#Which means it's only taken me nearly 2 years to get around to sorting and labelling them all properly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

catboii · 2 years ago

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(( hi to anyone who forgot they were following this DEADass blog!!

I've obviously not been on here, or on any RP blog at all, in forever. I'm gonna put this weird update(? more like a note to myself) under a cut, in case it gets kinda long... I might add updates to it later because there's alot I want to say. but I doubt anyone who would've been interested back when I was active, is still around (not to be negative! I don't expect them to be, I hope everyone I hung out with is living their best life!!) but I don't really know where else to collect my mess of thoughts on this character (I only sort of use twitter atm? and char limit lol), so for now, I'll post it here, and if I ever wanna link back to it, it's all neat and together...

if you've forgotten what this blog used to be since I changed URL and icons etc the last couple times it was active, it was Catboii, then before that SolicitorC. I have no idea if this character is actually dead, or if it is still out there somewhere, living it's best life (hopefully) maybe one day I'll tie up the loose ends, and finally set it free.... who knows

the reason I'm here, thinking about this character so fondly again, is I've actually been tentatively thinking about. writing things. again. I've been reading Homestuck fanfics again recently (i know right? in 2023?? what the shit) I doubt anyone who followed me on this blog knew me back on my other RP blogs, where I occasionally mentioned my fanfics (from 10 years ago aparently, mostly 2013 wow)..... most of which I'm embaressed about today so some I've orphaned, but the experience and practice was good in the long run

but the point is I've been thinking about writing something in my spare time (which I don't have much of, and I have multiple mental things that mean I have to re-read and correct and rearrange things I write like a million times. so far I've taken nearly 2 hours <now nearly 4 including eating and moving from upstairs to downstairs back upstairs...> to write and re-read this post, and I'm nowhere near done yet.... I'm gonna try to not be so anal about how this lays out because I've moved some paragraphs around and it sometimes doesn't make sense, but it literally doesn't matter! this is mostly just so I can look back on it in the future and be like, "oh yeah, I did that...")

I was thinking about trying to write some original fiction about one particular set of fantasy characters I have, and I like to remember the inspiration for their origins, so here we are.....

people who actually know me know I'm a HUGE slut for recycling characters. I have OCs who've been in literal hundreds of AUs, with either the same characters as always, or some different ones. and alot of my OCs, surprise surprise, started off as Tumblr RP muses.

I actually have a new version of this character, completely off tumblr or any other platform as of yet. although now he's completely diverged and I've created an entirely new timeline, new history, some actual lore of where he's come from and WHAT HE IS (finally) and how some of my other characters fit into the "universe". and I'll be honest, I did take some inspiration from some chatacters we met along the way. they have different names, I've changed their personalities somewhat, some are just loosely based off of the "concept" of a character we met, or the kind of relationship or interactions they had with my/other characters around,,, and they may not fit together with each other in this universe the way they did on Tumblr because they're not them, but the inspiration that I got from the interactions our characters had, had a big impact on the way this character has evetually turned out. I have BPD and "favourite people" reaches to more than just actual real life people for me, it reaches to characters, and I did have some "favourite muses" that really stuck with me, even if my muse wasn't a fan or they didn't really interact. there were also characters that my muse was really into, that I personally wasn't a fan of, but still mean alot to me and our progression

I obviously don't wanna just straight up plagierise someone else's character, and that wouldn't make sense anyway.... I can't copy someone else's character, and even if I COULD, they were probably fandom muses, which wouldn't work here in our new world. I can make up new characters, self indulge for the purposes of progressing my other character's stories... but that feels empty and pointless. these characters STILL hold a special place in my heart? and so some kind of weird tribute, without actually telling the person who made them, just makes sense to me I guess.... I wasn't gonna out mysef like this tbh, because to some people it might sound bad, I have alot of other characters who I've basically done the same thing with, took some loose inspiration from some OCs/fandom muses someone else made, and put some bits and pieces of them together in a completely different character of my own. I have a couple who are still mildly reminiscent of the originals, or are a very close paralell (with my own quirks), which I actually did get permission from the original creators to use and change... sometimes I think about actual TV or book characters who these smaller characters remind me of, and other RP blog characters or OCs, put bits of these characters together, then pick them apart, thinking about how they grew up, their family, friends, how that would've formed them as a person... frankensteining them together into some kind of guilt-free brain baby. this is essentially how you make characters, right? they're even initially inspired by real people, or real people's traits or personalities... then you squish them up and mould them into something else? it's not like I'm profiting off someone else's hard work and creativity... idk I don't really know how I feel about it.

for me, making characters is more than just "welp I need someone to be this guy's friend for a few chapters", they're a big part of the story, each one of my characters need to have some kind of background. even if that background is that we don't know anything about them for whatever reason.

anyway... back to the point I was getting to.

Tii, or Kiity, started off as... sort of a weird social experiment (at least that's what I'm calling it as a joke) on how out of character I can make a "normal" homestuck AU character, and not feel even the slightest bit bad about it. until I did.

the full timeline from when I was actually active is here but if you're not into long rambling explanations, here's, something..... (spoiler this turned into way longer than the timeline page, but this one has actual me in it, and my thoughts, rather than a sorta,,, emotionless list) if you DON'T wanna read the full timeline, but would like to read about my NEW character, I'll put this between these squigglies, and you can just skip it

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

homestuck stuff (so if you don't get HS then I'm sorry!): he started as just a normal post-game Sollux but he was god tier, didn't remember anything from the game or where his friends were, but couldn't die! fun! while he'd had the blog he got one of those pesky magin anons which turned him into a literal catboy, which he was actually really into bc people gave him alot of attention, so we made it permanent, there was some stuff with an Alternian uprising, human troll experimentation, he had his own lab, did experiments with parasites, especially brain worm type deals, I think this Sollux (I've had a few) didn't have Psionics? bc I'm a sucker for broken bois, it's been such a long time that I don't remember much myself. there was a phase with quadrant prostitution, hence the blog title "Solicitor". the first URL is where the nickname Lit came from. totally accidental but "it's Lit" was a great tag line. there was alot of memory loss in here, a universe's Signless manipulating Lit's memories to his own advantage... I have a terrible memory myself, and forgetting important things is a big fear of mine, so I thought I'd vent it out as a plot point, again, fun! it was also a handy plot ploint to let Lit forget muses who went inactive, rather than waiting around for them to return (since he was clingy but I'm realistic and have no problem if someone has a real life)

no more homestuck: there's a climax point where Lit was manipulated by a demonic creature called Kreed, which mostly happened off-blog. partially because I was too cringe thinking "lol demons" to actually go very far with it publicly. but in the end it worked out in my favour, because the story was getting REALLY DEPRESSING, and it was sorta going stale... this is where I dropped fandom and made Tii an OC, I was sort of feeling weird about the whole fandom thing since the character didn't feel like the actual canon character at all, with the memory loss and the manipulation. it was totally in character and it was story/character progression, but it didn't feel right calling it Sollux anymore, and honestly it was a little restricting.... it wasn't out of place though, because other people were making their fandom characters OCs around this time, rather than just starting up a whole new blog for the OC, having to get followers/interaction from scratch... you know, the grind.

there was a while at this point where Tii thought it was happy? but honestly no, it wasn't, and it was dragging me down a bit, which is why I kept dipping out, and I made a couple of ther blogs around this point. in general the blog experience was good, most of the interactions were great, but I'd put too much,,,,, brain? into emotions and the afterthoughts. I got too in my head, and in Tii's head, about the past. there were toxic muses that Tii dwelled on, and even if I tried to erase the memories, they would still pop up on it's dash and it would start a spiral, there would be posts on the vent blog regarding these people and Tii would be like "WHO DIS??" which was partially funny, but in the end exhausting.... it turned out, what I was *hoping* would be a superpower (forgetting traumatic events) turned out to be Tii's downfall.... I decided to go no-contact with my own character at some point. mostly I was just genuinely too busy, but I started to pop back on every now and again on mobile to see how things were going, say hi to a couple people, but eventually it would all start spiralling again, and it just wasn't enjoyable. I tried making another blog for an OC, which I don't think I even finished setting up before I decided I just didn't have the time or energy to start up.... but that's not Tii stuff, so nevermind that

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

today, Furui is a Nekomata (with some shapeshifting abilities), in a world where maybe 2% of the population is some kind of fantasy creature, living in hiding. most can blend in with general society, so humans think it's WAY less than that, although they know they're around...

I have a few "main characters", including Keisuke, who was a boy who grew up at the family temple/shrine (I'm not too familiar with Japanese culture, and I'm not about to pretend I am, so I forget which it is) where Furui lived back when he was an actual, literal cat. he frequented the site, even though his family told him not to go alone as the ghost of a black cat haunted it. it was actually just a Yokai. so much better... the Yokai grew quite fond of Keisuke, and hung around him, let him put a handmade collar on him so he could hear the tinkling bell when he was around. although Keisuke moved abroad to study when he was older, and when he returned after several years, the cat was gone. at some point, Furui, not understanding human language, so thinking Keisuke had just forgetten about him (even though he did try multiple times to say he was leaving,,, )and other humans pestering him and trying to chase him out, had gotten fed up, and turned into a malevolent spirit, burning down the temple/shrine, and killing several humans who'd tried to harm him

on a lighter note, fast farward a couple years, there's some goofy intro where Keisuke meets Furui in a human form, but he's an absolutely terrible human impersonator. they somehow end up being buddies and Keisuke teaches him how to person etc etc story things.

there are other main characters like Lyric the sweet but secretly manipulative Siren, or "Lyra" to humans. then there's Denali the reluctant Werewolf who I've actually toyed with being the protagonist. they have a complicated relationship where Lyric doesn't want Denali to be so self destructive (drinking and sleeping around), and doesnt actually know that he's a literal werewolf. because he won't tell her. he's worried she'll absolutely freak out about him getting hurt or hurting people... what he doesn't realise is she's just using him and has got him wrapped around her little finger, because she thinks he's just another stupid human. he, of course knows she's NOT a human, but think he's special, and she would NEVER use her powers on him.

Furui and Keisuke move abroad to [wherever I decide this takes place] where Lyric, Denali, and a bunch of other characters live. Furui quickly befriends Lyric because he can smell non-humans, being a cat and all, meets Denali and finds out he hasn't told Lyric his secret, so (as he's not a human, so doesn't have human values of trust and camaraderie, and is... not a nice person in general) threatens to out him if he doesn't play along with his games.. those games, being he's been the dark creature slowly picking off the werewolf packs roaming the streets killing people. one of those packs, being Denali's own. Furui takes great pleasure in making the guy choose between his relationship with Lyric, who he thinks he feels more than just platonically for, or his pack. this of course has alot of ways it could go, and I haven't fully decided.... but it's fun to theorise.

originally, Furui had a huge crush on Denali (which was gonna end in some kinda violent throwndown between him and Lyric), because in my mind he started out as this huge confident wolf boy, and who doesn't wanna fuck a werewolf, but as time's been going, he's been showing his vulnerabilities, and Furui will absolutely not be into anyone who is scared of anything, especially if it's not tangible... he's a ilteral spirit, he can't die or be killed. he toys with death on the daily, and I have a couple of quick little drabble scenes written up already (to get it out of my system) of him being absolutely annihilated, only to grotesquely and noisily pull his dislocated/broken limbs back into their sockets, and raise up from the ground gushing blood and bits of his insides all over the pavement.... you can't be second guessing your words in case you hurt someone's feelings around someone like that, if you want them to respect your physical prowess. on one hand, I like big confident scary Denali, but I also like confidence being a front, and secretly vulnerable doggo boi. it's a hard life.

anyway I'm just ranting now, and it's been.... like literally over 5 hours. I started writing this at half 4ish? and it's 10pm now. I feel better though, like I got something out of my system, and I got some of my story thoughts down, instead of just letting them swim around in my head then be forgotten.

if anyone did read all this for whatever reason, then I hope you have a great day, and thankyou for sharing this with me ...

#ooc.#i forgot tags lol what is tumblr.

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sunder-soul · 4 years ago

Note

love your last story!! please can you try one where they have a fwb relationship but the reader wants more but Tom doesn’t so she tries to date someone else and Tom is jealous so he has to prove that he has real feelings for her

OMG SO. I got… EXTREMELY carried away with this aaaaand it sort of became a miniseries. I’ll be posting it in a few parts over the next day or so 😉 Thanks for this awesome prompt!!!

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The Last of Your Rules

Part 1 ★ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ☆ Part 4

Summary: Reader figures out a set of rules to survive navigating their FWB relationship with Tom Riddle, which goes great until he starts breaking them one by one. Wordcount: 2.7k Content warning: explicit sex, oral sex (female and male receiving), language.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

The voice makes you glance up from your Transfiguration essay to find Tom Riddle standing above your desk, exactly as tall, refined, and composed as ever. Next to you, Felicia and Opal descend into giggles.

“Yeah?” you ask, even though you know what’s coming next.

“Would you care to study tonight?” he says casually, not making any acknowledgement of the girls’ giggling. “I would very much like to see what you’ve made of Slughorn’s moonstone assignment.”

“Sure,” you smile, “I’ll see you later, then.”

Riddle nods politely and leaves, and your friends round on you at once.

“You’re so lucky,” Felicia whispers, “how in Merlin’s name did you get to be Tom Riddle’s study partner?”

You shrug and manage to keep the amusement off your face as you return to your work – there was absolutely no chance that Riddle wanted to study.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You only just close the door of the broom closet before his hands are already on you, wheeling you around and pushing you back against the wall. Riddle kisses you hard, his hands sliding down your body as you lace your arms up around his neck.

It had been like this for nearly a year now, beginning (like how most things were with Riddle) strangely and with very little explanation. You’d been working in the library late one night and had caught sight of Riddle still at his desk, too, and (being tired, stressed, desperate) had very spontaneously wandered over to ask him how he’d finished up the hellish Charms essay you’d been slaving over. He was the best student in your year, after all.

And later that very night (after entirely too many hours working on that damn essay) he’d just said it, so candidly, so without pretence that it was difficult not to respect him for it. It had surprised you, of course, Riddle had always struck you as far too uptight for anything like that – but you’d liked the honesty, the simplicity of his offer.

“Would you care to enter a mutually beneficial arrangement?” he’d asked smoothly, his quill scratching ceaselessly against his parchment.

“‘Mutually beneficial arrangement?’” you’d repeated, smiling in amusement. “What do you mean?”

“Sex,” he’d said calmly, looking at you.

You’d blinked, very taken aback. “You want to have sex?”

“Yes,” Riddle had said, tilting his head. “Don’t you?”

You’d looked at him a moment, trying to assess his intentions. “Are you going to tell everyone and ruin my life?” you’d asked dryly.

He’d laughed quietly. “No, I have very little interest in your life, let alone in ruining it.”

You’d quirked a brow, deeply amused at his candidness. “Noted. Why are you asking me?”

“I felt that you would understand what I’m offering,” Riddle had said, looking down at his essay, “you would understand that it’s nothing more. I haven’t had that assurance before now.”

“You barely know me at all, Riddle, how can you be so sure?” you’d snorted.

Riddle had glanced at you. “Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t. You’d thought about it for a moment, considering him too. It wasn’t like the offer wasn’t appealing.

“Alright.”

Riddle’s hands pull up your skirt, his fingers sliding into your underwear and then he’s touching you, slow and insistent, and you can’t stop your head falling back onto the wall as you bite your lip. Riddle leans in closer, watching you with interest. He likes to watch you – you think that it might be a power thing, that he likes seeing the effect he’s having on you. He likes watching you when you’re on your knees for him, too.

He’ll approach you once or twice a week, sometimes in person, mostly with notes, always under the polite pretence of study, and no one ever glances twice – Riddle is a prefect and a perfect student, every Professor loves him, and he’s the very epitome of responsibility. In fact, the only response you ever get about your ‘study sessions’ is (like Felicia and Opal) gushing over how lucky you are to have garnered the absolute privilege of catching Tom Riddle’s attention.

It’s sort of amusing to you how ridiculously popular he is, considering he never speaks to anyone and doesn’t seem to have any real friends. He’s popular the same way a movie star is popular; beautiful and distant, the perfect creature upon which everyone could build their ideal fantasy. No one seemed to notice that he’s strangely empty, like a shell.

You’re burning beneath his fingers in mere moments, gasping as the feeling swelled and swelled, and Riddle’s attentive gaze is fixed on you as it breaks over you like a wave and sends you into white oblivion. When you can finally open your eyes, Riddle is right above your lips, his dark eyes still heavy on your face – but he doesn’t kiss you. You don’t expect him to. It would be breaking one of his rules. Riddle has a lot of strange, silent rules, so much so that you’d made a mental list of them during those first few weeks and followed them ever since.

You drop to your knees before him and quickly undo his belt, pushing aside his trousers and leaning in to close your lips around him.

Rule One: kissing before and during sex was okay, but never afterwards.

Riddle’s fingers slide into your hair and you know without looking up that he’s watching you closely. He knows that you enjoy doing this.

Rule Two: Leave immediately afterwards, don’t linger

He rests a hand on the wall above you, and you look up at him as you twist your tongue around him, meeting his heavy, heated gaze and feeling his grip in your hair get tighter.

Rule Three: Never talk to him outside of your meetings.

You keep looking up at him as you hollow out your cheeks, holding back a gag as you press deeper, watching Riddle’s eyes flicker darkly.

Rule Four: He asks you to meet, and never the other way around.

When you smirk up at him, he exhales hard, his eyes finally falling shut, and a low, unimaginably arousing breath falls from his lips as he finishes, his fingers in your hair curling so tight that it hurts in the best possible way.

And then there’s Rule Five…

You stand, adjust your uniform, smooth down your hair, and pick up your bag. “See you in class,” you say, glancing at him.

Riddle nods wordlessly, turning and leaning back against the wall, still breathing slightly heavily. You open the door and slip out, trotting off towards your common room. You still have a Transfiguration essay to finish.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The next morning, a piece of parchment appeared on your Charms textbook. You pause for a second and then reach out to unfold it.

Riddle’s perfect handwriting is unmistakeable.

Tonight, after dinner.

You blink, surprised. Him asking to meet again so soon isn’t necessarily weird, but usually it took a few days before you heard from him again.

You look over your shoulder to find Riddle’s eyes on you, watching for your response, and you nod silently. He just returns his attention to his notes and keeps writing, expression unchanged.

That evening you arrive at the dungeon broom closet first and let your bag fall to the ground with a thump, waiting for him. It doesn’t take long.

The door swings open and slams shut again, and Riddle throws his bag to the side before taking your face in his hands and kissing you so hard that you’re pushed backwards. Your back hits the opposite wall and several brooms clatter to the floor as you bury your hands in his hair, his lips ferocious and his grip like iron.

He’s like this sometimes. Insatiable.

Riddle pulls back from the kiss and immediately lowers to his knees, his hands sliding up your legs as you try to keep breathing normally. His hand has trailed up behind one of your thigh and he lifts it effortlessly, rests it on his shoulder as he pushes your skirt up, his fingers tugging down your underwear, and then he’s leaning in and pressing his lips against you. You can’t hold back a gasp and you hear him breath a laugh at your reaction before his tongue traces out and the world starts spinning. He strokes at you again and again, hot and slow and wet, relentless, patient, impossibly soft despite his fingers gripping your thigh hard. Time dissolves and soon you’re dizzy and trying to remember how to breath, heat coiling in your stomach, your fingers curling into his dark hair as your eyes close –

Your breath catches hard in your throat as your entire body descends into pleasure, nothing keeping you grounded other than the waves of his hair twisted between your fingers and the distant pain of his grip into your thigh. It’s a long moment before you can open your eyes, chest heaving and sweat on your brow.

To your surprise, Riddle is still kneeling before you, and your heart skips a beat as you meet his eyes, burning with such an intensity that it makes you freeze. He doesn’t look away from you as he slowly lets your thigh slip from his shoulder, as he stands smoothly, looming over you again, close enough that you can see his pupils blown out with desire.

Unable to look away, you blindly reach for his belt, undo it quickly and tug him closer. Riddle lifts you quickly and pins you against the wall as your arms lace back around his neck and your legs wrap around his hips, your eyes fluttering as you feel him pressing against your core, the anticipation aching so hard that you can barely breathe, and in one, smooth moment Riddle slides into you, watching you closely again as your head falls back against the wall, another moan coming from your lips at the electric feeling exploded through you. Riddle immediately presses his lips against your exposed neck.

“God Riddle,” you choke out, eyes falling shut as he pulls back slightly and thrusts into you.

He breathes another laugh, pressing his teeth gently against your skin and making you squeeze your eyes together. He thrusts again, and again, and you quickly realise that you’ll be finishing twice because you can already feel it building low in your core. It’s right in front of you, each of Riddle’s thrusts inching you tantalisingly closer and closer, and you can barely think with how badly you want it, when finally the heat suddenly breaks over you again in a blinding wave and you hear Riddle let out a hard breath, his head falling onto your shoulder as it takes him, too.

For a moment you stay there, Riddle’s face buried in your neck, both of you panting slightly, sweaty and hazy. When your thoughts clear, you take one long breath to ground yourself and slide your arms down from around his neck, leaving only your hands on his shoulders. Riddle lifts his head and looks at you – but there’s something strange in his dark eyes.

“Are you alright?” you frown.

The look in his eyes vanishes at once and he nods, gently letting you down. You’re both ready to leave mere moments later.

“Oh – hey –” you say before he vanishes out the door.

He hesitates and glances at you, expression very reserved. “Yes?” he asks evenly.

“Do you have a good source for the differences between Transfiguring blood compared to other liquids?” you ask, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I can’t find one.”

Riddle’s gaze is measured and composed. “You should check Persimmons’ work,” he says smoothly, “Blood, Bone, and Body Transmutation.”

“Thanks,” you say sincerely, giving him a significant look, “I swear Dumbledore’s assignments are going to end me long before I even get to the exam…”

His lips quirk politely, and he leaves without another word.

Only once you’re alone do realise that you’d broken Rule Two. You’d not left immediately, you’d lingered, you’d even tried to talk to him.

Kicking yourself, you wonder if it’ll be another month before you hear from him again, just like every other time you’d broken a rule – that’s how you’d figured out all those bloody things in the first place, after all.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

To your utter amazement, another note appears on your desk in Potions the following afternoon.

Tonight, 7pm.

You stare at Riddle’s gorgeous script for a moment in shock, and then look over to where Riddle always sits. He’s watching. Of course he is.

You nod slowly, and this time when he looks back at his notes, you stare a moment longer, watching him write with that utterly composed expression and formal posture of his. Three times in three days? What on Earth is going on?

Presumably sensing your eyes on him, Riddle glances over at you again and you turn away quickly. He wouldn’t like you staring at him with other people around to notice.

At quarter to seven, you creep out of the common room and skip lightly down through the dungeon corridors to the broom closet where you Riddle always met. When you open the door Riddle reaches for you at once, his lips crashing into yours as he slams the door shut behind you. You’re surprised at his intensity after your misstep the previous day, but you’re hardly unwilling. He has you gasping his name in seconds, and you enthusiastically drop to your knees afterwards to return the favour.

When it’s over, something very, very strange happens.

You’re adjusting your skirt to leave when Riddle steps closer again, taking your chin in his long fingers and lifting your face slowly but forcefully. You look up at him in shock but he’s already pushing you back against the wall again, crowding in closer, his other hand sliding up your thigh in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“Riddle,” you breathe, bewildered. What in Merlin’s name happened to leaving immediately afterwards…?

He hums, his fingers pushing into your underwear as his head tilts, watching your expression shift with desire at his touch.

“What… are you…” you try to ask, but Riddle’s fingers are circling you, slowly, ceaselessly, achingly –

Riddle leans forward, his forehead resting on yours as you writhe beneath his touch, as heat starts building, as he doesn’t relent for even a second –

You finish hard, gasping against Riddle’s lips as your hands curl into fists of his robes, your back arching, his eyes burning on your face even as his expression remains perfectly composed.

You fall back against the wall, panting again, staring up at Riddle in surprise and confusion. His eyes are heavy and dark, and neither of you move an inch, the moment dragging on and on.

