#but also imagine ghost chirp au too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

five-rivers · 3 years

Note

Is there any way we could possibly convince you to write more of the Eldritch!Danny au? As it's own phanfic? This, of course, would only be done once you are under considerably less stress, and can comfortably put the effort into that, if there ever could be such a time whilst writing Mortified and Stars Aligned. It could even wait until one or both of those has reached a point that you deem them Completed™. I'm just immediately part of Sam's Cult XD

It’s been a bit, and this is kind of random, but...

Clockwork’s avatar pressed the food to Danny’s lips, and he bit down, hard. Juices dribbled down his chin as the food squirmed. He moaned in something like relief as the pressure in the venom sacs in the roof of his mouth lessened. He ate.

He kept Dreaming of himself with fangs and venom. Did that mean something?

A cold pressure under his chin forced him to look up. Clockwork’s avatar inserted another piece of food into Danny’s mouth.

Of course, it means something, it said. You are such a generous soul that you must give of yourself before you can even do something as basic and vital as eat.

Something about that didn’t sound right, but Danny wasn’t in a position to argue, not when he found himself so hungry.

Clockwork’s avatar fussed over him, feeding him more and more, past the point of mere satiation to the point where he felt bloated and slug-like. He wanted to curl up and sleep real sleep. The image of a caterpillar who, having gorged itself, began to form a cocoon, flittered across his mind.

You are a long way from metamorphosis yet, dear one, said Clockwork’s avatar. Come. I have something for you.

Danny followed the tug of the chained collar around his neck, blinking blearily, his footsteps just a little unsteady.

The careful direction of the chain led him to a small table cluttered with trinkets. Clockwork’s avatar leaned down to press its cheek against the crown of Danny’s head. Its cloak fell to either side of Danny, cutting off his field of view to the left and right, leaving him with only the table and the wall behind it.

A gift, said Clockwork’s avatar.

“Why?” asked Danny. It felt odd to speak here, and much more so in English, but he was still learning how to use his True Voice.

I wanted to give you something myself, before we celebrate your birthday.

“My birthday is ages away,” said Danny.

From some perspectives, perhaps. But we missed so many of yours. We must make them up before the next one.

There was something ominous there, but Danny just leaned into the avatar’s touch, unwilling to devote himself to interpreting omens.

Pick one, said Clockwork’s avatar, pick wisely. Gifts received in the Dream become part of you.

Danny nodded and opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) to look at the trinkets—no, the gifts—again. Gifts that, like all good gifts, came with strings attached.

There was something off about that thought.

But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if he could refuse a gift.

He reached out.

He picked the beaded pectoral necklace. Mostly because he was curious to see how it went on, what with the collar around his neck and all. Yes, this was the Dream, and multiple things could exist in the same place at the same time, but usually there was an… internal consistency, of sorts.

It turned out the answer was that the necklace merged with the bottom edge of the collar, which felt weird, but it was fine, because both were manifestations of Clockwork’s Love.

The unfamiliar weight of it hung strangely off his shoulders, especially given the counterweight that hung down his back, and forced him to alter his posture. He stood straight and… Well. Not tall. But to his full height.

Clockwork’s ticking sounded pleased. An echo of something where Danny’s heart once was agreed with that assessment.

When he left the Dream and went on with his life, it seemed as if not much had changed, except—

He felt more confident. More coordinated. He didn’t stutter as much. People listened to him more.

Even Sam and Tucker remarked on it.

Only a few days later, Clockwork called him back, reeling him into the deep Dream by the chain attached to his collar. He had another gift for Danny. A bracelet. Its weight joined that of the necklace.

Since you seemed to enjoy this so much, said the avatar, running its fingers over the faience beads.

And so it went.

Every few days, Clockwork would call him back and give him some new little adornment. A ring. A jeweled comb. An anklet. A brooch. A belt. Each gift seemed to smooth away some almost imperceptible flaw in his waking self, seemed to draw more eyes to him, more attention, more praise. People who would never give him the time of day before actually sought out his company.

He wondered. Each thing he was given was a display of wealth. Did that come across, somehow? Or was it simply gravity, the mass of his presence pulling in their regard?

The improvements weren’t just in his human life. The others were easier to fight, to distract and ward away. Their blows did not hurt nearly as much, nor did their ‘appearances’ distress him as much as they once had.

He noticed, too, the weight of what he wore in the Dream. Each ring, each bauble, made it easier for him to sink into the depths, made it harder for him to reach the surface.

Sometimes, after a return, he would like on the floor in his room, panting.

But he was growing stronger, too, and he hoped—

It didn’t matter what he’d hoped.

He could no longer reach the waking world. He tried seven times before the chain, vibrating with amusement, pulled him back to Clockwork.

We must celebrate, said Clockwork’s avatar, pulling a sort of woven metal sleeve over Danny’s right hand. It hooked neatly onto the rings on each of his fingers.

“Why?” asked Danny, barely holding himself back from falling to pieces. He had a responsibility to Amity Park. Not to mention, he wanted to live there with his friends and family.

Because it is a wonderful milestone, that you are too powerful to reach that place on your own. The avatar placed a crown of knotted metal on Danny’s head. This is what a cult is for, my little gem. To pull you up.

“What if…” said Danny, “I get too… heavy to be pulled up?”

Another milestone.

Except, no, Danny’s hand still hovered over the table, undecided. He let it fall back to his side and blinked, shaking his head to clear it of the vision that had just overtaken him.

Did it show what would be, what might have been? Or merely a possibility?

Reality splintered.

He put his hand down on a stack of folded white cloth, jostling the bells sewn to the hems. He didn’t actually know what it was, but it seemed harmless, and the fabric was soft.

It turned out that the cloth was a set of folded veils. The bells were weights, to make them hang properly.

Clockwork’s avatar helped him put them on in front of a mirror, since Danny had never worn anything like them before. The cloth was thin, diaphanous gauze. Where the veils touched the clothing he was already wearing, it whispered away, like it never was. In some places, mostly on his shoulders and back, for some reason, the veils merged smoothly, seamlessly, with his skin. It was an odd sensation, made more so by the fact that his nerve endings seemed to extend partway into the cloth.

Although, that might not be by design, but because Danny expected it. This was the Dream, after all.

Once all the veils were in place, the only pieces of his body exposed were his hands and bare feet. It was strange, looking at himself in the mirror through the sheer veils over his face and head. He almost looked like a ghost.

It was… it was kind of embarrassing, being dressed like this. The veils were the only things he was wearing, and even with all their frothy layers, he could make out the silhouette of his body beneath them.

He spun in place, just enough to hear the bells ring with high, clear tones. Like this, the subtle embroidery on the veils looked like feathers.

When he woke again, normal clothes felt rough and coarse against his skin in comparison. He gritted his teeth and bore it. He couldn’t very well walk to school in the nude.

“Did something happen last night?” asked Sam, surveying Danny up and down.

“Um,” said Danny, “yes, but why?”

“You look…”

“Mysterious,” said Tucker.

“Ethereal,” decided Sam. “But also…” She hummed. “Untouchable, maybe? I don’t know.”

Danny explained what had happened.

It was in the course of just messing around that they found another effect.

“Dude,” said Tucker, as Danny sat on his shoulders, “did you lose weight or something?”

“No?” said Danny, turning away from his sticky-note masterpiece on the classroom ceiling. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“You just seem a lot lighter than the last time we did this.”

They weighed him later, at Sam’s house. He was.

The next time he visited the dream, there were changes. One, the sensation in the cloth had extended. He could feel almost all the way to the ends of some of the shorter veils. Two, his form beneath the veils was less distinct. Softer. When he put his hand underneath them to check, his body felt softer, too. Three, he was glowing.

Of course, said Clockwork’s avatar, stroking its cold hand down his back in a way that made all of his new nerve endings overload. As the illusion fades, the truth may shine.

It did not elaborate, no matter how Danny pressed him. It did, however, pet him until he was left as little more than a pleasantly chirping puddle of veils and feathers on Clockwork’s floor.

He did not note the significance of the feathers until his next visit to the Dream, whereupon some of his veils had become wings, bells still attached and ringing with every motion. He spread them out and flew.

Flying was even better than he had imagined. Never before had he known such joy.

The changes continued, the form he wore in the waking world becoming progressively more and more alien to him, more grating and uncomfortable.

“That only makes sense,” said Sam. “You’re more than us. Being constrained like this can’t be good for you.”

Tucker nodded in agreement. “I mean, look at all of this.”

Danny looked around the cafeteria, catching several worshipful gazes.

“You don’t belong in a cage like this.”

“I want to be able to help,” said Danny. It had become easier, in some ways. It was as hard as ever to fight the others, but human aggression stopped dead in Danny’s presence.

“You’ll still be able to,” said Sam. “But Tucker’s right, you should be trapped here. You should in a high place… on a pedestal. Somewhere to give us hope. Somewhere we can look up to.”

He stood in front of Clockwork’s mirror again. There was a suggestion of a human body beneath the wings, but nothing more than that. Soon, even that would be gone.

Even as he thought it, he let his wings shift, forming a more spherical shape. The light at his center became blindingly bright, but Danny could still see the chains of Love attached to it that kept him grounded.

One of those chains pulled taught as Clockwork summoned him, not even bothering with the avatar this time. This time, Danny would be able to talk to Clockwork directly, and it would be fine, because Danny had shed that illusion of humanity and become more like Clockwork.

He entered Clockwork’s direct presence and—

Danny reeled as the vision simply stopped being something his mind could interpret. He felt a part of what he called his sanity crumble.

Perhaps… Perhaps not that one. Instead…

He chose the featureless white mask, lifting it with both hands. It was surprisingly heavy.

Clockwork’s avatar reached out, the sleeves of its robes whispering past Danny’s ears. Let me help you put that on, it said. It took the mask and flipped it over, brushing the broad, white satin ribbon out of the way with its thumbs.

Before Danny could think to protest, before he could decide if he wanted to protest, the mask was pressed against his face.

The soft inner lining fit perfectly snug against his features. Perfectly enough that it forced his eyelids and lips closed. The bottom edge of the mask cupped his jaw, preventing him from opening his mouth.

He could not see, with the mask on. Somehow, this surprised him. Part of him had expected to supernaturally be able to see through the mask.

This was inconvenient. On the other hand, not being forced to see the Dream and its denizens could be a boon in and of itself.

Clockwork’s avatar finished tying the ribbon. When you wear this, only those who know you will know you. And only those who you keep in place of your may have their knowledge progress.

Danny tested his ability to speak, first with human words and then with his True Voice. The best he could manage was a sort of hum.

I know you best of all. One cannot progress past completion. Remember, those who Love you will understand you, even without words. You will be allowed to remove the mask if it pleases you.

Danny nodded to show he understood, the weight of the mask making the motion more energetic than usual.

It took Danny time to learn how to navigate the Dream blind. The Dream was, well, Dream. It did not follow the usual rules of object permanence. Things Danny could not directly perceive existed only at the whims of others. While he was with Clockwork, he could have faith that things would stay mostly stable, but once he left, his world shrunk to echoes and what lay against his skin.

But when he did finally make it home and opened his eyes, he was able to fully understand what the mask gave him.

He could not see the nightmares and madness lurking just under reality. His sight was human. He turned to his mirror and saw not a monster, but simply his physical body.

He found himself weeping in relief. It had been so hard. Even if it was an illusion bought by ignorance, for the first time in far too long, he felt safe, no longer exposed.

Whether or not it pleased him, he might never take the mask off.

He walked to Jazz’s room to tell her the good news, only to discover he could not speak.

After some experimentation, Danny and Jazz determined that, when he wore the mask, his speech was as constrained in the real world as it was in the Dream. If he wanted to talk, he had to slip into the Dream to take it off.

It was inconvenient, but still. A perfectly hidden identity and relief from seeing were more than worth inconvenience.

With the mask on, he almost felt human again.

Before the school day began, he paused in the bathroom and braced himself. He had gotten away with being quiet at home, but at school, teachers would require him to answer questions.

He stepped into the Dream and reached up to untie the knot at the back of his head. It would not come loose. Danny pulled harder.

If it pleased him.

Well, it didn’t please him to be exposed in school. Beyond that… Danny suspected that Clockwork also had a hand in when he was allowed to remove the mask.

A few weeks later, the school psychiatrist diagnosed him with selective mutism.

“It almost makes sense,” claimed Tucker, gesturing at Danny’s ceiling, “if you think of it like a parent keeping their kid safe on the internet. Like, you don’t want their identity exposed, so you keep them from giving away personal information or talking to strangers.”

“That,” said Sam, poking Danny’s cheek, “or he wants your cute little face all to himself. What do you even look like in the Dream?”

“Like me,” said Danny. He raised a hand to touch his face. “I don’t know what I look like with the mask on.” The words came surprisingly easily. Before the mask, he’d worried that he’d eventually be unable to speak English, what with how difficult it was becoming to translate his thoughts to sounds.

Later that day, there was an incident. Danny couldn’t help. He couldn’t see.

(It was, however, very clear that the others could see him.)

(He couldn’t help but feel guilty.)

That night, Clockwork pulled him into the Dream.

There is someone I want you to meet, said Clockwork’s avatar as its fingers untied the mask.

“Who?” asked Danny as the mask came away. He nearly forgot his question as he once again took in Clockwork’s appearance. He had forgotten how beautiful it was here. Tears rolled down his face.

Your brother, said the avatar, gently leading Danny forward. I think you will get along. You both like masks.

It took a few minutes for Danny to distinguish this new presence from Clockwork’s, but once he did, the name came easily to his mind. This was Nocturne, the Dream Eater.

“Why is your mask different from mine?” asked Danny, because he couldn’t make a good first impression to save his life.

The mouth and eyes on Nocturne’s mask turned upward in humor. It plucked Danny’s mask from the hands of Clockwork’s avatar, and, to Danny’s simultaneous horror and delight, Danny discovered that he could feel Nocturne’s claws on the mask as if they were on his face instead.

That is because it is your face, said Nocturne, the one you show the world. Why wouldn’t you feel it when it is touched? When it is damaged? Nocturne ran his fingers down across the space where eye holes would have been in an ordinary mask, and Danny found himself forced to blink. For the other, it is because you are a child. I see and speak for myself. A child sees the world through their parent’s eyes. A child has no voice, but their parent speaks for them.

“Will it change when I get older?” asked Danny.

Nocturne laughed. You will not grow older. He moved forward suddenly, pressing the mask to Danny’s face, and putting one of his other hands against the back of Danny’s head. You will always be the youngest of us. The most… Human.

Is something wrong? asked Clockwork’s avatar.

“No,” said Danny, quickly. “It’s just hard to decide.”

You could have them all, it said, if it is so difficult.

Danny shook his head. “No, I just need more time.”

Maybe if Danny were human, this would be about getting the best deal, choosing the gift with the lowest price, but he wasn’t, and it wasn’t. This was about choosing the price he wanted to pay.

It surprised him, how much he wanted to pay some of them.

The set of bracelets clinked merrily when Danny touched them. They were four bands, each about two inches wide and a couple millimeters thick. The metal they were made of was smooth on the outside, but on the insides, they had the same fractal patterns as the collar.

The manacles are a good choice, said Clockwork’s avatar, approvingly.

Manacles.

Not bracelets.

Unfortunately, he didn’t think he was allowed to change his mind.

The manacles went around his wrists and ankles, each one closing with a snap. When they shut, the metal they were made of swirled, the hinges and seams disappearing to present a flawless surface and the overall shape shifting so the inside laid flush against his skin.

As soon as he closed the last one, and it finished altering itself, Danny felt a sharp pain through the center of his wrists and ankles, followed by a radiating numbness, as if a rod had been driven through each manacle, through each wrist and ankle, stopping only when it hit the other side. But the numbness soon faded, and as he flexed his hands and feet, he didn’t feel anything like that.

Still. The message was clear. The metal bands were not coming off.

Clockwork’s avatar took one of Danny’s hands, and examined the band. The metal, which had warmed against Danny’s skin, turned frigid under the avatar’s touch. For a moment, Danny’s vision blurred, and he saw a multitude of delicate chains leading from the manacle in every direction, connecting it to Clockwork, the other manacles, the collar around his neck and who knew what else. His vision cleared. A few long, silent minutes later, the avatar released him.

They were made with much skill. I hope you find them useful.

Danny nodded.

The manacles weren’t visible in the waking world, but Danny imagined he still felt them. Especially when he was doing things with his hands or feet.

‘Made with skill,’ indeed.

Lots of skills. Skills like drawing, writing, dancing, sign language. He didn’t trip or stumble any more but moved smoothly. It was interesting. It didn’t feel like the skills belonged to someone else. They were his, now, wherever they had originally come from. He knew how to do each thing he was doing, and he did them intentionally.

Still, his art (which he had always considered at least decent) was now scary good. He’d also outplayed Ember on the piano a few days back, breaking her hold on the people who had been listening. She’d been… rather upset about that.

It was worth it.

The string attached to the gift didn’t make itself known for a while. One day, while he was drawing, his wrists burned cold, and he found himself drawing something more than what he’d originally intended. The general subject was the same, but the skill put into it, the effort, was far, far greater. He’d meant to doodle a little, maybe for ten or so minutes before he went to bed.

Instead, it was hours later and if it wasn’t on the back of his French homework the drawing could have been hung in a museum.

It would have been the easiest thing in the world to imagine that he was being puppetted, controlled, that the manacles made him into a marionette, but that wasn’t what it felt like. Instead, it felt as if something had flipped a switch inside him.

He understood, then. The manacles granted him skills, but he couldn’t always decide when to use them. Or how much.

It wasn’t the last time it happened. He’d suddenly be seized with the urge to do something. Make use of some skill. And whatever he did when those urges settled over him was inhumanly good. Dangerously good. As in, attracting the wrong kind of attention good.

Those men in suits had been there for him, and he was quite certain that, if he had been perceptible to people foreign to Amity Park, they would have tried to take him. Tried, being the operative word.

More importantly, the mural he’d been compelled to paint on the side of the supermarket last night seemed to be attracting a following. He’d attempted to keep elements of the others out of it, but he knew they somehow slipped through, slipped past his attention, and into his art.

Sam and Tucker thought it was fine, though. He was inclined to trust them.

He was glad that the manacles did not seem to infer any violent or deadly skills. He wasn’t what he would do if they did and the urge to act turned into an urge to harm.

The manacles turned cold.

Perhaps he’d bake a cake. Something for Sam and Tucker, as a thanks for putting up with him.

Danny slumped against Clockwork’s avatar, who held him without complaint. These visions were mentally draining. They would be, what with containing weeks compressed into seconds.

Were they seconds?

The picture frame caught Danny’s eye. It was a picture of him, as an infant, being held by Clockwork’s avatar, the great expanse of Clockwork himself in the background. Danny wasn’t quite sure he knew the picture was of himself. Really, he’d been a generic-looking baby. But he did know.

He took the picture.

Nothing happened. He went home, woke up, and went about his normal life. On occasion, he would look at the picture when he dropped into the Dream. It warmed something in him.

It took him a month to realize he was aging backwards.

To be fair, no one else seemed to notice, either, even though the change was much more rapid than normal forward aging. Danny suspected they were being blocked from noticing.

No, that wasn’t quite right. They treated the age he appeared as the normal state of things, but they also treated him as if he were his apparent. Something which had bothered him all last week, even if he didn’t realize why it was happening.

It made it slightly more embarrassing that he himself had only noticed when he’d gone to retrieve a cup from the top shelf in the cabinet and couldn’t because he was too short.

Sam, Tucker, and Jazz were confused when he brought it up to them. They seemed to be under the impression that he’d always been a few years younger than Sam and Tucker. That he’d been skipped forward a few years to be in the same class as them. Danny had let the subject drop. He had no idea how to even begin fixing this. If it even could be fixed.

Every day, as he got younger and younger, he also seemed to attract more and more attention. Positive attention. People would smile at him, tell him he was cute, give him presents out of nowhere. Danny couldn’t say he hated it.

Until he got small enough for people to carry around. Which they did. Frequently. Without asking for permission. Even this wasn’t so much of a problem.

Until the cult.

Until the knife.

Until the sacrifice.

(And Clockwork was so thrilled to be able to raise him from infancy.)

He hadn’t decided yet.

How could he decide? They were amazing gifts. Terrifying gifts. Gifts he could not refuse. Gifts he didn’t want to refuse, at least on some level.

But this wasn’t about what he wanted. It was about what he could live with.

The pectoral gave him power and the respect of his peers but took away his ability to use those things in the defense of Amity. Although being powerful in the Dream was an idea that tickled at the shadows in Danny’s mind.

The veils gave him something he always wanted – flight – but at the cost of his humanity and individuality.

The mask would protect him, let him hide and return to a mostly ordinary life, but he would lose the chance to face his new existence on his own terms as well as some of his autonomy. Not to mention, his ability to actually help his people.

The manacles gave him skills he’d enjoy, but also made him a hazard for others.

The picture frame… Something twinged inside Danny’s chest… The picture frame gave him a new life with Clockwork, from the very beginning. But he’d lose everything else and kickstart an unmanageable cult.

He couldn’t give up his friends, his family, his human life. He couldn’t give up his ability to protect Amity. Perhaps all those things would fade from importance in his mind as he became more and more other, but for now they were razor sharp. That made his choice clear.

“The manacles,” he mumbled to Clockwork’s avatar. He could work around the drawbacks (even if part of him resisted the notion that the drawbacks were drawbacks).

The avatar stroked Danny’s hair. An excellent choice.

“How,” said Danny, trying to recollect his thoughts, “how do they work?”

Danny’s eyes fluttered as he saw the chains on the manacles again. The way they felt on his skin was just like what he remembered.

Skills that go unused are lost in the Dream. These find them and bring them to you, bind them to you, so they are never lost again. Clockwork’s avatar plucked one of the chains. It felt as if someone had traced their fingers possessively up one of his arms. Although some of the chains have other functions. It nuzzled Danny as something deep below in Clockwork’s depths began to chime. One can never be too connected to those they Love.

Danny woke in his bed and moaned. His pillow was wet with drool. Evidently, he had left his body behind this time. That happened, on occasion, when he went to the Dream. He was never sure how he felt about it.

He raised his hands up above his head. As expected, the manacles were not visible, but he did feel more… connected to the world around him. Being connected was good. It meant that what happened before wouldn’t happen again. It meant that he wouldn’t be lost.

He lowered his hands, clasping them over where his heart would have, should have been.

The connections, though, were mostly to Clockwork, who was as inhuman as any of the others Danny protected Amity Park from. Should that bother him? He thought of what Nocturne had said in the other timeline, the one where he had chosen the mask. He’d known, already, that as much as Clockwork protected him, he also kept him in a state where he needed that protection. Wasn’t it natural? Wasn’t it the desire to keep Loved ones close?

His breath hitched as he briefly felt the soothing mental weight of Clockwork’s Love increase.

It was fine, wasn’t it?

#danny phantom #eldritch abomination au #ask #answer #loved

160 notes · View notes

thisnoodlewritesao3 · 3 years

Note

Congratulations on 100 followers!!! Could I have a fluff piece with oikawa with this soulmate au: Written on you is a badly worded description of how you’ll meet your soulmate (Ex. Reality: Meet in coffee shop spill drink- - > Description: “You’ll meet in a place of high energy and it’ll be hot”)

Thanks!! And remember to drink water :)

ahhh i had such a hard time writing this one, but! I tried my best. Me n Oikawa do not get along, so I hope this does it justice.

And yes yes, I will drink water as long as you do <3

----

Meeting Oikawa had been both a blessing and a curse - a blessing because he was your soulmate - a curse because he was your soulmate. You loved him despite everything, and he loved you so deeply. As your fourth wedding anniversary rounded the corner, you took the time to glance down at the words on your wrist that entailed the day you’d meet him.

Meet at a volleyball game, he’s a player and he’s crying.

It definitely wasn’t love at first sight - the words on his wrist had told you that anyway:

Meet at a volleyball game, they hate you and then they don’t.

To this day he still whines that you hated him, and you’d just sigh and say you couldn’t help it.

Ever since you could read, you’d forced your parents to take you to all and any volleyball game you could. It wasn’t that you had any interest in the sport - quite the opposite - but if it was important to your soulmate, then it was important to you. For a week, you contemplated joining a club, and then you tried it out and had a ball smashed into your face, so that plan was cut short before it could even start.

It made sense for you to go to Shiratorizawa considering they went to the most games of all the schools in your area. It didn’t take long for you to get too swamped with schoolwork to be able to go to any of the games.

As Summer came to an end, you decided it would be in your best interest to go to the inter-high qualifying rounds. Something in the air told you it would be in your best interest to go. So, you did.

Nothing felt overly special; you stepped off of the bus, pulling your jacket closer around you. It didn’t take long until you met eyes with someone. A boy with brown, fluffy hair surrounded by a large group of squealing girls. Just the sight of it made you roll your eyes. You glared in his direction, not expecting him to turn his head and lock eyes with you. For a second, something seemed to change.

Then you forced your eyes away, turned up your nose and walked away. As you walked into Sendai gym, you heard someone yell at him, and then he screamed. It was amusing to you, but you wouldn’t let it show.

You managed to find an empty seat as you checked out the roster for the games. Shiratorizawa would be playing throughout, but you weren’t overly interested in watching every single match they had against people. As much as you loved watching Ushijima play, you wanted to keep your eyes on the new upcoming team: Karasuno. From what you’d heard from Tendou, they had a crazy quick attack and a first year combination that was almost scary. They had managed to spark your intrigue enough.

You’d missed the first few days of matches, but were ready for the semi finals. According to the roster, it would be a match against Karasuno and Aoba Johsai. Something about that line up made you laugh, especially since Aoba Johsai have never made it to the nationals, not since Shiratorizawa rose in the ranks so long ago.

Sitting in Karasuno’s stands, one leg tossed over the other, you watched with half intrigue. Like previously mentioned, you’d never been too interested in volleyball, but you learn a thing or two after watching for so many years. It gave you a chance to analyse the players, the way they moved; normally, you could predict how a match would go.

This match, though, it is hard to say. With Karasuno growing the way they are, and Aoba Johsai at a constant standstill, maybe things would work out well for them in the end. But, and this was the truth, they’d probably never beat Shiratorizawa. Especially not with Ushijima on the team.

You bit your lip, leaning forward slightly. For a second, your eyes were too focused on #9 and #10. Then someone caught your eye. Aoba Johsai’s captain, Oikawa Tooru, the man with a killer serve and one of the top setter’s. A skilled player, well-rounded, able to bring out the best in all of his spikers.

He was also the pretty boy from earlier. The one who girls seemed to flock to. Even if they knew he wasn’t their soulmate, maybe they had hope. It was pathetic, but you could see why.

Either way, you shrugged it off, turning your attention back to the other team.

You hadn’t realised how close you’d gotten to the edge of your seat, or how long you’d been holding your breath, not until you tried to lean forward more and almost fell off. You hadn’t blinked in so long that your eyes were hurting, but as the third and final set came to a close, you couldn’t figure out who to cheer for.

There was tension in the air that you made your heart hurt in the nicest way. A hand planting on your shoulder made you jump, and you turned to look up at Tendou. “Was it that good? Haven’t seen you watch a game like that in a long time.” You rolled your eyes and brushed him off.

“Oh, shut up,” he laughed at you as you stretched your back, “it was pretty good. Very intense. Maybe Karasuno will give you a run for your money.” You teased, nudging him lightly. He scoffed at you, almost offended.

“As if.” You wanted to laugh at him - you had all faith in them, that they’d take the school to nationals again this year - they were skilled after all. It made sense to you. Not that the other schools weren’t skilled, you just knew it in your heart.

Walking through the halls with Tendou by your side wasn’t anything unusual, but he was leading you towards the court doors, where Aoba Johsai was walking through. Now you could see the tears brimming in their eyes, but nothing could beat the defeated look in Oikawa’s eyes.

Your heart twinged. You wanted nothing more than to reach out to him. Tendou took the lead in the conversation, “wow, those crows really managed to whoop your guys’ asses.” He chirped, resting his hands behind his head.

But Oikawa wasn’t focused on him, his eyes shifted to you. “Hey, you’re that girl from before.” Tears were falling silently down his cheeks. Tendou puffed out his cheeks, having the spotlight taken from him wasn’t something he took lightly, but he let you have your moment.

“I’m surprised you noticed me with all those girls around you.” You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes.

“How could I forget you.” He said, almost laughing, “you looked like you hated me.” You snorted, because it was almost true, but you can’t exactly hate someone you’ve never met.

“Well, you do seem more like a player than anything.” There was some irony there. But this interaction made your brows furrow. Your hand ghosted over the words on your wrist - they seemed to line up, but how could you be sure? You couldn’t. This could just be one coincidence. “But how could I hate a pretty boy who cries?”

Something in his eyes changed and so did something in yours. You held your breath for the second time today and tears flowed down his cheeks like a gentle waterfall; it had to have been a coincidence, but you weren’t sure anymore. Not with the way he looked at you, or the way your heart fluttered.

Tendou’s eyes flickered between you, seemingly connecting the dots before he smirked and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. It didn’t shake you from your thoughts, but it seems to unsettle Oikawa.

“So shitty-kawa,” he hummed, leaning his face closer to yours, “you should’ve come to Shiratorizawa.”

Your younger self never could have imagined that you’d be soulmates with such a pretty boy like Oikawa, but you wouldn’t change him for the world.

----

General Taglist:

@pies-writes-and-more @satan-ruler-of-hells @dekuspet @samkysnks @lucyheartfilias-wife

If you want to be added to the taglist, send me a DM or an ask :D

#oikawa tooru #thisnoodlewrites #haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fluff #hq oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa toru #hq x reader

72 notes · View notes

oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Mold Me New (4) – Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons story

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Frog — for now)

Wordcount: 4.7k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+ (for future smut and explicit thoughts)

Hello to my readers!!! Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe!🥰✨

In this episode: Frog and Taehyung have become very comfortable around each other, getting used to each other’s presence. Their bond grows even more once a ghost from the past comes back to haunt Taehyung. His natural response is growing even closer to Frog, relying on her completely for comfort and… a distraction.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Angsty themes in the second part (an “ex girlfriend” comes back, Taehyung puts up a wall, just a little). Frog starts asking herself questions about sexual attraction. There are some innuendos here and there. Taehyung receives unwanted attentions that make him deeply uncomfortable. That should be all.

The parts that look good were edited by the miraculous @joheunsaram (I recced one of her pieces right here in my main blog 💜)

In case you like my writing, here is my directory for idol!AUs, scenarios and imagines. Here is Tae and Frog’s music companion (spotify playlist, the playlist in case you wanna create it on other platforms)

Enjoy 💜✨

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

Taehyung had become a comfortable addition to your life. He was steady and reliable — from your bi-weekly lessons, to drinks with his friends on the weekend.

Terry had extraordinarily managed to stay friends with both Jimin and Hoseok, occasionally taunting them, but overall keeping things neutral and platonic.

However, the one who was struggling with friendly, platonic feelings was you. It was difficult not to notice the way Taehyung always managed to predict your objections, your movements and your needs.

You felt a connection that made you feel weak, queasy, like clay gently sprinkled with water.

His lessons had become a secret guide to people and relationships.

The first time he had actually placed you at the wheel, helping you throw your first small bowl, he had given you the epiphany of a lifetime.

“Don’t let it dry too much. Too much water will mess it up. It will become too pliant and it won’t hold up.”

A revelation had struck you just then and there. That was it. The rule to love. You had bathed your ex husband in reassurance and affection, and just like that he had melted underneath your touch, and he had turned into nothing. And the love had run out.

“Every shape has its specific requirements,” Taehyung had explained, dipping your hands in the basin and letting the droplets fall from your fingertips. “Wet hands, but not drenched,” he had reminded you from the previous lesson. With a small nod he had invited you to press down the pedal lightly. “See, here we go. The clay will show how much water it needs. Easy on the pedal. Very slow. You’re warming it up. Be gentle. You’re not sure it’s good. Just like with people. Easy at first, and once it works you speed up,” he had smiled at the material underneath your hands.

“Gentle. Easy,” he had corrected you, his sinewy fingers gently leading your hands, recalibrating the pressure points. You had watched the greyish water stain his hands as he helped you. “That’s the secret to good things.”

In the following lesson he had taught you the importance of separation and remotion.

“It's been a few hours* what you have right there it's a leatherhard*. It's hard enough to withstand some pressure, but not ready to stand on its own,” Taehyung had shown you how to cut the bowl from the base, to turn it around and let it dry evenly.

