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umbry-fic · 9 months

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White Snow

Summary: Every winter, they would return home.

Fandom: Arcaea Characters: Hikari, Tairitsu Relationships: Hikari/Tairitsu Rating: G Word Count: 4386 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 08/07/2023

Notes: A fantasy AU inspired by the MV for Eve's White Snow.

~~~

They opened their eyes to be met with a little clearing, tall trees surrounding it on all sides. Branches that resembled long, spindly fingers grasped wildly for the heavens, the leaves clinging to them flooding the area with shadow. The sun was but a blurry smudge, only a scant few rays of sunlight managing to breach the dense foliage, leaving the rare golden diamond on the forest floor.

Their mind was utterly bereft of any memories - no name and no idea what they had been doing prior to awakening here. Yet they possessed enough innate knowledge to understand who they were and what had occurred.

They knew what they were - the swan spirit, who had been born in this very land they found themselves in now. A spirit whose sighting humans thought to portend disaster - it was believed that their very presence would bring down the wrath of gods and call forth tremors capable of splitting the land in two. A spirit cursed with the inability to die, who would always be reborn in their birthplace if they were ever drained of every dredge of magical power, unable to escape the shackles of life.

Who they were now, however, was an empty slate.

Stretching stiff limbs, they glanced at their arms, drowning in feathers that were dark as night. As they watched, a few detached and fluttered haphazardly to the ground, exposing the pale white skin beneath. It seemed they were currently in the body of a young girl, wearing a plain black dress, long dark strands of hair falling into their eyes.

They must have been reborn again, as evidenced by the hard shards littered about the clearing, mingling with piles of feathers. The shards likely belonged to an egg that they had emerged from, like a newborn hatchling.

Cold pressed like knives against the exposed parts of their body, informing them that it was winter, though the temperature was not yet low enough for their breath to crystallise when it left their lips. Hugging their knees close to their chest, they shut their eyes once more, retreating into comforting darkness.

That was the routine that defined their lonely existence - returning home every winter to restore their reserves of magical power, before fleeing once the flowers began to shyly unfurl from their buds. Staying far from any signs of civilisation, for they did not want to incite the hatred of humanity, a potent fire that could raze anything in its path.

If there had been a time when things had been different, then it was centuries past, a memory that had long since crumbled to dust. Nothing would change this year, and nothing ever would.

~~~

The rustling of leaves, far too loud to be a woodland critter, shattered the bubble of silence that they were submerged in, dragging them rudely to the surface. It could have been minutes since they last shut their eyes, or days.

A figure stood at the entrance to the clearing, the light spilling from behind them seeming to coalesce into wings that sprouted from their back. Squinting and trying their best not to wince, they could only make out that it was another person. A person with white hair that brushed their shoulders, dressed in a thick fur coat and a pair of fluffy pants that covered every inch of skin, their cheeks flushed from the winter cold. They stared at this unexpected intruder, who stared back with just as much astonishment, their mouth agape.

Winter was the season when the humans stuck closest to their homes. There should be no reason for one to have wandered to a secluded forest such as this one, braving the possibility of frost-bitten limbs and losing one’s bearings in the endless plains of white.

“Um… hi. I’m Hikari, a… a girl from the nearby village,” she introduced herself haltingly, tripping over some of the words as if not used to their shape in her mouth.

They cocked their head. How strange. Had the humans set up a settlement close by?

“Hello, Hikari, girl from the nearby village.” They had always valued politeness. Perhaps in a past life, their first one, even, they had walked the cobblestone paths of villages barefoot. Greeting the shopkeepers with impeccable politeness, soaking in the relaxing atmosphere and the sounds of people bustling about.

Hikari had not asked them who they were. She must already know - every child in this sacred land would have been taught at some point. Whether from textbooks, the knowledge imparted by a teacher’s droning voice; legends passed around campfires in hurried whispers; or the cautionary tales parents told children to scare them into following the rules.

“You’re strange.” Hikari’s frozen expression melted into a bright smile, a giggle escaping her that lit up the air around her. She came closer, not a hint of hesitation in her actions, the smile on her face never fading as she settled next to them.

They could do nothing but stare blankly, shocked that she wasn’t running away while screaming at the top of her lungs. Had she not been taught to fear them, to revile them and reject them?

They nearly jumped out of their skin when she laid her hand atop theirs, a small gasp escaping them, gaze transfixed on the spot where skin met skin. A current of warmth travelled up their body, like a jolt to their spine. How long had it been since they’d felt the touch of another, since they’d known the presence of happiness?

Their protests died in their throat, their mouth clamping shut as they elected to let Hikari’s voice wash over them. It wouldn’t hurt to let her stay, they supposed.

“- and Dad accidentally let the sheep out…”

The endless flow of words, like a river winding its way towards the ocean, filled the once-empty space, making its steady way towards their heart, encased in ice. Thawing it out, bit by bit.

They did not mind the companionship, even if it would not last past the end of the season.

~~~

When the chirping of birds hit their ears one morning, they knew that the time to leave had come. Soon the spring breeze would arrive, playfully making cloth billow across the lands. By then, it would be too late to depart - the humans would instantly spot them in the azure expanse of the sky, and without the cold to keep them from the mountains, a lone swan would easily become their target.

Whether or not the legends were true… Even they no longer held the answer. But they had no desire to cause unnecessary suffering.

They would have liked to be able to say goodbye to Hikari. What a strange girl she was, choosing to spend her days with an unnatural being. Her company would be sorely missed, and they would treasure the days they had spent together.

Hikari battling with their tangled mane of hair, gently chiding them to take better care of it while she smoothed all the knots out and plucked out every stray leaf, her attentive gaze missing not a single one. Hikari telling them all about her life back home with her family - how she assisted her shepherd father in tending to the sheep, aspiring to be just like him once she grew up, showing off all the strands of fur that had gotten snagged in her clothes. Hikari dragging them out of the gloomy clearing to rest on the gentle incline next to a peaceful lake, and simply be while holding hands, the sunlight kissing their skin.

She was never bothered by their silence, letting her voice fill the space between them. When she was by their side, they could almost imagine they were nothing more than a human child that carried no burden, free to do as they wished.

The thought of never seeing her again stabbed them through the heart, surprisingly painful for one who had learned to live life in solitude.

They would cradle the memories they had made together close to their chest, for however much time they had left in this life. Grasping onto them with an iron grip, doing their best to ensure the sands of time would never steal them, regardless of how futile it was.

In a smooth, practised motion, they reached into themselves and tugged on the thread connected to the crackling sphere of magic contained within, their body rapidly morphing into another form.

Releasing a final, mournful cry, a swan, with feathers as black as the night sky, burst through the treetops, heading for horizons unknown.

~~~

When next they returned, letting the feathers shed off their skin like water sluicing a rooftop during an abrupt downpour, they let out a sigh, gaze scanning the clearing. It hadn’t changed much, even with the turning of the seasons. A few more roots could be seen creeping across the ground, courtesy of the trees attempting to increase their reach.

It was quiet; not even the buzzing of insects could be heard. They supposed the next century would be like this, a never-ending silence that would gradually drain all the life out of them.

“Oh, you’re here!”

A sense of deja vu struck them from head to toe, the foreign emotion of hope swelling painfully in their heart. They turned to find the source of the voice, the rustling of leaves once more heralding the arrival of a familiar visitor.

Hikari beamed at them, emerging from the trees, her pink eyes sparkling. Her hair tumbled down to the middle of her back in white rings, resembling the frothy waves of the ocean. The same fur coat from last winter hugged her shoulders, a dress trailing down to her ankles, her feet encased in snow boots.

“I was waiting for you.” She rushed over, breathless, clasping their right hand between hers. Whereas her movements had seemed rigid when they had last seen her, now there was a spring to her step. “Welcome back, Tairitsu. Oh, your hair is a mess again.”

“Wh - What…” they stuttered, heat flooding their pointed ears at their sudden proximity, heartbeat thundering in their ears. “Tairitsu…?”

“I didn’t want to call you by any of your past names, so I came up with a new one. Do you mind…?” she asked shyly, her smile flickering somewhat as worry began to overtake her expression.

“No, not at all. It’s just…” Why had she returned? It didn’t make any sense. “I’m sorry for leaving without telling you.” Those were the words that escaped them instead, the question they truly wanted to ask tucked away in their heart, quivering.

“It’s fine. I already knew you were going to leave, and I saw you fly away. You’re very beautiful as a swan, you know,” she whispered, releasing their hand to retrieve something from a pocket of her coat. She tucked a wildflower behind their ear, gentle fingers lingering against its shell and making them shiver. “Here, this is for you.”

Overwhelmed, they could only nod, sparks of joy bursting to life in the spots her fingers had brushed against. Their heart felt incredibly light, as if it, too, could sprout wings and take flight.

If this was what awaited them each winter, then perhaps their existence would not be as torturous as they initially thought it would be. Mayhaps… Mayhaps they might even find a place to belong, something that had been lost to them for centuries.

~~~

When the air was warmer, they spent their time as a swan in a faraway land. The life they led there was simple. There was nothing to be concerned about other than survival - searching the clear lakes for fish to consume, staying far away from the tracks of predators, and establishing a nest, a safe haven made of sticks where they could rest their weary body once the sun dipped below the mountains.

There wasn’t much that registered in their mind when they were in such a state - it was all too easy for the being known as Tairitsu to slip behind a wall, superseded by instincts as they soared through the sky.

Occasionally, a memory or emotion would slip past, a single shard from the beautiful kaleidoscope that was their moments together. The curve of Hikari’s smile, the roughness of the calluses on her palm from tending to the sheep, the warmth that built in their heart whenever they were together.

And with the autumn winds buffeting their wings, they would return, in hopes of seeing Hikari again.

~~~

They let out a confused squawk as they flew past the mountains and valleys that they knew like the back of their hand. The mountaintops should have been white, the valleys submerged in piled-up snow. Yet that was all absent, brittle brown leaves visible from their vantage point, high in the sky.

It was with a mounting horror that they realised winter had arrived late this year, the final remnants of autumn having not yet gone, clinging on for dear life.

And then not a single thought passed through their mind, as the Earth shuddered, screamed, and then split apart.

In the aftermath, when the shaking had subsided, and the dust had cleared, they limped blindly on the cracked ground, wings folded unnaturally close to their body, that same horrible sound the ground had emitted echoing endlessly in their mind. Drifting in no particular direction, only wishing to see that kind smile once more, in hopes that it could disperse the darkness trailing from them like a cape.

There was nothing good waiting for them. Only accusations, angry shouts, and threats of violence, the usual fear the humans held melting away to be replaced with hatred. Drowning out a single desperate plea, rendering it unable to reach them.

Amidst the anguish that tightly gripped their heart, threatening to shatter it, all else slid away except the notion of survival, smothered by a thick blanket of terror. With a panicked scream, the swan turned tail and fled, clawing towards safety, all else forgotten.

~~~

One day, with brown leaves fluttering to the ground around them, a swan stared down at a pink stone they’d snatched up from the riverbed. It sparkled under the sunlight, reminding them of something…

“Hey, do you think we knew each other in one of your past lives?” Hikari’s hands paused, halfway through layering one bunch of black hair over another. She had made it about one-quarter down the length of their hair, determined to braid it.

“I wouldn’t know,” they replied, carefully keeping their head still as she snapped back into motion. She was incredibly gentle with each strand, making sure not to tug too hard. “And I don’t think it’s worth thinking about. Who we are now… That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

Hikari only hummed in response, turning a smile warmer than the sun on them. They quickly averted their gaze, cheeks flushing, folding their hands in their lap.

The memory slammed into them so hard that they nearly fell into the river, barely saving themselves with a lot of inelegant fumbling, water droplets flung everywhere.

Awareness hurt, like a red-hot brand pressed against their heart, after however long they had spent in the darkness, focussed only on living on to the next day. There was too much swirling around in their mind: emotions, thoughts, memories.

But they didn’t have the luxury of time to sort through all of it. They couldn’t linger - they had somewhere to be.

With a thread of yearning tugging tight over their heart, they flapped strong wings and rose into the air, determined to return.

Both to the land that they still lovingly called home, and to the girl who had become their place to belong.

Their true home.

~~~

They suppressed the panic that rose within them as they passed the same mountain ranges, spotting minute differences that could only have happened with the passage of time: new crevasses, new stumps, new rivers.

What if they were already too late? Humans only lived for so long, after all.

That thought brought with it the icy waters of despair, threatening to surge over their head and suffocate them. So they shoved it away, refusing to contemplate it.

By the time they neared the forest where they had first met Hikari, darkness was encroaching the edges of their vision, the flapping of their wings slowing as exhaustion draped itself over their body. They had been away for far too long - the magic that made up their very being had not been restored for many moons. They were running on nothing more than fumes, which were rapidly evaporating.

The ground hurtled towards them at an alarming pace as they let themselves fall, dropping from the sky like a rock.

Then there was only pain, like a wildfire consuming their right wing, and a long scream, echoing in the air - their own, they realised, as another voice reached their ear. A familiar one that they longed to cling to as gentle fingers soothed their wounds, yet were unable to, as the darkness fully claimed them.

~~~

Consciousness came in fits and bursts, images filtering into their mind as they cracked open their eyelids.

The wooden walls of a house. The crackling of a fire, tongues of flame licking away at logs in a fireplace. A throbbing pain in what had once been their wing and was now their arm, feathers scattered all across the bed they were lying on.

Someone leaned over them, the strong scent of herbs suffusing the room, a jar of salve held tightly in her hand. Worry was written clearly on her face as she reached for the bandages wrapped around their arm, the tips of her hair tickling their skin.

I’m sorry. They tried to force the words out of their dry throat, scratching against every inch of raw skin, but all that came out was a croak that couldn’t be deciphered.

They caught the edge of a reply as something cold was pressed against their forehead. It slipped through their fingers as they fell back into darkness, ferried by a gentle lullaby.

~~~

Blearily, they opened their eyes. There was a startling lack of pain - only a dull ache remained, and they lifted their arm to find that the bandages were gone.

The light of the stars filtered through the window set in the wall, indicating that it was nighttime. How many days had passed since they had crash-landed on a blanket of white, the only thought occupying their mind a need to see those lovely pink eyes again?

They struggled to sit up, rusty on how to control this body after years of not using it. It was especially unwieldy now - when had they gotten so tall?

“Mm?” Something shifted in the corner of their vision, and they turned to find a woman sitting up in a chair beside the bed, rubbing the sleep from her pink eyes, dark shadows gathering beneath them. White hair spilt down her back to her hips, two braids resting on each shoulder. “Tai…?”

Hikari had grown up so much from the young girl she’d known for a few winters, years and years ago, blooming into a beautiful flower. Like a perfectly crafted ice sculpture, each detail captured so exquisitely that it stole their breath away.

They wondered if she’d achieved her dream of becoming a shepherd like her father. It must be the case - they couldn’t imagine anything that could stop her in her tracks, that could dim her radiant soul.

How much has changed over the years?

“I’m sorry,” they muttered, hesitating for a moment before reaching out a hand to brush her fringe out of her tired eyes, fingers lingering against her forehead. They didn’t know what they were apologising for. Everything, perhaps. For leaving. For returning. For their entire existence, and the curse that was their very foundation.

If they were truly sorry, they would never have returned, yet they did not have the strength to pull their hand away.

“Don’t be,” she replied groggily. Unlike them, there was no hesitation in her actions when she climbed onto the bed as well, motioning for them to scoot over. Her hand found theirs, squeezing, as if she never wanted to let go again. “I’ve been waiting for you all this time. Though it really was quite troublesome to carry you here, especially when you decided to stop being a swan halfway through the trip.”

Their gaze fell to her chest, where a single black feather rested, threaded through a string that looped around her neck. Eyes wide, they tasted salt against their parted lips, tears rolling down their face.

Truly, this entire time, she’d been…

“Why?” The words tore their way out of their heart, accompanied by a maelstrom of emotions.

Why did you do all this? Why did you save me? Why did you befriend me when anyone else would have shirked me out of fear?

She only smiled, brushing away their tears with one hand. “You were the first one to ever see me as just me. It meant the world to me, back then. I could only ever hope I did the same for you.”

You did. With you, I was only ever Tairitsu. Not a curse, not a burden. Just me.

Interlocking their fingers, she guided them to lay back down, their faces inches apart. Close enough that they could see each individual fleck of darker pink dotting her eyes. “Now you should go back to sleep,” she whispered, her lips tenderly brushing against their forehead, soothing every worry that festered in their soul. “You need your rest.”

Closing their eyes, they drifted off together with the one who held their heart, to a place where nothing and no one could disturb them.

~~~

“Whoa, Martin! Feisty today, aren’t you?” Hikari deftly avoided the headbutt from the over-excited sheep, giving it a pat on the head, earning a bleat in response. “Sorry, but I’ll play with you later, alright?”

A smile lifted their lips, their back pressed against the walls of the house, their arms crossed as they watched Hikari skillfully manoeuvre through the pen that was filled to the brim with woolly sheep. She made sure to give each and every one an affectionate rub, their happy bleats flooding the air.

The frigid winter air brushed the skin of their arms, causing goosebumps to rise as they began to approach. Not that they minded - it was a lovely reminder that they were alive, and able to experience all that life had to offer.

“Waiting for me, were you?” Hikari called back to them as she pressed her hand into the snow before pushing herself off the ground, remaining where she was.

“Whatever are you up to?” they enquired, curious.

“This!” she crowed, whirling on her feet and tossing the snowball she’d shaped straight into their face, knocking them back a few feet.

Sputtering, they wiped off a faceful of snow that had gotten everywhere, their tongue freezing in their mouth.

A snowball fight? If that was what she wanted, then that was what she would get!

Kneeling to pack snow into a hard ball, they fired back, a grin growing on their face as Hikari shrieked and dodged to the side, the snowball grazing the side of her dress.

A fierce battle raged between them, snowballs arcing through the air as both sides exchanged shots. Some landed, while some went way off target, thudding uselessly into the ground. Laughter filled the crisp morning air as the two of them got covered in more and more white, until they both resembled thin snowmen.

“H - oh!” Hikari gasped as her foot slipped, sending her careening into them. The both of them went toppling backwards, their view of the sky rapidly spinning.

Their back thudded against the ground as her weight crashed against their front, forcing the air out of their lungs. They watched in stunned silence as Hikari pushed herself up, just slightly, snow the same colour as her hair caking the sides of her face, her cheeks cherry red from all the exertion.

She was pure warmth, a startling contrast from the cold that surrounded them both.

And then she threw back her head and laughed, her entire body shaking with the sound of her laughter, as she stuck out her tongue to catch a snowflake, giggling as it melted. They could do nothing but suck in a breath, completely robbed of words.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, smiling down at them, the sincerity in her words like honey, pouring its sweet way into their heart, filling the hole that had remained open for so, so long.

With a sigh, she lowered herself back down to brush her lips against theirs, warm and soft.

“Stay,” she whispered against their lips, quiet as a breath.

It was not a demand, only a simple request. A wish - that this lovely dream that they shared, where two hearts beat in unison, would continue forevermore.

“I will,” they whispered back, finding her hand and squeezing it, making a vow.

For as long as they lived, until this life ended and the next began, they would stake their life on keeping it.

They would always return, to the woman who had become their home.

~~~

At the boundary between land and water, where the individual grains of sand toppled away to breaking waves and frothing whitecaps, two figures walked. The sea spray kissed their cheeks and flushed them red, the footsteps they left behind dissolving into sea form.

One took the hand of the other, pressing their palms together, finger aligned to finger, the breeze whipping her white hair around her face as she whispered in the ear of the other, breath lingering on their skin.

The other smiled, tracing a promise into the skin of her palm. Echoing the words she had uttered, letting them ring out into the space between them, the empty space of a world so wide, that they had seen all of but would never remember.

Black feathers began to sprout from their body, fluttering softly to the ground, as the seasons continued to turn in their unstoppable path. But none of that mattered, so long as they returned home when the cold set in once more.

I love you.

#fanfiction #one shot #arcaea #hikari #tairitsu #hikaritsu

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bigbadripley · 1 year

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Chapter 3 - Self Control

Marc Spector&Co. x Ex!Female!OC, Friend!Matt Murdock

Summery: Everything changed after Marc and Simone moved to New York. Being in a relationship with the Fist of Khonshu proved to be difficult enough without the added obstacles of normal relationships being forced into the mix. With seemingly irreconcilable differences overhead, fate’s plans continue to drive the pair back into each other’s lives, testing their patience, self-control, and new relationships. Is it truly written in the stars, or is it old habits taking over?

