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mimicmimikyuwrites · 2 months

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The Sin of Lust - Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) x Fem!Reader SMUT

Summary: You confide in Lucifer about just how unsatisfied your husband, Adam, is leaving you. Lucifer decides to show you a whole new, much more pleasurable side of things, a side that leaves you wanting even more of it.

Contents/Possible Warnings: Cheating (Reader is cheating on Adam w/ Lucifer), Side Adam x Reader, Religious themes, Religious guilt/shame, Cunnilingus, Masturbation, Fingering, P in V sex, cream pie, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, SMUT, MDNI, this shit is depraved in a good way 😊

Your favorite spot in the whole of Eden was a small clearing no different from the rest of the garden. It was hidden away just enough that your husband, Adam, didn't know of its existence; making it your little getaway spot. You'd come here often, especially on days like today; days where Adam was more annoying than usual.

It was your duty and sole reason for creation to serve him, and you were trying your best to show thanks to your Lord by fulfilling your purpose, but it was growing harder and harder every day. Adam wasn't a bad person at his core, but he was insufferable in more ways than one. He was arrogant, felt he was better than you simply because he had a dick, and constantly treated you like you were useless unless it came to sex.

Sex with your husband was okay, and that was all it was, just okay. It wasn't horrible, sometimes it felt nice, but Adam always left you unsatisfied; longing for something more that you couldn't identify. That's how it was last night, and that's how you were sure it'd be again today. That's why you retreated to where you were now.

You sat on the soft grass, basking in the comfortable silence that came with the lack of your husband's presence. All days were nice in Eden, but today was even more so; with the sun bathing you in the perfect amount of warmth and the melodic chirping of birds filling the air. You wished it could stay like this forever, but you knew all good things must eventually meet their end.

Sooner than later you'd have to return Adam, knowing that if you were gone too long he'd come looking for you. You were dreading it, to say the least. Maybe you could pretend to be sick tonight? Or maybe you could go to sleep early? Or maybe you—

"Adam's looking for you, y'know."

You turned your head toward the voice, spotting God's most beautiful angel himself: Lucifer. You had hoped you would see him. The Lord's angels weren't supposed to mingle with humans in the way Lucifer had always mingled with you; your meetings had always been a secret that you two kept under lock and key, both of you not wanting to know the outcome of his fellow angels, or your husband, catching you two.

"Lucifer!" You exclaimed happily, looking up at him as he hovered in the air, gorgeous ivory white wings holding him up. You opened your arms, and he came down, warmly embracing you. He tilted your chin up before pressing a loving kiss to your lips; it felt like it had been years since you last kissed him, even though it had merely been days.

"I missed you." He said, affectionately tucking back a stray lock of your hair. "Heaven's not the paradise it's supposed to be without you to be there with me." You smiled at his comment before the words he said earlier finally sunk in.

"Adam's looking for me? Fuck, I've been away too long." This was bad, really bad. You had never been gone long enough for Adam to go searching for you. He was going to ask questions, and you knew you couldn't answer them, at least not honestly.

"Don't worry, I 'helpfully' suggested he go in the opposite direction," Lucifer reassured you with an almost mischievous grin. Relief filled you, he had bought you more than enough time. "Thank you, Luci." You smiled, sitting back down on the grass, patting the spot next to you. Lucifer joined you, holding your hand in his after he had sat.

"I know you like your time away from Adam, but you've been away from him longer than usual. Is something bothering you? Did he do something...?" Lucifer questioned, voice soft and laced with concern. You nervously bit your lip, unsure of how to approach the topic without being too overwhelmingly blunt.

"I...." You began, pausing to take a deep breath, almost embarrassed by what you were going to say next. "I don't want to have sex with him, not today. Or ever." You admitted, shame filling you.

You were meant to fulfill your Husband's desires, it was why you were created. You already felt guilty about avoiding him today, along with your boundary-pushing relationship with Lucifer, so to finally verbalize how you had been feeling felt like you had just sinned in the worst way imaginable. You were failing to fulfill your sole reason for living.

"He leaves me unsatisfied, yearning for something more. I know it's selfish of me, I know it's downright sinful, but I wish that I could feel the same amount of pleasure Adam feels for just once in my life, even if its not needed for me to get pregnant." You refused to meet Lucifer's gaze. The angel had always been a good-intentioned rule-breaker, but at the end of the day, he was still an angel. One of the beings meant to carry out your creator's will, and your creator willed that you be submissive to your husband and birth his children.

Lucifer must be disgusted.

The last thing you expected was for him to begin pressing gentle kisses to your neck and collarbone, something you weren't entirely unfamiliar with, just not from him. It was the same thing Adam did to signal he wanted you, albeit Adam's kisses were much more hurried and sloppier; nowhere near as delightful as Lucifer's.

"L-Lucifer..." You breathed out, letting him lay you down and begin kissing lower and lower, all the way until his head was at your thighs. He placed his hands on them, but before he did anything, he looked up at you. "May I?" He asked, catching you off guard.

"W–What?" You stuttered in response. Your only other experience was with Adam, and while he knew that 'no' meant 'no', he was certainly more commanding than Lucifer was being right now.

"I need to know that you want this," Lucifer explained, lightly kissing the outside of your thigh. "I'm not him. You don't need to feel pressured into anything. I want you to be the one who feels good for once, yeah?"

You hesitated. Kissing Lucifer was one thing, but this was another; there'd be no going back from this. It felt wrong, it was wrong, but at the same time your desire for the man who made you feel things your husband never could was quickly overtaking you. You didn't just want this, you craved it. You needed it.

"Show me, Lucifer," You finally said, giving in, spreading your legs for him. "Show me what I've been missing out on." Lucifer placed a kiss on your inner thigh, dangerously close to your wet sex, before diving in like an animal starved. The feeling of his tongue licking at your cunt ignited a newfound ecstasy within you, your legs beginning to quiver not too long into it.

Your hands gripped at the grass beneath you, only got him to grab them, leading them to his hair. You grabbed at it instictively, pulling at the locks, eliciting a low moan from him; the vibrations sending a wave of pleasure coursing through you.

"Lucifer!" You cried out, feeling him sucking on your clit. You slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the lewd noises escaping you; as if it would lessen the sin of the act you were committing. His mouth left your needy pussy, his fingers replacing it soon after.

"No no no," He cooed, using his free hand to uncover your mouth. "Let me hear those sweet sounds you're making. Let me know how good you feel." You threw your head back with a pleasured whine as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting a spot deep within you that had you seeing stars.

"Fuck—Your mouth, use your mouth—" You gasped, pulling his head back down, guiding him to where you needed him most by tugging at his hair. His fingers continued to fuck into you while his tongue lapped at whatever it could, the angel becoming drunk on your taste. His hand left your cunt, joining his other hand in locking your thighs in place as your legs trembled from the sensation of him going down on you.

"Close—So fucking close! Don't stop!" You pleaded. The impending feeling of orgasm was something you had felt before, but never before had you reached its climax; at least not until now. With one more 'come hither' motion of your lover's fingers, you were cumming for the first time in your life, your toes curling and a primal noise leaving you. He helped you ride out the waves of your orgasm, licking at your drenched sex, drinking up the juices of your climax until you couldn't take anymore, pushing his head away in a desperate attempt to escape the growing overstimulation.

Lucifer pulled away, eyes half-lidded and filled with mixed satisfaction and lust, your slick covering the corners of his mouth and fingers. He made a show of licking it off, moaning at the taste as it reached his tongue.

You let a content sigh, coming down from the absolute ecstasy you had experienced just moments prior. The feeling of contentment didn't last for long as you saw the bulge in Lucifer's pants; a sight that reignited the desires you had started with. To say he had done a good job would've been an understatement, but after finally witnessing just how amazing sex could feel, you knew you needed more.

You crawled into his lap, straddling him as you kissed, tasting yourself on his lips. You grinded down on him, and he separated from the kiss to let out a small groan. You continued your movements, feeling his cock growing harder through the fabric of his pants.

"Wait," He told you, placing his hands on your forearms in a signal for you to stop. You halted your actions, eyes widened in worry, and a blush creeping onto your face; scared you may have done something wrong. Did he not want you...?

"Hey, relax," He soothed, rubbing your arms comfortingly, taking notice of how you tensed up. "Do you want this? You're not obligated to return the favor or anything like that." You nodded in response. It was true, you wanted him more than anything. "I need you, need you so much." You rubbed down against him once more. "I need you inside of me, I need you to fuck me."

He smirked at your words, he had waited far too long to hear you say that. How many nights had he spent fucking into his hand, pretending it was your tight pussy, a hand clamped over his mouth so he wouldn't be caught by his fellow angels? To hear those words, so lewd and sinful, spill out of those perfect lips of yours sounded like music to his ears.

"I'm here to fulfill every single desire you have, honey." He purred, moving your hands down to the waistband of his pants. You pulled them down swiftly, his cock springing out. God, it was a sight to behold. You bit your lip, already imagining it inside of you; the leaky tip parting your folds, teasing you before finally thrusting in, the thickness of it stretching you out, and the length reaching that same sweet spot his fingers had touched earlier. It was everything you had ever wanted.

Your hands rested on his shoulders as he lined the tip up with your dripping cunt, giving you the honor of actually putting it in. You sunk down, sliding it in with ease. You moaned at the way he stretched you out, just as you imagined he would. His hands found your hips as you began to bounce on his cock, moans leaving you both.

You used him like you would a toy, something he had no problem with. You were lost in your own lust, focused purely on your pleasure; just the way Lucifer wanted it. There were no expectations placed on you except to put yourself first, to feel good for once. Lucifer wanted you to use him, and so you did.

"Fuck yes!" You cried, increasing your pace, the sound of skin on skin filling the air. Lucifer cursed, holding onto your hips hard enough to bruise. He moved one to your clit, rubbing at it, finding enjoyment in the way you threw your head back in ectasy at the combined sensations.

Your orgasm was sudden and caught you by surprise, your body trembling as it coursed through you. Your climax triggered his, and he spilled into you, warm cum filling you deep.

You pulled him in, lips finding his, pouring all of your love and passion for him into the kiss. You continued to kiss him sweetly as both of your orgasms subsided, enjoying the feeling of him still buried inside of you. That itch for more still resonated deep inside of you, and you were determined to satisfy it, even if it meant giving in to more and more of your sins.

Lucifer laid you down, lips never leaving yours as he began to move again; the same lustful urges having overtaken him as well. A second round turned into a third, and so on. You continued until you couldn't anymore, exhaustion being only what remained, and the day turning to night. All good things must come to an end, and eventually you bid Lucifer farewell.

Although you ended up bathing away the physical proof, your sin still remained as you returned to your husband.

"Where the FUCK have you been!?" Adam shouted upon seeing you, and you only ignored him, moving past the man and towards where you slept. Lucifer had awoken something within you, something equal parts liberating and devious. He had shown you a new world of possibilities, and you were more than ready to continue indulging in them.

The sins you had committed during your day were just the first of many, and you couldn't have been happier.

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ineedaplacetostay · 2 years

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☕️💐🙈 for the space blorbos

Space Blorbos! Thamk 🥰

—

☕️ HOT BEVERAGE - do they prefer hot or cold drinks? what is their favourite drink?

‘93!Bram loved him some cocktails. He might have been past college drinking shenanigans, but there wasn’t much else to do. ‘19!Bram is older and, well, not wholly wiser, but he’s 52 and drinks black coffee. Oz is trying to cajole him into adding sugar.

‘93!Oz was very much into healthy ideas, kind of a horrible fusion of film student and fitness guy. If it wasn’t green, it was probably cold water. ‘19!Oz, also no longer being in his twenties, likes coffee as well, but iced, probably flavored. Bram calls it insufferable, but finds it endearing.

—

💐 BOUQUET - create a bouqet for them! what do those flowers mean? are any of the flowers their particular favourite?

Oz’s would be a mix of: white Lilies of the Valley, symbolizing rebirth; Blue Hyacinth, meaning a desire to make peace; and Asphodels, flowers that represent apology and consolation for a death. None are his favorites, he likes bird of paradise.

Bram’s would be: Forget-Me-Nots for the name itself and Purple Hyacinth, representing both regret and forgiveness. He prefers orchids if he bothers with flowers.

—

🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL - whats a side of your oc that they don't want to show other people?

Ooh, Bram has never been one to share his feelings. When he was young, he brushed off at deeper connections with a con artist charm and as an older man he pushes people away by being snappish. Basically, he doesn’t want to invite emotionally honesty or vulnerability.

Oz has much less of an issue in that department, but as he gets older he’s less and less willing to show his anger. He connects that to the night that almost ruined and ended his life (as well as nearly killing Bram) and he…compartmentalizes about it.

Oz certainly continues to feel anger, but he wants so badly to prove he’s better at 48 than 22, he gets weird about it.

#so you asked me a thing #thanks for playing!

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luidilovins · 3 years

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Predictions for the rest of the year:

Someone argues that the word poggers is a slur

DT supporter start a sad white opression trend with a highly edited Queen song to set the tone on tiktok

DT sadterrorist tiktok and cop tiktok merge and form a black hole that makes tiktok uninhabitable.

People return to the streets but the deer won't leave

The rats that survived the Great Rat Wars have Herculean genes passed onto their children and they start getting as big as cocker spaniels and bite at people's ankles to get them to drop food

First graphed apple skin is actually layered and used to grow a hypothetically functioning penis for funsies

NASA proves they've been to the moon by showing a picture of the bleached US flag and half the internet makes conspiracy theories that they're faked and the other half makes jokes that the Moon is surrendering.

World's first wooly rhino is the dumbest little bastard to ever live he's just like that and we love him anyways.

Elon Musk spends six billion dollars to scour the Marianas trench to prove that Atlantas exists. Marine biologists see cool new animals but at the cost of 6 billion dollars that could have gone into cleaning the ocean.

People start selling transcripts of their podcasts and they're insufferable

Trump accuses Mike Pence of being Antifa all along.

Jack Black does a collab with Smash Mouth and it fucking slaps.

There's gonna be a headline saying publishing companies refuse to take more retellings of The Great Gatsby because they're tired of reading everyone's fanfics.

Stephanie Meyer writes a vampire retelling of the Great Gatsby and it's hilarious.

Newts and salamanders become the next big internet obsession.

Someone starts a youtube video where they go around the street popping baloons with a butterfly knife and they get famous enough to start a shitty rap career for some reason.

Huge internet argument that gasoline is an essential oil when it's obviously not

Soapbox cult pitches start up again like in the biblical era and it starts getting harder and harder to tell if its ironic or not.

Eric Andre is arrested for biting a guy's finger off. He's completely sober.

Legally Blonde gets a lore heavy animated spinoff (please please please please please)

Lil Nas X features a single in a new Legos Movie.

Amazon employees start burning warehouses down so Amazon can't just replace them after a walkout. Karens lose their minds over missing packages and start peeing in bottles to prove it's not that hard.

Kudzu Eating Challenge.

Steven Universe live action film is teased and tanked in rotten tomatos before the end of the first year of production.