“Still it wouldn't survive the kiln yet,” he explained. “You need all the water out. Water weakens the structure and your piece would crumble. And you would need to start anew,” Taehyung's delicate fingertips had lifted the piece, turning it around. “They're like children. One wrong move and, bam, you lose their trust and you need to earn it back, from ground zero. Yes, Frog. Just like that, easy with the pressure or you'll leave fingerprints,” he had scolded you, exhaling and closing his eyes once he noticed the damage had already been done.

You had looked at him with a sheepish grin, smiling apologetically.

What you didn't know is that he had scowled at the realisation that he simply could not keep a long face at you.

Taehyung had discovered an even weaker spot for you.

He had realised he liked you a lot.

You were quiet, observant, and incredibly intelligent.

And he liked chatting with you on your nights at the pub. And he liked your fashion sense.

He liked leaning his head against your shoulder, he was just extremely sorry he had to be half drunk to be brave enough — or to be somehow excused for the excess of clinginess.

He liked you, the cheerful and polite smile you wore while talking to Jimin and Terry indistinctly, like they had the same importance to you, no matter you had known Terry for ages and Jimin for a few weeks.

He liked the way you trapped the tip of your tongue between your lips while you focused on a piece, or the fact that once he had stopped by the bookshop, only to spot you curled up on an armchair with a fuzzy blanket on your shoulders while you read a book.

He had studied the sleepy smile you had offered him as he handed you a cup of tea that had just been brewed in Seokjin’s café. Taehyung had felt young and foolish as his smile mirrored yours. He’d wandered around the few shelves in your shop, studying a few books and asking questions about the organisation of genres on the shelves.

He asked for recommendations and chuckled as he noticed you growing increasingly chatty, disrupting your streak of quiet to passionately discuss authors and plots and publishing houses, little naive art books and detective novels and half unknown poets from entirely unknown countries.

It had been an amazing morning, with a lazy yellowy light floating in from the large windows.

After that, his visits to the bookshop had become more frequent, even stopping by during a reading date — which of course was not the two of you having a date, but rather other people coming in, mostly couples from university, to explore the shelves together, have that niche romantic academia experience, which sometimes meant that professors also came in with their husbands or wives. The loveliest of them all was the Ancient Greek professor, a seventy year old man who always came in with his wife, opening the door for her and walking around with her hand in his, usually stopping in front of the Russian section to see if they could find anything they liked. Taehyung had helped you create some artsy reading nooks that your customers truly appreciated.

The last month or so had been a blessing, for the both of you.

You both liked the steady, warm presence you could offer each other: he liked having you around because he felt less lonely, and because it was so easy to focus on you rather than the discomfort of loss; you enjoyed his respectful guidance, like a toddler still stumbling on their feet finds comfort in the parent walking right behind them; you felt free to move autonomously, but you also felt him there, never looking away in chase you needed a hand to hold. You had found a companion.

And with that many things started getting out of your control.

One in particular.

It was Tuesday afternoon and as usual the bookshop was closed. You parked your bike in Taehyung’s driveway, grabbing your tote and blushing a little as you fixed a classy, old school ribbon in your hair, covering the hair tie of your ponytail. You felt fickle and juvenile.

You felt romantic.

You felt ready to be pampered with tender guidance and soft touches, still strictly limited to your hands, always after mannered glances asking for your permission. With eager joy, you opened the door to the studio, only to notice an extra wheel beside the usual one.

And one extra person.

A woman.

Currently running her hand down Taehyung’s arm, toying with his fingers.

You blinked a couple times before you rebuilt your happy facade. “Oh, hi! Hello there!” you greeted with a smile.

Taehyung immediately took half a step away from the woman.

“Hello Frog, how are you today?”

“Happy,” you chirped in a way that had Taehyung warning immediately. He knew that kind of gleeful tone was dedicated to other circumstances — books, your friends, squealing when you managed to make a good piece. He frowned also because you weren’t one of those easily excited people.

What could have possibly made you want to show off so much happiness all at once?

“I’m glad,” he commented before noticing the extra wheel and suddenly remembering the guest.

“This is Dolly. Dolly is a fellow artist. She’s from a small town nearby. She is designing customised tableware for a resort cottage nearby. She’ll work with us today.”

You nodded, grabbing your apron — the only apron, you noticed — and got ready for the task of the day.

“Would you like to try making a plate for today?” he asked, taking out some premixed clay and preparing it on the table for you to wedge. “Or we could do some glazing while Dolly does her thing.”

“No, I could use two teachers,” you replied, trying to be inclusive, shushing all the unmotivated jealousy. How unreasonable!

“She won’t let you get away with things just because of your cute smile,” Taehyung warned, the stern reprimand sugared by the half hidden compliment.

“I almost don’t make mistakes anymore!” you complained before walking to the table, rolling up your sleeves and beginning to pat the corners of your piece of clay.

“Do you need me to do that?” he asked, feeling twice as apprehensive as usual.

“You could wedge some for me, Tae?” Dolly called, preparing a large disk and bringing it over to the table. “Please?” she cooed.

Taehyung agreed, feeling more comfortable at your side, both your foreheads growing sweaty with the warm spring weather and your arms getting sore as you worked the clay until it reached ideal plasticity.

“How was yesterday? I didn’t manage to bring you breakfast,” he mentioned almost casually as he started giving the final twists to the clay body.

“Oh, it was okay. Slow Monday. A couple teachers brought in some stuff to print. One of my parents’ friends asked me to grammar check her dissertation. I had a few books brought in for safety rebounding. Same old,” you said, sitting at the wheel and throwing the clay down. “How should I go about the plate?” you asked, looking up at Taehyung.

He was suddenly enchanted by your beauty as you looked up, a few rebellious locks escaping your hairband and making you look so unreal, so breathtaking and young.

Sometimes he forgot you were young.

Sometimes he even forgot he was young himself.

He was living the kind of fondness his grandma had always told him about, the kind of fondness she had met once sixty, ready to conclude her earthly struggles by herself. Instead, she had met an honest man, a widower who understood her past and her present.

The two had shared a quiet, tender feeling until she left. They were friends, they talked about the weather and gardening, went on walks, had picnics and went to church together. He always held her hand and kissed her forehead with a reverence Taehyung had never met.

Except for you.

He knew the only love he would never doubt was the one that accompanied his granny through her last days. He knew she passed a happy woman and that relieved him immensely.

Being the son of a single mother meant many complicated things, which included his mom moving half a continent away when he turned fourteen, chasing a man he barely knew.

He was glad he had his grandmother then, and the guys. Jimin and his family, although very complicated.

Taehyung didn’t understand the inner dynamics of relationships, and his lack of experience during high school had definitely not helped.

It’s not like he hadn’t tried, but he didn’t feel comfortable. He was always trying to learn while all the girls he had dated expected some sort of latin lover for unknown reasons — probably because of a rumour started by Jimin and Jeongguk, which had clearly, miserably failed.

All he could do was show kind devotion and gain continuous inspiration by the women in his life.

Pottery itself was an art he had learnt from his mother, who in turn had learnt from her mother. He had liked it from day one, like he had been called to it, made for it, even.

“Taetae please, could you help? I think I’m stuck,” Dolly whined, stopping to look at her attempt of dish. “What do you think?”

You tried to ignore the way her voice hurt your ears, leaving some clay aside to handbuild fruit for decoration to add later. Once done, you remodeled the amount for the plate in a round ball against your apron before throwing it a bit too aggressively on the wheel before starting to center.

“See, I’m not sure about the lip. Should i give it a wider edge or make it a bit… I don’t know. I kind of wanted it flat, with a slightly raised lip,” she pouted through her words, but you kept your focus, centering the piece flawlessly, repeating the procedure a few times, feeling the movements terribly familiar and comforting.

“It’s a good idea,” Taehyung confirmed, “a bit of a modern twist.”

“Aw, you’re so nice!” Dolly cooed, batting her lashes at him just as he turned to look at you.

“You’re still centering? All good?” he asked, noticing you stuck on holding the half dome under your palms, ready to bring it up again.

He let you go through the motion, finding himself the excuse of checking your technique only to stare at your strong but precise hands.

You went on without answering, letting the clay grow against your palms before feeling it peak and changing your grip, pushing your thumbs across and down.

“Good job, Frog,” he praised you, watching your face light up in a shy smile while you kept working the ball onto a large, thick disk.

“It’s a lot more than usual,” you commented with a sheepish grin.

“You’re doing perfect,” he reassured you. “Keep it even. Remember the ashtray-turned-jewellery plate?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Use the side of your hand. Press down harder,” he directed you. “Use your whole body, Frog. You’re handling a lot there, you need to be a bit more aggressive.”

He bit his lip before testing the waters. “Make it wetter, Frog.”

You felt yourself freeze for a second. You swallowed and dipped your dominant hand in the water.

“Don’t make it drip,” he corrected you.

“I’m gonna drench it,” you replied.

“Taetae—”

“Just a second, Dolly,” he replied absentmindedly. “Drench it, Frog.”

You obeyed.

“Gonna touch your back,” he warned you before you felt his forearms on your shoulders, pressing you down. “Use your whole weight. You need to make it to three inches. The thinner the easier.”

You felt his voice close to your ear.

“When it starts to drag, it’s too dry. Hug the side,” he rose and placed his palm against yours. “Just hold it. No pressure. Lovingly.”

“Tae—” Dolly called again.

He closed his eyes. “Just keep pressing,” he told you. “Tell me.”

“Can you help me with the lip?” Dolly asked, batting her lashes.

“First, make the base wider. Flatten it nicely, till the edge, then pinch the wall up. It will fall a little as it dries, but maybe we can find a way to secure it. If you make it short enough it should hold,” he explained professionally.

“Could you show me, please?”

He nodded. “Wait, Frog, stop there. Watch,” he commanded curtly.

You slowed down the wheel before stopping, holding your hands for a second before making sure that your piece didn’t get out of control.

“Okay,” you told him once you were ready.

“Come up here, I need you to see the details.”

You reached the two other people, Taehyung taking Dolly’s spot at the wheel. He fixed his stance before he wet his hands. Instinctively, his left palm went to hold the side while his right fingers grabbed a needle, measuring the thickness of the plate. “Just around two inches. And here it goes thicker, you see? Around three inches,” he showed, sticking the needle in.

“Did I do wrong?” Dolly asked, awfully dramatic.

“You just need to make it thinner,” he commented, already dipping a small sponge in the plate before squeezing it in the plate, still being very careful.

“Now, Dolly first used her fist — the side of it — and pulled it toward her to spread the clay lower. Repeat that several times. At least six or seven, based on the pressure you manage to apply. Then she used her fingertips, center out. Like this,” he said, showing the motion.

You felt ready to throw yourself out across the glass wall head first.

His middle finger pressed down with such firmness that you couldn’t not think of it doing very inappropriate things to your body.

You felt dumbstruck at the sudden thought, like it was some sort of exceedingly vivid dream, too realistic to actually be a dream.

“Rib next. Dolly didn’t use the rib properly here. She was too light.” He corrected the woman’s mistake, using his chest to press down, exhaling loudly as he did. “You have to go deep, Frog. Stay there. Be a bit stubborn.” He grinned. “Hold position.”

You nodded, licking your lips.

Dolly’s eyes were glowing with arousal next to you, his brow arching once he put down the rib after five minutes or so. “Wet fingers,” he reminded you, wiggling as gimey, grey water rolled down his wrists, the vision unfairly erotic for the dirt covering his hands, dripping down the hypervascular back of them, the veins of his forearms significantly thicker.

You shook your head with a grin as he wiggled his digits. “You put one inside, on the outside and press them together. Make sure you dig deep with the one on the inner side. You’ll want to press down firmly to collect all the material you’ll need for the lip. In this case, we keep pushing out, to further widen the plate and give it a short, erect lip.”

You were out of your mind, nodding just in hope to get away from torture.

“Oh, so that’s how I need to do the lip! Thank you Taetae!” Dolly exclaimed, giving you a way out.

You caught the chance immediately, sitting back at the wheel, drenching your hands before reapplying water to your piece.

“Wetter,” Taehyung called immediately.

Oh.

Your brain froze as you realised that wetter you were, indeed.

“Make a fist,” he ordered as he poured more water on your piece. “Press the side of your pinkie knuckle in the middle.”

You looked at him, crouched beside you, his mop of black hair tumbling back as his dark eyes met yours.

They hid so much longing, so much need for comfort. You read them immediately, nodding.

He placed his hand on top of yours. “Push down, Frog,” he murmured, in a way he hoped only the two of you would hear over the sound of the wheels’ engines. “Harder, lovely.”

You held your breath, his fingers and palm swallowing your fist entirely as he slipped his thumb into the hole created by your index and thumb. “Pull it towards you now,” he spoke softly. “Hard and slow, Frog,” he reminded you.

Your brain was far, far away, filled with questions about how you now found yourself comfortable about seeing Taehyung as a potential partner.

Duh. Because he knows you, dummy, the reply came instantly

Because he seemed to do everything just right for you, and when he ended up making a mistake, he seemed to know exactly how to ask for forgiveness and actually learn from his previous wrongdoings.

“Do I keep going?” you questioned, looking at him.

His face lit up slightly. “Yes, darling.” He let you go slightly after, cleaning up his hand.

You missed his guidance, but you convinced yourself you could do without.

“Slow down. Test the thickness,” he reminded you, offering the needle. “You did perfect, Frog,” he murmured with a fond grin.

“Really?” you reacted incredulously.

He confirmed, nodding as he stuck the needle along the side. “We need to work with your fingertips along the sides, here,” he showed, closing down the small puncture.

You wet your digits and placed your middle and ring finger on the center, slightly angled, letting them slide all the way to the edge as the wheel turned.

He assisted your outer hand, supporting it and showing how much pressure was needed.

“Keep going like this for a couple minutes. Make sure that it slims out. Just a few minutes—”

“Tae, do you think this is right?” Dolly asked with her squeaky voice.

His left hand grazed yours reverently as he parted from you.

Taehyung cruelly realised he was head over heels for you.

“It looks just fine to me, Dolly. I think you could give it a last test and then let it dry.”

“Yes, maybe you could give me some hands-on guidance with the next one. I could learn from a… master like you.”

You almost scoffed, giving a choked snort before you could actually control yourself.

“Uhm… I’m sure you just need to refine your timing.” Taehyung tried to evade the request.

During the rest of your lesson, you managed to throw two plates, even building a few decorations that would be added once the clay was leatherhard, in about twenty-four hours.

“I’ll add the decorations tomorrow,” Taehyung told you as you washed your hands. “Unless you want to stop by during lunch break.”

You dried your hands, thinking about his suggestion. “I think I’ll be busy tomorrow. You know, the Spring fair is soon and there’s some stuff I need to do.”

He pouted and nodded. “I’ll trim and decorate then,” he agreed. “If we’re having our Friday lesson, we can bisque them.”

You smiled and agreed.

“Maybe I can throw some plates for you and show you how to decorate while the kiln is working,” he reasoned, helping you to remove the apron once he noticed you were stuck in it.

“That would be lovely, if it’s not too much work for you!” you replied happily. You deposited the apron and caught your bag, fixing it on your shoulder. “It was a pleasure, Dolly!”

“Likewise!” she replied with a smile so sour it would have made milk curdle. “I’ll see you again!”

“Yes, for sure!” you cheered back, making your way out.

Taehyung accompanied you, almost as if you didn’t know the way. “I have a book to return,” he said, making you frown. He didn’t borrow any book from you.

“Uhm,” you started, trying to understand his intentions.

“Come in, I have it in the kitchen,” he said, leading you through the backyard.

“Taehyung,” you called, once you reached the door to his house, keeping your voice low. “Are you okay?”

He opened the door and led you through. His house was incredibly traditional compared to the way you had expected it to be.

“I’m… I just needed to check in on you. Dolly can be a very… loud… presence,” he said, grabbing a glass and a pastel pink porcelain pitcher. “Lemonade?”

You shook your head. “She is indeed very… loud.”

“I’m sorry,” he sat down and drank. He looked sad. Worried. “Are we okay, Frog?”

You stood at his side, looking at him before delicately placing your hand on his shoulder. “I’m okay, but are you? You look terrified of being in there with her.”

He placed both elbows on the table and held his head. “I’m just very tired today.”

Your hand moved to his nape, feeling the corded muscles. “Tell her you’re tired and that you’re calling it a day. I can make up an excuse for you.”

You were reminded just how much he had clung to you for the whole lesson. If she was giving him special attention, he clearly didn’t want it.

“Would you do that?” he asked, suddenly hopeful.

You frowned. “Of course?” you reacted, playfully disappointed in his lack of faith. “We can stay here. I can read, you can nap or watch the tv. We just need to make her understand it’s time to go. I’ll hide my bike and wait for you here. You’ll go in there and tell her Jimin or someone called and they need your help.”

“Are you sure you want to spend the afternoon like this? I mean, it’s your free day.”

You shrugged. Your plans were going home, getting rid of the awful tension running down your back and possibly going to the shop for some cleaning, maybe work on that dissertation… “You’re my friend. And yes, I want to help you.”

Taehyung knew that some people would have been highly disappointed by being called ‘friend’ by their crush, but that made him feel warm, like he was wrapped in a cosy comforter. “Go hide the bike,” he said, grinning like a child.

You grinned right back at him, starting down the corridor with long strides. He helped you choose a nice spot, hiding your bike between the house and the bushes tracing the outline of the garden.

After fifteen minutes or so, you heard Dolly’s annoying voice as she said something like “call me if you need help with Jiminie”, dramatically bidding Taehyung goodbye.

From the window, you watched her get inside a car in front of the house, Taehyung appearing a few minutes after. “We. Are. Free,” he panted theatrically as he flopped on the sofa, throwing his head back.

“Why did you let her come?” you asked, staring at him from your spot by the window.

“Because she’s an old friend. I met her way before she became like that,” he admitted. “I hadn’t seen her in ages. And now she’s clearly trying to get back in my life, using the commission as an excuse.” Taehyung rubbed his temples.

For half a second you wondered whether it was a good idea to ask. Would it make any difference? You realised it would. “Were you… In a relationship?”

“If for ‘relationship’ you mean ‘let’s fuck him so I can complete the friends collection’, then yes.” Taehyung propped his forearms on his knees, exhaling heavily.

You hissed, feeling slightly uncomfortable. You didn’t know what to do. “If you’d like to rest, I can go home,” you said, looking at him with cold, uncertain eyes.

He met your stare, suddenly feeling confused, scared even. He frowned and crossed his arms, trying to put some distance after he noticed his refuge turn hostile to him. “You can go,” he said, shrinking within his shoulders, trying not to show how much he feared being alone.

What he didn’t know is that you could feel the hurt in his voice and the pain in his eyes like needles sinking in your skin. You walked to him, touching his hair hesitantly, feeling wary about not receiving spoken permission.

You watched him bloom under your touch, his lungs inflating with a large inhale. He exhaled way more slowly, taking his time. “Do you want me to go?” you asked, letting your hand slide down the side of his face.

He shook his head, placing his hand atop of yours, holding it there just in case you foolishly thought he didn’t need your touch anymore. “Can you stay?”

You placed both your hands on his hair, cupping his face. “I’ll read, you take a nap.”

He watched you move your free hand away, putting down your tote and grabbing a book. He grabbed your wrist, staring at you with his dark puppy eyes. “Can you sit here? Close?”

You smiled and nodded, settling at his side before he grabbed a blanket, spread it wide and laid down, nuzzling closer, inch by inch, until you found his head on your lap.

“Can I?” he asked, adorably, his cheeks puffy and his eyes glittering vivaciously.

You smiled back at him and nodded. Fondly, you moved your book aside, watching him close his eyes contentedly as your thigh became his pillow.

After a couple pages, you almost thought he had fallen asleep already, only to realise you were mistaken once he reached for your free hand and brought it to his hair.

“Cuddle?”

You smiled even brighter, tracing the shell of his ear before starting to hand-comb his soft, dark locks.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered gently, barely holding back as you looked at his face, peacefully relaxed.

Your heart was a messy thing, but in that moment you realised that, could you have a new one, you would gift it to him and never ask for it back.

Taglist is open

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

#taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fanfiction #thetruthuntoldnnet #thebtswritersclub #taehyung strangers to lovers #taehyung angst

39 notes · View notes

introvert-no-chameleon · 3 years

Text

Meeting the Man-Ape

So @sleepsentry made this amazing AU and my childhood Tarzan phase came back like a vengeful ghost and teamed up with my current GF obsession to deliver this ficlet and an entire outline.

Anyway, here’s how I imagine Fidds’ and Tarzan!Stan first meeting.

Fiddleford should have said no when his old college friend had invited him to a scientific expedition to study anomalies in other countries. Maybe if he hadn't been so disillusioned with his lap computers, or if he hadn't gone through a divorce, he would've had enough sense to stay at home.

Instead, here he was, in some god-forsaken jungle in the middle of nowhere on a tree of all things, hugging the massive moss-covered trunk for dear life.

The humidity was suffocating, making him sweat to the point where his button up stuck stubbornly to his skin. He felt wet in uncomfortable places, itchy in others, and overall decided he did not, in fact, want to be here. To make matters worse, he was sure he would stumble onto camp smelling like wet socks. The ominous chirping and roaring in the jungle around him did nothing to alleviate his stress nor did the occasional shufflingnhe'd heard among the trees.

He'd gotten chased up a tree, lost his shoe and lost track of Stanferd and their incredibly untrustworthy guide, (a poacher of all things) and he was pretty sure he was about to fall to his untimely demise.

Wonderful. They'll probably never find his body in this unholy mess. His tombstone will read “Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, the Biggest Damn Fool to Ever Live”.

He huffed, holding onto the tree he was in the process of climbing. The tips of his toes were on the one he'd stood on. He stretched, pulled his weight up...and found himself stuck between both of them with no way to move.

Fuck.

"Well," he muttered. "It ain't like this can get any worse."

As if the Lord Himself had heard Fiddleford, a clap of thunder shook the sky, followed by a heavy torrent of rain.

"You know what? I shoulda known better."

He slumped, hanging his head between his shoulder blades. Against his better judgement he decided to see just how high up he was to assess just how bad he messed up.

One can imagine his surprise, then, when another human face floated inches away from his own.

Fiddleford yelled, pushing himself away from the stranger. He immediately regretted the knee-jerk reaction when he felt his body swerve downwards. Apparently, he was high up enough that the trunks of the trees felt dizzyingly tall. He flailed his arms in an attempt to regain balance.

A single finger poked his nose, then gently pushed him back. The gesture sent Fiddleford toppling backwards, until his butt landed on a steady surface.

Oh thank goodness. He exhaled in relief, allowing himself a few moments to regain his composure.

The soft thud in front of him jolted him back to his current situation. Or rather, the person whom he was with.

A masculine figure with thick, long locks of brown hair and hunched on fours much like an ape, observed Fiddleford with curious, child-like wonder. The only thing this person wore to preserve their modesty was a loincloth. The rest of their body had impressive muscles, their fingers and toes wide-spread to better their grip on the trunk they were on. Which meant they not only climbed their way up, they must've done so quickly, because Fiddleford certainly would've noticed a person like this around him.

Right. The fabled man-ape. Of course Stanferd would've actually been right about this one thing, and of course Fiddleford had been the one to find them.

No matter. His momma had taught him manners, and he wasn't about to throw those away just because he was in unfamiliar territory. "Er, howdy," said Fiddleford, cautiously. "It's a pleasure to meet ya, the name's Fiddleford Hadron McGucket." He extended his hand to the stranger.

The ape-man cocked their head to the side. Fiddleford couldn't help but notice how eerily similar this person was to Stanferd. Aside from the fact that they haven't shaved, they still had the same broad nose, the bushy eyebrows, the brown eyes alight with excitement.

Please, this ain't some movie. Stanferd havin' some secret twin? That would be ridiculous. But back to the situation at hand--he probably don't understand a thing I'm sayin'. This'll be tricky…

The man-ape cleared their throat. They pointed at themself, and with a shocklingly deep voice, said: "Er...howdy. The name's Fiddleford Hadron McGucket."

Now that was interesting. "Fascinating...ya even copied the inflection of mah voice."

The man-ape copied Fiddleford's sentence again, looking pleased with themselves.

"That still spells the question of whether or not ya understand--now hold on just one second!"

The ape-man had crawled over and admired Fiddleford's shoe-less foot, a process which entailed pulling Fiddleford closer for inspection. They were mighty strong, too, judging by how easily he moved Fiddleford.

The scientist slapped the ape-man's hand away. "See here, there is no need for that kind of tomfoolery!"

The ape-man grunted. The message didn't come across, because he went back to touching him, albeit more carefully.

"No, no, that ain't what I meant!" A giggle escaped Fiddleford as he touched each of his toes, soon replaced by full-on-laughter.

This startled his companion, who drew back for a moment, giving Fiddleford enough time to catch his breath. They stared, watching Fiddleford intently.

They suddenly widened their eyes. Approaching Fidds once more, he placed a hand on his own chest. Then he slowly moved his own to Fiddleford's, waiting.

Now intrigued again, Fiddleford placed the hand over his chest. Once a few moments passed, they brought Fiddleford's entire head to his own chest and good lord they were hairy.

They also smelled like a sweaty mess. Fiddleford was quick to push them away. "Yes, that's a...mighty fine heartbeat ya have. Very healthy."

If this is what the anomalies felt when they studied them, he couldn't blame some of them for wanting to rip he and Ford a new one. He himself felt more than a little irritated at the bold-faced intrusiveness.

They extended their hand, but this time stopped in mid air, and held their palm towards Fiddleford.

With some hesitation, Fiddleford went up and held his own palm up. They placed it right against his. When their fingers interlaced Fiddleford's, he felt his face flush.

He drew his hand back towards himself, coughing. "Well, I-I think that's enough of that."

"Tar...stan."

Fiddleford blinked up at his new companion. "Say what now?"

They pointed at themselves. "Tarstan." They pointed at Fiddleford. "Er...howdy. The name's Fiddleford Hadron McGucket."

Fiddleford chuckled. "That's too much of a mouthful, I reckon."

"That's too much of a-"

Fiddleford shook his head. "No, it's. Now, wait, look at me," he said gesturing at their eyes and then himself. "Fiddleford."

"Fiddleford," they said, pointing at the scientist. They gestured at themself. "Tarstan."

Fiddleford nodded, his mouth split into a grin. "That's right! Now we're gettin' somewhere."

The sound of a gunshot had him jolt upwards, cursing up a storm. He was thankful Tarstan was too occupied glancing at the source of the sound to repeat any of it.

"That must be Bill." His lips curled into a disgusted frown. "Damn fool, shooting all over the place, he'll hurt somebody…"

Tarstan imitated the gunshot, an amused smile playing on their lips.

An idea formed in Fiddleford's head. "Do ya think ya can get me over there? To where that noise is?"

They grinned, which he took as a good sign as any. Tarstan looping his arm around his waist was considerably less reassuring.

"Er, what're we doing--sweet sarsaparilla!"

Tarstan leaped onto a vine, keeping his grip on Fiddleford as he did so. He managed to not only keep his grip, but also swing them from vine to vine in the direction of Bill's shooting.

He couldn't describe it then, but later on he'd reflect on the ominous twist in the pit of his stomach as they approached the camp. If Fiddleford had known just what would've happened in the next few months, he probably would've never brought them anywhere near Bill.

Extra Ideas that I Have:

-Ford secretly has been hoping to find his lost twin, who “died” in the same area as the fabled “man-ape” because he was separeted from his brother at a young age when [insert whatever idea one may have to explain how Stan could end up in a jungle being raise by apes, because I don’t have one]. He is estatic that not only is his brother alive, he’s an anomaly just like him!

-I imagine Bill’s motives being very similar to the Tarzan villain (whatever his name is) . Fidds in this AU is more suspicious, but is still unable to stop him alone.

-Fiddleford ends up falling for Tarzan!Stan and vice versa much like Jane does in the OG film.

-Stanford also is intent on having his brother return to civilization, but Tarzan!Stan is unsure about leaving.

-I imagine them having an ending similar to the film.

#tarstan au #stan pines #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #ford pines #bill cipher #gravity falls #i rewatched an entire scene just to write this #i never imagined this is what i would be doing at 25 but that's life kids #i don't have ideas they just chase me with a net and pin me down until i write them #or blindside me at work #fiddlestan

30 notes · View notes

lostcephalopods · 3 years

Text

AU Masterpost

you can literally always talk to me about my aus. yes I have an au problem. it's incurable.

New (this blog only):

#dnau - collab w fred

remus gets into dna tests, janus' dna keeps changing, janus has an identity crisis

#mafiau - collab w fred

fake marriage turn into taking over a mafia, dukexiety, rosleepceit, freed androids becoming family

#dragonau - collab w fred

janus is a dragon that hoards boyfriends

#marvelau

janus get spider powers, janus is very hot, spideypool, dukexiety, future sleepceit, one-sided roceit

#eldritchau

remy is sleep, janus is a trickster, roman remus and virgil are a trio, soulmates exist, eldritch beings like to meddle, dukexiety, dukesleepceit, rosleepceit

#idolau

remy is an idol forced to be the face of scandals, janus is a barista with a dark past, virgil is a bartender trying to save money, roman is struggling to get a role, remus probably has a job and a home, oh and most of them live in the same shitty building

Old (from loveceit):

#bread au

rosleepceitmas, anaintruality, cottagecore dream, urban fantasy

#vampiceit - collab w fred

anxceitmusleep, canon setting, janus is a vampire disguised as a snake

#belief!dee

deceit used to be belief, king is the only one who knows, qpp kingceit, roceit, remus has abandonment trauma, remus is obsessed w roman (fic)

#powerswap au

canon setting, the dragon witch curses the wrong twin, remus janus and virgil all switch powers, slowburn anxceitmus

#pride!roman au

unsympathetic remus, remus replaces roman, deceit finds out, roman becomes pride since he's not needed as creativity

#the horror au

urban fantasy, antemori shores, the abandoned circus isn't abandoned, watch out for the Ringmaster

#ts witch au

urban fantasy, antemori shores, thomas inherited an apartment building, seven witches are the only ones living there, intruality, other ships tbd

#local cryptids au

schrodingers sleepxiety -> creepxiety, lomile, roceit, tobus, logan raised the twins, remy and virgil raised dee, virgil's youtube audience has lots of questions, remy owns fluidi-tea the coffee shop

#haunted motel au

virgil is the only employee at the enigma motel, the motel is haunted by five ghosts, virgil wants to contact the ghosts

#ts magic au

ironshell, deceit has too many people attracted to him, deceit is the only human, fae shouldn't be trusted but also the twins are fae

#fairytale au

a king broke the terms set by the fae after the queen passed away, a princess becomes a mage in a tower, the tower becomes cramped, established lomas, somewhat slowburn dukesleepxiety dukesleepceit and rosleepceit

#illfitting powers

virgil has fire powers, patton can communicate with spiders, logan conjures realistic illusions, roman can turn invisible, remus travels through other's reflections, janus is forced to fit in through painful shapeshifting, remy keeps people awake, emile influence people to feel the same emotion he does

#snakely escape au

deceit strips away everything but his core - self-preservation- and hides out in the imagination as an inland taipan called mair, qpp dukesleep, slowburn anxceitmus and roceit

#unexpected roommates au

semi-canon setting, roman is a ghost that haunts thomas, deceit is a sizs-changing fae that got stuck in thomas' home, they can see the sides when they're out, the sides know about them before thomas does

#fakimals

remus is thought to be the only dark side because virgil and janus are always in animal form, the animals will still pop up if they disagree with something, ignoring the animals doesn't end well, qpp anxceit, slow roceit

#sideswap au

canon setting, belief, creativity and caution as light sides, guilt, pride and detachment as dark sides, blind!belief, light sides chirp, probably onseided roceit (pride loves belief)

#garbage au

remus is a homeless demon sleeping in the dumpster behind the tattoo shop virgil works at, remus gets to stay in the shop's break room, roman is an angel, dalitso and remy own the tattoo shop and they corrupt/seduce roman, virgil gets to tattoo remus, dukexiety, eventual rosleepceit that starts with roman playing matchmaker to remy and dee

#the coincidence au

romulus, roman and remus don't know that they're all cousins, they have different surnames and have lived in different parts of the world before ending up in the same town, all three gets interested in dee who looks cool but is a gay disaster, creativiceit, sleepxiety

#soft vibes au

past sleepceit lead to remus being born, eve adopts roman and virgil, thomceit, eve's adoptive parents are emile and patton, soft family focused au

#ts sunflower au

thomas went to an adoption centre w a friend as moral support, met dee, continued to visit dee, adopted dee, now has an autistic 8 year old to care for, sir hiss the stuffed corn snake, mr picani is dee's counsellor, dee transfer to a new school, dee is now in fourth grade w the twins and virgil, remy is dee's friend from his old school and turns out to be mr picani's kid, could be thomile

#toddler dee au

thomas gives deceit less energy after the reveal, deceit changes to a smaller shape to conserve energy but fucks up, deceit is now a toddler w no memories, deceit only trusts virgil in the beginning, toddlers can't control their powers, roman is dee's role model and future husband (in the way kids want to marry adults), deceit actually ages at an accelerated rate (1 year in 4 months)

#kingceit human au

king roman and remus are triplets, deceit and remy are twins, deceit killed their and remy's parent in self defense, king is deceit's hot hairdresser that they accidentally confess murder to, deceit and remy take in 12 yr old virgil from the street, kingceit, rosleep, dukesleep

Old and temporarily abandoned:

#art heist au

#ts avatar au

#ts tangled au

#yet another youtube au

#soulmate wings au

#the high school au

#ts mythology au

#dead spouses au

#wtnv au

Dead aus:

#twin omens au

#parent teacher au

#deceit too au

#hogwarts au

#crazy ex au

#ts universe au

fred, friend and au enabler: @anxiouslyfred

#masterpost #long post

6 notes · View notes

chestnut-b · 4 years

Text

Himawari Chapter 12

“I swore I’d never let my friends die, sensei. Not if there was anything I could do about it.”