His lips are right there in front of yours.

You try to gage his expression, wondering if you’re imaging the tension between you, the way his eyes drop to your mouth. But no, you’re not imagining it, because impossibly, impossibly Riddle is leaning closer, his gaze even and unmoving as he closes the minute distance between you, and all you can think about is Rule One, no kissing afterwards, never afterwards –

Riddle’s lips meet yours so softly that warmth erupts on your cheeks, the softest he’s ever kissed you. Without even really thinking about it you’re kissing him back, tentatively, not really sure what’s happening but Riddle immediately steps in closer. His hands slide up your body as your arms wrap around his neck, and then he’s cupping your face in his hands, tilting your head to kiss you deeper as his body presses against yours, his lips wiping every thought from your mind.

His attentions are usually driven, purposeful, ravenous – but this was… different. Slow, and hot, and something else you can’t bear to name. It goes on and on, minute after minute, delicious and satisfying in a way that the sex never was, and it’s painfully obvious that neither of you are willing to stop.

When you finally break apart the kiss lingers softly, and you both pause, lips almost still touching. You stare at him in shock, and Riddle is looking right back, something in his eyes that you can’t pin down, and then –

Riddle steps away, straightening his robes like nothing weird had happened. “Do have a pleasant weekend,” he says politely as he opens the door, and then he’s gone.

You stay there for a moment, leaning against the wall.

What… the fuck… was that?

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Part 1 ★ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ☆ Part 4

1K notes · View notes

tiramisiyu · 3 years ago

Video

youtube

Tears of Themis: Xia Yan/Luke 【妄夜之魇】 Looming Nightmare - Date Translation

Translation Masterlist | Xia Yan Masterlist | Unsubbed Video

Transcript below cut:

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Part 1

Forest

In the morning, a group of villagers walked slowly through the forest’s rocks and mud.

Nearby, a young man dressed as a knight noticed them.

Luke: Please wait!

The young man pushed aside the dense branches, rushing over to the villagers.

Villager Captain: You are…?

Luke: My apologies for troubling you all. I’m Luke Pearce, a knight.

As he spoke, he balled up his left hand and placed it before his chest, displaying a standard gesture of courtesy to the villagers.

Villager Captain: So you’re a knight. Greetings, is anything the matter?

Luke: I’d like to ask you all if there is anyone who knows where the evil dragon is?

Villager A: E-evil dragon?!

When they heard “evil dragon”, a momentary fear displayed on all the villagers’ faces.

The whispers among them gradually grew louder, and the originally calm group gradually began to lose control.

Villager A: W-why are you searching for the evil dragon…

Villager B: Why are you asking about that beast’s whereabouts?! Are you trying to get it to come over here again?!

Villager B: O-our village, it…

Villager Captain: Calm down.

The young captain placed a hand on the shoulder of the middle-aged man to calm him down temporarily.

Villager Captain: We were impolite. Sir Knight, none of us have malicious intentions. It’s just…

Luke: Were… you all also attacked by the dragon?

Villager Captain: Indeed…

The young man sighed.

Villager Captain: We originally lived in a nearby village. Three days ago, our village was attacked by that dragon.

Villager Captain: The flames it breathes, and its massive wings that kick up gales when they beat…

Villager Captain: That’s how our houses and fields were thoroughly annihilated.

Villager Captain: Many villagers that couldn’t escape were left forever in those ruins.

Villager Captain: But that dragon didn’t stop there. It… even carried off lots of innocent people.

Villager Captain: That’s what happened to my wife and that grandma’s only daughter.

Villager Captain: We don’t even know if they’re still alive.

The young man spoke until his voice faded. The hands that hung on his sides were tightly clenched, like he was trying to control his emotions.

Villager Captain: Like us, lots and lots of villages and cities have been destroyed by it in the past several days.

Villager Captain: Those attacked by it can only flee in search of a temporary safe place.

Villager Captain: We…

Luke: … I’m sorry for making you recall such horrible things.

The young knight lowered his head in apology.

Luke: On my journey, I’ve also heard lots about its terrible actions.

Luke: When I saw you all from far away, I thought you were all normal passersby. I didn’t think…

Villager Captain: It’s alright. We do have to learn to face this eventually.

Villager Captain: Although, Sir Knight, why are you looking for that dragon?

Luke: Because…

A flash of desolation appeared on the knight’s face.

Luke: Because I’m looking for someone who is incredibly important to me.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

[Flashback]

Fortune-Telling Location

The fortune-teller fiddled playfully with the crystal ball in her hands. The lights floating in the air moved as she did.

With a sliver of curiosity on her features, she lifted her gaze and looked over her visitor, then placed her hands piously in front of her chest.

Fortune-teller: Esteemed Sir Knight, may I ask why you are here?

Luke: …

The knight’s rigid body leaned forward slightly, an unconcealable urgency and distress in his eyes.

Luke: I want to find someone. She’s vanished, and I have no idea where she is.

Fortune-teller: Oh? Find someone? Who might it be?

Luke: Someone… that grew up with me since childhood.

Fortune-teller: Someone that grew up with you?

Luke: Yes.

He released a deep sigh.

Luke: It’s been eight years since the start of the war.

Luke: The day I left for battle, I promised her that I would return home safely and live with her forever, never to leave again.

Luke: But after the war ended and I returned to the village, all that welcomed me was an empty house.

Luke: I asked everyone around about where she went, but they all said that she suddenly vanished one day.

Luke: Only after did I find out that everyone had thought that I’d died in battle.

Luke: She…

The knight grasped tight on the longsword in his hands. The ruby on the hilt flashed faintly in the darkness.

The fortune-teller leaned against the table, holding her chin with her hand.

Fortune-teller: Have you ever thought that she just couldn’t keep waiting anymore, or that she might have moved elsewhere because she thought you were dead?

Luke: She wouldn’t. We’ve lived together for so many years. I know best about what sort of person she is.

Luke: I know that even if I made her sad or if everyone said I was dead…

Luke: As long as she hasn’t seen my corpse, she won’t give up, and she’ll keep waiting for me…

Luke: … Something must have happened for her to choose to leave without a farewell.

Luke: So, I want to find her. I want to know what exactly happened.

The young knight’s voice gradually weakened, until it was nearly inaudible.

The fortune-teller tittered quietly.

Fortune-teller: I understand. Then, please wait a moment—

She placed her hand on the crystal ball. As the lights and shadows drifted, an image of a dragon occupying the plains gradually appeared.

Luke: This is…?

Fortune-teller: Do you know of the legend of the evil dragon?

Luke: Evil dragon?

Fortune-teller: Yes. This dragon runs amok over the continent, scattering destruction and annihilation everywhere…

Fortune-teller: Its evil reputation is now common knowledge among all people.

Luke: But what does that have to do with her?

Fortune-teller: I am unsure of the exact connection it has to her, but based on the image in the crystal ball…

Fortune-teller: You just need to kill the dragon and obtain the treasure chest it protects to discover the way to find her.

Luke: …

Luke: Are you sure?

Fortune-teller: Of course. My divinations have never been wrong. If not, Sir Knight…

The fortune-teller unconsciously knocked a few times on the crystal ball, and a clear sound reverberated in the room.

Fortune-teller: Then you wouldn’t have come to find me, correct?

Luke: … They say that you are the greatest fortune-teller on the continent, and that there’s nothing you don’t know.

Fortune-teller: Which is even more reason for you to believe me, no?

Luke: …

The knight nodded ponderously.

Luke: I understand. Where is the dragon right now?

Fortune-teller: That’s for you to find out.

Fortune-teller: However, there is something that you must think over first.

Fortune-teller: You are a brave and martially skilled knight, but the path ahead may be much more dangerous than you imagine.

Fortune-teller: Even if so, will you still proceed?

Luke: Yes, I must.

Fortune-teller: Even if the price it requires is your everything?

[Flashback end]

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Luke: So I can only do as the fortune-teller instructed, travelling as I search for clues on the dragon.

Villager Captain: It seems like the person you’re looking for… must have been captured by the dragon too.

When he finished listening to the knight’s story, the captain gave a quick conclusion.

Villager Captain: The young lady you’re looking for isn’t the only one. In the past while, that dragon has already captured many good girls.

Villager Captain: Many noble ladies and wives in the city weren’t even spared.

Luke: Then… has anyone ever returned among those who were captured?

Villager B: No – no one has ever seen them again after they were taken.

Villager B: Whether the dragon has hurt them, whether they’re still alive, or where they’re kept… no one knows anything.

Luke: No one knows anything, huh…

Luke: If no one knows, that means there’s still hope, right?

The knight suddenly lifted his head, looking firmly at the villagers.

Part 2

Forest

In the forest, the young knight faced the villagers, his gaze firm.

Luke: If no one knows, that means there’s still hope, right?

Villager B: This…

Looking at the villagers’ somewhat hesitant expressions, the knight smiled slightly.

Luke: I understand your concerns, but to me, as long as there is still one thread of opportunity, I will definitely not give up.

Luke: So…

Luke: Please, do any of you know anything at all about the dragon?

Villager Captain: …

The villagers looked at each other. The young captain tilted his head as if trying to recall something.

Villager Captain: I don’t know much about the dragon, but…

Villager Captain: Three days ago, when I was fleeing the village, I think I saw that dragon flying towards the highest mountain peak on the northeast of this forest.

Luke: The peaks in the northeast…

The knight looked towards the direction that the villager captain was pointing towards. He could vaguely see the shape of a mountain peak there.

Villager Captain: Yes, but that mountain is farther from here than it looks.

Villager Captain: Plus, there’s also a path full of thorns at the end of this forest that normal people can’t get through at all.

Villager Captain: Currently, not many people have gone there, so I can’t be sure if the dragon is actually there.

Luke: Is that so… but it’s worth a try.

Villager B: Uh… I’ve also heard a little about the dragon.

The formerly irritable middle-aged man, possibly being moved by the words earlier, hesitated for a moment before he spoke.

Villager B: That dragon probably does live on that mountain peak.

Luke: Are you sure?

Villager B: Yes. Two weeks ago, an artisan from the city went with his brothers there.

Villager B: But several days later, aside from a young man, no one in that group returned.

Villager B: That young man said that they were attacked by that beast on the mountain…

Villager B: But sadly, his wounds were too grave, and he passed away a few days later.

Villager B: After that, no matter how much money the city nobles offered, no one else dared to go put their lives on their line.

Villager B: We also…

The middle-aged man sighed.

Villager B: We’ve… given up already.

Luke: …I understand. Thank you all for giving me so much information.

Luke: It’s not that early anymore, and I need to head for that mountain, so I’ll be heading off.

Villager B: Sir Knight, are you really going to look for that dragon?

Villager B: With how massive and brutish that dragon is, it’ll kill you!

Villager B: You don’t know how that young man who returned…

Luke: Thank you for your concerns, but this is a promise I made with her. No matter how difficult the path forward is…

The young knight looked straight at the group in front of him, his voice firm and resolute.

He spoke each word emphatically, answering the question earlier, yet seeming more like he was telling himself.

Luke: No matter how difficult the path forward is, even if everyone has given up, I will not stop moving forward.

Villager B: …

Villager Captain: …

The villagers fell silent for a moment.

A long moment after, the young captain spoke.

Villager Captain: Sir Knight, since you’ve made your decision to go, we have no reason to continue trying to persuade you.

Villager Captain: The road ahead will be difficult, and defeating the dragon is sure to be no easy task…

Villager Captain: All we can do is to pray that you find the one you love quickly and return safely.

Luke: Thank you, everyone.

The knight made a sincere gesture of courtesy again towards the villagers, then turned around and walked into the depths of the forest.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Plains

After a long trek, the young knight bypassed that rumoured thorny block and arrived at the wilds outside the forest.

Luke: …

Though it was called the wilds, all the plants had long been burned into crisps. Black dust had settled densely over the rocks.

A massive mountain stood at the edge of his range of vision. A dense black fog lingered over the peak, quiet and strange.

At the foot of the mountain, many volcanoes and short rock mounds created continuous undulations, extending to the horizon.

Luke: …

He lifted his head and looked towards the faraway sky. The red light of the pre-sunset sun was harshly dazzling.

Luke: A precursor to the solar eclipse, huh…

Luke: Maybe it really is as the person before said…

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

[Flashback]

Villager B: Sir Knight, before passing, that person who returned said…

Villager B: On the day of a solar eclipse, it seems like the dragon’s strength will weaken.

Luke: Weaken?

Villager B: Yes, that person kept repeating this before he passed, so I remember it very clearly.

Villager B: If you really must get near it, maybe you can choose this day.

Luke: … Understood.

[Flashback]

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Luke: …

Luke: Based on the appearance of the sun, the eclipse will only start tomorrow…

Luke: The volcanoes around look pretty unstable right now. Now is definitely not the best time to act.

Luke: I’ll build a temporary residence near the forest and wait for a chance.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Temporary Residence

In the wooden hut, the knight was in the middle of pre-battle preparations.

Luke: …

He cleaned his sword in the firelight. When his gaze brushed over the ruby on the hilt, he fell into a momentary trance.

Luke: …

Luke: Soon, I’ll be able to see you again.

Luke: Right?

Luke: …

In the empty room, the only response he received was the crackling of burning firewood.

The young knight lowered his head.

The emotions that he had continuously restrained quietly trickled out where no one could hear, under the comfort of the moonlight.

Luke: I’m sorry… I couldn’t contact you even once for so long…

Luke: You must have been so worried during then…

Luke: …

Luke: I wonder how you’re doing right now, and if you’ve encountered any danger…

Luke: Were you scared, facing that dragon alone? Were you injured?

Luke: Don’t be scared, I’ll save you very soon.

The wind blew past soundlessly. In the quiet hut, the knight’s voice became clearer and clearer.

It seemed as if a burning flame had ignited in his eyes. The moonlight shone in, casting light over the entirety of the room.

Luke: We promised that no matter what happened, you wouldn’t leave, and we’d always be together…

Luke: I won’t let you bear everything on your own anymore.

Luke: It’ll be tomorrow… wait for me.

He smiled, his fingertips brushing over his own reflection in the ruby.

Luke: Goodnight.

The knight placed his sword by his side and sank into a shallow sleep.

Just like all the nights in the past many years.

Part 3

Garrison Camp

Troop Leader: Hey, Luke, you returned with perfect timing.

Troop Leader: Just finished bringing over the new delivery of rations. I brought you the letter from the one at your home.

When he saw the person who was placing the letter on his bed, the knight shook his head helplessly.

Luke: Leader, we’re still in the troops right now. Even if you want to address her…

Troop Leader: Alright, alright. The letter that your wife sent, does that work?

Luke: We haven’t gotten married yet…

Troop Leader: Hahahahaha—

Troop Leader: Hey, honestly though, Miss MC really does treat you well.

Troop Leader: I have no idea how she managed to get that many rations and letters sent over here.

Troop Leader: If I remember right, she’s just a commoner, right? The type without even a fief. Tsk tsk tsk, she really is good.

As he teased him, the leader came up to the side of the bed, jokingly bumping against the young knight’s shoulder.

Troop Leader: Luke, I feel like she’s even more proactive than you. Bring out your knight’s spirit already!

Troop Leader: Though we can’t contact the outside world, I’m cheering you on inside, yeah?

Luke: Thanks, leader.

Luke: Although there’s something you’ve gotten wrong. Though I can’t send her replies…

He layered the letters together, placing them in the closest spot to his heart in his armour.

Luke: This is my answer to her. My heart is always with her.

Luke: The day the war ends, I will return to her side, safe and sound.

Luke: When that time comes, I won’t leave her ever again.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Forest

Luke: …

When he saw the multiple letters in front of him, the young knight sunk into his memories.

To prepare for the nearing battle, he came to the riverside at dawn to change the medicines on the wounds he received in the war.

Luke: Back then, I thought that I would be able to reunite with you after the war ended.

Luke: We’d then be able to be like thousands of other normal people, living out our lives healthily and safely.

Luke: But I never thought…

He couldn’t help grasping tight on the letter papers.

Luke: Did you know that during those eight years, I kept thinking about you over and over, speaking on my own, just like this?

Luke: I remember every single thing you wrote to me about.

Luke: You said that the neighbouring auntie’s puppy stepped all over the rose garden at the doorway again.

Luke: You said that the honey that a friend gave you was very sweet, and you wanted to see the bee yard too, but you didn’t go because you knew I wouldn’t agree.

Luke: And so much more… I’ve remembered every single thing perfectly.

Luke: I… really… miss you.

The knight couldn’t help covering his face with his hand, as certain crystalline things fell slowly between his fingers.

A few minutes later, he took a deep breath, then put down his hand.

Luke: This is bad, I lost control of my emotions for a moment.

Luke: I wasn’t even that sad last night, but maybe it’s because I saw you in my dreams again, so I…

Luke: Now isn’t the time to be sentimental. I’ve got to bolster myself to face the upcoming battle.

The sunlight shone into the forest, past the gaps between the swaying leaves, falling dappled on the knight’s armour.

Far away, the sun displayed a light that was different from normal.

Luke: Is it coming…

He quickly put on his clothes and grasped onto his sword again.

Luke: Wait for me.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Plains

Because he had already crossed over the forest once, the knight arrived at the plains much faster than before.

Clouds smothered the originally-blue skies. The roars of the dragon resounded nonstop at the horizon, and the air was heavy enough to make breathing difficult.

Luke: …

Suddenly, the roars of the dragon became unusually clear. A massive black shadow rushed down from the mountain peak, gradually nearing the centre of the plains.

Luke: !!!

Luke: This is my chance!

The knight immediately broke into a sprint towards the black shadow.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

The moment he arrived at the centre of the plains, the dragon was landing with two young villagers in its claws.

The two people tossed on the round tumbled a few times. Tears covered their faces, and their hands were tightly clasped.

Luke: !!!

Luke: Run!

The knight threw a wooden gun towards the dragon, then yanked out the dagger at his waist and threw it backhandedly on the ground near the forest.

He loaded an arrow as he sprinted towards the dragon.

Luke: Take that dagger and get out through the forest now!

Luke: I’ve left markers on the path. Follow those!

Female Villager: O-okay… tha-thank you!

The pitiful villagers tremblingly picked up the dagger and ran towards the forest as they supported each other.

They passed by the young man, kicking up sand and stone. The two sides of the battlefield changed in a flash.

Luke: …

The knight did not look back to the already faraway villagers. He calmly set his hands on the bow.

The dragon roared furiously at him, spitting a ball of fire.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

Luke: …

The knight stepped swiftly off the rocks in front of him, resolutely loosing an arrow towards the dragon, sidestepping the close call of the fire.

Luke: This won’t do. It’s too fast.

Luke: I won’t be able to dodge at all with speeds like that…

Evil Dragon: Roar—

Luke: !!!

Without giving the knight room to think, the dragon launched its second attack.

It looked again at the person in front of it and spat out a large amount of fire. The flickering firelight lit up the entire desolate plains.

The knight dodged the attack. The winds surged, the glint of the blade shone, and the surroundings continuously heated up.

Luke: …

Luke: This is how strong it is when it’s weakened?

Luke: If this keeps going, I’ll lose all my footholds.

Luke: What do I do…

His brow wrinkled tightly, looking at the dragon that had built up its power and was waiting to attack again. His hands held his hilt tight—

Evil Dragon: Roar—

The dragon opened its mouth wide, flying towards the young man.

Rocks were sent flying from the intense movements of the two opponents. The knight planted his feet on the shards of rock, both of his hands gripping his longsword.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

Luke: Want to kill me? Keep dreaming!

As if he couldn’t hear the dragon’s roars at all, he was completely focused on looking for a chance to attack.

Luke: If it’s the instant before it breathes fire… as long as I grab that chance…

Luke: If I can strike your vitals…

Luke: I’ll still have a chance!

Evil Dragon: Roar—

The dragon threw back its head, releasing a long roar towards the skies.

Luke: Now!

The knight lifted the sword and sprinted up to the dragon, slashing down on the dragon’s neck with all his strength.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

Blood sprayed, and the massive creature struggled, writhing, and finally spread its wings, flying off towards the heights.

Luke: Don’t even think about escaping!

The young man ran up, and three arrows cut through the air.

Howling winds blew as the eclipse fully set in. On the faraway peaks, the contours of a black castle could suddenly be seen.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

The dragon dodged the arrows, roaring in pain, then escaped in flight towards the faraway castle.

Luke: It all ends here.

The young knight discarded his longbow and gripped at his sword, planning to chase after the dragon.

However, right then, a pattern of lights shone from the astrolabe he was carrying.

He froze for a moment and thought back on what the fortune-teller had told him before—

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

[Flashback]

Fortune-Telling Location

Fortune-Teller: Wait.

Fortune-Teller: Keep this with you.

The fortune-teller called out to the young man who was on the verge of leaving and handed a metal astrolabe to him.

Luke: This is…?

Fortune-Teller: If the astrolabe starts flashing, it’s a warning from me to stop fighting immediately.

Luke: … I am well aware of when I should stop.

Fortune-Teller: Sir Knight, you do indeed have lots of fighting experience.

Fortune-Teller: But I am the only one who can help you, so trust me, alright?

Luke: …

[Flashback end]

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Luke: …

Luke: Ouch…

The knight frowned in pain, as if he had finally come to his senses from the tense atmosphere, and looked over himself out of habit.

Luke: !!!

The dark armour had long been stained in blood, and some of the parts that were exposed were covered in wounds of all sizes.

Luke: I was… injured this badly?

Luke: Sure enough… that dragon’s strength…

He ultimately decided to stop.

Part 4

Temporary Residence

The knight closed the door to the residence.

He leaned on the wall, like an injured little animal.

Luke: How could this be…

Luke: Is the difference in strength between me and that dragon that big?

Luke: How am I going to save her at this point… I…

The astrolabe beside him shone again. Then, after a flash of white light at the doorway, the fortune-teller pushed open the door.

Luke: It’s you?

Fortune-Teller: Sir Knight, I hope you have been well since our last meeting.

The fortune-teller looked over the person in front of her, her eyes squinting slightly.

Fortune-Teller: Looks like you listened to what I told you. Well done.

Luke: …

Fortune-Teller: This expression… were you not willing to give up?

Luke: None of your business.

Fortune-Teller: None of my business… haha, do you remember what I said back then?

Luke: …

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

[Flashback]

Fortune-Teller: You are a brave and martially skilled knight, but the path ahead may be much more dangerous than you imagine.

Fortune-Teller: Even if so, will you still proceed?

Luke: Yes, I must.

Fortune-Teller: Even if the price it requires is your everything?

[Flashback end]

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Luke: …

Fortune-Teller: Has reality now changed your mind?

Luke: No. No matter when, I will not change my mind.

Fortune-Teller: Will not change? Then… what can you do?

Fortune-Teller: You must have realized the natural difference in strength between you and the dragon from battling.

Fortune-Teller: It looked like you won the battle, but what are the results?

Fortune-Teller: Even while it was weakened during the solar eclipse, the only effective attack you landed was that single slash.

Fortune-Teller: While you…

The fortune-teller looked at the young knight’s right arm, mottled with blood and some burn marks.

Fortune-Teller: You’re covered in wounds already. How much longer can you hold on for?

Luke: …

Luke: I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t give up. I must get that treasure chest and find her.

Luke: I don’t want to think about anything else.

Fortune-Teller: … Is it worth it?

The fortune-teller went silent for a moment, then asked this question suddenly.

Luke: It is.

Luke: I promised her that I’d return to her, that I’d safely tell her that everything had ended, that we would never be apart from then on.

Luke: I think about her every day, and I look forward to seeing her again every day. I’ve reread each of the letters she sent too many times to count.

Luke: She is my everything. I won’t just give up like this.

Fortune-Teller: … So you plan to seek out that dragon again?

Luke: Yes, and I don’t only plan to find it…

Luke: As you said, I will defeat and kill it, no matter what the price is that I must pay.

Fortune-Teller: … I understand.

Fortune-Teller: Then let me tell you one more thing.

Luke: ???

