have been dug out long ago. Its eyes can’t see, but it can hear just fine.”

Duan Ling thinks, sounds like that’s true. Perhaps the breeze was its instruction.

Duan Ling has never had so much free time in his life before. That very afternoon, Wu Du takes the stairs down the mountain again to move the bedding and food from their boat to their lodgings. Duan Ling offers to help, but Wu Du just tells him to rest. As soon as he puts the stuff down on the platform he’s off again to the boat for more.

White Tiger Hall has a rear courtyard with a set of houses sectioned into east and west wings, while the main house was the place where Wu Du’s master and his wife used to live. Duan Ling spots an alchemy furnace, still filled with solidified cinnabar and some medicaments, a mixture of something now pitch black. The west wing is Xunchun’s room. Duan Ling opens the door and peers inside to find it filled with cobwebs and dust, devoid of anything else. The east wing is Wu Du’s room. It has one bed, two wooden shelves filled with old things, piled high with worn-eaten ancient tomes.

“What a pity,” Duan Ling says, “you had this many rare hand-copied books, but they got so damaged. Aren’t you worried that the knowledge will be lost?”

Wu Du has drawn water from a creek behind the main hall, and he’s cleaning the house with his sleeves rolled up. "Everyone’s gone. Whether the martial arts knowledge is passed on or lost, there’s no one left to care about that anymore.”

“What’s in here?”

“The elixirs master refined ages ago. He’d always wanted to live forever, follow the Dao and become an immortal. He used to be just fine, but after eating too much of that stuff he couldn’t even fight anymore. When the capital was under attack he took his wife with him and got off the mountain to reinforce the troops, and he should have been able to escape unscathed, but whatever blasted elixir he took stopped his qi from flowing when he needed it, and the Khitans shot him to death.”

“Where’s he buried? Should we go visit his grave?”

“The cenotaph is back there. After the capital was taken by Khitans, Shijie had someone bring back his clothes. We’ll go if we have time. There’s no hurry.”

Together, Duan Ling and Wu Du clean up the room. Wu Du says, “I don’t need any of that stuff. Just toss it all out.”

“No no, they’re too valuable.”

“I’m keeping it all in my head, you know. Don’t flip through them now, they’re dusty. If you do that you’ll sneeze.”

Duan Ling sneezes dramatically more than a dozen times before he manages to reorganise Wu Du’s books, putting them away nicely on the shelves. He plans to make a copy of everything when he has time, and that way it’ll help keep White Tiger Hall’s knowledge intact.

It’s getting closer to dusk. Wu Du has half finished cleaning the place. He gets a fire started then, and begins making dinner for Duan Ling.

Watching Wu Du busying himself, Duan Ling feels as though he’s back to being a little kid again. He recalls those words once said to him: there will always be people who disregard all else to be good to you, no matter who you are. If I’m not the crown prince of Southern Chen, would Wu Du still have brought me here?

Duan Ling ponders this, and comes to the conclusion that Wu Du probably would.

Spotting an antique, worn-out case under the shelves in the room, Duan Ling bends down to open the lock. Once it’s opened, he discovers that it’s filled with wooden puppets of horses and people, carved with a small knife. They must have been toys carved by Wu Du for himself when he was all alone as a little kid. Underneath the toys is a red cloth sack, and Duan Ling’s about to open it when Wu Du notices and says, “Um … Don’t touch that!”

Thinking that it’s some deadly poison, Duan Ling quickly puts it back, but Wu Du is hurrying into the room, a crimson blush in his cheeks as he puts the cloth sack back in the lowest level of the case.

“What’s that?”

“It’s nothing.” Wu Du looks a bit embarrassed, which only serves to make Duan Ling even more curious and to keep pestering him. Self-conscious, Wu Du leaves for the kitchen to get more water so he can start steaming the fish, but Duan Ling follows him around the whole time until he gives up under the badgering. “It’s a baby wrap.”

Duan Ling pauses for a moment before he breaks out in side-splitting laughter. Wu Du sounds a bit irritated. “Don’t laugh!”

A thought occurs to Duan Ling and he thinks he understands. “You wore it when you were little?”

“Yeah,” Wu Du replies, “when the master’s wife found me, that cloth was the only thing on my person.”

“Was there a birth certificate? Your parents’ names?”

“No idea. Even if there was one, my master would have burned it.” Wu Du says without minding him, “Assassins can’t have mom and dad.”

“Doesn’t that mean you wouldn’t know when your birthday is?”

“Well let’s just treat … the day she found me as my birthday.”

Duan Ling only comes to that realisation then. “Which day is it?”

Wu Du doesn’t say anything, and Duan Ling seems about to press him, so Wu Du can but tell him, “I’ll tell you when it comes up.”

Duan Ling stretches out his pinkie, and so Wu Du gives it a little shake with his own. “Go wait for dinner, but don’t run off. Maybe no one is going to kill you here but getting lost in the mountains is no joke.”

Wu Du limits Duan Ling’s roaming range to the area between the stone steps and plank walkways, extending all the way to the platform, and he can wander through the buildings of White Tiger Hall as well, but he can’t go to the mountains behind the halls. Duan Ling walks to the edge of the platform to view the clouds, where they flow like an ocean in the mountains; the mist has risen, and in the mountains it’s as quiet as the land of the immortals.

The racket and prosperity of Jiangzhou, the strife between people — all of it can be left behind for now. They all feel like nothing more than a dream Duan Ling had during an afternoon nap.

If he can stay here for the rest of his life, maybe no one will ever be able to find them?

If he stays here for the rest of his life, maybe he won’t ever have to worry about anything else anymore.

An idea occurs to Duan Ling as he stares out at the cloud sea. If he’s able to accomplish all his goals and retire in comfort someday, this will be his final and only resting place. After experiencing so much, there’s nothing happier than to live the rest of his life in peace, with someone by his side … as he thinks this he turns to look back inside White Tiger Hall. Wu Du just happens to be banging some metal together to make a clanging noise, letting him know that it’s time for dinner.

“Scram! I’ll hit you!”

As Duan Ling heads inside, he sees Wu Du scaring off a monkey that’s come out of nowhere. The monkey wants to come closer and beg him for some food, but it doesn’t dare get too close. It stares at Wu Du with wide puppy eyes, then it turns them on Duan Ling. Duan Ling can’t help but laugh soundly, tossing it a bit of dry rations. The monkey immediately grabs it and runs off.

“There’s another one over there.” Duan Ling looks around and finds the big monkey rushing to give another, smaller monkey the food after it successfully begged for some.

“If you want food, eke out a living for yourself.” Wu Du jokes around. “If you want to be lord and master of the household, you’ve got to support your family.” Then Wu Du pushes against the great doors with his shoulder to close them.

During the evening, a solitary lamp swings back and forth in the mountain breeze, and beneath it the two of them have rice with plates of side dishes, along with the live fish they bought on the river. There’s even a couple of cups of wine to go with it.

After they finish drinking, Wu Du says to Duan Ling, “I’m going to take you somewhere. Let’s go.”

It happens to be a full moon tonight. Wu Du takes Duan Ling towards the mountains behind the halls, and they turn a corner through a narrow path, coming to the other side of the mountain where the sky seems to open up; the desolate wilderness of the mountains makes the moon look even brighter, and silvery light fills their vision.

Lit by moonlight, throughout the mountains, this is the only place planted full of peach trees; out in the mortal world peach blossom season has reached its end, but in the mountain temples they’re in full bloom. Amidst the mountain ranges the peach blossoms bloom in brilliant clusters, and the mountain breeze takes millions of petals off their branches to flutter beneath a bright moon.

“What do you think?” Wu Du asks with a smile.

Duan Ling is nearly unable to get any words out at all; he stares in a daze at the scenery before him.

“Only for about ten days every year,” Wu Du says, “do you get a view like this.”

“It’s too beautiful.”

Wu Du comes over to him, and they sit down on a rock together. He takes out his flute, and holds it to his lips. Music rings out, and in that instant, Joyful Reunion once more drags Duan Ling’s mind back into the faraway past.

When the song ends, Duan Ling and Wu Du quietly meet each other’s eyes.

Wu Du’s lips move imperceptibly, his breathing growing slightly urgent, and wearing nothing but an unlined robe and short pants, he’s sitting quite close to Duan Ling on the rock. Moonlight spills onto their snow white underclothes, and Duan Ling can vaguely make out the rugged and beautiful lines of Wu Du’s body.

“Duan Ling,” Wu Du says suddenly, “I … have something I want to say to you.”

Without knowing the reason for it at all, Duan Ling is starting to feel tense as well. “Wha—what?”

Wu Du looks down at him. They’re both quiet for at least several breaths, but then Wu Du is turning away to look towards the mountain streams, then up at the bright moon above, seemingly on edge.

“What did you want to say?” Duan Ling reaches out, his hand folding over the back of Wu Du’s hand, but Wu Du has turned his hand over to hold onto his.

“Do you …” Wu Du turns the thought over and over in his head before he appears to make up his mind and asks, “Do you like it here?”

Duan Ling smiles, and it’s like a million peach flowers blooming beneath the moonlight, how brilliant their blossoms.

“Earlier today I was just thinking,” Duan Ling tugs on Wu Du’s hand, “maybe someday I’ll just live here in the White Tiger Hall and never go back to the earthly world.”

“Oh no no,” Wu Du says immediately, “now that won’t do. I … you …”

“Yeah.” Duan Ling thinks about his duty, and that’s bound to be a heavy subject. He jests, “It’s just a thought.”

“No, that’s not …” Wu Du collects himself and says, “What I was thinking is that … aside from this place, I also want to take you … other places. And if you want … you can … take your time to pick, pick the place you love the most … anywhere is fine. The edge of the oceans, the ends of the earth, as long as you want to be there, I’ll be at your side.”

Duan Ling stares at him in startled silence.

“I … What I’m thinking is …” Wu Du doesn’t dare look at Duan Ling, and he can only stare off anywhere else, his handsome face turning crimson to his collarbones; even the skin under his tattoo is glowing red like he’s been drinking. His grip on Duan Ling’s hand grows tighter subconsciously and he stammers through his speech.