This close, he could see the amber flecks in the gaze that pierced him, still searching for an answer he could fully accept.

It was almost too much to bear, so Kakashi closed his eyes, smiling.

“Maa, maybe you were too drunk to remember, sensei. But I did say we’d go together didn’t I?”

The teacher blinked, and the shoulder under Kakashi’s hand stiffened as he ducked his head.

“Idiot. You’ve got to be the biggest idiot I know, Kakashi.”

The idiot in question laughed.

Chapter 12 of a Demon Slayer AU

...Father?

It was dark, but he could have been sleeping with his head in Sakumo’s lap, just like he’d done so many times before, in the days that were awash in sunlight and the grassy smell of tatami.

There were fingers going through his hair. Warm and fond.

The hand stopped to rest lightly on the side of his forehead, and then he felt it; the warm press of lips on his brow, just over the eye that he vaguely knew, wasn’t quite his own.

His father had always been gentle, even in his sternness.

But this...this was a tenderness he’d never known.

Who?

It was at that moment his senses took over, and he suddenly became aware of the unexpected closeness of a human presence, but one he judged as familiar and non-threatening. He could also feel the extent of the exhaustion that settled in his bones.

Carefully, he opened his eyes.

The person had already stood to leave. Placing a hand on the door, it was carefully slid open, causing Kakashi to squint at the sudden shift in brightness. His left eye began to ache at the unintended exposure, and yet, he found himself unable to look away.

Dark hair over a sea-blue haori, bathed in the first light of morning.

Kakashi tried his best to form some coherent thoughts, but his vision began to swim, and his eyelids soon took on the weight of lead. A peaceful darkness began to settle, almost seemingly in tandem with the closing door before him. But just before it took him completely, a ghost of a voice echoed in his head.

Don’t go.

It might have been his own.

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

“Good morning, Hashira-sama.”

So he said, but the shadows on the ground told him clearly it was just a couple of hours before sunset. He found the teacher sitting under the tree again, presumably off duty, with his face buried in one of the books he’d received from Sarutobi. Kakashi felt his eye twitch, and without so much as a word of warning, plonked himself next to the man, leaning back heavily onto the teacher’s shoulder.

“Hey?!”

“Sorry,” Kakashi murmured, folding his arms over himself. “But you looked a little too comfortable and I kind of got jealous.” He grumbled, shifting and squirming against his junior until he was perfectly satisfied, choosing all the while not to react to the small cries of protest from the teacher.

“Seriously…?” Came the utter of disbelief.

But before long, Iruka started to shift against him, just as determined to make himself comfortable while also being resigned to his fate as a human headrest. When he’d finally settled, Kakashi closed his weary eyes, allowing the subtle breeze, the rustle of trees, the chirping of birds, and the warmth of the body behind him to lull him into a peaceful doze.

“...Thank you.”

It was soft, but not quite a whisper.

“Hmm? I don’t remember doing anything to be thanked for.” He replied sleepily.

Iruka elbowed him gently in the rib, eliciting a chuckle.

“Well...if you really want to thank me…tell me a story.”

He felt Iruka‘s head turn, puzzled. “A story?”

Kakashi nodded lazily against the palm of his hand. “Mmhmm, from one of the books Sarutobi brought back. I saw your notes, sensei~”

There was a soft laugh. “Nothing escapes that eye of yours does it.” There might have been a hint of sarcasm there, but Kakashi was too tired to do anything other than allow Iruka’s voice to carry him into a warm, pleasant afternoon.

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

Kakashi found peace easy to get used to.

There were days spent drinking tea, or dozing under the tree in the courtyard while Iruka narrated a story, sometimes with a hound sleeping in his lap.

On some mornings he’d peek into the teacher’s classroom, where the children followed him with wide, keen eyes as he read from his textbook. Kakashi had heard it often enough to wonder; if that voice that seemed to draw people in was yet another thing Iruka had inherited from his ancestor. He couldn’t be sure.

After lunch, there would be Hashira training to conduct, and to evade, much to Iruka’s chagrin. For on more than a few occasions, he’d slip into the room where the teacher hid, going through stacks of books filled with children’s scrawlings. He would pretend to complain for a while, but even with Kakashi’s back against him, they’d eventually fall into a comfortable silence. The summer cicadas would cry in the stiff heat of the afternoon, and more and more often, Kakashi awoke to find Iruka, slumped over the desk, asleep on his folded arms.

He favoured a few select methods to awaken his slumbering friend, each with their own unique reward. A few good pokes to the cheek would produce an annoyed glare, ruffling his hair would elicit a petulant groan of protest. But what always proved most amusing was a cupped hand to his ear and a whispered wake-up call. It never failed to yield a panicked yelp of surprise, and a face ablaze.

There was one unfortunate incident however, when he’d loomed too long over his sleeping quarry. Gai’s messenger had chosen that exact moment to land at the open door, and the shrill cry of the damned bird caused the teacher to snap awake, the back of his head connecting with Kakashi’s chin with a painful crack.

What followed was a rather impressive string of curses from them both.

“Serves you right, idiot.” The younger man had muttered, pressing a cloth to a masked, split lip. Kakashi had seen him do the same many times; on crying children and their skinned knees and elbows, not so much on fully grown Hashira. But in the end, he’d grinned like the idiot he was, and despite his best efforts to resist, so had Iruka.

Much like the year before, he accompanied the brothers to town on their visit to the apothecary, and Kakashi paid for the ramen afterwards with his generous stipend without complaint. When he wasn’t placated with food, Naruto continued to glare at him as if his brother would be spirited away the moment his back was turned, but much like Iruka on his bomb-making days, he never failed to surprise.

He’s quick to learn. Good instincts too. Kakashi mused one night, side-stepping an attack that might have just grazed him if he were any less serious. Iruka, watching on the edges, looked particularly pleased; it had been his request to have him start training the boy in earnest, even if it was just with wooden swords.

Like a summer daydream, the days passed in an uneventful haze. A haze so comfortable, it might have been enough for Kakashi to push the thoughts of the ever looming threat out of his mind, if only for a day.

Then came one afternoon, while approaching the tearoom, a wet, struggling cough stopped him in his tracks. He pushed open the doors, only to see his shadow fall upon Iruka’s kneeling figure upon the tatami.

He’d tried to keep his clenched fist from view, but couldn’t hide the red smear at the corner of his lips. Even then, he smiled. But it wasn’t the one that appeared above a bowl of hot noodles, or the one that greeted him when he’d been successfully roused from his morning nap.

It was the one that, for the first time in his life, made Kakashi feel the urge to break something.

Instead of acting on it, he’d knelt before Iruka, and gently pried the clenched fist open. Just barely trembling, the wrist in his hand betrayed the cool, almost resigned look on the teacher’s face. Both their gazes focused on the same spot.

Just a few specks of blood now smeared on his palm. Almost laughably insignificant compared to the heinous wounds he’d seen in battle, and yet...

“Don’t tell Naruto.”

Just like that, the summer daydream came to an end.

Now, between the recurring dreams of the faceless dead, or the memories of comrades and friends long gone, Kakashi felt it; the slow gnawing of unease, and a familiar, creeping sense of foreboding.

He wasn’t sure what had given it away. But while accompanying the man on a patrol on a quiet night, they’d passed through a red torii gate, and Iruka had turned to look him in the eye.

“Will you be leaving us soon?”

A completely neutral delivery. Kakashi knew it, but the question had felt almost accusatory. It might have even stung more than he cared to admit.

“Ah. Naruto seems to be doing well enough.”

In the darkness, he might have imagined the flash of disappointment in the gaze that was quickly cast towards the ground.

“I received word this afternoon. Jiraiya-sama will be arriving in a week.” Iruka said matter-of-factly.

“And I’m sure he’ll do a good job, as he always does.” Kakashi tried his best to sound assuring, but judging by Iruka’s unconvinced expression, he wasn’t entirely successful.

“Jiraiya-sama never stays for long, and tends to be rather...distracted. Naruto may not admit it, but he’s learned a lot from training with you.”

“We still have time.”

“Not enough, not for Naruto.”

Kakashi couldn’t argue with that.

“Has he ever beaten you in a fight?”

Iruka’s lips broke into a wry smile. “He’s eight. And do you think he’d ever be completely serious against me?” Sighing, he looked up to meet Kakashi’s gaze.

“But I suppose this might be for the best.” he concluded.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure you know it better than anyone, Kakashi-san. Your time and skills aren’t best utilised here are they?”

There it was again, that sting of undeniable truth. In all the little ways, Iruka was probably the only person he’d let get under his skin like this.

Some nights, I can’t help but wonder. How many people are dying while I’m sitting here, enjoying your company.

Even you.

“As long as I’m here, I won’t be able to find Orochimaru. I can wield a sword against any demon, Iruka, but…I can’t fight a curse.”

There was a hitched breath, and Iruka’s eyes widened before quickly narrowing with a pained expression, his fists clenched at his sides.

“There’s no guarantee, Kakashi-san.”

It was whispered with a voice that dared not hope.

When they’d first parted ways a year ago, the Hashira had said something similar. In hindsight, it had been almost flippant in comparison; the steel behind his resolve was nowhere near what it was now.

“True, but you never know till you try, right?”

Kakashi stepped towards him, and placed a firm hand on the teacher’s shoulder.

“I swore I’d never let my friends die, sensei. Not if there was anything I could do about it.”

This close, he could see the amber flecks in the gaze that pierced him, still searching for an answer he could fully accept.

It was almost too much to bear, so Kakashi closed his eyes, smiling.

“Maa, maybe you were too drunk to remember, sensei. But I did say we’d go together didn’t I?”

The teacher blinked, and the shoulder under Kakashi’s hand stiffened as he ducked his head.

“Idiot. You’ve got to be the biggest idiot I know, Kakashi.”

The idiot in question laughed.

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

A week later, in the darkness of the forest, the sparkling river of the Milky Way stretched across the sky like an ethereal bridge.

Izumo and Kotetsu had made a brief announcement at dinner, and later that night returned from the wilderness with satisfied grins, carrying several stalks of young bamboo over their shoulders.

There was a small gathering at the main pavilion, lit softly by paper lanterns. Soon the children and even some of the other slayers were busying themselves writing down wishes on strips of coloured paper. Kakashi had been handed one by a clearly amused Iruka, but he just looked at it sleepily before slipping it into his haori.

“Sakura-chan, what are you wishing for?”

“If I tell you it’s not going to come true!”

Some wrote with a smile, some laughed. But there were a few who sat quietly, staring at their papers with somber expressions. The memories of what once was, still too fresh in their minds.

Kakashi watched as Iruka moved between them. He couldn’t hear the words among the hushed voices, but he could see the teacher’s hands; a pat on the head, resting reassuringly on small shoulders, guiding tiny fingers to the grip of a brush.

It brought back memories of Sakumo, chiding him for writing wishes too dreary for the child that he was, but his smile was always fond and gentle. When his father had gone to sleep, he’d sneak out to see what the man had written for his own.

Every year, they were always the same.

May Kakashi grow up strong and healthy.

May demons find peace in the afterlife.

May Kakashi find happiness of his own.

Things like that.

When Iruka had finished guiding the children, he stood before the bamboo stalks together with the two gate guards, helping to put up the paper strips. Slowly, the group started thinning as the children returned to their rooms, led by the adults.

Having waited their turn, Sakura approached, with Naruto and Lee in tow.

“Iruka-sensei! I wished to get much, much stronger!”

“I wished for ramen!”

There was an unmissable sigh.

“Maybe you better write down a few more, Naruto.”

The two boys were obviously too happy to do just that.

Meanwhile, Sakura passed her slip to the teacher, and looked at him thoughtfully as he strung it onto a branch. She spoke so softly that Kakashi could only catch the tail end of it.

“They must miss each other...it’s a little sad.”

Iruka crouched before the girl and smiled, patting her on the head.

“That’s true, it must be lonely.” He lifted his head to look up to the stars. “But I’m sure they always have each other in their thoughts. Maybe it’s not so bad?”

Sakura’s gaze followed, and she spent several long moments staring into the sky. There was a soft, shaky whimper, and Kakashi watched Iruka’s expression soften as he pulled her into a warm embrace, carrying her as he stood.

“Lee, Naruto, time for bed.”

“Aw, but I haven’t got mine up!”

Kakashi walked up to the boys, and plucked the tanzaku from their hands.

“I’ll help you with those.”

“Thank you, Kakashi-san.”

Iruka looked at the girl in his arms, as if recalling something, before turning to Kakashi. Maybe the teacher had let his gaze linger skyward too long, but he thought he may have spotted a flicker of remaining starlight in those dark eyes.

“We’ll see you in the morning, Kakashi-san. Have a good rest.”

With that, he led the three back to their rooms. The Hashira turned to the bamboo display, now laden generously with colourful streams and written wishes.

I want a family again some day.

I hope my parents are resting peacefully.

May demons disappear one day for good.

He started to put up the last ones, catching a glimpse of Naruto’s signature scrawl as he strung it up.

I hope Iruka-nii gets better.

It didn’t take long to find another familiar script, this time hidden under layers of branches and leaves.

May Naruto have all the happiness he deserves.

May the children find the strength they need to live in this world.

There was one more. He took it gently in his hand and smiled.

Safe journeys for Kakashi-san, so that he may visit again next year.

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

By the time Iruka managed to pry Naruto from his futon, Kakashi was already waiting at the gates. The boy rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he followed behind him. Izumo and Kotetsu had just completed their shift not long ago, leaving the three of them alone at the entrance.

“But you’ll be back won’t you?”

It was a very Naruto farewell, for Kakashi, at least.

“Uh huh. Well, if the demons don’t get me first, you guys will be seeing me next year too.”

He spotted Naruto casting a worried glance Iruka’s way, before directing a pointed glare back at the Hashira.

“You’d better. I’m going back to sleep. See you around, Kakashi-sensei.”

The boy turned to trod back to his room.

Looking at his retreating figure, Iruka sighed.

“That’s it? I’m sorry, Kakashi-san, it’s hard to understand that boy sometimes.”

“Hmm...I’m not so sure about that.”

They started to walk in comfortable silence, just like the year before. This time though, they’d continued together much further.

Above them, the first light of dawn lit the sky in a wave of purple and pink. Hikoboshi and Orihime had long since moved on, but the trailing stars still remained, like the last glimmers of sand on the shore.

In the middle of the sunflower field, just a few paces from where they first met, the two turned to face one another, but their gazes did not meet. For a while, neither spoke, unwilling to start the beginning to another end.

Eventually, it was Iruka who broke the silence.

“It was good to see you again.”

“Aw, that’s all, sensei?”

Iruka raised a hand to scratch at his scar, and Kakashi leaned towards him.

“How about, I hope to see you again next year?”

The teacher quickly looked away.

“I hope you know...that it goes without saying.” He’d made an impressive effort this time, only the slightest tinge of red stained his cheeks.

Kakashi hummed happily, drawing back. Iruka reached out, offering his hand, the same one he’d held on that sobering day in the tearoom.

“May fortune go with you, Kakashi-san.”

A gentle hold, and then a ghost of a squeeze.

If Kakashi had let his palm linger a little too long, Iruka showed no signs of minding it. Before he could react, Kakashi wrapped an arm around the younger man’s shoulder, and drew him firmly to his chest.

“Don’t lose hope, Iruka.”

He found himself silently grateful that he couldn’t see the face that was now resting against his left shoulder. Kakashi was sure the expression would have pained him.

Iruka took a deep, shaky breath against him, and nodded quietly.

Not entirely willing, he let the man go, and faced him with the biggest grin he could muster.

“Send me off with a smile, sensei! I won’t be able to sleep at night if that’s the last thing I see.”

Iruka let out a pained laugh, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, just above the scar, as he was prone to do. With a determined breath, he did as requested, and faced him with a smile not unlike the morning sun.

“You’d better get going, Kakashi.”

And so he did, but just before Iruka was too far to hear him, he’d turned around and waved.

“I’ll bring a gift even better than Sarutobi’s next year, so you better stay alive to see it!”

There might have been just a tiny, challenging smirk on the teacher’s face as he waved back.

“I’ll be looking forward to it!”

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

An hour later, passing through a wisteria grove, Kakashi spied Jiraiya’s familiar towering form leaning against a tree, his expression unimpressed. By his side, Guruko waited patiently, tail wagging as soon as she caught sight of her master.

“You were never great at taking suggestions, Kakashi.” the retired Hashira chided.

“Whatever could you be referring to?”

“Take it from someone who’s been there. Befriending a Senju will yield nothing but pain.”

“I’m perfectly familiar with it. But you know, maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.” Kakashi drawled.

Jiraiya snorted, but he still looked decidedly grim.

“Iruka’s coping for now. You could say he’s exceeded expectations in every way.” The older man moved to stand before him. “But from what I’ve seen, it just means the end will be-”

“Sorry, I’m not interested in hearing that part.”

“Kakashi!”

“I’ll do whatever it takes before that happens.” he stated, voice edged in steel.

“By the way, Naruto’s almost ready to start breath training, so he’s in your capable hands.”

“Already...”

“You don’t sound surprised.” He flashed the older man a probing glance.

“The Kyuubi grants exceptional strength to their vessel. What’s surprising about that?” Jiraiya shrugged, seemingly nonchalant about it.

“I was told the seal’s meant to keep the Kyuubi’s influence at bay, at least until the vessel’s ready to wield it.”

Jiraiya’s silence in the wake of his statement didn’t sit well with him.

“Was it not strong enough?” Kakashi pried.

Jiraiya rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If his growth seems abnormal, the seal…...may be lacking in some aspects. Kushina and Minato weren’t in the best state when they set it, but you knew that.”

Unpleasant memories. Not something Kakashi wanted to dwell on at this point.

Does Iruka know? He wanted to ask, but something in the pit of his stomach was telling him he wouldn’t like the answer. Whatever it was, it made no difference; he couldn’t return, not until his search yielded some results. If the Kyuubi’s presence was in danger of making itself known, all the more he needed to hurry.

He faced Jiraiya with a slight bow. “I’ll leave them both to you then.”

“Naruto is straight forward enough, honestly. I can’t say I’ll be of much help with Iruka though. He’s...difficult.” He strained, scratching the back of his head in frustration.

Kakashi chuckled as he bent down to favour Guruko, who’d been patiently waiting on the sides, with a good scratch.

“I’m not taking it back, Kakashi.” Jiraiya warned.

“Thank you for the heads up, but I think I’ll take my chances.”

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

Iruka had watched Kakashi’s receding figure disappear from sight, before releasing the breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He looked heavenward to the last remaining stars before daybreak, and sent a silent prayer to the only people that he knew for sure, were watching.

Mother, Father, please watch over him.

He started to turn, readying himself to walk the way he came. Against his better judgement, he gave the field one final glance.

Other than the flock of magpies that flew past overhead, he was very much alone.

It didn’t take long before he was standing at the gates. He walked up to the bamboo display propped up against it, and as he did every year since he’d arrived, started reading each slip of paper one by one.

Just like the last, it was a bittersweet experience.

Naruto’s handwriting hasn’t gotten any better. Shame on me.

And then Iruka saw it, the signature he’d become familiar with, looked forward to seeing, even. It was brushed on a slip of tanzanku that was hanging right next to one of his own, the prayer for a safe return.

He reached, cradling the slip in the same palm the wish-maker had held once; with a gentleness that reminded him painfully of happier times.

May Iruka see all his wishes come true, and live to make many more.

Later that morning, he enlisted the help of Izumo and Kotetsu in moving the bamboo to an isolated clearing on the edges of the shrine compound.

“We’ll leave it to you, Iruka!” With that, they hurried back to their post.

He watched them go with relief. Now, more than ever, Iruka was thankful to be alone. Though, if he took the time to acknowledge the circle of trees that towered over him, he might have felt as if he was on the receiving end of impending judgement.

Standing above the pile of bamboo, he reached into his haori, and retrieved a paper seal. There was only the slightest trace scent of gunpowder. It’d taken a while to develop too, he thought detachedly as he crouched. With two fingers, he set the tag on top of the pile.

Perhaps he’d been unconsciously searching for it, but he spotted the two tanzaku he and Kakashi had penned, still side-by-side, out of the corner of his eye.

He turned his attention back to the seal under his fingertips. Seconds later, it burst into flames, and Iruka stared in silence as the fire spread.

As both their wishes slowly disintegrated into black ash, Iruka squeezed his eyes shut in one last prayer; not for guidance, or for safety or health, but for forgiveness.

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

End of Chapter 12

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

Ahhhh! Apologies for the delay for this chapter. It was a tough one to write, and one where I really felt my inexperience with writing most acutely. Ideally it really should have been released during Tanabata. .___.;; (Mid-July)

I also got weirdly awkward about writing this fic for some reason, lol. But if you enjoyed reading it so far, that’s great!

The art for this chapter for something I’d initially planned for a later one, but it felt right at home here, so here it is! It’s a favourite of mine, and I hope you like it too.

Again, your comments are always loved and appreciated. See you in the next chapter! (Which I promise, will finally see some action!)

Terminology

Tanabata Festival:

Yearly festival in Japan during the summer to celebrate the meeting of two star-crossed lovers, Hikoboshi and Orihime. Magpies form a bridge (the Milky Way), and they can only meet once a year, but only if the weather is clear. People write their wishes on tanzaku, and hang them on bamboo. The next day, the bamboo is either floated down a river, or burned.

#kakairu #iruka #kakashi #umino iruka #iruka umino #iruka sensei

116 notes · View notes

ahatintimestorybook · 4 years

Text

Coffee Shop AU- Going on a Snatcher Hunt

So as I was in the middle of working on another new story as well as the next chapter of my OtH! AU story. @doodledrawsthings surprises everyone with a new Coffee Shop AU that I fell in love with! So I had to create something for this AU, and ended up with coming up with three ideas for this AU.

Anyways Coffee Shop AU belongs to @doodledrawsthings

“Dad! Dad!” Harriet shouted coming home from school. Luka was in bed enjoying his day off, and not worrying have to go out somewhere, where he would get caught in the middle of transforming. Luka looked up from his book to see his little girl running to him and giving him a hug.

Luka chuckled and hugged his little girl back, “H-hey princess! How was school?” Luka asked.

“It was good, but I got some good news.” Harriet replied.

“What is it?”

“I’m going on my first camping trip!” Harriet cheered.

Luka got up from the bed and looked at his daughter in a mix of surprise and glee. “Camping, with who?” He asked.

“Me, Bonnie and Mu. She’s the one organizing it.” Harriet explained.

Luka gulped hearing Mu’s name. Since moving with his daughter, Mu and her mom Cookie were the first to welcome them into the neighborhood as well as give Luka a tour of the town. She even recommended him to work at the coffee shop right next to her place.

However, while Cookie was a nice lady her daughter Mu was a different case. For one, Mu enjoyed cryptology as well as hunting down his monster form. However, that wasn’t his main concern. Mu tends to be a bit rebellious and snarky getting into fights with kids who pick on her and Harriet, even older kids. Luka was worried Mu could be a bad influence on his daughter, but he couldn’t say it to Harriet as Mu is her best and first friend she ever made since they were on the run.

“Hattie, I know you and Mu are best friends, but you know how she can be with me, right?” Luka asked.

Harriet nodded knowing how her best friend’s goal is to find her father and prove he’s real. “I know, I know, but this is the first time I got to do a hang out with her and Bonnie.” Then Harriet put her hands together and started to beg. “Please dad. I may not get a chance like this if we have to move again.”

Luka sighed. His daughter was right. They moved so many times, and Harriet never got to have some quality time with friends, or even make friends. “Okay, you can go.” Luka said. Harriet smiled and hugged her dad tight.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She repeated. Harriet then jumped off the bed and ran to her room to grab her stuff she planned on bringing with her for camping. Once Harriet was fully packed she ran into the room to give her father a kiss before leaving to meet up with Mu and Bonnie.

Meanwhile, Mu and Bonnie just left the grocery store buying an abundant of junk food for them to chow down during their camping trip. “Do we really need all this stuff, Mu? Its just one night in the Subcon Woods.” Bonnie explained as she put the candies in her bag.

“You and Harriett never been camping before have you?” Mu asked. Bonnie shook her head. Mu sighed and went on to explain about the enjoyment of camping and why they need all this food. “However, this camping trip is going to be special!”

“Why?” Bonnie asked tilting her head.

Mu grabbed a piece of paper from her pocket and gave it to Bonnie. Bonnie unfolded the paper and gulped seeing it wasn’t only a camping trip, but also a hunt for the mysterious cryptid, Snatcher. Bonnie looked scared, she knew who the Snatcher was and Mu was planing to hunt him down.

“Its going to be fun! Just us in a dark, creepy forest waiting for a ghost monster to show up!” Mu beamed. “Can you imagine if we caught evidence of it! We’ll be rich, the first ever millionaire 9-year olds!” Mu exclaimed.

Harriet walked by when Mu shouted” millionaire 9-year olds” chuckling at the thought of it. She knew why, and while she did get nervous her father would be caught by Mu one day, the thought of her and her friends being millionaires made her laugh. “Sounds like your excited, Mu.” Harriet said.

Mu froze and blushed in embarrassment when her best friend came by ready for their camping trip. Mu chuckled rubbing the back of her head. “H-how much did you hear?” She asked.

“Everything.” Harriet replied, giving a smug smile. Mu’s face turned red from embarrassment, as Bow giggled as well.

Mu shook it off and grabbed her bag. “Well come on! We need to make it too the woods by nightfall! Us standing here means were wasting time.” Bonnie and Harriet nodded and followed their friend heading to the Subcon Woods for the night.

Bonnie got scared walking around the dark and spooky Subcon Woods. It was dark, creepy, and anything could come out and snatch them away. As they walked, Bonnie held on to Harriet’s arm for protection. “S-so how far are we going, Mu?” Bonnie asked.

Mu chuckled. “Oh were not near the campsite yet.” She replied. Bonnie gulped and held on to Harriet tighter.

“Don’t worry Bonnie, were a group as long as we stick together and not separate we’ll be fine.” Harriet comforted.

“I hope so.” Bonnie whispered as she kept following her friends. The three girls kept on walking as they passed through a log bridge, towards some bushes, into the middle part of the woods.

This part of the woods and dead burnt trees, a few tree stumps where the girls can sit, and a small fire pit. There was also a red hood similar to the one Mu wore hanging up like a flag waving at the wind. “Girls, welcome to my secret campsite, Camp Mu!” She beamed.

“Wow!” Bonnie and Harriet said at the same time. “This is where you camp?” Harriet asked.

“Oh yeah.” Mu replied as she unpacked her stuff including her tent. “Every Friday night I’m here looking for weird creatures, cryptids, and the Snatcher,” she started her explanation. Soon she grabbed a net from her bag, “set up a few traps and hope to catch them.” She explained.

“Wow! Do you think you’ll have a chance to catch it tonight?” Bonnie asked.

Mu nodded. “Yep! I plan on putting traps all around our campsite. Hopefully the Snatcher would fall into one of them.” She explained.

Harriet nervously chuckled. “Y-yeah! And what do we plan to do when we catch them?” She asked.

Mu chuckled. “Like I said Harriet, since you heard my speech. We’re going to be millionaires, leave Subcon for good and go on an adventure around the world!” She shouted.

Bonnie smiled and clapped her hands. She would love to travel around the world and see many sights that awaits them. Though she was more to the sights and adventure rather then going cryptid hunting.

“Oh yeah.” Harriet chuckled, rubbing the back of her head.

Later, the girls got everything set up for the night, and soon by sunset, which was blocked by so many trees that it looked like nightfall came early, the girls were roasting marshmallows by the fire to make s’mores. The girls were chatting, enjoying their junk food and s’mores and sharing a laugh.

An hour or two later, Bonnie started to get tired and retreated back to the tent to get some rest. This left Mu and Harriett to leave traps all over the woods for the Snatcher to stumble upon. Once all the traps were set, Harriett too retreated to the tent to get some rest as well, while Mu stayed up for a bit.

A while later, Harriett woke up to see Mu was still in awake and looked like she was writing something. Harriet got up from her sleeping bag carefully not to wake up Bonnie and slowly walked over to her friend.

“Mu?” Mu jumped giving a squeak, but sighed it was only Harriet who spoke to her.

“Don’t scare me like that again.” Mu threatened.

Harriet giggled. “Sorry. I mean its just us, Bonnie is asleep.” She explained. Harriet sat close to her friend and looked up at the stars. “Do you plan on staying up all night, till you find the Snatcher?”

Mu scoffed. “What do you think?” She asked. “Of course! If I fall asleep I’ll miss it!”

Harriet rolled her eyes. As much as she didn’t want to hunt for her own father, she didn’t like the fact Mu was going to be out here all alone. Heck, even if they do capture him at least she can try and explain to Mu everything that’s going on. “Think you need some company?” Harriet asked. “I’m willing to stay up till dawn with you.”

Mu thought for a bit and shrugged. “Ah what the heck.” Harriet smiled excited that she and Mu can get closer now. It was quiet, except for the crickets chirping as well as the pages of Mu’s book being turned. Harriet looked over Mu’s shoulder and saw the book she was reading.

The book looked like it was written and had drawings as well as pictures inside it. “Did you write this?” Harriet asked.

Mu nodded. “Yeah. I want to make a series of journals talking about cryptids, witches and wizards, and other kinds of magic paranormal stuff in Subcon.” Mu explained. “This here is my first book!” Mu closed her book and showed the cover with the glowing eyes of the Snatcher as well as a #1 painted on it.

“T-that’s awesome!” Harriet replied giving a small stutter seeing the Snatcher, her father’s eyes on the cover of her friend’s book.

Mu ignored her friend’s nervousness and smiled. “I know! One day I’ll publish my journals so the entire world can read everything about Subcon! I’ll be a famous writer!” She beamed. Harriet chuckled seeing Mu had her future planned.

“You’ll make an excellent writer.” Harriet said.

Mu smiled. “Thanks.” Mu looked at her journal and frowned. “Do you think writing about these conspiracies makes me a weirdo?” She asked.

Harriet raised an eyebrow. “No why do you ask that?” She asked back.

Mu sighed. “Just everyone thinks of me as some dub girl who wears a mustache, looks for creatures that may or may not exist, and goes all cartoony ways to find them.” She explained.

“Your not dumb!” Harriet comforted. “I think its cool your doing this. No one should insult you for doing what you like to do!”

Mu chuckled. “This is why I like you Harriet your just so nice, and positive. You help others feel better, even though you can get jumpy at times.” Mu replied.

“Well that’s just how I am. I want people too feel positive then a burden.” Harriet sighed.

Mu frowned she knew that Harriet’s father, Luka divorced his wife before moving here and from what Harriet told her it was a very messy divorce, so messy that she remembered Harriet was about to cry the more she talked about it.