Non-British Republic compete to create a larger and more rediculous cape and headress to wear to their first meeting with the Queen both in healthy competition and solidarity in mocking the Royal Family.

New bird of paradise drops.

Donald Trump goes on a yacht cruise to escape American waters so he can't get arrested but has cannon balls blasted thru his hull because Portugul doesn't want him setting foot on their soil.

#donald trump tw #my shitpost #2021 predictions #my post #negative #luidilovins

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softer-ua · 3 years

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Just imagine how insufferable Katsuki would be if his confession/kiss woke Deku up?

Peacocks/Rooster/Birds of paradise, he’d put them all to shame with his crowing

The kiss of life is too high of bragging rights for any 16 year old let alone the symbol of victory jfc

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #kacchan #deku #izuku midoriya #bakudeku #dekubaku #Decchan

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atinytokki · 3 years

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Paradise

v. Haneul’s Relapse

“That’s quite a good pearl. If you want, I can help you wash it.”

San glanced up from the pearl he was rubbing and followed the teenage girl to the shallows, where she hiked up her skirts and bent low, skilfully cleaning off the little treasure without losing her grip on it.

Afraid it would wash away in the waves, San bit his lip and shuffled nervously the entire time. When the girl handed it back, he clutched it to his chest and thanked her shyly.

“Do you think... do you think you could make a necklace with it?”

The girl glanced at her sister and giggled, likely assuming San had a sweetheart to woo. “Of course.”

“It’s for my half-sister Haneul,” he explained quickly as he followed the three up the hill towards their house. “She’s sickly and sometimes she’s not well enough to come down to the beach, so...”

The girls suddenly stopped in their tracks, the younger one facing San with a curious expression on her face. “Do you live in the blue house over there?” She asked, pointing over the sand dunes to where his grandparents’ place was.

San nodded hesitantly and watched the sisters glance at each other again before explaining, “Your sister is one of our dad’s patients.”

It dawned on San the longer they stared at him. “You’re Dr. Hong’s children?”

The pair smiled at him and the oldest extended her hand. “I’m Eunkyung, this is my sister Eunae and our little brother is Inho.”

“Choi San,” he responded simply, shaking the offered hand. “We’re also neighbours then?”

“That’s right,” Eunae confirmed as she bent down to let little Inho climb on her back to be carried up to their house. “We always wanted to visit the blue cottage. It looks so cute and homely over there.”

“You should come by to deliver the necklace when we’re done with it,” San offered, feeling awfully proud of himself to have done such a grown-up thing as invite guests. “It’s also a carpentry shop. We have lots of lovely things to look at.”

After all, they were teenage girls and teenage girls liked looking at pretty things.

The doctor wasn’t in at the moment, presumably out on a visit with patients, so the three of them set up shop in the kitchen while Inho played with his toys on the floor.

San mostly just sat and watched the girls pick out shells and beads and string them together, setting the shining pearl in the middle of the necklace as a centrepiece.

When it was finished, they walked over to deliver it as the sun began to set, and more excited at the prospect of introducing Haneul to new friends than that of giving her the necklace, San raced through the shop to enter the house and inform her she had visitors.

A voice called out to him as he barrelled past the woodworking bench. “San! Where have you been?”

Halted in his tracks, San spun around, surprised, and blushed when he caught sight of the clock. He was supposed to be working, not playing.

“I met some friends on the beach and they wanted to see Haneul, so I thought—”

“I need you here, San,” Grandfather scolded, standing and brushing off his hands. “Go on, tell Haneul she has visitors, but I expect you back here as soon as you’ve let her know.”

Deflating, San apologised respectfully and trudged upstairs.

It was torture for him to sit there hammering boards together while he listened to Haneul come out of her shell, fast befriending the girls and talking more than he’d heard her talk in weeks.

When their guests departed to eat dinner in their own home, San selfishly wished they had a brother his age. Eunkyung and Eunae were nice but they were older and closer with Haneul than him as it was. And little Inho was fun to play with for awhile, but like most five year olds, he asked an insufferable amount of questions.

As San took a bite of his chicken, he distantly wondered if he was like that as a five year old.

“I’ve taken the liberty of inviting the Hong children to a picnic tomorrow,” Grandmother announced as she cleared away the empty dishes. “I can see you’ve taken to them, and I’m sure you children will enjoy a playdate before classes start up again.”

She gave Haneul a knowing wink and shuffled away to the kitchen. As usual, she knew everything.

Making steady friends was difficult with the coming and going of families for the winter holidays. As school sessions neared, fewer and fewer visitors arrived and Namhae began to go back to being a small fishing town instead of an island getaway.

Which meant the Hong children were more or less the only option for lasting friendship in the off season.

They all knew this, so they set up lunch on the beach with a smile the next day and chatted about anything and everything they could think of, determined to get to know each other better.

Inho was fascinated by San and had good fun playing pirates with him, using specially made wooden swords fashioned by Grandfather in a moment of indulgence.

Eventually they tired of the play and joined the girls for food. There was no opportunity to insert themselves in the conversation, so they simply ate in silence, enjoying the bird calls and flashes of sunlight from behind clouds.

“I’m going swimming!” Inho announced when he had finished his food, throwing off his shirt and facing the ocean.

“You should wait awhile so you don’t have a cramp,” San warned, throwing an arm over his eyes and laying back as the sun blazed out again. “And besides, the water’s a bit cold still.”

“I’ll be fine!” Inho yelled back, his voice more distant than it was before. San sat up and noticed the boy’s towel sitting beside him.

“You forgot your towel—”

“I can do it myself!” Inho insisted, returning to snatch up the cloth and going back over to the shallows, dropping it just out of range of the tides and entering the water.

San didn’t remember being that stubborn as a five year old, but he didn’t want to interfere. Clearly Inho liked doing things for himself.

“Will he be alright?” San asked Eunkyung, trying to keep his tone casual. She didn’t look at him but swatted a hand. “He knows how to swim, he’s fine.”

The girls resumed their conversation— something about a drawing they’d seen in a book somewhere— and San resumed his sunbathing.

A patch of clouds covered the sun again and he was so peaceful and full of good food that he drifted off into a daydream, cresting the waves in search of something. The wind took him faster and faster away from his island and he wondered where he was headed, until a faint noise jolted him into opening his eyes.

“Where’s Inho?” Eunae was saying, voice tight and nervous.

San sat up and swept his eyes over the shallows. He couldn’t see the boy anywhere.

A noise got caught in Eunkyung’s throat as San stood to get a better view.

He couldn’t have just disappeared, maybe he was snorkelling under the water, maybe he’d appear in a moment and laugh at their horrified faces.

“There!” Haneul shrieked, standing with support and pointing out into the ocean , almost all the way past where the farthest docks reached. “He’s caught in a rip current!”

The moment he saw him, San ran.

He sprinted harder than he ever had before and struggled against the resistance of the waves before swimming to where the boy was being dragged out to sea.

San felt the pull of the current himself when the sandbar under his feet gave way, and he relaxed and let it pull him to where Inho was struggling to get back to shore.

The boy was tiring, exhausted gasps leaving his chest as he periodically slipped beneath the waves, too worn out to tread water much longer. At the sight of San he choked out a whimper, scared pleas to save him being washed away with the surf.

“Hold on to me!” San instructed, easily lifting the boy in the buoyancy of the water but struggling to bring him back to shore himself.

In rushing out here to save him, San might have just put himself in danger as well.

The specks that were the girls on the beach grew smaller and smaller, and San’s whole body was wearied from holding the blubbering Inho above the water as he tried to pull them back. Swimming against the current wasn’t working, he had to think of another way.

Noticing the docks protruding from the town as they drifted far enough out to see them, San decided to head for the jetty nearest them, moving parallel to the shore and breaking out of the pull of the current.

Suddenly the ripping force was gone, and San’s sore muscles could give out, the sand meeting his feet as he finally waded ashore, Inho shaking and sobbing in his arms.

The girls had watched from the beach and ran to meet them, Eunae hurrying home to fetch their father and Eunkyung scooping up the traumatised Inho, drying him off and shushing him calmly.

Haneul moved forward and embraced San, and he melted into her arms with relief that he’d managed to save both of them and that Haneul had let down her walls and given him access again.

“I was so scared for you,” she admitted, a few nervous tears slipping out before she could hide them. “You’re a much stronger swimmer than I realised.”

As his breathing returned to normal, San glanced out at the ocean again. The weather hadn’t changed, it was as sunny and mild a late winter day as it had been before. The water sparkled a dazzling cerulean and promised only fun and refreshment, not death and terror. But those very same waves had nearly dragged him and Inho to their deaths and on his return to the picnic blanket, he realised the ocean was more dangerous than he thought.

All the more enticing to explore.

Dr. Hong arrived to check the boys over quickly and decided to take all three of his children home after the excitement they’d had, profusely thankful to San for his quick reaction and teasing that he wouldn’t mind keeping him around.

He wasn’t joking when he called him Inho’s official bodyguard.

For the entirety of the spring, San found himself coming to the rescue time and time again.

Inho trailed after him wherever he went, and San protected him from everything from bee hives and ant hills to thunderstorms and broken tree branches.

Most of the time it just entailed getting him back home to be bandaged up, and San was thankful such an accident prone boy had a doctor for his father.

On one such rainy afternoon in the summer, San was bringing Inho home after saving him from falling out the back of a carriage in town to have his sprained ankle looked at. Namhae was busy with droves of vacationers and none of them were good carriage drivers.

Dr. Hong was already with a client, and to his surprise, San realised it was Grandfather.

He was seated and his hands covered his face, bent over in some type of begging position, and the sight of him made San’s stomach churn.

There was no doubt it had something to do with Haneul.

She had been cooped up in her attic room the past week or so, but San had blamed it on the rain. Haneul was healthy enough to play with Eunkyung and Eunae after all, even if they talked more than they played.

Putting himself out of his misery, San pushed open the door and escorted limping Inho to his father.

“Oh dear, what happened!” The doctor cried, making a fuss for Inho’s sake but clearly unfazed by the appearance of a new injury.

Inho went on to explain and San greeted Grandfather, taking a seat next to him and inhaling that familiar musk of sawdust and tea.

“I’m sure you didn’t expect to see me here!” Grandfather chucked, having composed himself frighteningly quickly and forced on a smile. San knew the difference between that smile and Grandfather’s real one.

“Not really!” He chirped in response, kicking his legs as they hung from the chair. It was always awkward between them outside of the workshop, when neither knew what to talk about.

“You know, I’ve decided to extend an invitation to your father to come stay with us for awhile around your birthday,” Grandfather informed him, the real smile flashing when he saw San’s eyes light up at the prospect.

“Can I come to your birthday party too?” Inho asked from where his father was elevating his leg. “When is it, anyway?”

“Next month,” San explained, keeping a keen eye on the doctor’s activities.

“How many tomorrows is that from now?” Inho muttered, confused, and the rest of the room had a good laugh at his innocence, one that was not appreciated by the five year old.

True to his word, Grandfather mailed a letter to Father just as he’d done many times before, this time with a special offer enclosed. When Father arrived, he brought gifts with him— not just for San, but plenty for Haneul, too.

They’d missed out on seeing him for almost a full year, and there was everything to catch up on, especially with regards to current events.

The constant clanging and shouting from the garrison construction zone was a brand new sight for Father, and he spent a great deal of time frowning at it during San’s birthday party.

They all settled in for another rainy evening and Father administered Haneul’s medicine, a very familiar sight, while San wrinkled his nose from where he sat by the window.

He admired her for being able to stomach it every day, but he was ten now so he didn’t complain about such things.

Even on his birthday with Father showing more attention to his half sister than to him, San didn’t pay it any mind and continued to play until he was shooed out of the room.

“Off to bed, birthday boy,” Father hummed gently, nudging him away from the window. “The beach will still be there tomorrow.”

San stayed awake in his bed for as long as he could, paying attention to the amount of time Father spent speaking with Haneul before the telltale sounds of him moving back into his own creaked throughout the attic.

There was something serious going on with her, and San had a sneaking suspicion her health was the real reason Father was paying such a long visit, not his tenth birthday.

By the next morning, he knew he was right. Haneul had relapsed considerably and San was once again sent off to go play outside.

Only this time he had more than a few trees to mess around in, he had an entire ocean ahead of him.

...

A/N: It’s been way too long since I updated this one, but finally I got around to it! Hope it was worth the wait, and keep on the lookout for various other updates from me as I get on a summer schedule ;) Don’t forget to reblog and comment and have a good day!

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ibijau · 4 years

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Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Nie Huaisang goes home, tries to deal with missing his friends, and gets a visitor

Nie Huaisang’s last month in the Cloud Recesses passes so fast that he hardly has time to register it.

Much against his will, he gets roped into joining Jiang Cheng’s study sessions. Those turn out to be rather intense, and Jiang Cheng might be a more severe teacher than even old Lan Qiren. It pays off though, because everyone passes their exams with flying colours. Even Nie Huaisang ends up with a pretty decent grade, in spite of his refusal to put any effort into this.

Lan Qiren congratulates him on actually putting some work into this at last, in answer to which Nie Huaisang just laughs to his face, too stunned to even get angry. He is still in a daze when he leaves the teacher’s office with his diploma in hand. He had honestly prepared himself to have failed again and he wouldn’t even have cared, but apparently he had underestimated Jiang Cheng’s determination to see everyone succeed.

“Come on, try to at least look a little happy!” Jiang Cheng scolds him later, when they all get to the Jiang cabin to celebrate. “What, did you want to stay here another year with Lan Xichen?”

Nie Huaisang scoffs and shoves him away before stuffing a handful of dried nuts in his mouth, pointedly refusing to answer such a stupid question.

He hasn’t seen a lot of Lan Xichen this last month. They’ve both been pretty busy, and Lan Qiren cancelled their last two compulsory meetings to give Nie Huaisang a better chance to study. But what little time they spent together has been… not so bad. They’ve managed to chat a little when they met in passing, and the meetings they did have were… fine. The first one was spent painting together, with Lan Xichen still exquisitely awful at Nie Huaisang’s style. The second they played Go and Nie Huaisang won, though it was a very close score. Both times, they actually ended up staying together after the incense stick had finished burning. It’s not even that Nie Huaisang hadn’t noticed. He was just having enough fun to allow it, just that time. And then again the time after.

It’s not that Nie Huaisang likes Lan Xichen any better than before. It’s not even that he’s stopped hating him. But what’s fun is fun, and to his surprise… Lan Xichen, on occasion, can be rather fun.

Nowhere near as fun as Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan, of course. The two of them make Nie Huaisang promise that he'll write to them and come visit. He extracts the same promise from them, and even gets them to grudgingly agree they might tolerate some overlap in their visits, if he so badly wants to have them around at the same time.

More surprisingly, Lan Wangji also comes knocking on the last day Nie Huaisang spends in the Cloud Recesses. He too offers a correspondence, which Nie Huaisang readily accepts. He doesn't say, but he's already plotting to invite Lan Wangji to Qinghe, and perhaps by some planning on error on his part, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian will be there at the same time.