18+!! | Third-person omniscient | Dark elements | AU/AT | Warnings: Language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma. Effects of trauma in adulthood. Alcohol mention, body issues, heavy flirtation

Words: 2.3K

A/N: I update warnings with each chapter. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

Chapter List

"Now and then, you miss it, sounds make you cry Some nights, you dance with tears in your eyes I came to visit, 'cause you see me like a UFO That's like never, 'cause I made you use your self-control And you made me lose my self-control, my self-control" -"Self Control" by Frank Ocean

Jake's suspicions were confirmed as he watched Simone enter the gala arm-in-arm with Horns, wearing his usual ketchup and mustard colors but in a suit jacket. The man looked hideous and likely didn't look in the mirror before showing up to this shindig.

Simone, on the other hand, looked incredible. Her gown was dark green and velvet, form-fitting, and the back hung just above the dip before her rear. It hugged every curve and was complimented by a golden leaf crown in her dark hair. A goddess in every sense of the word.

She immediately noticed Mr. Knight in his usual get-up: all-white suit and mask, but to his credit, this suit looked slightly more polished than the normal one and was paired with a long dress cape. She couldn't say much, though, as the black and white paisley print suit she wanted to wear was stained by coffee an hour before this thing even started.

The tables were round, with 6 seats each, and dawned silver cloths. Simone led Matt by his arm, reading each nameplate to find where they would be seated as the lights dimmed and the host, Emma Frost, took the stage to address everyone. They took their seats, and a small ring of feedback from the mic got the attention of the partygoers.

"I am so happy that you all could make it tonight. A lot of familiar faces, some new, also..."

As Emma spoke, Simone noticed her table neighbor belatedly took their seat to her left. The section was so dark she couldn't make out the face. Whoever they were, they smelled like sandalwood and citrus. The distracting smell almost made it hard to concentrate on the words being said by the woman on stage.

"Speeches like this are always such a drag." Her left-hand neighbor whispered, leaning over slightly. His voice was like the smoothest gravel pit, deep and rich. Every bit of his game was in that baritone, and he knew it.

So, the mystery Old Spice Man wants to chat? She thought.

"Tell me about it." She said with a slight snicker. In the corner of her eye, she noticed his shadow grow slightly closer, introducing his scent to her senses more.

"...But most importantly, enjoy the gala!" Emma finished, prompting everyone in attendance to clap and the lights to come back. Simone looked at the man next to her to find that, like Matt, he was a mask type but one that she recognized by reputation and fortunately didn't have as a patient.

The one generally referred to as Spidey wore a dark blue mask with white eyes, red details, and a dark blue tailored suit. "Wait, you're that therapist. I have a friend who goes to you. Simone Fredrick, right?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Yeah? But I'm a psychiatrist," She corrected, intending to sound playful and immediately kicking herself in the ass at how it came out. The man's hands came up in surrender,

"Right, my mistake."

"Sorry if that sounded super pretentious of me."

"No, don't worry about it. Defend your position, Doc. You worked hard to get there." He told her as if speaking from experience. She appreciated it but saw he was looking at her right side before she could talk. "So, your date's the devil himself."

"S-Man." Matt greeted him with a nod, having been acquainted with him several times.

"I'm his plus one." Simone quickly corrected again to not give him the impression that she was on a date.

"I see, so no super-powered boyfriends to worry about?" The mask asked. Simone couldn't tell, but she swore she could hear him smile. Murdock stood first and held his arm out for her to take.

"Just my league of seven evil exes." She answered with a chuckle that Spidey met with his own. She stood and smoothed out her dress, "I'm kidding. I do have an ex here, but he's nothing to worry about since we're just having a friendly conversation."

Simone took Matt's elbow and watched from the corner of her eye as the masked man stood. Murdock tipped his thumb to his mouth, signaling her to cut it short and take him for a drink. "I'll see you around. Try not to miss me too much." She told teasingly.

"And what if I do? Miss you too much?" S-Man asked, taking her flirting and tossing it right back at her. The charisma of this man was something otherworldly to Simone, and it was deliciously refreshing.

"Come find me." She offered a wink before turning and walking with Matt for refreshments.

I'm fucking back, baby! She thought to herself, feeling suddenly giddy.

"30 minutes in, you're already flirting with the masked types," Murdock said as they sauntered. To Simone, there was nothing wrong with a bit of flirting. Completely harmless and doesn't mean anything unless the man actually does come find her.

"What? He's funny!" She defended. She imagined if she could see Murdock's eyes, he would roll them at her. If he wasn't blind, she might just as well assume he's seen Spidey's face before. She wondered if anyone else might have.

"Your heart damn near left your chest when you talked to him." He added, rubbing his ultra-sensitive senses in her face.

"Are you serious? Should've read my mind." S

"You know I can't, doc," Matt said, stopping them both and sticking his nose in the air. "Jen's here,"

He no doubt could smell her from across the room, weirdly enough. Jen spotted them both before Simone started looking for her and watched as the gorgeous green woman in a two-piece purple outfit made her way over.

"Simone, what the fuck! You look so hot!" She exclaimed before her eyes darted to the man on her arm. "And you look... presentable, Double D."

"Funny, Simone said the same thing." He responded, removing his elbow from Simone's hand and gesturing it to Jen. "May I?"

The pair walked to the bar, chatting as Simone looked around a room full of people she either knew as patients or didn't know at all. A man walked by with a tray in hand, and she took one of the numerous glasses it contained and sniffed it, concluding that it was minty water instead of liquor and sipping it delightfully.

"Fancy seeing you here, darling." She heard a familiar voice say as she felt a tender hand on her tailbone. Her mouth twisted in an attempt to not blush as Mr. Knight, in the flavor of Steven Grant, came into view.

"Probably not that fancy."

"You look awfully fancy. I told you that dress was perfect."

"And you look blindingly white." She told him in a tone that sounded much nastier than she intended. She couldn't see his face but knew that Steven would have frowned at that.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked softly. Simone felt a string in her heart snap at the question, knowing she always had difficulty being angry with referred to as her sweetheart.

"No, not you, Stevie." She admitted with a sigh. There was a brief silence between them as Jake pushed his way through.

"Not me either, then, right?"

"No. Not you, either." She answered. She hoped they would understand that. Jake understood, getting into enough mental fights with Marc over it that they almost felt physically pained after.

"Se esta escondiendo de nuevo," Jake informed her that he was hiding quietly, knowing Simone would know he was referring to Marc and hoping she could consider spending some time with him in his absence.

May's well go into business for me. He thought.

It was a tempting, unspoken offer. His hand was still in place as she felt his gloved touch burn into the bare skin of her back while goosebumps rose from the chills. The leather fingertips glided a bit to her side and between where the plunge and her skin met. Her mind was in the gutter, or rather, back in the taxi in London where they met and subsequently touched for the first time.

That's it, doll. Tell me what you want. The soundbite replayed in her memories and weakened her knees.

She would have Jake or Steven back between her hips in a heartbeat. Hell, under the right circumstances, or if she was feeling especially immoral, she'd take Marc also, but Simone couldn't bring herself to crack.

"Best of luck, then. I'm gonna enjoy the party. Have fun vampire hunting." She said in a fluster as she left the conversation before being dragged any deeper into the black hole she had trouble escaping the first time.

The feeling of his hand lingered on the small of her back even after she was feet away from the man in white. Things would be different if this was as simple as her just being mad at Marc. It wasn't that easy anymore.

Fuck, I'd kill for a splash of tequila right now. She thought as she took a sip of the refreshment and made a face at the idea of the smell or taste of tequila. Or a splash of the S-Man. That could be interesting.

Simone perked back up as she watched her friends return with champagne glasses in hand, laughing. They used to sleep together but fell off, with Jen spending more time on the West Coast and now recently making her return.

"How'd that go?" Jen asked, referring to her chat with Mr. Knight, which she undoubtedly saw from across the room.

"About as well as expected. I didn't cave, though, so that must count for something."

"You're getting stronger. Practicing Self-Control." Jen told her, sounding proud before she leaned down a bit like they were sharing secrets. "And what's this I hear about Spider-Man?"

Damn you, Murdock!

"Just some banter, nothing crazy." Simone brushed it off. It felt like more than that, but she didn't want to call it anything else.

"Let's hope he's not a 20-year-old, right?" Jen joked, referring to her date with Kate. Simone's eyes widened at this, realizing it was possible, given the mask part, and gagged.

Damn you, Jennifer!

The night continued as planned. They played craps and danced before Simone and Murdock decided to call it a night; Simone had a day job, and Murdock had his patrols to do. More than that, she wasn't having a good time watching everyone with the genetic capacity to get drunk get belligerent.

"I listened in on your chat with Mr. Knight. I hope you don't mind." Matt admitted once they were standing outside the entrance of his place. She shrugged,

"Not much was said, so I'm not too worried about that."

"I read between the lines a bit," Murdock said with a nervous chuckle. This piqued Simone's curiosity.

"And by that, you mean...?"

"He had you on the ropes. Your heart was going a mile a minute and changed patterns between lust and fear, you started sweating, your breathing slowed, not to mention what was going on wit-"

"I get it, Matt. It was a moment." She cut him off abruptly. If he could see her, he would know she was trying everything she could to not blush with embarrassment. She always tried to put on a brave face, and to tumble as far as she did tonight was humiliating.

"Are you over him as much as you say you are?"

"I'm over him enough to walk away from stuff like that now, whereas a few months ago, I don't think I would have toughed it out," Simone explained. Matt slightly nodded in response, believing her but having doubts.

"I guess I'll let you get home then, Simone. Have a good night."

When Simone returned to her apartment, she tossed her heels off and glared at the suit she meant to wear tonight with a frown. The dress she ended up with was one she bought for the last gala and didn't attend because she panicked at the sight of herself in it.

"Just go without me." She told Marc after yanking it off her body and exchanging it for her pajamas. Simone habitually shied away from events she wanted to look good for. Marc had just gotten his suit on and looked handsome and damn-near angelic. A suit as bright white as that one was bound to draw attention to him and, in turn, draw eyes to Simone. She didn't want to be looked at.

"What? No! If you don't go, I don't go." Marc said, entering the room to find her dressed down again.

"You're the one who was invited. Really, babe, I don't mind."

"Is it about the dress?" He asked. She stayed silent, knowing it sounded far more convoluted than she thought. It was backless, sleeveless, and she loved it at first, but hated it tonight for the first time.

Marc sighed and knelt in front of where she sat on the couch, taking her hands into his and resting his chin on her knuckles. "Remember when I said you'd be in a room of dozens of freaks with a ton of other issues to worry about?"

"I do, but it's not just that." She replied with a heavy sigh. "That dress made me feel like a princess before. Now I just feel out of place in it."

He could see the disappointment on her face, and though he didn't fully understand how she could be so self-conscious, he knew she didn't see herself how he saw her. Simone only saw the dark, tiger-stripped markings up and down her arms, legs, face, and neck.

"Then I'm not doing my job right. That's it; we'll stay in, and I'll remind you just who the hell you are, Moni."

She eyed herself in the mirror as that thought replayed. She looked good and knew she wasn't the only one who thought so, scarring be damned.

Indeed, Marc. You did remind me who the hell I am.

#moon knight fanfic #moon knight fan fic #moon knight #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfic #marvel mcu #mcu fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #mcu fic #marvel comics #fanfic #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #matt murdock

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yaoipublicdomain · 2 years

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Consummate Love

by Sephi

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts

Pairing: (M/M) Axel/Roxas (Dissociative Identity Disorder, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Roxas Has DID - Dissociative Identity Disorder, Roxas Is An Alter, Romance, Light Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Cuddling & Snuggling)

Summary: Roxas hasn't fronted in a long time, but Axel loves him all the same.

Read on: AO3 | Tumblr (under the cut)

A/N: I wrote this to celebrate the tenth anniversary of one of my largest Axel/Roxas fanfiction I published! (Has it really been that long already?) I would mirror it here but... let's just say I've certainly improved quite a bit in ten years time. LOL. It felt really good to go back to my roots... my original OTP!

This story takes place in a modern AU, in the home that Axel and Roxas's system share (composed of himself, Sora, Ventus, Vanitas and some others). They've been together with Axel for a long time, but Roxas has been dormant for a while now and struggles with his past traumas and issues...

————————–

Roxas awoke with a start, jolting back to reality with an iciness that frosted over his mind, freezing him solid in his place of fear. It was a peaceful morning, perfect in its stillness, quiet save for the gentle rhythm of Axel’s breath. Roxas’s tension sank away from him slowly, melting into the realization that he was still there; the warmth of Axel’s affection—still radiant, even in his sleep—thawed Roxas in waves like gentle licks of flames. Axel’s arms possessively coiled around Roxas’s waist, the promise of his protective nature etched into the strength of his slender arms. Roxas silently watched the dust filter through the stripes of the golden sunrise, watched it as it glittered like snowflakes, watched how the beams that christened the birth of a new day made floral patterns across their beige walls.

Even if Roxas still struggled to recall his place in this world, the time in which the couple presently existed, even how long had passed since his eyes had last opened; there was a profound sense of permanence to Axel’s presence in itself. Roxas exhaled slowly, consciously working his clumsy breath until it could match the pace Axel had set, following his guidance as he always had. Roxas moved his fingertips gently, feeling the way that their handmade quilt felt heavy against his skin, brushing his hands against the clothing he’d worn to sleep—all things that he didn’t recognize, that somehow did not belong to him, were not his own.

But Axel was.

Roxas closed his eyes, leaning back into Axel’s chest and neck. He liked that he was shorter than Axel, and he treasured how Axel loved to hold him so tightly, how Axel curled his body around him like a big cat. Axel mumbled something in his sleep and hummed as soon as he felt Roxas roll his shoulders back against his chest, nestling his fluffy hair into his exposed skin.

Roxas pulled the quilt up higher around him, pressing it over his chin and then his cheeks. He liked the weight that it held and the way that it sounded as it glided across his arms. Memories that felt like only yesterday played in his mind, informing Roxas of his lifelong mission, of his purposes, his likes and dislikes. He felt like he was being calibrated slowly, almost like an old computer; the longer Roxas was awake, the more processing power his body had, giving him time to think about what he was—or what he used to be.

Axel’s large, worn hands found Roxas’s arm, petting him in long, gentle strokes with the grace of a painter. The first signs that Axel was awake were this and how his breath became lighter, shallower.

“Hey,” He mumbled slowly, taking a moment to breathe in the way Roxas’s hair smelled against him. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Roxas felt that cold freeze again, terrified that maybe, if he spoke, his Axel might not even recognize him anymore. He paused, nervously threading his fingers into their shared blanket.

“Yeah.” Roxas kept his voice small, forgetting how to even pretend to be someone new—or whoever Axel had expected. Maybe Axel was used to this life, a life of the ever changing personalities that he had grown to love, but to Roxas, the Roxas in this moment, he felt all alone. “I’m awake.”

Axel stretched, then snaked himself back into a better position, optimizing how close he could pull Roxas. He pushed one of his legs in between Roxas’s, nuzzling his face down into Roxas’s platinum blonde hair affectionately. He kissed him there, gently.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Not sure.” Roxas closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the feeling, trying to let it all sink in. This is real. I am real. He looped this in his mind, the only coping skill he’d maintained, the only one that had reached him through all his years of therapy.

“You’re so tense…” Axel purred, his hands pausing along the smooth plain of Roxas’s upper arms. “Bad dream?”

“Something like that.” Roxas felt his body heat from the inside of his core from the tender way Axel treated him. He felt so safe, so nurtured, just in such a simple embrace. Axel’s touch had reached deep within him, anchored him to this reality. Roxas felt the permanence of Axel’s presence in every touch, even in the thin window of perspective Roxas was afforded into his life.

“I know that voice…” Axel was still so sleepy, the kind of relaxed and tired that reaches the height of human comfort. His voice blanketed Roxas. “That’s my Roxas.”

Roxas blushed. How could Axel remember him? When was the last time he’d fronted? Roxas couldn’t remember anything about this room, he couldn’t relate to any of the pictures that adorned the walls of the couple, or any of the places that the photos proudly proclaimed they were taken in. He couldn’t recognize the furniture, their bed. If he were asked what year it was, the answer would be the same—he rolled the numbers one by one, slowly, through his mind: two thousand and five, maybe two thousand and six… But admittedly, Roxas’s body felt different than a fifteen year old boy’s, and deep down he knew in his heart that much more than that had changed.

“Yeah.” Roxas wouldn’t lie. He’d been called out, recognized from the way his body held his voice, or maybe from the way he held his shoulders, or how he couldn’t help but gasp at Axel’s touch—nonetheless it hadn’t slipped past Axel’s watchful, observant eye. “It’s me.”

“I missed you.” The emotion was heavy in Axel’s voice, radiating a deep, profound love. The way Axel held Roxas tight spoke to how much he cherished him, in every form within his body and soul. “It’s been a long time.”

A long time was always relative from the perspective Roxas held, lost on the shore of the private ocean within his mind, wading through the sea of alters and their contexts that made up the patchwork of his life. Sometimes, the severity of a long time could be felt just in between the days as they passed naturally, how suddenly all of the people, places, and objects one had known are instantaneously difficult to remember in all of their complexity; how the mind of the current time struggled to bridge what had happened to jog the wheels of progression from the CD Walkman to the smartphone and onwards, onwards and upwards. A long time could be felt in the narratives one could wake up in, seeing themselves inside of, the way that arcs of development in the couple’s lives had soared by Roxas’s perception, had not sunk all the way to the bottom of his heart where he’d rested.

A long time intersected with my time, the wrong time, the sense of being inside a mysterious dollhouse of one’s own design when sleeping. The feeling of wrestling with one's choices, struggling against the consequences that one could not recall having a say in setting in motion. Yet, some incessant roots refused to be plucked, impossible to weed out of the mind, worked deep into the memory of muscles and the fiber of Roxas’s being.

This most important of these was Axel, in all of his timelessness, in all of the ways his kindness transcended the barriers erected in the maze of Roxas’s mind—how Axel’s gentle touch, those large, warm hands, could smooth down the grooves left behind from decades-old trauma time and time again. Oh, how hard Axel had labored, all with a heart of gold, learning to love Roxas for all that he was, in all the ways that he was and was not and could never be. Like running water Axel flowed along the path of consciousness that Roxas’s injured psyche needed to follow, never straying, rushing to fill the gaps of time, memories and moments with a kindness, with laughter. In sickness and in health, Axel loved all the expressions that composed Roxas, all of the shades of color that the boy named Roxas had grown to be, how proud he was that Roxas could survive at all, and how powerfully profound it was to see him happy. Each personality was a new way to reach further in Roxas’s mind, further inside his beating heart, into the folds of memory that most relationships could never hope to truly meet.

Tears stung Roxas’s eyes, dewy drops clinging to his lashes. He could no longer hold them back. They rolled silently from his cheeks.

“I’m so lost,” Roxas’s voice was weak, revealing tears that he’d never admit to anyone else. His muscles submitted when Axel held him tighter, pulled him closer. He melted into Axel’s warmth, his infinite support. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Axel quieted him, rocking him gently in his arms. They stayed like that for a while, Roxas turning to face him, cradled against his chest while Axel traced long lines down the smoothness of his back.

After sharing a long moment together, one granted by the merciful calm of the morning, the luxury morning provided of lots of time before Axel would have to leave for work, Roxas looked up into Axel’s gentle face.

The sun shone behind the strands of Axel’s bright red hair. It glowed against the side of his cheek, the sides of his skin that weren’t under Roxas’s pilfered blanket. Axel brushed the pads of his fingers in a smooth crescent against Roxas’s undereyes, rubbing the last of his tears away.

Roxas’s sky-blue eyes met Axel’s, searching for the truth they contained. “When you look at me, do you just see Sora? Or do you think of me mostly as Ventus?” His heart pleaded with Axel, terrified that maybe the love that existed in Axel’s soul was meant more for something else, that he was an afterthought, a ghost in the way of another. “Do you hate me for what Vanitas has done?”

Axel pet Roxas on his head, through his hair, shaking his head. “I see all of you. I love all of you, all the same.”

“How?” Roxas asked.

“How couldn’t I?” Axel laughed, fondly remembering over a decade of the time they’d shared. “I’m yours with all that I am. And you’re mine with all that you are. All of you.”