She also hated the fact, Harriet’s own mother didn’t truly love her like her own mom. Mu knew mom’s had to be caring and kind, and well sweet as sugar, that’s what Mu’s mother explained to her.

Harriet knew what Mu was thinking about, but she had to bring up one question. “Mu.” Mu turned to look at her. “I know you have a mom, and since I told you about my mom. I just want to know where’s your dad?”

Mu froze. She never told anyone about her dad before. She sighed and looked down from her book. “I never met my dad.” Harriet’s head lifted up and turned to Mu. “He...died when I was just 2 years old.”

“M-Mu I’m so sorry.” Harriet whispered.

“I-Its fine. I was really young when he passed, so I don’t have any fond memories.” Mu reassured. She then sighed and looked down again. “But I do miss him, and wondered if he never went on that trip, he’ll still be alive and we can have a close father and daughter bond like you and your dad.” Mu explained.

Harriet sighed, she knew how that felt only with a mom. “I know how that feels. Wish I was like that with my mom.”

Mu put a hand on her best friend’s shoulder. “Hey, if you and your dad need any help just come talk to my mom. We’ll help as much as we can.” She explained.

Harriet gave a small smile and hugged her friend back. Mu smiled and hugged her friend back as well. That is...until a rustle coming from the bushes caused them to let go. Mu smiled widely knowing it could be the Snatcher.

“Harriet grab the camera!” Mu whispered. Harriet was in a mixture of stunned, scared and anxious. Is this the night her father gets caught and Mu finding out she’s been keeping the cryptid she long hunted for from her. “Harriet!” Mu called out again snapping her friend from her thoughts. Harriet nodded and handed her best friend the camera, which she snatched away.

Mu held the camera close as whatever was coming right in front of them was about to jump up. Harriet covered her eyes and hid behind Mu not wanting to see what will happen next. Just as the figured jumped out Mu took the shot.

“Got it!” Mu cheered. “Huh?” She asked confused. From the bushes wasn’t the Snatcher, but a fox.

Harriet opened her eyes and looked over Mu’s shoulder to see it was just a fox passing by. “Aww, what a cute little fox.” Harriet smiled. Mu sighed and sat down on the floor.

“Great! Wasted this time for nothing.” Mu sighed.

“Hey cheer up.” Harriet said putting her arm around her friend. “You’ll be able to find the Snatcher soon.”

Mu scoffed. “Yeah and I thought it would be tonight.” Just as she said that though, she heard someone getting caught in one of her traps. Mu chuckled and ran off towards her trap hoping to see if she had captured the Snatcher.

Harriet followed after her knowing she would have to explain everything if it was her father that did fall into the trap. Or, she could pretend that she didn’t know the Snatcher and could try to get her father to go along with it. Whatever, the case may be she may not keep this secret any longer.

“Sorry dad, but Mu needs to know.” Harriet whispered to herself. Harriet and Mu made it to the clearing and Mu was even more disappointed at who got caught in her trap this time. Harriet gasped at who got trapped, but was relieved at who it was.

Trapped in Mu’s trap was the Snatcher, or at least his human form, Luka Princeton, aka Harriet’s father. “Mr. Princeton?” Mu asked. “What are you doing out here?” She asked.

“Well, Harriet dropped something when she was about to leave and well I had to hand it to her.” He explained showing a golden necklace with an hourglass engraved on it. Harriet gasped and quickly grabbed the necklace from her father and put it on. “Glad I asked your mom where you were otherwise I’d be lost.”

“So I didn’t catch the Snatcher?” Mu asked.

Luka gulped, and shook his head. Mu sighed and cut down Luka from her trap as he landed in a hard thud. “Could you be more gentle with your traps?” Luka asked. Mu didn’t reply and just marched back to camp, mumbling how she never caught the Snatcher, but her best friend’s dad.

“Should I tell her she caught the Snatcher?” Harriet asked.

Luka shook his head. “Nope.” He replied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So I have a headcanon with this AU on how time pieces with work. Instead of it being an hourglass it be a necklace, and I'll explain more of this headcanon later when I work on the next fanfic for this AU.

#doodledrawsthings #'Coffee Shop AU'#A Hat in Time Coffee Shop AU #Hat Kid #mustache girl #Bow Kid #Snatcher #The Snatcher #just three girls going camping

41 notes · View notes

puppetmaster13u · 8 months

Text

Prompt 38

Imagine a Hollow Knight inspired AU. Everyone is bugs, with magic or weapons or both.

Gotham I wanna say gives off a deepnest vibe, mixed with a lot of void because the place has been cursed so many times, is built on top of a lazarus pit, and has had a door to hell opened at least two separate times just in Arkham. Metropolis is probably more in line with the surface, seeing as it’s so bright and sunny. Like the city of tears if it was built above ground instead of under a lake.

Now while I’m not sure what everyone would be, I like to think that Jason revives as something similar to a bug of the grimmtroupe. Maybe he’s let go, maybe the batfam have to rescue him and help return his better memories. Honestly up to the writer. Speaking of the batfam, Cass is definitely something like a butterfly- actually they might all be butterflies or similar creatures. Long cloaks and perfect for their Wayne/civilian personas, perhaps with a bit of vessel inspiration as well. Look, they deserve shadow powers.

The flashfam are some sort of crickets with lightning-shaped antennae, because those things are energetic little things that are constantly chirping. Plus they’re incredibly quick too.

Wonder woman is definitely some sort of beetle forged from clay and brought to life by magic, an heir and guardian all rolled into one. Just to name a few ideas of course, it’d all be up to the writer and what you all think.

If DP crossover, I mean, ghosts as shades made via void would work well, no? And Halfas would be bugs corrupted by void into vessels, similar to the Hollow Knight or the player character (who is named Ghost so what d’ya know lol) Also Tucker as a scarab beetle would be so fun, no one can convince me otherwise

#prompts #dc #hollow knight #hollow knight au #hollow knight crossover #batman #dpxdc #dcxdp #HK #Dc crossover #danny phantom crossover #bugs #DPxDCxHK #The Ancients could be like the Higher Beings

29 notes · View notes

lolmouseywritings · 4 years

Text

Cursed Child

So this is what happens when I move, have no internet access to my computer, draw mdzs and watch Paper Dolls 2 gameplay from CJU on my phone.

I will now go back to writing the WenWuxian Au. I’ve been working on.

I hope you enjoy this, and if you’re confused, ask away.

P.S. I wrote this to get it out of my system. First time writing a horror story.

This will be on AO3, I also added the keep reading line

dabaizi: I think this mean brother-in-law. If I’m wrong, please let me know the correct title. I was trying to be accurate.

Summary: Lan Sizhui just wanted to run away. He didn’t realize it would drag him into a curse filled history of Gusu Manor. Running from fierce corpse’s, the ghost general and Yiling Patriarch, he could only hope he can get out of this alive.

Lan Sizhui sighed, his breath fogging up the glass window. He wasn't interested in the passing background, but it was something that got his mind off, as his cousin chastised him.

"Seriously? I know that I run away a lot, but I wasn't expecting you to do it," chastised Jin Ling tugging up his jacket. The chilly air from the mountains of Gusu was unexpected, but it was the place that Sizhui wanted to go.

Twelve years ago his parents passed away unexpectantly from the accident and he was taken in by his A-die and senior. It was fine, he guessed, but in the short while, his senior's health was failing. He was notorious for sleeping in late, but it was apparent that he had trouble getting up. Then he had trouble eating. He wouldn't even drink his favorite wine. Then one day-

He didn't wake up.

A-die didn't fare well, and now he hardly moved from Senior's side.

People called him cursed.

"Come on Jin Ling, no need to be upset, he just needed some space. Right Sizhui?"

"Yeah just ignore little mistress. He was just, if not, more worried than he let on." Then there goes. Jingyi was always riling up Jin Ling. It was a mystery to how they stayed being friends.

"Shut up, you- ZIZHEN! WATCH OUT!" Without question Zizhen swerves, hitting a tree branch and stopping the vehicle.

The boys step out, zipping up their jackets, and look around.

"Hey what the hell was that?" Questioned Jingyi looking straight at Jin Ling.

"There was a deer out on the road."

"There wasn't!"

"There was!" Ignoring the argument, Sizhui looks around and groans in despair. 'Damn the tire is out.' He looks at his phone and wonders just how cursed he is.

"My phone is out, is anyone else's phone working?" Asked Sizhui as the entire group shook their heads. All phones were out of service.

"Dammit! Uncle will break my legs!" Sizhui patted Jin Lings back.

"It's okay.” Jin Ling shakes it off and glares at him. His stance aggressive.

"You don't get to say that, when you packed up and left. I know shit's hard for you, but it's hard on everyone else too."

"Calm down," Zizhen starts. "I'm sure none of us want to be in this situation. Best bet is to go to the nearest town and call for a tow. We can also call our families and let them know where we are."

"The nearest town is Moling. It will take us at least 2 hours to walk! And it's cold and I know that none of us want to walk for that long!" Gripped Jin Ling. Sizhui and Zhizhen shared glances, thinking little mistress.

"HEY I SEE SMOKE!" Exclaimed Jingyi. The group looks up to see what looks like a dilapidated manor. They agree to separate in groups of two. Zizhen and Jingyi at the car and Sizhui and Jin Ling to walk up to the manor and see if they could make a call. Sizhui would have honestly preferred Zizhen or Jingyi. Jin Ling, however, wasn't about to let him out of his sight. He was way too much like his uncle than he cared to admit.

Not a surprised considering how close the Jiang/Wei siblings are. Walking up the mountain was a tiring endeavor as the steps seemed to never end. It was worth it once they reached the entrance until they realized that no one lived in the house.

"I guess the smoke was just our imagination?" Remarked Sizhui.

"So the four of us imagined smoke coming out of this place." Jin Ling rolls his eyes. A nervous laughter escapes Sizhui at Jin Ling's rebuttal. With a sigh, Jin Ling walks up and knocks on the door. The icy breeze passes by, causing both boys to shiver. The door opens with a creek.

With a hesitant step, Jin Ling goes in.

"Hello?" His voice echoes into the manor. Not waiting for Sizhui, he walks in.

"Wait Jin Ling." He walks up the steps ready to follow his friend. As he steps in, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Or it would have if he didn't feel a sharp pain at the back of his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "You promised me!" "W̷̧̎͌̿͌͋̀́ë̵̟́̍̈́̚i̸̩̭̤̦̱̐-" "You promised me they would be okay! AND NOW THEY ARE DEAD!" "Please, listen!" "I'M DONE LISTENING! I'M DO-" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wake up. Junior master, wake up!" Sizhui groans, placing his hand to where his head felt a throb. He felt nothing wet, so that was wonderful news. There was a however a sizable bump on the back of his head.

"What happened?"

"Quick get up!" He looks up and notices that the voice he kept hearing was nowhere to be found.

"Where are you?"

"I'll tell you but you must leave the room or else-" He hears the heavy dragging of chains. It was his only warning before he hid into an old decorative closet. He held his breath as he took a peak thru the crack.

Pale skin, clumpy lumped black hair, poor posture and old tattered clothing. The chains were black, looked as heavy as they sounded, and covered in blood.

Sizhui had to cover his mouth to hold back the bile as the heavy scent of iron, which he was certain was not only from the chains, filtered into the air. He waited as the groans and dragging chains disappeared into the next room. He gave himself some time to get out.

"Magnificent job," he heard the voice as he looked around to discover its origin. "Take the door on your left and walk down the hallway till you reach a door. It should take you outside. Walk down the path next to the pond until it leads you to a building surrounded by bamboo, the Hanshi. Quickly!"

Without a word Sizhui follows the directions, eyes and ears peeled for anymore unearthly beings. Thank god he didn't have to take the door that- he shivered- thing took.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The man sitting before him was wrapped in gold robes with a peony emblem in front. He held a certain charisma that it almost made Sizhui want to sit down and drink the tea that was sitting innocently on the table. Prepared just for him.

Guangyao, as he presented himself, had the smile that made Sizhui want to run in the opposite direction. Especially when he told him what was happening.

"What do you mean that I'm stuck here?"

"Hm, kids these days are hard of hearing, I guess." Upon looking Sizhui's face Guangyao sighed and refilled his cup. "I mean that until you can set the resentful spirits to rest, there's nothing you can do to escape. The Yiling Patriarch has us trapped here until you can vanquish him."

"And why can't you do it?"

"I tried and failed. Now the Patriarch has me trapped here for who knows how long." Sizhui let out a breath of frustration.

Great! He leaves his home because his life is falling apart, gets caught at the gas station by his friends, their tire blows out because of a random tree branch, even though Jin Ling claims it was a dee- wait!

"JIN LING! Where's my cousin Jin Ling!" Guangyao looks at him confused.

"Jin who?"

"My cousin! He was with me!"

"Ah well, it's possible that he’s lost in the manor as you, Sizhui-er. Though I would start looking. He may end up dead before the night is over."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sizhui cursed his luck for the umpteenth time. There were zombies in here, zombies that moved faster than what he would have liked them too, and some of them liked to explode!

They sucked!

They sucked so hard that- argh!!!!

He hated them!

It didn't help that he met the chained zombie, a fierce corpse, as Guangyao like to call them. He saw him this time when he opened the door, thinking the room was clear, and chased him across the manor. He was lucky enough to find another closet to hide in. As soon as the creature left, Sizhui carefully climbed out and walked to another path.

Ok, so to recap he went to the library and found Elder Teacher's Scroll. It had spells for evocation, suppression, and rest. He didn't understand it much, but once he found the other items that he requested, he was sure Guangyao could help him. He placed the scroll in his back pocket, making sure it was secure.

There was still no sign of Jin Ling increasing his worry, as he hoped his cousin did not have to face those creatures. He kept walking until he heard nothing. The crickets did not chirp and the sound of the wind was ominous. It had a haunting tune, one that spoke of longing-

"Is that a flute? No, it's a-". He looks up to see a man in a black robe, red trim sitting on the rooftop, a red ribbon holding back his hair. It was a black bamboo Dizi, the type that Senior would love to get his hands on and play. It looked like the man did not hear him until he opened his eyes, looking straight at him. They had a red glow to them that spoke of pain and suffering.

"Sen-"

"My, my, look what the mouse dragged in! Tell me, what did you do to get trapped in here?" The animosity in his voice forced Sizhui to recoil back. The laughter sent a frigid chill down his spine.

This wasn't, this wasn't-

"No matter, let's get rid of the pests, shall we, Hanguang-jun?" With a few notes from the Dizi, the room marked Jingshi bursts open and out popped a man dressed in a white robe as if he was in mourning, a white ribbon around his forehead and his long bangs covered his face.

Sizhui moved out of the way as the blade cut thru his jacket sleeve. The sting on his arm caused him to hiss. Run! He thought. He had to run so he could stay alive.

He ran to the path towards the classroom, but the man had an unnatural speed to him. He was upon him, but Sizhui did not plan to give up. He took another direction, and he was there. Another and he too was there. No matter what path he took, he was right in front of him.

Fleeing would not work, so he looked around and found an old rusted blade. He held up to block a strike from above and fell, feeling the shock to his very bones. Such a ferocious attack!

It didn't appear, as the man walked to him slowly carrying what looked like an air of serenity, but the movement and aggressiveness of his blade was monstrous. It betrayed the strength that this fierce corpse was capable of.

Sizhui couldn't even get up. It was stupid! He thought fighting that thing was his only choice to live, and now he regretted it.

He thought of the mischievous laughter and the stern but reassuring ‘Mn' from his guardians, his parents, as he closed his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Wen Qing, Wen Ning, it's okay! I'll give them the Stygian Tiger Seal and I'll go to Gusu. When I do that, they'll leave you and everyone else alone."

"Ẅ̵̧̨̠͇̦̩̹͕̰͉̥͔̪̯̱̙́̉̅͛́̅̎̔̎́̐́̔̃̃́̏̍͑̀̃͘̕͜ͅẻ̷̤̼̭̭͍̮̝͎̪̯͕͈͔̻͍͐͒̾̌͊̆̂̓̿̋̇̾͊̾̎̒̉̆͜͠į̴̛̤̩͕̙̗̥̠̦̬̙͈̗̟̖̆̽̃́͂̀̏̀͒̊̎̔̇̎̈̃̿͑̋̄̚͝ ̵̨̛̘̯͈̻̔͋͒̀͌̀̌́̌͋W̴̨̛̖̮̖̫̗̣̫͖̣̌̌̏̃̀̐̔̐̆͛͛̆̿͆̀̈͑͂͌͑̈́̂̓̕u̷̧̖͈͕̹̬̫͓̲̠͉̭͐̈́̓͋͐x̶̳͓̪̟̯̜̯̳͙̳͇̪̳̻̳̦̺̲̝̟̓̄͋̅̈́̑̋͜͠i̴̢̨̛̛̙̱̺͍̜͚̗̟͉̗̹̘̝̦͌͑͛̌̃̎̇̔̀̋̈́̊͊̾͋̉̓̽̚͜͠͠ͅͅa̶̹͖̤̝̗̻̹͎̦̤͚̮̯̪͎͇͕̗̫͙̠̹̹̎̇̀̈́͆̃̃̈́̈̈́̈̎͜͠͝͝n̵̳͉̤͈̗̽̏͛̈́͗̊͝͠, you know we can't accept this! You paid your debt! You took us out of the camp, you brought my brother back. Don't do this!" Ẅ̵̧̨̠͇̦̩̹͕̰͉̥͔̪̯̱̙́̉̅͛́̅̎̔̎́̐́̔̃̃́̏̍͑̀̃͘̕͜ͅẻ̷̤̼̭̭͍̮̝͎̪̯͕͈͔̻͍͐͒̾̌͊̆̂̓̿̋̇̾͊̾̎̒̉̆͜͠į̴̛̤̩͕̙̗̥̠̦̬̙͈̗̟̖̆̽̃́͂̀̏̀͒̊̎̔̇̎̈̃̿͑̋̄̚͝ ̵̨̛̘̯͈̻̔͋͒̀͌̀̌́̌͋W̴̨̛̖̮̖̫̗̣̫͖̣̌̌̏̃̀̐̔̐̆͛͛̆̿͆̀̈͑͂͌͑̈́̂̓̕u̷̧̖͈͕̹̬̫͓̲̠͉̭͐̈́̓͋͐x̶̳͓̪̟̯̜̯̳͙̳͇̪̳̻̳̦̺̲̝̟̓̄͋̅̈́̑̋͜͠i̴̢̨̛̛̙̱̺͍̜͚̗̟͉̗̹̘̝̦͌͑͛̌̃̎̇̔̀̋̈́̊͊̾͋̉̓̽̚͜͠͠ͅͅa̶̹͖̤̝̗̻̹͎̦̤͚̮̯̪͎͇͕̗̫͙̠̹̹̎̇̀̈́͆̃̃̈́̈̈́̈̎͜͠͝͝n̵̳͉̤͈̗̽̏͛̈́͗̊͝͠ shakes his head.

"They have to, besides my control isn't the same as before. It won't be long before they break through the seal. At least this way I can save-" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CLANG!

Sizhui opened his eyes as he saw that the blade, ready to strike him, wrapped in chains. The howl sent a shiver up his spine as the chain pulled back, sending Hanguang-jun back to fight the fierce corpse that followed him.

'I guess they're not friends!' He thought as he looked up and saw that the mysterious Dizi player gone. Seeing an opening, Sizhui runs into the Jingshi and looks for the instrument, a Guqin. It sat on the table next to two white jars covered with a white cloth. From the smell of the fermentation, he could tell that taking a sip would burn his throat.

He shook his head. He had no time to think of such things and grabbed the instrument. It would be too heavy to lug this around and heads to the Hanshi.

He forced himself to forget that Senior looked like the man from the rooftop, along with the laughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He told Guangyao all about the Hanguang-jun and the mysterious man from the roof.

"Great, he knows you are here. Look if you see them again just run. When Hanguang-jun died they already knew him as one of the top cultivators. As for the man you saw, well, the Yiling Patriarch is an entirely different beast on his own. His ability to cultivate resentful energy is how he can bring fierce corpse's to life." He sips from the tea, savors it, then sets it down.

"From what you told me the Ghost General-"

"Ghost General?" Sizhui receives a silent reprimand from him causing him to stop talking.

"It's rude to interrupt. The fierce corpse with the chains. They knew him as Wen Ning, the Ghost General of the Yiling Patriarch. Though I find it odd that they would be fighting. Maybe something happened?" Sizhui shrugs. Everything was going over his head. Really, the sensible thing would be to grab Jin Ling and run to the edge of the forest and find a way out.

Jin Ling was still missing, though, and Guangyao had no way of knowing where he might be. Plus, it wasn't as if he could leave the Hanshi. He’s stuck in this beautiful and dark room, a partition serving as a cutoff from the tea table and the bed.

He notices a figure sitting slouched forward.

"So you've noticed my roommate."

"Who is he?"

"The last Sect master of Gusu, Zewu-jun."

"He's alive!"

"Hardly. He’s also afflicted by the same curse as me." Before he could ask more Guangyao smiles at him. "It's best that you look for the next items on the list."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With supplies ready, given by Guangyao, and an old rusted sword he found, which he knew he was useless with, made Sizhui felt slightly braver. Hopefully, the talisman's would be helpful.

The Library Pavilion was tricky to get to. He knew something was following him and knowing what the denizens of this cursed place was like, Sizhui was rightfully hesitant to meet this creature.

Finally reaching the place, he walks around looking for the secret passageway. Being in the library, however, he could not help but look at an open book talking about a chord assassination technique. Backing away, he forced himself not to jump when he heard whispers.

Lan-er-gege! You can't be mad! I've called your name so many times. Sizhui stops there. Lan? That's his family name. Why would he hear his family name? He thought back about his parents saying that they had an ancestral home once. But they never finished telling him anymore than that. After all, how could they when the 18 wheeler hit them, pushing their car over-

"Find the secret passage. Find the flags. Find the secret passage. Find the flags." He tripped. Face smacking the floor.

Did he mention how much he hated this place?

He rubbed his nose, checking for blood. Thankfully, there wasn't any and looked to see his foot caught on a handle. A handle that led to a door under the library. The secret passageway. He pulls it up and walks down the staircase.

Dust and cobwebs covered the entire place. Gulping he walks forward using the sword to clear the way making sure to not disturb any of the spiders.

"Well, I know that Jin Ling is definitely not here. He would just screech at this sight." He finds a stack of flags at the end of the room next to a jar. He makes a quick count and realizes he’s short one.

"Okay, where's the last one?" Looking around, he feels a sudden vertigo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Come to Gusu with me.

I can't. What will happen to the Wen's? You know that the other Sects want them dead.

I can talk to brother.

I- I

Please W̴̢̳̻̮̪̱̤̖̲̤̟̱͌̈͌̆̚͠͠ͅę̶̮͖͍̕ḯ̴̛͚͉̜̙͉̰̱͐͝ ̴̲̺̭̰̆̈́͐́͒̀̋̋̋̓̾̕͠͝W̴̨̛̖̮̖̫̗̣̫͖̣̌̌̏̃̀̐̔̐̆͛͛̆̿͆̀̈͑͂͌͑̈́̂̓̕u̷̧̖͈͕̹̬̫͓̲̠͉̭͐̈́̓͋͐x̶̳͓̪̟̯̜̯̳͙̳͇̪̳̻̳̦̺̲̝̟̓̄͋̅̈́̑̋͜͠i̴̢̨̛̛̙̱̺͍̜͚̗̟͉̗̹̘̝̦͌͑͛̌̃̎̇̔̀̋̈́̊͊̾͋̉̓̽̚͜͠͠ͅͅa̶̹͖̤̝̗̻̹͎̦̤͚̮̯̪͎͇͕̗̫͙̠̹̹̎̇̀̈́͆̃̃̈́̈̈́̈̎͜͠͝͝n̵̳͉̤͈̗̽̏͛̈́͗̊͝͠ come to Gusu. I will talk to brother. The Wen's will be safe. A̷͕̯͔̖̤͖̫̼̫̹̼͛̏͆͑͆͂̏̏͊͂͂́͘-̵̡͍̗̬̯͚̹̹̱̼̰̟̘̩̖̥́̐̄̈́Ỵ̵̢̮͎͚̱̗̯̘̹̉̋̂̔̓̍̇͆͗̈̃͑̐̈́̋̋̐͊̉͛̚͘͝͝ͅu̸̧̡̖͕̼̗͓̳͙͍̠̹̙̗̙̘̥͍̯͖̫̦̣͆̊͠͝ȧ̶̡̖̳̫̟͔̣̩̋̔̀̆̀̒͠ň̸̢̧̨̛̘̠̗͍͇̭̯̪̠͕̤͈͚͔̟͕͔͖̖͕͌̇̈́̿̏̈̇́̃̏̈́̎̃̚̚͜͠ will be safe-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A hand holds him up, and he calls out a name.

"Jin Ling?"

"Jin Ling? There is no Jin Ling, though there is a bastard with that family name." Her hair was up and her dirty black robes have seen better days. It looked burnt and ashy. She had a stern face, but oddly he felt the urge to see her smile. He shakes the thought and looks back, her face familiar, though he knows he never met her.

"Who-" She shushes him as they hear footsteps from above. It was slow and methodical. He catches sight of a white robe. Eyes widening, he hopes that his heartbeat would not betray their location. They lean back against the wall, standing still as statues. She silently signals him to follow her. He watches as she walks a few steps past the bookshelf to reveal a secret door, initially hidden by the shadows of the room. He works his way towards her.

The jar, caught by his jacket, falls with a loud crash. The woman gasps and holds out her hand. He darts to the door as Hanguang-jun breaks down the floor beneath him. As they enter, the woman is quick to close the opening making a grating rocky sound. The stone door should hopefully hold off the fierce corpse. His companion seemed to think otherwise.

"Quickly! Follow me!" They run down the passageway which leads to the forest.

"He's still following us!"

"How do you know?" The sound of trees and branches falling behind him answers his question. Leaving him to wonder if this Hanguang-jun was strong enough to cut through the stone.

He's forced to stop when the woman turns towards him. From her robes she pulls out a needle which she uses to cut his cheek. He hisses as he watches her make a sigil. Something red and hazy appears next to her.

"You go down the path quickly, I'll meet you soon!" He didn't question her and took the path she pointed. He stopped at a dead end. For once it wasn't scary, in fact there were rabbits there. Sizhui sits down by the tree and hugs himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

W̷̧̪̱͚͖̅̐̌̀́͠ȇ̶̛̹̜̐̋̀̎̈̄͝į̸̡̗̤͈̪͉̈́ ̷̟̻͔̋̋̓͂̌̋͊W̴̨̛̖̮̖̫̗̣̫͖̣̌̌̏̃̀̐̔̐̆͛͛̆̿͆̀̈͑͂͌͑̈́̂̓̕u̷̧̖͈͕̹̬̫͓̲̠͉̭͐̈́̓͋͐x̶̳͓̪̟̯̜̯̳͙̳͇̪̳̻̳̦̺̲̝̟̓̄͋̅̈́̑̋͜͠i̴̢̨̛̛̙̱̺͍̜͚̗̟͉̗̹̘̝̦͌͑͛̌̃̎̇̔̀̋̈́̊͊̾͋̉̓̽̚͜͠͠ͅͅa̶̹͖̤̝̗̻̹͎̦̤͚̮̯̪͎͇͕̗̫͙̠̹̹̎̇̀̈́͆̃̃̈́̈̈́̈̎͜͠͝͝n̵̳͉̤͈̗̽̏͛̈́͗̊͝͠. I love you.

Ah, L̷͍̣̟̬̤̹̝̜̪̮̭̈̌̀̿̑͑̈́̐̈́̐̇ȃ̵̧̫͕̪̰̻n̴͔̳͖͗̑͒ ̸̲̖̜͕̈́̀̂͌̏̐͂̇̎̚͘Ŵ̴̭͊̾̎̌̆͜͠a̴͍͉̳͍̐̓͜͜ͅͅͅn̴̜̺͖̰͉͖̻̆̂̾̓̈́̕g̸̗̈́͋͂̊̑͌̇͝͝j̸̢͓̣͎̟͠i̶͇̚! Warn me when you tell me things like this.

L̷͍̣̟̬̤̹̝̜̪̮̭̈̌̀̿̑͑̈́̐̈́̐̇ȃ̵̧̫͕̪̰̻n̴͔̳͖͗̑͒ ̸̲̖̜͕̈́̀̂͌̏̐͂̇̎̚͘Ŵ̴̭͊̾̎̌̆͜͠a̴͍͉̳͍̐̓͜͜ͅͅͅn̴̜̺͖̰͉͖̻̆̂̾̓̈́̕g̸̗̈́͋͂̊̑͌̇͝͝j̸̢͓̣͎̟͠i̶͇̚, take responsibility and hug me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He wakes with a start.

That wasn't- that wasn't them.

It looked like them, but it wasn't them.

"Hey Sizhui! Wake up or I'll break your legs!" Sizhui rubs his eyes as he looks up to finally sees his cousin.

"Jin Ling, where were you?" Jin Ling scoffs.

"Looking for you! Come one let's get out of here. This place is creepy." Sizhui nods and stands up. They walk out of the grove.

"What were you doing, anyway?" Jin Ling asks, rubbing his arms up and down. Seems he lost his jacket while searching for him.

"I was running from zombies." Jin Ling stops to look at him, then laughs mockingly.

"I'm serious! These fierce corpses were chasing me, and I had to run around getting these items. Look! I had to grab these flags to do a ritual-" He feels a sharp pinch on his arm. "Hey!"

"Can you hear yourself," asks Jin Ling as he tsks. "Zombies, rituals, really Sizhui I know you don't want to go home but stop playing around."

"I'm not-"

"Really? Then why don't you go visit jiu'jiu'-Xian? Visit-"

"I'm not playing!"

"As if! Look, I know the shit that everyone is saying. Cursed child, whatever! You just punch them in the face!"

"uh... A-die says I shouldn't."

"Your A-die doesn't even respond anymore. Coward." Sizhui turns his head sharply, eyes narrowing. Jin Ling raises his hand up. "Sorry. Low blow, but I'm serious. Everyone is worried about you and you can ignore those gossiping blowhards. They just want to say something to feel important." Sizhui doesn't even bother to get after for him.

"How did you find me, anyway? I didn't leave any notes." Jin Ling raises his eyes in disbelief.

"We sent pictures on the web and tv. Some dude caught sight of you at the gas station." Odd, he only saw granny there taking care of the counter and there were no cars around. Maybe it was a passing vehicle and the guy just saw him. It didn't matter. He tried to run because he wanted to escape. Better for everyone.

Ever since his parents died A-die and Senior took care of him as if he was their child. They still told stories about his mama and baba. A-die even taught him how to play the Guqin, though he knew he was rusty now. He stopped playing when A-die stopped responding. That was almost six months ago. Now he was the cursed kid that no one wanted to be around. Anyone that takes care of him meets a grisly end. He receives a harsh slap on his back.

"Hey, when we get back I'll stand by you and help you beat up those whinny ninnies." Sizhui snorts.

"Whinny ninnies? Have you been hanging out with Jiu'jiu-Cheng?" Jin Ling scoffs looking away, but not before Sizhui caught sight of his face turning red. It was then that they heard moans coming from one of the forked paths.

"Sizhui. Tell me you were really kidding about those zombies." Jin Ling stares at Sizhui, who shakes his head. They both turn just in time to see the fierce corpses heading towards them, now running since it caught sight of them.

With no prompting, they ran side by side to the hallways of Gusu Manor. Left, right they ran to hide from the monsters, but no matter where they went they found themselves unable to outrun them. It was as if there was a tracker on them. Letting these creatures were they were going.

Sizhui has a horrid realization.

"Jin Ling! Take this path! It should lead you to the Hanshi, you should be safe there!"

"What? No!"

"Do it! Wait for me there! I will meet you there!" He pushes his cousin and runs the opposite direction. The fierce corpses ignore Jin Ling and follow him instead.

Damn Guangyao! Couldn't he have told him that these flags were a damn beacon for these monsters! And he wanted to smack himself for leaving the sword behind. Though it would do much good since he had a horde.

He remembers the talisman and finds one that say's repress. As he runs he is quick to grab a box that was the perfect size for the flags, place them inside and places the talisman on it. It glows a light blue and slowly it appears as if he is losing them. Once he ran far enough, he found that he was further than he intended from the manor.

