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kallie-den · 4 months ago

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A Commanding Weakness Ch. 8

Kuznetzov, the Inyx’s second-in-command, enters therapy with Alara, who shows her that her desire to be more feminine is at the route of her "paranoia"

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“You’re telling me…” Lieutenant Kuznetzov said slowly. “There’s… really nothing going on? No conspiracy? Nothing to worry about? It… was all in my head?”

“All in your head,” Counselor Alara Hisarlik replied, placing careful emphasis on those words. “It’s as I’ve told you. I know this may be difficult to accept, but I’ve been investigating thoroughly over the past two weeks. Your fears that the crew of this ship are being manipulated or infiltrated in some way are entirely unfounded.”

“I see,” Lieutenant Kuznetzov muttered. “Thank you.”

She was grateful, wasn’t she? After all, this was what she’d been hoping to hear, wasn’t it? It was the best possible outcome. A few mental health issues aside, there was nothing to worry about. The Inyx wasn’t in danger. She should be relieved.

So why, instead, was Lieutenant Kuznetzov finding it so hard to accept?

Maybe it was how bad things had gotten. More than ever, Lieutenant Kuznetzov was sure something was up. So many members of the crew were behaving strangely - the science officer, the ship’s doctor, even the captain. Every time she entered a room, Kuznetzov was greeted with eerie silences and glassy stares, as if there was some sinister secret that everyone but her was in on.

Paranoia? It was possible, of course. But Lieutenant Kuznetzov would never have made second-in-command if her instincts weren’t worth a damn, and they were telling her that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Alara prompted. “You seem troubled, Lieutenant.”

Or perhaps it was Alara Hisarlik.

She’d changed. Hadn’t she? There was something different about her. Lieutenant Kuznetzov just couldn’t quite seem to put her finger on it. She seemed… what was it? Calmer? Happier? More confident? Yes, all of those. But those were good things. Weren’t they?

So why did Lieutenant Kuznetzov suddenly feel so uneasy around her?

Maybe it was her cabin. Two weeks ago, it had felt warm. Inviting. Since then, the counselor had redecorated, stripping back much of that pleasant decor in favor of a far more spartan vibe. It wasn’t bad, exactly. Just about every cabin on a warship like the Inyx could be called ‘spartan’. But the difference was palpable.

Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was all in Lieutenant Kuznetzov’s head.

“I’m just…” Lieutenant Kuznetzov confessed. “I can’t shake the feeling that… Look, are you sure? Absolutely certain?”

“Certain,” Alara insisted, as she took a sip of her tea. Somehow, her icy calm wasn’t comforting. “Completely. It’s all in your head.”

“I… see.” Lieutenant Kuznetzov found herself unconvinced, and it was clear that she wasn’t going to get any answers here. She made to stand up. “In that case, counselor, I’ll try to put it out of my mind. My apologies for wasting your-“

“No, sit.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov was so surprised, she found herself sinking back down into her seat. Alara Hisarlik wasn’t usually one to give orders - certainly not with that kind of steel in her voice. She sounded more like Captain Vasser than she did her usual, mild-mannered self.

“Excuse me?” the lieutenant said.

“What kind of counselor would I bet if I just let you walk out of here?” Alara tutted. She was smiling - it was meant to be warm, perhaps. Comforting. It didn’t come across that way. “Lieutenant Kuznetzov, I’m deeply concerned for your mental well-being. Paranoid delusions, anxiety, uncertainty… we really must get to the bottom of this.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov flinched. She hadn’t been prepared for such bluntness. “Perhaps you’re right,” she admitted.

Painful though it was to face up to it, her conviction that something was amiss aboard the Inyx was entirely undercut by her lack of evidence. Put another way… yes, she really did sound paranoid. She couldn’t blame the ship’s counselor for being firm when the moment called for it, she decided.

“Of course I am.” Alara laughed. “I’m an expert. Now, please, get comfortable. We may need a little time.”

She reached over to a small, wooden jewelry box that was resting on a nearby table. From within, the counselor produced what Lieutenant Kuzentzov just about recognized from historical photographs as a watch - the old, analog kind, worn in a pocket and attached by a chain. This one was gold, it seemed, with fine Roman numerals around the face, and when she strained her ears, the lieutenant could just about hear it tick.

“Do you know what this is?” Alara asked, touching the watch fondly. Her eyes were fixed on it.

“A family heirloom?” Lieutenant Kuznetzov guessed. From how she handled it, it was clear the pocket watch was of great significance to the counselor.

Alara just laughed, though. “Not at all!” she exclaimed, voice rich with humor. “It’s just a replica. I had the ship’s computer fabricate it for me recently. But it’s based on something I saw in an old movie, while I was growing up. I remember being quite fascinated with it. It really awakened some things in me. Things I hadn’t thought about in years - until very recently, in fact.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov shifted uncomfortably. How was this related to her counseling?

“Anyway.” With a flourish, Alara lifted the watch into the air and dangled it by its chain as she sat back in her chair. “I’d like you to look at this, please.”

“Why?” Lieutenant Kuznetzov asked, although she was already looking. The pocket watch had a way of catching the eye.

“Because I told you to.”

The lieutenant blinked. She couldn’t tell if Alara was joking.

“An external visual focus can often be conducive to the kind of mental state we want you to achieve in therapy,” Alara explained after a moment. “That’s why. But you really must trust me, lieutenant. We won’t get very far if you keep asking ‘why’ like a precocious child. I know what I’m doing. Trust that your welfare is my highest priority.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov felt her choler rise at the reprimand, but she quickly reasoned herself out of anger. Alara had a point. She was the ship’s counselor. It was natural to think that she knew what she was doing, and that she had the lieutenant’s best interests at heart. Alara was probably a little offended she kept questioning her. Maybe Lieutenant Kuznetzov should try being a little more cooperative. After all, if she really was paranoid, she certainly needed Alara’s help.

And if there really was some kind of conspiracy afoot, and if - as her instincts were telling her - Alara was now part of it?

Lieutenant Kuznetzov shook that thought off. It was all in her head.

“You’re right,” she said, after taking a few deep breaths. “My apologies.”

“Thank you.” Alara nodded. “Now, please. The watch. Look closely.”

Obediently, Lieutenant Kuznetzov turned her full attention to the pocket watch. She wasn’t really sure what else she was meant to do besides simply looking. It was nice to look at, she supposed. The watch was pretty, and there was something pleasing about the perfect regularity of the second hand as it moved around the face. It was impressive to think about how, in the pre-electronic age, humanity had been completely dependent on clockwork pieces like this to tell the time with any precision. A fine pocket watch must have held an almost godlike sway over people, simply by counting the minutes and keeping them to schedule.

“Yes, good,” Alara cooed, “keep your eyes focused right in the middle there. Let yourself be aware of the hands moving without looking straight at them.”

It took Lieutenant Kuznetzov a few minutes to slip into that particular mental groove. At first, her attention kept wandering - and with it, her gaze. It was so easy to find herself following the tip of the second hand instead, as it moved in a circle around the watch’s face. But deep breathing helped - it was just like reentry training, she told herself - and so did letting her eyes half-unfocus until the ticking of the pocket watch seemed to be happening in a blur all around her.

“OK,” Lieutenant Kuznetzov said eventually. She felt strange. Sleepy, almost. Maybe she was more exhausted than she realized.

“Good,” Alara repeated. “You’re doing very well, Lieutenant. Think of this as a meditation exercise. We’re doing this so that we can communicate with your subconscious mind. That’s where we can find the source of your trauma.”

Lieutenant Kuztetzov frowned - or at least, she tried to. Her face seemed strangely unresponsive to her emotions. Her trauma? That didn’t sound right. But… why? She wasn’t sure. Her thoughts were slow. It was proving surprisingly easy to slip into a kind of meditative stupor as she stared at Alara’s watch.

“Yes, trauma.” Alara seemed to register the lieutenant’s skepticism.