Fortune-Teller: Do you know why that dragon always flies towards that castle?

Luke: Do you mean that the treasure chest is…

Fortune-Teller: Yes. It’s because the box that it values the most is in the castle…

Fortune-Teller: When it is attacked, it will naturally return there.

Fortune-Teller: In ten days, the eclipse will end, and the sky will return to normal.

Fortune-Teller: The skies before daybreak are always the darkest…

Fortune-Teller: In ten days, when the sky is lightening, the dragon’s power will be at its weakest.

Fortune-Teller: It will also lose the ability to breathe fire.

Fortune-Teller: If you must go, go on that day.

Luke: !!!

Luke: Thank you.

Fortune-Teller: No need for thanks, but Sir Knight, let me give you one last warning.

Fortune-Teller: The path you have chosen is full of the unknown. I hope you will not regret this in the future.

Luke: I am sure that I won’t.

Fortune-Teller: That would be best.

The fortune-teller looked at the knight, smiled strangely, then left.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

After the knight cleaned his wounds, he finally had some time to rest.

Like usual, he stood his sword by his side. When he looked over the ruby on the hilt, he suddenly stopped.

Luke: This ruby… you gave it to me.

He gently stroked it, his warm breath leaving a mist on the gem with his movements.

Luke: I remember on the day I set out, you stood at the very front of those who were sending off the troops, a total mess of tears.

Luke: I was the one who was leaving, but you were even more agitated than me.

Luke: You kept reminding me to take care of myself, to not force myself.

Luke: Then I held your face with a smile, telling you that it wasn’t like I wouldn’t return.

Luke: …

The knight suddenly turned away.

Only when he was able to smile again did he turn his head back, as if everything before had just been an illusion.

Luke: Before I left, you took off a ruby from the mirror you always used and embedded it on my sword.

Luke: You said that a highly skilled person gave you that mirror, and it had magical power.

Luke: Especially these rubies, which represent inextinguishable fire and burning vitality.

Luke: We made a promise together, and then you watched me mount the horse, but I never looked back.

Luke: I thought that I would be able to see you soon after the war ended.

Luke: But now that I think about it, I should have taken one more look at you back then.

A slight bitterness appeared on the young knight’s face, but it was soon replaced by his usual expression.

He laid down on the bed, looking at the fluid moonlight in the sky.

Luke: Did you know that there’s something that I didn’t tell you back then?

Luke: Rubies don’t only represent fervour and life. They also represent love.

Luke: I told myself that after the war, I would confess to you, and let this ruby bear witness to our love.

Luke: So, please wait a little more for me.

Luke: There are still ten days.

Luke: No matter what the price is, I will be the victor.

The knight mumbled as he slowly closed his eyes.

Outside the hut, a black mist rose, then vanished in the silence. The moment that the smoke dissipated, a woman’s quiet laugh seemed to sound from deep within.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Plains

Ten days later, as the fortune-teller said, the young knight made his way towards the old castle.

But he did not successfully reach his destination, because on the plains under the castle…

Evil Dragon: Roar—

Luke: …

Luke: Are you here to obstruct me?

Evil Dragon: Roar—

Luke: Looks like the fortune-teller was telling the truth. The treasure chest really is in the castle.

Luke: So it must also be true that you’re at your weakest today.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

As if in response to the knight’s words, the dragon snarled in fury. Its massive claws beat heavily on the ground, drawing up plumes of dust.

The knight retreated a few steps, held up his longsword, and stood in battle stance.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

Luke: …

Luke: You sure look enthusiastic.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

Luke: Perfect, then. Let’s have a fierce battle this time.

Luke: This is the last chance. I won’t let you escape again.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

Luke: …

At the edge of the sky, the black sun that had persisted for ten days started to “move”. The light of tiny stars shone through the air, casting light on the person and dragon.

The knight lifted his sword.

Luke: Let’s start.

Dust flew as the shining sword blade cut through. Both human and dragon soon were immersed in intensive battle.

Their battlegrounds shifted several times, from the plains to the mountain peak, finally arriving to the front of the castle’s door.

The eclipse was slowly retreating, and the dark sky was beginning to show its original hue.

Compared to last time, the battle this time lasted for a very, very long time.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Old Castle on the Peak

Luke: Urk…

The knight brandished his longsword, pushing himself to block the dragon’s attack.

The originally flat field had already been ruined to the point where it was difficult to stand on. Thunder boomed intermittently as dark clouds accumulated above.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

The massive dragon moved again.

Luke: Ow…

Luke: …

This time, the knight’s resistance started to become sluggish.

Scorching blood sprayed out. He lost his footing, falling brutally onto the ground.

Luke: Ugh…!

Luke: No… I can’t fall yet…

He stabbed the longsword into the ground with difficulty and stood staggeringly up again.

He looked at his enemy, his bloodied, dirtied face full of resolution.

Luke: Ha… what sort of battle is this? Just a bunch of mutual killing attempts…

Luke: But did you think I’d be scared? Stop kidding around.

Luke: You have no idea what sorts of emotions I put behind each slash.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

Luke: Although, you don’t need to know, because…

The knight suddenly brandished his sword and rushed at the massive dragon.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

For an instant, the heavens and earth shook. Dust and sand flew as the world was submerged in chaos.

Only the knight’s shouts cut through the air, transmitting into each and every crevice.

Luke: Even though – even though there’s no way you can hear this right now…

Luke: But, I’m sorry… I’m sorry!

Luke: I’m sorry for leaving you all alone for these eight years. I’m sorry for letting you face the dragon yourself after the eight years.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

Luke: Do you know how scared I was when I returned to the village, yet didn’t see you at all…

Luke: I was scared that I would never see you again. I was scared that I couldn’t save you…

Evil Dragon: Roar—

Luke: Let me see you again, alright?

Luke: Even one instant, one second is enough!

Bang--!

After an enormous sound of collision, the young man was knocked through the air onto the ground, sliding to a faraway cliff, to the very edge.

But this time, it seemed like he didn’t have the strength to stand again.

Luke: …

Luke: Does it… all end here…

Luke: But I… you…

Boom—

A downpour of rain suddenly started.

Part 5

A downpour suddenly started.

Rain struck against the ground audibly, falling on the young knight’s body, flowing towards where the blood and water had accumulated.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

Luke: Am I just… going to lose like this?

The knight couldn’t control his gasps.

Luke: But…

Luke: I still… can’t bear to give in.

Luke: I still haven’t found her… I still haven’t seen her… I …

His voice was full of an unrestrained frustration and helplessness.

He tried, or even forced, himself to keep his heavy eyelids open.

Luke: …

Silence suddenly descended.

It seemed like the rain had weakened, and a small sound was resounding through the air.

Luke: !!!

The knight suddenly opened his eyes wide.

Luke: Is that you?! Is that you, MC?!

He struggled, reaching out into the emptiness.

The black mist suddenly surged over from all directions, winding around the knight’s hand, as if in a gentle “embrace”.

The knight suddenly smiled.

Luke: Are you trying to comfort me?

Luke: Mhmm, I’m not scared. Whether they’re happy things or painful things…

Luke: I don’t care about any of that anymore.

He slowly stood his sword upright, staggeringly standing up.

Evil Dragon: Roar—

Luke: I will… keep going until the final moment…

Luke: MC, you are my strength, and I will fight for you until the end of my life.

Evil Dragon: …

The dragon’s movements suddenly stopped.

It looked at the human in front of it without moving in the slightest, and it seemed as if a light had flashed in its terrifying eyes.

Luke: …

Luke: Now!

The knight brandished his sword for the last time, stabbing it deeply into the heart of the dragon.

This time, the dragon did not struggle nor attack back. It remained in its spread-winged posture as it toppled with a boom.

The turbid blood flowed out from the wound, and soon, its breathing stopped completely.

Luke: H-has it ended?

The knight slowly walked up to the dragon’s corpse. After repeated confirmations, he released a sigh, as if he had been freed from a heavy burden.

Luke: Next… I just need to find the dragon’s treasure chest to find you. Wait for me.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Old Castle Interior

The knight pushed open the door to the castle.

Just as the fortune-teller said, there was a treasure chest placed in the centre of the large room.

Luke: …

He knelt with one knee to the ground, brushing off the dust on the chest.

The moment he opened the chest saw what was inside, he displayed a shocked expression.

Luke: This is…?

A mirror inlaid with ruby sat quietly on the top of the chest.

The knight reached out with both hands, carefully holding the item in front of him.

Luke: Isn’t this the one you usually use…

Luke: Ah!

Suddenly, the gem on the mirror flashed with a dazzling light.

As if induced, the ruby on the hilt of the longsword beside the knight started to shine too.

They shone together, blindingly bright.

Luke: …

Amidst the light, multiple images gradually appeared in the mirror, like a light carousel—

Luke: !!!

In that familiar village, the young woman suddenly lifted her head as she trimmed the plants, her scissors falling onto the ground.

Her face was full of shock and disbelief. Tears slid down her face, finally vanishing.

Luke: !!!

She then left the village on a journey. She walked to all the ends of the world, as if in search of something.

She traversed deserts and snowy mountains, wearing out pairs and pairs of shoes, and her originally fair skin gradually became rough.

But on her face, all there was, was day after day of ever-increasing defeat and pain.

Luke: No… I’m here, I’m still alive! I’m right here!

Finally, she arrived at this castle.

Seeming like she’d lost all hope, she collapsed on the found. Tears and blood fell, droplet after droplet, on the ruby of the mirror’s upper part.

Then, a light suddenly flashed, and the girl in the mirror vanished.

The black mist filled the mirror, and a vicious dragon flew out of the castle.

Luke: !!!

The knight’s entire body trembled.

He dropped the mirror and sprinted out the door, as if he had gone mad.

Luke: No… not possible… no way… it can’t be…

Luke: How could you have been the dragon?! No way, I couldn’t have killed you…

At some point, the storm had started to rage again.

The figure of the dragon had already vanished. What replaced it was a figure that the knight was as familiar with as could be.

Luke: No way… why…

Luke: Why!!!

He held the girl’s corpse in his arms, then howled in despair like a wild animal.

The girl’s body was as covered in wounds as the knight’s was.

The rain struck their bodies, rushing frigidly over each of their wounds, as if mocking them.

Luke: No, no way…

Luke: This isn’t real… this isn’t real…

Luke: MC--!

The knight held the girl tightly. His throat was already raw, and all the light had left his eyes.

Luke: Is that why you stopped right then? Did you recognize me?

Luke: Why didn’t you escape? Why did you wait for me to kill you?

Luke: Please open your eyes, alright, answer me!!

Luke: Why?! Why?!

Luke: Ah--!!!

The rain descended in torrents, finally trickling down to the ruby, which had lost all its shine.

Part 6

The storm raged, and the knight’s heartrending cries never once stopped.

The air distorted for an instant. Right after, the fortune-teller stepped out from nothing, walking up to the sobbing Luke.

Fortune-Teller: Pitiful Sir Knight, you still ended up at this point.

Luke: !!!

Luke: It’s you… it’s you!

Fortune-Teller: It is indeed me, Sir Knight, the one who pointed you down this path.

Luke: Pointed me down this path… right, you know everything!

Luke: Let me ask you, did you already know that she was the dragon?!

Fortune-Teller: Yes, I know everything.

The fortune-teller looked at the young man, her voice gentle and tantalizing.

Luke: Then why did you have me find it - have me kill her?!

Fortune-Teller: I had you kill her? That’s quite an unfair accusation.

Fortune-Teller: I am a mere fortune-teller. All I can see is an established truth.

Fortune-Teller: This is her and your fate – you two are destined for an ending of death.

Luke: !!!

Luke: No way! What fate, what ending – I don’t believe any of it! There must be a way to save her!

Luke: I’ll keep looking. I’ll keep looking. I will definitely find it. I will definitely find it!

The young man clutched at the corpse in his arms and forced himself to stand.

The ground was slippery. He fell one time after another, yet he stood again, one time after another.

Fortune-Teller: …

The fortune-teller stroked the crystal ball, looking at the girl who was gradually getting colder in the rain.

Fortune-Teller: There is a way that might be able to save her, but…

Luke: What is it!

The young man shouted hysterically, but his voice was already so hoarse that he was nearly incoherent.

The fortune-teller paused, then looked at him again, her lips curving slightly.

Fortune-Teller: Simple. Make a deal with the devil, using your life.

Luke: …Deal?

Fortune-Teller: Indeed. As long as you offer your heart, she will be able to live again.

Fortune-Teller: But she will lose all memories of you…

Fortune-Teller: Perhaps she will love someone else and live a happy life, or perhaps…

Luke: What do I do?

The knight cut her words short.

Luke: Can you bear witness to the contract?

Fortune-Teller: … Of course.

Luke: Tell me what I need to do. We start immediately.

Fortune-Teller: … Alright.

The knight’s resoluteness far exceeded the fortune-teller’s expectations. After a simple explanation of the ritual, he finished his preparations.

Fortune-Teller: Will you not say any last words to her?

The fortune-teller placed the crystal ball in front of her, looking towards the silent knight.

Luke: …

The knight lowered his head, looking at the girl in his arms.

Luke: I never would have thought that our last meeting would be like this…

Luke: But at least you can continue to live…

The corners of the knight’s mouth lifted with difficulty. He reached out, pushing aside a lock of hair aside on the girl’s face.

Like a deep, yet wordless, farewell.

Luke: There are some things that I didn’t have the time to say before, but it shouldn’t be too late to say them now…

Luke: I…

The knight closed his eyes.

He slowly lowered his head, solemnly and gently kissing the hair of the girl in his arms.

Luke: Goodbye, MC. I pray that your life from today onwards will be happy and joyful.

He looked at her face, looking as if she were in a deep slumber, and said this to her for the very first and very last time—

Luke: I love you.

Right after he spoke, he stabbed his sword into his chest.

Bright red blood covered the marks that had dried on the sword. Thunder boomed as rain fell in torrents.

His heartbeat’s sound gradually stopped.

Fortune-Teller: …

Fortune-Teller: Hahahaha, hahahahaha—

The fortune-teller suddenly burst into laughter.

A black mist gradually wrapped around her. Her body and clothes changed form, finally turning into the form of a witch.

Witch: Hahahaha, what fate, what ending, what deal with the devil? Utterly foolish, truly, ridiculously foolish!

Witch: Although… thank you both. I found this drama quite the satisfying watch!

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

MC: …

My consciousness gradually awakened.

MC: Luke! Don’t do anything stupid!

MC: She’s obviously doing this deliberately! Don’t get tricked by her!

I tried my best to call out his name, yet I anxiously noticed that I could not even make the slightest of sounds.

MC: Luke!

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Luke’s Home, Third Floor

*Tira’s note: The date itself said it was the second floor, but his living quarters (the background shown) are on the third floor, not the second.

MC: Luke!

I sprung awake from my dream.

And because of this tiny movement, Luke instinctively popped off the sofa, standing upright on the floor.

I lifted my head and looked hazily at Luke, and my consciousness gradually returned to reality.

MC: …

Luke: …

We looked wordlessly at each other for a few seconds, then couldn’t help laughing together.

Then, Luke gently sat back down beside me.

Luke: What happened? Did you have a nightmare?

MC: Mhmm…

As I gave an affirmative, I moved my body a little, realizing that my arms and legs had become a little numb. My chest also felt somewhat stuffy.

MC: (Huh, was I sleeping in a weird pose? I don’t think so…)

Just as I was thinking, Luke started to rotate his shoulders too.

Luke: Why are my arms this sore all of a sudden… I’m sure that I slept pretty well…

MC: …

Luke: Huh? What’s the matter?

MC: I figured it out…

Luke: What?

The only reason why our arms were so sore… probably was because Luke was holding me the whole time while we had an afternoon nap.

MC: (So that nightmare… probably also happened because of this…)

I felt both a little frustrated and amused, and seeing Luke’s dubious expression, I couldn’t help laughing aloud.

Luke: What’s the matter?

MC: Nothing, I just hadn’t woken up completely from my dream yet.

Luke: Alright, you’re fine now. I’m here with you.

Luke: If you’re still scared, then should I sing a song for our great lawyer?

MC: Sure!

I knew Luke was just teasing me, but I felt like either way, it would be pretty nice to listen to him sing for me again.

Luke: Then sit comfy first.

MC: Mhmm.

I shifted over a bit, and Luke sat down beside me, covering us up again with the blanket.

Then, he gently wrapped his arms around me.

Luke: Then, what does the great lawyer want to listen to? Twinkle Twinkle again?

MC: Yep!

I looked up at him, and then Luke started to tap my shoulder like a metronome as he began singing.

Luke: Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

Luke: How I wonder what you are…

MC: …

As Luke sang, my emotions gradually calmed down.

Amidst this relaxation, I couldn’t help thinking of the scene in that dream again.

MC: (A ten-day eclipse… man, the weird stuff I come up with.)

MC: (Did the earth stop spinning or did the sun just check out of work? So ridiculous…)

MC: (Plus, how could Luke be tricked by someone like that…)

MC: (Although…)

Though that was what I was thinking, I still knew…

Just like the knight in my dream, the love and protection Luke gave to me was always that silent, yet so etched into his very being.

But unlike the dream, we were now walking towards a happy future together.

I would hold his hand tightly, and I would never let go.

MC: …

The afternoon sunlight pervaded the room, and a slight breeze blew past. Everything was as great as always.

On the storage cabinet on the side, the mirror and sword model were stacked together. Under the sunlight, the rubies flashed faintly.

They looked somewhat familiar.

Phonecall

Hi! Good morning, are you up yet?

Ah… I bought a medieval-themed game that looks really interesting, so I wanted to ask if you wanted to play it together.

This game also has dual-player co-op mode. We can hit new game records together, just like in the past.

The game plot? Seems like a knight went on a quest to slay a dragon to find his missing lover.

I feel like this story’s pretty remarkable, and the animations done for the fights with the dragon in the middle were done really realistically…

Huh, what’s the matter? Why do you have such a pained expression on?

You don’t want to play this game… why? Does the plot make you feel uncomfortable?

Huh?! You had a nightmare with the same plot? And the main characters were you and me?! And we didn’t even get a good ending?!

Pfft… silly, it’s just a dream, don’t take it to be real.

Plus, doesn’t everyone always say that dreams and reality are the opposite?

You saw a bad ending, which means that we’ll have a good ending. So don’t be afraid, it’s all fine.

Hm… if you still don’t feel at ease, then how about we work together to beat this game?

I’ll prove to you that we’ll definitely reach the Happy Ending!

#Tears of Themis #tears of themis translations #xia yan #luke pearce #未定事件簿 #tot spoilers #tot luke #suffering whiplash and sugar #the xia yan fan experience

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mrsmaybank · 4 years ago

Text

My Little Sun - Reid x Reader

“Ridiculously perfect.” I held her tighter as she looked up at me and our eyes locked, “I’ve fallen ridiculously in love with you.” “So my evil plan worked then?” She chirped.

CONTENT WARNINGS: AGE GAP, VIOLENCE, KIDNAPPING, PREGNANCY, STALKING, LANGUAGE probably the misuse of a Russian word IF THERES MORE LMK

A/N: Okay, let me be honest rq this idea lowk scared me but the words really just fell out of my brain really easily so, yk fuck it whatever. ANYWAY, if you like, please let me know!

pt 2, pt 3 “I love you Spencer.” The words immediately melted me.

“I know so many things.” She gave me an unapproving look.

“I don’t mean to sound cocky, but I do! Now for once in your life, listen to me.” She nodded her head in concession.

“I’ve just read more, I’ve written more, I’ve discovered and studied more than the average person. I could tell you a little bit about anything with one hundred percent certainty. I could--and want--to tell you the names of all the stars, I could recite verbatim the entirety of Prometheus Bound by Aeschylus or Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, which you know, speaking of I will ‘cause I still can’t believe you haven’t read it,” Her smile flattened into a straight line, and I laughed. “Orrr, I could also tell you something simple, like why we get the hiccups.” I shook my head.

“Regardless, I know so many things and I’m rarely taken by surprise because of it. Everything in life is a pattern of change, and as a human, we will always adjust and adapt to whatever situation we are in. For better or worse, we don’t feel the same thing for very long. This is why an addict takes a couple more every time, a sadist hits his second victim harder than the first, they’re searching for the high of the first time, and it will never come.”

She nodded in understanding,

“I know this is true, it’s factual, and yet every time I look at you it feels like the first. You’ve broken the laws of human psychology.”

“First time you saw me was at a gas station Spencer.”

“No. The first time I looked at you after I knew I loved you.”

“Where were we?”

“My car. You were dancing. You looked ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously sexy? You mean?” She smiled.

“Ridiculously perfect.” I held her tighter as she looked up at me and our eyes locked, “I’ve fallen ridiculously in love with you.”

“So my evil plan worked then?” She chirped.

“It did indeed. You’ve become my solnyshko moyo.”

“Tell me that’s Russian dirty talk.” She said with a grin.

“It’s better. It’s a term of endearment you’ve become the epitome of.”

“And what’s that Dr. Reid?” she giggled.

“My little sun. You’ve become my little sun. Following me around and bringing light and warmth.” She snuggled herself impossibly closer into my chest, wrapping one of her legs over mine.

“Except for your feet!” I shrieked at her freezing toes meeting mine.

“They’re not that cold you big baby!” she shouted.

I laughed and kissed her sweetly, “I am not the baby here.” I said.

“Please,” she started until I interrupted her with a kiss, “If you’re not the baby,” I kissed her again, “That implies I’M the baby,” Kiss, “And I’m not a” Kiss.

“Shush baby.” I told her, but like always, she didn’t listen, instead sitting up to straddle me. My appreciation for her beauty was like how a prisoner appreciates freedom, and yet it was miniscule into what I found in her character. It blew my mind that a girl so perfect existed.

“Rarely do great virtue and beauty dwell together. Francesco Petrarch.” I started, my hands making their way onto her hips, “That makes you a rarity.”

“You’re spoiling me with nice words today Spencer.” “You’ve spoiled me. My frontal lobe is spoiled milk.” She laughed, wondering how I was going to manage to make this one romantic.

“That’s the part of the brain responsible for sensibility and logical thinking, and you, little girl, have positively ruined it. You make me stupid.”

“I ruined the genius Dr. Reid with the 187 IQ? Makes sense. I’m like, way smarter.”

“You are. So, so much smarter.”

“I want that in writing.” she poked my chest.

I pulled her down and kissed her forehead to whisper in her ear. “Not a chance.”

She pushed herself away and rolled her eyes at me like a bratty child does her nanny, and I continued, “ You’re smarter, but I’m more educated. I have more doctorates than you have years in university.”

“Whatever…”

I brushed the hair away from her perfect face, “You tired baby?”

She sighed and laid down, splaying herself on my chest, laying on me like I was the duvet. “Very.”

I held her impossibly close, breathing in her scent and counting every time her heart thumped, her bpm said she was relaxed. Oh god, I wanted her like this forever. Relaxed in my arms, where nothing could touch us but each other.

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

“Must you work?” I sent the message to Spencer as I rolled over to his side of the bed in anticipation. I breathed in heavy, liking the way the pillow smelled like his laundry.

“Unfortunately.” he responded. “Think you’ll be home this weekend?”

“It’s not looking like it, little one. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t reply. I was too sad to reply. I knew it’d make him feel guilty, which I didn’t want to do, cause like, his job and saving people and shit is important. But, it still wasn’t fair! At all. There was something very important I had to tell him.

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

Total darkness, and then way too much light. My head hurt and I couldn’t move. I was handcuffed to a wooden chair. There were chains around my torso and ankles. The room was a medical sort of bright. It smelled like bleach and rotting fruit. The walls were dilapidated, seeming to be made of tiles that were once white, but have turned yellow.

What the FUCK?

“Hello!” I shouted. My voice was so coarse it hurt. Shit. My head pulsed so badly it practically hurt to think, but I still racked my brain.

Where am I?

How’d I get here?

Why am I here?

I woke up again. Fuck, why can’t I think? Why can’t I do anything?

“Hey, y/n.” A woman’s voice. A very stoic, cold, sounding female voice.