More surprising, Lan Xichen also comes visiting a few hours after his brother. For a moment Nie Huaisang half wonders if he too will ask if they can write to each other. In the end he doesn't, choosing instead to say a few empty words about being proud of his fiancé's well deserved success. Nie Huaisang, who is not disappointed by this, ends up sending him away so he can finish packing.

Being home again is the best.

Nie Huaisang's first week back in the Unclean Realm is, without a doubt, the happiest time of his life. He tells Nie Mingjue everything he's done while he was away (everything he can share, anyway). He visits all his favourite spots in the Unclean Realm, in Qinghe, and in the countryside around. He checks on his surviving birds and dotes on them. He sleeps in as late as he can, and refuses to do anything even slightly useful. It's paradise.

By the second week, paradise loses some of its glow and boredom settles in. Doing nothing at all is only fun for a short while. More importantly, Nie Huaisang soon finds himself kind of lonely. Now that he's had friends, the company of his birds doesn't quite satisfy him the way it used to. His myna can speak a few sentences, but that's just not the same as chatting with Jiang Cheng or arguing with Jin Zixuan. Nie Mingue is there, but he's far too busy, as are most of the disciples. Nie Fangjie rose in rank after his time in Gusu and is rarely free, while He Zimu had to go home to meet the fiancée his parents picked for him.

Nie Huaisang writes to all his friends, but it'll be a long while before he gets an answer, and that depresses him further. He doesn't quite fall back to the sort of moods he was in during his first year in the Cloud Recesses, but it's not so far off either.

The difference is that this time, Nie Mingjue notices.

It's a right pain in the ass at first, because Nie Huaisang wants to wallow in his misery while his brother is determined to drag him out of it, even kicking and screaming. It sparks quite a few arguments between them, which is rather new. Nie Huaisang never really had the guts to argue with his brother before. Nie Mingjue doesn't seem to mind, anyway. If anything, he seems pretty happy to find that his little brother won't let himself be pushed around so easily.

By the end of Nie Huaisang's first month back at home, they've reached a balance of sorts. Nie Huaisang has to train daily, both with the sabre and in hand-to-hand combat since he definitely still enjoys that. He also has to learn how to help Nie Mingjue deal with sect business, which is even more boring than the lectures in the Cloud Recesses, but gives them a decent excuse to spend time together. Nie Mingjue doesn't say, but Nie Huaisang suspects it's also a way to prepare him for the role that will be his in the future. Qingheng-Jun is a healthy man with many years ahead of him, but someday Lan Xichen will have to succeed him and Nie Huaisang will have to step up and help him.

With all this piling up, when Nie Huaisang does get a bit of freedom, he rarely mopes around. There are too many things to paint, too many fans to decorate, and his birds to train, and that shop in Qinghe he wants to visit, or that new book of poetry he found in the library.

Which isn't to say there are no bad days anymore. Some mornings it's a struggle just to get out of bed. Nie Mingjue doesn't get it, even if he tries, and seems to think that on those days Nie Huaisang needs to be kept even busier than usual to push away any bad thoughts. After it happens once or twice, Nie Huaisang gives up on explaining why that doesn't work. Instead, when a bad mood strikes, he just hides. It's easy enough, in a place like the Unclean Realm.

The best place to hang out undisturbed, Nie Huaisang figures out, is a little alcove hidden behind the throne room where his brother conducts his meetings. Nobody ever goes in there, and he's half sure nobody even remembers it exists. He's done some research, and it was built alongside the main room so the sect leader's wives could listen in on important business without being seen by guests. It's not very big, but it's comfortable enough that he can lounge around and paint, or read, or just listen to his brother's increasing frustration over not finding him. It also means that if something really does require his presence, he can know and appear quickly at his brother's side.

It's Nie Huaisang’s second favourite place in the Unclean Realm, right after the place where he keeps his birds.

It's a little under two months after returning home that Nie Huaisang, hiding in his alcove and slowly recovering from a bout of depression by snickering over some very bad poetry, is startled to hear a familiar voice conversing with his brother.

"I'm really sorry for dropping by unannounced," Lan Xichen is saying. "I apologise for the inconvenience. But since I was in the area, I thought it'd be ridiculous not to say hi."

Even perfectly hidden as he is, Nie Huaisang can't help but tense. This is the first time he's anywhere near Lan Xichen since graduating a few weeks ago. He's not nervous, of course he's not, but he's also. He's not quite comfortable.

"Well, you know I'm always happy to see you," Nie Mingjue replies. "I'm a little busy right now, but if you don't mind waiting…"

"Actually…"

There is a moment of silence. Nie Huaisang is tempted to check what's happening through one of the small openings that exist for that exact purpose, but before he gets to that, Lan Xichen speaks again.

"Actually, and I hope you won't mind," he says, sounding oddly uncertain, "but the person I was most hoping to see is your brother. I'll be happy to chat with you as well of course, but if he allows it I'd like to spend time with him first."

Nie Huaisang feels punched, but in the main room, his brother just laughs.

"What, you didn't get enough of that brat last year? After how much you complained that he doesn't like you, I'd have thought you'd be glad not to see him until the wedding."

"Mingjue, don't tease me."

"Why not? I don't get the chance often. Oh, fine, I won't. I will survive this betrayal of seeing my brother's company preferred over mine, so go chat with him if you like. You'll have to find him first, though. He's gotten a little too good at hiding."

"Then with your permission, I'll look for him. I'm sure he'll let himself be found if he wishes to be, and otherwise… I'll just wait for you to be free."

Lan Xichen sounds so resigned, as if he dares not hope for the first option but the second would make him sad.

It's just so awkward to hear him be like this. Nie Huaisang almost miss the days when Lan Xichen was nothing but cold and insufferable. It made it easy to hate him, and at least Nie Huaisang knew where they stood. Now though… he just doesn't know what to make of his fiancé anymore. He's starting to wonder if maybe Lan Xichen wasn't sincere every time he's said that he wants them to get along, when he promised to improve and that's absolutely awful. It makes everything too complicated.

So Nie Huaisang discreetly escapes, and takes hidden paths to go be with his birds. It's not as good of a hiding place, but their company always calms him down, which he badly needs. Luckily it's even cleaning day, so that's a good hour of hard, gruesome work to distract him from the perspective of maybe facing his fiancé later.

There's only a few birds left, which still takes Nie Huaisang by surprise every time even though he should be used to it now. That incident really decimated them, and he can't even get new ones. In little more than a year, two at most, he'll have to leave them behind for good, so it'd be pointless. Usually it doesn’t bother him too much, but on a day where his mood is already so near to collapsing... As he cleans the cages and checks on food and water, Nie Huaisang finds himself focusing on that future loss. If he thinks of everything that he'll leave behind, he can make himself hate Lan Xichen again, almost, and he’s in a bad enough state that feeling hatred is better than not feeling anything at all.

"Good afternoon, Nie gongzi."

Nie Huaisang startles at the sudden appearance of Lan Xichen in this private space, and nearly drops the seeds he was carrying for his pair of parakeets. He quickly recovers though, and bows to his visitor.

"Lan gongzi, what a surprise! I had no idea you were coming to the Unclean Realm. If you're looking for my brother, you might want to try the training grounds."

"I've seen your brother already, and told him you were the one I was visiting this time," Lan Xichen explains. Even though Nie Huaisang already knew that, it sends his heart racing to hear it said so calmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Mingjue was not sure where you might be," Lan Xichen continues, "so he allowed me to look for you while he handles other business. This seemed like a good place to start, and I was right."

His heart still beating too hard in embarrassment, Nie Huaisang turns around, ostensibly so he can continue feeding his birds.

"Lan gongzi must find me very childish, still so obsessed with my pets."��

Lan Xichen does not reply right away. Nie Huaisang hates how careful he has become, just as much as he is grateful for it.

"If I have accused you of this, and for that reason, I'm sorry," he says at last, sounding painfully earnest. "It was wrong of me. From what your brother says, you are very diligent at caring for your birds and except when forced to go away, you always take full responsibility for them. There's nothing childish about that."

Nie Huaisang's heart squeezes at the words, so painfully he almost feels like he's dying. He hates this. He misses the days when he could just tell himself it was all fake, that Lan Xichen was either forcing himself or subtly insulting him.

"You're always trying so hard to say the right thing," Nie Huaisang accuses, with far less venom than he intended.

"I hope I can do the right thing as well. Just saying it doesn't do much good."

Nie Huaisang sighs. This is annoying. He hates that his heart beats so fast, he hates that his cheeks feel warmer, he hates that he desperately wants Lan Xichen to be sincere. He hates that he's certain Lan Xichen is sincere.

"Listen, just… give me a moment to finish this," he mutters. "Then we can go back and have tea or something. We have actual, nice biscuits here. They even taste sweet, if you can believe that."

Behind him, Lan Xichen chuckles lightly. It's not an unpleasant sound, as Nie Huaisang has discovered during his last few weeks in Gusu.

"If you tell me what to do, I can try to help you," Lan Xichen offers. "Though I'll understand if you'd rather I didn't."

"You'll get messy."

Another soft chuckle, making Nie Huaisang’s heart beat too hard. It's stupid, and he hates that like he hates all the rest, but he likes that Lan Xichen stopped trying to be controlled and perfect with him. He likes it too much. He hates it.

"I can survive a little mess."

"Then grab that bucket and bring it near that big cage."

"The one with the myna?"

"Hm."

Nie Huaisang hates that Lan Xichen apparently knows a little about birds. He hates that Lan Xichen doesn't complain as he grabs that bucket filled with filth and carries it as if it weighs nothing. He hates that Lan Xichen smiles at the bird inside and comments how pretty it is. Nie Huaisang hates Lan Xichen because that's what he's done for so long now, and he's not ready yet to face the new warmth in his chest when he looks at the other boy.

He hates everything today, and wishes Lan Xichen had chosen another day to visit, one where Nie Huaisang is capable of feeling emotions in a normal way so he could try to sort this out in a rational way.

When the birds’ cages are spotless and they all have clean water and fresh food, Nie Huaisang has no choice but to suggest it’s time to return toward the main buildings. Lan Xichen readily agrees and they start walking side by side. It doesn’t take long for something to bother Nie Huaisang, partly because it’s that sort of a day where everything is annoying, but also because a certain detail is becoming hard to ignore.

“How come your clothes are still spotless when mine are filthy?” he complains.

“I must have been more careful,” Lan Xichen replies with a small smile.

“You were not,” Nie Huaisang accuses. “I saw you step in several puddles of dirty water. Your robes have no right to still be this white!”

Lan Xichen chuckles, but says nothing.

“I’m going to have to get changed,” Nie Huaisang laments, annoyed that he is actually upset by that idea. “I mean, I wasn’t planning on having a guest today, so I wasn’t exactly well dressed to begin with. I just wanted something comfortable. But now seeing the two of us together, we look like a great lord and a peasant!”

“Nie gongzi is too handsome to be a peasant.”

Hearing this unexpected compliment, Nie Huaisang stumbles and almost falls face first on the ground, only for Lan Xichen to catch him just in time.

“This is… you’re just trying to distract me from your clean robes!” Nie Huaisang sputters, escaping his fiancé’s grasp so quickly that he almost falls again. “I demand to know how you did that!”

“It’s a Gusu Lan secret,” Lan Xichen retorts, smug enough that it almost feels like teasing. “In due time, I will share it with you, but at the moment, it’s impossible.”

“But there is a trick.”

“Obviously. Can you imagine how many servants we’d have to hire for laundry otherwise? We make children wear white, and people going on Night Hunts as well. Of course there’s a trick.”

It might be the way Lan Xichen says it, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, or the sheer ridicule of imagining Lan disciples in stained robes, but Nie Huaisang finds himself laughing. It's never easy to get that on days like this one, and he’s suddenly glad that Lan Xichen came. His fiancé is proving a more efficient distraction than what he’s tried so far.

When they reach the more frequented areas of the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang catches a servant and asks for tea to be served in his room. He then takes Lan Xichen there, inviting the older boy to find somewhere to sit. At first Lan Xichen appears torn between amused and mildly horrified by the mess (Nie Huaisang wasn’t expecting guests, and Nie Mingjue gave up on that particular fight years ago) before gaping in shock when Nie Huaisang removes his outer robe in the middle of the room and throws it in a corner for the servant to pick up later.

“Nie gongzi, are you really getting changed?” he asks, sounding so worried that Nie Huaisang can’t help laughing again.

“Lan gongzi, I’m covered in bird poop and mud, of course I’m getting changed. Ah! Don’t worry, I won’t remove the rest in front of you,” Nie Huaisang adds when Lan Xichen looks like he’s about to have an attack. He motions at a modesty screen. “I’m just removing my shoes and grabbing something clean to put on and then… I’ll try to be quick.”

“Wouldn’t you rather I leave the room?” Lan Xichen protests in a strangled voice, his face completely red.

“No need, that’s what the screen is for, and I’m not bothered. Just sit down, grab a book, and wait for me.”

Without paying his fiancé any more attention, Nie Huaisang selects some nicer robes and clean under layers. Once he starts undressing, he realises that he is dirtier than he initially thought, and is forced to give a quick wash with some water and a towel so he doesn’t ruin his clean clothes.

“I thought you were just getting changed?” Lan Xichen notes when he hears water being poured from its jug into a basin.

“The situation is worse than I thought. Cleaning is dirty business.”

Lan Xichen chuckles at that. “I’ll need to wash my hands as well, come to think of it.”

“Well, you can join me if you’d like. I’m mostly decent, if you’re loose enough on your definition of the word.”

“And what’s your definition?” Lan Xichen asks in a voice dripping with suspicion.

“I’ve got trousers on.”

A moment of silence follows this.

“I think I’ll wait until you’re done,” Lan Xichen says after a moment, and Nie Huaisang grins to himself imagining how uncomfortable his ever proper fiancé must look.

Still, it’d be rude to keep Lan Xichen waiting, and Nie Huaisang’s mood has improved enough that he doesn’t want that. He washes quickly, and gets dressed as fast as he can. His hair, as messy as the rest, is dealt with by tying it into a quick braid. It’s not the most refined he’s ever looked, but it’s not the worst either. When he emerges from behind the modesty screen, Lan Xichen stares at him with an odd expression, his cheeks dusted with red and his lips slightly open.

“Nie gongzi… this suits you well,” he mumbles, averting his gaze.

“Trying too hard again,” Nie Huaisang teases. “Go wash your hands, the tea should be here soon.”

Lan Xichen nods and gets up from the table. He takes a few steps toward the screen, then stops himself and looks for something inside his sleeve before handing it to Nie Huaisang.

“A letter?”

“Since Wangji knew I would be in the area, he asked me to give you this.”

Fidgeting with the piece of paper, Nie Huaisang feels something shifting inside him, as if the good humour he only just got back were already melting away.

“Well, that’s nice,” he stills says. “Do you mind if I start reading it?”

“Not at all.”