The older woman started to swing the pocket watch back and forth like a pendulum. At first, Lieutenant Kuznetzov felt faintly annoyed, but she quickly found she could stay focused on it regardless. Her eyes moved back and forth, matching the watch’s rhythm, and she leaned forward a little, eager to bring all her concentration to bear on the object.

“We all have trauma,” Alara explained. Her voice was very slow - or maybe the lieutenant just heard it that way. Everything seemed slow to her now. “Every one of us. It shapes us, even though we may not realize it. We carry it around inside us all the time.” Past the watch, Lieutenant Kuznetzov could just about make out a wide grin dawning on Alara’s face. “Or, as in your case, we wear it on our sleeves.”

What did she mean by that? Lieutenant Kuznetzov found that her skepticism had already sunk into the quicksand of her entranced mind. Now, she was simply eager to understand. Alara’s words had an irresistible power to them. They were compelling, and she could sense that on some level, she was just as focused on them as she was on the watch.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Alara told her. “I’m talking about how you present yourself. About this aesthetic of tough, strong, butch masculinity you insist on presenting.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov’s blood suddenly ran cold. “The… my… what are you…”

What was she talking about? Clearly, it was some kind of reference to Lieutenant Kuznentzov being butch. But what did that have to do with anything? She’d always been a butch lesbian. She was perfectly comfortable with her identity. Her butchness had nothing to do with her present feelings.

Right?

Suddenly, Lieutenant Kuznetzov wasn’t so sure. Her usual reserves of will and confidence were lost in the fog. And Alara seemed very, very certain.

“Don’t you see?” The counselor’s voice was stronger than ever. There was a rich pleasure to it, like she was finally, truly alive, even as Alara sat back in her big, comfortable chair, the perfect picture of calm and assurance. “It’s deeply connected. Your butchness. Your paranoia. They share a root in your psyche.”

"N-no…” Lieutenant Kuznetzov murmured. A murmur was all she could muster. She felt so weak. If only she could look away from the pocket watch… but she couldn’t, she had to keep looking.

Who had told her that again?

It was all so confusing. The lieutenant was losing track. All she could remember was that she needed to keep staring. Then, everything would become clear. Yes. She was sure of that.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Alara insisted. “It’s all going to be OK. All you need to do is listen to me.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov shook her head numbly. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was about to lose something precious to her. “S-stop.”

“We can’t stop,” Alara said patiently, like she was talking to a child. “Not while you’re still so confused. Don’t you see the connection? The way you present yourself is like a barrier between you and your colleagues. It keeps you apart. Alone. And now you’ve concocted this fantasy about a conspiracy in order to reinforce those barriers. You’d be much happier without them, you know.”

“No,” Lieutenant Kuznetzov repeated. She was finding her voice again. With great effort, she was able to rouse herself a little. She needed to put a stop to this. Right now. “That… is not…”

“Come now,” Alara cooed. “It’s trauma. All of it. How else do you explain those forced-feminization fantasies of yours?”

At that, Lieutenant Kuznetzov froze. She was paralyzed. Her resistance evaporated into the ether. The sheer shock robbed her of it.

How did she know? How did she know about that?

“A new… friend of mine was showing me your holodeck files,” Alara tutted. “I’m afraid that’s not a very healthy outlet, lieutenant. Can’t you see it? This twisted little fetish of yours is simply your true self, begging to be set free.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov was too stunned to argue. Too stunned to react. Too stunned to do anything but accept the words Alara was pouring into her hypnotized ear.

“Yes, we really must address this,” Alara mused. Her grin was overwhelmingly sinister, but Lieutenant Kuznetzov was too far gone to see it. She had eyes only for the pocket watch. “We’ll have to go deep. I’m sure you have some repressed memories that can shed light on this. Listen to me, lieutenant. Let me tell you all about it. Let me show you what, exactly, you need to remember.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov slumped forward in dumb, mindless acceptance. She was completely hypnotized. Her mind was an open book - and Alara Hisarlik its author, as she spoke a new, twisted truth that turned the lieutenant’s identity on its head.

***

“For my records,” Alara dictated to her holocorder, “this is week two, session four of my feminine adjustment therapy with Lieutenant Kuznetzov.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov squirmed at the name Alara had chosen to give it.

By now, these sessions had become familiar. As usual, Lieutenant Kuznetzov sat, hunched and uncertain, in Alara’s cabin while the counselor helped her. As ever, Alara was supremely at ease. She sat back in her chair, tall and formidable, teacup in one hand and notepad in the other, and regarded the lieutenant with an unpleasantly piercing gaze.

In truth, the whole experience was unpleasant. But Lieutenant Kuznetzov had no choice but to go through with it. Because…

She frowned. There was a reason, wasn’t there?

Of course there was.

“So, Lieutenant,” Alara began, “how have you been feeling since our last session?”

“I’ve been well.” Lieutenant Kuznetzov immediately flinched at how uncertain she sounded. “I think.”

“You think?” Alara raised an eyebrow. “Tell me about that.”

The counselor sounded so forceful. So imperious. That wasn’t right, was it? Lieutenant Kuznetzov was growing increasingly sure of it. There was something off about Alara Hisarlik. With each session, Lieutenant Kuznetzov was more and more certain.

But… was that simply her paranoia talking?

She wanted to raise the issue with the captain. But her therapy was too important to jeopardize.

“It’s been… a little distracting,” Lieutenant Kuznetzov confessed.

“Ah.” Alara’s smile widened. Became predatory. “Then, you’ve been following the instructions I gave you?”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov nodded curtly, and tried to hide how much she was suddenly blushing.

“Wonderful.” Alara’s voice was slow and gleeful. “Show me.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov sucked in a breath so hard she almost choked. “C-counselor!” she gasped. “That wouldn’t be… I can’t… t-that’s inappropriate!”

As soon as Alara started shaking her head, though, Lieutenant Kuznetzov felt her conviction beginning to wilt.

“Lieutenant,” Alara tutted. Condescension dripped from her words. “Be reasonable. How am I supposed to supervise your therapy if I can’t inspect your progress?”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov shrank back. Her therapy. Right. It was all-important, and Alara was the only one she could trust with it. She knew that, somehow. There was no room to argue.

“V-very well,” the butch woman muttered. “H-here.”

Alara watched her carefully over the rim of her teacup as Lieutenant Kuznetzov rose to her feet. After a long moment of hesitation and with great reluctance, the lieutenant presented herself for inspection. She unbuttoned her smart jacket halfway down its front, and at the same time shucked her uniform pants down beneath her hips.

Doing so made her blush fiercely. It felt obscene. Like she was flashing someone. And the worst part was that now there was something for them to see.

Instead of her usual sports bra and boxers, beneath her uniform, Lieutenant Kuznetzov was wearing bright pink lingerie.

It was an assignment from the counselor. Alara had even picked out the bra and panties for her. They were so humiliatingly eye-catching, especially for a butch. So lacy. So thin. So damn frilly, with those needless little bows and floral embellishments.

It was exactly like what Lieutenant Kuznetzov wore in all her worst fantasies.

“Perfect,” Alara purred. “You look lovely in them, by the way. Very cute.”

A sudden rush of heat turned Lieutenant Kuznetzov’s thoughts to ash and her voice into a girlish squeak. “T-t-thank you.”

She slumped back into the chair and hid her face. Why did she have to find that so hot?

“I suppose you haven’t worn anything like this in… how long?” Alara asked.

“S-since I was a teenager,” Lieutenant Kuznetzov managed.

“Almost exactly as long as you’ve had this fetish,” Alara noted. “Telling, don’t you think?”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov balled her hands into fists and said nothing.

What could she say? Somebody else knowing about her feminization fetish was a nightmare come to life. She’d always tried her hardest to excuse it to herself. To insist that it was nothing - just a harmless little quirk of her psychology; a little bit of unprocessed trauma that came to the fore, sometimes, when she was in a certain mood.

So what if thinking about someone forcing her to dress like a femme got her off harder than anything else? That didn’t mean anything.