I’m not alone. Thank god, oh my god, I’m not alone.

With the little strength I had, I lifted my head to see her. She wasn’t what I thought. She was alright, she wasn’t tied. She did this to me?

She took a sip from her silver flask, “Do you know who I am?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Typical.” She stood up and grabbed me by the hair, “You fucking disgust me.” Like, she said, she threw my hair away like it disgusted her.

She sat back down on the bench in front of the chair I was chained to, “My name is Brook Austen. I was a professor at Georgetown last year. Taught a couple seminars at your school, that little university you go to, the students there were nothing like mine. Not nearly as intelligent, but as expected, Georgetown is much more prestigious, obviously.”

I was confused, and she knew, but did not care.

“You’re not the brightest, y/n. Only slightly above average high school grades, strikingly mediocre academic performance now.”

Where the hell is she going with this?

“And you know it doesn’t surprise me, per say, because every man on this goddamn planet is a piece of fucking shit! But I thought that, maybe, just maybe, Spencer was different.”

She grimaced, “I thought he’d want more than just a pretty face! ‘Cause you might be prettier y/n, but I’m smarter.” Her words were laced with utter hatred.

Her demeanor changed, and it almost started to seem like she was talking to herself. “I'm older. I’m more successful. I’m fucking better.”

She approached me again, grabbing my face so I was looking her in those scarily light green eyes, and she wrapped her hands around my throat. “I’m fucking better then you! Better, better, better!” Every time she said better she shook my neck and gripped tighter so I couldn’t breathe.

“Stop! Please! Please stop!” I shouted, “I’m-I’m pregnant!”

She began to break down, “You’re pregnant?” A maniacal chuckle left her throat, “You’re pregnant?”

“Is it Spencer’s?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Wow.” She laughed once more, “Fucking wow.”

“How could Spencer choose this!? You’re nothing like him. You are a pathetic fucking college student. A fucking daddy issue ridden slut! I’m a celebrated academic, just like him!” Tears began to slip from her eyes, “How could he not choose me?”

This woman is NOT well in the head.

“You--you like Spencer?” I asked.

“You don’t get to ask the fuckin’ questions here.” She pulled a knife out of her pocket and held it to the tip of my chin, “I do. So you’re gonna answer them.” Or, she started manically laughing, “I’ll kill you.” She swallowed, “And your baby.”

I screamed at those words, “No,” I sobbed, “NO!”

I turned my head away so I didn’t have to look at the woman in front of me, there was a timed red dot blinking. A camera.

“Is that-- is that a camera?”

She nodded, “I want Spencer to see you and his child die.”

“He….No! No, please, No!” I choked on a sob and she smiled.

“He doesn’t know.” She paced, “He doesn’t even fucking know!”

She waltzed over to the camera and brought it closer to us, “Hey Spencer.” She began waving, “Hey Penelope. Aaron. Derek. Jennifer. Emily.”

Her demeanor changed once more, into that of a cheerleader of all things, “So, quick recap.” Brook pursed her lips, “Spencer your twenty three year old fucktoy is pregnant. Congrats!”

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

Y/N was two things I didn’t know she was this morning: In serious danger, and the mother of my expected child. I felt frozen in trepidation.

We all watched in horror as Brook greeted us. All by first name. She knew exactly what she was doing and it freaked me out even more.

“Reid, you need to step out.” Hotch grabbed my shoulder, “Now.”

I was sick with fear and ill with rage. I sat down because I could feel my knees go weak. Hotch started again, “We know who she is. We will find her. Y/N will be alright.” He paused, “So will the baby.”

I replayed the events of the live footage in my head, her screams of pain and terror, her trembles and confusion. I’d failed her. I’d failed her and now I knew I’d also failed our child.

JJ sat down next to me, “Spencer, when did you meet Brook?”

“I uh,” I wiped my face, “A year and four months ago. I did uh, I taught uh, I taught a string of seminars at Georgetown. It was biweekly. Her office was next to mine. We spoke for the first time when she offered me a coffee.”

“What did you say?”

“What do you think I said?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I said yeah, I fucking like coffee.” I felt instantaneously guilty for cursing, and especially at JJ but I was too frazzled for it to last long enough to apologize.

“I know Spence, I’m sorry. Just keep going.”

“Then, the next week, we got lunch together.”

“Was it, you know, friendly?”

“What are you implying Jennifer?” I snapped.

“No Spence, we just need to know. You know that.”

“It was-- it was just lunch. A very normal colleague to colleague lunch. We talked about the school’s history. And uh, where we grew up. It was small talk.”

“Ok, was this the last time you spoke to her?”

“No. There was one more time. Y/N was there.”

“Tell me about it Spence.” She grabbed my hand,

I breathed out, “It was the next week I taught after lunch. About two hours before my class. I was lesson planning, and Y/N was doing homework on my desk. She came in. She asked if I wanted to go get lunch. She saw y/n and--Fuck.”

“What Spence? What?”

“She asked me who she was, but it was like, she didn’t want y/n to know she was asking. She thought she was…”

“She thought she was what?”

“A student.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“The truth. That she was my girlfriend.”

“Did you see her anywhere else after that?”

“No. She never came by my office again. When I would see her by chance, she would scurry away. It was strange.”

“Think really hard Spence. Did you ever see her again after you stopped teaching at Georgetown.”

I racked my brain, “Yeah. I did. It was two months ago. Three days after I proposed to y/n. She was getting a coffee at this coffee shop by y/n’s school.. I was bringing her some lunch”

“Spencer she's been stalking you. Your proposal was the stressor.”

“But--I’m a profiler. I would’ve noticed.” I stood up with a realization. “What Spence?” JJ asked, standing up as well to look at me.

“She’s been stalking her, not me. She knew I was a part of the BAU, she knew I would’ve noticed.”

“I’ll tell the team.”

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A/N2: If this doesn’t totally flop, I’ll write PT 2, that elaborates on the reader’s and Spencer’s relationship. I think through flashbacks from both Y/N and Spencer would be a cool way to explore their relationship and of course the whole reader being kidnapped thing plot could develop. Again, if you enjoyed this pls let me know!!

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gammija · 4 years ago

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The final Web!Martin evidence list

Now that canon is done, and we’ve got word of god confirmation that Web!Martin wasn’t complete nonsense, I decided to go back to my lil chronological evidence list and actually clean it up a bit, delete parts that in hindsight weren't all that indicative, and put everything in a slightly more readable format. (Obligatory disclaimer that i don’t and never did believe or advocate for some kind of evil web!martin, and that I'm not intending to connect a moral judgement to martin (or anyone else for that matter) having some of these traits)

So here: The (hopefully, please) final list with Web!Martin Evidence! Presented in order of importance, according to. me

The final (hopefully) Web!Martin evidence list

(In order from most to least obvious)

Spiders

I mean, it’s called the Web. TMA reiterates quite a few times that Martin liked spiders. Sometimes it IS that easy.

MAG022: Martin: "I like spiders. Big ones, at least. Y’know, y’know the ones you can see some fur on; I actually think they’re sort of cute -"

MAG038: | Sasha: "A spider?" Jon: "Yeah. I tried to kill it…" [...] Sasha: [Chuckles] "Well, I won’t tell Martin." Jon: "Oh, god. I don’t think I could stand another lecture on their importance to the ecosystem."

MAG059: Jon: "I have done my best to prevent Martin reading this statement in too much detail. I have no interest in having another argument about spiders."

MAG079: Jon: "Apparently, biologically, his account of the spiders doesn’t make any sense according to Martin."

MAG197: Martin: “What? Because I like spiders? Well, used to.”

Lies and subterfuge

Martin is able to use lying and subterfuge to achieve his goals, and is called manipulative a few times.

Lies:

MAG022: Martin: "[He] became slightly more co-operative after I lied to him and told him that one of the upstairs residents had buzzed me in."

MAG056: Martin: "I lied on my CV."

MAG158: Peter: “But you said –” Martin: “Honestly, I mostly just said what I thought you wanted to hear.”

MAG164: Jon: "You – I actually believed you!"

MAG189: Martin: “Sorry. Sorry, John. Not sure how much everything up there actually understood what was going on. But, y’know, I didn’t want to take any chances so it made sense to… um…” Jon: “Put on a show?” Martin: “Yeah, basically, more or less.”

MAG191: Martin: "That's not true." Arun: "Liar!"

Subterfuge:

The plan in 118, which revolved around convincing Elias that Martin was only “acting out”, to create a distraction for Melanie. (Also compare the way he evades giving a straight answer here with the way Annabelle talks in 196.)

Working with Peter in s4 under false pretenses, to distract him from Jon and eventually try to learn what Peter wanted.

Manipulation accusations:

These, I know, are somewhat contentious, since it’s mostly villains saying this to him. I’m still including them, since

1): From a media analysis standpoint, being mentioned 3 times is a sign to pay attention, even when it may not be the full truth.

2): I only see it as describing Martin’s behaviour in the previous points, not as a moral judgement; Especially since he almost always ‘manipulates’ people in positions of power over him.

Still, if it bothers anyone, feel free to ignore these.

MAG138: Martin: "That’s it? No, no monologue, no mind games? You love manipulating people!" Elias: "That makes two of us."

MAG186: Martin: “I can be a real manipulative prick, you know that?” Also Martin: “Oh yeah.”

MAG196: Annabelle: “Because you always managed to get what you wanted through smiles and shrugs and stammerings that weren’t nearly as awkward as they seemed.” [SMALL SOUND OF MARTIN’S CONCESSION TO THE POINT] Martin: “Point taken.”

The Lonely/the Web

The Lonely and the Web sometimes affect Martin to similar degrees.

In season 3, when Martin is getting used to reading statements for the first time, most of them leave him emotionally affected: MAG084, MAG088, MAG090,

MAG095: Martin: “S-S-Statement… done.” [HEAVY BREATHING & TREMBLING AS MARTIN STEADIES HIMSELF] “I don’t like recording these. There. I-I said it.”,

MAG098: Martin: [Panting] “End of statement.” [Deep breath] “I, um, I think I might need to sit down. Oh. Yeah, I am. Right. I don’t, uh, I’m not really sure if these are actually getting easier or harder. I mean I don’t feel –”

Only the last two statements he reads are remarkably easier. This might be a hint that Martin is just getting used to reading them, but the quote from MAG098 seems to contradict that. Either way, it’s likely not a coincidence that those last two happen to be the Lonely and the Web:

MAG108: Martin: “Statement ends.” (exhale) “That wasn’t so bad…”

MAG110: Martin: “Statement ends.” [...] “I mean, I think it sounds like a Jurgen Leitner book. About spiders. Hm. Good John didn’t have to read this one, anyway. I know he’s not a fan. Although, this one wasn’t too bad, actually! I – yeah. Anyway.”

In season 5, there are two powers’ Domains that actually affected Martin mentally, as opposed to only physically: the Lonely’s, in 170 (and arguably 186), and, depending on your interpretation, in 172, when Martin went exploring without knowing why he did so.

Proximity

Martin investigates a lot of the Web statements during season 1 to 3 (in other words, when the archive team still researches statements). The only ones he isn’t mentioned in during this period are MAG019 and MAG020, when he’s being harrassed by worms, and MAG081, which Jon records by himself outside of the institute.

Most notably, he’s the one who discovered the statement in MAG114, ‘Cracked Foundations’, which is the one statement in the entire show that sets up the interdimensional properties of HTR.

The Web!Lighter passed through Martin's hands first, before he gave it to Jon.

Similarly, Annabelle mostly spoke to Martin in season 5, despite most other Avatars usually focusing on Jon.

Aesthetics

Apart from the above obviously Web related areas, there are some other aesthetics which are mentioned in connection to both the Web and Martin, throughout canon.

These are describing the Web;

These are describing Martin.

Tapes:

Martin is the only character to treat the tape recorders as friends - any other character is either indifferent, or treats them as enemies.

MAG039: Martin: "I think the tapes have a sort of… low-fi charm."

MAG154 Martin: “Oh. Hi. Hello again.” … (small laugh) “Sorry pal, false alarm this time.”

MAG156 Martin: “Mm? Oh.” [HE LAUGHS, GENTLY.] “Yeah. (rustling paper) I was going to read one. Hate for you to miss it!” [SHORT, FORCED LAUGH, AS HE FLAPS THE STATEMENT AROUND.]

MAG170 Martin: “Oh. Oh, hello. What’s this? Wow, retro! What are you up to, little buddy; just – listening? That’s okay. It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

MAG190 Jon: "[The tapes] seem to like [Martin]."

Retro:

MAG069: Statement: “I only saw Annabelle Cane once during this period. She wasn’t hard to pick out. She dressed like a vintage clothing store exploded on her, and her short bleach-blonde hair stood out sharply against dark skin.”

MAG160: Jon: “Anyways, don’t tell me the phonebox down there doesn’t appeal to your retro aesthetic.” Martin: “It – might. Maybe.”

MAG163: Annabelle/the Web callying Martin via an old payphone: [ A PHONE RINGS. IT’S NOT THE TINNY, ELECTRONIC SOUND OF A CELLPHONE – NO, THIS IS A TRUE, HEAVY, CLASSIC RING.] Martin: “Uh. John? Uh, J, John – the, uh, payphone that’s – here, for some reason – it’s ringing?”

Hatred of burns:

MAG067: Jack Barnabas’ statement: “I looked up and noticed within the corner of the room, where there had been a spider’s web this morning, there was just a faint wisp of smoke.” “Another held a bag that seemed to be full of candles, while a third had a clear plastic container filled with hundreds of tiny spiders.”

MAG139: Statement by member of Cult of the Lightless Flame: “The Mother of Puppets has always suffered at our hand; all the manipulation and subtle venom in the world means nothing against a pure and unrestrained force of destruction and ruin.” Agnes burned down Hilltop Road.

MAG145: The Web ties Gertrude to Agnes, stopping the Desolation’s ritual (the only Power whose ritual the Web is known to have prevented).

MAG167: Gertrude enlists Agnes’/the Desolation’s help in order to burn her assistant Emma, who was Web aligned.

MAG169: Martin: "Look, I just – don’t want to get burned, all right? It’s, it’s like my least favorite pain ever. [...] I, I legitimately hate burns, alright? They’re, they’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just – it – it just makes me sick; I, I hate it. Hate it!"

Phrasing:

MAG039: Martin: "I’m trapped here. It’s like I can’t… move on and the more I struggle, the more I’m stuck. [...] It's just that whatever web these statements have caught you in, well, I’m there too. We all are, I think."

MAG079: Martin's poem: "The threads of people walking, living, lovi–"

MAG117: Martin: "This last couple of years, I’ve always been running, always hiding, caught in someone else’s trap, but, but now it’s my trap, and, well, I think it’ll work. I know, I know it’s not exactly intricate, but it felt good leaving my own little web. Oh, oh, Christ, I hope John doesn’t actually listen to these. “Good lord, is Martin becoming some sort of spider person?” No, John, it’s an expression, chill out! Besides, spiders are fine. I mean, yes, people are scared of them, obviously, but actual spiders, they just want to help you out with flies."

MAG167: Jon: “Methinks the Spider dost protest too much.” Martin: “Jon –” Jon: “Joking! Just joking.”

Personality:

How applicable these are depends heavily on how you interpret Martin's own personality, so your mileage may vary.

MAG008: Statement: “Nobody ever said a word against Raymond himself, though, who was by all accounts a kind and gentle soul [...]”

MAG123: Jon: "The Web does seem to have a preference for those who prefer not to assert themselves."

MAG147: Annabelles statement: "I discovered a deep and enduring talent inside myself for lying. [...] My manipulations were not intricate, but they were far beyond what was expected of a child my age, and I have always believed that the key to manipulating people is to ensure that they always under- or overestimate you. Never reveal your true abilities or plans."

Word of God and Annabelle

I kinda wanted to ‘prove’ that Web!Martin had quite a bit of evidence to back it up, hence this header being last. But of course, in this post-canon world, there are a few lines that most obviously confirm the theory:

MAG197: Martin is Web enough to be able to read the 'vibrations', like Annabelle, and see Jon and Basira (the latter being especially notable, as he hadn't known she was there beforehand): [CHITTERING, BUZZING AND HIGH-PITCHED SQUEALS CHANGE CADENCE] Martin: "Wait… Wait, hang on, is that him?" Annabelle: "Yes. I guess you’re better with the Web than we thought." Martin: "And – Wait, ha– No, uh… is that… Basira? He – He’s got Basira with him!" Annabelle: "Yes."

Season 5 Q&A part 2: Jonny: “Essentially, it was fascinating looking at the fandom and, like, the Web!Martin believers, because what they were doing was correctly picking up on hints dropped in the early seasons that were later, like, not exactly abandoned, but it was much more like, ‘Well, no, he does have like aspects of The Web to him, but he is moreover The Lonely.’ And that came about very… very organically, really. Because throughout Season 3 and going into Season 4, we had this conversation and we were like, ‘No, actually he's like-” Alex: “‘It can't be, it cannot be, it must be the other way round’ Yeah.”

(Note that they say “throughout season 3 and going into season 4,” which likely means that season 1, season 2, and at least part of season 3, aka half of the entire show, were written with Web!Martin as an intentional possibility.)

If you read all that, thanks so much! Obviously, Web!Martin never really came to fruition, so it's fine if you still don't like it. This is just a post explaining where it was coming from, at least for me and the other theorists I've spoken to.

#the magnus archives #magnus archives #tma #tma s5 #web!martin #web martin #webmartin #or as jonny called it:#spider!martin #tma theory #tma meta #martin blackwood #martin k blackwood #martin #tma martin #magnuspod #i feel like i say this every time too but #when i say martin lies a lot i dont mean that #in comparison to 'normal people'#i mean that in canon he gets specifically mentioned to lie; at a higher rate than the other protagonists #ditto for everything else. im not speaking about real life people who might have these traits. im doing a media analysis #my own real life bedroom curtains being blue dont mean im depressed but in media sometimes aesthetic themes can be deeper signifiers #and tma especially has some very strong aesthetic themes #ok i think im done talking now. webmartin theories always get me rambling #EDIT: oops i changed a part on mobile and now the formatting is a bit fucked #ill fix it back tomorrow #if anyone cares #EDIT EDIT: ok fixed it

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years ago

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Around You Neck

Bonus: Part 3

Relationship: Helmut Zemo x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, penetrative sex, fingering, dirty talk, exhibitionism, voyeurism, slight degradation, choking, slight metal arm kink - 18+, minors DNI Summary: Something was sparked inside you after Bucky let Zemo watch you two. Now you want to take it a little farther with Zemo but you also want Bucky there as a bit of a...guide. A/N: this was actually requested (see below)! I never, ever thought the original Around You Neck would be taken this far but it certainly has gone on a journey. You don’t technically need to read each part to understand this one but if you’d like to see the progression, please feel free. I hope this lives up to any and all expectations!

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

As much as you didn’t totally want to admit it, you couldn’t stop thinking about Zemo.

Ever since the sexual ventures you had partaken in with him and Bucky, your opinion on him had...shifted. While, no, you weren’t looking at him as some sort of romantic conquer (you were still very much dedicated to your boyfriend) you couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like for him to join again. Maybe this time a bit more...hands-on.

Truly, though, you never thought you were actually going to act on these ideas. In fact, you figured you hid your wandering mind pretty well. Some sneaky glances at Zemo and brushes of hands weren’t much to raise any alarms, especially when you were constantly in close proximity with said person. It truly didn’t get closer than being in their literal home. But you forgot to take into account the fact Bucky wasn’t exactly of normal human nature. His senses were dialed up to eleven - especially when you were in the room.

Your shameful confession came out one afternoon. Bucky had heard you giggle at something Zemo had said and nearly punched a hole through the nearest wall before grabbing your arm. While nothing crazy, he did throw you into the nearest room with some force, anger practically emitting from him in waves.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asked once the room to the door was shut. You backed away, quite surprised by the outburst, as Bucky stalked towards you, seething.

“W-What?”

“Don’t try to blame dumb with me,” he scoffed, arms folded with a pointed look on his face. “Why are you making googly eyes at Zemo?”

“Googly eyes-,”

Bucky cut you off. “And laughing like he’s the funniest fucking person on the planet? What game are you playing here, dear?”

That goddamn nickname made you cringe. Ever since Zemo restored to calling you that during the intimate encounter, Bucky hasn’t let it go, using it like some weapon.

You shake your head, trying your best to play this off. Sure, you had some words of explanation for your boyfriend but you didn’t want it to come out right now. “I-I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” Bucky raised his brows in surprise. “So, you haven’t been shooting little glances at him? Or how about when your hand just so happens to end up on his shoulder? That’s definitely my favorite.” His tone was so lifeless. You gulped.

An awkward pause settled as you tried averting your gaze anywhere but at your annoyed boyfriend. This task proved to be impossible. “Bucky, please-,”

“You want to be with him, don’t you?” His question filled the room. “God, I knew this was going to happen. I never should’ve…”

You began shaking your head furiously. “Not in that way.”

“Not in that… Well then in what fucking way?”

You looked down at your hands, fiddling with your fingers anxiously. You took a deep breath. “I think we should… We should bring him into our, um, activities again.”

The silence that followed your confession was nerve-wracking. You didn’t have the guts to look at Bucky, just standing there patiently waiting on his response. The longer he stalled the more foolish you felt like you had actually cheated on him when that wasn’t anywhere near the truth.

For a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to say anything, just storm out or something, but instead, he let out a nervous cough and asked, “In what way would you- would you want him to join us?”

You slowly gather the courage to face your boyfriend again. He looked genuinely curious, lacking any sort of rage you had assumed would be present. No, instead, he appeared interested, not even mocking you in any way. This all made you feel quite more comfortable about the truth getting out. You took a moment to recollect yourself and get your pounding heart under control.

“Well… I can’t deny that I want to sleep with him.”

“I knew it-,”

“But,” your voice raised, cutting off Bucky, “I want you there to sort of, like, l-lead him.”

Bucky cocked his head. “Lead him?”

You nodded, taking a few steps closer to your boyfriend, practically as close as you humanly could. “Tell him what to do, how to please me. Only you know that, honey.” You chuckled, placing a light hand on his chest. “Picture it: Another man wants to ravish me, but you… Only you know how to get me going. Only you know what I want, how to make me squirm. Only you can teach him and wouldn’t that just be…” Your words trailed off as your eyes fluttered shut at the thought, a soft moan leaving your lips. When you opened them again, Bucky was searching your face with great intensity.

“You really want this, don’t you?” He asked. You shyly nodded. Bucky took a moment before continuing, “You want to be watched while you get fucked again?”

“Bucky…”

He let out a dangerous laugh. “My naughty little exhibitionist,” he shook his head, a knowing smirk playing at his lips now. You couldn’t believe he was coming around to the idea but the fact he was made your core already so wet. “Okay, doll. Let’s see what we can do.”

***

Bucky had decided to take the lead when it came to bringing this up with Zemo. Still ever such the dominant figure in your relationship, he instructed you to wait in the guest room you had been lent while he approached the Baron.

Amazingly, you didn’t have to wait long. Within moments, your heart was dropping as the door to the room was pushed open by Bucky. Zemo followed swiftly behind with an unreadable expression.

Both men stopped at the foot of the bed, right in front of you. You looked up at them, curiously.

“So - So did you explain…”

“James did enlighten me with your...desires,” Zemo said, a little smirk playing on his lips. “I must say, dear. You are quite the little minx.”

Your jaw went slack at his words, unsure of what to say. Only Bucky liked calling you that. But you certainly didn’t hate it rolling off Zemo’s tongue like that.

“Maybe you should cool it with the pet names,” Bucky snapped.

Zemo glanced at him. “I don’t know, James, she seems to enjoy it.”

You clenched your thighs, unable to deny it. Bucky didn’t miss that little movement but chose to not acknowledge it.

“I’m taking the lead here and if I say no pet names then there are no pet names,” Bucky said, his voice slow and serious as he stared down Zemo. “Got it?” You couldn’t believe the sight in front of you. Nothing had even explicitly happened yet and there was already a puddle forming in your panties.