His words were like honey, the most precious sort of gift that Roxas could hear forever and still consider himself lucky. He couldn’t stop the tears from pouring now, but he felt safe.

“It’s okay.” Axel smiled softly. “I’m with you. I’ll help you.”

Axel took Roxas’s chin and titled it upwards so that he could look him straight in the eyes. His expression was calm, serene, full of affection.

“It’s alright, Roxas. I love you no matter who you are. I love all of you. I’ll never leave you.”

Roxas leaned into Axel’s peaceful caresses, feeling peace wash over him. Even if he didn’t know his place in this world, Axel was his home.

“I love you too.” Roxas felt so confident in those feelings, more than anything else. They kissed. “So much.”

#dissociative identity disorder #akuroku #axel/roxas #kingdom hearts #axel #roxas #my fic

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frie-ice · 2 years

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Sorry if my drawings of the Big Four as the VKs from Disney's Descendants aren't very good, I'm better at drawing objects than people.

*Hiccup Haddock/(Bludvist): Drago prefers to call his son, "Dragoo", "Hiccup" was the name his mother picked, and he keeps it to remind him of her. Like Maleficent, Drago is hard to say "no" to, he lost his leg as a teaching moment and he tries to make up for it, make his father proud of him by causing trouble on the island, trying to find and master a dragon and made his father's metal arm moveable again. There are times when Hiccup feels like his father sees him as a tool and not as his son. The chance to finally see that loving, father look came to him when he and his friends were sent to a school off the island. All he has to do is play the "good boy" until he has his dad's old bull-pike, master a dragon once he finds their sanctuary and steal the man in the moon's orb! But things change as he got to know the future queen, befriended a Night Fury and learns that he can choose who hewants to be. (I took a look between Mal and HTTYD2 Hiccups' looks, and they weren't so different and far off, that is why I changed the top part of Hiccup's flight suit in order to make him look like the son of a dragon slaver.)

*Rapunzel Corona/(Gothel/Dagger): (Rapunzel wasn't born with the power of the golden flower and that's why she's not a blond.) The blue serves her colour while Red, Black and Gold reminds the people she walks pass who her mother is, the vines and gold petals are a reminder of everlasting beauty. As she tried to keep herself beautiful without making herself prettier than her mother and to be just as bad as her. There are times when she wonders if she'll ever be more than just a pretty little face and who her father is. The keys to her answers were given to her when she and her friends were sent to a different school and a new crowd to show off to and remind. Rapunzel might have fallen prey to the charming cheater jerk, trouble getting through class without her mother's little mirror and getting people to look at her as Rapunzel and not as Mother Gothel, until she and her friends steal the moon orb. But things get a little better with Eugene Fitzherbert's help as she got a B+ in science, made friends by being nice and finally feeling that she can be more than just her mother's pretty little face, she was starting to have second thoughts about the orb and what would happen if they were to bring the orb back to the island. If only their parents weren't villains and would do anything to prove themselves to them.

*Merida DunBroch/(Axe): On the island Merida shoots her arrows through people's cloths, food out of their hands, let them know she's coming and for fun; she even uses her bow to zip line around the island. Her father trains her to be a warrior with the hunting skills of a bear than how to be a royal, it's the only way to see her as his daughter than is departed wife and to keep his dream of overthrowing his brothers alive. Merida knows that her father "means well" and she does trust her skills, but she wishes that he would at least let her try new things and understand that shooting her arrows makes her feel free. New targets came into her hands when she and her friends were sent to the school of goody two shoes. Merida loves a challenge and the challenge of putting up with people asking her to a princess in a dress until they get the Manny's orb will be her toughest yet. But things change when people saw how good she is with her archery and got a trophy for it, she starts to wonder if stealing the orb for her father's love is the right thing to do. (I've put the tattoos that Mor'du and his brothers had on their arms on Merida's, and since Elinor is not her mother in this AU she can shoot as many arrows as she wants and be messy and wild. I have also placed the lost kingdom crest on her quiver)

*Jack Frost/(Black): Jack's mother is a winter spirit who had a thing for bad boys and understood Pitch's pain of not being seen, that's why she gave him their son. So he can be seen without filling him with fear. Jack can not only control ice with the staff his mother left him, but he can also have power over nightmares and can tell when someone's scared. But he has much more fun and control with ice and his father has great plans for him and he is reminded of that when Pitch says, "What goes better together than cold and dark," but he doesn't find fear fun. The chance to find and understand new kind of fun was given to Jack when he and his friends were picked to join a school off the island. People's fears of his dad and how must alike he could be made it hard for him to make friends and join in the fun, fun that doesn't involve scaring people. Things got better when a little pixie felt sorry for him and became his friend, as the two became close Jack started to worry of what might happen to her when the orb is brought back to the island. (I've dressed the top part of Jack to look like he was representing Pitch, while the bottom part is to remind him of his mother. Carlo dressed himself to look a bit like his mother, so let's Jack do the same.)

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lavandermin · 2 years

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a darling little assistant | albedo

my dearest monsterfuckers and albedo enjoyers… if you’ll indulge me on some evilbedo brainrot ^^;

pairing | albedo/reader (or in this case his mimic)

word count | 1.4k

genre | one-sided, pining, nsft, assistant/alchemist trope

warnings | notsfw 18+, minors pls don’t interact, tentacles, clone mimic albedo (aka my version of evilbedo), experimentation, kind of manipulative Albedo I guess

Thinking about an au where evilbedo is an experiment Albedo himself has been working on— creation of life and re-creation of life, possibly even variations of the original. A twisted little Albedo, who delves into a little more morally ambiguous experiments like making clones. You knew he was working on that little project with plants, yes, and you would watch him with love-sick eyes as he worked tirelessly day-in and day-out. A darling little assistant that pined for the slightly unhinged alchemist.

And when he calls you to help him with some preliminary tests on a new test variation, you’re more than eager to help. Only when you walk into the elaborate facility and are guided down into some of the more specific chambers for rigorous testing do you begin to feel odd about the whole thing. Just a bit confused.

“This is my latest breakthrough,” the Chief Alchemist says as he remains solely focused on what’s beyond the protective chamber glass. “I hope this doesn’t alarm you.”

On the other side of the containment chamber stands… another Albedo— a mimic. A clone, you might even think. The mimic’s eyes are just a tad less lively, a little less mischievous and all the more unreadable. They slowly turn to look at you and make you swallow a lump in your throat. He’s just as beautiful as the one you love, stoic and charming with calm features. The star on his neck is a stark pale blue, icy like the frost on the mountains he frequents, unlike the golden one that adorns your Chief Alchemist’s neck.

“So,” you begin a little apprehensively, a warmth spreading throughout your face. “What did the tests need me for?”

Albedo hums, eyes trained on his clipboard he’s quickly jotting down notes on and a few final details. “I need to test this version’s nuances. This mimic’s version is a little more stable, and contains components of several flora I gathered to better stabilize its homeostatic functions. They closely resemble a human’s by now.”

You frown in confusion, to which he finally looks up with a chuckle. “Not to worry, this current variation has had fragments of my memories successfully reconstructed into it. It might not know you as well as I do, but has a basis of what sort of non-threatening relationship we share. He thinks of you as a friend if my deductions are correct.”

“A friend…” you mumble, placing a hand on the glass. The mimic steps forward and mirrors your action with an intrigued blink— experiencing a sort of dejavú due to the fractured memories he holds.

“Now, for a quick briefing. I’ll be gathering data for further modifications on his next routine checkup. The current areas are: sociability, mental wellness, physical, psychological— and so on and so forth.”

“Does this ‘Albedo’… speak?” you wonder aloud, turning to the alchemist for confirmation.

And much to your surprise he looks just as curious.

“I wonder if he does. So far no speech has come up, so I cannot say. It’s far less likely since most of his alchemic properties were taken from whopperflowers, the likes of which aren’t capable of speech that we know of.” His pen stops in its tracks, aqua eyes flickering over to his mirror replica. “But I wonder if he’ll surprise me. Let me know when you’re ready to begin the tests.”

With a steadying breath you nod. A willing little assistant, as usual. He is rather fond of you for this reason after all.

As soon as you step into the chamber, the doors are secured closed and this mimic of the alchemist you pine for steps closer to you. He holds his hand up silently, indicating you should do the same as you did through the glass. With rosy cheeks you catch on and place your smaller hand in his.

The mimic Albedo is silent, pondering. You turn back to gauge a reaction from the alchemist who’s hard at work writing notes on the other side of the chamber. With a reassuring nod he lets you know all is going well.

“I…” Your head snaps at the sound of the mimic’s voice, exactly like Albedo’s though a little distorted and dry from some dehydration. “I know… you.”

To your poor heart’s surprise, he steps closer and wraps his hands around you in what he confusedly deems a hug. You reciprocate with ease, heart a little erratic at this clone playing out the many soft gestures you wish your beloved Chief Alchemist would reciprocate. The clone can feel your heart’s quickening pulse against his chest.

The intercom speaker turns on briefly with Albedo’s voice. “If at any point you need the testing to end, the safe word is ‘Cecilia’.”

It’s not until you feel something cold and slimy against the skin of your neck do you realize why he would announce such a thing. From the mimic’s back protrudes several tentacle-like vine appendages, all curiously grazing your exposed skin. Albedo, mimic as he may be, curiously gauges your reactions and picks up on the heat that spreads across your trembling body.

“Do you… like this?” the mimic asks brokenly with a slight curve of his lips. His teal eyes intently watch your reactions as the tentacles begin to squirm their way under your clothes, rubbing soothingly where your whimpers grow loudest with.

“A-Ahn, yes but—“ You quickly look back in embarrassment at the real counterpart who is still furiously scribbling down page after page of notes. The alchemist is unbothered by the little moan that slips through your lips as a tentacle wanders against your clothed folds and sensitive clit. The mimic has picked up on how hot and bothered this is making you, and has taken a liking to the sounds you make.

And so there you are after 40 minutes since the test began, tentacles squirming their way into your holes and thrusting sloppily in and out of your clenching pussy. You’re a moaning mess muffled by the thick tentacle that’s lazily thrusting in and out of your mouth as the mimic holds your suspended body steady so one of his thick appendages can easily thrust in and out of your leaking cunt.

The vines wrapped around your arms, legs, and torso leave you spread open so vulnerably— so lewdly— in front of your colleague who doesn’t seem to pay it any mind. Your dearest alchemist is too absorbed in jotting down this twisted turn of events— the cryo regisvine components he included into the mimic’s creation have certainly proven more dominant and unpredictable.

The mimic Albedo watches in a lustful wonder as you beg for more, begging to cum again for the 5th time the past hour and squirming from oversensitivity as a few vines tug and pull gently on your nipples. He’s fascinated by your body’s capabilities, how you gasp cutely at another smaller vine gently working its way into your pussy alongside the other thick one currently thrusting into you like a fuck machine. And when he thrusts once more and stills inside you, there’s an apparent swell on your tummy— the small bulge of the rather sizable appendage that’s prodding your poor cervix beyond overstimulation.

The real alchemist isn’t even taking notes anymore, just watching idly from the other side with hands stuffed in his lab coat pockets. If you weren’t so stuffed with tentacles and in a horny daze as you were being fucked silly by a mirror image of your love interest, you might have felt a pang of pain at how he watches you get fucked with little more interest than someone watching paint dry. Were the shimmering tears running down your cheeks from overwhelming climaxes or mortification? You highly doubted Albedo cared if his results were what he wanted.

Whether the real counterpart was really getting off to this lewd scene playing out in front of him, you would never find out. But at least your own fantasies were being played out in some twistedly sad way. It’s as close to love as you would get from the Chief Alchemist you pined for so painfully.

He can only assume you were enjoying the testing, the safe word being unused the entire time.

Albedo jots down one more note on the end notes of his file.

‘Mimic subject deduced to be fond of warmth, sound, and the current variable in the testing chamber. Further testing needed. Schedule the followup session with assistant variable.’

#nsft #mii brainrot #albedo #albedo kreideprinz #albedo/reader #albedo x reader #cw clones #cw stomach bulge #cw manipulation #tw manipulation #cw tentacles #this is so filthy I’m so sorry #one sided feelings #cw experimentation #morally ambiguous albedo is hot ok #mii writes #genshin #drabble collection: coffee break for two

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waokevale · 4 years

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Sanders Sides

-The Snow Queen AU-

[In this ver. The Frost King]

I just had to do this one after I reconnected with the book, yet...I made some major changes (big ones) for the roles to be more interesting and fitting, not just random I suppose.

[ If you haven't read the book, and wish to do so...I suppose it does quite matter for you to understand more but do as you wish from that point.........]

This version of the story is happening in the beginning of The 18th Century, and the characters who play the roles of the ones from the story, or have changed/replaced roles with suposedly similiar Input here are:

• Kai - Remus - (The boy who was the victim of the broken mirror’s fiendish shard.)

• Gerda - Roman (The main protagonist, i suppose)

[In the original story Kai and Gerda are not quite related but are as close as siblings can be, in this one although, of course the twins are, well...the twins.]

• Instead of the Grandmother we have the father of the boys, that no one, literally no one would guess who plays the role of him.......Patton...!

• After that, there is also Logan, who gets the role of being The Frost King, The Cursed Frost King in fact (and by cursed I mean he literally pissed someone off [or broken their heart...] centuries before and they turned him into an ice dude)

• Speaking of curses and magic, Janus is the young Sorcerer instead of the Elder Sorceress from the canon story. And in this verse, let's say that Sorcerers are Immortal beings like vampires, because I felt like it, and let's say he's like... approximately 957 y.o

Janus in this version does not keep Roman for a while, because he is a really bored selfish prick, but because he is desperate and genuinely still sad from the time he lost his own kid (guess who that might be...If you know my obsession with familial anxceit you already know who I’m talking about, yes..) Virgil.

[And no, Virgil is not dead as you see in the fanart, he is cute, alive and well.]

• Speaking about him, he is intended to replace the role of the robber girl. But in this version he was stolen from his Pa/Ma one Summer night...

He didn't age at all because...Well, I just said it, Janus is immortal and Vee in this one is actually his biological kid, so Virgil himself is like 53 y.o

• Pryce and Valery are the Prince and the Princess in the upper corner of the picture. (They are meant to be siblings here)

In the other corner are Thomas and Talyn playing the roles of these magical Finn and Lapp people. (I honestly have no idea how else to call them)

And the Crow and the Raindeer are Remy and Emile, because why not.

[To put it simply, like in the canon of TSS no one here is evil (well except the douchebags of Virgil's kidnappers, but they are not canon characters)]

Also before all of that, I wanted to have a little summery and explanation of some of the situations and short stories from this au

-Remus at first is quite a dork (heh) but really he is a pretty friendly and goofy kid, sure he is quite strange in general but he does show love and affection towards his family (well until the shard of The Mirror got stuck in his eye)

-Logan used to be a Prince from the 10th Century who supposedly felt no emotions and was like a stone husk, or a living statue as people used to say, which made his father desperate enough to the point, he literally set up a very great award for anyone who would make him.. feel something in that matter (The emotionlessness was more of an odd and quite unrealistic version of depression, as to be portraid)

-There was one and only one person who succeded in the act and in which fell head over hills for him in the process actually (before the magic mirror of evils broke into pieces, one of the first ones then fell into his own eyes, destroying all the progress and hurting the one who loved him the most, who was the very exact person who freed him from his deep shelled abyss before.)

[I’m not going to say who that was, you’ll have to figure it out by yourself, if you even bother, that is of course]

-Patton is a single father (wow)

He actually managed to find a way into the Garden of Enternal Summer when he was a kid and... As I quote myself:

“ As a faint Memory, The boy saw the most Elegant and quite The most Beatiful man he’d ever seen, yet with a face halfly scarred with scales as if one cursen upon his soul, his outfit too as his posture spoke was vastly gorgeous, painted mainly in golden and black, but what was yet even more so intriguing, was what he held under his arms, ever oh so gently as it were a small and fragile feather. It in fact..quite was at some point, as it was a small child, very young actually from what it seemed...An Infant it was. The man then walked up to him and offered him his hand, one that wasn’t either of his main two, but nonethless he did so and shared one of the warmest of smiles too, no living creature, no beast nor no man would at this point decline and reject his proffer.”

[Yeah...I’m not good with poetry, especially as English despite it all is my second language...I’m even worse with my main one, so eh.]

Buuut he eventually left either way, so..

[Almost no one could find the secret pathway into the Garden of the Enternal Summer as it was well hidden behind the forests, lakes, caves and mountains. So Roman and his family were quite lucky at this point.]

That is all for now I suppose, I have only one question though...

-Roman is a very sweet kid who talks with animals and plants (but let’s make it a bit more realistic here, the plants do not respond in this version and he is confused but still continues to do so) He is although flawed because a character without flaws is like...A Pizza without the Sauce or a Knife without its blade, blunt and boring that is. Yeah...He has anger issues and is quite impatient and stubborn which is interpreted in both good and bad ways.

-Virgil was gifted with a flower magical hair clip (to help him whenever he was in trouble), a violet scarf and a guardian pet Goliath Birdeater Spider shafed like a Purple Pinktoe Tarantula to protect him from any dangers.

Do you think this is an interesting AU?

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lumosinlove · 3 years

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December 14, 2020: Day One

On the first day of Ficmas, Hazel gave to you...a Russian!Leo bakery AU!

(Also where Finnlo works themselves out while still at Harvard. For this fic, Leo is 23, Logan is 20, and Finn is 21)

“It’s closed,” Logan said, breathing hot air onto his hands as he slammed the passenger door shut against the thrashing snow storm.

“What?” Finn said. “No, it’s—it’s never closed.”

Logan shrugged. “It’s closed.”

“We came here on the blizzard last year! It was open. Nothing was open, and it was open.”

“Harz, what do you want me to say?”

“It’s closed?”

“It’s closed!”

Finn sat back in his seat, staring out the frosted window. “But—my everything bagel.”

Logan huffed out a laugh, leaning across the car to press a kiss to Finn’s cheek, which was warm from the car’s heat. Practice had ended with Coach wishing them a good holiday break—and then the storm had hit. Logan had been looking forward to locking their door and cuddling up to Finn in their dorm room before going home to New York for Christmas, and then to Quebec for New Years. He was bringing Finn home. Finn.

“Oof,” Finn winced, but tucked his fingers into the curls sticking out below Logan’s tuque. “You’re freezing, baby, c’mere.”

Logan would never get tired of this. They’d spent two years dancing around each other, but when Logan had had a few too many drinks one night, they’d snapped. Finn had followed him into a back room at some house party, and Logan had reached forward and kissed him. Finn had frozen and then melted, and Logan would never get tired of remembering the way Finn had clutched to him, they way they’d broken apart and stared at each other—the way Finn had broken out into a smile and kissed him again. Logan, he’d whispered. Logan, Logan, Logan.

Finn was the last thing Logan expected to find at Harvard. He was the last thing Logan expected to get to keep. Logan was afraid of a lot of things—but after seeing that look on Finn’s face, it became the thing he was most afraid of losing. He’d do anything to protect it.

Finn kissed him now, a steadying hand against his jaw. “Let’s go find somewhere else?”

“Okay,” Logan mumbled against his mouth. “Wait, a little more.”

Logan felt Finn’s laugh when he tilted his chin up, and swayed into the open kisses Finn pressed to his lips, then up his cheek. The snow beat against the windows, and Logan could have stayed right there forever.

“Little more once we get to where we’re going,” Finn said.

“Where are we going?”

Finn put the car back into drive. “No idea.”

They drove around at a creeping pace in the snow until they found themselves on an unfamiliar street, small and with cobblestones replacing the usual pavement. Only one of the storefronts had their lights on, the open sign flipped outwards. The lights looked warm, with Christmas stickers stuck to the windows around a proudly displayed name.

“Arakhisa’s,” Logan read out. “I don’t know, sounds Russian?”

Finn put his hand behind Logan’s seat to park the car. “Whatever it is, we’re finding out.”

The door jingled as they entered. The space was small and painted in creams. There were bits of mistletoe and holly on the tables in tiny vases besides canisters of napkins and cutlery. White Christmas lights were strung along the walls, along with paper snowflakes, artful and curling, hanging around the lights and casting snowing shadows across the entire room.

“Privet,” said a soft voice. “Hello, may I help?”

Logan looked up to see—

“Huh,” Finn said from beside him. “I mean, hi.”

“Hi,” the boy said, smiling at them. “You looking for something good, I can tell.”

Logan nodded. “Yeah, we are.”