That was what she’d always told herself. In her late teenage years, Lieutenant Kuznetzov had discovered that dressing in an androgynous or even masculine fashion made her feel good. It completely addressed the uneasy feeling she got in her gut whenever she wore a skirt or a dress. Her newfound butchness went hand-in-hand with her realization that she was a lesbian, and as a butch, she’d found a place in the community.

But slowly, over time, her fetish for feminization had grown inside her like a tainted seed. In her mind’s eye, that unease with femininity had been steadily transformed from disdain into a kind of sick thrill, the need for which she couldn’t satiate anywhere else. Trying to clamp down on it completely hadn’t worked, so Lieutenant Kuznetzov had resorted to indulging it little by little, in masturbatory fantasies or holodeck scenarios. Throughout her military career, it had remained her naughty little secret, never to be revealed or disclosed.

The secrecy made it feel even more shameful. But Lieutenant Kuznetzov had achieved a kind of peace with the fact that she was more than just a fetish. What got her off didn’t dictate her identity. It didn’t undermine who she was. It didn’t undermine her butchness. That was what she’d always thought.

Alara had shown her otherwise.

“You see? You’ve learned to eroticize your own femininity, even as you keep it at arm’s length,” Alara explained for her again. “It’s a symptom of your deep longing for a reconciliation with it. We need to demystify it for you, lieutenant.” She tilted her head to one side. “And yet, you’ve been finding this distracting?”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov flinched again. Why did Alara have to look at her like that? Her gaze made it so damn hard to think, and even harder to lie.

“I get…” she confessed in a whisper, “t-turned on.”

“And there it is.” Alara’s vindication was audible. “Well. Clearly, we need to go a little deeper.”

A chain jangled. Lieutenant Kuznetzov looked up. The counselor’s pocket watch was hanging in the air between them.

She let out a low groan. She hated this part. Whenever the watch came out, she seemed to get so confused. It robbed her of the ability to stand up for herself. To assert herself and her identity. Already, she could feel the room around her beginning to swim and spin as her eyes locked onto the center of the pocket watch.

“Please…” Lieutenant Kuznetzov tried to say. “Can’t we… do we really have to…”

“Yes, lieutenant,” Alara scolded. “We do. Focus, now. You know how this works.”

Without really meaning to, Lieutenant Kuznetzov nodded in submission. That response had been conditioned into her now. Obediently, she stared into the watch and let its rhythmic ticking take her away from herself.

“How about your other homework?” Alara asked as she began to swing the pocket watch from side to side. “Did you cut your hair?”

This time, Lieutenant Kuznetzov couldn’t even flinch. It was like all the strength had gone out of her body. “N-no,” she replied distantly.

Every single week, for years now, Lieutenant Kuznetzov had made sure to get her hair trimmed back so that her neat, short side shave remained perfect. But not this week.

She was dreading the moment someone else on the crew noticed.

“Good,” Alara told her soothingly. “Good girl.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov moaned softly. She hated being called that.

Unless she didn’t. Unless the fluttering in her stomach meant something else. Thanks to Alara, she wasn’t sure.

“Let’s go a little deeper,” Alara said, as Lieutenant Kuznetzov started to slip into trance. “A little deeper into your mind. A little deeper into this fetish of yours. We need to get to the root, lieutenant.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov nodded, the movement barely perceptible. Yes. They needed to get to the root.

“The root of your paranoia,” Alara continued, songlike. “The root of your masculine presentation. It’s the same, lieutenant. But don’t worry. We can fix them both.”

“But…” Lieutenant Kuznetzov managed to say, as something within her stirred. “That’s not… I’m… butch…?”

She was a butch lesbian. That was her identity. That was who she was.

That was what Lieutenant Kuznetzov wanted to say. But her thoughts were sludge, and she could barely muster words. And besides, she was feeling less and less sure of her identity by the day. After all, wasn’t it just something she’d adopted to keep people at arms’ length? Wasn’t that the reason she was currently so worried about the ship and the crew?

Alara had taught her that. Now Lieutenant Kuznetzov didn’t know what to think.

“We’ll see about that,” Alara laughed, brushing past the lieutenant’s feeble resistance like it wasn’t even there. “Don’t worry, lieutenant. Counseling is all about discovering who you really are. That’s all we’re doing here. Sometimes, the truth can be surprising - but that’s why I’m here to help you come to terms with it. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Oh…”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov’s shoulders slumped. She couldn’t think clearly enough to find any fault with what Alara was telling her.

She had nothing to worry about.

But didn’t she? Wasn’t this all terribly wrong? Once again, the lieutenant found herself wondering: what if Alara was part of the conspiracy she suspected? What if Lieutenant Kuznetzov had accidentally fallen into their clutches? What if this twisted form of therapy was simply part of their plan?

In the end, it didn’t matter. As she stared at the pocket watch, those thoughts vanished little by little - and soon, she was left mindless, thoughtless, and free of doubt.

Perfectly hypnotized.

“Very good,” Alara cooed. Her voice was unmistakably sinister, but Lieutenant Kuznetzov was beyond hearing it. “Now, lieutenant, I think it’s about time we talk about the way you refer to yourself. Always by rank. It’s so stiff, don’t you think? And ‘Semya’ is such a pretty, girly name.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov had always hated it. But after a few minutes of listening to Alara, she realized that in truth, she felt very differently.

***

“For my records,” Alara recited, “this is week four, session nine of my feminine adjustment therapy with… Semya.”

She said the name with such vicious softness, it made Semya squirm. Why did simply hearing her own name make her so wet?

“So tell me, lieutenant.” Already, Alara was holding her pocket watch, playing with it between her fingers. Even that had Semya transfixed. “How have you been doing lately?”

Semya managed to peel her gaze away from the watch and did her best to glare fiercely at the counselor. She knew, though, that the effect was hopelessly undermined by her long mascara and the dainty, pink lipstick that always seemed to make her lips pouty. Semya knew exactly what she looked like. She’d certainly spent long enough staring at herself in the mirror that morning.

And touching herself.

She couldn’t help it. She was a slave to her fetish. It had taken over her entire life. But at the same time, Semya knew she had a responsibility to the Inyx and its crew. She was certain of it now: there was a conspiracy afoot, and Alara Hisarlik was part of it. She was helping someone take over the ship using some form of mind control, and she needed to be stopped.

Semya was going to stop her. Soon.

She just needed to complete her therapy first. She might not have been able to trust Alara with anything else - but her therapy? She could count on Alara Hisarlik for that.

Semya’s forehead started to throb. She scowled at the pain. That happened a lot. It was like something deep inside her brain was begging her to remember.

But… remember what?

Everything was so foggy these days, but Semya could at least keep a few key details straight in her head. She was investigating Alara Hisarlik and the threat she posed to the ship, but she also needed the duplicitous counselor’s help to deal with her overbearing feminization fetish. She needed this therapy, or else she’d…

What?

Semya wasn’t quite sure. She just knew it was important. Very, very important.

Somehow.

Semya wasn’t sure why her head hurt. It was, admittedly, strange that she needed the help of someone she suspected of working to brainwash the crew. Paradoxical, even. But that was simply the predicament she found herself in. Wasn’t it?

And given the state she was in, it was hard to deny that she needed help.

“Semya?” Alara prompted. Semya realized she’d lapsed into confused silence. “Tell me. How have you been doing?”

“Not well,” Semya growled. It hurt to admit it, especially to Alara, but there was no point in lying. Not in therapy. “I’m always distracted. And…”

“Turned on?” The corners of Alara’s smile turned upwards.

Semya looked down. “Y-yes.”

Little by little, under Alara’s guidance, she’d been reshaping her aesthetic. Her hair was now almost mid-length, she wore make-up every day, and she’d switched to a more feminine cut for her uniform. And, of course, there was the lingerie.

“Better than before?” Alara asked, although she sounded like she already knew the answer. “Or worse?”

Semya grit her teeth. “Worse. Much worse.”