Luck was on his side when he caught sight of large, trumpet-shaped flowers. They were an intense blue. Finally, Sizhui was on his way to the Gentian house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arriving at the house was no trouble. It was the last item that was the issue. Guangyao had told him that at the Gentian House there should house the Stygian Tiger Seal. The only thing he found was the missing flag, which he placed in the box for safekeeping.

No matter where he looked, he could not find the item in question. Under the bed, in the desk drawer, the bookshelf with a sealed red and white urn, he even went to look under the boards, but nothing. He was about to call it quits when he heard the door open.

He hides in the closet and peeks to see the Yiling Patriarch. He looked around, confused. Crap! He’s bound to notice him.

"Aiyah! I must have left a mess. Oh, well." He sits down, pulls out a board and reaches in. From there, he pulls out a bottle that reads Emperor's Smile.

"He, he, he There's not much left so I may as well enjoy what's left." He pulls off the seal and drinks it. The fermentation strong in the air. Sizhui tries not to gag.

THUD! THUD!

He holds his breath when he sees the man stand up, angry.

"Get lost!"

THUD! THUD!

"GET LOST!" He hears the bottle of wine crash against the door, the resentful energy feeling thick in the air.

"GET LOST! GET LOST! GET LOST! DIRTY LIAR! CRUEL WORTHLESS DIRTY LIAR! MURDERER!" Sizhui almost felt faint by how much resentment was filling the air. Thick inky clouds expelled from the Yiling Patriarch. He wanted to cry, yell, anything, but all he could do was let out a pitiful sob. He sits back, upset.

It becomes quiet, the energy he felt gone. Sizhui covers his mouth. Did he hear him?

He sits still, listening. The footsteps are slow, as if trying to make the most minimal sound as possible. Maybe he heard but didn't know where the sound came from? If he's lucky he can sneak out and distract the Yiling Patriarch and maybe come back?

The door opens as a pale hand pulls him out. He screams as he's thrown to the partition.

"Oh, and look at this small mouse. Did you think I would not find you?" Sizhui crawls back, trying to get away from the man. The steps he took were still slow, but also predatory. The resentment, the ominous clouds now hung heavy in the air.

"Tell me what are you looking for mouse? Maybe I can help you?" Teased the man viciously. Sizhui is still crawling back until he finds an incense burner.

He throws it. It didn't hit him, but it gave him the chance he was looking for, which was to run to the door. As he opened the door, he barely missed being decapitated when he ducked to an opening.

"Damn that Hanguang-jun!" He doesn't turn to look back. But he could feel that they were close, which was bad. All the running was getting to him. He didn't know how long he could keep it up. He was about to trip, when he’s suddenly wrapped in chains and pulled up to the sky.

He's caught by the Ghost General. His heart, wrought in fear, goes to his throat as he faints.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stop following the demonic path

Ah, L̷͍̣̟̬̤̹̝̜̪̮̭̈̌̀̿̑͑̈́̐̈́̐̇ȃ̵̧̫͕̪̰̻n̴͔̳͖͗̑͒ ̸̲̖̜͕̈́̀̂͌̏̐͂̇̎̚͘Ŵ̴̭͊̾̎̌̆͜͠a̴͍͉̳͍̐̓͜͜ͅͅͅn̴̜̺͖̰͉͖̻̆̂̾̓̈́̕g̸̗̈́͋͂̊̑͌̇͝͝j̸̢͓̣͎̟͠i̶͇̚, you have no-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

L̷͍̣̟̬̤̹̝̜̪̮̭̈̌̀̿̑͑̈́̐̈́̐̇ȃ̵̧̫͕̪̰̻n̴͔̳͖͗̑͒ ̸̲̖̜͕̈́̀̂͌̏̐͂̇̎̚͘Ŵ̴̭͊̾̎̌̆͜͠a̴͍͉̳͍̐̓͜͜ͅͅͅn̴̜̺͖̰͉͖̻̆̂̾̓̈́̕g̸̗̈́͋͂̊̑͌̇͝͝j̸̢͓̣͎̟͠i̶͇̚, than-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ẅ̵̧̨̠͇̦̩̹͕̰͉̥͔̪̯̱̙́̉̅͛́̅̎̔̎́̐́̔̃̃́̏̍͑̀̃͘̕͜ͅẻ̷̤̼̭̭͍̮̝͎̪̯͕͈͔̻͍͐͒̾̌͊̆̂̓̿̋̇̾͊̾̎̒̉̆͜͠į̴̛̤̩͕̙̗̥̠̦̬̙͈̗̟̖̆̽̃́͂̀̏̀͒̊̎̔̇̎̈̃̿͑̋̄̚͝ ̵̨̛̘̯͈̻̔͋͒̀͌̀̌́̌͋W̴̨̛̖̮̖̫̗̣̫͖̣̌̌̏̃̀̐̔̐̆͛͛̆̿͆̀̈͑͂͌͑̈́̂̓̕u̷̧̖͈͕̹̬̫͓̲̠͉̭͐̈́̓͋͐x̶̳͓̪̟̯̜̯̳͙̳͇̪̳̻̳̦̺̲̝̟̓̄͋̅̈́̑̋͜͠i̴̢̨̛̛̙̱̺͍̜͚̗̟͉̗̹̘̝̦͌͑͛̌̃̎̇̔̀̋̈́̊͊̾͋̉̓̽̚͜͠͠ͅͅa̶̹͖̤̝̗̻̹͎̦̤͚̮̯̪͎͇͕̗̫͙̠̹̹̎̇̀̈́͆̃̃̈́̈̈́̈̎͜͠͝͝n̵̳͉̤͈̗̽̏͛̈́͗̊͝͠ .

Did you forget what we promised? What's right and what's wrong?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Did you hear? The Jin Sect is cursed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another vision. Great. Ever since his hit on the head he tried to ignore them as time passed, but whatever happened back then seemed to want to make itself known. No matter if the audience is unwilling or not. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.

He awoke in what looked like a boarding room for school kids. As he got up, he’s quickly pushed down.

"You need to rest. You've had a hard night." It was the woman from before.

"No, no, I need to continue"

"And as a doctor I need you to sleep. My brother found you and saved you from those two." Sizhui’s confused.

"Your brother. He fought the Ghost General?”

"He is the Ghost General." His eyes widened as he looked around. "He's not here, but I am. My name is Wen Qing and you are?"

"Lan Sizhui." He noticed her hand stiffened for a moment, then continue with his wounds. She wrapped and cleaned his arm with a bandage and was now cleaning a wound was on the wing of his back. Funny, it must have been the adrenaline running in his system. He didn’t realize he was injured till now.

"What exactly are you doing? Running around, you should be leaving, not staying." She reprimanded as she cleaned and tidied up her supplies.

"I was told that I could not leave until I broke the curse."

"And who told you that?"

"Guangyao." Her hand freezes just as she was about to close her box.

"Guangyao? Jin Guangyao, you're listening to that beast!"

"What are you talking about?" He asked, understanding now that there was something more to his mysterious benefactor.

"He didn't tell me he was a Jin, just that his name is Guangyao." Wen Qing scoffs.

"Only because he doesn't want his crimes to be known. Listen here! You need to stay away from that man. He will only use you and throw you away once you're no longer any use to him."

"What do you mean?!" Wen Qing sighs.

"He is the reason that this curse came to be. A long time ago our leader, Wen Ruohan, lost the war and they killed the survivors off. Only Wei Wuxian stood for us since we save him and his brother." She closes the box and puts it away.

"During the war he created the Stygian Tiger Seal. It was powerful, but it did its job, however later on he grew to fear how much resentful energy it was consuming. So he made a deal with the remaining Sects. He would give himself up and the Stygian Tiger Seal. In return, the Sects would let us live in peace." "I'm guessing that's not what happened."

"They killed us all and those remaining died without medical help. Even the smallest-" she chocked as tears fell from her eyes.

"You're not alive. Are you?"

"I died trying to hide little A-Yuan. But from what I hear, he didn't make it." She wipes away the tears.

"I don't get it. Why is it Jin Guangyao's fault?"

"It's his fault because under his father's order, he incited the other clans to attack by killing Sect Leader Nie and blaming us for it. If it wasn't for his brother, Nie Huaisang, finding out, then everyone would have believed we were guilty. I only know this because even now the remaining spirits love to whisper, but Nie Huaisang, visited Wei Wuxian. He was heartbroken when he couldn't visit A-Yuan's funeral. They thought he was there to console him. They were friends during their schooling here in Gusu. Then a few days later he activated the curse. And now we are here, stuck in Gusu, unable to move on."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

L̵̡̧̢̞̦̰͖͍͚͉̳͒͌̀͗̀â̵̧̯̫̦̳̟͉͖̣̝̄̆͑̆̾̑̈́n̶̥̔͋́̈̊́͘ ̸̢͉̬̞̲̘͎͊̐Ŵ̴̭͊̾̎̌̆͜͠a̴͍͉̳͍̐̓͜͜ͅͅͅn̴̜̺͖̰͉͖̻̆̂̾̓̈́̕g̸̗̈́͋͂̊̑͌̇͝͝j̸̢͓̣͎̟͠i̶͇̚ stood outside-

-wail in agony.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Jin Ling! Jin Ling! Where are you?!" He pulled open the door, not caring about the commotion he was causing.

Both of them were getting out of here, he thought. They weren't staying there a minute longer.

"Sizhui-er! What's the matter?!" Guangyao appeared by the partition as he walked over to calm the teenager.

"My cousin! I sent him here. I know it. I saw him head this way."

"No, no, no, I saw no one come by. Here," he pours a cup of tea and presents it to Sizhui. It felt warm to the touch. "Drink this. You would feel better afterwards." Sizhui stared at the cup and felt a surge of anger as he threw the teacup, not quite hitting Jin Guangyao, but close enough.

"ENOUGH! Enough with the lies! Enough with the half-truths! Tell me what do my parents Lan Zhan and Wei Ying have to do with the spirits of Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Patriarch!?"

Jin Guangyao sighed, sat down, as if he was the one who ran around this damn place, tired. He looked at him straight in the eyes.

"It took a while to find all of you, you know."

"Excuse me?!"

"Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are the reincarnations of Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun and Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch. Or rather, their half-reincarnations. So I called them. Pulled their souls over here." Sizhui punched him.

"YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT MY PARENTS ARE COMATOSED BECAUSE OF YOU!" Guangyao laughed, not a care in the world. The secret now out.

"See I made many choices, choices that led to the deaths of an entire sect, that led to the terrible descent into madness for Wei Wuxian. I didn't care. I was working my way to getting my father's approval, or at least I thought I did." He grunts as he gets up, wiping the blood from his lip.

"I was a war hero and shared the cups of brotherhood with two other known figures from the war, Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen. Yet, no matter what I did, it wasn't enough." He gave an empty laugh. Sizhui felt uncomfortable as he felt the despair.

"I ruined Sects for that man so that our Sect could stand on top. I killed one venerated brother so there would be no opposition, had the Wen-dog survivors blamed so we would kill them off. I destroyed Wei Wuxian's reason for living and relationship so we could appear righteous and powerful. Then I destroyed the one that truly mattered." Sizhui gulped as the man in front of him reminisced.

"I didn't mean to, but I failed to see how much Huanguang-Jun loved Wei Wuxian. It was easy to see how much Zewu-jun loved his brother, and for him I made sure no harm would come to his little brother. Zewu-jun, he called me his equal. I wasn't some son of a prostitute, I was special to him. When I had the Wen's killed, the Yiling Patriarch cast his curse, which Huanguang-jun accepted... I saw how Zewu-jun broke down to see his brother give up, be taken willingly."

“Hanguang-jun blamed himself.” Stated Sizhui. Jin Guangyao nodded.

"Yes, and maybe he wanted to show that he would stand by Wei Wuxian's side. Who knows, that man didn't speak much, always keeping his thoughts to himself. Like I said, I didn't care about anyone else except for my father's approval and... Zewu-jun, Lan Xichen." Sizhui looks back at the man sitting on the other side of the room, hidden by the partition.

"Discovering what I did, Zewu-jun immediately blamed himself, for without his blessing's and his help, I would not have been able to do the things I did. When I tried to break the curse, the reason we couldn't was because of me. Zewu-jun could no longer trust me. So we- I failed. The only thing we did was just forcefully subdue part of the spirits." Jin Guangyao clenched his teeth, holding back the tears that threatening to spill from his eyes.

"My betrayal was too much, the pain that it wrought was too heavy, that he just shut down. I don't care wether any of the spirits here can find healing, but for Zewu-jun I want to break this curse and maybe he can finally move on." Sizhui sighed.

He just wanted to find his cousin and get the hell out. However, hearing what happened to the Wen siblings living the half cursed life. The memories of Lan Wangji sitting outside the Gentian house when he wanted to get Wei Wuxian to at least talk to him, hear him, see him. The pain when Wei Wuxian wanted to save little A-Yuan only to die. He never even got to see his body to mourn properly. Damn his bleeding heart.

"Fine, let's get started."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Mingshi was musty smelling, perhaps from the mold, dark and littered with cobwebs. They worked quickly to clear it with only the light of the moon, from the broken ceiling, to guide them. Though ominous, Gusu must have been a beautiful place. He could almost imagine the foliage from the outside, how the ponds and rivers would have trickled and the birds singing.

But it wasn't. He would need his friends' hands to count how many steps he broke from him just placing the slightest pressure. He picked up the scroll and read the evocation and rest. As he told Guangyao it had been a while, but he hoped he could remember the hand placement to play these scores.

A nagging question had been on Sizhui's mind. Would the ritual work? And why? Figuring it wouldn't hurt to ask, Sizhui turned to ask Guangyao the nagging question.

"Sizhui-er, I have every belief that this ritual will work."

"And why is that?"

"Because, you have Wen Yuan's spirit." Sizhui's blank face caused Guangyao to sigh heavily.

"Part of the reason for Wei Wuxian's madness is that he blames himself for his adopted son's death. When he realizes that you're the reincarnation of Wen Yuan it may settle him down enough to allow us to play Rest for the peace that he denied himself." With all the cloak and dagger from Guangyao, his word was useless. So why go along with this?

"And if that does not work?"

"In the words of today's youth, we are totally screwed" Sizhui snorts. Guangyao side glances at him questioningly.

"You are out of touch."

"Shut up." Odd how that reminded him of Jin Ling. That is the most frustrating part. He met his cousin finally only to lose track of him.

He's startled when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"I have it on good authority that your cousin is fine." Sizhui felt a familiar course of anger but was too tired to act on it.

"Is this something you've known for a while?"

"Not until I had confirmation." Knowing the man by now, that could have been a few hours ago or maybe right from the beginning. It was no use now.

Quickly they set the Spirit Flags and drew the sigil for evocation from the Elder Teacher's scroll. He pivots to see Guangyao holding the flute, Liebling as he called it, touching the mouthpiece, his lips pursed.

"Will you be able to play it?" Guangyao snaps out of his trance and nods.

"I've practiced, just not with this instrument, but it should be no different." Sizhui nods and takes his place.

"What do we do about the Stygian Tiger Seal?" That had been the only thing he hadn't been unable to bring with him since he had to run for his life. Really, he would do anything to not get near the madman.

He... he wanted to go home with his A-die and Senior.

"He'll bring it with him. There is no way that he would leave without it." Guangyao ignored Sizhui's glare as he puffed in indignation.

"Then what was the point of me going to the Gentian House?"

"To let him know that I haven't stopped."

Lan Sizhui had to count to twenty in order not to kill Jin Guangyao.

"You are the most aggravating man I ever met."

"Yes, Dage would tell me that often." He was not laughing. He wants to go home. Wants to find Jin Ling. Eat Lotus Pork Rib Soup and forget that this night ever existed. Sadly, he let himself get duped, he realized. He should have grabbed his cousin the first chance he found him and just ran the hell out of this place. Now he’s stuck here, baiting a madman who apparently had every right to curse this place, who held... Senior's soul.

He realized the implication now. Did Senior not wake up because now, in his previous life, Wei Wuxian the Yiling Patriarch held his soul. It would make sense, weirdly. The doctors could not find out why he refused to wake up. There was no brain damage, no previous health problems. He was just asleep. A-Die is like that too. They had trouble waking him up, and now his appetite was non-existent.

That broke him.

He couldn't see him go down the same path as Senior. He was the one lifeline he had against, the vicious rumors that sprouted. Cursed child.

He left for that reason.

His parents died trying to get home quick to surprise him. A-Die and Senior are now dying because Guangyao called their spirits back and the only way to save them is to put the Yiling Patriarch and Hanguang-jun to rest. The doors open and the few candles that Guangyao lit flicker off, one by one. Sizhui follows Guangyao's lead as he plays Clarity. He did not understand what was happening, but he could feel the coaxing influence as Guangyao directed the energy to circle around them.

"My, my Lianfang-zun, you're still here? I would have thought you'd have wasted away," joked Wei Wuxian as he walked through the door. He wasn't alone. Behind him were scores of fierce corpses in faded blue and white robes marred with dirt and blood. They stood there as if in attention.

It became apparent why, when the Stygian Tiger Seal is pulled from his sleeves, floating in his hands.

"If I recall correctly, I wounded you."

"Yet here I am."

"Yes, very interesting. Anyway's give me back the Wangji. That Guqin doesn't belong to you." All this time Sizhui hadn't stopped playing as instructed, but felt nervous. The Guqin, called Wangji, trembled in Sizhui's hand. He didn't see how this could be a weapon, but right now he had no choice but to trust Guangyao. He played the notes on and on, concentrating on the music, trying to listen to the scene happening before him.

"Wei Wuxian, you know that it's time to stop."

"Time to stop? Funny, the time to stop should have been when I gave myself and the Stygian Tiger Seal up, the time to stop was when we locked ourselves up in Burial Mounds, the time to stop would have been after the war when the Wen's gave up. But you didn’t, did you?" He plays a harsh note and sends a red and black energy towards them.

The sound of Clarity encircling them dissipated the attack.

"Oh, and I guess you learned some new tricks? Then again, you always were so good at twisting something so good for your benefit weren't you?" Guangyao growled as he prepared to send an attack only to stop when the Yiling Patriarch moves to the side.

Lan Xichen was supposed to be in the Hanshi. Yet here he was floating, held by the dark resentful energy that the Yiling Patriarch exuded.

Lan Xichen dropped to the floor, shoulders slumped.

"And here is the other culprit."

Guangyao stilled. With a quick movement, he motioned for Sizhui to be ready to be on the offensive.

"Seriously dabaizi, how naïve could you be. Oh, wait you weren't, you were just willfully ignorant. You know Sang-Gongzi was kind enough to tell me how many times Dage tried to warn you about Jin Guangyao? He's a liar. You can't trust him outright. He's up to something. And what did you do?" He lifts the other man's chin up.

"You gave him the very thing he needed to kill him. Your action allowed him to pin the blame on the surviving Wen's and kill them. Tell me, why were you allowed to mourn for A-Yuan when your actions had a hand in killing him." He could not see an expression from Zewu-jun, but Sizhui could see the tears.

"Tell me Guangyao, will you be willing to save Zewu-jun or will you let him die just like Sect Leader Nie?" The horde of fierce corpse's ran in and Guangyao’s forced to work double time. On one end he played Liebling to continue the surrounding shield, on the other he helped Sizhui to direct the attacks to the fierce corpses.

If they had more time. More chances to work together, their teamwork would have been possible.

It failed as a demon corpse plunged a blade into Lan Xichen's back. His body dropped.

"No!" Guangyao ran hoping to catch Zewu-jun as Sizhui let out one last attack, pushing back the fierce corpse's back. It broke the connection. Red eyes narrowed in irritation.

Guangyao held Lan Xichen's body as he wept in agony, trying to stop the blood. It seeped his beautiful white robes.

"Zewu-jun! Zewu-jun! Xichen!" Cried out Guangyao, his voice breaking in pain. Sizhui allowed himself to become distracted, not realizing that the Yiling Patriarch was right next to him. He stood up in fear only to feel him ram his hand to his chest.

It was odd as he looked down. There was no blood, in fact it didn't go through his chest, but he noticed a red energy where the hand went through. It wasn't until he felt a squeeze to his heart that he realized the terrible implication.

"I don't know how you broke the connection. A lucky strike, perhaps? It matters not, why don't you make your last amends, eh?" He squeezes his heart and Sizhui could only scream in pain. His mind blacks out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "I can't-" "You should take him. He see's you as his father" "..." "A-Die! A-Die!" "A-Yuan! How is my little turnip!" Sizhui can feel himself carried and as he squeals into the air. A-Die is so fun! Alway's burying him in dirt to make him grow like the turnip he is, taking him to the market and let him play with the toys. Although he never bought him any, he never thought to beg him to buy it. He's thrown up in the air, enjoying the excitement. He could hear Wen Qing chiding him and uncle Wen Ning moving around to make sure he didn't fall. No worries. A-Die will always protect him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Yiling Patriarch let's go as Sizhui falls back gasping for air. He didn't believe Guangyao's remark, but he could feel A-Yuan's feelings and how safe he felt. Tears fell from his eyes as he tried to get ahold of the turbulent emotions within.

"A-Yuan? A-Yuan is that you?" Sizhui looks up and see's the man in utter happiness. He looked so young, so joyful. Like he had committed no atrocities in his life. He tries to back away, but frozen from the frenzied look of Wei Wuxian. The man hugs him, his shoulder becoming damp with tears.

"A-Yuan! You're back, you're finally back! Please tell me you're here to stay. I'll protect you. This time I'll protect you from anyone that wants to harm you! No one will hurt you here. I promise! We'll stay in the Gentian House, plant potatoes and radishes, I'll play the Chenquing for you, no nightmares. Maybe if I'm in a pleasant mood, if I can trust him, I can let that man play on his Wangji. Stupid man, naming it after himself, ha, ha, ha!" With each word the Yiling Patriarch hugged him harder and harder, his nails digging into him deeper and deeper to his sides.

He tried to push him back, but he just refused to let go. It was becoming harder to breathe. The sound of the iron chain was the only warning they had before the Patriarch pushed him away.

"Wen Ning... why are you stopping me? I get it now, why you did what you had to do. You knew he was little A-Yuan, but now you're trying to take him away from me? Why?"

"Because A-Yuan died and moved on!" All occupants looked back to see Wen Qing, holding a red and white urn, the same one he saw in Gentian House, standing by the doors.

"He's A-Yuan reincarnated, but he's not our A-Yuan anymore. Wei Wuxian let it go. It's okay. You did your best." Wei Wuxian shakes his head in anger.

"No, no, no! It wasn't my best. I trusted the wrong people! I thought I was doing the right thing. I had the best intentions, and you died, granny, uncle four, everyone died. A-Yuan died!" He makes way to grab A-Yuan only for Wen Ning to get in the way. Hanguang appears and sensing Wei Wuxian's intention runs to grab Sizhui, but the extensive range of the Ghost General's chain cuts him off.

He does a sweeping arc to the two men, who’re forced to step back. Lan Wangji however changes his momentum forward when the chain passed by him, intent to accomplish the new goal.

Sizhui grabs Guqin and plays more notes, remembering how Guangyao guided him. He plucked the strings towards Hanguang-Jun. It wasn't strong, but it caught him off guard. He picks up the instrument and runs towards Guangyao and to pull him away from this place.

They failed, but they can come back and make an alternative plan! Something that'll free his guardians, free the spirits!

He forgot how fast Hanguang-Jun could be when he appeared by his side and used his long legs to trip him. His face smacked against the floor and he’s forced down when a foot pushed into his back. The Guqin landed far from him. Guangyao was not idle, though, as he pulled his blade out.

"Get Zewu-jun out of here!" Sizhui nods as he attempts to pick up the body. He didn't know if Guangyao noticed or just ignored it, but already Sizhui could tell his body had lost its warmth.

Sizhui attempts to move the man's body, but he was tall and he had trouble moving him. He looked to Wen Qing to help him, but she just stood there.

"Wen Qing! Help!" But she shook her head.

A misstep happens as the chaotic resentful energy acts up and crackles in the air. It nearly hits Sizhui, which causes the Ghost General to change tactics and steps in to protect him and Zewu-jun’s body.

The negative energy pours into Wen Ning, who lets out a howling growl. Seeing Sizhui endangered Wen Qing is quick to throw the urn passing through him. He shivered, cold and confused. Why did she pass through him? Wasn't she a fierce corpse? Was she a ghost?

He hears a scream and turns to see Hanguang-jun cut the Ghost General into pieces.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Lan-er-gege! You can't be mad! I've called your name so many times." "Shameless." The innocent sound of laughter is heard in the air of the Library Pavilion. Lan Wangji lips tilt in a smile. He hides it before Wei Wuxian catches sight of it.

***********

The Wen's took so much and now Lan Wangji’s left to wander with Wei Wuxian’s brother to look for him. He could only hope they weren't too late.

*********** "Stop following the demonic path," he laughs, surprising the occupants in the room. "Ah Hanguang-jun, right? You have no right to tell me anything. This is Jiang Sect's business." Lan Wangji leaves confused. What happened to him?

*********** "Lan Er-ge-ge, thank you for playing for me." Lan Wangji smiles and thinks everything would be okay.

************ It wasn't okay. It stopped being okay, and he didn't know what to do. "Wei Wuxian." "Did you forget what we promised? What's right and what's wrong?" That promise, they promised to protect the weak.

************ He'll protect them. He'll uphold his promise like he should have when We Wuxian first left. "Come to Gusu with me." "I can't. What will happen to the Wen's? You know that the other Sects want them dead." "I can talk to brother." "I- I…" "Please Wei Wuxian come to Gusu. I will talk to brother. The Wen's will be safe. A-Yuan will be safe." "Can you promise me that?" "Mn." He will make the promise again if it gives him the chance to protect him and the others when he should have.

*********** "A-xian. I love you." He murmurs as he held him close. They couldn't bring A-Yuan yet, seeing as the Lan was in discussion with the Jin Sect about this. It should be fine though, as his brother promised to see things through. "Ah, Lan-er gege! Warn me when you tell me things like this," giggles his love. He looked better now. His face didn't look as pale, and though he found out his golden core’s gone, it still wasn't impeding his recovery. "Mn." "Lan-er gege, take responsibility and hug me." He does, and so much more. This moment and all other moments would become so precious to him.

*********** "You promised me!" "Wei-" "You promised me they would be okay! AND NOW THEY'RE DEAD!" "Please, listen!" How could it all go wrong?! The Wen's killing Nie Mingjue. He still couldn't understand how such a thing could happen, but all evidence pointed towards them. "I'M DONE LISTENING! I'M DONE! WHY DID I EVER LISTEN TO YOU! I SHOULD HAVE STAYED AT THE BURIAL MOUNDS! At least-" He sobs and he could only watch in pain. "At least-AT LEAST THEY WOULD BE ALIVE. WEN QING... WEN NING... A-... A-YUAN!"

********* They found A-Yuan, hidden by the tree trunk and sneaked him back here. They were too late, and they prepared a private funeral. The elders however had stipulations. "Never! His outbursts are too dangerous. Did you not see the resentful energy around him! It would only agitate the boy's spirit. It's sad that we were too late to save him from the fever, but we cannot allow him to partake in the mourning ceremony! The poor boy's soul would be endangered." Lan Wangji stood outside as he heard Wei Wuxian wail in agony. He wouldn't even answer his calls. He stood there, like he did when he was younger for his mother, but now for his A-Xian.

********* "Did you hear? The Jin Sect is cursed. Many of the main family are dead. The young madam had to move back home to protect the heir. How sad that her husband did not survive. Some say he had a hole in his ribs." He ignored the rumors, when all he cared about was whether his love would open the doors. He sat there on his knees, waiting. Waiting. He never noticed when the Stygian Tiger Seal flew into one of the opened windows.

********** Jin Guangyao arrived, claiming that Wei Wuxian stole the Stygian Tiger Seal. Lan Wangji didn't care.

********** Lan Wangji can only watch in despair as the Gentian House, the home of his late mother and now of his love, surrounded by resentful energy. The others begged him to move, to stop the Yiling Patriarch, but he knew he couldn't. He didn't trust him. Wouldn't open the door. He didn't even want to talk to him anymore. He lost that right when he could not protect the Wens. 'If I gave you my life.' He thought as he stood there ignoring his brother's call. 'If I gave myself to the curse, would you please look at me? Just once more.' Tears slid down his face, his throat closing up. 'Please look at me once more.' Jin Guangyao had to pull Lan Xichen away as he watched his brother give himself up to the Yiling Patriarch's curse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"GET OUT OF HERE!" Hanguang-jun stood still, surprised that Wei Wuxian was looking at him.

"YOU DID IT AGAIN! GET OUT OF HERE!" Without a word he leaves, but not before grabbing his Guqin, Wangji. The Yiling Patriarch surveyed the area, ignoring the longing look from Hanguang jun.

The ashes were scattered across the floor as Wen Qing held her brother's corpse cut into pieces. She wept as Wei Wuxian landed on his knees.

"Wen Qing," he sobs. "Qing. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He kowtows before her. Wen Qing grabs his arm and shakes her head.

"It's okay. We've suffered enough, you've suffered enough. Let it go, it's time to rest," she utters as a golden light circles around her. Wei Wuxian could only cry as she disappears.

Both Sizhui and Guangyao leave with Xichen, allowing the Yiling Patriarch to mourn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They arrived to the Hanshi in a somber mood.

They didn't succeed and Zewu-jun, who somehow lived all this time, was finally dead.

He was still curious how such a feat was possible, but Sizhui didn't even had the energy to sate his curiosity. The latest visions left a sour and bitter taste to his mouth. So much good intentions and it all lead to this hell.

Jin Guangyao fell. He waves off Sizhui.

"Go take him to his bed. I'll- I'll sit here and then join you for a bit." Sizhui nods and proceeds past the partition.

Odd that he never really walked passed here. Then again, he was never invited to the private room and with Lan Xichen mourning... it really wouldn't be appropriate.

He steps in and takes in the sight. The place was tidy. The books were in their place. A broken Guqin rested in one corner of the room with blood on its strings. It must have been Guangyao's as he remembered the conversation from earlier. The event must have been bad since it stained the wood.

Sizhui turns and finds a sight that should have terrified him, but after tonight's events he felt numbed. There on the bed was a dried up corpse. He wore the same clothes as Jin Guangyao but where the peony emblem should be, was nothing more than a hole, dried blood staining the fabric.

Jin Guangyao was a ghost too, huh? Odd how he felt real to the touch. Then again, so did Wen Qing. He wondered how that was possible, when she just passed by him, except for the urn holding the ashes. Were those her ashes?

He settles the last master of Gusu Lan to the bed, next to Jin Guangyao. Funny that Zewu-jun looked like he was sleeping peacefully. He wonders what his visions would have been. Did he and Guangyao share tea in this room? What was the relationship between him and his brother to fully entrust the safety of the now deceased Wens? He must have been a man of great integrity to have everyone trust him undisputedly.

He walks out of the room ready to face Guangyao's ghost, only to see the Yiling Patriarch standing over the fallen form of Guangyao.

"Stay away-" He stops short when he sees a sight for sore eyes. On the floor wearing Guangyao's clothes was his missing cousin, Jin Ling.

"This makes little sense."

"It does to me. I knew I killed him, I was just confused about how he could wield Liebling. After all, ghosts have no corporeal forms, so for them to hold on to anything they would need a relative or someone with a weak spiritual constitution to possess. Let me take a crack at it. A Jin? He has the same haughty look that all Jin's carry." Sizhui stood still, ready to grab his cousin to safety.

Wei Wuxian smirks.

"Don't worry, no more blood will be spilt. We have enough tragedies as it is. Question though. You are Lan, but you're not bound here. You could have left anytime you wanted. Especially when you found this one, so why are you still here?" Sizhui clears his throat.

"I can't leave till I free my A-Die and Senior. You have their souls"

"Let me guess. Guangyao? Here's the truth. He lied. Go ho-"

"You have their soul's! Their names are Lan Zhan and Wei Ying. Your laugh sounds almost like his if it didn't sound cynical and Hanguang-jun," he pauses. Unsure to tell him about the visions. "He is just as intimidating." Wei Wuxian laughs.

"Well, it makes sense why I felt out of it. It's only till recently that I feel coherent." He walks around the room taking in the sight and stops.

"You know that empathy can go two ways, right? It's hard for those that start off in the beginning, but once you get the hang of it, it becomes easier to look at the other side." He see's Sizhui's face and laughs.

"You know the visions you had. Tell me why did you run away?" It stuns Sizhui. did he know, no wait what did he know? Lying wouldn't get him anywhere, so he might as well be truthful.