“Welcome to Arakhisa’s,” the boy said. “We open last year.”

“Do you…” Finn began, twirling a finger around to gesture at the store.

“Yes, is mine. You have not come before.”

Logan liked his careful sounds, like he was putting everything he had into making sure they were clear.

“We’re creatures of habits, I guess,” Finn laughed, and then he rubbed the back of his neck. It was red, Logan noticed.

The boy held out his hand over the counter, and Logan watched Finn take it.

“I’m Leo,” he said.

“Finn.”

Leo’s hand was warm in Logan’s next. “Logan.”

“Nice to meet,” Leo glanced between them “What you like? Sweet?”

Logan laughed and looked back down at the display case again. It was filled with golden breads, cakes and muffins.

“Or not so sweet, maybe? We have case, but also menu. Bad storm. Deserve something warm.”

Logan smiled. He liked how Leo said deserve.

“Yeah,” Logan nodded. “Sweet for me, not so much for him. Anything you’d suggest?”

Leo looked down, thinking. As he did, another boy came out from the back, apron on. Leo and the boy spoke fast Russian for a moment, laughing at something, before he nodded haltingly at the two of them, and then turned back towards the kitchen again, disappearing through the swinging door.

“Sorry,” Leo said, still smiling. “Okay, I’m choose for you? Sweet and not so sweet.”

“And warm,” Finn added with a very familiar smile. Logan suppressed a laugh. Finn was flirty by nature, but Logan would know that look anywhere. He thought Leo was hot, and Logan didn’t blame him.

“Dimples,” Logan whispered when they sat down after being directed by Leo.

“Tell me about it,” Finn laughed, fishing them out two sets of forks and knives from the canister on the table. He tapped the ends of his in a little rhythm on the table. “He’s hot. How old do you think he is?”

“I don’t know, our age? Little older, maybe,” Logan said.

The boy from the back appeared again, this time with a tray of a steaming pot of tea and two cups.

“Thank you,” Finn said.

The boy smiled softly and gave a halting, “Yes, good.”

The tea was strong and Logan watched Finn drink it straight while he dunked sugar and milk into his own. He felt the warmth like it was seeping straight into his bones.

“Merde, I didn’t know how cold I was,” Logan sighed.

Finn smiled at him over his cup. “Your cheeks tell all.”

Logan snorted. “Look in the mirror.”

“Bet I can warm you up when we get home.”

Logan looked at Finn over the rim of his cup.

Finn’s smile widened. “Yeah, baby, now I know I can.”

They talked, with their ankles hooked beneath the table, about practice, about Christmas and their flight out in a few days, until Leo was walking back over to them.

“Okay, ready?” Leo said, setting plates down. “Like tea?”

“It’s perfect,” Finn said.

“Good,” Leo smiled.

In front of Logan, Leo set down a stack of what looked like crêpes. They were drizzled with a sticky red sauce, some sort of berry, and Leo drizzled honey over them himself.

“Blini,” Leo said, gesturing towards it. “Sweet. And for Finn, eggs. Don’t touch pan, very hot. Sausage, too, and dill on top. Scoop with bread like spoon, okay?”

Finn did as he was told. “This is incredible.”

Logan was caught up in the honey-sweet across his tongue. “Ouais.”

Leo stood there, wiping his hands on his apron. “I’m happy, then. I let you enjoy.”

“Thank you, Leo,” Logan said—just wanting to say his name. He remembered feeling that way about Finn. Just wanting to feel him, even if only through words. He flushed with the connection, and smiled before ducking back down to his food.

“You have welcome,” Leo said, and Logan and Finn looked at each other as Leo turned away.

“That was the—” Finn leaned in. “Cutest shit.”

“We’re coming back tomorrow,” Logan said. “We’re coming back.”

“Welcome to Ar—oh,” Leo smiled at them the next day. He was holding a tray of sweet smelling croissants. “Hi, again.”

“Hi, again,” Finn said, hands in his pockets against the cold. “Looks like you’re our new favorite.”

Leo laughed, reaching into the case to straighten some cakes. “Me?”

“I—well,” Finn stuttered.

“Yeah,” Logan said, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Any more recommendations?”

“Hm,” Leo tilted his head. “You still a sweetheart?”

Logan blinked. “Quoi?”

Leo gestured to the case. “Still feel like sweet things?”

Finn let out a delighted laugh. “Oh. Sweet tooth.”

“Ah,” Leo said. “What I say?”

“Sweetheart is, uh,” Finn ran a hand through his hair. “Like, cute? Like, a—lover?” he stumbled over the words and Logan—sort of liked watching the way he and Leo blushed as Finn spoke.

“Oh,” Leo said, more quietly. “Sorry, didn’t mean—“

“No, it’s okay,” Logan shook his head quickly. “According to Finn, I’m a sweetheart and a sweet tooth so…no harm done.”

“Have practice or can go home for holiday?” Leo said, laughing a little as he tried to change the subject.

“How…” Logan began, and then looked down at his sweatshirt when Leo did. Harvard Hockey. “Oh. Hah, yeah, no, we can go home. We’re leaving today, actually. Tonight.”

Leo nodded, pulling two cream-filled pastries from the case. “Where you go?”

Finn held up two fingers. “First to New York, for me, and then to Quebec, for Lo.”

“New York,” Leo said, and turned towards the hot kettle, for their tea. Logan liked the way he moved, like it was all so well practiced, he could do it all in his sleep. “I have seen New York. Not…how you say?”

“Quebec,” Logan supplied. “Canada.”

“Oh,” Leo pushed the two plates towards them, and his smile turned cheeky as he looked at Finn and nodded at Logan. “Sounds better when he say.”

Finn laughed, taking the plates for the both of them. “Most things do. What are we trying today?”

“Sharlotka,” Leo said. “Sort of apple cake.”

Logan brought the pastry to his mouth, the cake crumbing back on to his plate when he took a bite. It was sweet and tart. It was perfect.

They watched Leo work from afar, going to and from the kitchen, laughing and charming customers. He tied boxes of cookies up with string, poured steaming take away cups of tea and coffee, fried up hot plates of eggs, instructing the customer to use the bread like a spoon, as he had with Finn.

Logan was—he didn’t know what. He was all caught up with the way he would accidentally catch Leo’s eye from across the room, just as he had been when he and Finn would lock gazes, across the Harvard locker room, across the showers.

“Leo,” Logan called as they left. Blue eyes met his own. “Have a good holiday.”

Leo’s eyes flickered between them, lips pressed together, and then he smiled. “Yes. Same as you.”

Christmas was a mess of happiness. Logan woke up in Finn’s childhood room, snug somewhere in the West Village. Finn walked him to his favorite coffee shop, just around the corner, and they sat at the bar in the window, warming up with the coffee and—kissing. Finn kissed Logan wherever and whenever. Finn took Logan apart at night, keeping him quiet and close. Logan took him apart in the morning. During the day, the re-fit the pieces of both of them together.

Finn was stroking Logan’s hips, kissing his chest and easing him down from a high when he asked.

“Do you think Leo had somewhere to go for Christmas?”

Logan took a second to breathe, a little surprised to hear Leo’s name out of Finn’s mouth so soon after coming, then looked down at Finn. They were both a little sweaty, and—Logan could never decide—but sometimes he thought he liked Finn best like that. Red cheeks and hair sticking up, a glisten at his neck.

“Uh,” Logan swallowed a pant. “Yeah?”

“I mean, his family might be in Russia. I didn’t see anyone other than that other boy there.”

“Maybe they’re together.”

“Oh. Yeah, maybe.”

Logan put a hand behind his head, the other on Finn’s neck. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Finn smiled, kissing just beside Logan’s softening cock. “We just didn’t ask him, that’s all.”

“We could have him over to the house, maybe,” Logan said, raking his fingers through Finn’s hair as he pushed his way up to lay beside him. “Or maybe a movie or something.”

“Yeah, I think we should,” Finn said, and turned onto his side, fingers trailing over Logan’s heated skin. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Logan just smiled. “As gorgeous as you think Leo is?”

“Hey, I can think Leo’s gorgeous,” Finn laughed, then leaned in close. “But you, Lo…I’m so in love with you.”

They went back to the bakery almost every day when term started up again, but with coursework, and the season ending, they never invited Leo out. He went from a kind smile from behind the counter to a long Sunday afternoon lunch—Leo sitting at their table between rushes—but never more. Logan had to admit…he was a little terrified of the pull he felt. He didn’t know if Finn felt it, too. And, with Finn graduating soon, what they had already felt so fragile.

They were getting ready for bed late in the Spring semester when it happened. Finn’s phone rang. He went out into the hall to answer it.

He never did that.

Finn’s face, when he came back in, was stricken, emotions waring. Logan’s first thought was that something horrible had happened, he didn’t even think about the draft—he’d been trying so hard not to think about Finn leaving, the stubborn fear that Finn was leaving him behind—

Finn swallowed hard, the door closing behind him and his phone tight in his fist.

Logan pushed himself up on his elbows from where he was laying across Finn’s bed. “Harzy? Mon rouge—”

“They think I’ll go third overall.”

The world stilled.

“Third,” Logan breathed.

Finn nodded. He dropped his phone onto his dresser.

“Finn,” Logan whispered, and then he was rushing at him. “Finn.”

He’d miss him. He’d ache over him. He was so happy for him.

“I can’t imagine it without you,” Finn said from where his nose was buried in Logan’s neck. His voice was thick with tears. “Lo.”

“You can’t think about me right now,” Logan laughed, tearfully, and pulled back, taking Finn’s face in his hands. “We always knew Harvard wasn’t forever. But you are.”

Finn sniffed, brown eyes filled. “I can’t even think about losing you.”

“And you think I can?” Logan pushed up and kissed him, mumbling the next words into it. “I’m so happy for you.”

They swayed as they hugged, and Logan closed his eyes at the feeling of Finn’s fingers running through his hair. “Will you visit me?”

Logan kissed him again and again until Finn’s back was pressed against the doorframe. Until Finn smiled.

“Send me your jersey, I’ll take some nice pictures for you. Maybe I’ll bring Leo to a game, that’ll make you happy.”

Finn brushed their noses together, laughing. ”That sounds good. And as long as you send me yours. When it happens.”

The notion send rocking waves through Logan all over again. It had happened to Finn, the NHL…it could happen to him.

And what would happen to them?

Logan opened the door to Leo’s bakery, and was met with Leo’s soft smile. It was a relief. His eyes still felt raw from saying goodbye to Finn. He still felt raw.

“Alone today?” Leo said.

“Sort of,” Logan said, smile shaky. “Well,” he looked back at the door, at their usual table by the corner. “Yeah.”

Leo’s eyes flickered with concern, and he tilted his head. “Need something sweet?”

Logan let out a breath and leaned on the counter. “Yeah. That would be nice.”

Leo nodded. “I’m find something perfect for you.”

Logan, though, really thought he had too many perfect things already. He hardly knew what to do with them all.

{A/N: Leo’s bakery’s name translates to Peanut’s…I think.]

#sweater weather #coast to coast #sweater weather lumosinlove #coast to coast lumosinlove #12 days of ficmas 2020 lumosinlove

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a-vivid-dreamer · 6 months

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Mirrored in Golden Frost (2)

(Roleswap AU)

“Anyone who’s worked closely with the general would see just how hard he works…and be a victim of his teasing. However, embarrassment is a small price to pay to keep the general’s silence and sorrows away.”

- Jing Yuan

#honkai star rail #a-vivid-dreamer artworks #Mirrored in Golden Frost AU #yanqing #jing yuan #alternate universe #role swap au #concept sketch #digital art #doodle

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

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l'oiseau chante

“au where the reader is a singer instead of a painter?” for anon

to close out sd!deaky night(s), here’s 3k words of an au of my own au. i got incredibly carried away but had so much fun writing this.

the duet reader sings is called “duo des fleurs” from the opera, lakmé. i recommend you listen to that as the song is described for the full ~experience~. thanks for indulging me the last few days! much love! xoxo!

suggestive content below (discussions of a sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship & a few suggestive moments/language). please be mindful if under 18!

april, 1985.

“no, really! i’ve got to go!” she’s laughing as she says it, pulling out of his arms to make for the door, but john is quick to catch her waist, spin her on her heels, and press his body flush with hers.

he works his mouth along her jaw and mumbles, “but we’ve only just started having fun.”

he can feel her relax against his ministrations, fight the urge to leave. she wants to stay, he knows that. why wouldn’t she? their arrangement is new and exciting, each moment a new opportunity to discover what makes the other tick. thus far, he knows she likes to dabble in gardening and running. she prefers opal over diamonds and shoes over handbags. she’s as luxurious as she is grounded, but she knows what she wants, and she isn’t afraid to go after it. he likes that assuredness. it’s part of why their arrangement works. she’s not looking for anything other than pampering and a roll in the hay, and he can give that to her in heaps, but not much else. his heart is far too guarded after all these lonely years to really hope in anything more.

still, she’s a hell of a good romp, and he’d rather spend the evening in with her than attend the blasted party freddie planned for—what was it?—the arrival of spring.

“john, please.” she pushes on his chest with the palms of her hands and lifts her brows. “i’ve got this gig, and if i’m late the conductor will flay me alive. you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

he considers, tilting his head to the side. “i’d rather be the one to flay you but—”

aghast, she hits his chest, though bell-like laughter belies her amusement. “john!”

finally, he releases his hold and moves to hold open the front door. “fine. if you must leave me...” he swings his arm toward the crowded street outside.

she grabs her handbag from the catch-all table beside the door. “i’ll ring you in a few days, alright?” she hesitates on the front stoop, her eyes roaming over his face, lower lip between her teeth. she looks... guilty, and he knows why.

“[y/n], we’ve talked about this. i’m fine with it.” he waves to the street. “go on. you shouldn’t be late.”

the worry on her face eases, and she releases a breath. pressing her lips to her finger tips, she waves, manicured nails wiggling in the air. “thanks, love.” she’s already half-way down the steps and to the curb when she looks over her shoulder and says, “i’ll call you!”

nodding, john waves once more then shuts the door with a gentle shake of his head.

he has his rules for this set-up.

his number one requirement? don’t ask about queen. he doesn’t like to talk about it, not with her. that’s too intimate, and their relationship is strictly physical. in the six months they’ve been together, they’ve done little more than fuck and smoke cigarettes afterwards and laugh about inconsequential things. they are not dating, not even friends with benefits. there’s a clear line—almost professional—that neither is willing to cross, and he likes that. she makes him feel good, spoils him with attention and fluttering eyelashes, and he pays her rent and buys her expensive things. there’s no need for her to know about his life outside their moments together, and there’s certainly no need for his life outside their moments together to know about her.

like him, she has her own rules for the set-up.

her number one stipulation? no kissing. when she first laid out her terms and conditions for the arrangement, he hadn’t been expecting that. it struck him as odd originally, but the more he’s gotten to know her, the more is makes sense. she’s a professional through and through, both in her singing career and in her pleasure arrangements. for her, kissing is too intimate like talking about queen is too personal for him.

it works. they work. he’s happy, and he thinks she is too. it’s nice to have someone to spoil, someone to hold. it’s been a long time since anyone ever—

he rids himself of the melancholy and starts up the stairs. no reason to mull over it now, not with her at his relative beck and call.

the party fred has planned for the evening is scheduled to take place at the ritz hotel. it’s the most unreasonable thing john has ever heard of—a party for the beginning of spring—but it’s freddie’s own money, and john doesn’t have the luxury of not showing up. so, he showers, dresses in a tailored suit and tie, and washes down his dread with a shot of scotch before leaving his darkened flat.

it’s not that he doesn’t like parties. it’s just that he doesn’t like parties where he hasn’t got anyone to be his buffer, and he hasn’t had a buffer for a very long time. she couldn’t very well be his buffer. people would ask questions—fred would ask questions—and the entire thing would fall apart before it even got started.

no, he’d go to the party alone tonight. maybe he’d call her after or wait until the morning. they could go to that little shop on the corner. he knows she’s been eyeing a pair of earrings and—

“mr. deacon?” he’s pulled from this thoughts by the driver. “we’re here, sir.”

john mumbles his thanks and slides from the car. bright and flashing lightbulbs greet him, and he manages a pinched smile for the photographers. a sigh wells within him, but he pushes it down. it’s going to be a long night.

the ballroom set aside for freddie’s party is magnificent, john will concede that. the whitewashes walls are draped in faux-ivy and fresh flowers. the crystal glasses and china plates on linen-covered tables sparkle beneath the light of the chandelier overhead. a golden statue of a woman, twisting to look over her head at trumpeting cherubs, is ensconced in the wall, but fitting for the evening’s theme. at the far end of the room, a wall of frosted mirrors towers over a small orchestra playing to a lilting, classical tune.

“oh, deaky, i’m so glad you’re here!” ever the man of the hour, freddie meanders through the tight crowd waiting to be seated at their dinner table to pull on john’s arm. “come on, we’re sat near the orchestra.”

john takes freddie’s offering of a champagne flute. he doesn’t normally like champagne, but he’s desperate for anything to take the edge off his sour mood. he feels stiff in his suit, and aside from fred, he hasn’t seen anyone he knows yet.

“the place looks—”

“smashing, right?” freddie beams and points to an empty chair at the circular table. john drops beside roger and tries not let the fact that there was only a sole chair saved for him be a bother. it shouldn’t bother him, really. it’s just been him for a long time.

“here.” roger hands john a stiffer drink. “it starts to get fun when you’re a little buzzed.” he slings his arm around dominique’s chair and looks over his shoulder, returning to conversation with his partner and jim.

john remains quiet for some time. freddie is the perfect host, darting from table to table in his white coattails, laughing and smiling and kissing the back of any hand he can grab. he is in his element. roger, too, seems at ease. he likes the lavish lifestyle, and any party that is dripping in jewels and rich wine and expensive food is good enough for roger. even brian, who once was so awkward and gangly, leans back in his seat and chats with someone who looks much smarter than john and much more eloquent than anyone else at the table.

not for the first time, john shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. he doesn’t have a buffer. he could really use a buffer—or a smoke.

he’s about to excuse himself for a cigarette break when freddie steps to one of the two microphones in front of the orchestra. he taps on it, and a sharp boom followed by a squeak fills the room. john leans back, close as he is to the speaker, and cringes.

“oop, sorry about that, dears. well, don’t you all look marvelous from up here? really, never seen such a group of attractive people.” after a smattering of laughter, freddie continues, “i want to thank you all for coming tonight. i know this isn’t some of your scenes—mostly you, roger.”

more laughter; john just takes another sip of gin.

“before dinner is served, i have a little treat. to accompany our lovely orchestra, we have two singers here to bless us with their fabulous voices. please give a warm welcome to iona buckley and [y/n] [y/l/n]. now, i’ll get my fanny off the stage to let them work their magic.”

fred slips the microphone back into its stand and scurries to the table, clapping along with the rest of the audience. well, the rest of the audience save john. his hands are occupied with gripping onto the edge of the table for fear he will fall out of his seat in shock.

trailing behind her duet partner, she takes her place behind the first microphone, the one closest to john. she—his paramour, his lover, his baby. she looks radiant, like one of the roses in the table centerpieces. her red satin gown is simple, the straps thin and back open. he swallows hard as his eyes trail to the necklace resting on her sternum. he bought her that. it was his first gift, and there she is standing not twenty feet from him, wearing it, and not a soul knows how he took her in the shower his afternoon.

john doesn’t catch her eye before the orchestra begins to play but surely she knows he’s there. is her heart in her throat like his heart is in his? are her palms sweating? he twists to grab his drink, needing something tangible to curl his hand around lest he clench his fist to his chest like a damsel in distress. as his back is turned, she begins to sing.

he’s never heard her sing, and the clear, soprano voice that flows from her throat is not what he expected. when she told him she was a singer, that she regularly sang at different gigs, he assumed she must be one of those bar singers floating from venue to venue. never this, never this. he doesn’t understand a word that she sings, but he thinks she must be singing about love. her face is soft, devoid of any worries or cares. for her, the only thing that seems to exist are the words flowing from her mouth and filling his ears. she sings with ease, even the highest and strongest of notes. like the back of her hand, she follows the melody, the roll of the foreign tongue, and the timing of the conductor’s wand. john doesn’t even realize the song is a duet until she pauses, allows a moment for her partner to shine. in that brief pause, her eyes flick to him, and her smile widens. he loses his breath. then she’s back in the spotlight, easily shining over her partner with the clarity and force of her voice.

tears prick the corners of john’s eyes, and he bites hard on the end of his tongue. fuck—she could be the ruin of him. he’d let her ruin him too—happily.

the party-goers sit enraptured by the singers, by her. even roger has shut his mouth, his eyes wide with interest. john has to hand it to freddie: he’s outdone himself. the decor and the setting and the song—john can practically feel the warmth of spring curl around his frozen heart, and it’s all because of her and her voice. he could listen to it forever; he could listen to this song forever and nothing else.

but the song winds down, ending on the final note of her just voice echoing in the room. there is a moment of expectant silence. john holds his breath, watches as she turns to hand the conductor something then glance over the crowd, glance at him. he starts the applause first, and he is the last to stop clapping, even after she’s taken her seat across the room.