Her new, feminine look put her in a permanent state of arousal that left Semya all but incapable of attending to her duties properly. It was a miracle that Captain Vasser hadn’t noticed. Even now, Semya could feel herself soaking through her lace panties.

“My,” Alara remarked, with cold, sadistic glee plain on her face. “How interesting. Clearly, we need to go even further.”

Semya almost nodded in instinctive agreement before she realized how absurd that sounded.

“But…” she said slowly. Her head got even foggier whenever she considered resisting Alara. “If it’s getting worse then… shouldn’t we… s-stop?”

Alara just laughed at her. “Silly girl!” she replied. Semya moaned. “These conditions often get worse before they get better. We mustn’t stop now. Understand?”

“But…”

Before another word could pass Semya’s lips, the cabin’s dim, cold lights glinted off the gold surface of Alara’s pocket watch as she turned it over between her fingers. At once, Semya was stunned into silence. Her eyes turned glassy and foggy.

She could hear it again. The ticking. It drowned out her very thoughts.

“Understand?” Alara pressed.

Semya nodded dumbly. “Yes, Alara,” she said, because she knew that was what she was supposed to say.

“Good girl.”

Semya moaned again. Being called things like that drove her crazy. There was no quenching her arousal. Touching herself wasn’t even close to enough, but she was desperate to all the same. She began to rub her legs together pathetically.

Alara seized on that at once.

“You see?” the counselor tutted. “You poor girl. You simply can’t control yourself. You can’t possibly go on like this. We need to get to the root of your fetish.”

As she spoke, she lifted her pocket watch and started to slowly, lazily swing it in the air between them. That was all it took to keep Semya’s resistance utterly smothered.

“Yes, Alara,” she said thickly.

“We need to release your femininity,” Alara told her, malice woven through her voice. “To let you embrace it. To let you relish in it.”

Distantly, Semya was aware that that was the last thing she wanted. Hadn’t she always wanted to rid herself of this embarrassing little kink? To keep it hidden? Not to let it run her life.

But somehow, the thought just wouldn’t form.

“Yes, Alara.”

She slumped deeper into her chair. As she stared numbly at the pocket watch, a bubble of drool formed at the corner of her mouth.

“Very good.” Alara’s grin widened still further. She was nothing like her former self. The counselor was utterly transformed by power and confidence, into something completely sinister. “In fact, I think you’re ready for the final step. For your big debut. For your next session, in three days, I’ll book the holodeck for us. I have something very special planned for us.”

“Yes, Alara.”

After a long moment, a faint sense of terror forced its way to the forefront of Semya’s hypnotized mind. However suppressed and misdirected they were, the lieutenant’s instincts weren’t completely gone. Not yet. Eventually, the terror crystallized into a specific concern.

“Alara,” Semya drooled, very slowly, as she stared vacantly into the counselor’s pocket watch. “You’re… you’re not… doing something… to me. Are… are you?”

Alara just smiled. “Of course not,” the older woman said, and kept swinging the pocket watch. “Put it out of your mind, Semya.”

Against her wishes, Semya did. And then, once her mind was completely empty, Alara explained exactly how she was going to destroy Semya’s tough, butch exterior once and for all.

---

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Artemis, Chloe, Grillfan65, The Secret Subject, Morriel, Dex, orangesya, Red, dmtph, Queenfisher, MegatronTarantulas, NewtypeWoman, WhyamIhere, Vanessa, Madeline, BTYOR, Sarah, Mattilda, Emily Queen of sloths, ntad, Shadows exile, Abigail, Hypnogirl_Stephanie_, Jade, mintyasleep, John, ZephanyZephZeph, Michael, Be_Be, Tasteful Ardour, Chris, Dennis, paxDulcetGirl, Full Blown Marxism, Morder, S, Myles_EXVS, Brendon, Drone 8315, Jack the Monkey, Jim, Erin, HannahSolaria, Christopher, hellenberg, Kay, Miss_Praxis, Violet, Noct, Charlotte, Faun, BrinnShea, B, Foridin, Jennifer, EepyTimeTea, Slifer274, Roxxie, Phoenix, Ivy, Jim, Sebastian, Joseph, Yaoups, Thomas, Liz, naivetynkohan, Basic dev, SuperJellyFrogEx, night, Katie, Lily, spyrocyndersam13, zzzz, Mal, Jose, Bouncyrou, Anonymous, ravenfan, Bacon Man, Nimapode, Melody, Selina, SkinnyQP, NuclearBoarhead, Kunoichiru, Jonathan, Friday, FemKUltra, Z!, WhyamIhere, Pluto, Flluffie, Maxence, Ash, Artemis

#story #commandingweakness

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watching-pictures-move · 2 years ago

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Movie Review | The Curse of Frankenstein (Fisher, 1957)

This review contains spoilers.

So apparently I watched this a couple of years back alongside a bunch of other Hammer Frankenstein movies and didn’t like it very much for reasons that I couldn’t recall (and didn’t note down in a review at the time), so this is going to be one of those reviews where I revisit a movie and try to make sense of my past opinion and figure out how much of my inferred prior reasoning holds with my current review. There are two outcomes possible here. One, I was right originally and I still don’t like the movie. Or two, I’m right now because I like the movie and will forgive myself for my past opinion. They say you win one hundred percent of arguments against yourself in the shower, the same holds here.

Anyway, I liked it more this time around but what I suspect was one of my original reasons, that the pacing wasn’t the tightest, likely holds. While this runs less than ninety minutes, it doesn’t actually rush to get to the monster by any means, and compared to The Horror of Dracula, which I’d seen before and is certainly swiftly paced, this feels comparatively… deliberate would be the kind word, sluggish would be the less charitable. Anyway, at less than an hour and a half, I didn’t find it a challenge to get through this time around.

I will say that I’ve liked but not loved most of what I’ve seen from Hammer and Terence Fisher, as the things I’ve liked about them have always felt like 75% of something I’ve found done better elsewhere. Certainly the movies carry a good deal of style, but it feels neither as rich as the foggy expressionist touches in the Universal movies or as vibrant and decadent as what Mario Bava and the Italians would do in a few years. I did find it interesting how much of the visual style here consists of tableaux that camera pans across, letting us soak in the production design, and I think Fisher genuinely loves the laboratory sets with the strange, complex shapes of the vials and jars and beakers and the intoxicating, sinister colours of the chemicals contained within. The big shock moments, like the monster’s reveal, or a closeup of a bleeding facial wound, are played for maximum impact, with the camera zooming in nice and close. It’s helpful to remember that these were the frontiers of graphic violence before the splatter film proper came into prominence, and you can see how Herschell Gordon Lewis takes a similar tableaux-esque approach while significantly upping the gore factor in Blood Feast.

And it’s perhaps unfair to compare them, but I think Boris Karloff’s take on Frankenstein’s monster is so iconic that I find it hard not to compare other onscreen versions against it. Karloff imbues the monster with a certain humanity which I think is lacking in Christopher Lee’s take. There are moments of pathos, like when the monster stumbles around after a lobotomy like a wounded animal, but his monster is largely mindless, existing less as a character than a prop for Frankenstein himself. (I will say that scene got an unintended laugh out of me. Frankenstein declares "I've started on brain surgery", and then we cut to the monster looking like he had his hair done by Mr. Bean of London.) But Peter Cushing’s portrayal of Frankenstein is where the movie distinguishes itself, depicting him as unambiguously evil, not just breaching ethics in the pursuit of science, but flat out murdering his mentor (who moments ago warned him about the dangers of going too far, which he apparently takes as a challenge), siccing the monster on his mistress when she reveals she’s pregnant and later threatening to have his fiancée killed. This probably plays even better the more familiar you are with Cushing, as you can better appreciate the subtle way he imbues menace into every reassurance. I will say that these things probably make this a less complex emotional experience than the James Whale Frankenstein movies, but there’s enough room for different approaches.