And so while Lan Xichen washes his hands, Nie Huaisang gets reading. It’s a short letter, clearly just written because the occasion was there (Nie Huaisang only answered Lan Wangji’s latest missive a few days ago, it wouldn’t have reached Gusu yet). Most of it is about the rabbits, though Lan Wangji notes that they are preparing for the next batch of guest disciples to arrive and he’s hoping they’ll be a quieter bunch this year. It’s only an innocent comment, but reading it makes Nie Huaisang ache for the company of his friends in a way he thought he’d learned to manage. It was so much fun to be all together in the Cloud Recesses, completely carefree. If he had known that he’d have to start behaving more grown-up upon getting home, Nie Huaisang would have gotten up to far more mischief, and he would have tried to enjoy his fun even more.

Just as Lan Xichen is done tidying himself, servants come in with the tea and some very fancy biscuits. Nie Huaisang gave specific orders regarding what’s to be served, amused at that moment by the idea of forcing his fiancé to enjoy something once in a while. It doesn’t seem so funny anymore, not even when Lan Xichen is looking at the biscuits with a mix of gluttony and worry.

It must show that Nie Huaisang’s mood is vacillating. When he’s done pouring tea for both of them, Lan Xichen has stopped staring at the treats and shoots him a concerned look instead.

"I hope the letter did not contain bad news?"

"No, it did not. I'm just distracted."

Lan Xichen sips on his tea and hesitantly picks up a biscuit, but does not eat it.

"Speaking of letters… I have to admit I envy my brother," he says in that cold, careful voice that still annoys Nie Huaisang with how controlled it sounds.

"How so?"

"When Wangji told me you agreed to a correspondence with him, I wanted to obtain the same from you," Lan Xichen admits, distractedly playing with his biscuit. "I even went to see you to ask for it, but in the end I wasn't sure if I should, so I said nothing. I didn't want to overstep some boundary."

Nie Huaisang thinks back on Lan Xichen's brief visit on the last day. He'd been disappointed when his fiancé didn't have anything to say to him that time. He doesn't exactly miss their excruciating weekly meetings but they were still part of what was clearly the best year of his life, and maybe he wouldn't have hated keeping in touch.

"You can always ask me now," Nie Huaisang offers. "We'll see what I answer."

"Very well. Nie gongzi, would you be willing to exchange letters with me?"

Nie Huaisang, to his own surprise, doesn't even hesitate.

"I'd like that, yes."

The smile that breaks onto Lan Xichen's face is nothing short of radiant. It's unfair, really, how gorgeous he gets when he's genuinely happy, and Nie Huaisang doesn't know how he feels about being the reason for that happiness. He doesn’t hate it, he supposes. He doesn’t hate Lan Xichen in general, in fact. It’s an odd thing to realise.

Nie Huaisang picks up a biscuit and bites into it, hoping to encourage his fiancé to stop being stupid and have a little fun. It works. Lan Xichen gives in and nibbles at his own biscuit. His eyes widen slightly as the flavour hits his tongue, and in a moment he devours the rest of it. Nie Huaisang snorts, more endeared than he’d prefer.

“So, do you want to talk about something?” Nie Huaisang asks, refusing to linger on the thought that his fiancé can be a little cute at times.

“Yes, actually. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, but never found the right occasion yet,” Lan Xichen announces. “I would like to suggest some arrangements for when we are married.”

Nie Huaisang freezes and stares at him. As a rule, they don’t talk about their future marriage. They never have, except sometimes when arguing. Even in a good mood, Nie Huaisang wouldn’t want to breach that subject, so today, when he’s fighting the need to go hide until everything stop being so much…

“I don’t think I want to talk about that,” he replies, toying with his half eaten biscuit. “Lan gongzi, I don’t believe there’s much to be said on that topic.”

“On the contrary, I have plenty to tell you,” Lan Xichen insists. “I think it would please you to…”

“Not today,” Nie Huaisang cuts him. “I’m having the sort of day where nothing could please me, and quite frankly, that topic… it’s not something I want to think about at all. Can’t we chat about something less distressing?”

Lan Xichen frowns at that reaction. Nie Huaisang braces himself for his fiancé to insist, perhaps even for an argument to happen if Lan Xichen decides he’s tired of being nice without getting anything in return. Neither things happen.

“Of course I won’t force you to speak of this if you don’t want to,” Lan Xichen says with surprising gentleness. “I do believe we should discuss it while we have time, but if you’re unwell today, then the time isn’t right for it. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Not unless you can magically change my mood,” Nie Huaisang scoffs, uncertain how to react to kindness when he hasn’t prepared for it.

“I could try to do that,” Lan Xichen offers, startling him. “Or something to that effect. There are a few Lan songs that can calm an unquiet mind. I could play one for you, if you’d like.”

Nie Huaisang drops his biscuit on the table.

“I thought the Lan songs were just used for battle?”

Laughing softly, Lan Xichen shakes his head. “Those would be the one most people know about, but we have many other sorts. To calm the mind, to help the body heal, to improve the quality of meditation… we’re a musical sect, and we take that very seriously. Even now, some members of the sect still try to come up with new techniques.”

“I had no idea,” Nie Huaisang admits. “I didn’t really try to learn about Gusu Lan, aside from all your stupid rules.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not alone in that. Ask any cultivator what Gusu Lan does, they will tell you that we invent rules faster than the flowers bloom in spring, and that we’re deadly with a guqin. We’re more than that, though, just as Qinghe Nie is more than brute force and sabres.”

“Uh. Guess I’m learning a lot about your sect today,” Nie Huaisang muses. “Secrets to keep your robes clean, and healing songs… Lan gongzi, your people are more surprising than I’d have thought.”

"I'm glad if you feel that way," Lan Xichen replies, his smile warm and soft. "I hope you'll want to continue learning more about us. For now though, would you let me play for you?"

Nie Huaisang shrugs, and nods. If this works, his mood will be improved. If it doesn't… Lan Xichen is a skilled musician, so he'll have that pleasure if nothing else.

It takes a little more preparation than Nie Huaisang would have expected to hear a Lan healing song. He can’t help a slight grimace when Lan Xichen explains he’ll have to get into a meditative state, never an easy feat for him, but apparently the melody itself is meant to help with that. Nie Huaisang grumbles and mutters and struggles to find a comfortable position on his sitting mat, but once he’s somewhat settled, Lan Xichen starts playing on his xiao.

At first, Nie Huaisang is certain this won’t work. His brain is still jumping from one thought to the other, aching with the way he misses his friends, and how he can’t seem to enjoy being home even when he should enjoy it while it lasts because soon, in some months now, even if there’s no clear date yet…

But as the melody goes on, Nie Huaisang finds that it envelopes his thoughts and pacifies them. The fears and worries are still there, but their sharp edges which were hurting him are rounded off by the music, making them less distressing.

When the last note drops, Nie Huaisang takes a moment before opening his eyes, enjoying the peaceful feeling inside his heart. It had been a while since he felt this calm. In fact, he’s not sure he’s felt like that before, not since his mother's death.

“That’s a very efficient song,” he sighs when he finally opens his eyes, slow and deliberate. “Thank you, Lan gongzi.”

“It’s my pleasure. Did it help?”

Nie Huaisang nods. He feels oddly light, in a very pleasant way. “Lan gongzi, you’ll have to play it again for me next time we meet.”

Lan Xichen laughs softly, his eyes crinkling with joy. He really is handsome like this, and Nie Huaisang finds himself smiling at his fiancé. If Lan Xichen asked again to talk about their future marriage, Nie Huaisang would agree because for the very first time, the idea doesn’t fill him with dread. There are worse people to marry out there, and Nie Huaisang is starting to feel he might be as lucky as people have told him he was, all those years.

But Lan Xichen doesn’t bring up that subject again. Instead they end up chatting about Lan Wangji’s bunnies, and how much he dotes on them, which in turns makes them talk about the younger boy’s crush on Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang is just starting to share his cunning plan to bring both of them to Qinghe when there’s a knock on the door. Before Nie Huaisang can invite the person in, Nie Mingjue barges inside the room and unceremoniously comes to sit next to his brother.

“Very rude of you both to have tea and not invite me,” he comments, snatching a handful of biscuits and shoving them in his mouth.

“Gross!” Nie Huaisang gasps, wishing he had a fan to hit his brother with. He has to slap him with his hand instead, which is a lot less refined. “If you’re not invited, then why are you still here?”

“I can’t let my brat of a brother try to steal my friend,” Nie Mingjue retorts. “Besides, you always have the best biscuits when you’re having tea. How come I can never get them when I ask for them?”

“Because I hide them from you, having paid for them with my own money,” Nie Huaisang retorts, grabbing the plate and holding it out of reach when his brother tries to grab a few more. “Don’t! They’re not for you! Lan gongzi, help!”

Of course Nie Mingjue, being the tall, long limbed monster that he is, can almost grasp the plate even when his brother is trying his hardest to keep his precious biscuits out of reach. They are both stunned and nearly lose their balance when Lan Xichen snatches the plate away from Nie Huaisang’s hands, looking a little lost about what his next move should be.

“Run with them!” Nie Mingjue enthusiastically orders. “We can share them!”

Lan Xichen’s eyes jump between the two brothers a few times before he shakes his head.

“He said he paid for them,” he softly protests. “If you want some, ask him nicely.”

Nie Mingjue gasps at that betrayal while Nie Huaisang, after the first moment of shock, starts laughing so hard he can hardly breathe.

“Xichen, you turn against me like this?” Nie Mingjue complains. “Aren’t we friends?”

His tone is so falsely pathetic that Lan Xichen chuckles and grins.

“We’re friends, but he’s my fiancé. I’ve got to take his side when it's needed, don’t I?”

Nie Huaisang’s laughter dies in his throat, stunned for a moment by that simple declaration, the way Lan Xichen says it as if it’s the most evident thing ever. Something shifts inside his chest, something big, something so soft it is nearly agonising.

The moment passes quickly because Nie Mingjue, not one to accept betrayal so easily, turns against Lan Xichen and tries to steal the biscuits from him instead. This in turn forces Nie Huaisang to team up with his fiancé so they can protect the precious sweets from being eaten in an uncouth manner. All three of them laugh when, after some struggling and a movement too quick, the biscuits end up falling on the floor. Nie Huaisang pretends to be heartbroken until the other two both promise they’ll buy him new ones, at which point he just joins them again in laughing.

He’d never thought the three of them would ever have fun like this someday, but he’s glad to have been proven wrong.

#xisang #worst engagement au #jau writes #this one got a little long oops #but it's soft? I think? There's softness and there's progress and those dumb boys are going to get somewhere someday??#mdzs

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xiubaek-13 · 4 years

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Gods & Myths

Prompt: J-Hope + 3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

Setting/AU: College AU

Warnings: Alcohol use, frat party, sexual tension, lewd humour etc

Word Count: 3,278

You didn’t want to be here. Every fiber of your being wanted desperately to be anywhere that wasn’t at the Gods and Myths party at Ravenwood Academy. It’s not that you hated parties, or despised dressing up, rather, it was that you hated ending up alone at these things. Your friends always came with you, spotted someone they were crushing on and left without fail. Leaving you alone for the remainder of the evening, easy prey for drunk creeps to hit on. Usually you left before they saw you all alone, in your mind you wondered if you had a huge neon sign above you that said Easy Target.

Every time you brought this fact up with them their responses were the same. “Well maybe you should try it sometime.” “It’s not going to hurt you to have fun. Live a little.” “Just do, don’t think about it for once in your life.”

All of that was easier said than done though. Overthinking was a skill of yours, one excelled at. Your friends meant well, you knew that, but it hurt to realise time and time again that in some aspects, they just truly didn’t understand you. You weren’t as outgoing as them and apparently didn’t have anywhere near as high a sex drive as they did. They said you were too picky while you thought that sometimes they weren’t picky enough.

You wanted to be the person who could just switch off and live in the moment but you were too observant, too analytical and too concerned with how what you did at any given moment would impact your life. Other people got to finish class and leave their academic commitments in their dorm, not concerned with how their actions in the night would impact them in the future but not you, the burden of responsibility weighed heavy on your shoulders. You had to get good grades so that you could get a good job and a good career. That was what had been ingrained into you since you were a small child. Romance and frivolity just weren’t luxuries that you could afford.

Regardless of how you feel about social gatherings, you’re here, sitting on Minhee’s bed with Sora while they brainstorm costumes for each of you to wear. According to them this party was a big deal and proper thought should go into your outfit. In your mind it was just middle ground between angels & devils and toga party. Wear a coloured sheet and something on your head and drink. It seemed simple to you but to your friends, it was more. They were well known for their partying ways and impeccable costumes. How you ended up with these two as your best friends you’ll never know, but you wouldn’t have it any other way… most of the time.

Minhee stands in front of her wardrobe facing the two of you with her arms crossed in front of her, resolute in her statement. “As a history major I refuse to allow the three of us to be basic. There will be enough Aphrodite’s, Hera’s, Athena’s and Persephone’s in attendance so we need something unique.”

“Why don’t we go as the three fates?” Sora offers as she flips through a Greek Mythology book.

Minhee shakes her head. “No, then we’d have to spend the entire night together so that our costumes made sense.”

“Wow, you make hanging out together sound like a punishment.” You remark.

Her eyes roll. “You know that’s not how I meant it. If we do a group costume then we have to stick together. At the biggest party of the academic year.” Next to you Sora nods. If she thinks this is convincing you that she wasn’t being harsh before, she’s sorely mistaken.

“What Minhee is trying to say is that Jaebum is going to be there and she wants to get that.” She chuckles as she looks at you. “We love you dearly, but we both have goals for this party, and apparently that means we need standalone costumes. Otherwise Minhee will be insufferable because she couldn’t jump JB’s bones because we did a group costume… which is not a crazy persons reasoning at all.”

You can’t help but laugh at Sora’s bluntness. You knew they’d both be wanting to impress their crushes and that they would not be sticking with you all night. Still, the reality of being alone at a party yet again kind of dampens the mood for you. “Then Minhee should be Nyx.” You state.

“Primordial goddess of the night?” She asks, to no one in particular.

You shrug. “Look if there was a goddess of determination to get that dick then I’d pick that one for you. This is the closest thing.”

Sora collapses into the bed in a fit of laughter at your words while Minhee feigns offence, doing her best to not laugh yet. “Are you calling me a skank?”

“Of course not. If I wanted to do that I’d have suggested Peitho.” Minhee sputters as her cool facade cracks and she joins Sora in a fit of laughter, doubling over and grabbing the wardrobe with her spare hand to brace herself as she laughs.

“You bitch.” She says as she regains her composure.

“Honestly, the lengths you go to for dick.” You do your best to sound nonchalant but a laugh breaks through.

“For that uncalled for comment you get to be Hecate, it’s not in the mythology books but I’m pretty sure she was a snarky biatch like you.” She points at Sora as you crack up laughing. “And you can be Kotys, you party animal.”

***

The party is going almost exactly how you imagined it would. The three of you arrived, wading through a crowd of multiple Hades, Persephone, Zeus, Hera, Apollo & Aphrodite costumes. Minhee and Sora are ecstatic that no one seems to have picked the goddesses that the three of you did but a small part of you wishes you could blend in with the crowd, it would make escaping drunk horny guys later so much easier.