“Afterwards, I’ll also take you … to all those places you want to see. I’ll take you to Diannan, take you to … see the ocean. You … Shan’er, that day … when you called me ‘milord’, I know maybe you were just joking, but I’ve taken you here because I wanted to ask you … if you’re willing to … for the rest of our lives …”

By now Wu Du has already calmed down. The words have already left his mouth so he’s not going to be nervy anymore.

“In front of other people, you and I will be as we always were.” Wu Du doesn’t know where his courage is coming from, but he’s staring into Duan Ling’s eyes as he says solemnly to him, "Even if you’ve returned to the imperial court, I don’t need you to make me anything official. As long as you still think of me as you do in your heart today, I will find you the Zhenshanhe and guard you for the rest of your life, until the day I die.

“I know that in the future you’ll become the emperor. But I really … really … really want to be … with you …”

As he says this he’s getting nervous again. “I think … if you’re willing, I’ll definitely treat you well. Whenever we’re alone and there’s no one else around, I’ll … treat you … treat you as I would treat … my wife, and you’ll … yield to me as you would …”

Duan Ling stares at Wu Du in a daze, and Wu Du realises now that he’s still squeezing on Duan Ling’s hand and hurriedly lets it go. He reaches into a pocket in his robe and takes out a string of beads.

Wu Du unfolded his fingers, holding the beads in front of Duan Ling, and he moves his hand forward a little, as though he’s a mere humble human being presenting a tribute he made with all his heart, in a gesture more reverent than making an offering to the gods of their world.

The tribute is a bracelet strung with rosary peas.

Duan Ling’s cheeks turn scarlet in an instant as he comes to realise what Wu Du has left unsaid — to his surprise, Wu Du is wooing him. Even before this Duan Ling has had a vague feeling that this is the case, and the present moment is reminding him of that evening as the sun was setting, and Wu Du had taken his hand and told him all those things in the maple forest.

In a flash, the Duan estate’s dark woodshed, the snowstorm oppressive above the frozen Yellow River, those unfamiliar and gloomy days in Shangjing, a war that shook the earth beneath him, a night of panicked escape that feels like it happened yesterday, that harsh winter in Luoyang, his father’s death … in his mind these memories all shatter one by one.

They were each alone in the world as children, and now they’re beneath a sky filled with fluttering peach petals, silently facing each other.

In place of those memories are all those dreams once promised to him in that endless river of time, all those colourful, dazzling hopes, with the life he wants to lead.

Duan Ling seems able to see himself, and he’s able to see Wu Du as well — the Wu Du who grew up orphaned and alone is finally all grown up, and has made his way to him.

Wu Du’s hands have once solemnly taken hold of the sword that represents the last of the central plains martial artists; they have also blocked the sword that came at him with a force great enough to shatter the firmament itself outside Tongguan. But now they’re somehow overtaken by a slight but uncontrollable trembling.

“I …” Duan Ling takes a deep breath as he tries his best to restrain the excitement rushing about in his heart, but he notices that he’s unable to say anything at all. When he raises his eyes to meet Wu Du’s though, it seems Wu Du has come to a different conclusion. Noting that Duan Ling hasn’t taken the bracelet from him, his expression grows sad, and forcing a smile tinged with agony, he nods as though he already knew this would be the answer.

But to his surprise, instead of taking Wu Du’s bracelet, Duan Ling has thrown his arms around Wu Du’s neck, and closing his eyes, he leans in and presses his lips to Wu Du’s.

A mountain breeze blows by, sending a rustling through the leaves; flower petals scatter to fly through the air.

Wu Du’s eyes widen, and his entire body freezes as though he’s been struck by lightning. Not daring to move an inch, he holds the pose with their lips touching. When he comes to himself in the next moment, he stares at Duan Ling, his heart beating madly in his chest.

The two of them pull apart and Duan Ling takes Wu Du’s bracelet from him. He grips it between his fingers, breathing rapidly, wanting to say something but has no idea where to begin. They’re both red in the face, blood rushing through their ears, but Duan Ling is wearing a small, shy smile on his face.

And yet in the next moment, without a word at all, Wu Du gets up and runs into the forest of peach trees.

“Wu Du?” Duan Ling calls him, but Wu Du isn’t stopping at all. In two shakes he’s run so far not even a shadow of him can be seen anymore.

Duan Ling stares into the dark speechlessly, no idea what’s happening, but when he chases over he finds Wu Du turning somersaults under a tree, following them with a sweeping kick and several punches, whipping up the leaves and flower petals so they flutter like a cloud around him.

Duan Ling laughs, and Wu Du suddenly turns around. When he realises that Duan Ling’s spotted him, he dodges behind a tree trunk.

Duan Ling puts on the bracelet. Meanwhile, Wu Du has closed his eyes with his back against a peach tree, revealing that slightly roguish yet captivating smile.

Duan Ling has no idea what he should say. It seems as though everything has changed through this one evening, and the scenery before him has taken on a special meaning. I actually kissed him earlier! Where did I find the courage to do that? Wu Du’s lips were scorching hot and soft, not at all the way he’d imagined them to be, and he’s still thinking about the sensation he had in the very instant he kissed him.

Wu Du turns his head to peer from behind the tree, and finds Duan Ling sitting on the rock, stock still, with his back to him, facing the mountain range and valleys beneath the moon.

Flute music begins again, but this time it’s an elated, cheerful melody. Duan Ling turns to look; Wu Du is standing beneath a tree, playing another tune that sounds like a folk song. A smile spreads over Duan Ling’s face.

“What song is that?”

When Wu Du finishes playing it, he puts the flute away and answers him with a smile, “Little Water Clock. I only ever heard the master’s wife play it once, so. I don’t even remember if that’s exactly how it goes.”5

Wu Du returns to his seat by Duan Ling’s side, and they look at each other, smiling without words.

Then, Wu Du turns a fraction, and reaches out to wrap his arm around Duan Ling’s waist. He puts his other hand over Duan Ling’s cheek, and with a slightest tilt of his head, he seals Duan Ling’s lips with a kiss.

Duan Ling touches Wu Du’s face; the bracelet is wrapped around that wrist.

This kiss lingers on and on, as though long suppressed emotions have finally breached the surface, and in the blink of an eye their feelings have transformed into a raging flood, thoroughly drowning them both.

Wu Du doesn’t want to let go of Duan Ling even for a moment; he has his arms wrapped around Duan Ling’s waist, and almost pressing him against the rock, licks into his mouth. Duan Ling feels his cheeks growing ever hotter under this assault, and as time drips by he’s more sure that Wu Du is growing more impertinent in his plunder.

Duan Ling really is getting way too nervous, and he can’t help but struggle. As he does, Wu Du loosens his hold on him and swallows, staring into his eyes as though he has also realised that he’s gone a bit overboard. He lets go of him at once and asks uneasily, “I didn’t … I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Duan Ling shakes his head. He’s not sure why, but the scene he spied in the Bouquet Pavilion is surfacing in his mind again and it really is too exciting. However, he can’t seem to accept something like that just yet.

“Let’s … head back.” Duan Ling thinks that if they’re going to kiss then they’d better kiss indoors — at least they’ll have a roof over their heads.

Wu Du has come to his senses as well and says, “It’s windy, you better not catch a cold. Let’s go.”

Duan Ling and Wu Du slot their fingers together, and holding hands they stroll leisurely through the mountain paths back to the house.

“Mi … lord.” Duan Ling suddenly remembers what he called him, and smiles at the thought.

Wu Du is finding that funny as well, and the corner of his mouth is turning up before he knows it. His gaze goes from Duan Ling to the path before them, a narrow path passing through a boundless cloud sea, shimmery with moonlight, cutting through towering mountains.

As they go to sleep at night, Duan Ling can’t help reaching out to touch Wu Du’s chest, and they’re wrapped in each other’s embrace again; Wu Du leans in and kiss him cautiously, their bodies rubbing against each other through two thin layers of cloth, both of them growing scorchingly hot. It’s the first time Duan Ling has ever done anything like this, and it just happens to be spring when brand new desires are starting to bloom, while Wu Du has been studying the martial arts for years, and with no avenue of release for his longing, his breath burns him, wishing he could hold on to Duan Ling and simply have his way with him.

They kiss and kiss again; Wu Du’s hand slides under Duan Ling’s waistband, but when it goes over the curve of his hip and reaches his ass, Duan Ling starts to gasp urgently, and Wu Du swallows.

“Do I have to … to … do that?” Without warning, Duan Ling suddenly feels a bit scared.

Sobering, Wu Du thinks about this for a moment. “It’ll hurt you a lot, so not right now. Let’s do that some other time.”

Duan Ling nods and relaxes somewhat. He holds onto Wu Du, studying his features. Wu Du gives him another kiss and whispers, “I can’t bear to hurt you.”

And so Duan Ling smiles again. They’re pressed up against each other, with that hard thing between their legs rubbing together through the thin cloth of their pants. Even if it’s behind a sheet of fabric Duan Ling can still feel how big and hard Wu Du is — so much bigger than his own. Duan Ling just thinks it feels so good to rub against him like this, and he’s getting wet down there as he does so.

Wu Du’s breathing trembles, feeling so good he shivers all over, and soon enough he decides to simply turn them so that Duan Ling is beneath him, so that his weight is pressed down on Duan Ling as he kisses his lips, kisses the corner of his mouth.

After embracing each other for a while, they both somehow feel calmer, and neither of them say anything at all, just stare into each other’s eyes. Wu Du still can’t help smiling. “It’s like I’m dreaming.”

They’ve been kissing each other over and over yet Duan Ling isn’t prepared to do this or that … but he feels somewhat curious about it after all. “Does it really hurt a lot? Have you tried it?”

“I haven’t. Zheng Yan was the one who said that … yeah.”

“He’s tried it?”