"I'm cursed, or at least that's what other's say. My parents died when I was five and A-Die and Senior Wei took me in. After a while Senior Wei fell ill, with A-Die following along after that."

"Hm... and you thought running away would help?" Sizhui feels ashamed for the first time since he ran. Why did a man who placed a cursed, who almost killed him, wanted to kidnap him, now appeared to be admonishing him as if he did nothing wrong in his life? His mood was all over the place.

"Look kid you had good intentions right? Follow my advice, then. Running won't do you any good, it'll just make things more complicated. I ran instead of talking to others, confiding to others, and look where it took me." He gives him a grin, eyes appearing to water. "How about you go home and let those that love you help?"

"But the curs-"

"I'll take care of it. After all your what 15?"

"I'm 17!" He laughs lightly, painfully reminding him of Senior Wei.

"Take your friend home and leave. By the time you are walking down the mountain, we should break the curse. I just need to collect someone to help me."

"And you could have done this all this time." The devil may care smirk seemed to be a favorite face that Wei Wuxian loved to wear.

"Rule number one of a curse maker. Always know how to break said curse." He walks away, heading down the path that lead to the library. Sizhui wastes no time and wakes up Jin Ling.

"What the hell am I wearing?" As he takes it off, revealing his shirt and pants underneath. Sizhui finds his shoes and jacket in the closet, mindful to keep Jin Ling out of the room with the two dead occupants. No way would he be able to calm Jin Ling.

Leaving no room for argument or questions, he pushes his cousin out of Hanshi and down the path that would take them down the mountain. Along the way, they met Jingyi and Zhizhen.

He answered their questions the best he could without revealing the horrors he faced. It was especially helpful when Jin Ling could not recall what happened at all. He saw Jin Ling look at him suspiciously, but figured he would explain to him at a later date. Now though was the time to leave this damn mountain.

Zhizhen was the first to hear the distant sounds of Dizi and Guqin playing.

"Wow, that sounds beautiful! Hey, are those fireflies?" The group looked around as orbs of light floated the night sky. Sizhui could feel it. They broke the curse.

Thank Jingyi who did not believe they were fireflies and urged them down the mountain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tow truck came and took them to Moling, where they called their Jin Ling's uncle Jiu'jiu'-Cheng. They could hear him threaten to break his legs if they moved from the spot.

Apparently the boys didn't ask or tell anyone they left to pick him up. He could only imagine how Jiu'jiu'-Cheng would react with him. He was always cautious about how he interacted with him, treating him like he was some porcelain doll. He didn't think that would last long after his latest stunt, though.

The next day, after a vigorous shower and thorough checkup, the injuries he had horrified his friends. He went to the hospital. The place was busy, but not as much as the one coming from his parents' rooms. Nurses were coming in and out, getting things and chit-chatting in excitement.

"What's going on?" he asked gu'gu'-li. Jin Ling's mother Jiang Yanli smiled, the joy reaching her eyes.

"Why don't you see?"

Lan Sizhui walked up to the room. It was a lot to take in.

Last time he was in this room Lan Zhan would just not move. Jiang Cheng, Wei Ying's brother, had to always come in and forcefully move him. Didn't work for long, as he always returned, until he could no longer move. He came to occupy the bed next to his beloved. He stopped coming in after that.

'That goes to show how much he loves Senior Wei.' He thought mournfully.

He didn't know what he was expecting, but the moment he came in heard the rustling of the bed. It's been so long since he saw those grey eyes filled with mischief and glee. Tears erupted from his eyes.

"Well, there's our little rabbit." Commented Wei Ying, laying back comfortably on the pillow, his voice hoarse from disuse. He held back his gasp with a choke, foot pace quickening as he went to hug him. He felt so frail, and if he hugged him any tighter, he was sure to break him.

The sob came out, but he didn't care. He wasn't embarrassed, he just wanted to make sure that this moment was real. That the nightmares from Gusu manor were long gone. Senior Wei, he wasn't cold; he wasn't menacing and most of all broken. He was here alive! Living, breathing, and so warm. It was just so hard to let go. But he did when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked back and seeing those tired golden eyes.

"A-Die." His father turned him around.

"I'm sorry." Why was A-Die sorry? He didn't have to apologize. He was heartbroken. Lan Sizhui knew how much A-Die loves Senior Wei.

"Ah Lan Zhan, take responsibility and hug our little rabbit. Don't you see how worried he must have been." Lan Zhan agrees and hugs him tight. Lan Sizhui's eyes widened, then softened as he returned the hug.

"Don't worry about it. I know how much it hurt."

They stayed at the hospital room the entire day, reminiscing about the past and planning for the future. Jin Ling and the other's would join along. Almost caused them to be expelled, only to be kicked out when Jiu'jiu'-Cheng threatened to break his legs for his stunt. Running away had now permanently put him on the same list as Jin Ling, which said cousin cackled. Traitor.

Needless to say, Senior Wei forced him to stay the night to keep his adorable rabbit and show him all the love in the world.

Sizhui was okay with that as he slept on the couch happily. He was ready to welcome the many more days to come.

#mdzs #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #the untamed #MDZS au #the untamed au #mo dao zu shi #mo dao zu shi au #Lan Sizhui #Jin Guangyao #wangxian #angst #horror #thriller #cursed child au #I fucking apologize about the cursed text! Never again!

19 notes · View notes

axe-trio-commanders · 4 years

Text

Griffons

Spoiler warning for PoF, a bit of HoT, and LWS4. This one actually doesn’t take place in my commanders’ cannon- it’s based on... one of several AU’s I’ve put them in, as will all but one of the stories I’m doing for the Tyrias library halloween prompts. This one in particular is from one dubbed the ‘TC’ au- which stands for ‘technically cannon’, as it... was that, until it uh. Wasn’t. Might have used it as an excuse for griffon plants. Anyways, enjoy some cryptids! (Oh also a small tw for severe burn wound descriptions and being held hostage at dagger-point)

The fire griffon of Elona.

It wouldn't be the first time Zafirah had encountered the thing, if she saw it here- entire form covered in fire, feral growls echoing from its throat... it’d only been in passing, and she’d been assured Balthazar had it ‘under control’, but she’d seen the charred remains of both sides of combat littering the desert. Nothing survived contact with it.

It had arrived near the same time Balthazar had, and rumors of where it’d come from abounded- some claimed it was simply a new pet of the god’s, others that it was some corrupted form of a third hound- still others that it was some poor fool who’d unknowingly desecrated his name.

Everyone had assumed it’d run rampant upon Balthazar’s death at the hands of the… ‘commander’, but sightings of it simply... vanished, after the event. It hadn’t seemed under control before, to Zafira’s knowledge, but perhaps it was simply consumed by the crystal dragon. And yet...

And yet, her god’s death seemed to bring about something... else. She’d heard it referred to as the griffon’s ghost, but she- nor anyone else she’d managed to talk to- had ever gotten a clear glimpse of the thing. She’d hoped, herself, to find it and get answers to what had happened to Balthazar, but... the best she’d got were vague descriptions- a small, planty form, (like one of those ‘sylvari’, some claimed,) large ghostly wings, a cold, gripping magic that shifted sands into demons- some had even claimed it to glow violet in the darkness...

The deadeye breathed a long sigh, gaze travelling across the horizon from across her tower. Her final stand, arena below filled with gas that’d already claimed the lives of a few... ‘pact members'. Not as many as she’d like. She supposed, as her last stand, it was... maybe a little silly to be thinking about such legends now- it wasn’t as if she’d see either of them tonight. It wasn’t as if she’d get any answers tonight.

She paused, tightening her hold on her rifle as she caught movement at the far end of the arena. A few glimpses, and she could make out the basics. Charr, medium armor, close-range weapons, hooded face. Maybe they thought it would help with the gas...? Either way, she’d steady her aim, focusing on it as it made its way closer. Just like so many others...

And then, she felt a chill at her back, turning to see-

Zafirah’s eyes widened at the sight before her. Large, ghostly wings, reminiscent of the now rarely seen sunspear griffon, spread wide as if they’d just landed. The blue glow of the somewhat translucent wings mixed with bright violet on the stone below- eyes like a feline’s staring back at her, long, feathered ears tilted forwards, bright lines marking out what might have been a human-like face, were it not so dark red in hue, and-

The creature smiled, lifting Balthazar’s sword from the ground. “Apologies, but we’re going to need this.”

...Legend or not, she needed that sword. She needed it until the... commander showed their face, and they certainly hadn’t yet. She’d heard no hints that they’d be this subtle- a charr wouldn’t be bashful after killing a god.

Zafirah narrowed her eyes, shoving her rifle into it’s hold as she brought out her paired daggers, lunging for the creature. As ghostly as their wings looked, the rest of them seemed solid- and though they were nimble, they seemed noticeably slowed by the weight of the sword they were carrying, only barely dodging her attacks, unable to offer any of her own with her hands full.

“I think I need it more,” Zafirah growled, lunging again.

“I really doubt that.” The other’s tone grew darker, leaping over her with a beat of those ghostly wings. “We need it to track an elder dragon who’s been cavorting about the mists, tearing through reality.”

“So, what Balthazar was doing before he was murdered?”

“Yes, but with less loss of innocent lives or general world-imploding.”

They’d continue their dance on the rooftop- Zafirah getting closer with each strike, the other’s eyes cold, calculating- was that a hint of nervousness she saw?

“You really think you can kill a dragon better than a god?”

“I’d say I’m obligated to try.” The other paused, standing up a little straighter near the edge of the roof. “Or- well, we are.”

...The sword was gone. Zafirah wasn’t sure when the other had... lost it, but- ...the charr. She must have thrown it to-

No, not now, she hadn’t lost yet. Wouldn’t lose yet.

Her opponent was too cocky, grin too confident- an easy target. Not thinking further, the deadeye lunged, knocking her back and against the low wall of the tower roof- then placing a knee against her chest to hold her there, placing a dagger to her throat. Zafirah saw her wings start to curl around the both of them, felt clawed hands pushing at her arm- saw the first clear hint of fear in her eyes. Still mortal, then.

“Bring me back the sword, and I let her live,” Zafirah called, letting her voice echo around the arena.

The creature’s eyes narrowed. “It’s fine, just take the sword and go! She’s bluffing,” She retorted.

Zafirah leaned more weight into her hold, seeing the other wince. “Legend or not, I really wouldn’t mind killing you.”

The other paused, then smirked. “And what’s to say I don’t just come back again?”

...She was bluffing. Zafirah had seen the fear in her eyes- she feared death just as much as anyone else.

And then... they both turned their gaze towards movement in the corner of their vision- seeing that same charr make her way up the steps towards them, ears pinned flat against her head, tail whipping back and forth in agitation- and Zafirah saw her god’s sword held in both of their clawed hands. The charr certainly believed it.

“...Let her go. Please.”

The charr’s voice was... softer, than she’d expected it to be- somewhat hoarse, but lacking the raw aggression their race had been famed for.

“If you want her, you’ll give me the sword,” she replied evenly.

“I- I know. And I will, but- I want you to think about this first. She wasn’t lying to you, we... we really do need it- innocent people are dying because we have no idea where Kralkatorrik will strike. The land is being corrupted- even breaking reality itself in places. Tyria- Elona is dying.” She took a step forward, lowering her head. “You can help us. You can help us finish what Balthazar started, in a way that will actually save everyone.”

A… tempting offer. A soft, strained voice, with honeyed words... she narrowed her eyes. “You can have the sword when the commander is dead.”

The charr paused, and she caught her and the creature exchanging glances. Did they... know the commander? If they did, she might have to keep this hostage a little-

“I think your god kinda beat you to that,” the creature chirped, earning a sharp glare from the charr. “Problem is, I’ve kinda got this habit of not staying dead.”

Zafirah looked down at her, gaze clearly disbelieving. No... no, this couldn’t be the commander. This tiny thing couldn’t have the power to kill a god- not hers, not anyone’s god, let alone elder dragons... but the ability to come back from the dead, only in the faintest of rumors-

“...No, I’m not letting you do this,” the charr muttered- and Zafirah glanced back to her, saw her fur standing on end, saw her posture straighten. “She might have been involved, but if it’s the commander you’re after, it’s more likely you’ve been looking for me.” She paused. “...I know I’m not what you expected. I’m not... really what anyone expected, let alone myself. But I... don’t want to lie to you. I’d really rather not fight you. Just let her go. Please.”

...Hm. It’d be so easy for either of them to lie, wouldn’t it? Should she believe either of them? Maybe she should just take the lives of both of them and be done with it. But if either of them were telling the truth, and she’d never know...?

“Prove it to me, then. Give me some reason to believe you’ve fought a god.”

“Well, if you’d like me to give you a tour of the mists-”

The creature’s words were cut short as the charr slipped off her hood, then pulled down the mask covering her muzzle- looking towards Zafirah with a pleading gaze. It was...

...it was almost... horrific, the scars that laced her muzzle. Burns, most of them- she could only see patches of what bright orange fur should have covered it, but the rest was either charred black or covered in dark red scars, one of her two long front teeth seeming to have recently acquired a metal brace. It was the marks of a battle-worn charr, and it was easy to imagine the sort of deistic fire that may have caused them- but the look in her eyes, the pleading in her voice, seemed so... out of place...

“...I took something important from you. I might not understand what that was, not completely- charr aren’t known for their, uh... belief. But I hope you understand me when I say that I can’t lose her again.”

...No. No, she couldn’t understand. Zafirah would have to make her understand.

She’d only start to push in the dagger when she felt, saw and heard the roar of flames, the charr an abrupt blur of motion as the deadeye felt herself thrown across the roof, skidding across stone. She heard snarls, only slightly above the fire, and looked up to see that same scarred face- now unrecognizable beneath the yellow-orange glow of flames, wings splayed threateningly from their back, tail whipping back and forth as they slowly stalked towards her on all fours to-

“...Zori?”

...The smaller one’s words were enough to give the predator pause- pause enough for the small, equally griffon-esque figure to push themself up, bounding in front of the fiery cat- putting a shaking hand through the fire to hold the side of their face. “Zori, it’s okay, it’s over. I’m okay. I’m alive, Balthazar’s gone, Joko’s gone, Mordremoth’s been dead for months- we’re gonna get the sword, we’re gonna deal with Kralkatorrik, and then we’ll get to rest, okay?”

The flames slowly, surely began to die down again, wings soon wisping away into the air, and... again, Zafirah was left with only a charr- an exhausted one, by how hard she was breathing, and how her entire form... collapsed, when the final flame died, apparently needing a moment to recover before pulling the smaller into a tight embrace.

“...I- Seremnis, are you-?” “I’m just fine, Zori. You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“But I almost-”

“But you came back, and I’m still here.”

"I'm... I'm sorry..."

Zafirah stood, shakily, stepping back from the both of them. Her gaze wandered to the sword she’d been so adamantly protecting, seeing it... alight, burning with a new fire- then back towards the pair, now sitting in a companionable silence. She noticed the smaller give a fearful glance towards the sword, heard her breathing hitch for a moment before she buried her face in the charr’s fur.

Zafirah wasn’t convinced of their motives, not yet- ...but she’d just... follow them, for now. Let them have the sword. See what they said they’d do with it once they thought she was out of earshot. After all...

...There was... another legend. Maybe less of a legend, more of a warning- though it’d been plenty long enough since the other race had been spotted in Elona that it was more a parable than a true warning for most.

She turned, putting her daggers back in their hold as she walked down from the roof, shadowstepping through the fog.

You could fight the charr in war all you wanted, but only a fool would ever hurt their cubs.

#tyriaslibrary #tyriaslibrary event #cryptids #i know this is an au but both commanders are cryptids in /every/ au #they're just... more cryptid-ey in this one #anyways you ever die to a god of war and fire and make your cat-mom cry #and then get yourself mildly posessed by an angry griffon in order to come back to life #to kick a god in the teeth #for making your cat mom cry #and also hurting your large crystal child #and also hurting your cat-mom #zori sunblade #seremnis #axe trio TC AU #there we go that's it's tag now #charr #zafirah #she's here and she's great! this is just. not her greatest moment #also demmi's re-alive in this au she just doesn't feature in this part of it #some day i'll finish drawing griffon-possessed seremnis #someday...#sylvari #sunspear griffon #said griffon and aria have a... tense relationship #gw2 writing

6 notes · View notes

icyharrington · 5 years

Text

Is It Wrong?- Part 7 (Michael Langdon X Reader)

hello!!! so i have been trying so hard these past few weeks trying to get this final part of iiw right. i am insanely nervous to put this out there, because i don’t wanna disappoint any of the amazing people who followed this series from the beginning. i wanna thank all the thirsty hoes who have supported this fic and given me feedback, because y’all are the reason i had the motivation to finish the series. this is the most fun i’ve ever had writing anything, ever. i can’t believe this series is finally coming to an end 🤧BUTTTTT don’t forget that there will be an additional, shorter epilogue chapter! so stay tuned for that ;) I LOVE Y’ALL!!!!

plot: michael langdon is a picture-perfect fuckboy, and, lucky for you, he’s also your stepbrother. how will you survive?

warnings: inappropriate relationships, fuckboy michael, fem!Reader, high school au, teen angst, like seriously A FUCK TON OF TEEN ANGST, fluff, vaginal fingering, handjobs, sexual intercourse, (semi?) public sex, dirty talk

word count: 12.8k (IM SORRY LMFAOOO)

tags: @alicecooper19 @ritualmichael @blackfyrez @bbyduncan @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @michaelsapostle @trelaney @kissydevil @langdonalien @langdonsdemon @sloppy-wrist @michael-langdon-appreciation @wroteclassicaly @cocosfern @sojournmichael @starwlkers @theinevitableprophecy @sodanova @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @divinelangdon @maso-xchrist @space-princesssss @ahslangdon101 @isabellaserpentiawesson @stupidocupido @nana15774 @urlocalgothb @hexqueensupreme @gold-dragon-slayer @pr1ncessd1e @langdonsboots @langdonstrash @prophesieddarling @isoldedax @fckinsupreme @lvngdvns @hisgirlwonder @telexnesis @venusxxlangdon @obsessivenostalgicbaby @noelle525 @kleinegamerin @lambofcairo @kiiteiru @anacerta @nuke-em-from-orbit @thingsthatoncemeantnothing @littledemondani @beriveri @dcvilrising @grossgayartist @featherpool-852 @imjustasadhoe @cryptid-coalition @nu-tt @diamcndscarred @michaelsfrenchtoast @ms-mead @sarcasticbxtch20 @ringpop-poppy @coollangdon @s7venwonders @littlehouseofleaves @elvahavax @king-of-mischief-and-bitchez @alternativepetewentz @maytheforcebewithqueen

(sorry to anyone who asked to be tagged but isn’t in my tag list!! tumblr won’t let me tag certain blogs for some reason!!)

“Goddamn it, how hard is it for you to follow simple GPS directions?” Miriam’s voice was pitched in annoyance as she scolded your father, whose knuckles were near white from how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel.

“You know what? Why don’t I just pull over, and you drive instead?” your father snapped. You and Michael exchanged a glance in the back seat for what seemed like the thousandth time since you’d all loaded into the car several hours before.

In celebration of summer vacation, and you and Michael’s recent graduation from high school, your father and Miriam had decided to arrange something of an impromptu vacation. Your father was far too cheap to travel anywhere of any significant distance, so he’d decided that the next best option was to take a road trip down to Myrtle Beach, Florida.

“Oh my god, yes,” Michael had said to you after your parents had broken the news to you both. “Do you know how many half-naked sluts we’re gonna see there? Myrtle Beach is like, white trash central.”

That comment had been the fuel for one of the many arguments you and Michael had engaged in following graduation; there was tension in the air, hanging thick and heavy over your heads as the days crept along, and the mindless bickering between you and Michael was at an all time high.

Not that it stopped either of you from having sex. Quite the contrary, in fact— you and Michael had been having so much sex that it was maybe even getting a little ridiculous.

“Seriously, Michael?” you’d said after his crude comment, your tone far whinier than originally intended. “Go fuck one of those half-naked white trash sluts instead of me, then.”

It’d taken him several minutes to convince you that he’d been joking (even though you were still fairly certain that he’d been dead serious) followed by some admittedly top-quality make up sex, which proved to be enough to convince you to move on.

Maybe something was in the water, you thought. Even Miriam and your father had seemed to be fighting constantly as of late, and the stressful atmosphere of the household made you feel constantly on edge; it almost felt like there was an impending disaster coming, one that was impossible to prevent. You only hoped that whatever disaster might be on its way would avoid you and Michael.

Right now, Michael was leaning with his forehead resting against the window, a bored look on his face as he skipped through the music playing on his phone. He only had one earbud in, the other draped over his shoulder (presumably so he could eavesdrop on your parents’ ridiculous arguments), dressed casually in light gray sweatpants and a faded Jimi Hendrix shirt.

Fuck, he looked good. He was jostled slightly with each slight motion of the car as it moved forward, the muscles in his arms subtly flexing as he reached up to run his fingers through his soft, tousled blond hair. For a second, your mind was clouded with images of a beach-bound Michael, his tanned, water-speckled torso lean but still toned, swimming trunks clinging to the lowest point of his narrow hips and leaving almost nothing up to the imagination. Your mouth watered.

“You know, if I’d driven, we would’ve actually arrived at the hotel by the time the GPS said,” Miriam said.

“So why didn’t you!?” your father exclaimed.

You locked eyes with Michael yet again, whose pale eyes glimmered with slight amusement at the nonstop back-and-forth between your parents.

“Because you insisted on driving.”

“Insisted? All I did was offer to drive out of the kindness of my— oh fuck, I think we just passed the hotel.”

“We did,” offered Michael flatly from the backseat, the soft glow of the neon hotel sign reflecting in his pupils as he craned his neck to follow the building.

“Goddamn it,” your father muttered, scanning the road for somewhere to make a U-turn.

“Nice going,” Miriam muttered under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest.

You were jerked forward as your father abruptly turned the car around in an act that you were ninety-nine percent sure was illegal; in a matter of seconds, the car was parked in the hotel parking lot, officially marking the end of the several-hour-long trek. Everyone seemed to let out a unanimous sigh of relief.

“Fucking finally,” said Michael, opening the door and swinging his legs outside so his ratty Converse sneakers made contact with the asphalt. You followed suit, making your way around to the trunk, which you popped open to retrieve your colorful travel bag.

The sound of crickets chirping through the mild Florida night was soothing despite its incessantness, and you found yourself smiling idly, a warm breeze gently caressing your face. So maybe you weren’t in the goddamn Dominican Republic, but you were still prepared to enjoy your time here.

Once everyone had taken their respective belongings from the trunk, your father led the way to the front entrance of the hotel.

The hotel lobby was nice, but certainly nothing special; it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the sole reason your father had chosen this place above all others was because it was the cheapest. Your father, weighed down with his overstuffed black bag, trudged over to the front desk with a pained look on his face.

“Imagine this place is infested with roaches,” said Michael lowly, flashing you a shit-eating grin when your face paled at this terrifying prospect.

“Shut up. My dad isn’t that much of a cheapskate.”

“Or what if it’s haunted?” he said, furrowing his brows to mimic a deadly serious expression.

“It’ll be haunted by your ghost in about five seconds if you don’t shut your mouth.”

“I saw this thing online about a girl who went missing, and then they found her in the water tower of the hotel,” he continued, and you rolled your eyes. It wasn’t at all surprising that he was trying to scare you. “And like, all the people staying there were showering and stuff, but little did they know they were washing themselves in dead body water.”

“Can you shut up, please?”

His plump lips contorted into a devious smile. “What, am I scaring you?”

“No, you’re just being really fucking annoying.”

“Aww, don’t worry, (y/n). I’ll protect you from any ghosts or cockroaches that might be here.” He pulled you into a side hug, squeezing you against him with an iron grip as he nuzzled the top of your head with his chin. You pulled away, exerting minimal strength but still managing to evade his grasp.

“Are you going to be this obnoxious the entire trip?” you said, watching as your father appeared to be looking for something in his pockets. After patting himself down for several seconds, he said something to the man behind the front desk; whatever it was that he’d said resulted in Miriam’s face contorting into a look that could easily kill anyone three times over.

“Here we go,” Michael whispered, mouth twitching at the corners as he averted his attention away from you and onto your parents instead.

“You’re an idiot,” Miriam was saying, practically seething as she spoke. “A goddamn idiot. How the hell did you manage to forget the credit card?!”

Your father’s mouth opened and closed as he attempted to come up with a response good enough to satiate his fuming wife, but of course there was none.

“How did he forget the credit card?” Michael said.

You shrugged.

Miriam huffed loudly as she began to dig through her purse, shooting your father a contemptuous glare when her hand emerged, leather wallet in tow. You watched as she pulled out her credit card, handing it over the front desk to the visibly uncomfortable man standing there.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the muscles in your arms starting to burn from the weight of your travel bag.

Michael, having apparently lost interest in your parents’ altercation, suddenly turned back to face you. “You think I’ll be able to pass for over 21 at the hotel bar?”

Before you could respond, your father was making his way over to you, brandishing two key cards in either hand. “We decided it’d be best for all of us if you and Michael had your own room. You guys don’t mind, do you?”

He handed you a card, and as you looked it over, you tried your hardest not to pay any attention to Michael.

It was truly astounding how clueless everyone seemed to be in regards to your relationship (if you could call it that) with your stepbrother, but you definitely weren’t complaining. Just the thought of having a room all to yourselves was enough to make your heart race.

“Of course we don’t mind,” you said with a smile.

“Just— y’know. Miriam and I have some things we need to work out, and, well, I don’t want you guys swept up in any of the drama,” said your father.

“Totally understandable, dad,” said Michael, beaming as he snaked his free arm around your shoulders. “I’m sure we’ll be able to manage. What do you think, (y/n)?”

Michael widened his eyes at you, the contorted features of his porcelain face dripping with faux-innocence.

“Yeah, I think so,” you said, tone cheerful and sweet.

In unison, you and Michael looked away from one another and back to your father. His eyes were shadowed with deep rings, and he looked more like he was about to head off to a 9-to-5 shift at a dead-end job rather than a vacation with his family. “You kids be good, all right?”

“Don’t worry,” you said, ripples of electricity making their way up your spine as Michael lightly stroked your shoulder with his calloused fingertips. “We will.”

ii.

“Room number 69, huh?” Michael said with a quirk of his eyebrow, licking his lips as he plucked the key card from your hand and slid it into its designated slot by the door. “It’s like they knew we were gonna be staying here.”

“You are eighteen years old,” you said in a monotone, though secretly Michael’s immature sense of humor and silliness were qualities that never failed in making your heart swell.

There was a subtle beep as the light next to the slot flickered green, and Michael pushed open the door with one shoulder, the other occupied with his bag. “How fucking awesome is this?”

You followed him into the modestly-sized room, discarding your bag at the end of one of the two pristinely made beds. Michael did the same, and without even giving you time to settle into your new surroundings, he pushed you firmly up against the nearest empty wall.

Even despite the fact that he’d been sitting in a hot car for several hours (unsurprisingly, your father was very stingy with the air conditioning), Michael still managed to smell good; the intoxicating mixture of his shampoo, paired alongside his boyish deodorant and woodsy cologne, was dizzying from such a close proximity.

“You didn’t waste any time,” you chuckled, cheeks flushing as he began to pepper kisses along your neck and behind your ear, lifting one hand to brush your hair over your shoulder.

“Why would I?” he said, his voice low and seductive. He took a moment to playfully nip at your earlobe, and you squealed, wrapping your arms around him so you could pull his firm torso closer to yours. “What else are you supposed to do when you’re left all alone with such a pretty girl?”

As much as you weren’t willing to admit it, your heart soared at this validation- Michael thought you were a pretty girl. Those words, coming from that perfect mouth, made you feel a childish sense of giddiness, gave you butterflies in the pit of your stomach like an innocent playground crush.

Michael wandered one hand up over the curve of your hip and onto your waist, lips still moving open-mouthed against your jugular and around to the front of your throat. Reaching up to the back of Michael’s head, you took a fistful of butterscotch-colored hair at the root, using it to guide him back towards your face. Then you kissed him, hard and passionate, your fingers threading easily through his waves as his tongue slipped past yours and into your mouth.

Ding!

You assumed Michael’s phone had just gone off, but neither of you paid it any mind, your breath hitching as Michael slid one veined hand up under your tank top to grope your left breast.

Ding!

“My pretty baby sis,” Michael breathed, swollen mouth slick with saliva. Panting softly, he continued to ignore his phone, tugging his t-shirt over his head and tossing it behind him haphazardly.

With his upper body exposed to you now, you took the opportunity to trace your fingers down the length of his subtly defined abs, stopping just beneath his navel. Just below that, after the cute trail of fuzzy blond hair that paved the way to his v-line, was the low-hanging waistband of his gray sweatpants; you hooked your fingers there, just barely pulling the fabric down as you eyed the mouthwatering bulge prominent in the front of his pants.

You couldn’t help yourself- biting your lower lip, you brought your hand between Michael’s legs and grasped his semi-erect length through the soft material of his pants.

Ding! Ding!

Michael hissed, but he seemed to be somewhat distracted now; you knit your eyebrows as he twisted around to face the source of the interruption- his phone, which he’d left on one of the beds.

Ding!

“What is that?” you asked, frowning. It wasn’t often that Michael tolerated anything getting in the way of his hookups, so you found it mildly concerning when he broke away from you entirely to go and grab his phone.

His tongue poked out of the corner of his lips as he looked at his screen, and you could tell that he was stifling a smirk. “Oh. Uh, it’s nothing.”

You moved from your place against the wall, approaching Michael with your arms crossed in front of your chest. Sure, maybe it was none of your business, seeing that you weren’t Michael’s girlfriend or anything, but he’d piqued your curiosity.

Ding! Ding! Michael fumbled with the phone for a second before turning it on silent.

You cocked your head to one side. “No really, what is that?”

Michael had hidden his phone behind his back now, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

Okay, now you had to know.

“C’mon, lemme see,” you said, trying your hardest not to sound upset. Why were you upset, anyway? You reached around Michael to take his phone from his hand, which, surprisingly, he allowed you to do without much protest.

You looked down at his phone, jaw dropping as you began reading over the several notifications stretching down the length of his screen.

NEW MATCH! With Sofi

NEW MATCH! With Katherine

NEW MATCH! With Kristen

NEW MATCH! With Mallory

NEW MATCH! With Caitlin

NEW MATCH! With Anna

Your eyes flickered up to Michael’s face, down to the phone screen, and then back again, unsure of how exactly you were supposed to react to such a discovery. Michael just offered you a sheepish shrug, somehow only pissing you off further, and angrily you shoved his phone back into his hands.

“Are you fucking kidding? We’ve been here for less than an hour and you’re already trying to find hoes on Tinder?”

“Well, I mean, that’s one way to put it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to see what kind of girls live around here, I swear. I wasn’t actually gonna-“

“-Whatever,” you mumbled, bending over to unzip your travel bag. It wasn’t like you had any sort of right to be pissed- Michael could do what he wanted, and if what he wanted was to hook up with random Tinder girls, then so be it. Still, though, you couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You rifled around in your bag until you came upon the neat ziploc bag full of travel-sized shower essentials, which you tucked under your arm. “I’m gonna go take a shower. I feel gross.”

“Wait, (y/n). Are you mad at me?” You weren’t sure if he actually cared about hurting your feelings, or if he was worried that you wouldn’t want to fuck him anymore; either way, you didn’t think right now was the best of times to be honest about your feelings.

“Why would I be mad at you?” Your voice sounded dangerously close to breaking, and you knew it (and so did Michael, most likely).

“Well… I dunno. You seemed pretty pissed just now.”

“No, no. Do whatever you want. Fuck as many Tinder girls as your heart desires. It’s not like we’re exclusive.” You continued to search through your bag, pulling out your pajamas and hair towel and tucking them alongside your shower supplies.

“Someone sounds bitter,” Michael mused, causing you to narrow your eyes at him in a focused, pointed glare.

“I thought it was sort of established already that this-“ he motioned at himself, and then to you- “isn’t gonna go anywhere. So I don’t really see the harm in looking around.”

Instantly, you felt a lump form in the back of your throat.

He was right. You’d even said it yourself, that nothing good would ever become of this thing you had with Michael; as much as you wanted it to, it was impossible. So why did it hurt so bad to hear it coming from him?

“Which is why I’m not mad,” you said, swallowing thickly. “Do what you want. I don’t care.”