“fuckin’ hell, they were good!” roger hits his palm against the table as dinner is brought out from the kitchens. he reaches over to squeeze john’s shoulder. “i thought deaky was gonna pass out.”

freddie practically bounces in his chair with glee. “they’re divine! like angels!”

john nods without realizing he’s doing so. “m’yes, she is.”

“she?” roger laughs, tossing his head back. “got a crush there, john? ‘s okay. i wouldn’t blame you.”

john looks up sharply, but says nothing. maybe he does have a crush, as silly as the term is. he’s not fourteen. he’s nearly thirty-four. but, god, if she doesn’t make him sweat like a fourteen year old boy. god, if just the sight of her and the sound of her voice doesn’t send his blood pumping anywhere but his brain. it takes all his willpower not to stand up from the table, stalk across the room, and drag her into the hall.

he manages to make light conversation with brian about some business related things throughout dinner. several different times, he feels her eyes on his back, and he’s reminded of what they did on his living room carpet two nights ago. he needs her badly, and he’s starting to worry he’ll need her in more ways than one sooner rather than later.

the orchestra strikes up more classical music as dinner ebbs into dessert, and couples begin to float on the cramped dance floor. john waits, biding his time until everyone is good and distracted before he slips across the room.

she’s sitting alone, scribbling something down in a small, black notebook. before john can say her name, roger beats him to it, appearing as if from thin air. john clenches his jaw and resists the urge to deck his bandmate. she turns at the sound of her name and meets john’s eyes first. she stands and greets them both, accepting roger’s praise with a modest nod her head.

“i think someone’s fancies you a little,” roger says, squeezing both of john’s shoulders this time. “never seen him so shocked as when you started to sing.”

john openly glares at roger. he shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels then meets her eyes. “you are very talented,” he says.

she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, looks away, as though bashful. “thank you, mr. deacon.”

“john,” he says—and his voice is throaty, deep.

she looks up, smiles, licks her lips.

“well, i can sense sexual tension as good as the rest of ‘em. i’ll leave you to it.” smirking, roger slinks away, surely reveling in the match he thinks he’s made.

john speaks first. “i didn’t realize this was your gig.”

she shrugs. “i didn’t want you to feel obligated to come.”

“i was obligated to come.”

“i didn’t want you coming for me.”

he hesitates. “i meant what i said: you are very talented.”

“thank you.” on a chuckle, she adds, “i’ll warn you next time if i’m to sing at another one of freddie’s parties.”

“after tonight? i’m sure you will sing at them all.”

they stare at one another, eyes searching, hands twitching. it’s all john can do not to grab her wrist and slam his mouth against hers. he wants to taste her, taste the mouth that can cast such a spell over anyone who hears her voice. he wants to claim that mouth as his before everyone, before the world.

but she has her rules, and he respects that.

“come with me,” he says and takes her wrist.

he leads her to a darkened hall near a coat room and, wasting no time, presses her against the wall. he latches his mouth to the exposed skin of her neck, sure that if he doesn’t kiss something—anything—he will go insane. his hands roam her curves, her back, her ass. likewise, she runs her hands along his back, his shoulders, his arms. she’s gasping, even though he is the one kissing and sucking her sweet skin.

“i thought—oh my god, don’t stop—i wasn’t sure if—if you would like seeing me here,” she confesses. her voice is thick, and it drives him wild.

he pulls away long enough to meet her eyes. “everyone is inside the party talking about you,” he says. he presses his palm against the side of her face, runs the pad of his thumb over her lip. “and i’m out here about to fuck you senseless. i’d say i liked seeing you up there.”

she laughs, and the sound is almost as nice as the sound of her singing. winding her arms around his neck, she draws him closer, pressing her hips against his. “why don’t you take me home, then?”

he doesn’t have to be told twice.

later, when she is asleep, naked beneath his sheets, he lights a cigarette. the embers glow in the darkness of his room, and he sighs. this time, he sighs in contentment. he reaches over to rub his hand along her back, feeling the ridges of her spine. she’s good for him, and so long as she’ll have him, he’ll be hers. even if this is all they are—a shag here, a present there—he’ll be happy. just so long as he can worship at her feet.

he’s got it bad. he knows that now. he’s on the verge of losing himself to her, and he doesn’t even mind. it just makes him smile into the night, happy for once not to go to bed alone.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #sd!d night #liveblogs welcome on this one #cause i did myself in!#there's a watermark on the pic #but he's too cute so ignore it

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angstymdzsthoughts · 4 years

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wangxian loveless au where during that one drunken night wwx and lwj slept together and wwx didnt come out of the situation unscathed. he began having nauseous bouts and experiencing fatigue and after a couple months his stomach grew bigger. he's absolutely terrified bc not only are he and lan zhan just 16 and 17, he would absolutely bring shame to yunmeng jiang if people knew their lead disciple got pregnant out of wedlock like some common whore.

if there is anything more strange than ruckus in the cloud recesses, it is wei wuxian being silent and obedient. it has been a couple months since something just changed in wei wuxian like a switch being flipped and he just.. stopped being a troublemaker. he stopped talking back to the lan teachers, stopped sneaking out at night, stopped nipping at lan wangji's heels and giving jiang cheng headaches. instead he gives jc a different kind of headache with how skittish and mousy he acts. wwx still does well in his studies and sword practice, but he's a lot less reckless, a lot less free, a lot less wei wuxian, and jiang cheng can already feel his a-jie and father's disappointment weighing on his shoulders.

wwx uses talismans after talismans to conceal his growing bulge and with the thick winter robes, no one suspected a thing. he just has to be a lot more careful and avoid the healers at all costs, lest they find out about his secret. instead of going out and hunting pheasants, he spends his free time reading huaisang's romantic novels and keeps a sketch book filled with his everyday paintings. lan qiren is equal parts content, intrigued, and horrified. if his teachers couldn't manage to keep changse still, what had he done so terribly wrong to make the boy change so abruptly?

lan wangji got his peaceful silence back. wei wuxian had been mildly entertaining for a while, but now that he's gotten bored of getting rebuffed, he had stopped and lan wangji didn't miss it too much. lan xichen is a little disappointed that wei wuxian didnt manage to crack down wangji's walls, but it would be unfair to expect the boy to do so for him.

before they knew it, the snow is thick in the cloud recesses and the disciples were let to retire earlier in the evening. their study would soon end when the frost melts. wwx slipped out of his room when he felt the contractions coming. the moon hung high, its light illuminating the serene white and lan xichen went on his night patrol shift as usual. he was walking on one of the watch towers when his tranquil was broken by a muffled shriek of pain.

wei ying stumbled into an empty room, doubling in pain and hurriedly put on silencing talismans. the pain and pressure seemed to last forever and when its over, a shrill cry brought much anticipated relief.

wei wuxian picked the baby- his baby- off the floor, shielded only by his hastily discarded outer robe from the cold wooden floor. the baby is laid on his chest, blood and slime staining his white robes but wei wuxian doesn't see anything past the scrunched little face and he couldn't believe he had ever thought of getting rid of this being in his arms. he only got a short tender moment before the door slammed open and to his horror, zewu-jun staring at him with mirrored terror on his face.

lan xichen followed the sounds and found himself in front of an empty classroom. the door pulsed with spiritual energy and he could tell the silencing talisman put on was only half installed. he raised his hand to knock and- is that a baby's cry? his hand moved itself and slammed the door open. "wei gongzi?!" wei wuxian laid on the floor, the bottom of his robes open and in his hold is a tiny wailing baby still connected to him through the umbilical cord.

"ze-zewu-jun, i-" wei wuxian clutched the baby tighter to his chest, as if afraid lan xichen is going to take him away. "please let me help you," the older interrupted, shuffling in to begin helping wei wuxian. he took out spare cloths from his qiankun pouch and wrapped them around the boy and his baby. wei wuxian couldn't look at lan xichen. no wonder he has been laying low, if he's keeping such a secret.

poor boy, did someone force him? is that why he had to hide? "wei gongzi, are you-" his hand accidentally brushed over the meridian on the child's head and felt a familiar signature. the baby is a lan. wei wuxian's eyes goes wider if that was possible. lan xichen tugged slightly to reveal the baby's face. his tiny golden eyes are open and all xichen could see was wangji's childhood face. wangji's son, oh god wei wuxian gave birth to wangji's son.

but how did wangji ever- it can't be- wangji drunkenly bedded wei wuxian and now he has a son! lan xichen trembled and stood. "zewu-jun?" the first jade just ran, but not before slapping on a silencing and locking talisman on the room. "zewu-jun, i can explain!"

class was cancelled the next day. not with lan qiren so close to a qi deviation with the news from xichen that wangji has a son, just born last night and by a guest disciple, no less! he sent wei wuxian along with his baby into seclusion, telling jiang cheng that his shixiong sneaked out again and will be put into solitary for a few days. immediate invitation was sent to jiang fengmian and yu ziyuan, insisting that it is urgent that both of them come.

lan wangji stands in front of the room wei wuxian is detained in. he had been content with uncle and brother as family. it never crossed his mind that he would get married or have a child- much less with wei wuxian. but the boy is in this room right now, with a child that is his. his son. he should come in- should at least see the child. he should take responsibility, even if he didn't mean to. he shouldn't push his son onto someone else, he shouldn't-

"lan zhan? is that you?" wei wuxian's voice sounded nervous. he probably saw lan wangji's shadow in front of his door. "i- can i come in?" lan wangji replied hesitantly. "please do," he answered.

lan wangji opened the door and stood face to face with wei wuxian, whose usual mischievous expression is replaced entirely with one full of worry and guilt. "lan z-, lan wangji, i'm sorry," he started.

the second jade didn't know what to answer and they stood in silence. "i'm here to see the baby," he began, cursing himself for sounding colder than he intended. "of course.." wei wuxian led him inside, to his bed where the sleeping baby is swathed in thick white blankets provided by zewu-jun.

wangji does see himself in the baby, and for a split second he hated it more than anything. "what is his name?"

wei wuxian doesn't answer. "wei- wei ying?" he was instead staring at the baby. "oh- i'm sorry. what did you say?"

"his name?"

"baobao doesn't have a name yet. i don't know.."

-------

yu ziyuan's face is red with anger. behind her jiang fengmian is filled with worry. of course that no good son of a servant will churn yet another trouble that will bring smear to the yunmeng jiang name all because jiang fengmian has always been too useless and too soft to discipline him properly. lan qiren and lan xichen was already waiting for them.

"sect leader lan, zewu-jun," she greeted them.

"madam yu, sect leader jiang," lan xichen bowed back. "please come inside. we have.. important matter to discuss,"

she notices the silence talisman plastered wall to wall in the meeting room and she could only wonder what had happened for the lans to need such discretion. the tension between them was so thick it could be cut with a knife. "what has that brat done now? i swear if he continues to be unruly i will whip him with zidian until he repents," yu ziyuan started.

lan qiren chokes on his tea a little bit. "that would be unnecessary, madam yu," xichen winced, " i believe it would be highly inappropriate to subject him to corporal punishments considering his.. delicate condition right now,"

"delicate..? is a-xian sick? is that why you called us here? then- can we see him now?" of course jiang fengmian would worry about that useless boy first before he ever thinks about her son. "shut it, jiang fengmian!" yu ziyuan barked. "i bet you he just fell from the mountain and broke his bones while sneaking out to do god knows what! this is the boy you keep spoiling! that good for nothing son of a servant!"

lan qiren and lan xichen both shriveled in their seats at her tone. what happened to wei wuxian was much, much worse. "madam yu," lan xichen tried. "wei wuxian.. gave birth to a son two nights ago,"

yu ziyuan's face flashed an angry shade of red, then white, and then green before she shred the table in front of her into splinters. "he.. gave birth?"

lan xichen solemnly nodded.

the chuckle that left her mouth terrified everyone in that room. lan qiren tried his best to not vomit blood. "don't tell me, that boy now has a kid.. like some whore?"

lan qiren looked at jiang fengmian. the man's face was paper white and tongue-tied. he pitied him, having to bear the brunt of yu ziyuan's wrath on top having to process this information.

"does he even know who the father is? or did he sleep with everyone in gusu?"

"third madam!"

lan xichen looked like he is going to start crying, so lan qiren chimed in.

"the father is wangji,"

the negotiation was dreadful. jiang fengmian tried to get wei wuxian and his baby to go back to lotus pier. yu ziyuan refused to bring that disgrace back to lotus pier. lan qiren insisted that wei wuxian and lan wangji must marry, now that their child is the third heir to gusu lan. news will be let out that the lead disciple of yunmeng jiang and the second young master of lan had been engaged for a while and will soon marry. their altercations during the length of the study had just been because they had an ongoing squabble. the child will be announced one year after his actual birth.

lan wangji chose the name lan yuan for his son, which his uncle and brother approved. wei wuxian's heart fell that they never asked for his opinion on the name.

wei wuxian had to go back to yunmeng jiang when the disciples disperse after their year's study. he couldn't bring baobao to lotus pier without alerting everyone and wei wuxian never cried harder than when he had to part with his baby for the first time. even jiang cheng couldn't console him. he endured the torture for two months. two torturous months without his baby where madam yu only spoke in a cold tone and his shijie's soup no longer comforted him. the last two months yunmeng jiang would ever be his home.

the expensive red robes hang heavy on him. everyone congratulated him on his marriage but all wei wuxian felt is cold. he couldn't look at lan wangji without knowing that he forced the second jade to a marriage he didn't want. lan wangji couldn't look at wei wuxian without wondering what if it had been someone else, someone he had consented to marry. they live in the jingshi, but sleep in different bedrooms. their interactions are polite at best. wei wuxian spends his time cultivating and inventing talismans while raising his son, and lan wangji spends his time cultivating and attending to sect duties.

lan yuan grows to be a smart and strong disciple who excels among his peers. no wonder, people say, his parents are two of the most powerful cultivators of their generation. lan xichen replies to comments of 'lan yuan looks so grown up already' with 'my nephew is tall for his age'. he will no doubt become a fine sect leader one day, people say.

lan wangji and wei wuxian are married, everyone knows that, but they never act like they are. they act like parents to their son, but never like spouses to each other. gusu lan's no gossipping rule never stopped people from talking. lan yuan knows that he is older than his classmates. lan yuan knows why he barely ever see his parents together. he knows they love him, of course, but they don't love each other.

poor lan yuan, people say, trapped in his parents' loveless marriage.

lan yuan knows that he is trapped between a father whose anger kept simmering at having to marry someone he didn't want and a mother who felt like his marriage was a mistake.

#i hope this is horrible enough #please ignore the other two before this #submission #Wei Wuxian #Lan Wangji #Mpreg #arranged marriage #mdzs #loveless au

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witchkings · 4 years

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The One Engagement Ring

An Angbang Modern AU drabble as prompted by the lovely @darklord <3

Three seconds. Barely any time at all. Negligible in the greater scheme of Mairon’s life, nothing to the ever-advancing flow of the universe, miniscule, dismissible, stupid. Three seconds was all it had taken to ruin Mairon’s picture book life. Melkor would kill him.

These were the facts as Mairon had them:

1. He’d slipped into the bathroom at the university library for a short piss and to get a minute of quiet in the constant chatter of his study group which was spiralling head-first into a discussion about the meaning of life. Even though they were anthropology graduate students with at least half the group minoring in either philosophy or sociology, this was never a good idea.

2. When he’d been in the stall, his engagement ring had still gleamed golden on his ring finger, a constant, warm reminder of the grand day to come. Mairon had planned an autumn wedding, complete with matching tuxes, a seven-course feast and was already training Draugluin to carry the wedding rings down the aisle with Thuringwethil as his reluctant guardian. Melkor, of course, would have preferred for them to pop into Vegas and have some drunken fat Elvis proclaim them married, or better yet, simply hand in the necessary paper work on his way to the office, but Mairon was having none of that. If for one day in his life he wanted to feel special, be marvelled at and fawned over, it was going to be this day, his accursed father be damned.

3. After completing his business, he’d slipped the ring off and into his pocket to wash his hands. He wouldn’t chance it being dulled by hard water or rough soap. Mairon always did it like this, only putting the piece of jewellery back on whenever his hands were dry and spotless, but when he’d made to retrieve it, his pocket had been empty.

4. There’d been two other people on the bathroom with him and he couldn’t remember whether they’d ever come near him at all, but their childish faces, curly heads, and mischievous giggles could only mean one thing: freshmen.

5. For three seconds between drying his hands and reaching for the ring, Mairon had leaned over the sink and inspected his own face. The stress of upcoming exams together with his thesis‘ due date drawing ever nearer gave him red spots along his jawline and he’d glared at them to will them away before Melkor picked him up.

Conclusion: As Mairon had been caught up in his own flaws, one or both of those bastards had sidled up to him and stolen the ring out of his pocket without him noticing. This implied many things, for example that the fatigue was getting to Mairon’s mental capacities or that those freshmen were unusually sneaky. Chiefest of all was this though: Melkor had paid half a fortune for that golden band. For Mairon to lose it, well. It would spell disaster.

Mairon glared at himself in the dirt-speckled mirror, bracing himself on the sink. Three seconds, oh he would show those impertinent, stupid, drunkard gnomes what he could do to a person in three seconds. Mairon took a deep breath and marched out of the bathroom, back to the round table his study group occupied. Eönwe and Tilion were at each other’s necks with arguments dissecting Descartes’ meditations while Osse and Uinen had their tongues down each other’s throats with disgusting slobbering noises. No studying to be done here, one of the sodden constants of Mairon’s life. He grabbed his notes and tablet and shoved them into his bagpack with more force than necessary which had Curumo look up from where he had hovered over his mess of tiny handwritten notes. He looked a little like a deer in head-lights, always lost was poor Curumo. Mairon rolled his eyes and tugged at his classmate’s sleeve.

“What?” Curumo whined, reluctant to forgo the last stretch of productivity he illusioned himself with, but he was already packing up.

“Come with me,” Mairon replied. “We’re going to hunt down some freshmen.”

After a quick text to Melkor to explain he needn’t be picked up today, Mairon dragged Curumo out of the library. The dismayed reply came seconds later, and Melkor wasn’t at all happy with the excuse of needing to tutor Curumo on their upcoming French test. Melkor and Curumo had never gotten along and if Mairon was honest with himself, he would have ditched Curumo after the first week of the first semester, but sometimes the guy proved useful. Especially because, in spite of his timid disposition, he somehow knew everyone on campus, ranging from the most introverted freshman all the way to the creepy maintenance guy who smelled like he lived in the sewers.

“What for?” Curumo asked. They crossed the student-littered yard, dodging peer-pong balls and caffeine-crazed grad students to the cafeteria where Mairon figured his best bet would be. Freshmen were always hungry, and he had a vague memory of four curly-haired heads positively camping in there at all times, claiming they needed seven meals a day to function.

“They stole something from me,” Mairon muttered, raking his hands through his hair. He’d neglected to trim it to its usual chest length and it was getting quite out of hand, tangling at the lightest breeze. Still better than what Curumo’s mother had done to him over the last holiday, short and ragged so that he looked like Jack Frost.

“What did they steal?”

“My engagement ring.”

“What?” Curumo spluttered, and almost ran into the door, but Mairon held it open in time. Under the pretence of having lunch – Mairon never had university lunch if he could help it, the stuff was vile and Melkor was a great cook if he wanted to be – they both got into line, eyes darting about for the thieves.

Mairon spotted the usual groups as he scanned the perimeter. The musical theatre kids led by a haughty grad student with a harp who had a gazillion brothers around. The nature-loving hippies who smoked too much weed for their own good and gave themselves funny names and pretended to be trees on weekends. The burly punk rockers who rode Harleys and had a kink for arson, Mairon had met their gang head Gothmog in a colloquium once, he wasn’t too bad. Even the naval engineering students who usually spent all their free time down by the beaches to test their self-crafted boats where in attendance, picking at salads and discussing hydraulics. Not a sign of those nasty burglars though.