Wu Du isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say to that. He reaches into Duan Ling’s shirt, touching him until it tickles. Duan Ling’s hands are behind Wu Du’s neck though, so he has no way of fighting back, and all he can do is beg for mercy repeatedly until Wu Du lets up. “He’s a ne’er do well who has a tendency to paw at pretty young men. I’ve been told that if you’re not careful it can hurt a lot. I don’t want you to develop a fear of it. When we get home I’ll get some … uh … at any rate I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to think about it anymore.”

Duan Ling understands now, and comes to think that is perhaps true. But he thinks that’s fine too — Wu Du’s tall figure pressing down against him gives him an overwhelming feeling of safety.

“I’ll take you home too, in the future,” Duan Ling whispers, his eyes roaming over Wu Du’s handsome features.

“You’ll go back some day.”

Wu Du thought Duan Ling was talking about the palace, but what Duan Ling meant was Xunyang. He’ll go there with Duan Ling at some point also. It’s springtime in Xunyang right now; the flowers must have already bloomed.

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

From Du Fu’s poem, 望嶽 / “Mountain Gazing”. ↩︎

You can see the painting here. ↩︎

Also known as Go. ↩︎

The original here actually says Little Water Clock · Golden Hairpin, but the first part is the melody, while the second part is the lyrics. Golden Hairpin is a poem about love. ↩︎

[duskholland]

I'll Take Care of You | Peter Parker

summary ↠ you’re a med student who falls into the habit of patching up Spider-Man

wc ↠ 4k

warnings ↠ some descriptions of injury (but nothing very graphic because I am a wimp), light swearing, fluff

a/n ↠ based off a request I had for a doctor/patient fic with Peter. I didn’t want to do that exact dynamic, so I put a spin on it and had some fun with it! I hope you enjoy, anon! any feedback would be gratefully received :’))

It’s 11pm on a chilly October night, and you’re hunched over one of the high wooden benches in your university’s lab. The only light in the room comes from the lamp you’re settled beside, and you’re completely lost in thought as you practice your running stitches on a rather beaten and bruised banana. You can’t quite seem to get it right, and with each failed attempt at securing an even stitch, you find yourself growing more and more frustrated. You’re about to pack it in and call it a night when there’s a loud crash behind you, and you spin around to see the shady figure of someone attempting to break into the lab.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter. Your heart rate spikes and your mouth runs dry, fear replacing your irritation as you watch a dark stranger jimmy open the window at the other side of the lab. You freeze, eyes wide in fear, and cower back as the person topples through the window, cursing lowly. They scramble to their feet, brushing themselves down, and when they take a step towards the centre of the room, your eyes light up with terrified recognition. “Spider-Man?!” You exclaim.

It might be dark in the lab, but that doesn’t prevent you from making out the red and blue lines of the familiar spidersuit. You didn’t think it was possible to be even more shocked than you were, but then the figure stumbles towards you and crashes to the ground, and you realise the darker spots on the suit are patches of blood.

“Help me…” Comes a high, quivering voice.

Shaking like a leaf, you tentatively approach the figure. He’s curled up in a ball on the floor, and you grab a handy first-aid kit as you crouch beside him. The darkest patches seem to be around his torso, but you’re not sure how to access that without harming the suit. As if sensing your predicament, the man reaches up and presses a button on his neck. You gasp lightly as the entire torso section of his suit separates itself and dissolves into nothing, leaving you facing the exposed, clammy skin of New York’s favourite hero. Your eyes quickly identify his source of pain, and you find yourself wincing as you see the issue: there are several shards of glass impaled in his side, and they’re preventing his body from regenerating and healing. You know you’ll need to remove them.

“Okay, okay,” you mutter, steeling yourself. You quickly unzip the kit and pull out a pair of tweezers, some disinfectant, and a roll of bandages. You try to keep your voice as level as possible as you speak to the man. “You’ve got some glass stuck in your side,” you say calmly. “I’m going to pull them out and disinfect the wound. It, uh, it’s probably going to hurt, and I’m really sorry, but it could get infected if I leave them in.”

Spider-Man manages a breathless, “okay,” which you take to mean you can start working.

Trying to still your shaking hands, you press one palm to his chest as the fingers of your other hand wrap around the tweezers. You manage to get a grip on the larger shard of glass and slowly pull it from the wound. The hero tenses and curses, but he stays still, allowing you to quickly and safely remove the piece. Once the first one is out, you grow more confident and manage to clear the others within the minute. After inspecting the wound and deciding there’s nothing left in there, you drag a ball of cotton wool soaked in disinfectant over the gash. 

“That’s you,” you remark. Your forehead has a line of cool perspiration over it, and you feel a wave of intense relief pass through you as you finish bandaging his side. You sit back and lean against a wooden bench, a deep sigh passing through your lips. 

Spider-Man looks down at his side, the erratic movements of his chest slowly calming. It’s for the first time that you’re able to properly look at him, and you find your heart beating a little faster in your chest as your eyes make out the shadowed lines of his abs. 

“Thank you, uh…”

“Y/N,” you supply.

You can sense the smile beneath the mask. “Thanks, Y/N,” Spider-Man finishes. He scoots himself back so he’s also leaning against a wooden bench, his body facing you. “I usually have to do that myself.” 

A warmth tickles at your cheeks as you push your hair back and away from your face. “You don’t have, like, a team of people to do that for you?” 

Spider-Man laughs, his voice light and airy. “Not exactly,” he replies. “I mean, I probably could if I wanted to, but I work better alone.” 

Your lips curl into a frown. “Alone?” You echo. “Isn’t that kinda dangerous?” 

Spider-Man shrugs. “I guess,” he says, voice drawling. “I’ve made it this far, though, so I must be doing something right.” 

You laugh gently. “Yeah, right,” you tease. “If it wasn’t for me, you would’ve passed out and woken up with a nasty infection.” 

“Maybe, maybe not,” he says, raising his hands innocently. He tilts his head to the side. “What are you doing here, anyway? No classes run this late.” 

It’s your turn to feel a little embarrassed. “Oh, uh, I’m a first-year med student. Sometimes I stay back late to practice some of my sutures.” You point up to the desk and where a pile of your abused, half-stitched bananas sit. “It’s the only time I can get some peace and quiet.” 

He surprises you by nimbly climbing to his feet and walking over to your workstation. As he moves, he presses a button on his neck again, and his suit closes over his chest. You find yourself frowning as the suit hides the rippling muscles of his back, and you quickly clear your throat to suppress that particular thought. You get up and join him, lingering a little behind.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He turns to look at you, and you know from the way the suit’s mask twitches that he’s smiling. “Med student, you say?” 

You nod. “Yeah. So far I only know the basics, but it feels good to be able to give back to people.” 

Spider-Man nods. “I know what you mean.” 

A silence falls between you both, and you lean down to grab a scrap piece of paper. You quickly scribble down your number before passing it to him, the hero accepting it cautiously. 

“Take it,” you plead. “Just in case you ever need anything. I live just off campus, and I’m usually awake at night. If you ever decide you need a medical squad, I’m your guy, alright?” Your lips pull into a smile as he pockets the paper.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, voice softer. He takes a few tentative steps back, looking at the window he entered through. “I should go. City to save, and all that. But… I really do appreciate what you’ve done for me tonight. Thank you.” 

You manage a brave smile as you urge him towards the window, pretending it doesn’t shatter your dreams to bid farewell to the hero you know you’ll likely never see again. “See you around, Spider-Man. Stay safe!” 

And he raises a hand in a quick wave goodbye before hopping from the window and disappearing into the night sky, leaving you, a messy lab, and a thousand thoughts behind. 

You don’t hear from him for three months. 

Over those long, twelve weeks, you start your first placement at the local hospital and soon become too busy to feel sad at his lack of contact. But still, occasionally, you’ll catch yourself with a dullness rounding out your heart as you think of the way he’d taken your number and since ignored you. A part of you is grateful he hasn’t needed you, but another is sad you only spent one night with him. Spider-Man has always been a bit of an idol to you, and the realisation that you’ll never see him again is a tough one to come to terms with.

It’s mid-January and 1.32am when your phone vibrates on your nightstand. You groan as you turn over, your body shifting beneath your rustling sheets as you blindly bat at the table before your fingers close around the device. You pull it in close, silently begging you’re not being called in to work a spontaneous night shift, and lazily force your eyes open as you read the texts. 

[Unknown] hey where do you live ???

[Unknown] it’s spider-man

[Unknown] I need you

[Unknown] help

Suddenly you’re wide awake, and with trembling fingers, you quickly attach your location and send it off. You jump from your bed and turn on your bedroom light as you pull a hoodie around your torso. Luckily you live alone and have your own comprehensive first aid kit, otherwise, you know you’d be fucked. 

You wait for about three minutes before there’s a sudden, loud knock on your bedroom window. Your heart catches in the back of your throat as you squeak loudly, spinning around to see a blurry figure behind the pane. You hurry over and quickly unlock the window, and jump out of the way just in time to avoid the very heavy, and very wet figure of Spider-Man as he rolls into your room, collapsing in a heap in the middle of your carpet. He’s groaning - loudly - and this time, he appears to have dislocated his shoulder. 

“Pop it back in,” he whines, voice pulled tight with stress. He manages to sit up, hunched over as his good hand clutches at his shoulder. “Oh my god, I’m gonna pass out.” 

“Calm down,” you manage, gulping. Luckily for him, you’ve just finished a rotation in orthopaedics, so you aren’t completely in the dark about how to help him. “Take a deep breath, Spidey.” You push his hand away from his shoulder and replace it with your own. “I’ll count you down. 3, 2, 1-” 

He curses, expletives rolling down his tongue as you carefully, but decisively, pop his shoulder back into the socket. A sickening crunch fills the air, but a moment later, his entire body seems to relax. He sighs and slumps back. 

“Thank you so much,” he manages, voice sounding a little weak. “I tried to do it myself but apparently that just made it worse.”