But, like the cliché you were, you did care. Thinking of Michael with anyone else made you feel sick to your stomach. But what were you supposed to do about it? You were his stepsister.

God, if only things had been different. If only the universe hadn’t brought you together in the most inconvenient and unconventional of ways.

You turned on your heels, leaving Michael behind as you made your way to the bathroom without another word.

Once you’d started the shower and adjusted the temperature, you stripped down, catching a glimpse in the mirror of the many marks adorning your body that Michael had left behind at some point or another- hickeys (some bright lilac and navy blue, while others were fading shades of yellow and pink, all speckled down your chest and over your breasts), fingerprint-shaped bruises, shallow scratches.

And those were just the physical ways that Michael had marked you; you were sure that if you turned yourself inside out, there would be thousands more markings to be found.

You thought maybe this was exactly what you needed right now: a long, hot shower to clear your head. Maybe, if the mood struck, you’d even cry a little bit, just to get your emotions in order.

You stepped into the shower, flinching at the intensity of the stream as it cascaded relentlessly over your body. Shutting your eyes, you ran your palms over your face, skin prickling at the pleasant warmth of the water. After you’d allowed your hair to get sufficiently soaked, you reached for your travel-sized bottle of shampoo, squirting some of the coconut-scented gel into your hand and working up a lather.

You were halfway through your usual hair-washing routine when you heard the bathroom door open; you opened one eye, hardly wider than a squint, to see a tall, blond-haired figure through the steamy glass shower door entering the bathroom. Though the thick layer of steam on the door heavily obscured the intruder, you were still able to see that whoever had entered was butt fucking naked.

Fucking Michael.

There was a metallic squeak as the shower door slid open, revealing an image to you that must’ve been hand-delivered by an angel. There, in all his naked glory, stood Michael, one hand positioned by his side and the other gripping his impressively hard cock.

It was a miracle you didn’t slip and crack your skull open right then.

“Hey,” said Michael coolly, a smug smirk appearing on his lips when he noticed you staring at his length.

“Michael, what are you doing?” you asked, attempting to sound just a little less eager than you were feeling. You tilted your head back, quickly washing away the excess shampoo in your hair, and as you did this, Michael joined you in the shower.

“Saving water,” Michael replied, pulling the door shut and enclosing the two of you within the stream.

“How environmentally friendly of you.”

“Aww, are you still mad at me?” You tensed as he grabbed your hips and brought you closer to him, the head of his cock brushing your stomach and sending chills throughout your body.

“I was never mad at you,” you said flatly. You kept rinsing your hair, refusing to give Michael the attention he clearly was so desperately seeking (not yet, at least).

“You were a little jealous though, weren’t you?” he teased, squeezing your tits without warning and making you jump. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve already told you before that your pussy is my favorite.”

“I was never worried,” you snapped, but you couldn’t deny the arousal that immediately resulted from Michael’s words.

“Whatever you say, baby,” said Michael, spinning you around so that your back was pressed against his bare chest. You shivered at the feeling of his big cock on your ass, and all at once, whatever snarky comeback you’d been formulating disintegrated into nothingness.

Your eyes fell shut as Michael’s hands traveled over your body, his touch gentle but still possessive; he stopped at your tits, kneading the smooth peaks in both hands until they stung, kissing your shoulder when you squirmed at the slight discomfort. “Just relax and let your big brother take care of you.”

He retrieved your body wash off the ledge in the shower, gathering some in his palms and returning his attention to your tits. You leaned back, resting the back of your head on his broad shoulder as he began rubbing the body wash all over you (mainly focusing on your breasts, because what else would you expect from Michael Langdon?).

His slippery hands felt like heaven on your tits, pinching and toying with your nipples just the way you liked. It wasn’t until his hand began dipping lower, though, that your breath caught in your throat.

His fingers trailed past your stomach and down to cup your cunt, goosebumps erupting across your skin as he hummed in your ear. Your entire body reacted to his touch, muscles tightening and thighs trembling, hips rolling back so you could better feel his deliciously thick cock against your back.

“You like that? Like how I touch you?” he murmured, his words reverberating against your throat and igniting a fresh wave of arousal between your legs.

With one hand, he used his fingers to splay apart your outer lips, gathering some of your wetness by stroking up and down your slit while his other hand worked at your tits. A familiar heat began to spread from behind your navel, and paired with the near-scalding warmth and great pressure of the shower stream, you felt your head start to spin.

You laid your head back on Michael’s shoulder, trusting him to keep you balanced as you reclined limply against him. His fingers moved upwards again, using the sticky arousal on the tips of his fingers to massage slow, lazy circles over your aching bud; you let out a gravelly moan just as Michael administered a sharp pinch to your hardened nipple.

“Fuck, Michael… feels so good.”

You were well past the point of preserving your pride, bucking your hips against Michael’s hand while trying to squeeze your thighs shut around it, keeping him close to you.

“Hm? Is that right? You like when I touch your pussy?” His voice was husky, rich and warm like a roll of tropical thunder; swallowing noisily, you bobbed your head up and down in agreement.

Garnering what little energy you had left, you extended your arm behind you, spreading your fingers in search of Michael’s erection; tongue darting out to wet your chapped lips at the feeling of his stiff, smooth skin, you followed the slightly jutting vein that wound up the side of his length, stopping at the head of his cock and running your thumb over his leaking slit.

He groaned at the sensation, encouraging you on. You returned your hand to the base of his cock, grazing your fingers along his sensitive balls before taking a firm hold of his shaft, pumping your fist up and down his length with as much vigor as you could manage.

“Fuck,” he grunted, and although he now had the added task of awaiting his own impending orgasm alongside bringing you to yours, his fingers did not falter between your legs. Every throaty groan passing his lips seemed to drive his fingers into more of a frenzy, forming fast, sloppy shapes on your aching bud until you were crying out.

“That’s a good- fuck- girl. Keep jerking your big brother’s cock, just like that. Feels so fucking good,” he breathed against your skin, making you shiver even despite the heavy, humid warmth of the bathroom. You could no longer see anything through the glass door, which had become entirely overtaken with thick fog; for a moment you felt like this was the only place on earth that existed- a closed-off world of steam and water and porcelain made just for you and Michael.

With your eyes shut tight as the coil in your belly prepared to snap, all you could do was listen to the melodic blend of sounds enveloping the small space and attempt to move your body in time with the makeshift rhythm. Not one sound fell upon deaf ears- you were hyper-aware of every vulgar, human noise; every breath and every moan; every squeak of wet feet on the slick white floor.

This might be the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard, you thought.

“Fuck, Michael— more.” Stretching your other arm back to desperately grab at Michael’s damp mop of waves, you allowed yourself to come undone, arching your back so your erect nipples were pointed up towards the ceiling.

Michael brought his free hand away from your breasts, instead using it to brace himself against the shower door, creating a hand-shaped imprint in the steam that immediately began to drip with condensation.

Without thinking, you let go of Michael’s hair to join his hand on the glass; lacing your fingers through his, you worked at his cock with your opposite hand until his breaths grew ragged and choppy- a sure-fire sign that he was about to cum.

“Fuck, (y/n), keep going,” he moaned breathlessly, pressing his thumb harshly against your clit and nearly causing your knees to buckle underneath you. “Gonna- fuck.”

His cock twitched in your hand, and with that, he was cumming, shooting his thick load all over your ass and lower back. Miraculously, even as he recovered from his orgasm, he still continued to touch you; his fingers were like magic on your clit, and within a matter of seconds, you, too, were being sent over the edge.

“Oh god, Michael—“

Even during an earth-shattering orgasm like the one you were experiencing, you still were able to notice the way that Michael had switched spots on the glass with you, his large hand enclosing around yours and squeezing.

He didn’t remove his hand from between your thighs until you were twitching and overstimulated, and once he did, he pulled you into a hug, his strong arms cradling you against his chest.

Your eyes fluttered open and shut again, like a person caught between life and death, when he planted a tender kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m never gonna find anyone else like you,” he said, hardly louder than a whisper. You weren’t sure whether it was a reassurance to you, or a solemn statement of distress.

Either way, you swore you could hear something like sadness behind his words.

iii.

Since Miriam and your father were too preoccupied with their arguing to arrange any family excursions, you and Michael were left to your own devices.

Those next few days in Florida, your life was about as close to a teen romance movie as it could get. You and Michael spent the days exploring the nearby towns, trying out restaurants (it’d taken a startlingly long while for you to convince Michael to try out one of the local cafés for breakfast instead of McDonald’s, which had been his original idea) and going shopping; on one occasion, you shared a joint with Michael before dragging him to the local aquarium, which he’d pretended to be entirely disinterested in (even though you could see the wonder and fear in his eyes whilst staring at the shark exhibit- what would happen if the glass broke? he’d asked, nervously drumming his fingers on the paneling as a particularly large shark swam by).

You shared ice cream with him on the boardwalk, licking the chocolate soft serve that had melted off the cone and onto Michael’s hand off his fingers; you rubbed sunscreen on each other at the beach (although Michael wasn’t nearly as thorough as you were, and most of the time you’d wind up with a nasty sunburn thanks to his negligence); you bought 99-cent popsicles from a vendor, making out with cherry-stained lips while the sun went down.

At night, you’d sit on the beach, sometimes stoned, talking and laughing as the waves rolled in and out on the shore.

It was 3 am on your last night in Florida, and you and Michael had snuck out of the hotel room and walked down to the beach, large checkered blanket and a bottle of red wine in tow (Michael had charmed the woman behind the counter in a sketchy liquor store in order to obtain this). You were sitting side-by-side, thoughts clouded from the effects of the alcohol with your knees drawn to your chest, when a sudden realization washed upon you like one of the rumbling waves breaking against the shore.

You were in love with Michael Langdon.

This was an unwavering, undeniable fact; you were in love with him. You loved him, even the parts of him that, at one point, you had hated. The realization was both peaceful and upsetting.

“Michael,” you said, huddling closer to yourself as a cool breeze cut through the night. What were you going to say to him? You couldn’t very well tell him about the epiphany you’d just had- he’d been on Tinder just a few days ago, for god’s sake. But, still, you felt compelled to say something.

“Hmm?” He stretched out his legs, running his palms up and down his sand-covered calves. In the darkness, you could hardly make out the features of his face, save for the sparkling reflection in his eyes as he looked out towards the ocean.

You licked your lips, taking a swig from the half-empty bottle of wine that had been positioned upright in the sand. You winced at the bittersweet taste washing over your tongue, the blood-colored liquid sloshing noisily against its glass confines as you brought it back down to your side.

“I don’t know,” you said, suddenly feeling stupid. “It’s just- I don’t want this all to be over.”

“Me either,” he said, putting his arm around you and drawing you closer to him. You inhaled sharply, breathing in the scent of wine and stale cigarettes and salt water like it was oxygen and you’d just been saved from drowning. “I didn’t think I would, but I had a really great time this week.”

You shook your head. “I’m not just talking about this week. I just mean in general. I feel like it’s all ending so soon.”

“Oh.” He took in a breath, an especially large wave hitting the shore with a startling crash. “God, this fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Michael, I-“ I love you. The remaining words settled on the back of your tongue, refusing to roll off, but perhaps it was for the better. “-I think in another life, we could’ve worked out. Could’ve been something more than what we are. You know?”

If only, if only, if fucking only.

“Lucky us, being born in the universe where we’re fucking step siblings,” Michael laughed, but there was a deep sadness in his voice that you’d never heard before. “But, (y/n). Even though shit isn’t working out the way we wanted it to, and even though it’s gonna hurt when we both go away to college, I’m still so glad that I met you.”

“I’m glad I met you, too.”

There was only silence for a long moment as Michael reached for the wine bottle and took an indulgent sip. “There’s so much shit I wish could’ve been different,” he said finally, angling his head up towards the velvet blackness of the night sky. “I wish I’d treated you differently. I wish I hadn’t been so fucking scared of feeling something.”

You ran your fingers through the soft sand, forming meaningless patterns there as you listened to Michael open up for what felt like the first time since you’d met him.

“I used to lie awake at night and think of how fucking unfair this all is. That the one girl I’ve ever really wanted is the one girl I can’t have. I used to think if maybe I pushed you away, treated you like shit, that everything would hurt less. But it just hurt me more, seeing you in pain from the shit I put you through. And now I realize that it’s all gonna hurt the same either way. ‘Cause I’ll never have you the way I want.”

You felt a well-known pinching behind your eyes, and you blinked, silently willing away the tears that were threatening to escape. You kept your eyes on the drawings you’d made in the ground, knowing that if you were to look into Michael’s eyes, you’d probably break.

“What’s gonna happen to us, Michael? We can’t just wait for each other while we’re away at college and miss out on life. But god, I wanna be with you,” you said, voice quivering.

“I don’t know,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I say we just…live our lives. And if it’s meant to be, it will be. One day.”

You nodded, dragging your fingers through the sand and destroying the mindless spirals and swirls you’d formed. “One day.”

“But enough with all that sad shit,” said Michael, taking your chin in hand and moving it so you were looking at him. “What’s important is that we have each other right now. So let’s make the most of that, hm?”

The look in Michael’s eyes told you right away what he meant by making the most of your time together; your cheeks were hot, prickling from the red wine, fingertips burning to touch something. So you did- you grabbed the front of Michael’s shirt, yanking him towards you and placing a haphazard, open-mouthed kiss on his lips.

The kiss was aggressive and feverish; it didn’t take long for Michael to lay you down on the checkered blanket, his hands wandering your body like it belonged to him (and, in a way, it did).

When Michael broke away to catch his breath, panting, you decided to try something new: with all the strength you could muster, you pushed Michael off of you and promptly rolled on top of him instead, straddling him with your knees on either side of his torso.

In the faint glow of the silvery moonlight, you could see an indistinct smirk playing at his lips; it wasn’t often that you were the one to take control, but it was obvious, from the growing protrusion in the front of his pants, that he liked the change.

You leaned down to reattach your lips to his, hips rocking back and forth over his bulge until the friction sent shock waves up your spine. With you bent forward, Michael was easily able to slide his veined hands up the back of your short skirt, taking two greedy fistfuls of your ass.

Almost frantically, you tore your shirt off over your head, not bothering to worry about where it landed. Now, the only thing separating your breasts from the nighttime air was a thin lace bralette, which Michael took to palming you through.

“Fuck, (y/n),” murmured Michael, rolling one of your hardened nipples between two fingers. “You have seriously got the best tits.”

“Yeah? You think so?” you said, a twinge of playful mocking to your voice; you wrapped your fingers around Michael’s wrists, maneuvering them so that both his hands were fondling your breasts.

“Fuck yeah, I think so,” he said, and you only wished there was just a bit more light so you could properly admire him in his disheveled, lustful state.

“Even better than those girls on Tinder you matched with?” you taunted, grinding your hips down hard against Michael’s erection. “I wonder what they’d think about all the times you’ve been balls deep in your stepsister.”

At this, he tightened his grip on your tits, twisting them almost painfully before hoisting up the thin fabric of your bralette so your nipples were exposed. You helped him in removing the garment, pulling it off and throwing it alongside your shirt, never once ceasing the motion of your hips against his clothed, twitching cock.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Michael said, running his thumbs over your nipples. “Otherwise I’d take you over my lap and spank your ass raw for being such a little bitch.”

“And you’re lucky you have a big dick,” you shot back, words catching in your throat when he tugged hard on one of your nipples. “Otherwise I never would’ve given your fuckboy ass the time of day.”

This was a lie, of course, but your lighthearted tone of voice was enough to let him know that you were only messing around.

Michael scoffed. “No, I think you’re the one who’s lucky that I have a big dick, considering that you’re a total fucking cock-hungry slut.”

You stifled a laugh. Well, he’s not wrong.

“Is that a complaint?” you said, lips quirking as you scooted your body slightly downward, giving yourself room to pull Michael’s now-fully hard cock out. Sinking your teeth into your lower lip, you took the pulsing length in hand, moving your thin panties to the side and repositioning yourself so that the head of Michael’s cock was nestled just barely against your entrance.

Michael shook his head rapidly, a throaty grunt passing his lips. “Obviously- fuck- not.”

It was almost amusing to you, the way you and Michael had gone from having a heartfelt conversation to teasing each other relentlessly, but you supposed that was what you loved about your dynamic anyway. Unable to hold off any longer, you guided Michael’s cock inside you, gliding down easily on his length until he was fully seated inside. Your mouth fell open, and as you began to properly ride him, he brought his hands to grip your hips with a tight, bruising hold.

“Fuck, Michael,” you sighed, tits bouncing as you rolled your hips forward, increasing your momentum. Michael slid one hand from your hip to your inner thigh, pinching the tender skin before bringing his thumb to your clit and rubbing firm circles over it.

A pleasant, salt water-scented breeze passed by as you rode Michael, further disheveling your hair, which you ran your fingers through; the lewd noises of your body connecting with Michael’s were overtaken by the unmistakable sounds of the tide.

“Good girl, riding my cock so fucking good,” Michael breathed, lifting up his free hand so he could push two fingers into your mouth. Your eyelids fluttered at the salt of his skin, lips instinctively wrapping around his calloused digits and sucking.

Swirling your tongue over Michael’s fingers, you continued riding him, swaying your hips in figure-eight motions; the thick girth of his cock stretched your tight walls, and from this angle, you could practically feel him in your stomach.

The pad of Michael’s thumb pressed against your clit again, and as electric pleasure rippled up your spine, it took everything inside you not to cum right then and there. Your pussy was clenching tight around him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go—you didn’t want to be apart from him. Not yet.

For a second, you could see every contoured feature of Michael’s face illuminated in the pale light of the moon, the exaggerated shadows and highlights coming together to form an image that was almost otherworldly. His eyes were droopy-lidded, so much so that you might’ve thought his eyes were shut if it weren’t for the glint of his pupils; he’d sucked his full lower lip into his mouth, nibbling on the rosy pink flesh as he admired your curved, supple figure on top of him.

I love him, you thought, matter-of-fact, as he pulled his spit-soaked fingers from your mouth and dragged them down between your tits, leaving a shiny trail of saliva in their wake.

I love him, you thought, bowing your body forward to kiss him hungrily, moaning into his mouth as you hurried your pace on his cock.

I love him.

Why the fuck did you have to love him? It wasn’t fair. Your insides churned with jealousy at the thought of all the other teenage girls who were currently experiencing their first love; you thought of the constant Instagram posts of girls in new, happy relationships, the public displays of affection against lockers between classes. Those things, so seemingly insignificant, would never become a part of your reality (or at least not any reality involving Michael).

In another life you’d have Michael over for dinner to meet your father, holding his hand under the table when you’d notice his thigh jiggling anxiously. You’d kiss him freely without the underlying fear, swirling deep in the pit of your belly, that someone might catch you. You’d be his prom date, match your gown to his bow tie and take awkward pictures with him, his strong arms holding you from behind.

In another life, things would be normal. In another life, you and Michael would be happy together.

“(Y/n),” groaned Michael; the sound of his raspy voice calling your name was enough to send you over the edge, bracing your tense body with one hand next to his head as you rode out your orgasm.

You were able to move even faster now, both of his hands holding your ass as you leaned far enough forward that you could bury your head in his neck. The feeling of his cock pulsing inside of you was almost too much now that you’d orgasmed, but you didn’t stop, eager to witness Michael drift into his own realm of bliss.

“Fuck—“ was all that could leave Michael’s lips before he came, using your ass to hold you in place as he spilled his warm load inside of you. You didn’t move, keeping your face by his neck so you could listen to him catch his breath.

When you finally picked yourself up, Michael looked down to his shoulder and furrowed his eyebrows. “Were you just crying?”

Fuck. Yes, yes you were. Tears had apparently leaked from the corners of your eyes without you realizing, wetting his neck and the cotton fabric of his t-shirt. You said nothing, pulling off him to retrieve the clothing articles that you’d discarded in the sand earlier.

“Just a little,” you said, embarrassed, shaking the sand off your bralette and putting it on. “Red wine makes me angsty.”

“Oh.” There was a pregnant pause as Michael cleared his throat. “C’mon, (y/n), it’s not so bad.”

There was wavering uncertainty veiled beneath the confidence of his words, and you could tell he was trying to convince himself of this sentiment just as much as he was trying to convince you. Your back was to him as you slipped your shirt over your head, willing yourself not to start crying again.

“(Y/n)?”

His hand was on your back, the tips of his fingers circling lightly over the fabric of your shirt. You turned to face him, slowly. “Yes?”

“I…” He halted for a moment, contemplating something. “I really, really like you. More than I’ve ever liked anyone before.”

“I really, really like you too.” Somewhere, a chorus of crickets were unknowingly performing a custom symphony for your own teen romance movie moment. Michael took your hand in his, lacing his long fingers through yours, and you swallowed.

He looked down at your joined hands, an almost solemn look on his face. “Just. I don’t want you to forget, all right? No matter what happens.”

No matter what happens. You didn’t want to think of what he could mean by that.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered, as if to shield your words from the ocean’s prying ears. “I won’t forget.”

And that, you knew, was an irrefutable fact.

iv.

Late August hit you like a truck, coming by so unexpectedly that you thought surely you’d been caught in some kind of time slip. Your college move-in date was a week before Michael’s, and so Michael had spent the days leading up to your departure helping you pack (he’d also, of course, made plenty of time for “breaks” throughout the process, one of which consisted of you being fucked on the floor amidst the vast array of brown moving boxes).

Your bedroom was now a shell of what it’d once been- the comfortable teenage clutter you’d been so accustomed to was now gone, and you’d finally gotten around to throwing out the pictures and stickers you’d had on your wall since freshman year. It was depressing, hollow.

On the morning of your move-in date, your father helped you bring your belongings to the car and load the trunk. The car ride was going to be fairly long, and you were dreading it, especially since Michael wasn’t coming along. He had his own matters to attend to, what with his own move-in date creeping near, and the car would be far too crowded with all your things there anyway.

You were scheduled to leave at 9, and downstairs you could hear your father and Miriam shuffling around as they prepared for the trip. You sat at the edge of your bed, surrounded by the pale purple sheets you’d had for as long as you could remember, idly scraping the toe of your sneaker back and forth along the wooden floor.

You weren’t ready to say goodbye to all of this, but when had you ever been ready for anything life had thrown your way? You hadn’t been ready to fall in love with your stepbrother, and yet that had happened all the same.

From across the hall, Michael’s bedroom door cracked open, and out he came in his flannel sleep pants and plain white t-shirt (which now perfectly complemented the slight summertime hue of bronze to his skin), blond hair in beautiful disarray. Your heart ached- you were going to miss seeing him in the morning, all sleepy and soft, voice pitched lower than usual from sleep.

You recalled all the times you’d passed him as he stood at the counter in the bathroom, brushing his teeth; he’d look at you with a lazy half-smile, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his elbows resting on the edge of the sink. He always looked so handsome even when he wasn’t trying, a quality you almost envied him for.

He noticed you watching him from the corner of your bed as he approached the doorway, waving at you as he balanced his shoulder against the frame.

“‘Morning,” he said, his bleary-eyed gaze meeting yours. He looked tired, dark rings prevalent beneath his crystal blue eyes, and you briefly wondered if he’d gotten much sleep the night before. “You should be grateful that I got up at the ass crack of dawn to say goodbye to you.”

“The ass crack of dawn? Michael, it’s 8:45,” you said, and if you really tried, you could almost pretend that this was a regular conversation between the two of you, and not the very last time you’d be interacting face-to-face until November.

“Yeah, well, 8:45 is the ass crack of dawn to me,” he said, and you stood up, meeting him halfway in the middle of your barren room. He flashed you a grin, but there wasn’t much happiness behind it, and you could see that he was… uncomfortable? Sad? Angry?— you couldn’t quite tell— from the way he’d folded his arms in front of his stomach. “So yeah. I, uh, wanted to say goodbye. And also remind you not to fuck too many frat guys. You could, like, catch something.”

“I’ll try not to, but I can’t promise anything,” you joked, following the sentence with a forced-sounding chuckle. “Bye, Michael.”

You stepped forward, winding your arms around Michael’s waist and placing your head against his chest; you could just barely hear his heart beating, the warmth of his skin touching your cheek even through the fabric of his t-shirt.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he murmured, his chin resting on the top of your head, strong arms holding you to him in an unyielding embrace. “So much.”

There were too many things you wanted to say, racing through your mind so quickly that it’d be impossible to articulate them aloud. Instead, you let out a shaky sigh, eyes falling shut as you tried your hardest to immerse yourself completely in Michael’s touch. Sometimes, there didn’t need to be any words for you to understand each other.

“Don’t be sad about this, (y/n). When you’re at college, you’re gonna meet so many guys who are so much better than I am. And you’re gonna wonder why you ever were hung up on a dumbass like me.” His tone was lighthearted, but you knew better than to really believe that he was unbothered. “But I don’t think I’ll ever find someone better than you. I’m so fucking lucky that you gave me as many chances as you did. I didn’t deserve them.”

“You’re wrong,” you said, pulling away so you could look pointedly into Michael’s eyes. God, his eyes were beautiful, and you drank in the moment, knowing this was your last chance to really look into them face-to-face. “I gave you those chances because even though you acted like a total fucking asshole, I still knew there was good in you. I could just… feel it.”

He cocked an eyebrow skepticall y. “No, you gave me all those second chances because I give good head and have a big dick.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, maybe those were contributing factors, but they weren’t the only reasons I stuck around.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, licking his lips and settling his hands on your hips. “For the record, your pussy really is my favorite. Like, I wasn’t just saying that.”

“I’m honored.”

The interaction was cut short by the sound of your father calling you from downstairs, indicating that it was time to leave, and your heart sank deep into your stomach. Standing up on the tips of your toes, you planted a chaste kiss on his lips before hurrying out into the hall, waving over your shoulder as you went.

“Bye, (y/n),” Michael said, not moving from where he stood in your bedroom. He’d dug his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants, shoulders slumped forward as he watched you go. For a moment, you wished you’d hugged him for longer. “See you in November.”

“See you,” you called back, imitating nonchalance to the best of your ability, only averting your gaze when you felt tears wobbling along your waterline, threatening to overflow and spill down your cheeks.

In that last moment before you turned, you could almost swear that he had tears in his eyes, too.

When you finally made your way up those familiar porch steps again, the November air chilling you slightly even despite the thick sweater you wore, you felt like an entirely different person.

Those first few months of college had been a blur; your life was far more interesting than it’d ever been while you were in high school (if you didn’t count the whole ‘fucking your stepbrother’ thing), with a surplus of boys at your disposal at all times. You’d gotten perhaps a bit carried away with the dating and partying and hookups, but you figured you were simply making up for all the experiences you’d missed out on in high school.

Michael was a thought that you trained yourself to keep tucked away. During those first few weeks, you’d spent several nights crying yourself to sleep, the stiff dorm room bed so uninviting compared to the way Michael’s arms had always felt around you. At parties, you’d scan the crowds for boys with blond hair and blue eyes, hoping that one of them could temporarily stand in for Michael during your time away from him. None of them fulfilled the requirements, of course- you’d come to realize early on that nobody was quite as good as Michael Langdon. It took a while for you to stop searching for Michael in every boy you became acquainted with, but with practice, you became rather skilled in the art of forgetting.

You and Michael kept in contact, albeit only sometimes. His messages to you were comprised mainly of memes he’d found on Instagram that he thought you’d appreciate, along with the occasional drunk text late at night (‘Cna you send me a pci of your tits/??? Lmfao’ was one of your favorite messages from him that you’d received thus far). It made you feel special to know that he was thinking of you, even despite being surrounded by girls like you assumed he probably was.

You tried not to think of him too much, though- you knew you’d drive yourself crazy if you did.

When Thanksgiving time rolled around, you were confronted with the fact that you’d be seeing Michael again for the first time in months, a prospect that ignited your nerves far more than you were willing to admit. As excited as you were to see him, you also couldn’t help but worry: what if he announced that he’d found a girlfriend? What if he wasn’t attracted to you anymore? What if you weren’t attracted to him anymore?

It probably would be easier for the both of you if things played out that way, but you didn’t want things to be easy. It was unrealistic, but part of you was praying that things would be exactly as they were before you’d gone away.

Your hand trembled a bit as you raised it to the doorbell, and you braced yourself before jamming your finger into the button. From inside the house, you heard the muffled, off-key tone as it resounded throughout the upstairs area, followed by bounding footsteps down the stairs that you pinpointed as belonging to your father.

The front swung open and there was your father, a wide smile stretched across his face as he ushered you inside, taking it upon himself to bring in your travel bag for you. “(Y/n)! Finally! How was the train ride?”

“Not bad,” you said as he pulled you into a hug. As soon as you were apart, you started up the stairs, your pulse quickening as you came closer and closer to the moment you’d been anticipating for months. “Did Michael get back already?”

“Yeah, about an hour ago.”

Your heart skipped at this revelation; your legs couldn’t bring you to the top of the stairs fast enough, and, sensing your heightened enthusiasm, your father chuckled from behind you. “Hey, hold on a second. I haven’t seen you in months.”

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you said breathlessly, the rubber soles of your sneakers making noisy contact with the wooden upstairs floor. You supposed that maybe you should’ve spent more time greeting your father, but you could no longer contain yourself- you needed to see Michael.

Leaving your bag at the top of the stairs, you hurried to the hallway where your bedrooms were located, unable to stifle your eagerness. You felt like a starved animal, finally being presented with food by a pair of benevolent hands, and you were ready to devour.

You didn’t bother knocking on Michael’s door when you approached it, bursting in with such force that you stumbled over your feet. The room was dim, what with the blinds being open so only a few rays of late-afternoon sunlight could peek through; seated in front of his once-cluttered empty desk, now occupied only by a laptop, was Michael, massive headphones positioned over his ears as he fixated on whatever stupid game he was currently playing (does he still play fortnite? you wondered).

The sound of your intrusion was loud enough to catch his attention, and as his head turned from his computer screen to your face, something shifted in his eyes. Immediately, he tore off his headphones, jumping to his feet so abruptly that they clattered to the ground. “Holy fuck, (y/n).”

It was evident, from the way you fell easily into his arms, that the attraction hadn’t faded. If anything, the distance apart seemed to have only made the magnetic connection between you grow even stronger.

Your lips clashed together feverishly (you had no idea who had been the one to initiate this— it seemed that you’d both moved in perfect unison into one another), hands wandering freely over each other’s bodies and teeth bumping against teeth. When you broke away, a string of saliva stretching and breaking between your faces, Michael beamed down at you.

The slight layer of baby fat that had once rounded out Michael’s cheeks appeared to have dissipated, his cheekbones even more pronounced than you remembered them being. His sharp jaw was shadowed with the smallest touch of brown stubble, (which you assumed was there because he’d been too lazy to shave), but you thought the more mature look suited him well.

“Jesus, (y/n), I missed you.” His voice was like smooth velvet; you’d inject it into your bloodstream if you could. “You’re even more fucking beautiful than I remembered.”

“Oh, good. I was worried you’d be grossed out by my freshman fifteen,” you laughed.

“Fuck no. The fatter the ass, the better,” he said with a devious smirk, running his long fingers through his overgrown mop of blond hair. He smelled just like you remembered, a mixture of cinnamon gum and cigarettes and cologne (and the faintest hint of marijuana, of course), and you wished you could bottle up his scent and take it with you.

“So you’re still a fuckboy, I see,” you teased, twisting the front of Michael’s t-shirt in your hands and pulling him towards you. “Some things just never change, I guess.”

“Guess not.” He was speaking lowly now, assuming the smooth tone he always used when he was attempting to seduce you, and as if on cue came a dull, throbbing ache between your legs. “I wonder if your pussy is as good as I remember?”

His fingers found their way to the bottom of your sweater, fumbling with the chunky fabric and swiftly maneuvering it off over your head. You mirrored his actions, pulling off his shirt and exposing his torso, pressing your lips back against his with urgency once his upper half had been disrobed.

“Fuck…” you breathed against his parted mouth, palming the growing erection in the front of his pale gray sweatpants (your favorite pair of pants that he owned). “Need you to fuck me, Mikey…”

“Is that right?” He tilted his head to one side, kissing you deeply as he bent his knees, using his own weight as leverage to lift you up. You intertwined your ankles behind Michael’s back, securing your place in his toned arms as he carried you over to his bed; the vulgar, wet sound of your tongues melding together filled the room as he laid you down on his checkered comforter, your legs still wrapped snugly around him. “Did my baby sis miss having her pussy split on her big bro’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you purred; there truly was no man in existence better at dirty talking than Michael. You tensed in excitement when he began fumbling with the top button of your jeans, proceeding to deftly work the form-fitting denim material down your thighs once he’d freed it from its hold. “Can’t wait to feel you inside me.”