And one last reason I liked this more this time around is the presence of Hazel Court, who I’ve grown to appreciate as a welcome addition to any movie she’s in. Having seen her play gleefully evil in her Roger Corman Edgar Allan Poe movies, it was nice to see her play an outright sympathetic character, and she’s certainly good at it, despite wearing a number of extremely cozy outfits that look like they were made from blankets, on top of the usual bosomy dresses. I gotta say though, the scene where Frankenstein’s friend Robert Urquhart tries to get her to leave is so funny. Urquhart is doing a terrible job of convincing her of the danger she’s in, telling her that she has to leave, but he can’t say why, but it’s because of the experiments Frankenstein is doing, but he can’t say what they are. Just awful. If I were to intervene, I would have happily violated the Victorian Era equivalent of the bro code and presented her with the whole story, been a much better shoulder for her to cry on, abandoned the experiments and whisked her away to safety. The story would not have been a tragedy had I been in his place.

#film #movie review #the curse of frankenstein #terence fisher

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nekasu · 2 years ago

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@lesserden

"Oh, but of course. Learning a card game isn't too fundamentally different from learning a new school of knowledge. You need to grasp the general rules and let your knowledge expand until you can construct your own procedures." There were many more games that Neka would consider more fun than GITCG, but he did enjoy the thrill to show his knowledge of the game's mechanics in a battle with another player.

"Given how often the tide of a card game can be decided by the luck of the cards one draws or the dice one rolls and can thus provide vastly different outcomes even if all other parameters of the same, I would hardly think the result of a game should be used to determine one's promotion to being a Sage. Far be it from me to try and dissuade you if that's what you decide, but I get the feeling you're simply trying to tease me, hm?"

Sure, Neka was quite confident in his strategy--partly due to the niche his own character card held--but he was very aware that overconfidence was a slow and insidious killer and never let successes get to his head. "That said, no matter who challenges me, you, another Sage candidate, the Traveler, or even those who made the game, I won't deny any challenge, and I won't hold back."

"That said, while the game is certainly innocuous on the surface, are we absolutely certain there's no ulterior motive here? Between that fungus fighting festival and even the Akasha Terminals themselves, things that appeared harmless or even beneficial on the surface ended up being mere fronts for something more sinister." Possible he was overthinking things, but Neka was the type who would much rather overthink something than underthink it.

#tumblr didn't like my attempts to trim lol #muse:neka #muse:genshin!neka #lesserden

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familyagrestefanblog · 2 years ago

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So not gonna lie, the little "Multiplication" trailer leaves me very puzzled about the circumstances we will find the Agrestes and Adrien in, because it feels we are missing an important transition scene to get to where and what we can see.

Cause casual reminder that Adrien was supposed to be send away for weeks out of Paris in "Risk" so he indirectly ran away from home and hasn't officially returned even by the end of "Evolution"

In general the entire confrontation of the Family Agreste situation of the finale seems to just be... skipped in the trailer?

I mean, Adrien has told all of his friends goodbye in "Risk" and he WAS already on his way to the world trip through Félix taking his place... Like, Adrien was officially out of school temporarily, how is Adrien just going back to school as if nothing happened here in the trailer?

It would require for Adrien and Gabriel to FINALLY having met and talked this out after Adrien basically tried it 4 times in the finale episodes. And not only would it mean that before the "calling Marinette in the morning" scenes are on screen we would start off the episode by following Adrien when he finally returns back home, wanting to still talk to his father and settle this whole chaos for good even at night time (because that would absolutely be a necessity regarding the situation and in character for Adrien) and... well.

Last time I checked Gabriel isn't exactly in good of a mindset around the time Adrien should have returned back home

And with Nathalie (or ANYONE really) not being around to stand on Adriens side when he and his father talk AT LAST ... under these new conditions, I do have to wonder how this conversation is supposed to go down that Adrien just gets to go back to school in the next morning meaning Gabriel completely changes his mind about everything.

But most importantly, if these two indeed had a talk to settle this (which, im sorry, but I cannot imagine Adrien just going to sleep without telling his father that he is THERE) then this means that THIS Gabriel:

Some mere moments later just... manages settling everything with Adrien so well that Adrien is all cheery and optimistic in the morning to call Marinette after waking up.

Uhm...

You know, I'm not saying that this is unrealistic and couldn't happen but... It certainly isn't the outcome I would have expected right away from father and son finally meeting again when Gabriel just partly fried his own brain away by wearing too many miraculous at the same time and then having a breakdown after Nathalie leaves him.

I mean yeah, I guess all of this would be one hell of a wake-up call for Gabriel and concidering that in his eyes Adrien just ran away without saying a word. Nathalie leaving him and him fucking up his chance to save Emilie would possibly have Gabriel view Adrien returning back home to him on his own and clearing up that he only "ran away" so he can STAY HOME, in a much more positive and appreciative light.

I just wouldn't expect this:

To be possibly followed up by Gabriel finally doing good parenting?

Or I guess it would be "good parenting with sinister intentions, only that in Gabriels mind they aren't sinister at all but will be in the bigger picture in the long run"?

I would say there is a solid chance that everything that happened til the end of "Evolution" could have Gabriel make a 180 turn and fully focus on Adrien now so he doesn't end up loosing the one person who went out of his way to stay with him even when Gabriel pushed him so far away (Ladynoir is saying hi... DAMN THIS PARALLEL WOULD CHECK OUT), which in the beginning will show itself in both good and bad ways but as the episodes go on Gabriels ways of keeping Adrien will become worse and worse until eventually there is only harmful and toxic love of a parent left who is after all this time laser focused on his child.

Huh

Somehow this checked out better than I initially thought, this is a solid possibility for this to go down I suppose

#ml spoilers #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #Ml theory #Ml season 5 #Ml speculation #Huh

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twoflipstwotwists · 3 years ago

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Becky Downie has missed out on an Olympics before. In a 13-year gymnastics career, which has seen her win 14 major medals, she felt the heartbreak of watching a home Games from the sidelines in 2012. But this time is different, she says.

On Monday, her shock omission from the Tokyo 2020 team was announced, and she now says she can “never forget” the turmoil she endured from British Gymnastics during the selection process. She also hints that her treatment was influenced by her decision to speak out at the culture of abuse within gymnastics, suggesting she was “made to feel not welcome” at the sport’s training hub at Lilleshall after going public.

In an exclusive interview with Telegraph Sport, Downie describes the last few weeks as "the hardest of her life". She had thought things could not get worse than 2020: Olympic postponement, the fallout after she joined whistleblowers to speak publicly about what she described as "normalised" abusive training environments, and her father's time in intensive care battling Covid-19.

But last month tragedy struck when her brother Josh, 24, died suddenly from an undiagnosed heart condition while playing cricket. It was news Downie says "you never imagine receiving". To make things worse, she received the devastating call on the eve of the final Olympic team trial, while apart from her family at a hotel in Cardiff.

"I got a knock on the door after midnight, and my first thought was it must be drug testers," Downie says of that night. "I was half asleep, completely dazed. The coaches came in and when they told me [that Josh had died], I thought, am I actually dreaming this? There are really no words to really describe it. There were a lot of tears. It was the longest journey of my life, getting back to be with my family in Nottingham."

Sat in her living room in Nottingham now, Downie still has a look of disbelief on her face as she describes the events of the last few weeks. Condolence cards are placed around the room to mark how raw and recent her family's grief remains. Mounting more pain on top of that seems unimaginable, but the blows have kept coming.

Just two months ago, she was on top of the world after executing what she believes is a world leading uneven bars routine. At 29, she felt in the form of her life. When she posted a video of her routine online, major champions were applauding her in the comments, even the legendary Nadia Comaneci. Downie believes the routine put her in contention for a gold medal.

But last Friday her appeal was denied, and British Gymnastics confirmed she would not go to Tokyo. It is less than two years since she won a stunning silver medal at the World Championships - a competition that counted as a trial for the Olympic squad - but somehow she has failed to make even the three reserve spots for Tokyo. Though Downie has wished all of the gymnasts selected the best, she remains baffled by her exclusion - especially because she “met all the criteria” and her trials scores put her top of the rankings in bars.