Your eyes widen. “Uh, yeah, that’s a terrible idea.” You pull yourself to your feet and quickly help him up, depositing the hero on your bed. “I’ll go get you some water, or something. You look terrible.” You don’t have to see his face to know that beneath the suit, the man is bruised and exhausted. His posture alone speaks volumes as he sits curled over on the edge of your bed, his head falling forward to rest in his hands.

When you return with a glass of water and a bar of chocolate, he lets you sit beside him as he gratefully devours them. To your surprise, the suit parts at his mouth and exposes the thin lines of his pink lips, letting you see his cheesy grin as he smiles at you.

“Always coming to my rescue, Y/N,” he says, voice a little stronger just after a square of chocolate. “Thanks.” 

“It’s alright,” you reply. Suddenly you become very aware of the large, sagging bags beneath your eyes and the way you’re sure your hair is sticking up all over the place. “Anything for New York’s best.”

He chuckles slightly. Once he’s done with the water and the chocolate, he places both the glass and the wrapper on your bedside table and collapses back on your bed with a soft thump. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing gradually growing slower. “How’s college?” 

You shrug. “Busy,” you explain. “I’m in the hospital most days, learning how to do stuff. Never thought it would be so demanding, but it feels good to be able to make someone feel better.” 

“You should get extra credit for helping Spider-Man,” he ponders, voice quiet but sweet. 

You laugh. “It’s not exactly been difficult to help you, so far. I can handle a dislocated shoulder and a few bits of glass.”

“Oh, so you want me to be more injured next time I visit you?” You can practically feel the smirk in his voice as your face heats up.

“No! Absolutely not. I don’t mean that at all.” 

Spider-Man’s laugh warms your heart. “I know what you meant.” He sits up with a sigh. “Your bed is so comfy, Y/N.” 

“Help yourself,” you tease.

He laughs again as he carefully rises to his feet, rolling around his shoulder as if testing its capabilities. “Feels as good as new,” he says. “Thanks, Doc.” 

“Any time,” you reply. You stifle a yawn, and Spider-Man crosses his arms over his chest.

“Get some sleep,” he orders sternly. He hops over to your window and wrenches it open easily. “Thanks for the water, and the chocolate, and the life-saving,” he adds, already with a leg swung out of your window.

“Bye, Spiderman,” you say. The smile fades from your lips as he disappears once more, closing the window behind him with a quiet thud. But the grin quickly springs back as you realise he might contact you again, now he knows where you live, and you can’t help but find a little comfort in that thought. 

Over the next few months, Spider-Man visits you semi-regularly. He has you text him your rotation schedule so to ensure he never bothers you when you’re busy at the hospital, and that alone causes your heart to warm to him even more. It’s always small things he visits for: bullet wounds, dislocated joints, grotty injuries. Things that would seriously harm any normal human, but since it’s Spider-Man, they only graze him. You fix him up and then send him on his way, and that’s it, simply. A fleeting encounter and then he’s off. 

And it goes on like this for a while, until a warm evening in May. You’re sat cross-legged on your bed as darkness falls across the city, curled up with a nice book as you enjoy your day off from college. You feel calm and collected, and you’re about to light a candle and crawl into bed when there’s a loud banging on your window and you startle. 

You stare outside, but there’s no one there. It’s dark, so you put your book down and tentatively creep over to the window, confused as to the source of the noise. Curiously, you pull up the window, and that’s when you hear Spider-Man’s familiar groans, and you look down to find him crumpled in a heap on your fire escape. Instantly you’re filled with dread. 

It’s very difficult to actually get the hero into your apartment, but you manage to haul through your window eventually. You set him on the floor where he lies motionless, his breaths shallow and pained, and your blood runs cold as you take in the state of him. You crouch down beside him, first aid kit in hand, and find yourself at a loss of where to start. His suit is covered in lacerations and dark, bloody marks, but you don’t have access to him at all.

Just as you’re beginning to despair, you remember the buttons on his neck and carefully reach up. You don’t know which ones to press, and you certainly don’t want to betray him by accidentally removing his face mask, but when he releases another pained groan, you just push at a few random buttons. The suit deflates and retracts from his chest and lower half, leaving him in his gloves, face mask and underwear, but luckily exposing all the areas you need access to.

You survey the damage and feel despondent. He’s been very badly injured, and you’re terrified you won’t be able to help him. But that fear is quickly replaced by a determination as your brain shifts into doctor mode, and your hands start working before your mind can even process what you’re doing. You start by applying pressure to some of the larger gashes on his chest, stemming the steady flow of deep crimson blood until it’s a weaker trickle, and you feel confident bandaging them in a tight white wrap. Then you clean out some of the smaller wounds and stick a few smaller plasters there. Once you’ve cleaned him up a bit, the damage doesn’t look so bad, and though his pale skin has the beginnings of some deep, yellowy-blue bruises forming, you don’t think he’s got any internal injuries.

“How are you doing, Spidey?” You manage, voice croaking hoarsely. 

Spider-Man groans softly. “I don’t feel like I’m dying anymore,” he quips, “But I still feel horrendous.” He pauses for a moment before grabbing at your hand. He’s still got gloves on, but you feel the tenderness in his touch as he squeezes your fingers gently. “Call me Peter,” he requests.

You nod as surprise settles across you. “You’ve lost a lot of blood but I think you’ll be okay, Peter. I don’t really understand how your body heals so quickly, but you’re looking stronger already. I think you just need to rest.” You glance out at the dark night sky. “You should stay here overnight.” 

To your surprise, he doesn’t disagree. “Okay,” he says instead. His grip on your hand tightens as he slowly tries to get up. You help him out as much as you can and quickly settle him on your bed. 

“I’ve got some clothes you can wear, wait.” You turn around and go to rummage through your dresser, pulling out a spare t-shirt. You toss it to the bed, and when you’re back by his side, he’s slid it over his chest. He looks very odd, sitting on your bed, your t-shirt on his upper half, his boxers on his lower, and a mask on his face, but at this point, you just accept it. “I’ll go crash on the couch. Yell if you need-”

“No, no. That’s not right,” Peter interrupts. You can tell he’s frowning. “You can, um, stay here, if you want. With me. In here.” 

Your face shifts into a surprised o. “Oh, no, really, I… You should have space to spread out,” you say. You can’t ignore the way your heart beats deeply against your ribcage at the idea of cosying up against the hero. 

“Please?” He asks, voice sweet. “What if I suddenly crash in the night? Or start bleeding out? How will I live if my doctor isn’t here to help me?”

You roll your eyes. “Dramatic, aren’t you?” But you walk over to him anyway and help him settle into your bed. You flick off your light and shut your window, and then you tentatively climb into the other side of your bed, slipping down until you’re beneath the covers, the warm figure of Spider-Man beside you. You’re tense, and for a moment you just lay there, breathing unevenly, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the fuck you ended up in this position.

“I’m, um… I’m gonna take off my mask,” comes Peter voice, quiet, but still loud enough for you to hear.

“What?!” You exclaim. You turn over on your side so you face him, your eyebrows pulling towards your forehead. “Why would you want to do that?” 

He shrugs, his slim fingers knocking up against his neck. “It’s dark,” he reasons. “I trust you. And honestly, I’m feeling kinda delirious and this thing can be a bit hard to breathe through.” 

You swallow deeply and watch carefully as Peter slowly pulls the mask up, up, up. It rolls up over his chin, his mouth, his nose, and his eyes, and with each feature it reveals, you find yourself holding your breath even more. Because it’s dark, in your room, but it’s not dark enough to hide his face, and you realise in a terrifying moment that he trusts you - Spider-Man trusts you - with his most hidden secret: his identity. And that makes you feel incredibly special.

“Peter…” You whisper, voice escaping into the air. Your eyes trace all over his face as he flings the mask aside. He’s got lovely dark, wispy hair, that stands up madly in all directions, and deep, caring brown eyes that watch your face intently. Your gaze shifts to his nose, and you smile as you notice it sits a little wonkily to the side, and then you find the air being pulled from your lungs as your eyes settle on his perfect, parted lips. 

He’s beautiful. Utterly, completely, beautiful, and you really wish he’d kept the mask on, because he’s made it very hard for you to lie there as your lips quirk into a smile and your heart races in your chest, and just do nothing.

But then he does something.

With a shaky hand, Peter reaches up to cup your cheek. He shuffles closer, his musky cedar-wood scent filling your nostrils as he places his head on your pillow. His long, roughened fingertips move over your cheekbones, scattering trails of warmth over your skin as he gently caresses your face, his eyes gentle and loving. “Thank you for always looking after me, Y/N.” His breath fans out across your features, drawing a warmth to your face. 

You swallow deeply, subconsciously nuzzling your cheek into his hand. You stretch out your legs and they tangle with his, and excitement rushes through your veins as his other hand finds your waist and he pulls you closer. Your foreheads are practically pressed together now, the warmth of his body heat surging through you as you gaze into his eyes. “I’ll always look after you, Peter,” you promise, voice soft and sweet. “I care about you.” 

The tip of his nose brushes against yours softly. “I care about you too, Y/N. So much.” His eyes flicker shut, his long, feathery eyelashes falling to a soft rest at the top of his cheeks. You follow suit, and with your eyes closed, it’s as if everything else is amplified: his tender touch on your cheek, his warm hand wrapped around your waist, his legs tangled with yours. You find yourself straining closer, desperate for more. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, finally.

“Of course.”

And then his lips are on yours, moving softly against your mouth. It’s tender at first, barely even a touch, but as you push back against him, it grows stronger, like a small fire gradually building heat. You reach for his figure and gently wrap your hands around his waist as you kiss him deeply, clinging to him, longing for him, enjoying the feeling of coming home as your lips move together. It’s soft, and warm, and perfect, and it seems to span an infinity as you kiss him in the dark, bundled up beneath the blankets together. 

He pulls back after a few perfect minutes, his forehead pressed flush against yours as he pants for breath. “I love kissing you,” he murmurs. “I love being with you, Y/N.” 

You drag a hand up through his soft brown curls, a permanent smile hanging from your lips. “Feel free to kiss me as much as you’d like,” you mumble. 