Impatiently, you reached between your bodies, your fingers coming upon the thick outline of his bulge as he peppered your throat with sloppy kisses. You moved your hand up to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging the elastic as far back as you could; this resulted in him chuckling against your flesh, your body erupting in goosebumps at the sensation.

“So needy,” he mumbled, the vibrations of his plump lips traveling straight down to your cunt. “Did you touch yourself when you were away at school, thinking of me? Thinking of how good I touch you, how hard I make you cum?”

“M-Michael,” you whimpered, rolling your hips in melodic time with his, his clothed cock making friction against your thinly veiled pussy. “C’mon, just fuck me already. Please.”

“I like it when you beg,” he said, smug, standing so he could pull down his sweatpants and boxers, putting his long, weighted cock on display for you. You lifted your knees up for him, and in one swift motion he stripped you of your flimsy black thong. “Beg me again.”

You squirmed, sliding your flat palm down your stomach so you could touch yourself between your parted thighs; slowly, you coated your fingers with your own sticky essence, looking up at Michael from under a canopy of thick lashes. “Fuck me, Michael. I need you.”

“Ask nicely,” he chided, hoisting your thigh up to drape around his waist, eyes darkening as he observed your fingers spreading your slick wetness around your folds.

“Pleeaaaaseeee, Mikey,” you pleaded, syllables so drawn out that it almost sounded like you were singing. “It’s been so long.”

“Fuck.” He brought his lower lip into his mouth, sucking for a moment as he lined the flushed head of his cock up with your dripping entrance. When he released it, it was several shades darker than it’d been before, completely swollen and glossy with spit. “I’ve been thinking about this since the last time I saw you.”

Taking a firm grip of your thighs, he slid effortlessly into your tight heat, your jaw unhinging at the intrusion; you’d definitely be feeling him for the next few days, his thick shaft stretching out your narrow walls to the point where it was almost painful. You liked it, though, liked the delicious burn that only he could create, reminding you of who you belonged to.

“Shit,” he hissed, pausing momentarily to compose himself before assuming a deep, hard rhythm to fuck you with. “You’re so fucking tight. Must not’ve fucked anyone as big as me while you were away.”

All you could manage was a broken moan, your head lolling back towards the ceiling. He bottomed out inside you, bringing himself down to press his chest against yours, indulging in the feel of your warm, wet cunt as it spasmed around his massive length. When you started whining for more, he retracted his hips back until only the head of his cock was inside you, slamming back inside so hard that you were sent halfway up the bed.

“Oh god, Michael…” Your fingernails scraped aimlessly along the warm skin of his back, eyelids flickering open and shut in a fucked-out daze. You’d slept with a handful of guys at college, but none of them even came close to fucking you the way Michael did. He was just… special.

Fuck, I love him.

The thought startled you; you’d almost been able to forget about the little epiphany you’d had, that night in Florida when you and Michael sat side-by-side by the ocean. But now that you were with him— under him, taking every last agonizing inch of his cock, it became obvious that those feelings had remained stagnant.

After all the boys you’d been through at college, you still loved him.

God, were you fucked.

“Missed my baby girl so much,” Michael murmured, tucking your hair behind your ear and peering down at you. His forehead was glowing, the sides of his face framed with cute, damp curls of blond hair; he was so beautiful, you thought. How had you survived so long without him?

He impaled you again with a sharp upwards thrust, a string of expletives passing your lips and mixing with the lewd sounds of sex swimming through the air. “I missed you— fuck!— too.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” he said, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and running his tongue along the salty skin. “Your pussy is fucking dripping for me.”

“Keep going,” you panted, wetting your chapped lips; with each brutal thrust of Michael’s cock, you bucked your hips forward to meet him halfway, desperate for all that he had to offer. “Feels so fucking good.”

“Yeah? You like that? Like how I split you open?” His hips pounded against yours with a bruising intensity, his chest pinning you down as you writhed beneath his lean frame. His voice was becoming hoarse, breaths short and choppy, letting you know that he was close.

“Yes, yes, yes, please, more…” Your affirmations were like a prayer, encouraging Michael to fuck you even deeper, his torso making electric contact with your clit as he moved his body in time with yours. “Make me cum, Mikey, please..”

The wind was knocked from your lungs each time he pumped his length into you, and by the time the coil in your stomach was unwinding, you were struggling to catch your breath. You ran your hands through Michael’s sweat-soaked hair, letting the strands stretch around your fingers as you tugged at the root; Your toes curled when Michael administered a particularly hard thrust inside you, your lips falling open in a silent scream; there was a burst of brilliant colors behind your eyelids as you finally reached your climax, your thighs shaking as they clasped firmly around Michael’s waist.

Like a perfect teen-movie cliché, Michael came just as you did; the feeling of his hot load as it spilled deep inside your cunt was a welcomed one, and your spongey inner walls instinctively clamped down, milking his cock for all it was worth.

With a throaty grunt, Michael pulled out of you, his cum dribbling crudely down your inner thigh and onto his bedspread, which he didn’t appear to pay any attention to. Lying down beside you, he sighed, bare chest shining with slick perspiration.

“I missed doing that,” Michael rasped, eyes focused up towards the ceiling rather than on you.

“So did I,” you said, tracing idle patterns along the expanse of Michael’s torso, watching his stomach rise and fall with each breath he took. “I can’t wait to have you all Christmas break.”

Michael’s lips turned downwards at the corners, his eyebrows knitting together in a pained display. “Oh. Yeah.”

It seemed as though he’d wanted to say more, but he pressed his lips shut into a thin line, Adam’s apple bobbing. What the hell? All at once you felt nauseous- there was something about the way he’d said those two words that made you very, very uneasy.

You sat up, your mind already starting to overflow with horrid possibilities. “What, Michael?”

“I, um. I have to tell you something.” Michael’s eyes darted throughout the room before settling on his palms. You frowned, mouth going dry at his apparent reluctance to talk to you, thoughts racing in all directions to try and pinpoint what exactly he might say.

“Michael…”

“So. Um.” He was stalling, extending his arms up so his palms were flat on his forehead, still refusing to look at you as he contemplated his words. “So you remember over the summer when I spilled Red Bull on my laptop?”

You raised an eyebrow. Where exactly was he going with this? “Yeah?”

“And remember how I would borrow my mom’s laptop to play video games while I was waiting for it to get repaired?”

“Yes, I remember. Can you just get to the point?” You were growing impatient, the anxiety increasing with each additional second that Michael continued to leave you in the dark.

“Okay, well…” He inhaled sharply. “I was borrowing her laptop one night and ended up looking at the search history because, well… you can probably guess why. Anyway. I ended up seeing all these searches for, like, new apartments and divorce lawyers.”

Oh shit. Divorce lawyers? Was he about to say what you were thinking he was about to say? “You mean…?”

Michael held up a hand as if to say let me finish, and you held your tongue. “So like, I asked her about it. And she told me that her and your dad are, like, splitting up or whatever. But she told me not to mention anything about it in case they ended up working shit out.”

You didn’t understand— wasn’t this good news? If your parents divorced, wouldn’t you finally be able to be with Michael the way you wanted? You forced down the giddiness that started to bubble up from your stomach and into your throat, knowing that there had to be a catch if Michael was acting so serious.

“So our parents are getting a divorce?”

“Well… there’s more.” He licked his lips, finally gathering the courage to look at you, the expression on his face so grim that it scared you a little. “She found an apartment in California. And she’s moving us there next month.”

California!?

No, this couldn’t be happening. How could this be happening? This was perhaps even worse than the predicament you were already in. If Michael moved to California, it was pretty fucking likely that you’d never see him again.

“I… what? And you’ve known all this for how long!?” Your voice was pitched several octaves higher now, eyes watering uncontrollably, and you felt as though you were on the brink of having a total fucking meltdown.

“I always thought there was a chance they’d get things worked out, or that my mom would change her mind about moving so far away. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I already knew you were sad about us going away to college, so I just thought-”

“-Answer the question, Michael! How long have you known this for?” Hot, angry tears were falling down your face and onto your bare chest, your entire body shaking with an overwhelming mixture of rage and despair.

He sighed. “Since August.”

Your mouth fell open in disbelief. How could he have hidden this from you for so long? “And you never thought to tell me? So I could at least come to terms with the fact that I’ll probably never see you again once you move?”

“I didn’t wanna ruin the rest of our time together,” he said softly, eyes glossy with tears that were still yet to fall. “I fucked up, okay? I should’ve told you as soon as I found out. But I kept thinking that maybe something would change, and…I don’t know. I’m sorry, (y/n).”

“Fuck,” you mumbled. Your limbs felt numb and heavy, your heart hollow. “Why did your mom have to choose fucking California, of all places?”

“I dunno. I think it has to do with this weird religion thing she’s into,” he said. “Look, (y/n), if I had any choice, I’d stay here. But you know I can’t afford my own place right now.”

“I know. It’s just-“ you collapsed backwards, your back making contact with the bed below with a soft thud. “This is so fucking unfair. We’re finally able to be together- like, really be together. But of course there has to be a catch.”

“Remember what I said, (y/n)? How if things are meant to be, they will be?” It sounded to you like Michael was attempting to make sense of a senseless situation, but you let him speak, somewhat comforted by his words. “I only have to stay in California until I can afford my own place. And I’ll still be going to the same college, so we won’t be too far from each other during the school year.”

Your college was a five hour drive away from Michael’s. Would he really be willing to make such a long trip up to see you? Would you be willing to take a trip to see him, with the new knowledge looming on your conscience that he would no longer be an arm’s length away once the school year was up? You wanted to be optimistic, but how could you be? A fresh wave of tears escaped your eyes, blurring your vision, but your cries faded to soft whimpers when Michael pulled you up against his chest.

You tried not to remind yourself of the fact that this would likely be one of the last times you’d be able to feel him there against you, one of the last times you’d absorb the heat from his skin, his distinct scent overtaking you like a natural aphrodisiac, intoxicating you.

You tried to reason with reality: if the universe had tried so hard to keep you apart all this time, maybe you and Michael being together had simply not been written in the stars (or at least that’s what you tried to convince yourself— how could a connection so strong not be meant to be?, you asked yourself dejectedly). The way you felt for Michael was special, unlike anything else you’d ever experienced before. He was a natural high, a gust of fresh springtime air, a golden ray of good in a gray-black world of bad.

But, as the saying went, all good things must come to an end. Don’t they?

Perhaps you’d always known, in the very back of your mind, that things would never work out. Perhaps you’d always known that your heart would wind up broken (no, not broken— incinerated). The cards had never been in your favor, and there had been a hundred million warning signs that you’d blatantly ignored time and time again.

But it hurt.

And you doubted it would ever stop hurting. The pain of losing Michael might one day fade from a stabbing agony to a dull ache, but that initial wound would likely never heal completely.

The only thing left to do now was stay entangled in Michael’s warmth for as long as possible, and make weary peace with the tragic ending your time with Michael had come to.

“If we survived being stepsiblings, we can survive this,” Michael said, his lips against your knotted hair, firm arms holding your naked body with a delicate tenderness that you weren’t used to. “You know that when I want something, I make sure that I get it. And what I want, (y/n), is you.”

You nodded, curling into Michael, your bodies fitting together like two perfectly-cut puzzle pieces.

“And I’m gonna have you.” You felt his hand smooth your hair out, and then he placed a kiss on your forehead, as if to imprint his words into your brain. “One day.”

Your eyes fluttered open, and all at once you were lost in a rushing sea of crystal blue, like the one that had lapped against the shore that night you’d fallen in love. As you reached up to caress Michael’s porcelain cheek, thumb grazing the rough stubble that had gathered along his jaw, you couldn’t help but believe him.

One day.

#mine #michael langdon #michael langdon fanfic #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon smut #cody fern #Duncan Shepherd #american horror story #ahs #ahs smut #ahs imagines #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon imagine #ahs season 8 #apocalypse #ahs apocalypse

1K notes · View notes

phantoms-lair · 5 years

Text

Feel the rain on your skin

Subject: A Cute Demon AU Fic written around this picture by @ectoimp

And now a message from the sponsor:

Spring Rain

For all that the cave changed them irrevocably, the cave itself never did. It didn’t get warmer or cooler during their stay. There were no sounds of animals and the only light came from Lewis. Certainly no wind or precipitation.

It made both of them appreciate being outside all the more. There was magic now in the scents carried in the wind. Of the songs of birds and chirps of crickets. The only thing that could relax Arthur to a nap faster than the sun warming him and a light breeze dancing over his skin was if Lewis was holding him while it happened.

It was, without a doubt, one of Arthur’s favorite activities since their explosive escape from the cave a couple of weeks prior. Just laying on the grass outside the little cottage he and Lewis now shared and watching the clouds drift by. It wasn’t just a daytime activity either. Far too many nights were interrupted by nightmares on Arthur’s part. Some were memories of Lewis’s death, his own painful transformation, and being trapped in the cave. Others were made up of the dark whispers he had heard, trying to steal his body from him (was it even his body anymore? It certainly didn’t look it.) The worst though, were dreams of the cave where Lewis didn’t come back and he was trapped alone in the darkness with nothing but pain and the voice.

Those dreams always ended with him wrapped in big strong arms. Lewis would hold him close and whisper that he was safe and never alone. Arthur would cling to him, arms and wings wrapped tightly around his torso and his tail doing a great impression of a blood pressure cuff on Lewis’s arm or leg. Lewis never complained though, and just carried him outside, where they would watch the stars until either Arthur fell back asleep or the sun came up. The only exception was when the night was overcast and neither the moon or stars shined through. Neither of them liked seeing dark nothingness above them and on those night they stayed inside by the fire, Lewis cuddling him and singing lullabies.

Arthur didn’t know if ghosts could have nightmares when they rested in their anchor. Lewis never gave him an answer when asked, which either meant yes or that Lewis still found the whole thing surreal and didn’t want to talk about it. Arthur decided to err on the side of doing what he could and whenever Lewis had to rest Arthur would cradle the locket close to his chest, whispering comfort and focusing on how grateful he was that Lewis had been with him every step of the way.

He was laying on the couch, doing just that when a low rumbling sound washed over him. He perked his ears, waiting to see if the sound happened again. A few minutes later another rumble had Arthur off the couch and heading towards the door.

The clouds were still a ways away, but he could see them heading closer, flashes of light like the flash of a lighthouse. He could see the curtain of rain approaching, hear birds calling out as they tried to make it to shelter before the rains started.

The glare of the sun was blocked out as the colors became more vibrant. The small hairs on the nape of Arthur’s neck and his tail prickled as the atmosphere changed. Then it happened.

Pit Pat PitPatPitPat

The worst of the clouds were still a ways off, but the first drops of rain was hitting the porch roof. Arthur took a hesitant step off the porch. He had been through probably hundreds of rains storms in his life, and not felt more about them then mild annoyance. This one though…

There seemed to be something different about this one. Something wilder, for all the storm didn’t seem that bad. Maybe it was just that this was the first rain he’d seen since the cave. Maybe he was just projecting some emotions on to the storm. Either way he took his a hesitant step off the porch and into the rain.

The drops that hit him were cold, not warm like it would be in mid summer. Still he leaned into it, lifting his head and feeling the rain run down his face and back. His wings spread out and he could feel even more rain running down. It felt freeing. Cleansing.

The golden heart he clutched to his chest pulsed and in a rush of purple flames Lewis appeared. “Arthur what’s going on? You’re…” His initial thoughts of out in the rain and soaking wet were quickly replaced by happy. Arthur tended toward melancholy, even on good days. But he was standing before him with a big grin on his face and his tail twitching like that one internet cat that liked squeezing into small boxes.

Arthur surged forward, capturing him in a hug. “It’s raining Lew!”

“I noticed.” Lewis laughed at the sheer mirth in Arthur’s face. “Having fun?” “Mmmhmm,” Arthur was in full on snuggle mode, so with a move born of long practice Lewis scooped him up and carried him to the porch. He didn’t want to go inside, not when Arthur seemed to be enjoying the weather so much. Also not when they were dripping wet.

Responding to his thoughts, his little deadbeats floated out of the house, each carrying a towel several sizes larger than it. Lewis plopped on over his head, and put another over Arthur, scrubbing his blonde mane. Arthur laughed and playfully shoved his hand away, but left the towel where it was.

“Since when are you such a big fan of rain?” Lewis asked, using his own towel to dry himself off.

“Since now I guess. It’s just so beautiful and free. We’re really free aren’t we, Lew?”

The last part was said softly and gave Lewis a better idea of where this was coming from.

“We are.” Lewis said, just as softly. “We’re free.”

Summer Rain

“Not now,” Lewis grumbled as he felt the first few drops fall in his head.

Given their need to stay hidden and their lack of funds, getting food for Arthur had turned into a matter of foraging and fishing. (They’d briefly considered hunting, had managed to capture a rabbit on a cage trap, and promptly let it go as neither had the heart to kill it). They’d also taken to trying to cultivate some of the edible plants they’d found, with mixed successes.

Arthur had been re-designing the fish trap they were using and had been focused enough that Lewis felt okay going to forage by himself, after telling Arthur where he’d be going. There had been a spot in the forest where Lewis had found some manzanilla shrubs and something he hoped would be a walnut tree (he wouldn’t know for sure for another few weeks)

The manzanilla was just starting to fruit, not ready to be harvested, but Lewis was content collecting some flower petals. It wouldn’t quite be lemonade, but it would be a nice drink for a summer’s day.

He’d just finished gathering petals when a familiar scent wafted past him. Lewis had froze, believing for a moment he’d imagined it. But the wind picked up again and the scent was even stronger. Lewis followed it until he’d found a patch of a grass-like plants with small white flowers.

Garlic.

Without salt or pepper, seasoning hadn’t been anywhere close to his normal skill level. Garlic, though, he could use to create something spectacular. Petals gently stored in the pocket of his vest, Lewis went to work digging up the wonderful aromatic, placing them in a bag he’d conjured. He’d just about finished when those first few raindrops had found him.

He pulled the petals from his pocket and conjured a small box to keep them dry before the rain really picked up. Lewis took a moment to get his surroundings and realized he’d not gone this far out before and wasn’t completely sure how to get back. He could almost kick himself for just following a scent on a breeze and not paying attention to where he was going, garlic be damned.

You could fly up a small voice in his head suggested. Get your bearing that way

No, if he didn’t know where he was, that was too risky. What if he was right by someone’s house and he was seen? Or near a road and seeing him caused someone to crash? They were excuses, true. He knew the real reason was the idea of being high enough over the trees scared the bejeezus out of him. But they were valid enough he convinced himself to keep his feet on the ground. One hand keeping the rain out of his eyes, Lewis picked the direction he thought he’d come from and ventured back. The trees looked kind of familiar, but he knew how deceptive wooded areas could be.

What if he’d gotten well and truly lost? Would Arthur be okay? What if Arthur though he had abandoned him?

Each thought made him a little more frantic, the worsening rain driving him even further in panic. Was that the same manzanilla he’d been picking petals from, or different plant altogether? His anchor thudded against his chest as though it was a beating heart. Forget the height, he was going to fly. The fear of being up high was terrifying, but nothing next to the fear of leaving Arthur alone. He just needed to get up his courage and-

“Found you!” The excitement in Arthur’s voice matched the relief Lewis felt as he turned and saw him best friend lolloping towards him, still a bit awkward on all fours, but right now the best thing Lewis had ever seen.

In one last leap Arthur was on him, arms wrapped around his waist and one wing spread over Lewis’s head, protecting him from the rain. “I came looking for you when the rain started,” Arthur explained.

“I’m glad you did. I maaay have gotten myself turned around,” Lewis admitted sheepishly, one hand behind his neck.

“Well let me then have the honor of escorting you home.” Arthur didn’t move the wing protecting Lewis, but swiveled to loop Lewis’s arm in his own. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” Lewis laughed in spite of himself and let himself be led back to their cottage.

They got up to the porch and Arthur attempted to to squeeze out his mane, which had gotten thoroughly soaked.

“Let me,” Lewis offered, setting down the bag of garlic. He ran a warmer than usual hand through Arthur’s hair. Arthur made an almost purring sound as he melted against Lewis’s touch. Lewis smiled, sitting down and pulling him into his lap, where he continued to comb Arthur’s hair with his fingers, slowly drying it.

“Damn. You would be, like, the kings of massages now.” Arthur commented, his tone completely relaxed.

“Well, you’ve always been the king of tense muscles, so I guess it works out.,”

“Mmmm” Arthur didn’t even attempt a comeback, just relaxing to the impromptu scalp massage and the sound of the rain around them.

The rain wasn’t so bad Lewis decided. Not bad at all.

Autumn Rain

The rains in autumn were a lot more violent than the showers of summer. It was colder with high winds and much more thunder and lightning. Even with his newfound love of rain Arthur had no interest in going past the porch. He kept his wings tight around him to the best of his ability, afraid if a good gust caught them he’d go flying.

“I’m a bit worried about the garden,” Lewis confessed, handing Arthur a mug with primrose tea.

“Do we want to try and enclose it, like a greenhouse?” Arthur suggested.

“I don’t think we need to go that far, but some more wind breaks would not go amiss. Not if it keeps up like this.”

“I don’t know that it will.” Arthur shrugged. “We’re just about out of the season for it. But I’m happy to help you put some up if you want to.” Then he cocked his head, “Lewis do you hear that?”

“The only thing I hear is the wind,” Lewis strained to listen above the storm. Then it caught his ears just after the crash of thunder, a small child’s scream of terror. Lewis bolted off the porch without thinking, his deadbeats right behind him.

They separated as they went, Lewis wanting to cover as much ground as possible. After getting lost he’d made sure he was familiar with every inch of the wilderness around there cottage. But knowing his way around didn’t tell him where the child was.

Another frightened scream, followed by a call of “Lewis I found him!” gave him the lead he needed. He and his deadbeats swooped in to where they found a small boy around Belle’s age huddled against a tree. He was shaking slightly and Lewis wasn’t sure if it was from being cold, or from seeing Arthur, as the boy seemed terrified by him.

Arthur shot Lewis a look, as if pleading with him to do something. Lewis conjured a copy of his glasses, no sense in scaring the kid more than he already was. “Hey kid, what’s your name?”

The kid’s eyes shifted back and forth between Lewis and Arthur.

“My name’s Lewis, and this is Arthur. We’re not going to hurt you, I promise. But it’s not safe out here.” As if to prove his point, there was a loud crack and the sound of a large branch falling nearby.

“We need to get him inside, Lew. It’s getting dangerous.” Arthur had to raise his voice to be heard over the storm.

The kid was obviously weighing his option whether to go with them or run when another crash of thunder had him jumping into Lewis’s offered hand.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Lewis said softly. The child was definitely colder than he should have been and Lewis turned up the heat just a little. He looked up at his little minions. “Can you do a search in case there’s someone around looking for him?” His deadbeats saluted and scattered again and Lewis picked up the boy and held him to his chest. He headed back to the house as fast as he could, Arthur right behind him. He didn’t relax until they were in the door, out of the storm.

“What is this place?” The kid asked, poking his head up.

“It’s our home,” Lewis gently explained. “You can stay here until the storm lets up and we can take you back to civilization.”

“Do you have a phone?” The boy tried to hold back a sniffle. “My Mom’s got to be really worried.”

“We don’t have any electricity here, sorry. But there’s a convenience store a bit away. They’ll have a phone.”

“Oh…” The kid tucked his head down.

“Don’t worry, big storms like this usually don’t last too long, and this one’s been going for a bit.” He didn’t want to let go of the kid just yet, not until at the very least his clothes were dry. Hopefully with his powers acting as a personal heater that wouldn’t take too long.

Meanwhile Arthur slinked back into the house, trying to keep the kid from noticing him just yet. It was funny, Arthur always thought he would be crushed the first time someone was scared of him, but he wasn’t. Maybe it was the crisis situation of a lost child, or maybe just that he was a kid and Arthur had seen kids be scared of Lance of all people.

Arthur had shook himself dry as best he could on the porch, but still went straight for a towel so he didn’t drip more than necessary. He tried to think of something he could do to help. Something warm to eat would probably be good for the kid. He stuck his head in the kitchen, trying to see if Lewis had started dinner. Sure enough on the stove was a pot containing what Arthur could now recognize as mashed yucca root. Thankfully it was a slow cooking food that hadn’t burned during their run into the forest.

Arthur scooped it up in a bowl and added some of the blackberry preserves Lewis had made to make it a bit sweeter for the kid. Now the hard part - getting him to eat it. This would be easier if Lew still had a Deadbeat around, those things were too cute to be scared of.

Arthur pulled his wings as tight and hunched over, trying to look smaller. He made his way into the living roof and saw the kid curled up on Lewis’s lap.

“I brought you some food,” he said softly.

The kid yelped and buried his face in Lewis’s chest.

“It’s okay,” Lewis said soothingly. “I told you. Arthur isn’t going to hurt you.” Even as he said it, Lewis shot his a look as if to say That’s your dinner?

I survived weeks without food, I can miss one dinner. And he needs it more, was Arthur’s returning look. “It’s warm and tasty,” Arthur promised. “And hey, bet you can’t guess what my favorite food is?”

The boy peeked at him fearfully. “Is it little boys?”

“Not even close.” Arthur chuckled, even though it was a little forced. “Got another guess?”

“Is it… snakes and rats?” The boy looked like he was thinking hard.

“No, and ew.”

“Rattlesnake pasta is good,” Lewis argued.

“You think chocolate covered fire tastes good, invalid.” Arthur stuck out his tongue.

“Rude,” was Lewis’s only reply.

“And it’s pizza.” Arthur winked at the kid, who had been following their back and forth like a tennis match.

His jaw dropped. “P-Pizza?”

“With fish on it, so I don’t think Arthur has any room to complain about my taste in snacks.” Lewis clarified.

“Yes, and it’s delicious. But the pizza guy won’t deliver out here, so we’ve got to make due.” Arthur said sadly. “But this stuff is pretty good, and it’s warm too.”

The kid still looked at him suspiciously but took the bowl. He took one bite, not breaking eye contact with Arthur, only for them to widen in surprise. “S’good.”

“Told you. Who knows, maybe by the time you’re finished, the rain will stop.” Arthur suggested. As if on queue, there was another crash of thunder, causing the kid to drop the bowl and bury himself into Lewis’s chest.

Arthur dove forward, catching the bowl before it hit the ground. The kid sniffed a bit. “M’sorry. I know I shouldn’t be scared of thunder and lightning.”

“Hey, it’s okay to be scared. I used to be scared almost all the time.” Arthur confessed.

“Why would you be scared? You’re a monster?”

“He’s not!” The words escaped Lewis’s mouth before Arthur could even say anything. “He’s not a monster.”

“He’s not?” The kid looked at Arthur’s horns and wings in confusion.

“Let me tell you a story while you finish eating.” Lewis sat back as Arthur handed the kid the bowl again. “Once upon a time there were three friends. One day they heard about an evil monster that lived in a cave.”

Arthur shuddered at the reminder.

“They faced the monster and beat it. But as it died, the monster decided to curse them. The first was the leader. She was brave and caring woman who would do anything for her friends. But the monster wiped them from her memory. She wandered out of the cave, not knowing her friends hurt and needed help. That, and all the happy memories of them together, was gone.”

Lewis couldn’t help drooping a bit as he told the story. Arthur’s wings had closed around himself and his tail had wrapped itself around Lewis’s ankle.

“The second friend was cursed to walk the world as a ghost. He looked mostly normal, but he could neither eat nor truly sleep. And if he got mad his hair turned to flames. But the worst curse was done to third friend, for he was the one who had defeated the monster in the end.”

“This friend was the kindest and most loyal of the three. But he was cursed to look like the monster so people would be afraid of him and attack him. There was a fourth person in the cave. I won’t call him a friend, because he willingly abandoned the second and third to their fates, but before he left he attacked the third friend thinking he was the monster, and then closed the cave so he could never be free, even if it meant trapping in the last two as well. But he didn’t count on the second friend using his curse to escape and free the third.”

“If people saw Arthur, they’d be scared of him, so we have to hide in the woods. But we have a nice home and it’s not too bad out here. But no one can know we’re here, so when you go back you need to keep this a secret, okay?”

“Is there a way to break the curse?” As fantastical a story as it was, Arthur was too real for him to ignore it.

“I’m sure there is. We just don’t know it yet, but one day we’ll figure it out.” Lewis assured him.

The boy was quiet for a moment. “Josiah. That’s my name. But you can call me Joe.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Joe.” Arthur held out a clawed hand and let Joe give it a shake. “See, you shook hands with me. I’d say that’s pretty brave. In fact, stay right here a sec, I’ll be right back.” Arthur went to the bed room and grabbed something from the top shelf of the closet. It had taken his a while to clean all the blood off it, but he hadn’t worn it since losing his vest.

“Here you go.” Arthur gave Joe his star badge. “Let that be a reminder that even when you’re afraid, you’re a really brave kid.”

Joe took the dented yellow tin in his hands, holding it almost reverently.

‘Are you sure?’ Lewis mouthed at him, that star being one of Arthur’s very few mementos of happier times, but Arthur nodded. Better it become the treasured item of another kid than just collecting dust.

Joe’s eyes darted over to the window, where the storm still raged. “Can you tell me another story?”

“Of course,” Lewis said softly. “I’ve got several.”

“Joe, Joe, it’s time to wake up.”

“Don’t wanna.” He was comfy and warm, being carried in someone’s arms.

“Sorry, little man. But we’re almost to your search party.”

Search party? Joe scrunched his eyes shut trying to figure out what he was being told. That was right, he’d gotten lost in the forest and been found by two very strange people. He cracked his eyes open and saw a wash of green. It was Arthur’s wings, he realized. Arthur had been carrying him while they were walking. The storm had stopped, but now he could hear another sound, people calling his name.

“This is as far as we can go, or else someone might see us.” Lewis explained. “But these little guys will help you.” Three little pink beings appeared on Lewis’s cue.

“What are they?” Joe asked in wonder.

“Just think of them as forest spirits.” Arthur said with a grin. “Kind of like us, I guess.” He put Joe down only for the kid to hug him, then hug Lewis.

“Thank you so much.” Joe whispered.

“Any time kiddo,” Arthur laughed. “That said, it’s probably not a good idea to just wander in the woods. There’s plenty out here that’s dangerous. Like snakes. Which should not go in pasta.”

Joe giggled, before grabbing the tiny hand of the deadbeat. “Bye Arthur. Bye Lewis.”

“Bye Joe,” they said in unison, waving till he was out of sight.

Once gone they let out a breath of relief.

“He’s going to be okay,” Lewis said.

“Yeah, he is. It was...nice, you know? You’re good with kids, Lew.”

Lewis snorted. “I have three younger sisters. What’s your excuse?”

“My excuse?” Arthur asked questioningly.

“You had him go from actively scared of you to hugging you goodbye in the space of a couple of hours. You’re not so bad with kids yourself.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment. “You know you can go back right? Your parents and sisters-”

“Have each other. One day I’ll go back, when you can come with me.”

“That day may never come, Lew. You know that.”

“I know nothing of the kind.” Lewis gave Arthur a gentle kiss on his forehead, right between his horns.

“What am I, one of your sisters?” Arthur asked fondly.

“You’re family, Artie. Always have been, always will be.” He ruffled his friend hair.

“Don’t start that unless you want the favor returned,” Arthur threatened with a grin. “Let’s go home Lew.”

Lewis put an arm over his shoulder, “Lets.”

Winter Rain

Josiah Jones hated the rain. He’d never liked thunder and lightning, but he hadn’t started disliking the rain itself until a few months ago when he’d been lost in the woods. He was saved by the nice forest spirits, but he still had bad dreams about the cold and wet.

It was raining again, even colder in February. The rain has caused his Mom to lose control of the car for a moment and they’d crashed into a guardrail. No one was hurt, and the car wasn’t even badly damaged, but it made him hate the rain even more.

A tow truck had taken them to a little garage in a place called Tempo and his Mom was talking with the mechanic, leaving Joe to sit glaring at the rain out the window.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the badge Arthur had given him. Arthur told him it was a reminder that he was brave even if he was scared and he needed that now.

“Excuse me?” A lady’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. “My name is Vivi. Could you tell me where you found that?”

#MSA #Demon!AU #Ghost Writing #Commission

99 notes · View notes