British Gymnastics have defended the decision, saying they are focusing on medals in the team event, and that Downie's specialism in bars posed a "risk" to this strategy. But it has caused uproar, with a petition calling for an independent review of the selection process receiving 25,000 signatures in the last five days. Beyond selection though, Downie says what hurts the most is the way she believes the decision was made and how she was treated in the process.

After missing the final trial due to bereavement, Downie and sister Ellie were given another opportunity by British Gymnastics to compete for their spot on the team 10 days later. Though Ellie elected not to do so, Downie made the brave decision to take up the offer.

"I know that Josh would want me to, he wouldn't want me not to try," she says. What followed though, was a process where she alleges British Gymnastics lacked "any element of compassion".

They did not allow her to compete at her home gym in Nottingham or at the national centre at Lilleshall. British Gymnastics then rejected a venue she and her coach proposed and instead suggested she return to Cardiff - a six-hour round trip from her home and the very place she had learned of her brother's passing.

"That's the part that hurt me most. I refused. Why would I want to go back there? I don’t think that should have been asked of me at all."

Another venue was confirmed instead, and though British Gymnastics emphasised their intention to replicate as closely as possible the environment that the other gymnasts had competed in in Cardiff - for the benefit of fairness - Downie says it was her that was put at the disadvantage.

New obstacles included British Gymnastics failing to book her training slot at the chosen venue - a basic thing that all of the athletes had for their trial - which saw her make a 90-minute trip and have to plead with the Leisure Centre to remain open. She also had an existing dispute with the governing body because they refused to allow her to use equipment at the trial which more closely resembled that being used in Tokyo. As a bars specialist, this meant she couldn't perform her highest difficulty routine. "It's like telling Lewis Hamilton to get in a Ferrari and drive - in a sport of small margins, and high performance, equipment is always a factor."

Actually competing in the trial, while still reeling from the death of her brother, was "the hardest thing I ever had to do", and she describes national coaches walking past her wordlessly while she “sobbed uncontrollably”. But afterwards, she and Ellie walked out of the gym with "not a doubt in our mind" that she had done enough.

"If I can perform in that environment, which was harder than any Olympic final would ever be, I’m really proud," she says.

But, according to British Gymnastics, it was not enough. Knowing now that the team event was the priority in selection, she believes her exclusion from the team was already a foregone conclusion before her trial.

British Gymnastics "categorically" denies the suggestion that the trial was a "tick box" exercise, and say they trust that selection was decided purely on merit, but Downie is unconvinced. To add insult to injury, she was given a 48-hour deadline to appeal the decision, falling on the day of her brother's funeral.

"It makes me feel sick that they treated me like that," she says. "It hurts me to know the things I had to miss. Picking the flowers for the funeral whilst I was away trialling, a tribute for my brother at his cricket club, which happened when I wasn’t even given a proper training slot. I missed that, for what? There’s so much that was hurtful.

"I'll never forget that. And no amount of apologies will ever make that okay."

Downie and her sister were two of the only current British gymnasts to speak out about abuse in the sport last year, which triggered an independent review commissioned by UK Sport and Sport England. When she was left out of the squad on Monday, lobbying group Gymnasts for Change called it a "sinister warning" being sent by British Gymnastics to whistleblowers.

Does Downie think this outcome is a result of her speaking out? "It's very hard to say... But I definitely know that there has been a big behavioural shift towards me and Ellie, since that point, from certain individuals, decision makers. We’ve gone down to Lilleshall and been made to feel not welcome.

"I have been told by a person of significant importance - in the national team environment - that a lot of coaches do not agree with what we've done. Maybe I did open my mouth a year too soon, I'm not sure. If this is the sacrifice [an Olympics] then this is the sacrifice, change needs to happen. I’m proud of what I did and I don’t regret it."

Tokyo was meant to be her final bow, but now Downie has spent her first week in months out of the gym.

Downie is adamant though that she is not done with gymnastics. Despite the heartache and hurt caused, her love for the sport remains strong.

"It’s hard for me to think, can I be selected for a team ever again? I do know I want to carry on, because I want to show that routine. I haven’t done two years of work to sit on the sofa. There’s a World Championships this year. They certainly don’t have control over my final chapter. I know I want to compete again on my terms."

But the dream of Olympic gold is gone: "I genuinely believe that we could have done it. I think I had a shot at being the first female Olympic champion Britain has had in gymnastics."

#becky downie #ellie downie #bg deserves to burn

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years ago

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(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Charlie’s 5✩ Inspiration: Daytime Spiritualities [昼日疑魂] Date Translation (END 5: Heart-throb)

“Entrust me all your fears and astonishment alike; there’s no need to hold back.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Charlie’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *5✩ Inspirations have 5 Endings!! *CG Image used with permission from 蓝咕咕 ☆ *Charlie’s tag will be #For Night, For Paradox

✥ Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

How should I reply to him…?

★ E5 NIGHT: Nope★

As an adult well-versed in the horror genre, I was immune to horror movies for the most part.

MC: Of course not. We can bet on it if you don’t believe me.

Charlie: Stakes?

It appears that I had aroused his competitive spirit, for he smiled at me with interest.

MC: How about we bet on… who gets scared out of their wits first?

Charlie: Are you certain? I’ve never once lost a bet.

It was a gamble where the outcome was uncertain. The loser would be the first to lose their composure from fear.

There’s no way I’d admit defeat all so easily in the face of a show-off like Charlie!

MC: Absolutely!

Charlie: Interesting. I accept your challenge.

Charlie: You’re going to be the one losing your pride if you get so terrified afterwards that you can’t move.

Charlie: But, before we commence this bet… Aren’t you forgetting a little something?

MC: What do you mean?

Charlie: Where did you go this morning?

MC: The hospital.

Charlie: Think again. Before the hospital?

MC: Before…? Oh, right! I went out to buy snacks.

I jumped up, running to the door and rummaging through the bag of groceries I’d left there.

MC: What do you want to drink?

Charlie: Beer, like you.

I secured two cans of beer from the contents of the bag… Wait, no! What did he just say? He wants to drink BEER!?

I thought he didn’t drink? I mean, last time…

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During my last day off, Charlie had called me in the middle of one of my drinking moods.

Charlie: You’re drinking your sorrows away at home?

MC: I’m not drowning my sorrows in alcohol. I just felt like I was in the mood to drink; there’s an emotional appeal to it.

MC: Don’t you do the same when you go to bars?

Charlie: ...I do go to the bar, but I don't drink.

MC: ...Oh?

The rumoured star of the night who bombed a ton of money in private clubs is actually a “good boy”?

MC: How's that possible? You're lying, aren't you?

Charlie: Is it that odd to not drink?

MC: ...Not really.

Charlie: It's even odder to think that going to a bar equals drinking.

Charlie: Let’s just put it this way. The only reason why I go to bars is to play.

Charlie: And administering alcohol to the body is the greatest thing one can do to sully the living and perfect human brain.

Charlie: Especially this sort of low-quality alcohol made with fermented malt. 100g of the sweetened water called beer and its low molecular weight generates 180 joules of heat with your body.

Charlie: Drinking beer? Might as well swallow active bombs instead. At least, it’ll be much faster that way.

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So… Just what was going on here? It was one of the principles he lived by. Yet, he was doing a whole 180?

MC: Aren’t you afraid that ingesting alcohol will be an insult to that sober brain of yours?

Charlie: Didn’t someone say that drinking appeals to the mood?

Charlie: I'm with my Fiancée right now. Do you think I should retain a high level of reason, or show a rare moment of dullness?

MC: Do I have a choice?

Charlie: Of course not.

Charlie: Don’t worry. I won’t use the excuse of being inebriated to pull anything funny.

MC: ...Look who’s talking here?

Charlie: I can’t stand those sort of people.

Charlie took the can of beer from me before sitting back down.

Never mind; I'll gladly drop the topic. How can an adult not drink at all? Although, I bet his abstinence is probably so that it doesn't affect his job.