The guy behind the counter handed him a tray, and Mairon took it, paying with his student ID chip card before turning back towards the room, just in time to see a pair of dark, curly heads disappear through the swinging doors of the cafeteria, chips trailing after them like crumbs. Mairon dropped his food and took off after them, spitting curses. Curumo, the good dog that he was, mirrored this. They tore out of the cafeteria and down the hallway together.

“Hey,” Mairon screamed. “Hey, stop!” The two freshmen threw hasty glances over their shoulders, hollering as they ran and dodged around students, but Mairon and Curumo were faster, knew these halls better and soon enough, they had the two cornered against a row of blue lockers.

“Now,” Mairon crooned and made to advance on them, but before he could, someone interrupted him. “Now you will repent.”

“Hey, what do you want with them,” he barked and two people stepped into Mairon’s and Curumo’s way, obscuring the goblins from view. They were both jocks, broad-shouldered and bearded, and towered a head over Curumo and Mairon. He knew the blond one, Eomer, an agriculture major, from a finance class they’d both taken as an elective, but he’d never seen the other man before. He was the one who’d spoken and wore a sports shirt of a team Mairon had never heard of. A white tree was their logo and their motto was written in a strange swirl of letters that looked almost Arabic.

“Just a friendly chat,” Mairon said through gritted teeth. “Not to worry.”

“That didn’t sound so friendly to me,” the guy growled and Eomer put a hand on his shoulder, nodding. His scowl deepened and his eyes burned, staring daggers into Mairon’s.

“Weren’t you that condescending guy at the back of Accounting 101 who called everyone peasants?” he asked and Mairon sighed inwardly. One bad day to haunt him. Or well, a whole semester of bad days, but who was counting anyway? Melkor had been abroad for that time and Mairon had suffered terribly.

“Why do you even care?” Mairon asked, and Curumo put a warning hand to his arm. It wasn’t unlikely that he’d seen these two beat someone up at some frat party before, but Mairon wasn’t intimidated by such mundane things as physical violence.

“Because they’re our friends,” the second jock growled, crossing his arms over his chest. It was hard not to laugh, these fully grown men proclaiming themselves friends of two troublemakers who weren’t even legally adults yet.

“Look, guys,” Curumo said quietly. “Merry and Pippin stole something very valuable from my friend here and he is rather upset about it.”

Eomer bared his teeth, but the other guy whirled around to stare at the two thieves in question who were huddled against the lockers, but silently giggling amongst themselves.

“Is this true?” he asked, and the tone of his voice implied he knew already. Helpless or not, they probably had a reputation for mischief-making.

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” one of them said with a thick accent.

“You said it yourself,” the other added, “he is a condescending ass.”

“Boys.”

“Boromir.”

“Enough,” Mairon hissed and pushed through the two jocks and bore down on the freshmen, holding out his empty palm. “You give me back my ring or I will make your lives here a living nightmare. You can hire as many football players and wannabe wrestlers as you want, I am very good friends with the dean, I have more than enough money to bribe every professor in the state to bully you and my boyfriend will beat every last one of your bodyguards to a pulp. Is that clear?”

Merry and Pippin stared at him, their facial muscles contorting in a series of impossible expressions, torn between laughing and crying. They settled for blankness and, at last, Pippin handed over the ring. It was smudged with grease from his fingers and Mairon pulled out a linen handkerchief to polish it with.

“I’m sorry, they’re still not used to their actions having consequences,” Boromir sighed and Eomer nodded sternly.

“Whatever,” Mairon said with half a shrug and he stalked off the scene, leaving Curumo to deal with the polite formalities or whatever the situation demanded. He had his ring back, he could call Melkor to get him after all, he would get laid tonight while all these losers were busy with their parties and teenager friends and studying until their eyes bled. It was not ten minutes later that Mairon was comfortably tucked into Melkor’s Chevrolet, the heated seat warming his ass-cheeks.

“Have a nice day?” Melkor grumbled, not taking his eyes off the parking lot around them. Mairon leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of his beloved’s mouth.

“Nothing special,” he replied and leaned into the backrest. “Nothing special at all.” The ring glinted in the low-afternoon sun and everything was as it should be.

#tolkien #angbang #my writing #melkor #morgoth #mairon #sauron #modern animation #drabble #curumo #boromir #eomer #merry #pippin #lotr

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aidanchaser · 3 years

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Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta'd by @ageofzero @magic713m @ccboomer @aubsenroute @somebodyswatson

Chapter Eight The Wedding Reception

Ginny did not hear much of Bill and Fleur’s vows. The ceremony was lovely, really, and Fleur looked stunning, of course. Her beauty was so radiant that it made Bill, with his scars and all, more handsome just for standing beside her. Fleur was dressed in a silvery white gown and Ginny and Gabrielle in gold, and there were Flutterby bushes and golden balloons — all of it was absolutely wonderful, but by the time Bill and Fleur exchanged their first married kiss, all Ginny could think of was how much she would like to sit down.

Despite the painful pressure on her toes, she stood beside Gabrielle and Charlie as the wedding guests came to offer their congratulations and a photographer snapped shots of the wedding party. Charlie ran a hand through his short hair, probably missing all of the inches Molly had cut off last night just as much as Ginny was missing her trainers. Gabrielle fidgeted discreetly with the small bouquet, better poised than Ginny but probably just as eager to be done standing in front of a crowd.

Still, Ginny smiled as a dozen Weasley relatives paraded by and wished Bill and Fleur well. There were half as many Delacours, all with the grace and charm that Fleur, her mother, and sister shared, and all clearly descended from the same Veela grandmother.

Hagrid and Madame Maxime came to give their well-wishes, too. Hagrid wiped tears from his eyes after greeting the happy couple, and he stopped to shake Charlie’s hand.

“How’s Norbert?” he asked.

Charlie grinned. “She’s Norberta, and she’s vicious. She’s doing just fine on her own.”

Madame Maxime said something in French to Gabrielle, and Ginny tried not to look bored as she scanned the line of well-wishers. Xenophilius Lovegood’s bright yellow robes stood out like the first bloom after a frost. She did not see Luna nearby, but she did see the Potters, the Lupins, and the Longbottoms clustered together — with Sirius Black, of course.

She met Harry's eyes and straightened her posture. She thoroughly enjoyed the way his ears darkened as he looked at her. Great-Aunt Muriel may have complained about the cut of Ginny’s dress, but Ginny had no complaints, and she didn’t think Harry did either.

Her dad had suggested that the Potters disguise themselves for the wedding, but in the end, the Potters had decided that it wasn’t necessary. It would be obvious who they really were unless they distanced their false appearances from everyone they knew, and in that case, Lily had pointed out, why attend a wedding at all. Ginny was glad for it, because it meant she could kiss Harry openly.

“You look stunning,” he said, as his parents congratulated Bill and Fleur.

She grinned, and for a moment, forgot about her shoes. “Thanks. You look nice too.”

Harry looked down at his robes. Apart from his new watch chain, they were the same robes that he had worn to Dumbledore’s funeral, but she hadn’t said anything about them then. It hadn’t seemed right, even though she had thought it. Harry cleaned up well, and she liked that his hair never flattened properly. It made him look roguish and rebellious, qualities she had always appreciated in her heroes.

“Oh, ‘arry,” Fleur interrupted, turning from James and Lily for a moment, “Papa ‘as inseested zat we take a photo with all of ze Champions. I will find you after ze dance, oui?”

“Er — sure.”

Ginny squeezed Harry’s hands. “Could you save me a seat? I think the line’s almost done with.”

“You don’t want to dance?”

“I would like nothing more than to sit down and kick off these shoes for a minute, please.”

“Alright, then.” He glanced nervously at his parents, but when he saw they were turned away to say something to the Longbottoms, he kissed her.

Ginny, who had done everything she could to abandon shyness, could not help but find Harry’s embarrassment cute. Perhaps it was foolish of her to think she liked everything about Harry, and maybe someday she would grow annoyed with his modesty around his parents, but right now, she loved everything — well, almost everything.

She had to admit, she was not fond of this dangerous quest business. Though she had always admired Harry for his bravery and his commitment to doing the right thing, she wished that didn’t come with a year of separation for them. It was hard not to feel abandoned, even though she knew that wasn’t the truth of the matter at all.

At least she knew that the mirror was tucked safely in her trunk. She did feel some guilt about having taken it from James and Lily — but not enough to return it.

And anyway, she did not truly believe that Harry would be separated from them all together. James, Lily, and Sirius would not let Harry be on his own for long. They didn’t need the mirror, not as much as she did.

At least, that was what she told herself, and what she had told Hermione when Hermione had asked her if this was the right choice.

The band began to play the song for Bill and Fleur’s first dance, and Ginny slipped away as quickly as she could without seeming anxious to get away. She found Harry seated at a table with Luna, Neville, Ron, and Hermione, and she gratefully sank into the open seat next to Harry.

“You look lovely, Ginny,” Luna said with a smile.

Ginny smiled and reached down to undo the strap of her heel. “You do too, Luna.”

Luna smiled. Her robes were as brightly colored as her father’s, and while they stood out, they suited Luna.

“I told Daddy everyone would be in dress robes,” she said, “but he believes you ought to wear sun colours to a wedding, for luck, you know.”

Ginny looked down at her gold dress. “Close enough.”

The tent was filled with applause as the song ended. The band followed up with another slow waltz; Ginny’s father took Mrs. Delacour’s hand, and Mr. Delacour took her mother’s. Slowly, the dance floor filled with couples.

“Oh, I love this song,” Luna said dreamily, and stood.

“Er — could I join you?” Neville asked, his cheeks bright pink.

Luna beamed.

Ron pursed his lips as Luna twirled in a circle and pulled Neville into the spin with her. He stumbled over his own feet, but successfully avoided a full sprawl into the floor.

“I suppose that fits alright,” Ron said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ginny asked, not caring to shield the acid in her voice.

“Er — you know. They’re just… er — Hermione, care for a dance?”

Hermione looked pleased to be asked, and readily took Ron’s hand.

Ginny frowned as Ron disappeared into the crowd. She felt particularly protective of Luna and Neville, having briefly dated each of them — or at least, she had gone on a date with each of them. Though neither outing had formed into a lasting relationship, she cared very much for the two of them, and did not think it fair of Ron to disparage them in any way.

Next to her, Harry stifled a yawn, and Ginny leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Not sleeping well without me?” she teased.

He hummed thoughtfully, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He did not answer her question, though.

Harry had a habit of getting lost in his own head. She had first noticed it during their shared summer in Grimmauld Place. His vacant expression would appear towards the end of meals, or sometimes in the middle of cleaning. Hermione had speculated that it might be the side-effect of a dementor attack, but Ginny knew better, because Ginny still got lost in her own mind from time to time. Sometimes, it was just too easy to walk the paths of dark memories. She didn’t know why her mind veered towards dangerous corridors habitually, like a familiar road home, but she worked very hard to tread new paths, to forge brighter places to walk. She wanted Harry to forge those new paths, too.

“Harry?” Ginny asked. “You still in there?”

“Er — sorry. Just… Do you know someone named Gregorovitch?”

Ginny frowned and racked her brain for the name. She came up blank. “You don’t mean Gorgovitch? From the Chudley Cannons?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. His eyes were still distant, still wandering “No. I don’t think so. But maybe it does have something to do with Quidditch…”

“Where did you hear it?”

“In a dream.”

Ginny shook her head. “Well, I can’t think of any Quidditch players named Gregorovitch. At least not in Britain.” She was about to suggest Harry ask Ron, though she doubted Ron would have any better ideas, when she saw Viktor Krum standing near the dance floor, with a drink in his hand, chatting with Cedric Diggory.

“You could ask Krum,” she suggested. “He probably knows the names of loads more international players than I do.”

Harry’s brow creased. “Krum… — Oh, no. Fleur’s found them.”

“She’s waving you over.” Ginny slid her shoes back on and regretted it instantly. Her feet throbbed before she had even finished fastening the straps.

“I don’t want to pose for anymore Triwizard Champions photos.”

“Don’t worry; there won’t be another until they trot you all out in a hundred years to revive the competition, when you’re all withered and grey. Take this one. It’s the last one you’ll look good in.”

Harry laughed, and Ginny smiled, despite her feet. She took his hand as they left their seats.

“Venez vite!” Fleur said, waving her hand. Even as hurried as she was, she made the wave look graceful.

Harry picked up his pace with a strained smile. Ginny lagged behind, afraid to tumble in her tight, tall shoes.

She wondered how much more of this there would be if Harry survived the war, how many more photographs Harry would be dragged into. He was The Chosen One, the saviour of the Wizarding World, and five years from now, ten years from now… How would she fit into all of that?

Ginny hastily banished the thought. She didn’t like to think that far into the future. It was full of too much uncertainty. If Harry survived. If Ron survived. If Hermione survived. If her parents survived, her brothers —

For now, she was just happy to have today.

“They really do make quite the intimidating set,” a young man beside Ginny said.

She frowned up at the vaguely familiar face, tried to place the pale blonde hair and green eyes. He was graceful enough to be a cousin of Fleur’s but something nagged in her that she had seen him at Hogwarts before.

He carried two drinks, but he did not offer one to her. When he realised she was staring, he raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t remember me? That’s alright. You were about waist-high last time we met. I’m Christian Thelborne. I’d shake your hand, but —” He held up the two goblets apologetically.

His name slid into Ginny’s memory like a nail splintering wood. He was a former Gryffindor prefect, and during her first year at Hogwarts, he had caught her out of bed after hours. He had walked her back to Gryffindor Tower and had promised not to mention a word of their encounter to Percy. Ginny didn’t remember much about that night, except that she had been stressed to the point of tears, and Percy scolding her had been just a tiny part of that stress.

“Sorry,” she said, and tried to focus on the balloons that drifted behind Christian’s head, rather than recalling that dark Hogwarts corridor. “I don’t remember much of my first year.”

“I try not to remember mine, either,” he said with a grimace. “Fell flat on my face in my first flying lesson. Put me off Quidditch forever.”

Ginny laughed politely, grateful for the shift in conversation. Her gratitude, however, did not last long.

“Percy says you’re a fair flyer yourself.”

“More than fair,” she said, perhaps a bit more heatedly than Christian deserved, but not nearly as much as Percy deserved.

“Shame he isn’t here. I was looking forward to slipping a Cockroach Cluster into his drink for old times’ sake.”

“I’m sure he’s working,” she snapped, and wished desperately for Christian to stop talking.

“Scrimgeour gave him the day off, actually. I’m not sure that makes it any better, knowing he had a choice.”

Ginny bit down on her tongue to refrain from making any further disparaging comments, and to simply end the conversation. She had spent the hour before the ceremony consoling her mother, who had tearfully suggested they should delay another ten minutes, twenty minutes, that perhaps he was running late, perhaps he had gotten stuck or splinched. She would not add to her mother’s grief by letting her know that Scrimgeour had given Percy leave to attend today, and Percy had still refused it.

Her silence, apparently, communicated all of that better than her acrid tone had.

“I’m sorry,” Christian said. “He and I were good friends once upon a time. I just thought — ah, it looks like our boys have finished with the spotlight for now.”

Fleur kissed each of her fellow Champions on the cheek and flitted off to greet other guests. Ginny hoped that Fleur would pause for a moment to eat or enjoy Bill’s company, but she doubted a bride was afforded that sort of privilege on her wedding day. Ginny privately vowed that whenever that day came for her, she would only have close friends nearby, and it would be nothing more ostentatious than a Quidditch Cup victory celebration.

The only trick to it would be making sure her mother didn’t catch wind of the wedding until it was about to begin.

Now that the photographs had concluded, Ginny and Christian rejoined the group of Champions. Ginny wrapped her arm around Harry’s, and thought he looked just as relieved to be done with photographs as she was to be free of her uncomfortable conversation with Christian. Christian handed one of his glasses to Cedric.

“Thanks,” Cedric said, and took a sip of the drink “Harry, I don’t know if you’ve met Christian Thelborne —”

“I’m surprised we haven’t met yet,” Christian said, and shook Harry’s hand. “I was a prefect for Gryffindor your first few years at Hogwarts. Your mother was one of my favourite professors.”

“Er — sorry I don’t remember you,” Harry said.

“You had a lot going on those first few years. And every year thereafter, from what Cedric’s said.”

“I think we all had a lot going on,” Cedric said. “They ought to change the school motto to ‘never an uneventful year.’”

“Not a bad idea. My first year, a curse had people Sleepwalking into the Forbidden Forest,” Christian said, with a laugh that didn’t match his words. “Had all of us firsties terrified to go to bed at night.”

Krum frowned. “That sounds horrible.”

“A student was killed in my first year,” Cedric said, staring thoughtfully into his glass. “I didn’t know them but it certainly… set a tone.”

Ginny had only been eight years old that year, but she remembered when Charlie had come home from Hogwarts. He hadn’t been the same Charlie that hed left. Sure, he would still coax gnomes out of their garden with treats and still fall asleep in the chicken coop, but he had quit Quidditch and spent more time on his own than playing with her that summer.

Tragedy changed people. It had changed her, it had changed Harry — and her gut twisted as she considered that tragedy was far from over for all of them.

Ginny swallowed and pushed down her fears. In search of a lighter topic of conversation, she asked, “Krum, how are the playoffs shaping up?”

“Senegal looks very good this year,” Krum said quickly, clearly grateful for the lifeline. “Ve vere supposed to play Ireland last week but Ryan did not show and they had to forfeit. It vas not the satisfying rematch I had hoped for.”

“Didn’t I read that you’re practically qualified for the Cup already?” Cedric asked.

“Perhaps. Ve are doing vell in our group, but I do not think ve vill get very far in the playoffs.” Krum shrugged, but Ginny could see the disappointment in his dark eyes. “Vat about you, Cedric, and you, Harry? Vill either of you be going out for a team for the next Cup?”

“I don’t think I’m quite good enough,” Harry admitted. “Maybe in a few years — I mean, I’ve only really won the school championship one time. Every other time, well, it was mostly Ginny. Maybe you’ll be playing against her in a few years.”

“Perhaps I vill.” Krum said. “If she is as good a flyer as you vere vith that dragon, she vill have no trouble finding a team.”

“She’s much better,” Harry promised.

Ginny could not contain her smile. “I’ll see you at the oh-two cup, certainly.”

“I am counting on it,” Krum said with a small nod and a faint smile, something Ginny did not think he showed very often.

Krum’s smile, however, was brief. It turned into a rather dark scowl at something over Ginny’s shoulder. “Who is that?” he asked, voice low. “And vat is he vearing?”

Ginny glanced behind her, unsure what had Krum so angry. She squinted at the crowd of guests, most seated and talking or filling the dance floor. No one stood out as particularly offensive, except perhaps the Lovegoods’ bright yellow robes.

“D’you mean Xenophilius Lovegood?” Harry asked. “I think yellow robes are supposed to be lucky at a wedding, or something.”

“No,” Krum said. “I do not mean his robes. I mean the symbol around his neck.”

Ginny had to squint to see the silver charm dangling from the chain around Xenophilius’ neck. She hadn’t noticed it when he had greeted the wedding party, but she had been preoccupied by everything else he was wearing. She didn’t recognise the strange triangle enclosing a round eye, but surely it was just another Lovegood eccentricity.

Christian, though, made a noise of disgust that matched Krum’s scowl. “I can’t imagine someone would be comfortable sporting Grindelwald’s symbol like that, and in this crowd no less.”

“Grindelwald?” Ginny frowned. “The Dark wizard?”

“It does have a history beyond Grindelwald,” Christian said, “but that doesn’t really matter. I remember assigning a mouthy Ravenclaw a week of detention for etching it into one of his textbooks.”

“There vere always supporters of Grindelvald at Durmstrang, even after his imprisonment in Nurmengard, and those of us who had lost family to Grindelvald vere alvays happy to put them in their place.”

Harry stared at Krum. “I didn’t know…”

“Vy vould you? My grandfather was just one of many that he killed. Grindelvald vas never as poverful in this country. You do not learn his history apart from Dumbledore defeating him.”

“I was taught plenty, but my great-grandfather died fighting Grindelwald.” Christian took another sip of his drink. “I’m named after him.”

Harry looked surprised. “Er — me too. My great-grandfather fought Grindelwald, and that’s why my parents named me after him.”

Christian raised his eyebrows. “An honour we get to share in, then. May we each do them proud.”