You had to give it to the decorators. They had outdone themselves this year. The large dining hall had been transformed into a Greek paradise. There was a Mount Olympus in the back corner, a Dionysus themed bar, hanging gardens, beautifully draped sheets around fake columns. There were games all around the room, based off ancient Olympics and myths. You spotted a stone grotto where you had to trick Medusa, a makeshift river Styx, the list went on.

It was hard to believe that this was the dining hall. The spot where you usually sat for your meals was currently the entrance to hell and where you normally sat was Yoongi, dressed as Hades, trying to convince people to actually pay him money to be kept safe. You laughed to yourself, remembering the time that Minhee had her sights set on him only to be shut down because he didn’t want to fuck someone who didn’t know what an arpeggio was. She had been livid for weeks. She thought it was some kind of pasta. You and Sora hadn’t let her live it down, much to her displeasure.

The rest of his group are performing similar grifts around the room. Namjoon is at Mount Olympus, dressed as Zeus and giving orders as King of the Gods. Jimin is dressed as Eros and is wandering around pushing people together, daring them to kiss. Dressed is a loose statement given the minimal amount of coverage he has going for him but that kind of goes hand in hand with being the god of sexual desire, attraction, love and procreation. Jin is dressed as Plutus and in his drunken stupor keeps telling everyone “Opulence, I own everything!” Taehyung is behind the bar, dressed as Dionysus, reveling in getting partygoers drunk out of their brains. Jungkook is Heracles, doing upside down keg stands and challenging people to arm wrestling and Mario Kart, probably not exactly the picture of the greatest hero but he fits the strongest man on earth part of the brief. Hoseok is Caerus, flitting around the room to each of the games and convincing people to do things they normally wouldn’t, telling them he felt lucky about their odds of winning if they did as he suggested. Whoever put those 7 in charge as hosts for the evening was either out of their mind or a genius.

Shortly after arriving Sora directs you to the bar, making sure the three of you have drinks in your hands at all times then drags your trio over to a group who are playing a range of drinking games loosely based off mythology. So loosely that you’d wager that they were just playing normal drinking games and adding one greek work to them to fit the theme of the party. You glance at Minhee, thinking she might have hit the nail on the head with the goddess she picked for Sora, who raises a brow at you as if to say I was dead on right?

You stand back with Minhee while Sora leads the next round of games, completely in her element as the life of the party. Out of the corner of your eye you spot the very person who Minhee keeps searching for. She probably thinks she’s being subtle but to you she looks like a lost bird with how much her head is darting around as she scans the room. You nudge her, directing her attention towards her mark. “He’s over there when you’re ready to go throw yourself at him.”

She scoffs at you and smirks. “Don’t be ridiculous, I won’t need to throw myself at him, have you seen me in this dress?” To make sure you get the full effect she twirls and poses for you, her shamelessness making you cringe.

“Oh my god, just go already.”

Sora appears beside you, laughing. “Looks like I have perfect timing!” she says as she latches onto your arm, her grip ironclad, tugging it towards the centre of the group where the games are being played. “Come on, we’re playing the next game.”

“Wha-” you start to protest, refusing to budge from your spot. You don’t join in at these parties. You observe. You’re not the free spirited type. You don’t know the social cues or the rules for these games.

“No excuses. If you fuck up the game you drink, if you win you drink. Pretty simple really.” She holds onto your arm tightly, no intentions of letting you flee. “For once, try to enjoy yourself.” She says.

Begrudgingly you give up trying to escape. She knows you too well and she has no plans on letting go of you until you’re in the circle and the game is starting. There’s no escape now, not when you’re surrounded. Your anxiety spikes for a moment, wondering if all of the people around you know that you don’t fit in here. That little voice in your head tells you that they’re judging you, mocking you, no matter how hard you try to ignore it.

“What game have you been playing here?” Hoseok asks, appearing out of nowhere, his red locks wreathed in olive branches. That part of his costume irks you. Caerus was always described as bald, with one lock of hair, not a luscious soft looking full head of hair. At least he had the non aging, beautiful part down, because Hoseok was beautiful. His high cheekbones and strong jawline framed his face, inviting eyes and an infectious smile made him hard to resist. You have watched him from a distance at many parties, never actually interacting with words. A few times he caught you staring, only to raise an eyebrow at you and for you to avert your gaze. This is the closest you’d ever been to him at a party and you decide that it is incredibly unfair for him to look that good.

“Escape the Manticore.” Someone says at the same time as you say “Beer Pong.” Hoseok laughs as he moves to the center of the group. He raises his hands, beckoning those in the circle to listen to him.

“An excellent choice of game, however, might I suggest a change in proceedings before Jungkook/Heracles makes his way over here?” The noises from the group seem to lean towards agreeing to change games. Everyone knows that you can’t beat Jungkook at beer pong. The guy is stupidly good at it. Smiling, Hoseok continues. “Might I suggest Sirens Call?”

You scoff. “What’s that, truth or dare?” The crowd laughs at your comment.

“Closer to spin the bottle actually.” Hoseok responds, winking at you as he does so. “Alright, you lot” He says as he points to 7 others, Sora and yourself “are playing this round with me.” You do your best to ignore the wink, surely he does that to everyone. Like Sora, he’s always the life of the party. It probably doesn’t mean anything. Even if part of you wants it to.

Sora claps with glee as she realizes that his selection includes the man she’s been ogling all night, Shownu. He’s a mountain of a man with soft, kind eyes and Sora has been swooning over him for months. You know that she’ll shatter the bottle if it doesn’t land on him when she spins it.

“You look like you want to eat him alive Sora, maybe dial it down a notch.” You murmur.

Her eyes flit to yours for a moment, a mischievous grin on her face. “I’d rather climb him like a tree but eating works as well.”

You don’t get a chance to tell her to keep it in her pants as Hoseok produces a bottle and motions for the ten of you to sit on the floor. “The person spinning the bottle is the siren. Whoever the bottle lands on is their target. If their target succumbs to their call and kisses them they’re out of the game, Sirens were kind of evil guys, they lured men to their deaths. If you resist the siren for thirty seconds then you survive and they are out of the game.

The game progresses as drunken people lock lips and disappear from the game, often wandering off together to continue where they left off, much to Jimin’s delight. Shownu did his best to resist Sora, but your maniac of a friend legitimately climbed him when he refused her request for him to kiss her, straddling his hips and teasingly leaning in, ghosting kisses over his neck, face & mouth until he gave in and captured her lips with his. As she got up and lead Shownu away from the group she winked at you, happy to have secured her man for the night.

Hoseok spins the bottle next. You watch it spin round and round, wondering who it will land on and if they’re going to be able to resist his charms. To your surprise the bottle lands on you. You stare at it in mild shock. Hoseok isn’t supposed to get this close to you. No, you watch him from afar, wondering what it would be like to touch him, to be held by him, to kiss him. But those were only ever supposed to be thoughts, never a reality.

You watch with wide eyes as he crawls towards you, like a predator circling its prey. You don’t know if you are strong enough to resist him, not when his eyes were laser focused on you like that. He’d never looked at you like that before. Whenever he’d caught you staring at him he’d always kept that inviting look in his eyes but that was nowhere to be found right now. It felt like he was staring into your soul which unnerves you. You try to swallow but your throat feels dry, and your hand can’t seem to find your drink.

He closes the distance between the two of you quickly, stopping only once his arms are caging your legs where you sit. He is too close, so close that you can feel his breath fanning your neck, you can smell his cologne, you can’t concentrate. He licks his lips and leans forward, his mouth ghosting your ear. Breathily he says “Kiss me” then moves back slightly so that he can see your face.

If you do as he asks you’ll lose the game, but you will have kissed Jung Hoseok. That little voice inside your head tries to tell you that he’d only be kissing you because of the game, not because he has any interest in you. Another smaller voice speaks up, telling you so what if its only because of the game? You still get to kiss him and if the other voice is wrong, then you’ll have bagged Jung motherfucking Hoseok. Where is the loss for you here?

You stare at his lips longer than you care to admit, at his prominent cupids bow and soft looking lower lip, at the way he slightly smirks when he realises that you’re fixated on his mouth. It feels like aeons but in reality it takes only seconds for the two of you to stare at each other, your eyes flickering because for a moment Hoseok does look like a god, but one who is within your reach, and it causes a quiet breath to escape your lips.

Cautiously you inch forward, and Hoseok cups your cheek with his hand. He feels warm. You lean into his touch, letting yourself indulge in the moment. You press your lips into his, they are softer than you were expecting. He moves his head slightly and your lips slot together perfectly, his hand sliding into your hair. You could end it here, you had already failed the game and there was no need to continue the kiss.

Except that you don’t want it to end. You want more. You press into his lips harder, parting them, and you feel him smile into it as he deepens the kiss. Your hand grips his cloak, as if you’re scared he will let go of you and end this. The nature of the kiss shifts from a soft, sweet meeting of the mouths to a heated, passionate tangling of tongues. When you do break apart its because you both need air. His eyes are hooded and dark as he stares at you as if you are the only person in the room.

Gradually both of you realize that you have an audience and you blush furiously. Hoseok clears his throat and looks around, attempting to put on the mask of the host as he says. “That’s game over. You know how it works now, form your own teams and go.” He grabs your wrist and helps you stand, his eyes never leaving your face. It’s written all over his face, plain as day, that he wants to kiss you again. You want to kiss him again too, but not with so many people around.

“Come with me?” He asks.

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oplishin · 29 days

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seth's smile as he looks up at rock and the crowd chants for cody is very very good

#the lingering shot as cody's music and lights hit!!! very good #seth rollins #cody rhodes #wwe #jrestling #insufferable bird of paradise #his smile. im sorry he is so pretty to me #i have fallen for the booboo eyes #jifs #god i am so ready for rolleigns #// flashing

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

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Husband, Guardian, Muse - Chapter 1/3 (Rated NC17)

Summary: After the untimely death of his husband and muse, Crowley tries to find the simplest, most foolproof way to join him. But in the days that follow, he discovers that sometimes what looks like an ending can turn out to be a beginning, and that no one is ever really gone if we find a way to remember them.

Notes: This was the piece I wrote for Celestial Harmonies Zine :) Go check it out. Human au. Warning for heavy angst, death, alcohol abuse and thoughts of suicide. But it does have a happy ending :)

Crowley hated working over his vacations.

Wasn’t the point of being a semi-famous artist that he got to make his own hours, work alone, and spend as much time at home with his husband as he wanted?

Not this time, apparently. Not since Alciston & Selmeston Village Hall decided to do a complete renovation, including replacing their hospitality-grade art with original work from local artists, he had been stuck in meetings and consultations all week while his husband occupied himself at their cottage.

Aziraphale said he didn’t mind since he was doing renovations of his own – a new work space for Crowley, an extension to his library, expanding the wine cellar. Being alone gave Aziraphale the opportunity to putter over fabric samples and color swatches in peace without his husband intervening every five minutes with his supposed “expert eye for nuance”.

But Crowley had enough of forgoing lunches with his husband (as well as afternoon delights) in favor of another discussion over whether or not a Monet-inspired acrylic of waterlilies would be appropriate for the treasurer’s office. He launched his escape when an argument over abstract sculptures for public spaces broke out. He grabbed a blank canvas under the guise of starting a new piece and slipped away in his Bentley. He hit the interstate and sped off like a bat out of hell, making it to their cottage in record time.

Crowley loved how secluded it was in their small patch of heaven. Tucked far and away from any other living souls, no one complained about their activities – amorous or otherwise - be it at three in the afternoon or three in the morning.

Crowley shed his jacket, his keys, and his phone at the front door, then he wandered the rooms, the canvas from earlier tucked beneath his arm, making as much noise as possible to alert his husband of his arrival.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley called, walking through the kitchen in search of his muse. “Aziraphale! Where are you, angel? I miss your ass!”

“I thought you had to work this afternoon.”

Crowley smiled. “I am working. I’m doing a portrait of a gorgeous man, as soon as I find him.”

“No …” Aziraphale chuckled. “You’re supposed to be doing a landscape for the city planner’s office.”

“No,” Crowley insisted, inspecting another empty room. “I’m painting you. Naked if I have my way.”

“You just want to snog,” Aziraphale teased.

“Nothin’ wrong with that. Now where are you? This cottage i’n’t that big.”

“Out here, installing the track lighting.”

Crowley turned the corner to the patio – a space they’d recently added to give Crowley a protected outdoor area to work. There was Aziraphale – his intrepid Aziraphale – braving their rickety, eighty-year-old ladder to install a row of lights. The chrome runner and bonnets gleamed in the midday sun, right in Aziraphale’s eyes, so he was installing them blind, his eyes shut against the reflected light, feeling around for the holes to put the screws in. Crowley winced when the ladder shivered beneath Aziraphale’s weight, but Aziraphale seemed oblivious, balancing precariously on his toes to screw the fixture to the wall.

Crowley put the canvas down and held the ladder secure beneath his husband. “I really wish you’d let me do that. Or wait till we buy a new ladder.”

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley with playful blue eyes. “This ladder is fine. Besides, I don’t have much more to do. It’ll only take a ---” Aziraphale leaned sideways. The ladder lurched. Luckily, Crowley reacted in time to keep Aziraphale from toppling head first into the retaining wall.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Crowley said, pulling on Aziraphale’s pant leg. “Get down now.”

“But I only have one screw left!”

That’s an understatement, Crowley thought bitterly in reference to the dozen or so times he’d asked Aziraphale to wait on this project. “I don’t care. Get your ass down off that ladder.”

“Geez,” Aziraphale huffed, carefully navigating the rungs. “You certainly have a fondness for my rear.”

“It happens to be a glorious rear.” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s behind and squeezed for emphasis. “I don’t want anything happening to it.” He drew Aziraphale close, relishing the way their bodies fit together, as if some higher power had carved them both from the same slab of stone.

Like they’d been made specifically for each other.

Aziraphale tilted his head, pouting in mock offense. “So, you only care about my rear?”

“Among other things.” Crowley captured Aziraphale’s lips, not waiting for an invitation, trying his best to kiss the pout from Aziraphale’s face.

If Aziraphale’s whimpers were any indication, Crowley was winning.

But Crowley’s cellphone, ringing where he’d left it, called a foul on his game. He had no intention of stopping, but Aziraphale annoyingly felt that job and responsibility came before snogging.

“You should get that,” he struggled to say, voice muffled by Crowley’s lips pressing insistently against his.

“Nope.”

“But it’s probably village hall, wondering where their artist is.”

Crowley frowned as his husband squirmed out of his arms while laughing at what Aziraphale called Crowley’s “sour mug”. Crowley narrowed his eyes at his husband.

“I’m going to go answer that, but just to tell them to get lost, and then I’m getting you naked.”

Crowley peppered Aziraphale’s cheeks with kisses to a symphony of his giggles. Then, with a heavy-handed swat to his backside, he reluctantly released his husband and ran inside to answer the phone.

Despite his frustration at having to put his escapades with his husband on hold, Crowley couldn’t help smiling. He loved his life. He loved his marriage. He especially loved the time they spent at their cottage in the South Downs. He’d always be a city dweller, but this place was paradise. He loved bringing his husband here and having him all to himself.