Click! Click!

The crisp sound of cans being opened sounded.

Never thought that he'd open it for me.

MC: Thank you, Dr. Zha!

I naturally held an outstretched hand out, waiting for him to pass me the open can of beer.

However, Charlie didn't react.

Click, click, clack…

The continuous sounds of cans clacking came from him.

I curiously peered over, only to find Charlie staring awkwardly at the cans with his brows furrowed. They were still as intact as they came.

MC: Charlie, don't tell me that not only have you never drunk alcohol, but you also don't know how to open cans…?

Charlie: You're questioning a doctor's practical ability?

MC: Then, you...

Pop!

Charlie had cracked the can open.

He freezes, frantically shoving the beer into my open hand. Then, he shoved his hands into his pockets, putting up a professional act.

Charlie: I have the habit of trimming my nails for surgeries, so it's not convenient for me to be opening cans.

For a moment, I didn't quite know what to say as I looked at our nails. They were nearly equally long.

He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t even know how to open a can. So why does he suddenly feel whimsical enough to start drinking today?

I cracked open his can of beer for him. He carefully wiped the foam that bubbled forth the mouth of the can with a tissue.

Charlie: Just now...

He took a sip of beer and slightly furrowed his brow.

Charlie: It was a mere mistake of a perfect person.

Charlie: It will not happen again.

Saying so, the glint of pride returned to his eyes once more. And the can of beer was quietly pushed far, far away.

MC: Okay, let's get back to watching the movie.

The paused screen lit back into action, encasing the room in a chilling and terrifying atmosphere once more.

The plot gradually thickened and I got increasingly absorbed with the movie.

Everything around me started to fade as I zoned into the movie, Charlie included.

Charlie: *Coughs*

MC: ……

Charlie: (Y/n).

MC: ……

Charlie: Are you really not scared?

MC: Stop moving.

All I could do was to use a free hand to keep Charlie in place as he fidgeted in his seat.

Charlie: ……

In the movie, the prisoner that was on death row managed to successfully escape into a cramped and narrow underground passageway. As muddy water splashed everywhere, the horrible cries of the jailer sounded from the other end of the door to the secret passage.

I'd given my entire self over to the movie at this point, watching the prisoner's every step with peeled eyes. I'd totally missed the faintest of all finger snaps in the world that'd sounded by the sofa.

Squeak…

The door to the entrance opened.

MC: Is the prisoner about to get caught?

However, the movie never cut scenes to show the jailer coming through the door. Still, I was fairly certain that I'd heard the sound of the door opening. And if had also been very clear.

Just as I was about to turn around to ask Charlie about it, I witnessed a bone-chillingly horrible scene…

The door the prisoner had closed suddenly opens. Sinister winds were brewing outside.

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MC: ……

MC: It should be a sealed-off corridor outside. There shouldn’t be any wind…

The more I thought about it, the more terrified I got. All I could see was the epitome of horror in this movie unfolding before my very eyes!

I felt a chill run down my spine; one different from anything I'd ever felt before, its icy tendrils spreading across my body. An alarm sounds in my heart. I was hyper-aware, with all my nerves strung tautly. It was as if any minuscule change in the surroundings would be able to set my senses off.

BANG!

A loud sound rang out in the air as the secret passageway’s metal door was knocked down. The jailer’s savage smile was reflected upside down in the pool of water by the prisoner’s feet.

MC: AH!

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I frantically covered my eyes, subconsciously backing away into the thing I was leaning against.

Crap! I had such a big reaction! He definitely noticed...

Alas, his low voice entered my ears.

Charlie: Scared now?

His warm and powerful arm snaked around me from behind, wrapping itself around me above the blanket.

My searching back hit his chest; and the moment it did, a small yearning for comfort started making itself known within my heart, growing ever more so… Just like a lost traveller who'd finally found the lone source of light deep inside the forest.

Charlie: Admitting defeat this quickly?

Charlie's warm breath brushes against the top of my head, making the shell of my ear burn. Just a little closer and my face would be able to access the crook of his neck.

MC: Am not.

I stubbornly refused to admit defeat, but my feeble voice, muffled by my hand, proved otherwise.

Charlie: If so, then why are you covering your eyes?

Charlie: You're the one who said we're going to be watching this together? Can't live up to your words now?

His chest rumbled slightly. There was undeniable mischievousness in his voice.

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Charlie: Last chance. I’ll count to three. Put your hand down, hm?

Charlie: Three.

MC: I’m not even closing my eyes! See!?

I vehemently glared at Charlie through the gaps of my fingers.

Charlie: Not counted. I don’t advocate such viewing methods.

Charlie: Two.

MC: ...What can you even do to me?

Charlie: You don’t want to admit defeat, but neither do you want to put your hand down. Is there ever a bet so kind in this world?

His bony left hand reached up to cover the back of my hand as he attempted to push my hand back down.

I struggled against him with all my might, but he was way too strong. Hence, I had no choice but to admit defeat in this losing battle.

MC: One. I lose!

Charlie lets up, dropping the strength he’d been putting behind his fingers and ruffling my hair.

Charlie: Why are your lips poised so high up? Mad?

Charlie: Losing to me is nothing to be ashamed about.

Charlie gathered up the blanket that pooled around my waist, inadvertently pulling me closer to him as he did.

I sulked and refused to reply to him. I can’t believe I still managed to get scared by a horror movie when I’m already a full-grown adult! Not only did I lose, but I also feel ridiculed by this!

Still, I didn't want to admit that Charlie's embrace certainly did provide me with a sense of comfort.

Charlie: There, there. Don't be scared. I'm here.

He gently pats the back of my hand, speaking softly in a manner one would comfort a child.

His warm chest pressed against my back as his steady heartbeat resonated alongside mine, beating in tandem.

MC: ……

In hindsight, I realized that I’d always felt at ease and that I could forget about all my troubles whenever I was with Charlie. Even though he never fails to render me speechless and makes me want to roll my eyes at him for the most part.

Maybe it’s because he’s always so frank about things with absolutely no intent to hide anything? I don’t know...

Leaning into Charlie’s embrace, my fear and panic slowly ebbed away.

However, the door still made me feel a little uneasy, and I often found myself looking at it with frazzled nerves.

Suddenly, I noticed something strange about the little tailor alarm clock by the door.

Its hour hand was pointed at 12. The small mechanical tailor that told the time had jumped out of the clock, bobbing as it frantically rolled its measuring tape back up. Yet… I did not hear any chimes from the clock itself.

MC: What's up with today?

MC: Please tell me it’s not an actual supernatural occurrence…

I was just about to ask Charlie about it when a far-fetched reasoning for this suddenly flashed through my mind.

And it ingrained itself in my brain upon appearance, growing ever stronger…

No sound, with only the motions… Why didn’t I think of this earlier?

MC: Charlie?

Charlie: Hm?

MC: Is there anything that can cancel out sound?

Charlie: Why do you ask?

He withdrew his hand and stuffed it back into his pocket. There was a sliver of wariness in his eyes.

MC: It just came to mind. Just answer me.

Charlie: Vacuum. Sound cannot travel without mediums, and there are no atoms or molecules in a vacuum.

MC: And isn’t that your talent?

Charlie: Y-Yes?

I was getting closer and closer to confirming my suspicions.

The door that had suddenly opened without a sound, and the soundless alarm clock. If there was a scientific reason to explain all of those, then it’d be…

Charlie had just created a vacuum inside the door. That way, the air difference in air pressure on the inside and the outside would be able to push the door open.

Pity; but the soundless alarm clock had given me enough hints to piece everything together.

MC: You purposely scared me so I'd admit defeat myself? Well done, Charlie.

The movie was currently showing the part where the jailer collided with the metal door.

Thud, thud, thud…

This sound was vaguely familiar. A sudden idea hits me.

I tugged on the corner of his clothes, purposely lowering my voice.

MC: Charlie, do you hear something?