Cedric, in a very small and easy to miss gesture, reached for Christian’s hand and squeezed it. Christian did not react, but Ginny wondered how many conversations they must have had about Grindelwald, and about Voldemort.

“Ve vill all do our part,” Krum said, and pulled out his wand to Refill his glass.

Harry stiffened, suddenly, and blurted out, “Gregorovitch!”

Krum frowned. “Yes?”

“Er — nothing. Nevermind. Sorry. I just remembered your wand wasn’t made by Ollivander, that’s all.”

“Is that important?”

“I just — er — was trying to remember — I thought —”

Ginny had always found Harry to be a terrible liar, but he was floundering spectacularly in this moment. She decided to lend him a hand.

“His mum lost her wand in a duel,” Ginny supplied. “With Ollivander still missing, we weren't sure where she might get a replacement.”

Krum nodded. “I haff heard of Ollivander’s disappearance. But I am afraid Gregorovitch cannot help your mother. He retired years ago. I vos one of the last to purchase a vand from him.”

“Lily Potter doesn’t have a wand?” Christian asked with a slight frown.

“When Yaxley blew up my parents’ home,” Cedric said, “he nearly took Lily with it.”

“You didn’t mention that she was there.”

Cedric shrugged. “I didn't think it mattered.”

But Cedric did not meet Christian’s eyes, and Christian stared at him with a frown that Ginny was unfortunately familiar with. She had too much experience with half-spoken fights and half-hidden secrets in relationships. Though she knew that Cedric and Christian would have to discuss this, perhaps a wedding was not the best place for it.

“How is staying with Mad-Eye?” she asked Cedric. “I imagine coming home must require thirteen passwords and seven incantations.”

Cedric gave her a smile, full of relief and humour in equal measure. “You're half-right. I had never loved my job more than the days when coming home meant facing an Azkaban-level interrogation. It's nice to be shot of that, finally.”

Harry frowned. “Have your parents fixed your house already?”

“Well, Christian’s lease was up, and he and Anne wanted a bigger space, so he asked —”

“Begged,” Christian corrected with a smile.

“Fine, Christian begged me to move in with him.”

“It took weeks of convincing. While I would love to see Yaxley in Azkaban, I can't help but think if he hadn’t forced you to live with Mad-Eye, you never would have agreed.”

“When are you moving in?” Harry asked.

Ginny frowned at Harry, and tried to understand why there was anger in his question. Christian, despite his inane need to bring up her estranged brother and his distaste for Quidditch, seemed pleasant enough. Why shouldn't Harry be happy that Cedric had an easy escape from Mad-Eye’s house?

“This morning,” Cedric said. “We’ve got a good deal of unpacking to do tonight.” He turned to Krum. “Do you have a match tomorrow? If not, come over and help. Anne’s promised to have some bottles ready to break the place in.”

Ginny laced her fingers into Harry’s suddenly tight fist. She did not understand his frustration, but she knew it would be best to get them both away to talk about it.

“Harry,” she said, “I’m afraid my feet are killing me. Can we sit down?”

Once they had made their polite exit and were well away from Christian, Cedric, and Krum, Ginny asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Harry said. He pulled out a seat for her at an empty table, but she did not take it.

“Harry James Potter, don't you lie to me after I gave you a lovely out from a conversation that upset you.”

He grimaced and she thought she ought to use his full name more often.

“It's just —” He ran his hand through his hair. “I thought Cedric was leaving with me, that's all. But it certainly sounded like he was making plans for the opposite.”

Ginny, glad that Harry had given her the honest answer, took a seat. “It could be a cover.”

“Then why only agree to move in with Christian after Yaxley’s attack?” he asked, and practically fell into the seat beside her. “That was less than a week ago, and we had just talked about…” Harry glanced around, but there did not appear to be anyone listening. He leaned closer to Ginny and lowered his voice all the same. “Hermione and Ron put all this effort into disappearing without getting caught. But Cedric’s making more commitments, and even long-term plans. It doesn't sound like he’s thinking about hunting… you-know-whats. I just wish he had told me that he had changed his mind, I guess.”

Ginny frowned. Cedric was not the sort who backed away from a fight. He might take a while to get there, but he showed up. He had supported Harry in the interview with Rita Skeeter, and had even taken what he could of Umbridge’s abuse in order to shield Harry. He had insisted on following Harry into the Department of Mysteries, even when Regulus had advised against it. She did not think Cedric would abandon Harry now, not when they were so close to finishing this.

“I’m sure Cedric knows what he’s doing,” she finally said.

“I don't know how I would do this without him.”

Ginny squeezed his hand. She, too, did not know what she would do if Ron, Hermione, and Harry had to strike out on their own. Knowing that Cedric and Regulus were involved in this quest gave her some peace of mind. Yes, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were of age now but it wasn’t the same as Cedric, who was nearly a full-fledged Auror, or Regulus, who had fought in the first war, albeit on the wrong side.

“Why are you dreaming about a foreign wandmaker?” she asked, and grabbed a bottle of champagne that drifted past Harry’s head.

Harry watched her pour the champagne into two flutes. He did not answer right away, and she wondered if he was searching for a lie. Then he said, “I think Voldemort’s hunting him. I don’t know why. He has Ollivander…”

“You’re dreaming about Ollivander, too?”

Harry grimaced. “Sort of.”

“Is that… safe?” Ginny didn’t know much about Harry’s Occlumency lessons with Snape, but she did remember his parents had valued Occlumency over their hatred of Umbridge, and that said a lot.

“You mean is Ollivander safe? He isn’t.”

“I mean your dreams, Harry.”

Harry shrugged. “Safe or not, I can’t exactly help it. Not unless —” He ducked his head, and looked away. She thought for a moment he wasn’t going to finish his thought and she was going to have to push him again, but he mumbled, “not unless you want to sleep next to me every night.”

She was certain that she had misheard him. “What?”

“I don’t… I don’t dream about Voldemort when I’m with you. Not that I don’t have dreams — and not that I don’t have bad dreams — but it’s different.”

Her face flushed and her stomach filled with Flitterby bushes. “Oh —”

“Ginny!” A pair of heavy hands planted itself on her shoulders. She jumped and spilled her champagne onto the table. “What’s a young thing like you doing sitting down at an event like this? You should be out on the dance floor!”

Ginny, though she was startled and a bit annoyed to have been interrupted, smiled up at her uncle. Uncle Gideon was her favourite uncle, after all. She could forgive him this intrusion.

“In these shoes?” she said. “My feet are pressed tighter than a goat caught in a dragon’s maw.”

Gideon laughed as he fell into the seat next to her. His large belly jostled the table, again knocking over the glass she had just righted, and his lankier brother, Fabian, leaned against it to steady it as he also took a seat.

“Why aren’t you two out on the dance floor?” she shot back and refilled her glass.

Fabian shrugged as he reached into his coat and pulled out a pipe. “No one’s interested in a man with only one hand for caressing.”

Ginny wrinkled her nose. “Sorry that I asked.”

But she grinned as she said it. She’d always liked Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon’s sense of humour. She didn’t know how they’d been raised by the same parents as her over-worried and controlling mother, but they’d gained a special place in Ginny’s heart when they had gifted her her first broom for her fifth birthday.

Gideon used his wand to light Fabian’s pipe, then stuffed his own. “So, Potter, Molly tells us you plan to be off and running soon.”

“Er — yeah, something like that.”

“Molly asked us to talk Ron out of it,” Fabian murmured. He took a long, slow draw on his pipe. “Don’t think we stand much chance of that, and less chance of talking you out of it.”

“I’ve made up my mind,” Harry said. “And Ron’s welcome to make his own decision.”

Ginny reached under the table for Harry’s hand. She did not know if Fabian or Gideon heard the sting in Harry’s voice, but after hearing his concerns about Cedric, it was obvious to her that even the question of Ron leaving hurt.

Gideon shook his head. “No need to draw wands about it. Secrets are part and parcel for the Order — and for Dumbledore.”

“But,” Fabian added in a low voice, “secrets have consequences. Are you prepared for that, Harry?”

“Of course I am,” Harry said quickly. “I’ve faced Voldemort before.”

Gideon lit his pipe. “Our advice is to know when to back down, when to cut and run — and when to ask for help.”

“It’s better,” Fabian added, “to fight another day than to never fight again, even if it means coming home missing a piece or two.”

“I have help,” Harry said. “Regulus knows what we have to do.”

This did not bring Ginny’s uncles any comfort.

Gideon frowned. “I remember bringing Black in. Escorted him and his friends in and out of Azkaban for their trial, too.”

“Didn’t trust anyone else,” Fabian added. “Though I always thought it would be the Lestranges who pulled something first.”

“You never suspected that Barty Crouch would escape?” Ginny asked.

“Not for a minute,” Gideon grunted. “Thought the kid would die in there, and wasn’t surprised when that was the news that came out a few weeks later. Apparently Black’s the one we should have watched out for. Though I can’t say I expected him to live very long, either. There wasn’t much left of him when we found him.”

“No,” Fabian agreed quietly, “not much of him at all. The trial nearly did him in, too.” He stared at the crowd of dancers thoughtfully. “I had always had the idea that he and Barty were dueling when we found them, though I could never decide over what. And Black never said anything to suggest that he hadn’t been at that house with Barty and the Lestranges.”

“Dumbledore said that Regulus betrayed Voldemort, and wanted to keep his betrayal a secret,” Harry said. “Maybe he was more afraid of Voldemort than of Azkaban.”

“But by then, Voldemort was long dead,” Gideon grunted. “If he wanted to be on our side, he had plenty of chances to offer it. Even when we met him after Voldemort’s return, Dumbledore only ever told us that Black was willing to offer information to the Order, but we weren’t to trust him any further than that. I saw the appeal of having an informant, but it always felt a bit like keeping a snake in the cradle.”

“I suppose the snake was Snape all along,” Fabian said. His gaze and voice were still distant, as if he had forgotten he was participating in the conversation.

Harry tensed beside Ginny and she squeezed his hand again. She had never liked Snape either, but his complete betrayal had shocked her, too. It must have been so much worse for Harry, who had believed that Snape loved Lily. It must have been so much worse for the Potters, to know that it was Snape who had shared the prophecy with Voldemort in the first place.

“It feels like we always should have known,” Gideon said. “But that’s what everyone said about Pettigrew, too.”

“What did people say about Peter?” Harry asked quickly.

Gideon shrugged. “That he was quiet, bumbling, and easily persuaded. That it was obvious he was the mole.”

“But,” Fabian’s attention returned to the table, “everyone said the same of Sirius that first week after the attack on the Potters. That he was a Black, that he had always hated Lily, that it was obvious he would betray the Potters. People changed their tune quickly after they learned that Pettigrew was responsible.”

Ginny frowned. “Are you saying it’s never obvious?”

“Nothing is in war,” Gideon said. “All we do is built on lies and secrets. It comes with the job.”

“No one knew that better than Dumbledore,” Fabian said. “I expect that’s why no one ever knew him very well.”

“Doge knew him alright,” Gideon said. “Better than the rest of us, anyway.”

“Even better than Aberforth, I’d wager.”

“Who’s Aberforth?” Ginny asked.

“Dumbledore’s brother,” Fabian said. “Younger, I think.”

Harry frowned. “I think I saw a photograph of him once. Isn’t he in the Order?”

Gideon shrugged. “He feeds us information from time to time.”

“Was he at Dumbledore’s funeral?” Ginny asked.

Fabian and Gideon frowned at each other, as if each expected the other to know.

“I don’t recall,” Fabian finally said.

Ginny considered her own absent brother. If Greyback had killed Bill back in June, and her family had gathered for a funeral instead of a wedding, would Percy have attended?

“I wonder what they fought over,” she murmured.

“Doge wrote in his obituary that they never quite recovered after their sister died,” Gideon said. “They had a rather public fight over her grave in Godric’s Hollow. I expect something as tragic as that could very easily tear a family apart.”

“Godric’s Hollow?” Harry asked. “She’s buried there?”

“It’s where Dumbledore spent most of his youth,” Fabian said. “At least, when he wasn’t at Hogwarts.”

Harry frowned. “I never knew…”

“Most of us didn’t,” said Fabian. “Like Gideon said — lies and secrets come with what we do.”

“But Dumbledore hasn’t always led the Order,” Harry said. “Even before —”

“Even before the Order there was Grindelwald,” Gideon said. “The Wizarding World has looked to Dumbledore as a leader and defender for forty years. A man like that doesn’t get to be a man, not even to his friends.”

“He’s simply a legend,” Fabian said. “A fate I pray none of us have to live with, especially you, Harry.”

Harry fingered the stem of his champagne glass with a brooding face. Ginny searched for something to say to pull him out of his head again.

“Harry,” she tried for a bright voice, “how about that dance?”

He blinked at her. “Er — are you sure —”

She was already on her feet and pulling him out of his chair. “Come on, I really like this song.”

Harry did not look convinced, but he followed her all the same, and they both made hasty goodbyes to her uncles.

“I was getting a bit tired of all of that anyway,” she said as she led him to the dance floor.

“I thought it was interesting.”

“Talking about dying?”

“Talking about Dumbledore. I don’t know, I think if I knew him better, maybe I’d understand what he wanted me to do next.”

As they reached the crowd of dancers, Ginny put Harry’s hands on her waist. “Doge is supposed to be here somewhere,” she said. “Do you want to ask him?”

His hands pressed against her dress of their own accord and he pulled her a little closer. “No, I do want to dance. Maybe after —”

But there would be no after. A silver streak of light passed through the party and came to a halt in the center of the dance floor. It took the form of a lynx, glittering like a star against the backdrop of golden lights strung up in the tent.

The music stopped abruptly, and through the silence, Kingsley Shacklebolt’s deep voice boomed, “The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”

#harry potter #harry potter and the deathly hallows #hp fic #hp au #everyone lives au #dh

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gusu-emilu · 3 years

Text

Cantatio: Chapter Two

Ship: Lan Zhan / Wei Ying (POV Lan Zhan)

Summary: Introducing the Wens, a squabble over dorm rooms, and Lan Xichen being my favorite wingman.

Wei Wuxian rubbed his nose and raised his eyebrows at Lan Wangji. His grey eyes sparkled with contentment and only a hint of mischief.

Lan Wangji afforded him a twitch of a smile.

Perhaps Wei Wuxian had a chance of winning his favor.

If he tried harder.

Cloud Recesses Academy AU, Rated T - read on AO3

< Ch. 1 | Ch. 3 > | chapter list

“What?”

“Wens?”

“Is this for real?”

Everyone turned to face the forest path entrance to the central courtyard, where there stood three teenagers in crimson robes. One was a tall, burly young man. In the middle was a much shorter mouse-faced girl, and clutching her robes was a timid boy who looked a few years too young to be attending the academy.

“What are the Wen-dogs doing here?” Jiang Cheng said under his breath.

Nie Mingjue’s deep voiced boomed from the steps of the Main Hall.

“How perplexing. I thought that Wen Ruohan said he would not deign to send his disciples to the inferior Cloud Recesses Academy,” he said with a snarl.

The older boy looked like he was about to retort, until Nie Mingjue marched forward to stand right in front of him. Nie Mingjue towered over the Wen disciples, even the brawny boy, who must have been six feet tall himself.

Nie Mingjue had many reasons to believe that his father was killed by Wen Ruohan’s underhanded techniques. Someone had tampered with his father’s saber before a night hunt, leaving him defenseless at a critical moment in the fight against a monster. He died a slow, agonizing death that left Nie Mingjue fatherless and forced him into the position of clan leader at only twenty years old. His younger brother had been equally shaken by the tragedy.

The Wens were already despised by the cultivation world because of Wen Ruohan’s hunger for power. Since that day, Nie Mingjue had hated them more than anyone else.

The taller Wen boy stammered silently for a few seconds in Nie Mingjue’s shadow, then furrowed his brow, straightened his back, and squared his shoulders in a failed attempt to match his contender’s height. When he spoke, his voice was crass and whiny, the sound of someone who was used to being worshipped by people who feigned blindness to the arrogant mask that shielded his incompetence.

“Our master Clan Leader Wen believes that there are a few things to learn from the other sects.”

“We have nothing that All-Mighty Clan Leader Wen does not know already. I suggest you start early on your way back to the Nightless City.” He spat out each word with disgust, as if he thought that if he said them too politely, they'd crawl back down his throat and poison him.

The boy opened his mouth. Nie Mingjue scared it closed with a single step forward.

To Lan Wangji’s surprise, this time the girl bowed and replied. Her tone was level and respectful, but her eyes could have cut through steel.

“Clan Leader Nie. It is both our duty and an honor to receive instruction from the clan leaders. We request to stay.”

“You must have heard that the commandments of the Cloud Recesses are extremely strict. Malevolent intentions are not welcome.”

“We have heard. Clan Leader Nie, please excuse my presumption, but I have also heard that one such rule states the following: ‘It is prohibited to deny education to promising and willing students without just cause.’ Do you mean to say that we Wens are neither promising nor willing, or that there is just cause for expelling us?”

Murmurs rushed throughout the crowd.

“That Wen Chao is the clan leader’s son, but he looks like a frightened child compared to this girl!"

“I bet she’s the doctor’s apprentice, Wen Qing. I heard that she’ll stick a needle in you if you give her nonsense!"

“Yikes! What nerves, to stand up to Clan Leader Nie, of all people.”

“I’m even scared to do that, and he’s my brother,” Nie Huaisang said.

Lan Wangji sifted through his memory until he landed upon Rule #562. Wen Qing had recited it word-for-word. If she had memorized the entirety of the Gusu Lan Clan rules before arriving at the Cloud Recesses, then surely she was a worthy student, regardless of her surname.

Lan Xichen approached Nie Mingjue and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Lady Wen is right. There is no need to challenge them. Couriers informed the leaders yesterday that the Wen Clan had decided to send disciples.”

“And why was I not informed?”

“Mingjue, the Wen disciples have already made the long journey here. Let what is done, be done.”

Nie Mingjue balled his fists and glowered at the Wen disciples. “It would be wise of you to watch your moves. Or I will be watching them for you.”

He turned around in a huff and stomped into the Main Hall where the rest of the clan leaders were gathered. A distant, muted version of his thick voice could be heard after he entered the building, presumably due to him snapping at the other clan leaders for purposely keeping him in the dark about the Wens’ attendance.

Soon the courtyard was silent. The air of the Cloud Recesses smelled like spring water, flowers, and tea leaves, as it always did, but now it was tainted by a pungent tension. No one dared approach to greet the Wen disciples. The Wen disciples did not advance either. In between the two hostile groups stood Lan Xichen like a leftover droplet of storm water.

A swish of dark grey robes shifted in the crowd of disciples as Wei Wuxian took the smallest step forward, but Jiang Cheng seized his arm to hold him back.

Another long moment of silence followed.

Finally, after Lan Xichen had surveyed the entire courtyard with his gentle gaze, he faced the Wen disciples and bowed. “Welcome to the Cloud Recesses.”

Lan Wangji glided forward to stand next to his brother and mirrored his second bow. This time, Lan Wangji spoke the greeting, but he directed his voice specifically to the young woman.

“Welcome.”

* * *

The tension in the air gradually released. The disciples chatted and milled around once more, although they kept their distance from the Wens after sparing them a reluctant greeting.

Everyone was eager for Lan Qiren to arrive back from his business at the perimeter of the Cloud Recesses. Not because they were hopeful for the strict discipline he would impose on the disciples—only Lan Wangji felt that way—but because he was the last clan leader left to arrive. Once all the clan leaders were present, the welcoming ceremony could begin, and then the disciples would be free to visit their dormitories and explore the grounds.

Lan Wangji and the Wen disciples were the only ones who stood quietly at the fringe of the crowd. Once in a while, Wen Qing would murmur something to the nervous boy at her side, but she never even acknowledged Wen Chao.

When Lan Qiren finally arrived, everyone froze and bowed. He said a gruff hello to a few disciples, scolded a much greater number of them, and then hurried into the Main Hall to meet with the clan leaders. A few moments later, Lan Xichen was called inside. Then he reemerged to summon Wen Chao and Wen Qing. They steeled their expressions and followed the tail of his sapphire shadow into the Main Hall.

The Wen boy was left alone.

He folded his hands and scrunched his shoulders, as if he wished to shrink to the size of one of the pebbles under his disproportionately large feet. His magnetic dark eyes darted around at the disciples, never lingering on one person for more than a few seconds before retreating to the ground.