“Very well,” Zemo eventually agreed. Slowly, right in front of you, he began removing articles of his clothing. This was happening. “How would you like me then?”

“I-,”

Bucky cut you off. “When you’re done, undress her.” Zemo didn’t say anything but just nodded, stripping down until he was in all his bare glory right in front of you. You tried to not stare, focusing instead strictly on his face which held the tiniest smirk, as he began teasingly running his hands under the fabric of your shirt.

You couldn’t believe how hot you were finding this. Your control was pretty much gone, all solely in the trust of Bucky and Zemo. A diabolical pair. You obeyed when Zemo motioned for you to lift your arms. Within no time, you were totally open and bare in front of the men.

Zemo’s hand lingered on your face, stroking your cheek softly. You gasped at the motions. He came close to running his thumb along your lips but then Bucky spoke up, “Enough. Lay her down.”

Zemo didn’t waste another second pushing you back onto the bed. He was crawling on top of you in no time, not waiting for another command before capturing your lips with his. It felt like a brand new world. His movements in the kiss, deep and powerful, were so unlike Bucky’s. Bucky’s had meaning, years of love behind them. There was nothing like that with Zemo, just the understanding of what you’re here to do. It took your breath away.

Bucky scoffed when you two pulled apart. “I’ll let that slide for now. Start warming her up, touch her. It won’t take much, though. Can already see she’s dripping onto the sheets.”

Your cheeks burned at the borderline degrading words from your boyfriend but Zemo didn’t look phased. Instead, while one hand was planted next to your head, his other began running up and down you. His fingers were so light and teasing. They ran over your breast, pulling lightly at your skin, earning a surprised gasp from you. Zemo looked quite pleased with himself as he continued, his hand now making its way lower on your body. He stopped just above the apex of your thighs, hovering temptingly.

“Touch her,” Bucky commanded, his voice strained and...needy? You didn’t have much time to think too hard about it before Zemo was plunging two fingers right into your core, the wetness allowing the easiest of access. You cried out in surprise earning a low chuckle from Zemo. He seemed quite amused by how vocal you could be.

“Feel good?” He asked, mockingly. His fingers curled within you as they pumped in and out, your walls clenching around them desperately. You nodded weakly.

Bucky groaned. “Touch her clit. Now.”

Zemo happily complied. The palm of his hand began pressing against your clit with every thrust, forcefully. At one point, he stilled his fingers in you, giving your clit his full, undivided attention. You yelped, twisting at the overwhelming sensation of the fingering and circling.

Pleasure was running through you at an almost unbearing amount. It all escalated when your head lolled to the side and your eyes fell on Bucky. He was leaning against the wall across from the bed, hands fisted at his side, erection clearly pressing against the fabric of his pants. His gaze was hard, his pupils wide. He was watching so intensely yet with just the littlest hint of wonder. It hit you - Bucky was starting to actually enjoy this.

Zemo, on the other hand, wasn’t happy he lost your attention. A rough hand came up to your neck, forcing you to look back at him. He roughly pressed his forehead to yours, not letting your eyes wander even in the slightest. All you could do was stare back at his eyes while he fucked you relentlessly with his fingers.

“Eyes on me,” Zemo gritted.

“Watch yourself, Zemo,” Bucky snapped back.

Zemo’s grip on your neck got tighter and you were done for. That fucker really knew your weak points. The fingering was skilled but the grip on your throat... your body couldn’t take it all. You yelled out as your orgasm ran through you, your body jerking in response to it all. Zemo didn’t lighten anything up, though, forcing you to take it all until you were practically clawing at him, begging to stop.

“That’s enough,” Bucky shouted. Zemo gave a dangerous chuckle before removing his fingers, licking each one as if they were a meal to be savored. But Bucky wasn’t close to being intimidated by the other man as he continued his commands, “I’d fuck her now if I were you. She’s getting antsy.”

“I think she’s always antsy,” Zemo sneered. “Maybe I want to make her wait a bit longer. Make her really cherish it.”

Your eyes were still forcefully locked on Zemo until Bucky stomped towards the bed and grabbed the man by the back of his neck, hoisting him away from you. His hand left your throat unwillingly.

In a chilling tone you don’t think you ever heard from Bucky before, he whispered in Zemo’s ear, “I’m making the calls, Zemo, remember? You’re obeying me. If I say fuck her, then you fuck her.” He pushed the man back down, his head falling to the crook of your neck. When he regained his strength, Zemo pulled away to look at you. An unsettling smile played on his lips.

“As you wish,” he muttered and, in one swift, he entered you. Fully. No true warning. You gasped in utter shock at the boldness. You hadn’t expected it to take a moment or two for you to adjust to him. He was different from what you were used to with Bucky. Bucky had the length, but Zemo had the girth. He was stretching you in a whole new way and once you were past the shock, you soaked in all of it.

Zemo just halted inside you, waiting for you to face him. You hadn’t even realized your eyes had closed until you were being forced to reopen them. Once you gave a little nod - your way of begging at this point - Zemo began moving in and out. His pace was strong, so determined.

He must’ve seemed like a man deprived because Bucky barked out, “Slower. Now you can let her wait for it. Let her feel it. She gets so needy sometimes she just has to be taught some patience.”

Reluctantly, Zemo complied, slowing his motions. You couldn’t even imagine the power-high Bucky must’ve been on at that moment. But you didn’t have much time to think about it as Zemo began dragging his full length out of you and reentering slowly, just as instructed. You moaned loudly as the pleasure built.

“You like that? Huh? Sure sounds like it,” Zemo grunted in your ear. “You make the prettiest little noises.”

Your eyes fluttered shut once more as you weakly nodded. But your chance to get lost in the sensations was interrupted by Bucky. Suddenly, he was at the side of the bed, his metal hand coming around your neck and turning your head to face him now.

“Use your words, doll,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving your worn-out expression. Your body jolted with each of Zemo’s thrusts. Bucky paid no mind to the other man, keeping his focus on you and continuing, “Tell him how you’re feeling. It feels good, doesn’t it? Do you like having another man fuck you while I watch? I gotta admit, when you first brought it up I was hesitant but you’re right. There is something about knowing what you need. What makes your little pussy all fucking wet. He may be on top of you but I’m the one controlling your pleasure. You scream for me.”

“Yes, Bucky, yes” was all you could chant as everything began boiling up inside you.

Here you were screaming one man’s name while the other pounded you. There was the hand on your throat - the metal hand. Zemo taking his sweet time delivering his thrusts. The little pressure on your clit every time he’d push in you. Both of the men were only paying attention to you… It was so much at once yet exactly what you needed. Within seconds of Bucky finishing his little monologue, you were cumming hard around Zemo’s cock. It must’ve triggered something in Zemo as well because he wasn’t that far behind.

“Faster,” Bucky suddenly demanded. “Until she can’t take it anymore.”

Zemo sure wasn't hesitating on this one. You felt him fill you fully while his thrusts didn’t falter. He was making sure you two were fucked good. You clawed at Bucky’s arm, wanting something to hold onto as you rode out the orgasm. He kept his grip on your throat tight and careful, watching you with those overwhelming eyes as you came on another man’s cock.

After a couple more weak thrusts, Zemo gave a final strong one before pulling out of you completely, making you whimper. Zemo gave you a soft smile before placing a kiss on your forehead. Once calmed down, he turned his serious self once again and began reclaiming his clothing items. You couldn’t believe how he could just turn it all on and off with a flip of a switch as if you weren’t lying on the bed fucked out mostly because of him. But that was what you had felt from him. It was all just about finding pleasure. And you both were successful.

Bucky didn’t pay any attention to the other man’s actions. He was still locked on you. His hand had left your throat now and was now caressing your cheek. You giggled at the softness, such a stark contrast to just moments before.

Fully dressed now, Zemo cleared his throat, pulling you and Bucky’s attention away from one another. You glanced over at the man. He nodded to you both. “Thank you for the...invitation,” Zemo said. “Better than I could’ve ever imagined.” With that, he promptly exited as powerful and bold as he had entered.

You were alone with Bucky now, unsure of what to actually say.

“Did you enjoy yourself, doll?” Bucky eventually broke the silence. “Better than you could’ve ever imagined?”

You playfully rolled your eyes. His little tinge of jealousy was coming back despite being thoroughly turned on. Which reminded you…

“I did enjoy myself,” you confirmed. “But I think I could have just a little bit more fun.” Regaining your strength, you shifted to a kneeling position on the bed. Your hand began creeping its way up Bucky’s jean-covered thigh to where his erection was still being strained against the material.

Bucky let out a low chuckle as your hand pressed over his covered cock. “You just don’t know when to quit, huh? My insatiable little girl.”

You blushed. “I just want to make sure you enjoyed yourself.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

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juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

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About Time (Reid Fic)

Summary: Reader’s offer to help Morgan renovate one of his properties makes Spencer jealous enough to confess what he never could before.

A/N: I try to avoid specific Reid eras in my works so that it can be up to you how you imagine him, but please just imagine seasons 1 or 2 Spencer - I’m telling you it’ll make the experience richer. Also, I might improve this fic in the near future bc I’m not entirely happy with it. Category: Drabble, Fluff Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: None Word Count: 2.5k Playlist: Would You Be So Kind by Dodie

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Clink … Clink … Clink …

The repetitive noise was barely discernible at first, then it became all that I could focus on.

In an attempt to find the source, I looked up from my paperwork and scanned the room. It only took me half a second to discover that Morgan was the culprit.

From across the round table, I watched as Derek absentmindedly stirred his coffee and sugar together, making a ‘clink’ noise each time his spoon hit the rim of the cup. This wouldn’t have been bothersome had it not persisted for more than 10 minutes which, by all accounts, is plenty of time for the sugar to dissolve.

“Derek… ” I sort of sang, trying to capture his attention as nicely as possible.

“Derek.” I repeated, this time a little less quietly and a little more sharply. Still, my voice did nothing to stop the noisy stirring of his coffee. I stayed silent for a second, just in case he finally noticed I was speaking to him, but when he didn’t, I gave a concerned look to Spencer beside me as if to ask if he was seeing what I was and he returned just the same expression of confusion.

That’s when I knew something was wrong.

“Derek!” I said even louder, finally catching his attention.

His head snapped in my direction, his ghost-like countenance falling away after looking directly at me. I was relieved to see proof of life had been regained behind his eyes. The abrupt reaction made me squint harder in his direction to decipher what was truly going on. “Is everything okay? You were kind of zoning out just now.”

He sighed while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “It’s nothing. I just had a late night last night and I didn’t go to bed till three this morning.”

“Oh?” I asked coyly. “And what was her name?” I brought my mug to my lips to hide my growing smirk behind the rim.

He didn’t catch on right away, which to me was more than enough evidence that he wasn’t well. He was usually the first to be aware of an innuendo, maybe even the one to be making it. “Whose name?”

“The girl that kept you up till three this morning.” I mimicked his voice in crude yet playful imitation.

To this, he shook his head and rolled his eyes with a grin. “Alright, get your pretty lil’ head out of the gutter, Kitten. I was busy fixing up a property I got down in Emporia. Lost track of time. That’s all.”

Whether or not he was hiding something more, I didn’t care anymore. He’d piqued my interest in this new topic. “Emporia? That’s like 2 or 3 hours away.”

His eyebrows lifted in agreement. “Yeah, like I said - late night.”

Not even trying to tempt him with my words, I simply remarked, “But I mean it can’t be that hard though, right? Fixing up the house?”

There was no verbal response from him, only a mirthless chuckle.

I was less careful with my words than I should’ve been, letting them flow through my mouth without filtering them first. “I’m just saying, I worked with Habitat For Humanity for years. We built thousands of houses from scratch, each of them within a matter of days.”

He sat up in his seat and leaned forward to assert himself. It was nearly the same mannerisms he would display in an interview when he wanted to maintain dominance. “Well, that’s because you got how many people working on one house?”

When I didn’t answer, he simply tapped the table and leaned back comfortably in his seat, prematurely relishing in a self-proclaimed victory. “Yeah, exactly. Whereas, it’s just little ol’ me fixing up these properties.”

“Okay, then I’ll help you.”

He only snickered in response, lending way for me to believe he didn’t trust that I’d provide any sort of productive assistance.

“I will!” I insisted. “Since you’re so convinced those houses were only built as fast as they were because it was a group effort, I want to prove to you that it’s actually because I’m just a fast worker.”

“It’s not a race, Kitten. All I said was it took me a while to fix up the house. I don’t need you to help. And I wouldn’t be paying you even if you did, by the way.”

“Oh, I’m not doing this for money,” I reasserted. “I’m doing this for pride. I know I’m right, and I want you to know it, too.”

It’s worth mentioning that Derek and I made these kinds of bets all the time. Our friendship was practically built on the foundation of competition. The first interaction I ever had with him was when he came up to me while I was arranging my desk to ask what I thought the odds were that he could toss his paper ball into the trashcan across the bullpen.

Years Ago . . .

“What are the chances I’ll make the shot?” I heard a deep, unfamiliar voice inquire from behind me.

“You’re aiming for the trashcan all the way over there? No way.” This voice I knew was Elle’s. She’d been the second person to introduce herself to me and if I had to guess, the deeper voice belonged to the guy I recalled sitting diagonally from her. I made eye contact with him when I initially walked in, but he hadn’t taken the time to introduce himself to me, nor I to him. He seemed a little preoccupied … making a paper ball and all.

“Actually, if Morgan’s throw had specific arc, the trajectory of the ball would -”

“He’s not making it, Reid.” Elle cut off the small, almost mousy voice promptly, shutting down any ‘pro-Morgan-making-the-shot’ argument he was about to make.

You could get a lot from just listening. Some might call it eavesdropping, but I like to call it being observant, and from what I’d observed

A) The one throwing the ball was Morgan.

B) The smart-sounding one was Reid.

C) Reid was a proponent of Morgan, so I could assume they were close friends.

D) There were three very distinct, very different personalities in this general vicinity of desks alone.

“O’ ye of little faith! Gimme a break, Elle. You’re just busting my balls ‘cause Reid came to me about Lila before he came to you.”

“That has nothing to do with the fact that I’m right.”

“No, but it means you have bias.” Derek retorted.

“Fine then. If it means that much to you to have an unbiased opinion, let’s ask someone impartial - like Anderson.”

“Actually, I have a better idea,” The deep voice said as soon as I’d placed the last item on my desk - a stack of sticky notes in the shape of a cat’s face that’d been gifted to me the moment I exited the elevator by Penelope Garcia.

“Excuse me, Kitten,” The deep voice purred. “You think I could get this ball into that trash bin right over there?”

It took me a second to register that he was addressing me until I realized where the nickname originated from and that it had belonged to me - I could thank Penelope for that.

“Oh, um …” I looked around the room like somehow it would have my answer. In some ways, it did.

I made contact with Reid first. He smiled weakly at me with tender awkwardness that melted my heart a little bit. Meanwhile, Elle’s eyes were luring me to join her on the dark side and say he wouldn’t make it. To be fair, riling him up seemed like fun. I’d be on Elle’s good side, gain her approval, and if I executed my jest playfully enough, I’d be on Morgan’s good side, too.

“No shot in hell, big guy.”

Present Time . . .

That’s how it all started - this sibling-like rivalry. Ever since then, we’ve been challenging each other like our lives depended on it. And if I had to make it my life’s mission to win this most recent bet, then so be it.

“Alright, kitten, I’ll take you up on that offer. I’ll pick you up at 9 on Saturday.”

We sealed the deal with a cross-table handshake, and at that moment, I hadn’t realized it - only when I thought back to it, did I notice - Reid had been watching the entire interaction unfold. Misinterpreting every painstaking second of it.

_ _ _

Sticking true to his word, Derek had taken up my offer in spades. Not the least bit shy in delegating me each and every duty there could possibly be.

I’ll admit, he used my pride to his advantage. Because while I was practically doing all the handy-work imaginable inside the property, he was resting on his laurels outside, probably taking up the view of rolling green hills that went on forever just beyond the front yard.

It just so happened that that would be our maintained, respective locations for the unexpected arrival of Derek’s very first (very unhappy) guest.

I was inside painting when I heard the placid squeak of Derek getting up from his Adirondack chair on the wraparound porch. I remember peeking my head out of the doorway for a second to see if he was finally going to come inside and help me, but lo and behold, I caught him walking further away from the entrance. While I might’ve given an eye roll of annoyance at the action, I thought nothing of it. Not until I heard Derek speaking to an eerily familiar secondary voice.

“What are you doing here?” I could hear Derek ask. My ears had perked up like a dog on high alert.

“Don’t play dumb. You’re trying to … to -” The second voice stammered.

“Spit it out, kid!”

“You’re trying to steal my girl!” Whoever it was, was desperate to speak with conviction, maybe even malice, to prove some level of strength that could match Derek’s, but they tried and failed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Steal your girl? What the hell are you talking about, man?”

“You know I like her! And yet you’re just hanging out with her alone now? On one of your desolate properties? Can’t you see how suspicious that looks? You’re supposed to be my friend.”

I’d stopped painting completely at this point so I could take asylum behind the closed door. I could place that voice anywhere, and I needed to press my ear against the only thing separating it from me to confirm what I already knew.

“Reid, I am your friend,” And there it was. Reid? “And as your friend, I’m telling you: lower your voice unless you want her to hear you.”

“Don’t patronize me. Just tell me,” Spencer, if anything, spoke louder. Perhaps he did want me to hear him, or he simply wanted to defy Derek. “Why do you flirt with her?”

“Flirt?” Derek seemed appalled at the word. It would’ve been offensive that he was disgusted at the thought of engaging with me in that manner had I not felt the same way. What we were doing was not flirting - by any stretch of the imagination.

“You know what I’m talking about. You call her ‘Kitten,’ you both make sexual innuendos that you think fly over my head, you invite her to come over.”

“Slow your roll, Pretty Boy. First of all, ‘Kitten’ is just a nickname I gave her the first time we met because I didn’t know what her actual name was. You know that - you were there. Second, the sexual innuendos are just playful jabs at the fact that I sleep around. Low hanging-fruit. Third, inviting her to come over might seem suspicious, but if you walk in there right now, you’ll see that nothing is going on between us. She’s just here to help.”

I wanted any excuse to walk out there myself and announce my nearby presence. Confront Spencer and tell him I heard everything. Ask him where any of this was coming from. How he could think, for even a second, that there was something between me and Morgan.

Turns out, I didn’t need an excuse. I had already walked out.

Spencer gulped hard when he saw me. And for that I felt sorry for him. He looked so unlike himself. His hair was disheveled like he’d ran his fingers through it a million times out of stress. His outfit was strangely untidy, the buttons of his cuff unclasped. “Could you ... did you-”

“I heard everything,” I clarified to the dumbfounded shell of a man standing at the base of Morgan’s stairs.

It was a triangle of stares between us all. Exchanging quizzical glances in a battle of wills to see who would fold first. I was looking at Reid, Reid was looking at me, then he looked at Morgan, who looked back at him, then at me. Like I said, a triangle of stares.

“Um ... I’ll leave you two to talk. I’ll just be inside.”

I suppose there were worse ways to finally get Morgan off his ass and working.

Reid trailed Morgan with his eyes, while I simply waited for the sound of the door shutting behind me. It took a few more seconds until one of us had the gall to speak.

“Did you mean what you said? About liking me?” This question that I posed went unanswered for what felt like minutes. Looking at Reid, I could tell he wanted to say something, he just didn’t know what.

The soul was willing, but the flesh was weak.

“If you’re not ready to admit it, that’s okay. But then why did you really come here, Spencer? To yell at Morgan for possibly making a move on me? Because now’s your chance. Make your move, Spence.” I descended the stairs, stopping to stand on the very last step so I’d hover a mere inch above him. “Make a move.”

Make a move, he did.

Warm, clammy hands that were disproportionately bigger than the rest of his body caught my face so that unbelievably, inconceivably soft lips could make their fierce attack with no resistance. His fingers laced through my hair until his hand found the nape of my neck. He used that as leverage to pull me impossibly closer.

When he was just one step away from sucking my soul out of me, I laid my palm on his chest and pushed him slightly backward. I think I heard him laughing when I did this, probably to hide the shame of letting himself commit so fully to the moment that he forgot just how intense his passion was.

His eyes fluttered open and his lips were still contorted in a pucker. It took him a second, but it finally came.

“I meant what I said,” He confessed ever so nonchalantly as though it were the easiest thing in the world to him, despite being unable to come even close to admitting it just minutes before. “I like you. A lot.”

It was me who laughed then, both from the sheer elation hearing him say that brought me and the distant, exasperated comment that came from within the house.

“Well, finally! It’s about damn time!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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mycrofts-gunbrella · 3 years ago

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Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part Six)

AN- Two chapters in one night... hope you like them! Soft Holmes Brothers scene at the end because, especially after the Eurus situation, the boys truly do love and care for each other! Not proof read either of these yet so apologies if there are mistakes!

Word Count- 4405

The younger brother's eyes had flicked over you both only momentarily, the tiniest flick up of his lips at the side of his mouth that disappeared so quickly it could have been misinterpreted for a twitch.

"Ever the delight, Sherlock." Mycroft spoke, standing straighter, his chin poking up a little higher. Sherlock glanced over his posture and rolled his eyes.

"Oh for God's sake don't start that Mycroft. Had I blamed you for everything I can assure you I wouldn't have bothered opening the door, don't make it so obvious that you care about my opinion of you- it's embarrassing for both of us." And with that he spun around and headed up the stairs to 221B, leaving the door to the flat wide open and disappearing into the bathroom.

"Well that was.."

"Easy? I told you that you shouldn't worry." You nudged Mycroft into the building before ascending the stairs.

"Sherlock Holmes, possibly the only man in the world to forgive somebody for nearly killing him in a heartbeat, but held a 6 month grudge when I took the last custard cream from the biscuit jar when I was 12.." Mycroft muttered, making his way into the flat and sitting beside you on the two seater sofa. John walked into the room from the kitchen shortly after, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand as he said his hellos.

"Figured I'd stick the kettle on when you said you were on your way.. Greg shouldn't be long now." He gave a smile, taking his place in his own armchair. "How have.." He glanced at Mycroft. "How have you been? He won't admit it, but Sherlock's been worried about you." Mycroft took a breath, sending a polite smile in the direction of the army doctor.

"Doctor Watson, I can assure you that I am fine and have been perfectly well looked after." His eyes flickered to you for a moment and then back to the doctor. "I presume the pair of you have held up well as I haven't heard any reports of gunfire towards the wall for a fair bit of time." John grinned, casting his eyes over to the smiley face on the wall that had thankfully been left alone.

"Good. Yeah, uh, things here have been.. good.. too." A blank stare matched with a more thoughtful raise of lips. ".. Very good, actually.."

"Catch." Sherlock came stalking into the room, a damp flannel thrown in Mycroft's general direction which he caught expertly, not allowing a single moist patch to appear on his clothing.

"And this is.."

"A flannel? Christ Mycroft has trauma affected your brain cells that much?" Sherlock quipped, flopping down into his armchair and lazily holding his hand out for his tea that was a mere few inches away from his fingers. John placed the mug in his hand without thought or argument, his fingers brushing over Sherlock's slightly before moving away. A biscuit soon followed, John holding out the digestive while Sherlock partly opened his lips, and shoving the food between them. It was your turn to raise your brow now, but you didn't say anything, instead just nudging Mycroft with your knee to make sure he had seen it too. Of course he had. "It's for your face, Y/N's lip balm is all round your mouth and it's making me feel a bit sick." John's eyes widened as he looked between the pair of you. You shrugged your shoulders and smiled, Mycroft simply sweeping away the slightly pink balm from underneath his lip and folding the wet cloth back up to place on the side. At least he hadn't picked up that you did it on purpose. Before anybody else could speak, the sound of someone bounding up the stairs filled the flat.

"Sorry I'm late, Ms Hudson let me in an- what did I miss?" Greg stood breathless at the door, satchel slung over his shoulder and a carrier bag in his other hand, staring at the apparent awkward glances shared between half the room. You stood from the sofa and headed over towards him, swiftly wrapping your arms around him and placing a small kiss on his cheek to say hello. He made his way into the room and perched on the arm of the sofa closest to Mycroft, casting another look at everybody when his question still hadn't been answered.