Crowley and Aziraphale had been blessed with a wonderful five-year-long honeymoon, and he didn’t see that ending anytime soon.

“Coming, coming,” he yelled at his insufferable phone, but he wasn’t exactly rushing to get it. By the time he reached it, it stopped ringing.

“Oh, no,” he joked. “I didn’t get here in time. Whatever shall I do?”

It didn’t matter to him anyway since no power on heaven or earth could have convinced him to leave his husband right as he was preparing to ravish him.

And to make sure they weren’t interrupted again, he turned his ringer off.

“Well, now that that’s settled …”

A sharp noise pricked at Crowley’s ears. Nothing too alarming. In fact, it could have been a bird chirping. But it filled him from head to toe with dread.

He didn’t know how he could possibly feel the ladder tilt from inside the cottage, but he felt the sway of it as if he was standing on it instead of Aziraphale. After a swoop of sudden and inexplicable nausea hit him, everything happened absurdly fast. He heard Aziraphale yelp, a loud metallic clatter, then a horrifying crack, like pottery hitting pavement.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called, and then he waited. When his husband didn’t answer, he started to panic. “Aziraphale!” He ran for the patio, having the sense of mind to start dialing 9-9-9, knowing in his heart that his husband would need an ambulance. “Aziraphale! Are you alri---?”

Crowley got his answer the second he burst through the patio door.

No, Aziraphale wasn’t alright.

Aziraphale definitely wasn’t alright.

***

It rained the day they buried Aziraphale.

This weather was such a marked change from the weeks of sunny skies and no clouds. Aziraphale had mentioned how they needed a good, all-day rainstorm to trap them indoors where they could snuggle together on the sofa with mugs of cocoa and listen to the drops fall. Aziraphale was a quintessential pluviophile. He found peace in the rain.

Crowley hated the rain. He hated getting wet. He hated when his soaked clothes stuck to his skin and cold water ran into his socks. He hated sloshing inside his shoes, and the way they never completely dried. But as much as he hated the rain, he loved Aziraphale, and the rain made Aziraphale happy.

So Crowley became a pluviophile for Aziraphale.

Crowley stood by Aziraphale’s casket beside his open grave and waited in the rain. He waited while the mourners paid their respects. He waited while everyone hugged and cried. He waited until the final mourner wandered somberly away. He waited until they lowered Aziraphale into the ground, and even after there was nothing left to witness, he waited until nightfall, when the rain stopped, the clouds parted, and the stars came out.

Crowley had painted stars hundreds of times. They were one of his favorite subjects to paint.

Now, he didn’t want to look at them.

Tracy, one of Aziraphale’s dearest friends, and her husband Sergeant Shadwell, returned to the cemetery a little before midnight in search of their missing friend, convince him to go home, but Crowley refused to leave. So they waited with him, not pressing the issue even though Crowley was sopping wet and stifling sniffles he knew would bloom into a full-blown cold later on.

At some point, Crowley finally came to the conclusion that Aziraphale wasn’t going to magically return, so he took Tracy’s hand and let himself be led away from his husband’s final resting place. Crowley’s forehead burned with fever by the time the couple got him back to the cottage, but Crowley turned down Tracy’s offer to stay. As much as Tracy objected, in the end, she didn’t have the strength to battle her own grief and Crowley’s, and they left the man alone.

Crowley walked through the unlit cottage, straight out back to the patio, shoving aside a morbid sense of déjà vu. He dropped heavily into a wicker chaise and looked up at the clear night sky, but his vision was obscured by something shiny hanging a few feet above his head.

The light fixture.

That stupid track lighting.

Crowley stared at it in shock as it dangled on its two screws.

The fixture was there, brand new out-of-the-box, installed except for one damn screw, but because of it, Aziraphale was dead.

Crowley snapped.

He spotted an abandoned hoe over by the retaining wall, a few feet from where Aziraphale had fallen. He grabbed it and, with a renewed vigor, attacked the lights.

“Goddamned lights!” he screamed. “What the fuck did we need these for, Aziraphale? Why did you have to put them up when I asked you to wait!? Why didn’t you wait, Aziraphale!? Why couldn’t you just sit on your ass and fucking wait!?”

The sound of the hoe hitting the lights and the brick behind it echoed. The force of the blows caused the hoe to vibrate painfully in Crowley’s hands, but he only tightened his grip and struck harder.

“Fuck you, Aziraphale! Why did you have to put up these stupid lights!?” Crowley screamed, shattering the bulbs and sending a spray of glass falling over his hair and clothes. “I told you to wait! I told you I’d do it! I don’t need the lights, Aziraphale! I need you, Aziraphale!”

He pounded the bonnets flat, chipped away a good portion of the brick wall, but it didn’t make him feel better. He didn’t feel avenged. He could pick those lights apart piece by piece, chop them up until they became dust, but that wouldn’t bring his husband back. And why was he taking out his anger on the lights? He should turn that hoe on himself. Why the fuck hadn’t he held the ladder till Aziraphale finished? He knew how stubborn his husband was, how determined he’d be to finish something he’d started. Why didn’t he take Aziraphale’s place and screw in the lights himself, get it over and done with once and for all? Those lights didn’t kill his husband, nor the ladder. And it wasn’t Aziraphale.

It was Crowley.

He was the only one to blame.

Panting hard and with blistered palms, he dropped the hoe on the ground at his feet.

He’s the one. He did this. He killed his husband.

He destroyed his muse.

He stumbled into the cottage and rifled through the cabinets, searching for a fresh bottle of whiskey. He couldn’t stand being sober any longer. His hand came in contact with a bottle that felt mostly full. He grabbed it and pulled it down. Except this bottle wasn’t his spare bottle of Jack.

It was a lone bottle of Hennessy … and it had belonged to Aziraphale.

Crowley’s first instinct was to toss the bottle up against the wall and smash it. He looked around for an open space to hurl it when he caught sight of his paintings - a new crop he had started working on for a show in the fall, all of them featuring his muse.

Aziraphale.

Crowley hadn’t set them up in here. Aziraphale had. He was so proud of them, he’d displayed them. That way he could look at them while Crowley toiled down at the village hall, wasting his talents painting hillsides and sunsets.

But Crowley couldn’t look at them. They represented everything he’d had and lost in an instant. Being in their presence made him realize that he couldn’t go on this way. He couldn’t keep being the artist he was when the only subject he enjoyed painting was gone.

He didn’t want to keep existing when the only man he’d ever loved was dead.

He took a swig of the Hennessy to steady his nerves. With his body burning hot and fire in his veins, he grabbed up the paintings, every last one, and carried them outside, dropping them in an undignified pile on a patch of bare earth a distance from the cottage. He doused them with the cognac, gritting his teeth as the liquid assaulted the paint, causing it to bleed, distorting Aziraphale’s face, twisting it, like Aziraphale’s body would eventually be, decaying inside his coffin.

When the bottle was just about empty, he rummaged through his pockets for his silver Zippo. He didn’t smoke, but he liked keeping a lighter on hand for emergencies. And why carry around a common plastic BIC when he could spend over a hundred dollars on something he only used once or twice a year? But that was the man Crowley was.

Frivolous.

Over-the-top.

Who in their right mind chooses to make a living as an artist anyway? He didn’t even want to be a painter initially. But when his trust fund matured and he gained control of it, he realized that he had more than enough money to live the life of a rock star and never work a day in his life. On a whim, he began to dally with watercolors and voila! He unlocked a secret talent.

But he should have done something respectable - gone to law school, or medical school. If he’d done either of those, Aziraphale might still be alive.

He’d give it all away, call a complete do over on his life, to get Aziraphale back.

He flipped the lighter open and an orange flame sprang to life. Crowley tossed the lighter into the pile. The flame barely touched the heap before the whole thing went up in a blaze. Crowley stood back and watched it burn, watched the past three months of his life go up in smoke. The paint melted, the canvas crackled, sparks of color went flying into the sky.

“There, Aziraphale,” Crowley grumbled, his throat raw from screaming. “It’s done. All of it. No more muse … no more you … no more paintings. I’ve buried it all with you. I’m done!”

Weak, tired, and sick, Crowley drank the dregs of Aziraphale’s cognac while fire devoured his paintings … and the love of his life.

It seemed too much work to trudge back to the cottage and climb into bed, so he lay down on the hard-packed earth next to the destroyed canvases. They maintained a slow burn, the air around him reeking of chemical smoke. Crowley hoped it would seep into his sinuses and suffocate his brain. Or maybe an errant cinder would jump onto his alcohol-soaked clothes and he would burn to death in his sleep; a sudden temperature drop freeze him to the ground where he lay. Either way, without Aziraphale, his bed wasn’t his bed, his home wasn’t a home, and Crowley wished more than anything that he could find the quickest and most efficient way to die.

Crowley had prayed that he would black out, surrender to an unconsciousness where time passed outside of memory, but he had no such luck. Locked inside sleep, he had the same dream over and over - Aziraphale falling from the ladder and cracking his head on the wall. And no matter what Crowley did, no matter how fast he ran, no matter if he didn’t go into the cottage to answer the phone, Aziraphale still died.

That was an absolute. It never changed.

Which meant that doctor, lawyer, or artist, Aziraphale would still die.

Before dawn, Crowley had no idea when, he heard a rustle, followed by footfalls on the ground, and he wrestled through the fog in his brain to open his eyes. If he was about to be mauled by wild animals, he wanted to know. But what he saw was a man – a beautiful man - approaching the charred pile, focused on it as if a sick, drunk, and urine-smelling Crowley wasn’t lying mere feet away. The man bent over the burnt canvases, a trembling hand pressed to his lips, and a gasp escaped his mouth.

Crowley had an overwhelming urge to reach out to the man, apologize for setting the paintings on fire, but why, he couldn’t explain. Crowley groaned, trying to form words with his sticky tongue. He rolled slightly, blinking to get a better look at his paintings’ solitary mourner, but when he opened his eyes, the man was gone, and Crowley fell asleep once again.

Crowley awoke after sunrise to the sound of laughter breaking through the haze of his fever-induced stupor. It was high-pitched, familiar. It sounded like heaven and home and the future Crowley had always dreamed of having, starting during those days when Aziraphale was completely clueless that Crowley had a crush on him. He could punch himself in the eye for the time he’d wasted not outright saying, “Aziraphale, I’m in love with you!”

Time he could use now.

Time he would never get back.

Back then, it took him longer than necessary to realize what he’d known from the beginning, from the first moment they met.

He wanted Aziraphale. Just Aziraphale.

Crowley peeled open his eyes and craned his head in search of the laughter, fixing his gaze on the cottage, and the patio he planned to tear out brick by brick by hand as soon as he was physically able. Somewhere in the midst of his pounding headache and the fog that refused to lift, he spotted piercing blue eyes – blue like the sky in summer – staring at him from behind a golden hibiscus. It was that exact spot Crowley had planned for his painting - the one he’d rushed home to start, of Aziraphale lounging on a chaise in front of the outdoor fireplace, the hibiscus behind him, its golden hue mimicking the highlights in his hair.

Crowley sat up too quickly to see who the eyes belonged to. His head swam, his stomach flipped, and before he knew it, he was on his hands and knees, vomiting over the ground. Crowley heaved until there was nothing left, eyes squeezed shut as his body wrung the past several hours’ worth of alcohol from him. As quickly as he could, he looked back at the cottage with watery eyes, but this time, he saw nothing. He dropped his head. It felt too heavy for his neck so he let it hang while he blinked what remained of his tears from his eyes. He caught a glimpse of his hands, filthy and paint-stained; the ruined cuffs of his suit reminding him that he still wore it. He pictured himself covered in dirt and vomit and knew that if Aziraphale could see him, he would be sorely disappointed.

Slowly, ever so slowly, with that thought lodged in his mind giving him an impetus to move, he crawled back to the cottage on his hands and knees. He felt lousy with fever, but his head began to clear. Small pebbles cut into the palms of his hands, but, unable to get to his feet, he continued to crawl, distracting himself by considering his options.

By the time he made it to the patio, his path seemed certain.

Crowley didn’t want to live, not without Aziraphale. His mind was made up.

He would settle his affairs.

He would finish his commissions, complete his obligations.

And when the cottage and his flat were put up on the market, and all was said and done, he would find the quickest, most foolproof way of being reunited with his husband again.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale

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dizzyizzyharper · 3 years

Text

Lore: Banished Birds from Paradise

There are plenty of entities that disagree with some of the Air Kingdom choices. Such as still calling them kingdoms despite them being rather peaceful democracies. One particular group in the southern hemisphere were particularly elitist about their heritage as air spirits. Commonly associated with the species resembling the Birds of Paradise: exotic and flamboyant harpies who believed they were the gift to the world. Perfect forms that needed no changing, men blessed to be the beauty of the world and the grace of the sun themselves.

Well misogyny and being so hetero-normal, not only transphobic, was already immediate grounds for banishment. All Air Kingdoms embrace the simplistic idea of the Winds of Change: the idea that the soul is ever changing and as such, the body and mind reflect that. Gendered society was, as far as Airkin were concerned, incredibly stupid and a human invention of oppression. The Paradise Harpies thought that was ‘too much of a Merkingdom’s view and it should be destroyed, or seen as sympathizing with them’. What was the final nail in the coffin, was their adamant stance on instigating combat again with the people of water, more commonly known as the Merkingdoms.

While the two had essentially been at a stalemate, or even a type of cold war, the Air Kingdoms had given up on fighting back against their aquatic counterparts. Locking themselves away into realms beyond to not let other entities become victims of a pointless conflict. These arrogant birds did not care about the truce grounds or any other monstrous or human life for that matter. Thus, they were banished from the skies to live on the ground they were keen to shed blood on.

To be banished is to be treated as a savage in mind. Airfolk can willingly live outside of the Kingdoms as an envoy, so that the realm may not remain ignorant. The banished kin decided to hold up in dense jungles, or damning forests. The ones that remained in the largest of jungle fauna indulged their terrible views, men breaking from women, and those who couldn’t find themselves in either category to suffer without a flock, or be adopted and moved into a new one.

Not all of the Paradise Harpies are insufferable bastards, but it’s difficult to find one that is. Ridiculous romantic rituals were invented as a proving ground for ‘not being an asshole’ to potential romantic partners, rather than a show of bravado and entitlement. Those who harass, insult and belittle are often vicious, law abandoning elites who would love nothing more than to remove what they believe to be tarnishes of beauty on their species, especially if they find one alone. These birds cannot handle being wrong, one-upped, defeated or undone, for it ruins their idea of perfection.

#Canon & Cadence;Lore #tw:homophobia #tw:transphobia #these guys are absolutely stains on the aviary race

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angryinternetduck · 4 years

Text

Sunflower, Volume One

Hello and welcome to the first part of the Sunflower Series! It’s about 3k words, and I can’t think of any warnings besides a bit of bad langauge. This is the first super long fic that I’ve ever posted, so I hope you like it :)

“Hey, Liv, it’s Harry. It’s, er… been a while, but you were bloody brilliant on the guitar in Arizona and… uh, well, I dunno, I’m putting together a band… If you’re not… busy, you can come and… I dunno… audition… I guess. Think about it. Call me back. Lots of love. Cheers, now.”