Two disciples in golden robes and a Nie Clan disciple approached him.

“Aren’t you too little to be here?” one said.

“Yeah, how old are you?” said the Nie disciple in a mocking tone.

“H-H-Hello…I’m Wen Ning, courtesy name Qionglin…I’m fourteen, but I'll be f-f-fifteen soon.” Wen Ning toyed with his fingers as he stuttered.

The two Jin Clan disciples exchanged glances and ruffled their robes, the color of rotten egg yolks billowing at their shins. The one whose anvil-shaped head seemed like it was too heavy for his body was Jin Zixun, cousin of Jin Zixuan.

“Told you he was too little.”

“Shut up, Zixun.”

The three disciples stepped closer to Wen Ning, who shrank his frame even smaller.

“Who does Wen Ruohan think he is, sending a kid to train with us?” said Jin Zixun.

“Yeah, is this some kind of insult? What are you doing here, pipsqueak?”

“I’m just…I’m just here to study with my sister…”

“Oh, that feisty one is his sister.”

“Pah, who's worried about her? These Wens are good-for-nothings.”

Wen Ning was now backing away from the three disciples, but they continued to edge toward him with footsteps that became more and more menacing. Lan Wangji dug his fingernails into his palms as he watched. The balls of his feet itched with the tension of a spring. If they got any closer to the boy, he was ready to shoot between them.

“This mouse isn’t gonna be in sparring class with us, is he?”

“He’s gonna regret it if he is.”

In a flash, Lan Wangji blocked them from closing in on the boy. Before he could speak, he heard a familiar voice at his side, but it sounded much different than before. It was bitter and calculating, rigid with cold, steady anger like the blade of a dagger.

“Back up.”

Wei Wuxian was glaring at Jin Zixun, an eerie darkness spread across his brow. His fists were tight and his shoulders were drawn back. The playful smile that had once seemed plastered on his face was nowhere to be found, replaced by an icy severity that threatened to give its recipient frost burn.

Every pair of eyes in the courtyard was fixed on them.

“We’re just having a chat with the pipsqueak.”

“Now.”

"..."

“Ack, whatever,” Jin Zixun grumbled as the three bullies finally dispersed.

Lan Wangji exhaled in silent relief. He glanced over at Wei Wuxian, who did not smile or make a childish face at him like he expected. He only tightened the corners of his mouth and gave a curt nod, like a soldier who had finished his duty.

Lan Wangji raised his eyebrows and nodded in reply. This was nothing like the imp from earlier. It was like a different person stood before him.

One whom he...respected.

They turned around to face Wen Ning, who seemed to have relaxed, although his shoulders were still scrunched.

“Hey, big guy. Chin up,” said Wei Wuxian.

Wen Ning gazed up in wonder with round, dark eyes so deep they looked like they wanted to pull the two saviors into a tight hug. Then he jerked into a bow. “Thank you, Young Masters.”

Wei Wuxian flashed a cheeky grin. “No thanks needed! Everyone already knows I’m the coolest person in the Cloud Recesses Academy!”

He poked Lan Wangji in the arm several times. “Don’t you think so, Lan Zhan?”

“Mn.”

And just like that, the imp had returned.

“Disciples! Lower your voices! Please organize yourselves! We are starting the opening ceremony. Excuse me, why is your sword in your hand? I don’t care if it’s sheathed, put it away! You there, close that fan!” Lan Qiren barked. He stood on the walkway outside the Main Hall and was flanked on both sides by the other clan leaders.

Everyone filed into the Main Hall and took a seat. Despite the dark brown that dominated the walls and furniture, the room was bright with a sky-blue light that bounced off every hard wooden edge and fed the disciples' energy. The cobalt panels and thriving green potted penjing trees stood out as a tasteful accent. The floor was polished enough that it reflected fuzzy outlines of the five rows of desks and the disciples who were perched on floor cushions behind them. The room buzzed with excitement radiating from the young cultivators. Not even Lan Qiren could quell the lively hum of their chattering until the ceremony began officially.

Lan Wangji sat with perfect posture and attentive ears for the entirety of the ceremony as each clan leader took their turn to speak about tradition, honor, and education. He opened his mind and absorbed the eloquent words of the clan leaders. Lan Wangji’s seat was at the front of the hall, but that didn’t prevent him from noticing when disciples behind him lolled their heads, or whispered to their neighbors, or—in Wei Wuxian’s case—threw paper airplanes. Lan Wangji only squared his jaw and sat a little straighter, striving to set an example and compensate for their disrespect to the professors.

By custom, professors at the Cloud Recesses Academy had always been clan leaders, former clan leaders, or their spouses. This year, Lan Qiren was teaching Ancient Texts, Jiang Fengmian and Nie Mingjue were teaching Swordsmanship & Weaponry (known by the disciples as 'sparring'), Yu Ziyuan was teaching Alchemy & Medicine, Madam Jin was teaching Diplomacy, and Jin Guangshan was teaching History.

However, one of the professors did not introduce himself as a clan leader, and in fact Lan Wangji had never seen or heard of him before. He was a tall man with chiseled features and black robes. His reserved voice hung in the air like icicles. His name was Song Lan, and he would be teaching Beings & Creatures.

Lan Wangji made a mental note to ask his brother about Song Lan later.

Once the opening ceremony concluded, the sun was much lower in the sky. Everyone was led to the dormitories by the senior disciples. They followed a winding path of square grey stones past temples, classrooms, and chambers. The path continued through a patch of woods until it reached a fork. Senior Disciple Jiang Yanli led the girls to the left. The boys turned right to follow Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, who led them to the boys’ dormitory.

Although Nie Mingjue was a clan leader, he was still completing his graduate studies at the Cloud Recesses Academy. He insisted on fulfilling all the standard duties of a senior disciple in addition to his clan leader responsibilities, even if that meant living next to the boys’ dormitory with Lan Xichen to supervise the rowdy disciples.

As they followed the path, Jin Guangyao moved up to the front of the line until he was behind the two senior disciples. He eagerly started a conversation with Lan Xichen. On his shoulders, he hauled the expensive embroidered luggage of Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun, as well as his own plain cloth bag.

Lan Xichen laughed brightly at whatever Jin Guangyao had told him.

“Hmph. Little suck-up,” Jin Zixun muttered.

“Ah, let him be. The happier he is, the more careful he is with our stuff,” Jin Zixuan said with a pompous wave of his hand.

When they looked at the front of the line again, Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue were each holding half of Jin Guangyao’s luggage.

“Or the less of it he carries, I guess."

The boys’ dormitories were a series of long, squat buildings with brown walls of dried bamboo. A slightly crooked fence of spaciously crisscrossed bamboo stalks enclosed the buildings on all sides. The fence was only interrupted by a gate with a wide, green roof, which like a friendly embrace covered the stone path that led into the dormitory courtyard. On either side of the path stood two twin lanterns. Outside each building were four seats and a dense square table decorated with cloudlike patterns, all carved from the same matte white stone that formed the arch Lan Wangji had walked under just a few hours ago to enter the Cloud Recesses. On the right side of the courtyard grew a knobby tree whose bright green shoots hung over the dormitory roofs, mingling with branches from other trees that grew outside the fence.

The disciples chattered with approval.

“Wow, this is pretty," Wei Wuxian said.

“Duh, dumbass. It’s the Cloud Recesses, what did you expect?” Jiang Cheng shot back. His angry, crinkled brow did not match the obvious admiration in his eyes for the sight before him, but it did suit his apparent displeasure when the same admiration was expressed by his brother.

Lan Xichen stood at the foot of one of the dorms and faced the disciples with a dignified enthusiasm. Next to him was Nie Mingjue, arms folded and face as tense as ever.

“Alright, now that we’re here, it’s time to determine the rooming arrangements,” Lan Xichen said.

The sound of flapping robes filled the enclosure as the young men shifted spots in a hurry, sidling up next to friends or locking arms with a neighbor. Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, Nie Huaisang, and Ouyang-xiong* formed a group immediately. Lan Wangji stood in place. (*Ouyang Zizhen’s father, whose name we don’t know, sadly)

“There is a small issue that we have to settle before you choose roommates,” Lan Xichen said. “As the clan leaders were not expecting the Wen disciples to be joining us until yesterday, we are short of two rooms. There is a duplex a few paces away that can house the two extra disciples, but I’m sorry to say that it has not been used for several decades and has fallen into a state of neglect.”

This was surprising. Every building in the Cloud Recesses was maintained in pristine condition. Why had this one been left to deteriorate?

“Would anyone like to volunteer to stay in the duplex? The rest of you will be sorted into quads,” Lan Xichen said.

Somehow the disciples looked around at everyone and no one at the same time.

“Anybody?”

Silence.

“Put the little Wen in there,” Nie Mingjue said with a bated mixture of satisfaction and disgust.

Wen Ning, who had been spacing out at the edge of the group, jerked his head up. “…D-D-Does Clan Leader Nie mean me?”

Nie Mingjue scoffed.

Lan Xichen wrung his hands. “Young Master Wen, is that okay with you? I must emphasize that there is no pressure for you to accept.”

“Y-Y-Yes.”

After a slight hesitation, Lan Xichen said, “Alright, we need one more. …the Young Heir Wen Chao?”

“Ha! If you try to put me in your worst room, you’ll be hearing from my father tomorrow!

“Insolent br—”

“Mingjue. Let’s see if there’s someone more willing.”

Nie Mingjue flared his nose and crossed his arms into each other even more deeply, like he was digging a trench in which to bury every Wen of the cultivation world.

Wen Ning did not have good prospects for a friendly roommate. If someone volunteered, it would likely be because they wanted a roommate who wouldn’t get in the way and guessed that Wen Ning would be easy to order around and intimidate. If someone were selected by the senior disciples, they would be unhappy about living in the decrepit duplex and even more unhappy about rooming with a Wen instead of their friends.

The majority of the disciples were not shy about their hatred for the Wen Clan. Three had already demonstrated that they had no qualms about bullying the boy.

What would happen to him?

The disciples whispered among themselves. Wei Wuxian and his roommates were having an especially animated conversation. Lan Wangji thought that if anyone was the best choice to live with Wen Ning, it was Wei Wuxian or Nie Huaisang, but neither of them spoke up. In fact, they seemed intent on staying with their quad.

Wen Ning needed a roommate who would keep him safe.

“I am willing,” Lan Wangji said.

Lan Xichen sighed with relief. “Thank you, Wangji.”

“And I’ll take Young Master Wen’s place!”

Wei Wuxian marched forward. He broadened his shoulders and placed his hands on his hips, beaming up at Lan Xichen. He winked at Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji bit the inside of his mouth. That plan backfired.

Wei Wuxian sauntered over and leaned onto Lan Wangji, using his shoulder as an armrest for the second time today. “Hi roomie!”

Lan Wangji’s entire body tensed.

With a nod of his head, Wei Wuxian pointed toward Jiang Cheng, Nie Huaisang, and Ouyang-xiong. Nie Huaisang held a cream-colored fan over the bottom half of his face with one hand and waved with the other. His eyes slimmed into crescents in a bashful smile that was hidden behind the fan. Ouyang-xiong waved slowly. Jiang Cheng was clearly not enthusiastic, but he tried to appear welcoming.

“Wen Qionglin, you’re with them.”

“T-T-Thank you, Young Master Wei! Please, call me Wen Ning.” Then with a timid grin he scurried away toward his new roommates.

Lan Wangji watched him for a few seconds, then turned to Wei Wuxian, who was still leaning on his shoulder like a lazy cat.

“I volunteered in order for Young Master Wen to avoid a roommate who may mistreat him. Now you have put him with three disciples.”

“Aiya, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, I put him with three friends. Do you think I would volunteer to switch places with Wen Ning without making those buffoons swear to be nice to him? Now the little Wen will have even more buddies to look out for him. And they actually liked the idea a lot! Jiang Cheng was thrilled to get rid of me. Sorry, now you’re the one who has to deal with me, Lan Er-Gege.”

Wei Wuxian rubbed his nose and raised his eyebrows at Lan Wangji. His grey eyes sparkled with contentment and only a hint of mischief.

Lan Wangji afforded him a twitch of a smile.

Perhaps Wei Wuxian had a chance of winning his favor.

If he tried harder.

* * *

“Listen up, everyone. You all follow Lan Xichen to your dorms. These groups come with me,” Nie Mingjue said as he made choppy gestures at the disciples. “You two, wait a moment.”

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian waited next to the stone path in the courtyard and watched as the disciples were herded into dormitories in groups of four. Amazingly, their voices amplified tenfold once they were behind the bamboo walls.

“Wow, this is pretty big! There’s even artwork in here.”

“I call this bed!”

“Hey, no fair, you can’t call one yet! I wasn’t ready!”

Lan Xichen filed the last disciple into a dormitory at the end of the courtyard, then glided over to Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. There was a momentary glint of pleasure in his eyes.

“I’ll lead you two to your duplex. Mingjue, if any of the disciples want to go exploring, make sure they know the boundaries they should stay in.”

The two roommates followed Lan Xichen past the fence surrounding the dormitories. When they left the stone path, the sound of their footsteps shifted from soft clinks to the swish of dirt and grass. It took less than a minute to arrive at a building that was the same style as the dormitories, but smaller and more worn down.

“Here we are,” Lan Xichen said as he slid open the door.

Objectively, the interior was not in disrepair at all, never mind as dire as Lan Xichen had made it sound earlier. But by the standards of the Cloud Recesses, the state of this dormitory was unacceptable. The wood of the low tea table in the center of the room was soft, the dark green china on top of it was mismatched, the turquoise curtains beside it had frayed ends in some places. The tan floor mats showed a hint of discoloration. However, the beds still appeared to be in pristine condition.

“It used to be a duplex for senior disciples, like the one that Mingjue and I will be living in. It was cleaned earlier today, but little attention has been paid to this building for many years. My apologies for its current state,” Lan Xichen said.

Wei Wuxian stepped inside and spread his arms out comfortably at his sides, spinning in a circle as he admired the interior. “I think it’s great! It has character. And look at this, we don’t just get shelves, we get closets too! This is no downgrade, we hit the jackpot! It looks like there are perks to being secondhand senior disciples, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Xichen entered after them, but at the sound of his younger brother’s birth name, he paused in the doorway and raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, there are some extra features that senior disciples have the privilege of enjoying in their rooms,” he said. “By the way, that reminds me. It seems that you two have gotten to know each other. Wangji, have you decided how Young Master Wei will be reprimanded for breaking the rules?”

Wei Wuxian immediately started whining. “Aiya, Lan Zhan, let’s just forget about all of that. I just got here, and now we’re such good roommates. Don’t ruin that already! Do you want a cranky roommate?”

Wei Wuxian was one of the most expressive people Lan Wangji had ever met. In the span of a few hours, his handsome tan face had worn a look of mischief, concentration, triumph, anger, gentleness, and now the most unbearable one yet—pouting.

But Lan Wangji would not spare a troublemaker this easily.

“I have decided.”

“That you’ll let me off the hook? Please say yes?”

“Copy the Gusu Lan Clan rules one hundred times.”

“Nooooo! That’s so boringgggg! Lan Zhan, how could you do this to meeee?” He tugged at Lan Wangji’s robes and wailed.

Lan Wangji did not enjoy this immature reaction or unwelcome physical contact. He locked his gaze with Lan Xichen and conveyed as much stony displeasure in his expression as possible.

Lan Xichen smirked.

“Alright then. Young Master Wei, after classes are finished tomorrow, you will head straight to the library and begin copying. Wangji will supervise you.”

Supervise?

“Dinner is in an hour. If you want to go out wandering, stay within the boundaries, and remember that curfew is nine o’clock,” Lan Xichen said on his way out.

The person whom these instructions were meant for was clearly not listening. Wei Wuxian still clutched at Lan Wangji’s robes, whining for a different sentence.

“Lan ZHAN, can’t you give me a different punishment? Like just hit me or something?”

Lan Wangji remained rigid in place with his lips slightly parted, staring at the chuckling ghost his brother had left in the doorway, feeling very betrayed.

He had to supervise him, too? Wasn’t being his roommate enough of a burden?

They unpacked their belongings onto the shelves of their respective sides of the room. Wei Wuxian had insisted that Lan Wangji let him choose the side he wanted, since Lan Wangji was being such a mean roommate. Lan Wangji did not care which bed was his and would have let Wei Wuxian choose anyway—a mindset which he thought made him, in fact, a great roommate.

“Wow, this closet is so big I could fit inside it! No more folding spare robes for us!” Wei Wuxian said after opening his closet.

Lan Wangji set down his jar of tea leaves in its proper place on the shelf and rose to examine his own closet. He gave the door a slight tug, but it did not open.

Strange. He tugged a bit harder, but to no avail.

Was it jammed?

He tried a third time with enough strength that any door should have flown open. It did not budge.

“Lan Zhan, why so noisy? Is there something wrong with your door?”

“Locked.”

Wei Wuxian furrowed his brow. “How could it be locked? There’s nowhere to put a key. There’s not even a lock mechanism.”

He bounded over and inspected the closet door himself. After a few tugs and some huffing and puffing, he gave up. “That’s really weird. A door like this is built to open easily. Mine works just fine. Hahaha, maybe it just doesn’t like you, Lan Zhan! It knows you’re a big meanie, haha!”

“Boring.”

“Don’t worry, you can just share my closet if you want. There’s way too much room for me to use it all.”

“That is not necessary.”

Wei Wuxian tugged at his arm. “Really, I mean it! We have these nice closets, might as well take advantage of them! Are you telling me you want to fold your robes instead of hanging them up? Come on, just use my closet!”

When Lan Wangji did not answer, Wei Wuxian crouched down, grabbed Lan Wangji’s robes from his luggage, and carried them over to his side of the room.

Lan Wangji watched Wei Wuxian hang his robes in the closet. His motions were fluid and precise. Wei Wuxian’s figure was actually quite pleasing to look at.

That is, if Wei Wuxian was the first thing one saw after staring at a slug for a year. Even that thought was too generous.

They had not walked together to the central square of the Cloud Recesses for dinner, but somehow they ended up sitting together. Wei Wuxian entertained his peers by teasing Lan Wangji about the way he had organized his belongings in the room—“By size, color, and category, like an old man who has nothing better to do than create silly problems for himself to solve! You should’ve seen how concentrated he was. His lips were all pursed like this, and his eyebrows were all angled like this”—narrating the saga with wild, exaggerated body language that aggravated Lan Wangji so much, he stood up and circled all the way to the senior disciples’ end of the seating arrangement to plop down next to Jiang Yanli.

“Don’t pay any mind to Xianxian, he only teases people he likes,” she said with a soft smile.

“What a pity,” Lan Wangji said.

Lan Xichen grazed him over once with laughing eyes, then took an indulgent sip of tea and turned to Nie Mingjue.

That night, Lan Wangji sat in his dorm reading ahead in his history book about obscure martial heroes who lived within a certain two-hundred year period. Lan Wangji did not expect Jin Guangshan to be a good history teacher—he had reached a ripe point in his self-absorbed middle age that made him inclined to narrate his own exaggerated autobiography instead—and therefore Lan Wangji had to ensure he taught himself whatever the clan leader might fail to mention.

Wei Wuxian had not returned to the dorm since after dinner. Nie Huaisang, Jiang Cheng, and Wen Ning had stepped inside for a moment to look around, then exclaimed something about fireflies and ran outside with Wei Wuxian at their heels.

By now it was nearly nine o’clock. For Lan Wangji’s own sake, he hoped that Wei Wuxian would return by curfew. Otherwise he would be forced to increase the number of times that Wei Wuxian had to copy the three thousand Gusu Lan Clan rules, and Lan Wangji did not want to spend any more time with the hyperactive troublemaker than he needed to.

Lan Wangji turned a page in the book, then paused to listen to the crickets singing joyfully outside. The evening had developed a slight chill, but inside the dorm, the air he breathed was warm, sweet, and a bit musky, like a bowl of comforting broth after a long day outside. His heart hummed in tune with the peaceful crickets.

A bloodcurdling scream pierced the night.

Lan Wangji leapt to his feet.

It had come from behind him!

He whipped around, but there was nothing there except his own furniture. He grabbed his sword Bichen and sprinted out the door to scour the area surrounding his dorm, but there was no one in sight there, either.

A shiver trembled through Lan Wangji's limbs as he slowly paced back inside and faced his side of the room.

It wasn’t possible for the sound to come from where his instincts told him it had.

But could it be?

The scream came from inside his closet?

* * *

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