He presses another sweet kiss to your lips and holds you close. “Oh, I fully intend to,” he promises. Then he drags his mouth to your forehead and leaves a scattering of light kisses to your hairline, and you relax back into his arms, a sense of fulfilment blossoming through your chest. He’s warm, and soft, and you know there’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here, bundled up in Spider-Man’s arms, drifting off into a gentle slumber. And as he presses a final kiss to the back of your head, you know he feels the same way, too. 

any feedback? I would love to hear any thoughts you have on this!

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[lifeofkaze]

An Art of Balance #28

Warning: I'm absolutely not sure I need one, but better safe than sorry. Mention of a slightly NSFW joke, blink and you'll miss it.

A/N: Julian Bennett belongs to the wonderful @slytherindisaster

Word Count: ~ 4.600

_______________________________________________

Chapter 28: No Heartache, No Distraction

“I forgot again, how do you harvest Dittany leaves?”

Skye scowled at her textbook as she flicked through the pages in search for an answer. Her frown deepened when she reached the end of the chapter without finding a satisfying conclusion and repeated the process for probably the fourth time by now. Her hair was tousled from the many times she had run her hands through it in frustration, little strands of the blue section sticking out from the braid pinned across her forehead.

She was looking as exhausted as Lizzie was feeling. It was almost the end of May and the term had slowly but surely entered its final stretch. With the O.W.L.s breathing down their necks, Lizzie and Skye had found themselves in the library more often than ever before.

Lizzie didn’t mind concentrating on studying for what felt like the first time this year; besides from it being more than necessary by now, it was an effective way to take her mind off the final match against Gryffindor that was scheduled for the next week.

Her insides were already churning with anxiety at the thought of what was at stake, but she wasn’t the only one on edge; the whole student body seemed tense, the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors in particular. Neither House had won the Cup in a few years and both were eager to end their streak of bad luck. Even Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout, who were known to be great friends, were feeling the building tension, only exchanging a minimum of polite words during mealtime.

Over the years, Lizzie had found several ways of dealing with her pre-match anxiety, her favourite one being keeping her mind busy by spending time around her friends. This year, however, she didn’t have that many people left to hang out with.

Although a good few weeks had passed since the match against Slytherin and its eventful aftermaths, the atmosphere between Lizzie and her friends was still as tense as before.

Contrary to what she had thought, Charlie hadn’t wanted to speak with her when she had tried to apologise on the same evening of their fight. She had tried to catch him a second time the next day, only to be informed by Julian that Charlie had made it very clear that he had no desire whatsoever to talk to her anytime soon.

“I believe his exact words were ‘She can bugger off’ but you know how he is,” he had told her sympathetically, “give him some space and he will get over it eventually.”

But as of today, she was still waiting for any sign of readiness for peace from his part. Lizzie regretted her rash words and wanted nothing more than to apologise for them; but if Charlie was still too hurt to listen to her, she had to accept it, albeit begrudgingly.

Where Lizzie knew what she would tell Charlie if he only agreed to speak to her, it was exactly the other way round with Rowan.

When Lizzie had told her about the outcome of her decision, it had been clear to see that it was not what Rowan had expected. Although she had immediately tried to hide it, there was no denying the surprise flickering across her face.

Both of them had tried to make peace with one another and continue with their friendship as if nothing had happened. They had always been able to talk to each other openly, but now, neither girl knew how to approach the other.

Lizzie told herself time and time again that they only needed some time to heal before they could go back to normal, but there was this nagging voice in the back of her mind that kept getting louder and louder every time Lizzie felt more relieved than anything else when Rowan left her to herself. Maybe all the things that had gone wrong between them were too many; maybe, there was no going back for them.

Lizzie could tell she wasn’t the only one unhappy with the situation. Penny was always troubled when there was fighting within her immediate group of friends; she couldn’t stand the uncomfortable silence when they all met up in their dorm at night. Usually, they would all recount their days, laugh and joke and gossip about what had happened, with Penny being the happy centre of it all.

Nowadays, no one was speaking and if so only in hushed voices. Lizzie and Skye kept mostly to themselves, Tonks was out more often than not and Rowan was so concentrated on her textbooks she now carried with her all of the time, that Penny often sat alone on her bed, brushing out her braids with a sad expression on her pretty face.

The whole situation was draining Lizzie of all her energy. She was sleeping uneasily and was having trouble concentrating in class, much to the dismay of her teachers.

Not even Quidditch practise brought her much joy anymore. She tried her best to pull herself together and play well, but she knew her performance had taken a dive. Neither she nor Orion knew how to act around the other; when they were playing, it somehow worked after a fashion, but beside that, Lizzie couldn’t even look at him without feeling guilty and ashamed all over again.

The only one of her friends she found easy to be around these days was Skye. Although Skye’s fears had been confirmed when their team dynamics had gone south yet again, she had stuck with Lizzie without even questioning it; Lizzie had never been so grateful for Skye’s total disregard of anyone else’s opinions before.

Skye wasn’t Lizzie’s favourite study partner by a long shot, but she would have preferred her to Rowan any time these days; her constant complaining about the massive workload the teachers were piling upon them, didn’t help Lizzie’s lacking concentration, however.

Thankfully, the library was currently deserted, with them and Madam Pince being the only exception. The afternoon classes were still taking place and the fifth-years had gathered on the training grounds with Madam Hooch for flying lessons. Not considered mandatory for the members of the House teams, Lizzie and Skye had excused themselves from class to catch up on their increasing pile of homework.

They had been brooding on an essay for Professor Sprout about the different healing properties of Dittany for the past hour; Lizzie hated to admit it but her progress was bordering on pathetic. Her scroll was still more empty than not and try as she might, her concentration was constantly slipping.

She couldn’t help the thought that Orion would certainly know exactly how to answer all of the required questions; with a sigh, she dipped her quill into the inkwell she and Skye were sharing and started writing again.

Skye didn’t even look up from her textbook when she broke Lizzie out of her thoughts again only moments later.

“You’re doing it again, Jameson.” Her tone was mildly impatient while she flicked through the pages of her book.

“What?”

Raising her eyes for a second, Skye only nodded towards her parchment for an answer.

After a few words, Lizzie’s thoughts had started wandering again and so had the tip of her quill, drawing tiny swirls and circles on the edge of the scroll. Looking at the bits she had written so far, similar drawings could be found on the edge of her essay in regular intervals.

“Oh,” was the only thing she said before she stopped it. Even if she managed to complete her assignment, she would have to copy the whole thing before handing it in.

With a resounding smack, Skye closed her book and looked at her friend reproachfully. “We agreed on something. No heartache, no distraction; just focus.”

She gestured vaguely at Lizzie’s sorry excuse of an essay, “And that doesn’t look like focusing to me.”

“Come on, give me some credit for trying,” Lizzie pouted. “It’s just that I’m so distracted these days; especially doing Herbology,” she sighed wistfully, thinking about the countless hours of tutoring she had spent with Orion in the greenhouses. Lizzie knew she was acting like a ridiculous, lovesick girl but she couldn’t help it; she missed him like crazy.

Skye was slouching back in her chair as she shook her head at Lizzie’s whining, “I really hate that depressive state of yours. Where’s your fire gone, mate?”

“I can’t help it,” Lizzie flicked her ponytail back over her shoulder with an irritated motion. She felt a little annoyed at Skye calling her out, but more about the fact that she was right than anything else. “Everything is so awkward now, you’ve seen it yourself at practise. I can’t even look Orion in the face and half the time I don’t know if Everett wants to knock him off his broom or if his aim has gotten even worse than before.”

At the mention of their disliked teammate Skye rolled her eyes. “That bloody idiot.”

“Exactly,” Lizzie agreed. “And that’s not the only thing. Given that I called it quits on everything that could have been with Orion for her, you’d think Rowan would act a bit more warmly but no, not at all; you can literally see how glad she is every time we’re leaving her and Penny alone. And don’t even get me started on Charlie.” Her face darkened and she angrily threw her quill away out of frustration. “Did I forget anything?”

Skye had let her rant without interrupting; now, she tilted her head to the side and watched her for a moment. “You know, there is one other thing I’ve noticed.”

“What?”

Skye drew a deep breath, as if collecting herself. “I have come to a conclusion, but I’m not sure you want to hear it.”

“Out with it, Parkin,” Lizzie urged her on. Her brow had furrowed at Skye’s hemming and hawing; somehow, she didn’t like the sound of this.

When Skye reached out and covered Lizzie’s hand with a solemn expression, Lizzie felt the colour drain from her face. “After all these years of being friends, I can’t deny it any longer,” she squeezed Lizzie’s hand and dropped her eyes to the table, “I can’t believe I’m saying this…”

Lizzie’s eyes widened in shock; afraid of Skye’s next words, she held her breath in fearful anticipation when Skye suddenly raised her eyes again to meet hers, sparkling with suppressed laughter as a wide grin spread on her face.

“… but even if you’re all fuzzy in the head right now, your notes are way superior to mine; let me copy that, will you?”

Now fully laughing at Lizzie’s baffled face, she reached for the half-finished essay. Relief washed over Lizzie when she realised she’d fallen for Skye’s joke; her cheeks blushing bright red, she playfully swatted Skye’s hand away from her work.

“Do you think you’re funny or what, Parkin?”

Skye simply shrugged, her grin still plastered onto her face. “Actually, I do; you should’ve seen your face.” She pulled an exaggerated face mimicking Lizzie’s flabbergasted look from before, coaxing a laugh from her friend. “Sorry to disappoint you, Jameson, but you’re not my type; I prefer blondes.”

Lizzie couldn’t help but roll her eyes, but the smile was lingering on her face. She had been so miserable the past few weeks, smiling at Skye’s horrendous jokes felt almost foreign to her.

“On a more serious note,” Skye picked the conversation up again, “constantly butting heads with as many people as I do does have its perks, you know.”

“I wonder what those would be?” Lizzie remarked wryly.

But Skye wasn’t deterred from her point. “I know how to properly apologise; want to hear my advice?”