______________________________________________________________

She came in like a hurricane, clothes and little bits and bobs spilling out of bags and yellow sunglasses slipping off her nose. She was humming, whistling from a mile away, and Adam was already giving him a strange look before she even walked through the door.

“Harold!” she exclaimed upon her eventual entry.

“Hey, Livia,” Harry replied, laughing as she threw her arms around his neck in a hug. She smelled like peppermint and roses and pushed her sunglasses up through her hair when she pulled away.

“So, this is Olivia Robinson. Liv, this is the band. Adam, Sarah, and Charlotte.”

“Hi!” Olivia chirped, shaking each of their hands.

“Er… let’s get started then, shall we?” Harry said after she’d finished and gotten distracted with the row of guitars lined against the back wall. She looked up, her eyes bright with excitement, and asked, “May I?”

“‘S an audition, innit?” Harry laughed.

“Je-sus,” she breathed, picking one up and swinging the strap over her shoulder.

Harry stepped back a bit, leaning against a table in the back with the others. He leaned over to Charlotte as Olivia messed with the strap. “Be honest with me, yeah? Might be a bit biased with this one…”

Charlotte grinned. “We’ll try our best.”

They’d gone through quite a few guitarists, as they needed the perfect candidate and couldn’t seem to find them. Harry had explained the whole Olivia situation after they’d gotten desperate. He’d explained how they’d met when he’d been in the boy band, when they’d done a show in Arizona and she’d opened for them. He explained that they had hit it off and she’d given him her card and… well. Adam had shrugged, and Charlotte had shrugged, and Sarah had said, let’s give her a shot.

So here they were, listening to Olivia, who Harry hadn’t seen in about three years, crank out one of the sweetest riffs he’d ever heard. Here they were, listening to Olivia strum her way through the beginnings of Sweet Child o’ Mine.

“Jesus Christ,” Adam muttered.

Despite himself, Harry was surprised too. He didn’t remember her being this good.

“I love her,” Charlotte said.

“Give her that disaster thing,” Sarah murmured as Olivia finished up and looked over at them expectantly. Harry nodded, shuffling through his sheet music before finally finding the scrap of paper with his chicken-scratch ideas that Sarah seemed to like despite his thinking that it was nonsense.

Harry walked up to her, grinning, and handed the music to her. “I love it, Liv,” he said, and she beamed, and he said, “Try this, eh? It’s just the beginning, but, uh - yeah.” She nodded enthusiastically and set it down in front of her.

“Wow, neat handwriting, huh?” Olivia laughed as he walked away.

“Fuck off,” Harry replied with a smile.

She worked her way through the first couple of chords.

“I love it!” she called.

Sarah grinned. “I love her. She’s got my yes.”

“I second that notion,” Charlotte said.

“Agreed,” Adam said.

Harry laughed, running his hands through his hair as she came to the end.

And then she did come to the end, and he started walking over.

But… she kept going.

“I love it, I love it!” she yelled, looking down at her fingers as she continued with the song off the top of her head. Harry froze. “Jesus Christ,” he heard Adam mutter. “What is she, a bloody prodigy?”

She went on a few more seconds. Harry shook his head in wonder. Jesus.

And then, “Thoughts?” Olivia asked, clapping her hand against the guitar.

“Well, that wasn’t exactly part of my song, was it?”

“My ass, it wasn’t. The better part of it, if I do say so myself.”

“Well, you’re in.”

Olivia blinked. “That - that’s it?”

Harry laughed, throwing his hands up. “Fuck’s sake, Liv, you made up a song off the top of your bloody head. ‘Course you’re in.” Olivia grinned, squealing excitedly and throwing her arms around his neck again in a bit of an awkward hug, seeing as how she was still wearing the guitar.

Harry grinned.

This should be fun.

______________________________________________________________

Harry stared at the ceiling, watching the fan spin round and round and round and -

He rolled over. Stared at the wall.

It was the second week of their “retreat” in Jamaica. It was hot. Harry had never been so thankful for air-conditioners. The first week and a half had been fun. Not very productive, but fun. The food was heavenly. The beaches made it a literal paradise.

But Harry was getting antsy.

He sat up, looking around the small bedroom for a second before standing and walking to the door. He swung it open, looking left and right before deciding on left. There was a little porch out there, where -

Oh.

Where Olivia was sitting.

“Hullo,” Harry said.

His voice was a bit raspy.

She looked up. “Heya,” she said.

He sat down next to her on the wicker bench, and she blew a puff of smoke into the air.

“I’ve always wanted to be able to do one of those smoke rings,” she said. “Like Gandalf…”

Harry grinned. “Gandalf?”

“Yes, sir. Gandalf.” She smiled, lifting a cigar to her lips, and Harry scoffed. “You’re smoking a bloody cigar?” She shrugged. “Yeah.” Harry laughed. “I thought you were smoking a joint or some shit.”

She sighed. “I don’t need drugs to get high, Styles. It’s already a part of my personality. I’d be frickin’ insufferable if I was high. Can you imagine?” She didn’t let him answer, just held the cigar in front of his lips. “Try it.”

He just stared at her, and she laughed again, sitting up to nudge it against his lips. “Come on. You know you want to…” Harry sighed. Opened his lips, inhaled slowly. She raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

He exhaled. “Eh.”

“Eh?” she echoed incredulously.

She sighed. Settled back down, and he slipped an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey, Styles,” she said.

“Hm?”

“What’s this little band of yours called?”

Harry shrugged. “Haven’t thought ‘bout it.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, Liv,” Harry chuckled, slipping the cigar from her fingers.

“Ha! A little more than eh if you’re goin’ back for seconds, huh?”

“Oh, come off it.”

A pause.

“I’m thinking… the Antonio Goldfish.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Perfect,” he said. “Just perfect.”

She looked up. “You think so?”

“Absolutely.”

“What about… the Kiwis? Like that disaster of yours? Nice and simple.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Kiwis, eh?”

“Yeah! Like the little birds.”

“Not the fruit?”

She waved her hand around. Grabbed the cigar. “The fruit’s just an added bonus.” She exhaled. “Seriously, though. What’re you thinking? You musta thought about it a little.” Harry shrugged. “Not really, no.”

“The Salty Lemons,” she murmured around more smoke.

“The Crazy Camels.”

She giggled. “Wow, you’ve got the alliteration there, too…”

______________________________________________________________

Harry dumped a spoonful (or two) of sugar into a teacup and mixed it around.

“Why’s it called French Toast?” Olivia asked at the stove, prodding a piece in the pan.

“Well,” Adam said, “if I had to guess, I’d say it’s ‘cause the French made it up.”

“Do ya think the French just call it toast?”

Adam grinned. “Probably.”

Olivia frowned, flipping the bread over even though it wasn’t ready yet. “I wonder if they call hamburgers American Hamburgers or somethin’... What did us Americans come up with, anyway?”

Adam snickered and took a sip of tea. “Twinkies,” he said, “and fried food.”

“Didn’t even come up with fried food themselves,” Sarah replied.

Olivia frowned. “We’ve gotta have stuff. Maryland crab cakes? Lobster rolls?”

“Cornbread,” Charlotte chimed in. “And, uh - Cobb salad?”

“Oh, please,” Harry said. “Not real food.”

Olivia scoffed, flipping the bread over again. “You’re one to talk, Styles, all the way from, what - Manchester, England? Are you just saying it’s not real food ‘cause it’s not boiled?” Adam raised an eyebrow. “Better boiled than fried.”

Sarah grinned. “I think the conclusion here is that neither one of our countries has proper cuisine.” They all laughed, and Olivia nodded. “I’ll agree to that. Although - why don’t we attach the country to it? Unless it’s French? French toast, French fries, French -”

“Your toast is burning,” Charlotte told her, sliding past to get coffee.

Olivia gasped. Slid it onto a pan.

Harry rolled his eyes with a grin and took a piece of toast and drowned it in syrup.

______________________________________________________________

They went into town that day.

Olivia bought a pair of neon orange sunglasses.

“They’re awful, Liv,” Harry laughed as she proudly pranced out of the little shop.

“Not your best,” Charlotte agreed.

“I love them,” Olivia said.

“They’ve got character,” Adam said, and he nodded his approval.

“Yeah, they fit you,” Sarah said.

Olivia giggled, pushing them up and using them as a headband. “Why, thank you.”

Lunch was great. Some sort of chicken.

They made it back, relishing in the air-con, and Olivia knocked on his bedroom door at around four o’clock. She was carrying a guitar and a notebook. “Hello,” she said when he called her in. She tossed the notebook at him. “Read,” she ordered.

He looked at the scribbled notes. “Christ, woman,” he laughed. “Not so neat yourself, are you?” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Shut your trap and read it, Styles.” He tried, scanning the page quickly, but it was just notes. No lyrics.

“It’s chords, Liv.”

“No, no, there’s -” She pointed at a line.

He squinted. It was crammed in a corner.

Comfortable silence is so overrated

“That’s - that’s it?”

“Yeah.” She frowned. “I mean - I mean, no, but, like -”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, just play it, Liv.”

“Well, gee, since you asked so nicely.”

She grabbed the notebook back and started strumming, scatting here and there in an attempt at an imitation of drums. Harry liked it. It was catchy. Kinda slow, a little bit sad. He really liked it.

She stopped, looking up, and Harry hesitated, thinking.

She flushed red. Picked up the notebook. “You hate it,” she muttered. “Sorry. I - um.”

“No!” Harry exclaimed. “No, no, I like it!”

She shook her head. “Never mind,” she said.

And she walked out.

Jesus Christ, Harry thought, staring at the closed door. What did he do?

______________________________________________________________

Harry dug around in his bag, looking for a notebook.

Problem was, there were a lot of notebooks.

And most of them weren’t even all the way filled.

They were like, halfway done. Not even. 20% nonsense, 80% blank pages.

Which made it very difficult to find something specific.

“Find it yet?” Adam asked from the doorway.

“Nope.”

“Jesus,” he said, looking at the mess of notebooks on the floor. “How many do you have?” Harry shrugged. “I buy every notebook I like.” He looked up. Grinned. “I like a lot of notebooks.”

“Yeah, I see that much.”

Harry shuffled through a few more.

Where was the bloody thing?

“Hurry up, mate!” Adam exclaimed, rifling through with his foot. “I’m bored as all hell. C’mon.” Harry frowned, looking at one that had surfaced, and flipped through it. Last page, a few scribbled lines…

Ah, there it was.

It was almost done.

Carolina.

______________________________________________________________

Harry played through what he had, picking through the notes a bit choppily.

“I like it,” Charlotte said when he’d finished.

“It’s bouncy,” Olivia said, smiling a bit. She picked up her guitar. It was yellow. It had a little sunflower in the corner. She started playing what he’d played. Harry blinked; he hadn’t even shown her the notes yet. But she went on nonetheless, Charlotte following her lead, and Sarah started tapping along on the table. Adam grabbed his own guitar and stole the notebook to start plucking out the notes.

Harry stood up. Walked around. Snapped his fingers.

“She’s got a family in Carolina…”

______________________________________________________________

Woke up alone in my bedroom…

Talked to -

Harry snapped awake.

Gotcha.

He stood up, halfway to the door before he realized that that was nothing.

It didn’t even go along with the rhythm all that well.

He groaned, running his hands through his hair.

It wasn’t enough.

He sighed, and then walked out the door.

She was sitting on the porch again.

Smoking a cigar.

Again.

“Do you ever sleep?” Harry asked.

“I try not to,” she replied. “It’s unproductive.”

“It’s also necessary.”

“Necessary is subjective.”

He sat down next to her. Slipped the cigar from her fingers. Inhale… exhale.

“Tastes different.”

She grinned. “It’s chocolate.”

“Got that much.”

A pause. She took back the cigar. “I love chocolate.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“I had a friend in high school. Said it was ‘too sweet’ or some shit. Frickin’ ridiculous.”

Harry smiled. “Too sweet? Bloody hell.”

Another pause.

“I got another line.”

She frowned. Looked up. Her eyes were hazel-y. Blue-ish, tinted green and brown.

“What?” she said.

“Woke up alone in my be-edroom,” Harry sang. “Talked to… nobody…” He faded off.

A pause.

“Where were you,” Olivia finished for him. Then she sighed, settling back down. “I thought you hated that. I was just messing around.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I never said that, Liv. You’re just -”

“Yeah, well, it was pretty obvious,” she interrupted.

“Liv, I said nothing.”

She waved the cigar around. “Oh, it was what you didn’t say.”

“Bloody hell, I hesitated. If you’d have given me another minute -”

“Don’t lie, Styles.”

“Christ, what is wrong with you?” Harry blurted.

She flinched.

Shit.

“Jesus,” she muttered. “Sorry.”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I meant I - I - I liked the song, Liv. If you’d just listen.”

“Right.”

Harry sighed. Stole the cigar back. Chocolate was bloody wonderful.

______________________________________________________________

A week later.

They were eating breakfast. Leftovers from dinner the day before.

Harry was eating some sort of oxtail stew. It was amazing.

“I have a question,” Olivia announced.

They all looked up.

“Shoot,” Charlotte said.

“What’re we called?”

“Humans,” Adam said.

Olivia grinned. “Really, that’s questionable,” she said, and shook her head. “But - no, I meant - I mean, like, this band, or whatever.” Sarah shrugged, glancing around at them. “I dunno. We haven’t talked about it, have we?”

Charlotte shook her head. “Nope.” She looked at Olivia. “What were you thinking?”

“I dunno. Just wondering.”

“Something alliterative,” Harry said, stirring his stew around.

“Something to do with food,” Olivia said.

“Kiwis,” Harry mused.

“Kiwis,” Sarah echoed, and Harry looked up. She was smiling. “I like that. Like your little disaster, eh?” Harry shook his head. “Oh, I was jo - it was Olivia’s -” But Olivia cut him off, grinning. “The Kiwis,” she said. “I love it.”

“I dunno,” Adam said. “I like the stuff with all of our initials, you know? Like…” He looked around the table. “H, S, C, O… A…” Olivia’s nose wrinkled. “That’s so much work.” Adam shook his head. “No, no, it’s like… I dunno, Oscha? Or, like, Schoa? You know? Or - Oshac?”

Harry frowned. “OSHAC. Isn’t that - the American thing?”

Olivia raised an eyebrow. And then laughed. “Oh, yeah - the Occupational Safety and Health American Council.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “Ah, yes, perfect.” Charlotte bit her lip, looking thoughtful. “That’s a good idea, though… Hasco? Ascho?” She grinned. “Achoo?”