"Nothing of importance. Mycroft and Y/N have obviously decided to stop moping around each other like lovesick teenagers and finally admitted they've been infatuated with each other for years.. Now you're all caught up, can we get these papers sorted out so I can be more productive with my time?" Sherlock huffed.

"Nothing of importance? Don't be an arse Sherlock, that's excellent news." Greg clapped Mycroft on his shoulder and shot you a toothy grin. "Declaration in the park was it? Might be a good enough reason for me to not punch you for closing off St James'.." John's eyes widened more, if it were possible.

"You just.. closed off St James'? Can you even do-" The look Mycroft shot John made him cut his sentence short. "Right, yeah. British Government." He nodded, standing to go fetch Greg a coffee (yourself and Mycroft still held a shared judgement against Greg and his hatred for tea) and continuing to ask questions about your newly confirmed relationship. Mycroft sat awkwardly through the encounter- briefly talking about his emotions in front of you was one thing, a whole flat full of people was entirely different- so you gave his knee a quick squeeze and answered for him. "Who bit the bullet then?" John sat down. "Christ I know I mistook the pair of you being together when I met you, so surely these two have been waiting longer for you to get on with it." Greg grinned, nodding in agreement at John's assumption. Sherlock, on the other hand, stay lying on his chair completely unphased by the conversation going on around him.

"To cut a long story short, we were watching telly, I said Stephen Fry was a bit sexy, Mycroft informed me that he used to get told he had a slight resemblance to him, I realised I'd stuck my foot in it and had a ramble.. Went from there. Nothing too exciting, sorry." You left out the parts where the night before you had handled a broken Mycroft to the shower, how he had gripped onto you, how you held him as you slept. You also left out the way he had allowed himself to cry, how you held him while he wept- and, for that, Mycroft was incredibly thankful. Sherlock probably knew though, somehow, in his Sherlock way of knowing things- but he was either too kind to announce it to the room, or didn't care enough to waste his breath.. probably the latter.

"That's disappointing. You've mentioned about fancying Stephen Fry for years, this could have happened ages ago." John teased.

"Nothing compared to Hugh Laurie though. I'm pretty certain that I'm straight but I'd let him-"

"The papers!!" Sherlock's shout cut Greg's ramble off, making the silver haired man jump and grab his satchel, handing out the reports in a way that reminded you of a teacher with test papers.

"Right, yeah. Sorry. Basically the proper forms aren't ready for another week or so so these are just a few basic questions- nothing too in depth yet since I wanted to give you guys time to... yeah just basic for now." Mycroft chose to read through all the questions before answering them, whereas Sherlock hastily scribbled his response to each question as he went along- the smaller details in the Holmes brothers' differences are always interesting to stumble upon. As he held the page in his hands, you carefully leant over to have a glance at the questions, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder and your cheek resting just against your fingers- blissfully unaware at the 2 sets of eyes openly staring at your movements, and the one set that watched from the side. Greg was right, in a way, the questions definitely weren't as overbearing as they could be- but that doesn't mean it was an easy task. The questions targeted Mycroft a lot more than it did John and Sherlock, asking things about scenarios and situations that had occured before they were taken, how long it had been since they had any contact with Eurus prior to that evening/ what they discussed, and a few basic questions about any incentives Eurus may have had, and anything that aided her into her plan. Of course the papers weren't labelled with the sister's name, they were generically printed and typically handed out to anybody involved in any kind of criminal behaviours, but that didn't make it seem any less like these were questions that targeted Mycroft in particular. Mycroft took a deep breath and laid the papers back onto the coffee table in front of him, pulling a pen out of his pocket and beginning to write. In this moment you had noticed the small bounce of his left leg, a movement only ever shown by him in times where he had a particularly stressful day at work, or a troubling encounter with his brother- it was a movement that let you know his brain was running a mile a minute and he felt a little more overwhelmed that usual. Without making a point of it, you move your right hand to rest on his mid thigh, allowing your thumb to rub small shapes into his leg to show your support.

Turning your gaze to the rest of the room, you noticed Greg's eyes on you, a grin on his face that practically stretched to his ears. You rolled your eyes at him, using your other hand to flip him off and smiled.

It had taken just under two hours in total for the boys to finish completely (well, an hour and twenty minutes for the Holmes siblings, an extra forty minutes for John whose brain simply didn't work as fast as theirs to convey the information on the paper). The time had passed fairly quickly, with yourself and Greg not wanting to disturb the silence and instead just drinking your hot drinks and stealing a couple of biscuits from the tray. You gave Mycroft's leg one last squeeze before sitting back against the sofa, stretching a little after finally getting out of that position.

"Thanks again for getting this done today." Greg spoke, taking the papers in and putting them in a plastic folder. "I'd better be off anyway, get these filed in." He stood, heading for the front door and tripping over the carrier bag he had brought in with him earlier. "Shit, yeah I almost forgot." He picked up the bag and handed it to you. "Got your coat, and I may have accidentally read your mind if you had been talking about Stephen and Hugh.." You dug through the bag and grinned as you pulled out the box at the bottom.

"You, Gregory Lestrade, are a bloody legend. God I could kiss you!" Your boxset of 'A Bit of Fry and Laurie' rested in your hands and you showed it to Mycroft, beaming at him. His lips raised at your reaction, showing a small glint in his eye, as you explained how now the pair of you would have to binge watch it since Mycroft had never got round to watching them before. Greg barked out a laugh.

"I wouldn't. I don't fancy being hunted by Mycroft's secret services." Mycroft let out a small laugh himself. And with that, Greg was gone and left the flat to the four of you once more.

***

You hadn't stayed at the flat long before you all made your way to Angelo's restaurant, even managing to convince Mycroft to just take a cab rather than bothering his chauffeur for a 5 minute journey.

"Ahhh Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson!" Angelo greeted, pulling the aforementioned men into an awkward half embrace, half headlock. "Back again so soon? I shall get your usual table set up, grab some candles. Anything for you!" The pair of men awkwardly shifted out of the hold and Sherlock offered a smile.

"Not today Angelo, we need a table for four if that suits your capacities here?" Sherlock peered round at the tables inside.

"Of course, a double date, very lovely to see! Come, come!" He led the four of you inside, you grinning at Mycroft at Angelo's casual mentionings of Sherlock and John's usual 'romantic' set up. You were all ushered inside of a small booth and handed menus, the benches were small but tolerable, your thigh just brushing against Mycroft's, him offering a shy smile at the close contact. "You stay here, I'll get to work on those candles. Just for you, Mr Holmes." Angelo spoke again, clapping Sherlock on his shoulder and disappearing into the back of the restaurant.

"He's.. uh.. a bit enthusiastic sometimes." John spoke, his cheeks burning a little at the memories of previous encounters here.

"Quite. Seems a pleasurable fellow." Came Mycroft's response, glancing over the menu. It had taken no time at all for the restaurant owner to appear back with a handful of small tealight candles in glass jars, and a single flower resting in a vase to lay on the table, taking everybody's orders and leaving once again. Then as the food turned up, Sherlock began to prod at the chips on his plate with his knife.

"What are you doing? Eat your bloody food, Sherlock." John quipped, elbowing the man to his side.

"Don't want it.. whoever decided that dessert was only customary after a meal? I'd much rather wait." John gave Sherlock a look and he spoke again. "Don't give me that look, this was your idea. Who even suggests 'late lunch' as a valid meal time? It's impractical. I didn't eat breakfast because we didn't get out of bed until well past the respected breakfast hour.." 'We'.. you didn't press. "So I had a sandwich at lunch which has ruined my appetite for this. Then I'll be hungry again later, but later than dinner time because of how late this lunch is." Sherlock childishly squashed his chip with his thumb. "It's just ridiculous.. they keep adding new names for new meals at new hours, I feel like we're becoming Bobbits."

"Hobbits, brother mine." Mycroft corrected, the faintest smile playing at the side of his mouth as Sherlock's words sounded alarmingly like the ones he had told you only this morning- it was nice when they just got along.

"That's what I said."

"No, you said Bobbits."

"Boys!" John warned, and you broke out into a small fit of giggles.

"We really can't take you anywhere, can we?" You chimed in. Sherlock just huffed, stabbing a chip and eating it as John gave him a stern look. It was quite sweet, actually, watching them be all domestic. By the time you'd finished your meals, yours and John's plates were clear, Sherlock's leaving only a few chips and a mouthful of burger as he found, after starting to eat the food, that he really enjoyed it and wanted more. Mycroft, on the other hand, had managed to leave little over half of his spaghetti bolognese, making comments about the pasta being far too rubbery, or the sauce being too thin, crossing the cutlery over in the centre and making a dismissive comment about making something to eat when he got home- you all knew he wouldn't.

Sherlock had practically jumped for joy when Angelo came out with a tray of chocolate fudge cake, offering slices around the table which you all, bar Mycroft, accepted happily.

"I shan't spoil my appetite for when I get home." Was his small excuse, raising a hand to prevent Angelo from spouting his claims that he had the best cake in London and that he must have a piece, and instead asking for a coffee. Without words being spoken, John cast his eyes over to you and you offered a small sad smile. Nobody had told John of Mycroft's past, but he was a doctor and always knew when signs were displayed. You had taken an extra fork from Angelo just in case and took a small bite with your own fork, unable to let out the (embarrassingly erotic) moan that had escaped you.

"Christ he wasn't lying, this is incredible." You praised, taking another small piece on the second fork. "Mycroft please give it a try." You offered your hand out towards him, the sliver of cake resting on the tip of the fork's prongs. He looked over at it, his mind telling him to give it a go, at the very least because it had been offered by you, but the image of himself in the mirror this morning came back to mind. He declined the offer and you sighed. Mycroft truly did love cake, and any sweet things, so it was heartbreaking for you to see him turning it away because of the thoughts that ran through his brain. Sherlock had already cleared his plate by this point and stood up abruptly, hoisting his coat back over his shoulders.

"I'm going to go out for a cigarette, care to join me Mycroft?" He had asked, walking past the table. Mycroft creased his eyebrows into a frown.

"Sherlock, the pact? I haven't smoked for three years."

"Neither have I, let's go." Sherlock spoke back quickly, hoisting his brother from the booth and taking the pair of them outside. You raised a brow at John who simply shrugged his shoulders.

"I stopped questioning the pair of them and their motives a long time ago." He reasoned, the pair of you turning your heads to see the two Holmes boys outside resting against the restaurant's window.

"I try my best to.. they just still fascinate me." You spoke back, your eyes lingering on Mycroft a little longer before turning back to the table.

"So.. you and Mycroft. Going well?" John asked, his mouth raising in that side smile he often displayed when he was teasing somebody. "I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen Mycroft Holmes smile in a non-threatening way, and over half of those were from since you walked into the flat earlier. I think I can only just about count on two hands times where he's pulled an expression that isn't stoic and emotionless."

"Yeah.. I didn't expect it to happen, if I'm completely honest with you. We've spent so many years just avoiding the subject, but after.. Eurus.. I don't know. It flicked something in Myc that made him regret not doing something about it sooner." John nodded, understanding where you were coming from. "You also don't give him enough credit. Everybody just assumes he's this 'iceman' persona, but it's all a front.. I've watched him laugh so hard that tears fall from his eyes, he's one of those people who throws their heads back and lets out an absolute belter of an infectious laugh. I've seen him get angry at the telly if I came over and some stupid reality show came on the telly.. He shouted at Kim Kardashian once on there for some reason or another. I've stayed up all night with him after he had gruelling days at work, him offering to do the same for me if I had a bad case and couldn't sleep. And then, very recently, I watched him cry." You continued on. "Mycroft Holmes is one of the most emotional, caring people I've ever known, he is just incredibly particular at who gets to see it. You're a doctor, John. You know how experiences in life can shape one's emotional stability, how it alters their mental health. Had you grown up without very many people being kind to you, you'd be scared to let somebody else in too." You finished.

"Sorry.. I didn't mean it to come out in a bad way.. I just meant.. It's nice. Seeing Mycroft acting like that, it's.. nice." He apologised. You waved it off. You knew John didn't mean any harm.

"Mycroft and I are old news anyway.. What about you and Sherlock? When did that surface?" You asked, beaming at the deep red John's face had become as he choked on a sip of his drink. "Oh come on, don't act like that. We've all been waiting for this one to happen since you moved in."

"I.. I don't know what you-" Glaring at him, he stopped himself. "Yeah fine, okay. When we got back to the flat that night we went into the front room and Sherlock lost it. I'd never seen him anything like it before, he just.. he just sobbed into a heap on the floor." He explained, the nervous tapping of his fingers against his glass trying to distract him from his eyes watering. "I didn't know what else to do, so I scooped him up and put him in his bed. He begged me to stay with him and I did. Then he apologised to me, for dragging me in all of that mess, for almost getting me killed and he just wouldn't stop apologising.. So I stole the stereotypical movie move and kissed him. Just kind of went from there. I think that night made us realise that beating around the bush all these years wasn't helping either of us, and the thought that we could have lost the other only a few hours beforehand woke us up." He coughed, his voice breaking slightly.

"God look at us.. All the people in the world and we've landed with the Holmes'" You grabbed John's hand from across the table and laughed. "Makes you feel quite special though, doesn't it? That, equally, there were all the people in the world and they chose us?" John grinned, giving your hand a squeeze.

"Could never tell them that though, their egos would go through the bloody roof."

***

"They're talking about us." Sherlock mused, breathing in the London air.

"It seems people do little else." Mycroft returned, casting his glance to you smiling with John at the table.

"She really does like you. I've spent years deducing everything about her to make sure she wasn't a secret Russian spy sent with the motive to kill you." The younger spoke playfully. "You could have eaten the cake."

"Hmm?"

"The cake. I know you wanted it, but you're going back to how you used to be. Now that you're together, you're nervous." Sherlock's voice was nonchalant, simple observations, which didn't ease his older brother at all. "It's pointless. She's entirely infatuated. I thought the childish doe eyes disappeared after being attracted to somebody for a few weeks, but she still looks at you like I look at a triple homicide."

"Resulting to similes now?"

"You need to stop that too. Dismissing it whenever somebody is trying to be... kind... to you. That's just annoying and not a good defence mechanism for insecurities, like a mask made of clingfilm, it's too obvious." Mycroft didn't speak in turn and Sherlock huffed. "She worries for you, she seeks for you to be comfortable in trialling situations, her eyes do that little light up thing every time you open your bloody mouth. Since standing here she's looked over 3 times and smiled to herself seeing you stand here with me without us arguing. I caught her 4 times on the way to the cab from the flat looking at your arse and your legs in that damned suit. You don't have to worry about anything with her- the way she looks at you is so lovesick it makes me queasy."

"And you know this how, Sherlock? Or is this another one of your cruel schemes to embarrass me?"

"Because, Mycroft, it's the same way you've looked at her for as long as I can remember you knowing her. Jesus, Mycroft, I haven't seen you smile this much since we were children.. before we did everything that led us to believe we were any better than anybody else, that we deserved more than sentiment. And it's the same way I.. the same way I look at him." Sherlock's eyes now locked onto John.

"Always did say there would be a happy announcement between the pair of you. Good to see I'm correct once again." Mycroft mused. He remained stoic, but his brother's words were whirring in his brain, leaving him in a state of shock at the curly haired man even displaying this form of kindness towards him.

"You told me once that caring isn't an advantage. But these last few days, no matter how short it has been, have already led me to believe that caring is perhaps the greatest advantage of them all. And I strongly believe you feel the same way, no matter what bull you make up to argue against it." The pair of them watched through the window once more, the image of you and John laughing at whatever joke had been shared between you. "We both have wasted many years fighting against this, and I don't want you to screw yours up. Y/N will remain by your side and feel the same way towards you, whether you wear a bin bag, lose your job, put on weight- she's in it for the long haul. She's spent so many years pining after you that she deserves the best from you and to be happy. And you, brother mine, have been through enough with not good people; you deserve the happiness too." Sherlock trailed the last sentence. It's incredibly rare for them to show it, but Sherlock and Mycroft would always have a particularly close bond, they've been through too much together not to- and so times like this were precious to them. Mycroft simply let out a small cough, reaching his arm over to rest on his younger brother's shoulder to give it a quick squeeze, before patting it twice and letting his arm rest back by his side.

"Sentiment appears to be dwelling well on you." Mycroft spoke, heading back to the door of the restaurant to head inside, holding it open for his brother.

"As it is on you, brother. As it is on you."

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jj-babebank · 3 years ago

Text

Camp Willowdale / JJ Maybank AU / PART 8

Synopsis: Camp Willowdale is buzzing with new campers. It’s Caroline Windsor’s first year as a camp counsellor after attending the camp as a camper for ten years. Little does she know that this year Willowdale Lake is going to be a little different from what she is used to it being…

Warnings: future chapters may include curse words, mentions of drugs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sexual activities, mentions of death.

Pairings: JJ Maybank x fem OC Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4; Part 5 ; Part 6 ; Part 7

Masterlist

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

Part 8 –

49 days of summer camp left

Caroline sat in her bed, hugging her knees against her chest. Her and JJ had the afternoon off and despite his attempts to lure her into hanging out, and her infatuation with the boy, she’d turned him down, wanting to spend a few hours alone with herself to compose her thoughts. It had been exactly two weeks since the night Madison disappeared. No one had bothered to mess with the campers since then, the bonfire area hadn’t been touched and no dead animals were found in anyone’s suitcase. To the rest of the camp, this seemed like victory; to Caroline – it seemed like the calm before the storm.

During their first day at Camp Willowdale, all of the counselors had been given a Willowdale-branded set of items they’d have to use during their stay. It came with the obvious STAFF t-shirts, sweaters and hats, but it also consisted of other things – such as the thermoses Caroline and JJ were still using to sneak whiskey into their daily routines, and notebooks in which they were advised to plan out their group’s daily schedules. Caroline however had been using her notebook for other purposes. She’d become so obsessed with Madison’s case, that every little thing that happened on camp grounds and seemed even a little out of the ordinary, immediately became a clue to her, which she’d hastily scribble down in her notebook. It had only been two weeks since the disappearance of Madison Hague and Caroline had already filled about a quarter of the pages of her hefty notebook with potential clues and leads. She kept rereading her notes, trying to think of something – anything – that they could do to help them solve the mystery, however nothing was coming to her. Ever since the dress incident, Caroline and her friends hadn’t found anything else that could relate to Madison, though Caroline was glad that none of them had given up on their mission.

Caroline was so deep in her own thoughts, she nearly jumped at the sound of a sudden knock on the door. She quickly closed her notebook and tucked it under her mattress and went to open the door, revealing a panting JJ leaning on the doorframe.

“Hey, C,” he breathed.

“JJ, what’re you doing here? I told you I -”

JJ cut her off by pushing past her and walking into her cabin, “Yeah, yeah, you wanna be alone, I know,” he sat on her bed, taking his snapback off, “but I was thinking… you’ve been so busy with the kids and with the whole Madison thing, and believe me – I really appreciate you for being like that, but -”

Caroline crossed her arms, “Where are you going with this?”

JJ sighed, “You’ve just totally forgotten how to have fun, C,” he said, “The primary reason that we all came here was to have fun and look at you – you barely eat, or sleep, or do anything other than your counselor duties and this whole Madison investigation thing…” JJ sighed again, looking at the hat in his lap and playing with its adjustable strap, “All I’m saying, C, is what if Madison really did go home and you’ve just wasted all this energy on nothing…Thing is,” JJ looked up into her eyes, “I miss you, the old you, and I know that that you’s still somewhere in there, it’s just this whole Madison thing blocking it.” he placed the hat back on his head and stood up, walking towards Caroline, “Hang out with me now,” he said, stopping directly in front of her and lifting her chin up so that she was facing him, “And I promise we’ll think about Madison later,”

Caroline couldn’t really process what was going on. JJ was touching her and standing in such an intimate distance from her, that she could basically feel his breath on her face. For a second she forgot all about Madison, and the dead owl, and the bonfire area. All she could think about was JJ Maybank, who had just told her that he misses her and wants to “hang out with her”. Caroline stood there, lost in thought. What if he was right? What if Madison really did go home and that dress never even belonged to her? What if it was Jenna Kinley’s all along and Sarah had just gotten the perfume wrong? What if JJ really did miss her because he liked her as more than a friend? No, no, that couldn’t be it. But what if –

“Um, Carrie?” JJ’s voice suddenly broke her out of her trans, “So d’you wanna do something together or -”

“Yes!” she said, a little too excitedly for her own taste, of course I’d like to hang out with you, JJ, she thought, “What do you want to do?”

JJ’s face immediately lit up at her words, “Well I was thinking perhaps a picnic?”

Caroline raised an eyebrow, “Don’t picnics require food? We don’t have access to anything unless it’s mealtime,”

“Yeah, but we do have whiskey,” JJ winked with a mischievous look on his face, walking towards the storage room of the girls’ cabin where they still had a few bottles of alcohol left.

Caroline rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless – this was going to finally be her first date with JJ Maybank. Well, sort of.

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

The afternoon sun was low in the sky, casting a beautiful orange reflection onto the peaceful water of lake Willowdale. Caroline and JJ had taken a seat on the lakefront, drinking their whiskeys and admiring the sunset, reminiscing the days when they were kids again.

“D’you remember that one summer when Rafe Cameron got food poisoning and ended up barfing on stage at the Will-all-hail banquet?” JJ laughed at the memory.

Caroline frowned, thinking about it, “Beats having Rafe Cameron as your counselor by a mile,”

JJ turned to look at her, eyebrows raised, “Rafe was a counselor here?” his tone almost sounding amused.

Caroline nodded, “Oh yeah,” she smirked, “For the same reason as Sarah – too stuck up for his own good so their dad shipped him over here as a punishment,”

JJ snorted, “I mean that family is pretty far up their own ass,”

“They have a sister too,” said Caroline, “I haven’t seen her around here though, so we at least know that one of them must be doing something right,”

The pair laughed at the thought of their spoiled friend and her older brother.

“Man, I missed this place,” said JJ suddenly, leaning back on his elbows.

His tone sounded different as he looked at the horizon and Caroline could sense that something wasn’t right, “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask -”

“Parents got divorced,” JJ quickly explained, “And unfortunately for me, my dad got custody,” he sighed, “Somehow my mom was deemed ‘incapable’ of taking care of me because she couldn’t financially afford to. Load of bullshit, if you ask me,”

“But my mom -”

“Yeah, they still talk,” said JJ, knowing what Caroline was about to say, “I still see my mom every other weekend, you know, it’s not the end of the world,” he smiled at Caroline reassuringly, “It’s just living with my old man meant working for my cut at home, which also meant summer jobs back in Kildare,”

“So that’s where you’ve been all this time…” whispered Caroline, mostly to herself, however JJ heard her.

“Yeah,” he responded, “Now that I’m old enough to be a counselor here and actually get paid for coming to summer camp I thought why not? Besides, your mom did tip mine off that you’d be here too,” he winked at Caroline, making her blush.

“Yeah, about that,” she said apologetically, “My mom likes to yap a lot, I wouldn’t take most of what she says seriously,”

“Well you are here, aren’t you?” said JJ, his face slightly leaning in towards Caroline’s.

Holy shit, this was it. Caroline was about to kiss JJ Maybank after a decade of fawning over him. Shit, shit, shit, she hadn’t really kissed anyone since that idiot from her class planted one on her at prom. What if she was a bad kisser? What if she’d forgotten how to kiss? As JJ closed his eyes and leaned even closer, Caroline decided to push the doubtful thoughts to the side as she closed her eyes too, leaning in towards him too. Their faces were inches apart, hearts pounding in their chests and, just as their lips were finally about to meet –

“There you are!” Sarah’s loud voice came from the hill behind them, startling them and making them both jump and immediately pull apart and straighten up. John B stumbled after her.

Caroline coughed awkwardly, trying to cover up the shame and embarrassment she was currently feeling, “Sarah… what are you doing here?”