Lizzie considered Skye for a moment, trying to determine whether she was still joking or not; but Skye looked deadly serious at her offer. Rubbing her temples with her fingers, Lizzie nodded finally. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but go on.”

“Let’s make one thing clear first,” Skye declared and held up her index finger, “I’m not a fan of Weasley and I disapprove of fraternising with the enemy. However,” she added quickly as she saw Lizzie’s face darken, “I know he’s important to you, so I’ll let it pass.”

“Well, thanks a lot,” Lizzie mumbled, followed by another eyeroll.

“Want my help or not?” Skye grumbled and Lizzie shut her mouth again. “He’s mad and won’t talk to you, so you have to find a way to make him see you’re sorry. I’d say go and show him some sign of good will. Remember when we were fighting back in the days, when you were getting a bit too friendly with Rath?”

As if Lizzie could have forgotten that; it had been their first real fight and the worst one as well. “Of course I do; you organised tickets for a Catapults match afterwards, it was amazing.”

“Exactly; I knew you liked the Catapults – for whatever reason – and it worked like a charm.”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows sceptically. “But you also apologised for being a brat and saw reason,” she conceded dryly.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, that’s not the important part right now. What I wanted to say is, do something nice for Weasley and I’m sure he’ll be much more willing to talk things out with you.”

Thinking about Skye’s words for a moment, Lizzie couldn’t deny that Skye’s method had worked on her in the past; maybe it was worth a shot. She had nothing to lose anyway.

“Okay, you genius, maybe you’re right. Any idea how I get Rowan to be normal again as well?”

“Of course I am right, Jameson. Told you, I’m good at apologising.” Now it was Skye’s turn to roll her eyes. “As for Rowan; if you ask me, she’s acting super childish, but whatever. You did everything she wanted, now it’s her turn to make an effort. I’d say, just act as normal as the two of you get; worked for Penny and me as well.”

Lizzie only hummed in response. It was true, Penny’s and Skye’s friendship had normalised again; but the starting situation between them had been a very different one. On the other hand, Skye had a point; Lizzie had met Rowan’s terms for reconciliation; it would take both of them to fix their friendship, not only her.

“You got any advice on Orion as well?” Lizzie asked quietly.

Skye raised her hands defensively and shook her head. “Blimey, I’m absolutely no expert in that field. I’d suggest you go to Penny for that; or Murphy for all I care. I bet he’d have some statistics to share with you.”

Laughing at the thought, Skye got up and stretched her arms. “Anyway, look at me getting all wise and reasonable, I’m almost getting scared by myself; let’s get out of here.”

Lizzie pointed at their half-finished assignments. “We’re not done yet.”

“No, but Flying lessons are bound to be over soon and I want to get a run in before places are getting crowded again; wouldn’t hurt you too, you know. Running helps getting your mind off things.”

She looked around at the old, dusty bookshelves towering around them. “You can only get depressed in a gloomy place like this.”

*

Skye had been right; after she and Lizzie had gotten changed into something more suitable for running and stepped outside into the blinding summer sun, Lizzie felt her mood lift almost instantly.

They were going at a good and demanding pace, each spurning the other on when they began to slow. The combination of sunlight, fresh air and the pounding rhythm of their steps was clearing Lizzie’s head and she felt a good bit of her energy returning to her.

Under normal circumstances, the Hufflepuff team would have exercised together to get into proper shape for the upcoming Quidditch final. The circumstances were anything but normal, however, and Orion hadn’t been in the spirits for extensive group training exceeding their official practise times.

So Skye and Lizzie had taken up running as a compensation for the many hours they were spending hunched over their notes and textbooks. Both being more on the competitive side, their workouts never failed to wear Lizzie’s mind and body out in the best way possible; it was one of the only things that helped her fall asleep these days.

They were racing along the path leading towards the Black Lake, which was glittering brightly in the sunlight. When they had reached the shore, Skye slowed her pace to a moderate jog, allowing both of them to catch their breaths.

Running while the rest of the school was still stuck in their classrooms had been a good decision; before long, the shoreline would be swarmed by students enjoying the warm weather. But now, the scenery was remarkably empty, allowing them to run next to each other without having to dodge picnic blankets, school bags or the odd Fanged Frisbee.

“Now, look who it is.”

Skye had slowed even further, now coming to a halt in the shadow of a tree. Lizzie joined her and dipped her head back, eagerly gulping down deep breaths into her burning lungs. After her heartbeat started normalising, she followed Skye’s gaze.

A good bit ahead of them Orion and Murphy were sitting in the shade of a willow tree overhanging the shore. At least, Murphy was sitting; he was bent deeply over one of his playbooks, scribbling something into it before crossing it out and starting over again.

Orion, on the other hand, was taking his own spin on preparing for their match. One of his favourite ways of exercising besides broom balancing had always been doing yoga; he had even tried to implement it into their practise routine a few years ago, until Skye had threatened him with open mutiny.

At present, he was balancing in some sort of handstand, his weight resting on his underarms. His hair was falling into his face, but Lizzie knew his eyes were closed in concentration to keep his pose and balance. Every time he wavered, she could see the exposed muscles of his arms tensing ever so slightly to keep himself upright. Being upside down, his white shirt had slipped downwards, revealing the bronzed skin of his toned stomach.

Suddenly feeling light-headed, Lizzie turned away, only to face Skye watching her with a smug expression. The blush on Lizzie’s face didn’t only stem from running in the heat of the afternoon sun anymore.

“Yeah, I heard Flitwick was ill today, they probably got some time off.” She leaned on Lizzie’s shoulder grinning like a Cheshire cat at the flustered state of her friend. “Want to go over?”

The warmth that had spread in Lizzie’s stomach despite her best efforts died down as quickly as it had appeared. Her eyes dropping to the ground, Lizzie quietly shook her head.

She staggered a bit to the side as Skye’s weight suddenly left her shoulder. Her friend was looking at her sympathetically. “Oh man, no, that’s not what I wanted; don’t go looking all sad again. Remember what we said, no –“

“No heartache, no distraction,” Lizzie finished what had somehow become her own personal mantra. “I know.”

But she couldn’t help the wistful sigh that escaped her as she surreptitiously glanced over at Orion one more time. Luckily, neither of the boys seemed to have noticed them so far.

She was brought back to her senses by Skye snapping her fingers in front of her face. “Stop the pining, Jameson, that won’t help you get over this.” Her voice turned softer when she added, “For what it’s worth, I think you guys would’ve made a smashing couple after all.”

Lizzie took a moment to answer, as she thought about what might have been for a second. “Maybe, but it’s not going to happen now,” she muttered defeatedly. “Besides, I thought that went against team philosophy.”

“It does,” Skye confirmed, “but still, would’ve been better than how it is now. Quidditch used to be a lot more fun when you and him were talking to each other.”

Her eyes suddenly flashed with determination and she started moving away from Lizzie. “You know what? Screw Rowan, I’m going to do something about this.”

It was only thanks to her reflexes that Lizzie managed to catch her elbow before Skye was out of her reach. “No, you are absolutely not,” she hissed. “Stay out of this, Parkin!”

She waited until Skye had abandoned her attempt to march over to their friends before she added, “And besides, what Orion’s doing is actually pretty difficult, I don’t want you to ruin his concentration.”

Skye watched him sceptically. “You sure? He’s looking pretty relaxed to me.”

“He always does but believe me, it is hard. He showed me how to do it once and let me tell you, I didn’t know my body could hurt that much; he positively wrecked me.”

Skye guffawed at her words. “He wrecked you, huh?” she snickered. “Is there more to the story than what you told me?”

Realising what she had said, Lizzie felt herself blushing furiously. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Skye Parkin!” she cried, but not without a laugh ringing in her voice. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

But Skye was working herself into a laughing fit and Lizzie felt a grin spread on her own face as well. She shoved Skye playfully, who was doubling over from laughter by now. It resulted in Syke falling to the ground, which made Lizzie burst into laughter herself.

Before long, both girls were crying tears of laughter, not even laughing at Skye’s joke anymore but simply for the sake of it. Lizzie was so distracted by her hurting cheeks and stinging sides, that she didn’t notice Skye stealthily moving closer to the water; she dipped her hand into the icy cold water of the lake, splashing a good load of it into Lizzie’s face.

Lizzie screeched when the water hit her face, making Skye cackle even harder, but Lizzie was having none of it.

“That means war, Parkin!” she exclaimed, trying to tackle her friend down into the grass.

But Skye was already up and running again, with Lizzie hot on her heels. “Only if you catch me, Jameson!”

*

Contrary to what Lizzie believed, Orion and Murphy had, in fact, noticed Lizzie and Skye. Their voices drifted over to them, too far away to make out what exactly they were saying, but the familiar sound was tugging at Orion’s concentration.

He felt both his physical and mental balance slip and breathed deeply, trying to block out his thoughts by concentrating on staying balanced on his underarms. His fingers dug into the cool grass and his brow furrowed from the prolonged effort of supporting his body with the strength of his shoulders alone.

Focusing on the stinging in his muscles, he embraced the pain before letting it go with a slow breath; his wavering body became still again as he returned to his peaceful headspace.

Murphy had seen the girls as well. Orion could hear him closing his playbook, followed by the rustling of his clothes as he leaned his back against the trunk of the tree.

“Skye and Lizzie seem to take your directive of preparing for the finals seriously,” he glanced at Orion, who was still frozen in the same position he had been in for quite some time now. “Counting you doing whatever the hell you’re doing there, at least 42.86 % of your team is increasing their physical fitness on a regular basis.”

Orion only hummed noncommittally in response; he wasn’t in the mood for talking.

But he wasn’t surprised to find Murphy happily ignoring his silence. “Gryffindor is the fastest team out of the four by a whopping 24.7 % on average. The only thing to raise your stakes is improving your technical features and come up with a flawless strategy, which I am working upon; theoretically, that is,” he added quickly, “I am, after all, impartial.”

Murphy’s chatter had it for his concentration. With a sigh Orion let his feet slowly fall back to the ground and sat upright with his legs crossed beneath him. He waited a moment to let his head adjust to his shift in position before he opened his eyes.