Adam looked a bit sheepish. “Yeah. Maybe not, then.” ______________________________________________________________

tell me: 1. if I’m not as clever as I think I am and you already figured out what the band’s name is gonna be with Olivia 2. how mad you are that I was so rude to mitch lol 3. if you’ve ever heard of OSHAC or! tell me anything!!!! feedback is always much appreciated :)

if you like what you see, you can find the Sunflower Series’s masterlist here, Fine Line: Side A’s masterlist here, and my complete masterlist here!

part two

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #sunflower vol. 6 #sunflower #1dff #harry au #harry styles fic #harry styles story #1dff harry #harry styles long #one direction fic #one direction fanfic

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wolf-in-a-suit · 6 years

Text

Employee of the month

Movie:Star Wars

Summary: Somehow you had found your way, however unwillingly, on Starkiller base. Barely recovered from this unforgivable disruption of your life General Hux starts taking notice of your defiant actions against fellow colleagues and a certain black clad Sith: That’s gonna be fun!

Starkiller base, the pride of the whole first order. Here you only found the best, of the best in their respected fields. Technicians who fixed any arising problem as soon as they laid hands on their ‘most holy tools’. Stormtroopers decorated for their services, and in peak physical condition. What you usually didn't expect to find was:

Boredom. Utter, crippling boredom. You were transferred here against your will to your utmost horror -your former superior, bearer of the bad news, probably still hadn’t regained all of his hearing. Though, it wasn’t the boredom in your job as a radar technician that was the cause of your anxiety - you were used to your job not posing a challenge: but the people. Three thousand four-hundred six to be exact. Just thinking about the astronomic number caused your stomach to plunge way down onto the perfectly cleaned floor, the maintenance team was the best of the galaxy as well. At your old station you had to fight awkward conversations and sleepless nights just dealing with one hundred colleagues. This, was the stuff of nightmares.

The weeks passed with moderate embarrassment and you soon found the merits of inhabiting such a big chunk of metal, floating in the vacuum of space. No one cared about you just stealing away from conversations and never leaving your station, except for an absolute necessary repair job. Until of course, someone noticed and your perfect constructed monotony was violently interrupted.

The humming of the instruments in the dimmed lights, the sole indication that it was nightshift, soothed your usually racked nerves. Nightshift was great because it only required one technician on duty, you were only too eager to take the shift from your complaining coworkers. All was as it was supposed to be: You, your instruments, and a hot cup of coffee in your hands. Paradise - however short lived. The marching of boots echoed down the hall outside your cozy station. Nothing unusual, yet like always your gut clenched and your head seemed to have a hitch in your record collection: 'Not here, not here. Not here!' The urgent footsteps passed and dropped in volume, you released your breath.

Suddenly, the echo came to a violent halt and after a second the the marching was back and gained in volume. You groaned inwardly while trying to set your face into ‘human interaction mode’, which consisted of a somewhat I'm-not-quite-sure-if-a-smile-is-appropriate expression. If you ever managed to force a facsimile of a smile on your face, it was certainly gone when General Hux entered the room. Clad all in black, from feet to collar, his red hair posed a stark contrast to his white face: Dressed for business. Though, not very tall he always radiated and inspired a fear in his subordinates.

Gathering your, rather small composure to begin with, you tried to stand at attention. The hand was supposed to go to the side, no that wasn’t right... like this, still not right... how did the Troopers make this seem so natural?

Hux witnessing your pathetic struggle didn't need to comment, his face first annoyed morphed into wonder at the complete lack of any form for elegance.

Finally you settled into an awkward position between a formal greeting and a child trying to copy a soldier, he took a deep breath stifling his annoyance: "You are hereby required to participate in the COFO program."

Silence. Both of you mustering the other. Oh, this is where you were supposed to acknowledge the demand, right? Unsettled by your silent stare, the General began to speak: "Did you-", right when you blurted out: "COFO program?" Once again there was a stalemate, Hux mustering you, trying to decide if you were making fun of him. 'Not good!' Just one way to turn this ship around, however, daring it may be! "Sir." you added lamely. At this the General seemed to set your tribunal on hold, no person would degrade themselves like this, in order to joke around.

"Cooperation of fellow officers, while your outstanding work has been noted-" here he looked very doubtful, certainly due to the great first impression you just made "your superiors have informed me that you tend to seclude yourself. This is unacceptable! In order to function on full capacity, interaction is required." At the word interaction you gulped audibly. "The program was created to foster this type of skill. Tuesday, 0800 room 394, do not be late!"

He turned, his coat giving an elegant furnish, and left you in the crumbling remains of your former little world.

If General Hux had been aware of what he just set in motion, he would gladly offered you a post on starbase 42, the most secluded base of the whole quadrant.

The first impression you formed about the COFO wasn't necessary a good one. At 0800 sharp, all the social delinquents had gathered in a too white room - the First Order’s understanding of a welcoming and warm color. Then the pairing began and your sweat glands took this as an invitation to go into overdrive. Finally, you stood face to face with your interaction partner: Gary a bored looking Stormtrooper, sporting slightly red eyes. "N...nice to ...meet you?" But the grimace, stretching uncontrollably on your face, spoke clearer words: 'Having an intestinal parasite would be better than this!'

Gary, just shrugged his shoulders. "Guess we're stuck with each other."

The days passed, and somehow you made it through a whole week of the program, with minimal awkwardness. Quite a feat! By now, you were sure, that if someone was to search for the definition of 'laidback' in the dictionary a picture of Gary, slouching somewhere, was included. Strengthened by not being swallowed by the earth yet, you felt brave enough to face the cafeteria at gamma shift tonight. Standing in line, musing what you should take: The gray puddle with pieces in it, or the brownish-reddish meat, at least you hoped that’s what it was supposed to be? Apparently the ‘best of the best’ motto didn’t include the kitchen personnel. The chain of your thoughts was broken by men’s laughter. "Come on Gary, what’s your hippy ass saying over the next mission?" Craning your neck, Gary and his tormentors fell into your line of vision. Never had you seen the man this uncomfortable, but the other Stormtroopers just grinned even wider enjoying this immensely.

"Come on guys, knock it off." Gary berated himself for choosing exactly this time to grab a late dinner. In the corner of his eye he saw movement, the flash of a data pad and... darkness engulfed the whole cantina. The few tired persons present started murmuring and shouting. Gary almost cried out when in the pitch black, a hand found his and started to drag him off, to an unknown destination, but something about the clunky ungraceful movements put him at ease. 'Just roll with it.'

When he and his mysterious savior- or possible serial killer- burst into the light of the corridor he finally saw the woman from the program. After a few more turns they came to a stop and she slowly turned around. She dropped his hand shocked, as if an evil spirit just had just been exorcised from her body and she just became aware of her actions. With her change in demeanor the old awkwardness bleed back into her moves and once again, each shift of arms made them look too long for her frame.

Her head turned down, eyes squinting over every perfectly boned floor tile, she mumbled: "S...sorry?"

"Dude!" She flinched at the too loud and enthusiastic voice. "What you're sayin' sorry for? That was awesome!" He never knew that eyes could get that big, but here they were: Looking at him in a wonder that somehow made his insides turn, too fragile. Add a bulky Stormtrooper with a loose mouth like him and it simply spelled disaster. He shrugged 'Since when did I ever give a shit about something like that?'

In that very moment, in a somewhat dimly lit corner of Starkiller base a Stormtrooper and Radar technician formed an unholy bond that would let chaos and mayhem rain down upon their enemies.

"And then Ren just started screaming at us and trashing the whole room! Guess who the lucky fella on cleaning duty is." Gary's arms, still in uniform, surged through the air. He was an exotic bird visiting the mundane planes of existence: Namely the gray walled radar technicians work station- much to the annoyance of Matt, your coworker. He currently was shooting glares like laser beams at the interruption of his most holy and cherished routine. When the object of his continued affectionate thoughts didn't melt into a puddle under his scrutiny, he huffed and stalked out of the room. Leaving Gary and you alone, not even taking notice of his departure. Ideas shifted in your head, turning, grinding against each other and finally: Clack, something stuck!

When you looked at your friend a new gleam ignited in your eyes, pregnant with the promise of danger, but also excitement. "So let's pay him back." Your voice was bar any stutter or insecurity. Gary felt a cold shiver running down his spine, he wasn't quite sure if he liked the change.

General Hux strode through the polished corridors, personnel squirting around him and parting to let him pass. A sharp turn right and he reached the cantina, bend on getting his exact one o'clock lunch. When his eyes caught sight of dark billowing robes, it took all his discipline not to groan in a- very much warranted- but undignified manner. Kylo Ren! Twenty-four hours in a day, and the insufferable man just had to pick this exact time to get his coffee.

Gracing the Sith with an aggressive ruck of his head, just barley balancing the rope of civility, the General strode to the counter. He stopped and turned however, when a storm of cursing accompanied by the sound of liquid spraying out onto the floor reached his ears. The powerful Kylo Ren, Sith, leader of the knights of Ren, and protégé of Snoke himself was helplessly trying shield himself against the dark spray of coffee erupting from the machine. When he finally managed to vacate the area of danger, slipping more than walking on the steaming liquid on the floor. Hux was sure the sight before him was a gift delivered by whatever force resided in the universe. The dark knight was seething, black hair plastered to his red face and robes dripping.

The cantina was very still, no one dared to ridicule the man any further for fear of being cut down. Hux however had no qualms of walking up to his 'partner', mustering his drenched form slowly. His face perfectly straight, only the rising eyebrow indication of his thoughts. "Do try to keep the floor clean, Ren." Then he turned and exited, the loss of lunch not bugging him in the least.

For the rest of the day General Hux's staff was constantly on edge- Hux in a good mood? It had to be a trick, or drill! At first the General had simply thought himself lucky, in having witnessed the total mortification on Kylo Ren that afternoon, but when reports of a group of Stormtroopers running around in their underwear, due to a malfunctioning capacitor in the locker system his suspicion started to rise.

The monitor before him spluttered out all data of the last month, and his sharp eyes narrowed. That's what he thought! This particular band of Troopers had been victim to quite a few of these irregularities occurring on base. First, their entrance codes stopped working, leaving them to spend half of the night in front of the barracks, then their new arriving uniforms were several sizes too small, followed now by this ridiculous display of running around almost naked. A disgrace! He wouldn't stand for the First Order being the point of jokes due to these misfits! 'Time to visit the troops.' With that last thought the ginger wrath of the Order descended on the unfortunate souls.

Just a few more steps! You sat by the ledge of the upper section of the training room, hidden by a crate and fixing your next victims with a killer stare. Captain Phasma and Kylo Ren strode down the aisle, with the constant air of an imposing couple of regents. However, they were unaware that they were just three steps between them and their new makeover. “Get down on the floor and show me some real pushups!” Phasma raged, her silver armor making her easy spotable against the backdrop of oppressive black walls. Ren followed suite: “What is this embarrassing display of drills supposed to be!? The rebels won’t be impressed by this!” His mask while obscuring a most certainly murderous expression did little to ease the sting, so the two Troopers in question hastily altered their movements.

The prepared maintenance droid - ‘of doom’ as Gary helpfully added, each time the two of you spoke about the mission in hushed whispers – slowly rolled down the room toward the, self-proclaimed, pair of drill sergeants. “That has to be much faster, if-” Kylo stopped mid yell, when he felt a sudden nudge on his leg. Starring down he was greeted by a small maintenance droid rolling again, and again against his leg, the big lense occupying the front, making it look almost like a loyal, innocent - but somewhat retarded puppy.

“Shush!” Captain Phasma turned around and was astonished by the scene unfolding before her: Kylo Ren, was trying to get the the small machine away from himself, but somehow the little guy managed to evade all of his kicks. Sighing she strode over, bend on grabbing the thing and chucking it down the trash compactor. This certainly wasn’t very beneficial for their image. A strong hierarchy was founded on discipline, and discipline was only gained by respecting as well as fearing your superiors. Which was arguably hard at the moment, Phasma had to admit, when Ren grabbed his lightsaber and ignited it, the angry hiss of plasma filling the room.

General Hux choose this exact moment to stride into the room. The scene before him couldn’t have been a more unfitting display for commanding officers: His Capitan crouched down, in order to make a grab for a small droid at the feet of Kylo Ren. Meanwhile, the Sith was raising his red lightsaber threatening over his head, ready to strike down the malfunctioning disturbance. Hux lips thinned to a small line, annoyance along with a headache rising in him. Just when he was about to gift his ‘colleagues’ with scathing remarks:

Boom! The middle of the room erupted in a cloud of pink dust and glitter. The remains of the machine squirting to a halt directly before the General’s feet. The following silence was far too loud. The last part of golden glitter glided to the ground, giving a free view on a, now, very pink robed and armored Captain and Sith. “Who was THIS!?” The golden pieces of paper floating down Ren’s shoulders did little to accent his intimidating roar. He turned, robes billowing and emitting a new pink gust, the hand gripping his lightsaber with even more force now. Hux had to commend the Troops for their stoic expressions, stifling every snicker, for it would most certainly be their last.

In the corner of his vision the General caught sight of a face on the landing above, quickly vanishing behind a stack of crates. ‘Found you!’

Clack, clack. Your hurried footsteps leading you to the security of your station resonated in a scarry manner from the halls. This was bad! You were so screwed! But once the initial burst of panic had passed, you realized something: ‘Why do I even care? From the very start I wanted to find a way out of this garbage station?’ This was your ticket to freedom! A sweet way into the secluded confines of Station 42. Granted, you had to avoid being disciplined by Phasma - and being killed by Ren, but once Hux found you, you were certain, the only thing to expect was a degradation and being thrown off the base. Your goal from the moment you said foot on this godforsaken piece of space litter.

Still you couldn’t fight the flinch when the General sporting his most terrifying expression, reserved only for the most serious of transgression, strode into the radar technician’s office. He didn’t stop at an arm’s length though, and kept invading your privet space, coming to a standstill just directly before your face. In this moment you could have sworn, that he could melt steel with the intensity of that glare. His voice however was even and quiet, which made it all the more terrifying: “So, we have a joker amongst our crew, have we?” You choose the only reasonable position someone was allowed to take if they weren’t sorry at all: Eyes cast down, regarding your feet and mumbling a not so heartfelt “I am very sorry, sir.”

Couldn’t he back off a little? You felt the heat radiating from him, but did not dare to move even an inch. “Sorry, doesn’t cut it for humiliating your superiors! In one case more than once!” You flinched again. “So the appropiate punishment is…” At this you looked up a hopeful gleam in your eyes, which was however, short lived once you caught sight of his cold, blue stare and the knowing smile creeping on his face. “… a transfer to…” ‘Yes, say it! Station 42!’ “… my personal staff!”

‘Wait… what?!” There was no need to pose a question, your flaggerbasted expression, complete with a slack jaw did the job for you. The grin on the ginger man’s face had an almost feral quality to it. “You don’t think I am going to accommodate your wish to get transferred from this base, now, do you?! Also, there is no way I am going to leave…” here he leaned in even further, your noses almost touching and whispered: “… such talent go to waste!” As fast as he had entered he turned on his heels and strode out. His farewell tinted with a somewhat dark humorous manner, made your skin crawl: “Monday, 0800, my office. You should start to make yourself comfortable… in your new home.”

#star wars imagine #general hux x reader #general hux imagine #kylo ren imagine #captain phasma imagine #gary the stormtrooper #matt the radar technician #kylo ren #captain phasma

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