With a knowing smirk on her face, Sarah put both hands on her hips, “Nothing,” she sing-sang, obviously finding the whole situation hilarious, “I’m sure it can wait,” she winked down at Caroline, while John B was waving around frantically behind Sarah at JJ, mouthing the words “DID YOU BONE?!” quite obviously.

JJ groaned as he stood up, helping Caroline up as well, “We’re all yours now, Sarah, what’s up?”

“Well me and John B had the afternoon free as well, so we went out front to his van and you’ll never believe what was taped to the door,”

“Wait, why’d you go to his van in the first place?”

Sarah rolled her eyes, “That’s beside the point now, Carrie, look” she shoved a piece of paper in the girl’s hands.

As Caroline unfolded the paper, the group gathered around her to look at what was written on it - 41° 56’ 54.3732” N, 87° 39’ 19.2024” W.

“I have no idea what that means though,” confessed Sarah.

“Looks like coordinates to me,” said JJ.

“Hey, that’s what I said!” gasped John B, “But Sarah didn’t want to believe me,”

“Does anyone know how to read geographical coordinates?” JJ looked at his friends.

“Do I look like Google Maps to you?” asked Sarah.

“You’re right,” Caroline said as an idea sparked in her mind, “We can’t read coordinates, but I know someone who can,”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

“I’m just saying, Miss P,” JJ spoke confidently once the group was inside Pricilla’s office, “Now’s about the best time to host the traditional yearly treasure hunt,”

Pricilla squinted up at JJ through her pink glasses from where she was sat at her desk, “Keep talking, Maybank,”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that it’s already been two weeks and none of these kids can read a compass yet?” continued JJ, earning a slow nod from the camp director, “Think about it, Miss P – Willowdale ain’t Willowdale without its treasure hunt,”

As JJ spoke, the rest of the group were silently praying behind him that his charismatic way with manipulating will work on Pricilla, giving them an excuse to ask her to decipher the mysterious coordinates they had gotten their hands onto. The old lady leaned back in her old leather chair and looked at JJ skeptically for a while, adding to the already built up tension.

“Give me a few days to map out the course and set up the coordinates,” she finally spoke, causing everyone in the group to silently cheer behind JJ. As they thanked her and turned to leave, she spoke up again, “Oh, and Maybank,” she called, everyone turning to look at her, “No funny business,”

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

A/N: Finally some normal camp activities. Thank you for reading so far, I would greatly appreciate you letting me know what you think about the story and the characters xxx

tags: @k-k0129 ; @hayleyy-l ; @marvellover04 ; @dumbasscorn ; @thrown-off-her-rhythm

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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Chapter 5 of The Quiet Room (ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4)

Nie Mingjue took three tries to wake up.

In all truth, he wasn’t that badly injured – if it hadn’t been for how tangled his spiritual energy already was, steeped in resentment from his wayward cultivation and burned by trying to keep a saber’s pace from within a human body, a night’s rest and some tonics would probably have been enough to put him right. But it was, and he was, and so the concern of his doctors was all the more pronounced.

The first time he woke, it was to Nie Xiaoxuan, a cantankerous old doctor who’d lost all patience with her patients years before Nie Mingjue had been conceived, looking down at him with a scowl, saying, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Go back to sleep!”

A needle had descended, leaving him not much choice about the matter – it was a good thing he was used to such rough treatment, or else he might’ve worried. Instead he found some comfort in how some things were always the same, and his Nie sect’s objectively awful bedside manner was one of them.

He slept.

He woke a second time to arguing outside his door in the middle of the night, whispers and hisses that were so loud as to be unworthy of being called lowered voices –

“– the Sect Leader deserves to know!”

“Nie-er-gongzi gave the order, and it was obeyed. There isn’t any need to disturb the Sect Leader’s recuperation over nonsense.”

“Nonsense?! Do you know what the implications will be? Nie-er-gongzi is still young, he doesn’t understand –”

“Sect Leader was once younger still. There is still sect discipline, or are you making an official challenge to his judgment? If so, you should be bothering Nie-er-gongzi, as the one who gave the order, and a council of peers that would be assembled to determine if his judgment was flawed.”

“I - no. I won’t.”

“If there’s no challenge to the quality of Nie-er-gongzi’s judgment, then there’s no reason to talk to the Sect Leader.”

Nie Mingjue smiled, proud of his sect and of his brother – even if he didn’t know exactly what it was that Nie Huaisang had ordered that had caused such a stir – and went back to sleep.

He woke up the third time to the sounds of a guqin.

He’d always been slow to wake from an induced sleep, and this time was no different – his body was heavy, confining, and it was a long time before he managed to open his eyes. A half-shichen at least, and yet the guqin continued steadfastly onwards.

So by the time he did manage to open his eyes, the first words out of Nie Mingjue’s mouth were, “Wangji, please stop making a racket.”

The sound of the guqin paused.

Nie Mingjue turned his head to look at him. Lan Wangji looked better than he had the last time he’d seen him, in that horrible mixture of nightmare and reality that had been their flight from the Cloud Recesses and the terrible strain of flying all the way to Qinghe in a single night. If either of them had been lesser cultivators, they wouldn’t have been able to manage it; even at their level, it was considered highly unwise, and they had known that they were spending life energy rather than spiritual qi to buy them the strength they needed.

At least it had been late enough that both children, initially excited by all the rushing around involved in their escape, had quickly lapsed back into sleep instead of descending to tears.

Still, better was a low bar. By the end of their flight, Lan Wangji had had blood soaking through his white robes, his eye locked on the horizon and unable to focus on anything nearer, his entire body wracked with occasional shudders – if he’d been anyone else, he would have been screaming.

He still look pale and bloodless, his eyes hunted and guilty and tired, stark white bandages visible beneath the pale (but not white) robes that looked like something Nie Huaisang had once owned, but he didn’t look about to expire, so Nie Mingjue would take that as a victory.

“I would have thought,” Lan Wangji said carefully, laying his hands on the guqin chords to stop the sound, “that you would prefer that it not be silent.”

“There’s silence and then there’s silence,” Nie Mingjue said, trying to shrug and abruptly realizing that that was a bad idea. His shoulders and neck and back all hurt – possibly he’d dislocated something in trying to get out of that horrible room. Probably, even. “Not wanting to be locked in a room designed to be as close to nothingness as possible doesn’t necessarily mean that I don’t want some peace and quiet once in a while…I shouldn’t have called your playing a racket. It’s very good. There was just a lot of it.”

Lan Wangji blinked, then shook his head. “I do not take offense,” he said, simply enough that Nie Mingjue believed him. “It is a surprise that you think the way you do about silence, even now. I myself have been…struggling, with the concept.”

“It’s very loud here,” Nie Mingjue said knowingly, and Lan Wangji averted his eyes. “It’s all right if you don’t like it that much, you know. Has Huaisang talked with you about the options for soundproofing?”

“He has,” Lan Wangji said. “I have not yet accepted.”

“Why not?”

“It feels –” he hesitated. “Like a step backwards. My Lan sect has always valued silence, quiet – not just valued, but imposed, even on those for whom it is not appropriate.”

Like you, he meant, or maybe he was thinking about little Lan Jingyi, the orphan he’d stolen away from his own sect – truly stolen, since unlike little Lan Sizhui Lan Wangji had no guardianship rights over him to justify taking him away.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t objected to it, figuring that it didn’t make much difference to the amount of scandal he would undoubtedly causse whether he had taken away one child or two when he convinced the Second Jade of Lan to abandon his ‘seclusion’ in favor of refuge at the Unclean Realm. Anyway, if Lan Wangji had concluded that it would be better for the child to leave, then it probably was – Nie Mingjue trusted his judgment.

Just like you trusted Lan Xichen’s?

“Each sect has a different cultivation style,” he said, deciding not to think about that right now. “With both strengths and weaknesses. My Nie sect has a martial style, aggressive and overpowering; your Lan sect, although it still follows the orthodoxy of sword cultivation, focuses on contemplation, thoughtfulness, and, yes, quiet. Who is to say which is better than the other? They’re just different.”

Lan Wangji was frowning.

“Sometimes I think Wen Mao made a mistake when he abandoned sects based on preference and style in favor of raising up his clan,” Nie Mingjue confessed. “And your ancestors and mine, too, in following his lead. Look at Huaisang – to cultivate a saber is his heritage, his birthright and his duty to our bloodline, and so he must do so despite being clearly unsuited for it.” He paused, then sighed. “Not that he’s all that suitable for anything else, either.”

Lan Wangji shot him a quelling look, disapproving, but in the sort of way that Lans had when they were amused by you.

“Still, we’re all cultivators, each of us fighting against fate,” Nie Mingjue continued. “While we must be guided by our traditions, we must also each find the path that suits us best. You’ve always enjoyed the quiet, Wangji; you welcome peace, prefer order, thrive within the confines of your sect’s rules. Finding the point at which you and your traditions part ways does not mean that you are morally obligated to give up everything about them.”

“Not even when those traditions have caused so much harm?”

“Even so,” Nie Mingjue said firmly. “We’re all on a path, and in choosing to take a new turn, you are not disregarding the past, but adding your wisdom to that of those who came before you. I made changes to my Nie sect’s cultivation style once I became sect leader, just as my father did before me; my brother will make still more when he takes the position after I go. Each of my Nie sect disciples practices the Nie sect style, but each one takes it and makes it their own. Keep what helps, discard what hurts.”

“But in this case, is it not the very same thing?” Lan Wangji asked. His brow was still furrowed, the matter clearly one of great concern to him. “I have always turned to the quiet for comfort and strength, sought seclusion to temper myself and test myself, and yet – in the absence of all noise– I found myself slowly going mad, locked away and alone. You yourself nearly died from it. What lesson can I take from this, if not that the quiet is evil?”

“You can take the lesson that too much quiet can be an evil, in the same way too much medicine can be a poison,” Nie Mingjue said. “I might hate your jingshi, since it doesn’t suit me, but I’m given to understand that it often helps, too. It brings peace to cultivators who are tormented by a mind full of thoughts they cannot quiet and helps them fight the demons in their hearts, it allows those who are too connected to the world to tear themselves away. It was built for a purpose.”

“It was,” Lan Wangji said. “A purpose it has now betrayed.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t have anything to say about that. He’d once told Lan Xichen that he thought his sect’s practice of introducing children to that place until they learned quiet whether they liked it or not was inhumane and cruel, and Lan Xichen – in a rare moment of sarcasm – had asked him if teaching them to cultivate a saber spirit that would eventually consume their minds with rage was somehow meant to be morally superior.

To each their own faults, he supposed. Perhaps the next generation would do better.

(He found himself thinking things like that a great deal, these days. He was only in his twenties, and yet his thoughts resembled an old man’s – the feeling of death stalking his footsteps, the day nearly done, his legacy a book that seemed to be nearly completed.

That had been what had driven him to stop his sessions of Clarity with Jin Guangyao, in fact. He’d been reviewing a plan for renovating the western courtyards of the Unclean Realm as part of a long-term plan to get more air and light in there and he’d found himself thinking I probably won’t be here to see this completed, and that had been when he’d realized that it was time to start seriously planning for succession.)

“Perhaps it is the conflation of different things,” Lan Wangji mused, more to himself than anyone else. “The quiet, being alone, loneliness…and yet you can have quiet without being alone, you can be alone without being lonely, you can be lonely without quiet. A balance between disconnecting from the world and connecting with other people.”

That sounded like poetry, and Nie Mingjue could see Lan Wangji’s fingers twitch towards the guqin – he’d probably been inspired.

Nie Mingjue sighed and put his hand over his eyes. His father had told him that being an elder brother meant a life of sacrifice, and he’d been right. “All right,” he said. “Go ahead and play something. I know you want to.”

Lan Wangji was silent for a few long moments, and then his fingers began to move, the too-familiar sound of the Song of Clarity rising up to fill Nie Mingjue’s ears.

“I didn’t mean for me,” Nie Mingjue clarified, rolling his eyes while his hand was still hiding them. The Lan were always so earnest. “I’m not even meditating right now, Wangji. Don’t waste your effort.”

Lan Wangji’s fingers stilled briefly, then continued.

“Chifeng-zun –”

Nie Mingjue pulled his hand away long enough to give Lan Wangji a stern look – he’d already told him several times to refer to him more casually, and however long or short his stay at the Unclean Realm was, if they were going to endure a scandal together, he was simply going to have to adjust to their ways.

Lan Wangji looked long-suffering.

“Mingjue-xiong,” he conceded, and Nie Mingjue nodded, pleased. “Please pay close attention to my playing. Identify if there are any differences between my rendition and –”

“Wangji,” Nie Mingjue interrupted, feeling pained at the very thought. “I can’t.”

Lan Wangji frowned at him, his eyes showing distress.

Nie Mingjue felt guilty at once, and exhaled a sigh. “Wangji, you know I don’t cultivate with music,” he said. “It’s all just interminable plucking to me.”

Lan Wangji’s eyebrows shot up. “Plucking?” he echoed, and Nie Mingjue winced – he’d probably shocked poor Lan Wangji’s conscience. “Mingjue-xiong…you really don’t like music, do you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Nie Mingjue confessed. “I can more or less follow a beat or rhythm, and military calls are fine no matter what instrument is involved, but the rest is all a mess of pointless noise. I can’t tell if the notes are high or low, which ones go before the others, and apparently there are different tones in music as there are in speech? Except in music, certain of them apparently sporadically considered bad, in a variety of different and exciting ways, sometimes but not others, none of which make the slightest difference – ”

He stopped talking on account of Lan Wangji having started to make an unusual hiccupping sound.

Nie Mingjue squinted. Was Lan Wangji…laughing?

If so, he was sorely out of practice. Though now that he thought it, that seemed to make some sense.

“Forgive me,” Lan Wangji said, shoulders shaking – he’d stopped making audible noise, but he was evidently still suffering from an attack of hilarity. “You speak so well, Mingjue-xiong; I had not realized that you suffered from amusia.” He saw Nie Mingjue’s frown of confusion and clarified, “Tone-deafness.”

“I say so all the time!”

“I had incorrectly assumed, as I suspect many have, that you were using the term colloquially,” Lan Wangji said. “How do you fight alongside my brother? I have seen you do so flawlessly, without any impediment, even when he wields Liebing.”

“I can follow along with what he’s doing with his qi,” Nie Mingjue said. “We have been close for so many years, and his spiritual energy is as familiar to me as my own –”

Lan Wangji flinched.

Nie Mingjue stopped talking.

His heart was heavy in his chest, weighed down with feeling, all those things he’d been so carefully not thinking about suddenly stifling him. Lan Xichen, his childhood friend, his lover, his beloved…

He’d hurt him.

Nie Mingjue couldn’t bring himself to believe that the act had been intentional or malicious, not even when Lan Wangji’s arrival made painfully clear that Lan Xichen hadn’t even bothered to supervise him. It simply wasn’t in Lan Xichen’s nature to do such an underhanded thing –

(You once thought Meng Yao wouldn’t do that sort of thing, either. Do you make a habit of blindness?)

He had known Lan Xichen for such a long time, though. If he didn’t know him, both virtues and faults, what person existed that he could say he understood?

No, Lan Xichen must have been trying to help him, not hurt him. And yet – regardless of his intent – he had.

He had hurt him very badly.

Lan Xichen hadn’t listened to him, had ignored him, disregarded him – Nie Mingjue had been as clear as he could be about how he felt about the quiet room. Perhaps he hadn’t told Lan Xichen about his youthful attempt to see if he could handle it, at first out of simply not wanting to appear weak in front of his lover, but later out of (admittedly petty) principle: shouldn’t his ‘no’ be enough? Shouldn’t Lan Xichen have trusted him?

He hadn’t.

He’d trusted Jin Guangyao instead.

Jin Guangyao with his smiles and slippery manner, with his so-believable excuses and always-present rationalizations, always the victim in every exchange they had – Lan Xichen always went to comfort him first after they had another one of their arguments, Nie Mingjue recalled abruptly. He’d called him on it once, in his anger, but Lan Xichen had explained that he knew how strong Nie Mingjue was, how resilient, and that his “A-Yao” needed his sympathy more.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He was resilient, and anyway he knew how frightening his rages could be; he’d thought perhaps that Lan Xichen simply wanted the excuse to be elsewhere until he’d had a chance to calm down.

He’d rationalized a lot of things. Maybe too many. But this?

This was too much.

“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Wangji said hesitantly. “About – about my brother…”

Nie Mingjue grimaced, and Lan Wangji felt silent once more.

Nie Mingjue’s heart cried out for his lover, the kind and gentle man who might be a little too reluctant to express himself, a little prone to going with the will of the majority to avoid confrontation, a little inclined to panic at the thought of disappointing people, but whose faults only made him the more human, the more loveable.

But Nie Mingjue had slept, and slept well, and even if his heart was still tangled, his mind was now clear.

“I have long thought,” he said carefully, painfully cognizant of the fact that Lan Wangji was Lan Xichen’s younger brother, “that fate had arranged for your brother and I to meet, and that we would live the rest of our lives intertwined, our hears and minds filled with thoughts of one another. But it seems to me now that that was perhaps – not our destiny.”

“My brother has wronged you,” Lan Wangji said solemnly.

“I still believe his intent was good,” Nie Mingjue assured him earnestly. “Your brother has – more reason than most, I think, to resent my intransigence on matters of my health, and to suspect – to suspect –”

He stopped, swallowed. He had long been (politely) termed to be a straightforward man; it was not in his character to stutter over his speech, to be unable to say the unvarnished truth no matter how painful. Even if it was his lover who was causing him such pain.

“Wangji,” he said instead, and Lan Wangji looked at him. “You know that my family – does not live long lives.”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“It is not uncommon,” he said carefully, “for those in my family to begin to show signs of decline before the end. A certain rigidity of thought –”

“You are not so far down that path that your thinking has become impaired,” Lan Wangji said abruptly, his voice unexpectedly fierce. “Moreover, your refusal was not new, but consistent with your prior thoughts, your opinion expressed repeatedly and consistently. Do not make excuses for him.”

Nie Mingjue was a little surprised, having expected Lan Wangji to defend his brother, but then he recalled the matter of those thirty-three marks marring Lan Wangji’s back. Even if Lan Wangji’s conduct had been wrong, it had been motivated by love, and at any rate the others in the Lan sect had not died – no one had died, except for Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji had only been able to offer his beloved the succor of his presence for a short time before he returned to submit himself to punishment.

Impulsive, hot-headed, passionate – it might not be the actions of a Lan, but, as a Nie, Nie Mingjue found his sympathies lay with Lan Wangji in this matter. Yes, he had defended a murderer from being torn apart by the hands of his victims, and Nie Mingjue would not say that he did not think it was necessary for Wei Wuxian to die, but even those that had been duly tried and sentenced to the worst capital punishment might still be allowed the mercy of a good meal and the touch of their lover’s hand before they were executed, and a bit of disobedience against one’s elders was to be expected in any love affair.

Was fending off a few old men to buy a few shichen of love before its premature end really worth a punishment that would have crippled anyone weaker?

“Actions matter more than intent,” he agreed, wondering how he could convey his thoughts on the subject without being offensive to the Lan sect, “but that doesn’t make intent meaningless. To act from love and affection is still better than for – other reasons.”

He wasn’t sure Lan Wangji had understood his meaning: the other man only lowered his eyes.

Nie Mingjue’s mind reluctantly returned to his own troubles.

“I’ll speak with Xichen,” he decided, even though he knew it was probably a bad idea. Lan Xichen’s conduct, however it was meant, could be understood as having brought him to the very precipice of death – enough justification to start a war, given that Nie Mingjue was a sect leader. Their respective positions meant that a disagreement between them could never be simply personal, but was also political; if Nie Mingjue allowed his soft heart to convince him to forgive Lan Xichen, he would be setting a poor standard for the future. “He can explain what he was thinking. If I find his explanation unsatisfactory, I will – tell him what I told you.”

Nie Mingjue was blunt and direct, sparing no one – not even himself – but he was not so cold as to be able to cut off a relationship that already spanned the majority of his life sign unseen. He would give Lan Xichen one chance to salvage things between them, to be shocked into sobriety by the extent of how things had gotten out of hand, to genuinely apologize –

“I think,” Lan Wangji said, very slowly, eyes still locked on the floor as if there was something fascinating there, “that brother’s explanation may omit that he was distracted by his other lover.”

Nie Mingjue’s heart froze in his chest.

“Other – lover?” he said dumbly. Lan Wangji refused to look at him. “Wangji – are you saying – Xichen has..?”

Lan Xichen wouldn’t. Surely he wouldn’t.

“Lianfeng-zun has told him lies, and Brother accepted them without verification,” Lan Wangji said, and his voice was bitter. “I believe that he feared confronting you on the subject of a man he knew you disliked, and also saw an opportunity to obtain his heart’s desire – to not give up anything and yet gain something he wanted. And Lianfeng-zun is known to be skilled in anticipating people’s desires.”

Nie Mingjue stared at the ceiling in a daze, his mind whirling.

So many little things suddenly made a belated sort of sense.

The way Lan Xichen seemed so certain that all the troubles between them were only temporary, the way that he entreated Nie Mingjue to think kindly of Jin Guangyao as if there was a stronger bond between them than a lost former friendship and a new sworn brotherhood. The way Jin Guangyao acted more intimately with Nie Mingjue whenever Lan Xichen was present, only to return to a more professional remove once they were alone – he’d assumed that was because Jin Guangyao knew that Lan Xichen would protect him if Nie Mingjue got annoyed with him for such familiarities and that Nie Mingjue would not want to upset his beloved by scolding over something so minor.

But if, for instance, Jin Guangyao had told Lan Xichen that they had been lovers once, those public intimacies, and Lan Xichen’s joy in them, all suddenly took on a new flavor –

Surely Lan Xichen knew that Nie Mingjue would never have done that to him?

Skilled in anticipating people’s desires.

Nie Mingjue had noticed Lan Xichen’s fondness for Jin Guangyao from the first, back when Jin Guangyao had been only Meng Yao, and he’d known that Meng Yao had respected and even revered the beautiful, powerful, and chivalrous Zewu-jun. He’d been pleased when they’d become friends, hadn’t minded the occasional light flirtation – he’d been so certain that nothing would come of it, trusted in Lan Xichen’s morality and their love. He himself was not skilled in wordplay the way they were, nor as sensitive to the subtle changes in a conversation, preferring to stay silent rather than risk mis-stepping, a habit formed of too much responsibility and exposure to politics at too early an age. Why shouldn’t Lan Xichen get to enjoy the cut and thrust of charming, clever conversation with an expert at the art?

They had all been friends back then. Nie Mingjue had been so proud of his prized deputy, and pleased beyond measure that Lan Xichen liked him as well; Nie Mingjue had so few friends that the addition of another one was something he treasured. Even if Lan Xichen’s good sense had surely told him that such betrayal was impossible, given Nie Mingjue’s character, he might still in his reckless desires allow himself to be intoxicated by his affections and believe it for just a little while – just long enough to taste Jin Guangyao’s lips, perhaps.

That’d be enough.

Nie Mingjue knew Lan Xichen well; he knew his lover’s faults as well as he knew his virtues. If Lan Xichen had allowed himself to act foolishly for a moment, he would have panicked at the thought of coming to terms with it, and Jin Guangyao was so good at soothing his panic. Too good: where Nie Mingjue, in his harshness, had always advised revisiting mistakes and learning from them, no matter how difficult the process, Jin Guangyao would always recommend being kind to oneself, taking care of oneself, avoiding the pain that came with tackling one’s flaws and erroneous self-conceptions head-on.

Too much care for the self would eventually mean not enough care for others, Nie Mingjue had always thought, rolling his eyes whenever Jin Guangyao earnestly held forth on his views. But Lan Xichen had liked it – and why wouldn’t he? It was easier to put yourself first, to refuse to admit mistakes were mistakes, to rationalize events until you were always the victim and everyone else wrong. It meant you didn’t have to confront your own capacity for cruelty and selfishness, could conceive of yourself as always virtuous and always good and always right.