Lizzie and Skye were standing in the shadow of a tree, probably taking a moment to cool down from the summer heat. Orion noticed the blond streaks running through Lizzie’s usually honey brown hair, where the sun had lightened it over the last few weeks. It had grown longer again, her beloved ponytail reaching down between her shoulder blades. The lighter hair contrasted beautifully with her tanned skin, bronzed from the countless hours he knew Lizzie was spending outside. All the running and practising had toned her body even more than it had been anyway and her face was flushed from the fast pace she and Skye had been going at.

With a sigh, Orion closed his eyes again, letting the butterflies rising up in his stomach subside. Thinking about her in that way was no use; it held nothing but distraction for him.

Lizzie had barely been talking to anyone but Skye for weeks now. Although she still sat with her friends during their meals, Orion could see that she wasn’t happy.

Her energy had the power to light up a whole room, drawing everyone into her orbit, whether they wanted or not. Nowadays, her fire seemed dimmed, her shoulders constantly slumped and her beautiful smile had become a rare sight.

Orion was a firm believer that everything in life was balanced; for every good, there was a bad, a low for every high, a pattern continuously repeating itself in an eternal cycle.

But lately, he had been wondering how long this particular low after the short high he and Lizzie had experienced together would last. He was worried about her, and not only because of their final match being almost on their doorstep.

For the first time since he’d known her, she didn’t seem to have her heart with her on the pitch. It was apparent that she was trying hard to perform well, but he could see how much she was struggling. There was nothing Orion wanted more than to help her regain the fire he admired so much, but he didn’t know how to go about it..

The sound of laughter drifted over to them and before Orion could do anything about it, all the emotions he had tried to let go of earlier were there again, bubbling under his skin even stronger than before. Hearing Lizzie laugh was a rare sound these days and a pleasant shiver ran down his spine. He couldn’t help his lips curving into a smile of his own.

“It’s good to hear her laughing again,” Murphy noted quietly. Apparently, Orion wasn’t the only one worried about Lizzie’s state of mind.

“It is,” Orion agreed, his eyes still closed while he tried to find his breathing pattern again.

“The chances of her being in the right state of mind in time for your last match stand at 48.5 % to 51.5 %.”

Orion opened his eyes and raised his eyebrows in McNully’s direction. “Don’t you think that’s rather vague?”

Murphy let out a cheerful laugh. “Well, if there’s one thing hard to predict, I’d reckon it’s girls.”

Orion chuckled along with him as he finally stretched his arms before letting himself fall back into the grass.

“For once, my friend, I can say that I wholeheartedly agree with you.”

[angellightwood-bane-blog]

What Lurks In The Dark // Alec Lightwood X OC

Disclaimer - Chapter One - Two - Three

Chapter Four - Daughters of Valentine

"Has she woken up yet?" I heard a panicked voice. My ears were ringing.

"No, I told you, I would tell you as soon as she did," another voice responded. I heard a frustrated sigh and footsteps getting further away. I could hear, but I couldn't see. I couldn't move either and started to panic. My body felt trapped, like I was in some sort of cage. After what felt like a lifetime but could only have been a few minutes, I managed to open my eyes, and instantly, the invisible bounds that seemed to be restricting me before, melted away. Everything was blurry, and it took a moment to focus. I could see a figure with dark hair in the corner, who jumped up and hurried over as soon as I attempted to sit myself up.

"You had us all so worried!" Isabelle sighed as she helped me sit up.

"I've never seen Alec like that."

"Alec? What happened?" I asked.

"What do you remember?" She asked kindly.

"I- I'm not really sure," I said, frowning, trying to draw a picture from her mind but only coming up with blanks.

"We all I know is you and Alec went into the City of Bones and he returned holding you, unconscious, in his arms, yelling at us for help, and shouting that it was all Clary's fault," Isabelle replied.

"Speaking of, I told him I'd let him know when you woke up, so I'll be back in just a second, will you be okay?" She added, a little hesitant to leave. I nodded and waved her away, and she walked quickly from the room. I stood up, a little unsteady, and made my way over to the window, trying to remember what had happened. The last thing I could think of was losing Dot. I remembered going into Pandemonium, but I couldn't remember coming out. It was like everything just stopped when we found that she wasn't there. I opened the window, letting the cool air wash over me, settling my rising anxiety over the situation. I didn't like not knowing things. I wondered if Alec was okay, he'd gone down with me Isabelle said, if I was in this state, what happened to him? Why was only one of us affected? She'd said he carried me out, but that didn't necessarily mean he was okay. Heavy footsteps approaching the room snapped me out of my haze and I turned to face the door just as Alec, Jace, Isabelle and Clary burst through.

"What happened?"

"Are you okay?"

"Don't ever do that again!" As soon as my eyes zeroed on Alec's face, something in the back of my mind clicked. I gasped as the memories flooded me with a jolt. My mother took my memories. She lied to us for eighteen years. Valentine was our father.

"Do you remember something?" Isabelle asked gently. I nodded with wide eyes. I felt sick and I could tell my face had gone pale.

"I remember going down, because Clary didn't want to, I remember the sword, I remember what I saw," I responded weakly.

"What did you see? Do you know where the cup is?" Clary asked. I shook my head, eyes welling up with tears. "Clary, she lied to us. About our father."

"What? What about our father? He died when we were little." My sister looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was, but I doubted that the Silent Brothers would have planted a false memory in my head. I shook my head again.

"Clary, Valentine is our father." The silence that settled was deafening. Jace's eyes went wide, Isabelle's jaw dropped, Clary was shaking her head, speechless and in denial, but Alec, Alec's eyes turned dark. He frowned for a few moments before shaking his head and storming from the room. Jace snapped out of his shock first and hurried out after him. I quickly followed the blonde, leaving the girls in my room. I found the boys in a room a few doors down from mine and hovered by the doorway.

"...These girls show up out of nowhere and they're Valentine's daughters? Did it occur to you that they might be spies? That this might be part of his plan?" I heard Alec's angry voice.

"I thought Bre... Just as I..." Alec let out a frustrated noise and kicked the leg of a chair snapping it in half. For some reason, his disappointment hurt more than his anger. I frowned, tightening my lips. How could he think I'm a spy? I retreated quietly, before either of them noticed, wanting to avoid Alec, but of course that was impossible in a place like this and low and behold we were all back together again in the entrance to the op centre. I stood awkwardly beside Jace, looking anywhere but at Alec, even though I felt his glare.

"I still don't understand," Clary said, drawing everybody's attention to her,

"How can Shadowhunters be better than what you people call mundanes?"

"Because we protect humans," Isabelle replied as though it were obvious - which it was, we must have been over this at least ten times already. Then again, Clary never listened.

"Oh, you're right. Humans. You protect humans. You left Simon all alone in the van. Great job, guys. You rock," She pondered sarcastically.

"Wait a second what happened to Simon?" I asked, suddenly realising he wasn't with us.

"Isabelle was supposed to be watching him, but she left him alone in the van back at the City of Bones and now he's been kidnapped by vampires," Clary accused. I thought about what she said.

"Sorry, what part of that was Isabelle's fault?"

"She left him! Alone!" Clary cried.

"I'm sure she wouldn't have left him with a legitimate reason... Izzy?" I turned to her, as if to ask why she did leave him.

"I heard something moving and needed to check it out, the van was locked, and I told him to stay put," she muttered.

"See, and there is some truth to the idea that human beings should have a modicum of common sense," I raised my eyebrow as I defended Isabelle, who smiled gratefully at me.

"Look, they won't do anything to Simon. They just wanted to draw you out. They want the Cup, and they think you have it," Jace explained, trying to reassure my sister.

"But why do they think that? Why does anyone think that? What, my mom lies to me my entire life except, oh by the way, there's this magic cup, I hid on, like, the planet Bongo, but don't tell anyone," Clary exclaimed, throwing her hands up. I didn't even bother correcting her 'me' to an 'us'.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

"We have to report to the Clave," Alec stated, not the least bit interested in Clary's whining.

"Great," Jace replied sarcastically.

"They have to know we've learned about Valentine," He shot back.

"What, that he's my father? Great. Fine. Tell them. What good does that do Simon?" Clary protested.

"Clary, it's all connected. The vamps want the Cup," Jace tried to explain.

"Why? It makes new Shadowhunters," Clary was confused now and I refrained from rolling my eyes.

"Nobody wants Valentine forming an army loyal to himself," I interjected. Alec shot me a suspicious look at that and I just glared back. If he was going to treat me like that, then he was getting it straight back.

"Plus, it controls demons," Isabelle added.

"They'll propose a trade," Jace said,

"Simon for the Cup."

"So, the vampires will trade Simon for the Cup and Valentine will trade my mother for the Cup. Either way, I lose someone I love," Clary sighed then muttered,

"What if I just toss it up in the air and let them fight it out among themselves?"

"So, this doesn't matter to you?" Alec and I snapped at the same time.

"Yes, of course, it matters!" She fired back, I rolled my eyes, "Listen when you saved my life I put my trust in you. Now, I need you to put your trust in me. I can't turn into what you are overnight."  

"It's true. She was raised as a mundane," Isabelle agreed.

"What are you, her spokesman now?" Alec groaned out of irritation then looked between my sister and myself before he added,

"Forgive me if I don't quite put all my faith in the daughters of Valentine." That was it. We trained together and got to know each other and now he completely turned his back on me because of something about me that I didn't even know. I'd had it with him.

"All right, that's enough," I put my hands-on Alec's chest and gave him an almighty shove,

"Do you think we planned for our mom to get kidnapped? Or for Dot to be taken? Or for me to have a giant sword dangle over my head and find out that my father is one of the most dangerous people in the world? Really? How little you must think of me," I spat. I held his startled gaze for a few seconds before looking away with a sigh. Shaking my head, I walked away without another word.