Right, rather than righteous.

Justified, rather than just.

The way Jin Guangyao always did.

Yes, Lan Xichen might allow himself to kiss Jin Guangyao, or more if Jin Guangyao pushed his advantage – which he would, Nie Mingjue had no doubt of that – and then, after the fog of lust had cleared, Lan Xichen would realize that he’d have to confess the entire thing to Nie Mingjue.

An emotional confrontation of the sort he hated most.

And then, of course, just as Lan Xichen was most upset and vulnerable, Jin Guangyao would offer him a way out – a way for Lan Xichen to continue to see himself as a good person who had done no wrong, who didn’t need confront anything – a way to get a new love alongside the old, to have Jin Guangyao’s clever speech and gentle care while not losing Nie Mingjue’s steadfast affection and support.

It was not uncommon in their times for a man to have more than one wife and entirely possible for him to love them both equally; the idea of a triad was not so strange. But Lan Xichen should have asked.

He didn’t.

He didn’t ask because some part of him knew that the answer would be no, and, just as he had with the quiet room, that was not an answer he wished to accept.

And that…that was not something that could be blamed on Jin Guangyao, as much as Nie Mingjue would prefer to do so.

That was all Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen...how could you do this to me?

Nie Mingjue closed his eyes in pain. It felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him, like a really good punch might do - he felt hollow, weightless, disconnected, as if he had been struck by a blow that had shattered his bones and he was drifting in that blank space in the moment after the blow landed but before the pain reached his brain.

The full weight of the revelation would hit, eventually. He would feel it all, eventually.

“I see,” he said, and he did. Lan Wangji was upset over it in a way that suggested that he had only recently learned the truth. Given the speed of their travel, that meant he must have discovered it while conversing with Nie Huaisang – and that was another problem, because Nie Huaisang was their father’s son just as Nie Mingjue was, and nothing sparked their rage more than an offense against a loved one. “Thank you for telling me.”

“It is what I should do.”

Nie Mingjue nodded, his throat tight, his chest dull as if there was a knot where his heart had been - yes, he would need some time to deal with this.

“Huaisang is managing well?” he asked, not quite able to bring himself to actually ask for a little more time before he had to return to being the stern and untouchable sect leader, before he had to once again take on the mantle of power and make all the decisions – to force himself to react as a politician rather than a betrayed lover. It would be disgraceful to give into such weakness.

“He is,” Lan Wangji said. “He has given orders that you may not leave your room until the end of the week at the earliest, so as to remind the disciples of the benefit of rest following an injury.”

Nie Mingjue loved his brother.

“Very well,” he said, and decided not to ask about what Nie Huaisang might or might not have gotten into over the last day or so that had led some disciples to think they needed to disturb his rest in order to tell him. It didn’t really matter. They needed to adjust to taking Nie Huaisang’s orders as if he was sect leader in truth – especially if Nie Mingjue’s health continued to deteriorate…

He didn’t have time to think too much on that before Lan Wangji spoke again, saying, “Even if you do not understand music, you can follow the emanations of qi from an instrument, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Nie Mingjue said, a little puzzled by the sudden shift in conversation but deeply relieved to have something to think about - anything, really, as long as it wasn’t the brutal feeling of his heart being torn to shreds within his chest.

“So if I were to utilize musical cultivation, you might be able to determine if I were using the same patterns as you had heard others use?”

“I suppose so,” Nie Mingjue said. It would be extremely irritating to have to pay attention to such small ebbs and flows, especially when he was also trying to meditate and draw the qi into himself for the fullest effect, but he was familiar enough with Clarity by now that he probably could if he really had to. “But why?”

“A suspicion,” Lan Wangji said. “Nie Huaisang has pointed out that Lianfeng-zun’s actions in connection to my brother are suggestive of malice against you, his actions in convincing my brother to lock you into the jingshi doubly so, and yet he comes to visit you regularly, purportedly to improve your health.”

Purportedly.

Nie Mingjue grimaced again, but this time it was with anger at himself – because the suggestion did not shock him the way the information about Lan Xichen had. Meng Yao, Meng Yao, he thought, I wish I didn’t believe this of you. I extended my trust to you twice over, and each time you have disappointed me…it’s my own fault, I suppose, for being arrogant enough to think I could change you.

“Thank you, Wangji,” he said, suddenly tired. “I understand your implication, and we will of course need to examine whether it is correct. But not today.”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji said, and stood up. “I will take my leave and go tell Nie Huaisang to move me into one of the soundproofed rooms. I require time to contemplate the subject of quiet.”

That made Nie Mingjue want to smile, though he couldn’t quite manage it, still twisted by all the revelations that had relentlessly pounded against him since he had awoken. “Good,” he said instead, turning to nod at Lan Wangji in approval. “I hope your meditation on the subject is fruitful.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji agreed. “As you said, I must find my own path, be guided by tradition but not unduly restricted by it. But there is one point in what you said that was incorrect.”

“Oh?”

“You said that I should not, without consideration, throw out my sect’s traditions,” Lan Wangji said, and he was standing stiffly, at attention, with his face as serious as it ever got. “But at the moment, it is not my sect. You have given me permission to stay here, and I intend to do so.”

Nie Mingjue’s first thought was oh that’s going to have some serious political implications, followed immediately by I guess I did do that didn’t I and someone is going to wring my throat over this, probably Huaisang, but very shortly thereafter with if this is what he needs then so be it.

Still, he could do nothing but watch, stunned, as Lan Wangji lifted his hands to his forehead and very deliberately removed the forehead ribbon that marked him as a member of the Lan sect – the symbol of his family, the symbol of his restraint, which he would normally have never allowed another person outside his family to see him without – and, just as deliberately, wrapped it around Nie Mingjue’s wrist.

“I would ask that you keep this for me, Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Wangji said, and his tone when he said Nie Mingjue’s name was the same as when he called Lan Xichen brother. “Until such time as I decide to reclaim it as my own, or discard it forever.”

“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice a little faint from shock. “Whatever you need, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji looked at him, grateful, and saluted deeply before leaving.

Nie Mingjue lay back down on the bed and stared at his wrist for a long moment.

This is going to have some serious political implications, he thought a second time. And Lan Xichen won’t ever forgive me for stealing away his little brother.

A moment later, he shook his head at his own foolishness. Lan Xichen had made his choices.

Now he would have to pay for them.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #the quiet room

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recurring-polynya · 3 years ago

Note

For Stuff For Renji's Birthday Prompts: 1) time travel turn back the clock nonsense, bc I'm an enabler and Karakura teens plus shithead Renruki teens has *Byakuya voice* strong comedic potential OR 2) Hisana lives but due to wacky circumstances, nobody notices Rukia's existence at the Academy... until they've graduated and Renruki have joined Squad 11. Dealer's choice! (Honestly whichever you pick, I might try writing the one you don't. I am not a writer these 2 just live in my head rent free)

Why would you make me choose between these, whyyyyyyyyyy?

To be honest, I almost did them both, but this was the second one I did, and I figured that I should probably do some other people’s prompts, and then I ran out of time. I might do you some time travel shenanigans later. (This should in no way stop you from writing these, I would flip my chips if you wrote something, let alone something based on my horrible ideas)

In any case, I couldn’t resist the second options and I have spun it out into a delightful bit of Byakuya-torture. Please enjoy!!!

Special thanks to @kaicko for helping me come up with the clerical error, because you all know me, I can’t just say “a clerical error.” 😂

Read on ao3 or ff.net

💀 💀 💀

“How is the tea?” Aizen Sousuke asked smoothly.

The tea was excellent, but Byakuya wasn’t in the mood for Aizen’s needy attempts to ingratiate himself. “Adequate,” he replied dryly. “You said you had something to discuss with me.”

“Ah, diligent as always, Byakuya,” Aizen sighed, “always eager to get back to work. I’ll get to the point: I happened to speak with your wife recently at a fundraising event. She’s very interested in the people of the deep Rukon, and said she travels to South Rukongai frequently.”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. “What is your point?”

“Well, I thought it was a bit of a strange occupation for a woman of your wife’s noble standing, but then Gin reminded me that she was actually from there herself, that there had been a bit of a to-do when you two married. I don’t tend to follow gossip myself--”

“I repeat, what is your point?” Byakuya gritted your teeth.

Aizen made a pissy little throat clearing noise and fiddled with a folder on his desk. “The fact is, Byakuya, your wife reminds me a great deal of a young woman who served in my squad a few years ago, whom I recalled also hailing from the Rukon. I wondered if there might be a.... connection.”

Byakuya’s shoulders stiffened. Impossible. He had put watches on all immigrants to the Seireitei. He would have reviewed anyone who came from the South 78th.

“Inuzuri Rukia,” Aizen read from his file, and Byakuya’s blood ran cold. “Shin’ou class of 2066. Unseated. Petite, like your wife. Dark hair. Very striking eyes. Unfortunately, an unremarkable shinigami. Potential for a good kidou user, but didn’t take direction well. More interested in sword combat, although she had little aptitude for it. Ah, here it is. Hometown: District 48, South Rukongai.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Byakuya said flatly. “Inuzuri is the 78th district of South Rukongai. Why would she carry a surname from a different district?”

Aizen made an exaggerated frown. “Very strange! A clerical error perhaps? Hold on a moment.” He stuck his head out of his office door and said something to the shinigami on reception duty. “Fortunately, there’s an easy way to clear this up. It’ll just be a minute.”

Byakuya gripped his teacup, unsure of how to feel. A clerical error. Class of 2066… she would have enrolled in 2060, in the middle of Hisana’s worst turn, when she had been bedridden for nearly four years. Their attention would have lapsed. It made sense.

“She does not sound like your usual recruit,” Byakuya accused. Aizen was constantly finding ways to skim the highest performers from the Academy, all the gifted children.

Aizen looked sheepish. “Ah, well, you see, there was a young man of some talent that I was eager to recruit who was… attached to her. I thought she might have some potential if properly guided, but it never panned out.”

Aizen’s good deed was suddenly beginning to make sense. The girl had transferred out and taken Aizen’s prize with her. He wanted Byakuya to go fetch her away in hopes that the talented one would come home. Byakuya actually felt much better now that he’d identified Aizen’s ulterior motive, and further, that it had more to do with his own petty recruiting schemes than Byakuya’s family (specifically, Byakuya’s wife).

There was a knock at the office door, and upon being bid entry, a young woman walked in. Although indeed petite and dark-haired, she looked nothing like Hisana, and Byakuya remarked as much.

“Oh, no, this is my Seventh Seat!” Aizen chuckled. “Miss Hinamori, you were friends with Inuzuri Rukia, isn’t that correct?”

The young woman’s eyes had gone wide when she recognized Byakuya. “Er, yes, sir,” she said, her eyes darting between the two captains. “We shared a room while she served here.”

“Do you happen to remember what district she was from?” Aizen asked in an overly friendly manner.

“Oh, sure, it was South 78,” Hinamori replied. “Inuzuri, of course.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know all the outermost ones,” Aizen said in his goofy voice again. “Her paperwork says 48.”

Hinamori’s brow furrowed for a moment and then her face brightened. “She and Abarai had very heavy accents when they first came to the Academy, and used a lot of deep Rukongai language quirks. I don’t remember all of it, but they both used to use ‘shichi’ instead of ‘nana’ for seven, especially when referring to their district. They weren’t very fond of their home district. I wonder if the registrar misheard.”

“Well, there you go!” Aizen said, slapping his hands on his desk. “A very logical explanation!”

Hinamori beamed.

Byakuya found Aizen’s need to be liked by his subordinates very unprofessional and off-putting, but he tried to push it aside. He was trying not to be too eager, but this was probably the best lead he’d had on Hisana’s sister in all the years they had been searching. “Where is she now?” he grumbled.

Aizen turned his doe eyes on his fawning subordinate once more. “I don’t suppose you still keep in touch? She couldn’t have lasted very long there, they must have transferred again?”

Hinamori made a face like she didn’t want to say the answer. “I’m afraid that Kira and I had a bit of a falling out with Abarai and Inuzuri when they left. I haven’t talked to them in a few years, although we still have some mutual friends. As far as I know, though, they’re both still at Squad Eleven. I heard they were doing fairly well there, actually.”

The room seemed to retreat around Byakuya. All he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and the reverberations of the most horrible words he could possibly think of: Squad Eleven.

---

Byakuya knew it was poor etiquette to visit another captain’s squad when the man was out, but he absolutely could not stomach the idea of discussing the matter of his wife’s sister with the Kenpachi, so he waited until Zaraki and his miniature lieutenant were sent out to go trample half of East Rukongai before visiting.

He also knew that he probably should have said something to Hisana, but he couldn’t bring himself to get his wife’s hopes up, only to dash them, should this turn out to be nothing, like so many leads before it. So, the secret sat in his stomach, heavy and acidic, jostling with the guilt of his breach of etiquette.

“Is there someone here,” he gingerly asked one of the gentlemen on gate duty, “who takes care of administrative matters for the squad?”

The man swiveled his head, which appeared to grow directly from his torso with no need for an intervening neck, to his fellow guardsman. “What?”

The other fellow had been busy trying to remove wax from his ear with a pinky. “WHAT?” he shouted back.

“Paperwork!” Byakuya said a little louder. “Is there an office of some sort? A person who knows what’s going on?”

He supposed he could have asked for the girl, Inuzuri, directly, but he didn’t feel… ready.

“I think he wants Ayasegawa,” the neckless guard hazarded.

“WHAT?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Eventually, the burly gentleman returned. With him was a strangely elegant person with a silky curtain of hair cut severely to chin length and piercing violet eyes. “It really is you,” the lovely man said with a level of disdain that Byakuya almost had to admire. Before he had a chance to get offended, the man dipped into a respectful bow. “Welcome to the Eleventh, Captain Kuchiki. Fifth Seat Ayasegawa at your service. What in Soul Society can I possibly do for you?”

“Apologies for visiting while your captain is abroad,” Byakuya replied, not meaning a word of it.

“Oh, he’ll be very sorry to have missed you,” Ayasegawa frowned. “But I’m sure you could make it up to him later.”

Byakuya’s eye twitched. “Perhaps. I have come to enquire about a young woman whom I am told transferred to your squad three years ago.”

“Does she have a name? That might make it a little easier.”

“Inuzuri Rukia.”

Both of Ayasegawa’s eyebrows shot up, and his mouth curved into a feline grin. “Ninth Seat Inuzuri, of course!”

Byakuya blinked. “Ninth Seat? Captain Aizen told me she was middling at best.”

Ayasegawa's face suddenly went stiff. “She was not well-served at the Fifth, but she has bloomed here most beautifully. Inuzuri is my personal protege, you know.” He stared at Byakuya under hooded eyes. “What is your interest in her? Captain?”

Byakuya took a deep breath through his nose. “My wife is also from Inuzuri. She is trying to locate someone she knew there. It is possible this Rukia is that someone.”

Ayasegawa frowned. “Well, I can introduce you, if you like. I should warn you, though, Rukia doesn’t have a lot of lost love for her hometown.”

“My understanding is that there isn’t much to love about it.”

“Mmm,” Ayasegawa agreed. “Well, come along, let’s go find her.” He concentrated for a moment, clearly trying to find her reiatsu. She must be a woman of some power, after all. “Ugh! She and Abarai are at it again! Every day!”

Byakuya swallowed stiffly.

“Well come on! She’s out at the training fields, clobbering our Tenth Seat, yet again.”

Oh. That kind of “going at it.”

Ayasegawa was shaking his head. “The two of them are literally an unstoppable force and an immovable object.”

“Abarai was also at the Fifth?,” Byakuya probed cautiously. “I was told they were close.”

“Of course they’re close!” Ayasegawa scoffed. “They’re partners!” He thought for a moment. “Abarai is from the 78th as well, you know. If Rukia turns out to not be your girl, perhaps one or the other of them knew the person you’re looking for. Abarai is one of those people who just… knows everyone. He’s the personable half of the pair.”

“‘Partners’?” Byakuya echoed. “What… kind of partners?”

Ayasegawa stared back at him like he was insane. “Partners.”

This path of inquiry clearly wasn’t going to get him anywhere, but wasn’t particularly relevant, either. “I did not think kidou-type zanpakutou were permitted in the Eleventh,” Byakuya sniffed. “Aizen’s records indicated Inuzuri wields an ice-and-snow type.”

Ayasegawa gave a little shrug. “Zanpakutou classifications are arbitrary. Obviously, if she had a bunch of showy blizzard attacks like Matsumoto’s little prodigy friend, it would be a no-go. Rukia can take the blade of her sword down to sub-zero temperatures. She has a weapon-shattering attack and she doesn’t feel pain when she’s fighting. It’s fundamentally no different than a zanpakutou so massive that only the wielder can lift it, or a whip sword that’s controlled with one’s reiatsu.”

This sounded like a quibble to Byakuya, but it’s not like he had come to the Eleventh looking for sound logic.

“She’s incredibly fast, probably the fastest person in the Eleventh, although no one’s really sure what Yachiru’s top speed is,” Ayasegawa continued on. He glanced at Byakuya slyly. “I hear you are very fast.”

“You have heard correctly.”

“That’s why Abarai can’t beat her. If he could land one really hard hit on her, she’d go down, but he’s not fast enough and she’s just too agile. He’s my partner’s protege, you see, so I have to take their little scraps very personally.”

How did this man talk so much?

“What did you say your wife’s relationship was to her again?”

“I did not.”

“Ah, right. Oops, look out!” Ayasegawa abruptly dove to one side as a giant mass of shihakushou and pink hair and what might be a sword came crashing through the split rail fence surrounding the training field.

Byakuya was not in the habit of ducking, so he merely plunged the force of his reiatsu down into the earth like a piton. It was almost, but not entirely sufficient. Byakuya gritted his teeth as he was driven back, dirt piling up behind his heels as he skidded backwards.

When they finally came to a halt, Byakuya looked down at the meaty youth lying at his feet. This must be the infamous Abarai, although he certainly didn’t look like one of Aizen’s usual simpering overachievers. The first thing Byakuya observed was the eye makeup. Most shinigami applied at least a little eyeliner, on grounds of tradition, but few bothered to blacken the entire eye socket, as in the skeletal facepaint of old. The second thing Byakuya noticed were the tattoos painted across his forehead and neck. They were black and spikey and horrible. The third thing was the hair, which was bright pink and spikey, and utterly at odds with the makeup and tattoos. The fourth thing was the big, sheepish grin, which honestly just tied the whole hideous tableau together.

Byakuya glared down at the lout, and in a moment of pettiness, flared his reiatsu to a level that should have sent blood spurting out of his ears.

“I’m afraid that’s not going to do much to someone who has a weekly sparring slot with the Kenpachi,” Ayasegawa commented dryly.

“Sorry ‘bout that!” the lummox cheerfully apologized as he sat up and brushed himself off. He had an Inuzuri accent so thick you could spread it on toast, an accent that Hisana tended to slip into only when she was extremely bent out of shape. Abarai snapped the sword hilt in his hand, and the tangled pile of steel on the ground neatly retracted into something that looked a little more like a weapon, if a weapon were designed by a creative and overly violent child.

“That’s a captain, you buffoon!” another voice rang out, and every muscle in Byakuya’s body locked. “Show your respects!”

The voice clearly affected Abarai as well, because he leapt to his feet, spun, and slammed into a bow. “My apologies, Captain…” his eyes glanced up and abruptly widened, “Kuchiki.”

“Greetings, Captain Kuchiki! Welcome to the Eleventh Division! I apologize very profusely for throwing Tenth Seat Abarai at you!” A second young person had come to join Abarai in his bow, and they both rose in unison, Abarai looking suddenly pale and nervous, his companion looking calm and confident.

So this was Inuzuri Rukia. She had Hisana’s voice. She had Hisana’s stature, and standing next to Abarai made her look positively childlike. She wore the same dreadful eyeblack, but the eyes that shone out of it were a variation on Hisana’s, harder and three shades more purple. The rest of the face was Hisana’s. Her hair was dark, shaved on the sides, arranged into porcupine spikes on top, although one lock hung down stubbornly between her eyes. Her ears glittered with silver piercings. At least she was free of awful tatt-- wait, no. Byakuya had missed them at first, because they were white. Abarai’s tattoos were spiky and sharp, but Inuzuri’s were graceful swirls, like ribbons wrapping lazily down her forearms. Even her reiatsu was like Hisana’s-- but instead of a cool, refreshing wintergreen, Inuzuri’s was the bone-deep cold of winter, a cold so harsh it burnt in the lungs.

There was no doubt.

This atrocious delinquent was his long-lost sister-in-law.

“Can we help you with something, sir?” Inuzuri prompted. “Abarai here’s a big fan of yours.”

“Shut up, Rukia,” Abarai managed through gritted molars.

“Inuzuri Rukia, you died as an infant thirty-six years ago and were sent to the 78th District of South Rukongai, is that correct?” Byakuya said stiffly.

Inuzuri and Abarai both bristled, a pair of mongrels raising their haunches. “That seems about right,” Inuzuri replied slowly. “My early years are a little hazy.”

“My wife, Hisana also died thirty-six years ago and was sent to Inuzuri with her infant sister,” Byakuya went on. “They were separated. My wife has been looking for her sister ever since. You… resemble her greatly.” Byakuya let the implication hang in the air. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

There was silence for a moment. Then there was the distinct noise of a laugh that, having been held in, had escaped through someone’s nose. “Sorry! Pardon me!” Ayasegawa wheezed, clapping one hand over his mouth and looking away. “Bit of. Dust. In my throat.”

“I told you! I told you, you looked like that picture of her in the Bulletin!” Abarai was hissing.

“I thought you were lying because you thought she was pretty!” Inuzuri hissed back.

“I thought she was pretty because she looks just like you!”

“Now is really not the time, Abarai!” She cleared her throat and tried to stand up a bit taller, a futile effort. “So, uh, so what? What does that mean, if I am her sister? Does that… does that make me noble?”

A higher pitched wheezing came out of Ayasegawa. The level of impudence was extraordinary.

“I would like you to come to my home to meet her, first,” Byakuya put off making any promises. “We can discuss what comes next. As a family.”

“I’m at work right now,” Inuzuri excused.

“Inuzuri, I need to know how this pans out, you can have the afternoon off,” Ayasegawa informed her.

Inuzuri’s confidence seemed to be draining out of her. She took a tiny step closer to Abarai and groped for his hand. “I’m bringing Renji,” she declared.

“Is he compulsory?” Byakuya asked. Inuzuri was absurd looking too, but at least she was small.

“He’s my family,” Inuzuri insisted.

Byakuya’s brows furrowed. This could prove problematic. “In any sort of legally binding sense?”

“We’re engaged!” Inuzuri announced.

“We are?” Abarai goggled.

“I told you I’d marry you if you could ever manage to beat me in a fight! What else would you call that?” Rukia hissed at him in a voice that was still, unfortunately, perfectly audible.

“I’ve been trying every day, and honestly, Rukia, it’s not looking good for me!”

“Can you just go with it for once, instead of arguing with me every time?”

“If you want to leave and never tell anyone you found her,” Ayasegawa put in, “I am very bribable.”

Byakuya was sorely tempted.

---

End note: To further explain the number mix-up, as I understand it “seven” in Japanese can either be said as “nana” or “shichi”. People usually say “nana” for two reasons-- 1) to avoid confusion with 4 (”shi”, although you can also say “yon”) and because “shi” is a homophone for death. Given how shitty the districts in the 70s are, I rather liked the idea that they residents use the “shichi” pronunciation as a bit of gallows humor. (And if you don’t have a rude nickname for the town you grew up in, well, congrats for not growing up somewhere shitty)

I don’t actually speak Japanese, tho, so forgive me if this is all nonsense. 😁

#renji's birthday 2k21 #my writing #i loved writing this with my entire being #thank you so much #all i ever want in the way of prompts is cursed suggestions that come out of conversations i have in the bowels of my ao3 comments #strictly speaking this isn't very renji-centric but he does reach new peaks of himbo-dom in this au so i will allow it #the byakuya - yumichika interaction in this fic is so powerful #also a i z e n

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