Hope you enjoy Chapter Four

-Angel

[jbharrisauthor]

Episode 1 - Timing is Anything - Chapter Five

Read Chapter One here

Read Chapter Two here

Read Chapter Three here

Read Chapter Four here

The Doctor stared at the woman, disbelief making her two hearts skip. No, she couldn't have heard that right. Or the woman had to mean something else. Not what she was thinking. Not them. Her blood was running cold through her veins.

"What did you say?" Her voice came out hoarse and she swallowed.

"That's all I know, they're called the Timeless and they demand sacrifices."

"Not anymore." Ianto stalked away from them, heading back out to the balcony.

The woman who'd officiated the ceremony used the opportunity of her distraction to hurry away, slipping through a heavy wooden door and slamming it behind her.

The Timeless. It couldn't be. They'd long since ceased to exist. The Timelords had made sure of it.

She jogged over to where Ianto had mounted the altar. "Ianto, what are you going to do?"

He didn't answer her, features set in concentration as he studied the bronze structure. The few people who hadn't left the balcony had gone silent, staring at him.

She pulled out her sonic screwdriver, searching for some kind of control panel. "I should be able to shut it down if we can find the controls."

"And what's going to stop them from turning it on again once we leave?" He rounded to one side of the edifice and put his shoulder against it, pushing all his weight into it.

"I don't know if that's such a good—"

The structure gave a metallic whine, cutting her off as it began to list to one side. After a long moment of teetering, it toppled over, hitting the stone balustrade and collapsing in a crunch before falling to the street below.

Breath catching in her chest, she rushed over to look down. Luckily the street had been empty and it hadn't landed on anyone. Ianto was staring at the spot where it'd gone over the railing as if he hadn't expected to cause so much destruction.

"Well, I think we can guarantee no one else will be going through the infinite unification ceremony anytime soon."

"Did—did anyone—" He swallowed. "Did anyone get hurt?"

She crossed the altar to stand in front of him. "The street was clear."

"Oh, thank God." He blew out a hard breath, dropping his head.

Beyond him, the few people who'd been standing around on the balcony looked like they were starting to get over the shock, swiftly heading for anger. Uh-oh. This had all the potential to turn into a lynch mob.

"Ianto, I think it might be time for us to leave."

He nodded, dragging a hand through his hair. "Can we go back now? Back to Earth, I mean. To Jack. I need to go home to Jack."

"Let's just get out of this place first."

He glanced up and finally seem to realize they were the centre of attention, standing there on what had once been the people's altar.

"Ah, yes, that seems like it might be a good idea," he agreed, voice tight with nervous tension.

They stepped down, but didn't even make it half way across the balcony before people crowded around them.

"You've desecrated out sacred temple!" someone accused, which was followed by a swell of angry agreements. More people came out to see what the yelling was about, making escape that much harder.

"Doctor, what you said before about weddings—"

"Okay, I lied. Occasionally when I go to weddings, people try to kill me."

They shifted in closer together as the crowd pressed forward.

"You were the one who thought we didn't need a plan," Ianto said. "What do we do now?"

"Now, we hope we can reason with the angry mob. Which would be a lot easier to do if you hadn't thrown their quantum laser over the balcony."

"That was an accident."

She glanced over her shoulder at him with a disbelieving look.

"Mostly," he added, sheepishness edging into his features.

She held out both hands as the crowd pressed in even closer. Damn it. She hated it when people took her captive. It happened far too often. She wasn't in the mood to be kidnapped today.

"All right, that's enough now." At her words, the crowd quietened down a little. "We're very sorry about your altar, but believe me, you're better off without it. There is nothing glorious about being turned into quantum dust."

The angry exclamations swelled again, louder this time.

"Did you really think that was going to work?" Ianto demanded as they were grabbed and pulled apart.

"I just told them the truth." She tugged in annoyance against the two men holding her, but it didn't do any good.

"Great, I'll have that engraved on your tombstone, shall I?"

"Sass, Ianto. Not helping right now!"

They were propelled down the stairs and through the temple, going toward the far back of the building. Finally, they were thrust into an empty room.

She rounded on the men who'd been holding her once they let her go. "What are you going to do with us?"

"We haven't decided yet," one of the men paused to answer as the others left. "But we can't let this go unpunished. No one else can ever go through infinite unification now because of you."

"I think what you meant to say was thank you!" Ianto yelled after them as the door slammed shut. He shoved a hand through his hair, pacing a few short steps in frustration.

There were a couple of old chairs strewn about the room, most of them not even upright. She picked one up and sat down on it.

Ianto stared at her, expression incredulous. "So what, you're just going to sit there and wait until they come back to tell us whatever punishment they've decided on?"

"Exactly." She crossed her arms and set her attention on the door. Hopefully it wouldn't be a long wait.

"No offense, but that's an absolute rubbish plan. Can't you use that sonic screwdriver to get us out of here?"

"Oh, I totally could."

"So do it then." Ianto made a hurry-up motion toward the door.

"But I'm not going to."

He let out an irritated noise and then came over to throw himself in the chair next to her.

"Why not?"

"Because of what that woman said. That the people who set up this temple call themselves the Timeless."

"Timeless? What's that?"

"They shouldn't be. They can't be." The trepidation, the cold dread that'd slithered down her spine when the woman had first mentioned the word returned, making her shiver.

"It's serious." Ianto had lowered his voice, tone dark and sombre. "Whatever this Timeless is, it's bad. I can tell by the look in your eyes."

"They shouldn't be any more than a dark legend. A story of caution for those who think time is something to play with." She took a deep breath, forcing away some of the dread just the name had brought up within her. "The Timeless were a race of people, a little like the Timelords, I think, but closer to human. They had just a single heart and weren't able to regenerate. They wanted only one thing, and put all of their vast resources into achieving it."

"And what was that?" Ianto asked quietly, watching her closely.

"They wanted immortality. To live forever. They believed there was a way to do this by existing outside of time."

"But that's impossible, isn't it? No one can live outside of time." Ianto didn't sound so sure of his own words.

"There is much about this universe that even the Timelords didn't understand. But one absolute certainty is that time is for all things. Backwards, forwards, sideways, and upside down. Time is everywhere and everything. There's no escaping it."

"So why were the Timeless so convinced they could do it?"

She shrugged. "Who really knows. Prophecy, madness, sheer stupid stubbornness. The why doesn't really matter anymore. The point is, The Timelords supposedly took care of them. It was one of many incidences that led to the Time War."

"Took care of them how?" By the wariness in Ianto's voice, it seemed he'd already guessed.

"The Timelords weren't exactly known for their mercy. When faced with a race of people who believed they could live outside the very essence of the Timelord's existence? Not to mention if they'd succeeded, they would have become powerful beyond even the Timelord's reach. They wiped them from the very fabric of time and space, of course. Erased any and all evidence of their existence."

"Well, I guess that's one way of doing things," Ianto replied slowly, as if having trouble comprehending that an entire race of people could be wiped out just like that. "But obviously it didn't work. Some escaped or something?"

"I don't know. Honestly, I'm having trouble with this, and I don't know if it's because I just can't believe it, or don't want to." Thousands of years of life, she'd faced Daleks and Cybermen and even threats from the Timelords themselves. But this—she had no idea what it meant if the Timeless really had returned "If even a handful of the Timeless are still out there, still trying to find a way to shift outside of time, then the entire stability of the universe is at risk."

"How so?"

"Some Timelords held the theory that if the Timeless achieved their goal and managed to separate themselves out of time, it could cause the very fabric of reality to collapse."

Ianto's eyes widened slightly. "I'm not even going to pretend I understand what would happen if the fabric of reality collapsed, but I'm going to assume it would be very bad."

"End of times, bad."

"Right, so let's try to make sure that doesn't happen." He dragged both hands over his face, like it was all too much to process. "So what are we going to do?"

She pushed straighter in the chair. "We aren't going to do anything. When I can, I'll make sure you can get out of here. You need to head back to the TARDIS and wait for me."

He turned in his chair to face her, expression becoming stubborn. "You brought me here because you needed my help. And it's not like I don't have any experience dealing with alien threats. I was one of the only people to survive the battle against the Cybermen at Canary Warf. I've faced Daleks and aliens who want to get high on children. You're not sidelining me."

She sat forward and braced her hands on her knees. "And what if you had to face all of those threats at once? Do you think you would survive that? The Timeless are more dangerous than anything else you've ever encountered. Anything that anyone has encountered. And no offense, Mr. Jones, but if I hadn't turned up when I did, you would have died from that virus the 456 released. Jack certainly thinks you're dead."

He shoved to his feet, making the chair tip over and clatter against the floor. "Do you really think I needed reminding? That's the last time you mention it, understand me? You've got no idea what it was like, no idea what it felt like lying there, suffocating in my own body while Jack begged me not to leave him. I thought it hurt when Lisa died. But this—The pain I felt at knowing it was my end, that Jack would go on living and in a few years, forget all about me. I thought heartbreak was just a saying, but it's true, you know. It felt like my heart was being torn out of my chest."

She stood and crossed over to him, emotion tightening the back of her throat. "Ianto, I'm so sorry. I won't say anything about it again. I promise."

He blinked, eyes damp as he glanced away. "You brought me here for a reason. So let me help you."

It was a bad idea. She could respect him wanting to fight alongside her, but the risk was immeasurable. She'd let a lot of people she'd cared about walk into dangerous situations over her long years. A lot of the time they came out fine, but sometimes they didn't. She'd already brought Ianto back from the brink of death once today, it seemed rather counterproductive to let him walk right back into it again.

"You're right. I did bring you here for a reason. But this wasn't it. You really think I want to go back and tell Jack how I saved you, only to get you killed?"

He gave a half-laugh, half-sob and then sniffed. "That was low. Of course I'm not going to argue with that."

"I know. I'd like to say I don't always stoop so low, but desperate times happen more often than you might think."

A rattle sounded on the other side of the door, like a lock being opened. She turned, keeping herself in front of him, feeling unaccountably protective of the gorgeous Welshman.

"No matter what happens, follow my lead. And for God's sake, whatever you do, don't die."

Read Chapter Six here