MC: Thud, thud, thud. Like someone knocking on the door.

Charlie: Are you having auditory hallucinations now? That's coming from the movie.

He held my head with both hands, turning it left and right.

Charlie: You haven't gotten any water stuck in your ears either.

I directly put my finger to his lips and looked around warily.

MC: Not that. Listen carefully.

A distant but very real thud sounded above us.

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Charlie was so terrified that he'd started shaking as he looked up at the ceiling incredulously.

I took the chance to grab onto his arm, leaning sideways to get closer to him and whispered into his ear.

MC: Believe me now?

MC: Actually, I saw something by the door just now and…

Charlie: What! What’s by the door!?

He quickly shot up from the sofa, encasing me in the shadow cast by his tall and wide back.

The movie had been paused, stopping on the dark scene of the secret passageway. The door of my entryway was partially shrouded by the eerie lighting coming from the projector. The creepy atmosphere intensified.

Charlie silently stared into the darkness for a good ten seconds before letting out the breath he’d been holding.

Charlie: What can there be?

Charlie: If ghosts truly do exist in this world, then why would the world ever allow someone as perfect as me, someone, who goes against even the laws of nature, to exist?

The corners of his mouth were raised in their usual arc. Looks like he has already regained his spirits.

The only thing that betrayed the nervousness he felt deep down were his hands that had yet to crease trembling.

He placed both his hands into his pockets, putting on a calm facade as he surveyed the room…

He’s putting his hands into his pockets again? Does he like to do that whenever he feels nervous?

Charlie: Perhaps something fell upstairs. It’s just a coincidence…

He'd only just finished speaking when another thud sounded. This time, it was much more solid, the sound seemingly reverberating through the very air of my apartment.

All colour drained from Charlie's face. I hurriedly stood up.

MC: Do you hear that!?

Charlie: Yeah.

I hid behind Charlie, slowly putting my hand into his shirt pocket. I could feel the slight tremor of his shoulders through the thin fabric of his dress shirt.

Charlie: ...I certainly do hear something.

His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed down more of his fear. He unwittingly attempted to put his hand back into his pocket… only for it to brush against my hand that had touched the cold beer earlier.

Charlie: AHHH! HELP ME!!

Charlie: SOMETHING’S HERE!

Charlie could no longer maintain his noble attitude. He jolted, frantically throwing his composed facade out of the window as he flung my hand away.

MC: It's me!

Charlie: You…

Charlie gripped onto my shoulder with one hand while the other went to his chest. His frantic breathing slowly eased back to a normal rhythm.

Maybe it’s about time I tell him about “that”?

MC: Actually…

MC: There was once a girl who'd been imprisoned here in this room. She died from starvation here. That's why you'll often hear the sound of the door being knocked in the middle of the night.

MC: I never thought that she'd make an appearance in the morning this time…

Charlie: You're joking, right!?

I shook my head with a pained smile.

I placed both hands on his shoulders as I reached higher. I cupped my hand and got close to his ear and purposefully lowered my voice.

MC: If everything was fine and well at my place, then why would I have to call you here to watch a movie with me?

MC: Don't tell me you're thinking of running…?

Thud!

A resounding thud suddenly rang out, shaking even the walls as it reverberated.

Charlie: AHHHH!!

Charlie lost all his composure, screaming shrilly as he dove for the loveseat. I lost my balance as my knees hit the loveseat.

Amidst the chaos, Charlie had wrapped his arms around my shoulders as we both tumbled into one of the corners of the loveseat.

Charlie's skin was flushed from all the adrenaline, his breaths coming out in short and ragged pants. He was akin to a laboratory mouse who had its amygdala stimulated, lying against my shoulder paralyzed in fright.

His shrill scream earlier still faintly resonated in the air, making my eardrums ring in protest. I could help but recall how confident of himself he looked back when he made the bet...

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Charlie: You’re going to be the one losing your pride if you get so terrified afterwards that you can’t move.

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MC: Pft- Hahaha! This is way too good!

I couldn't keep up the act anymore. I leaned my forehead against his as I snickered like mad.

MC: Okay, okay. I'm just pulling your leg!

Charlie: ...What?

Charlie: You're joking? But, you— I— Just now…?

Charlie raised his head, looking absolutely appalled. Having just had a tumble, a tuft of hair stuck out from the top of his head.

I grabbed the tuft of hair that stood arrogantly upwards and pushed it back down with a vengeance, smoothing it out in my revenge.

MC: Yeah! Who told you to scare me with your vacuum earlier!

I could acutely feel how his face immediately heated up against my shoulder. Is it because he just found out that I was tricking him? Or is it because of something else?

MC: So, can you get off me now?

Charlie: I refuse.

He simply buried his head into the crook of my neck shamelessly, avoiding my gaze.

Charlie: You'll have to first explain to me just what is going on here.

Charlie’s arms were snugly wound around my body, seemingly threatening not to let go until he’d attained what he wanted.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Is this man truly the same Dr. Zha that was listed on the leaflet detailing the famed doctors of the Hospital...?

MC: The hungry ghost was just a story I made up to scare you

Charlie: Uh-huh.

Charlie: But, just now…

MC: That was just the heating pipes.

MC: The grandpa upstairs turns the heating on at noon every day.

MC: It's going to be summer soon, yet he still keeps it up. Always at 12 sharp. The man's way more on point than the afternoon news broadcast.

Charlie raised his head, his sweat-soaked hair brushing across my cheek. It was a little ticklish.

Charlie: That's it?

MC: Yup!

Charlie: Ahem.

He sat back up, lightly clearing his throat before composing himself. Gone was the embarrassment from having lost his composure.

MC: Phew… You finally let up, huh.

He reflexively smooths out his collar. Soon, he returned to his usual self that you were all so familiar with.

Charlie snaps to attention with his hands behind his back, purposely looking around the room in an off-handed manner.

Charlie: Actually, I could already tell that something was wrong with the structure of this housing apartment the moment I stepped into it.

Charlie: Alas, it was just as I expected. The pipings are so terribly loud.

Charlie turned to look at me, slightly lowering his head and peering down at me in approval.

Charlie: Also, your acting is really good.

MC: ?

Charlie: Actually… I wasn't scared at all.

MC: ??

MC: If so, then may I ask what’s the whole purpose behind the fear that you so kindly expressed earlier?

Charlie: I was merely playing along with you. It’s the greatest form of acknowledgement towards your acting skills.

Just who is playing along with whom, in this case? Is this even up for discussion?

Still, I think his red ears speak louder than words.

Charlie returns to his seat on the loveseat. His familiar warmth envelops me once more.

Charlie: You still lost today.

MC: How did this come back to that?

Charlie: You're the one who got scared out of your wits first. You still have a penalty to serve, so...

Charlie: Comfort me.

He turned his head to the side as he hugged me. His cheeks were a rarely seen shade of red. He was flushed from the neck to the tip of his ears.

Looking at how embarrassed he was, I couldn’t help but find it a little adorable.

The heat in his embrace didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. In fact, it made a reassuring sense of familiarity slowly spread through my heart, like a warm summertime breeze blowing from the side.

I boldly nestled deeper into his arms, basking in the soft dream-like moment.

MC: How rare for you to be so quiet.

MC: Man, if only your first instinct wasn't to pick fights...

Charlie: Please, Miss. It's not like you don't enjoy it either. It'll be over soon enough.

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The movie ends before we know it after the dazed silence that lapsed.

The projector stopped screening once the movie came to a close. The screen blanked out along with my guilt, panic, and fear.

And I’d completely missed the ending of the movie.

MC: Charlie? Do you remember how the prisoner who was sentenced to death got away?

I thought that Charlie would respond immediately in that prideful tone of his, giving me a clear and concise answer. Hell, I was even prepared to withstand another round of his narcissism if that ever came to pass.

Yet, he sounded a little unsteady and unsure, almost as if he too, was thinking of an appropriate answer.

Charlie: ...How did the prisoner getaway? Simple. He defeated the jailer who imprisoned him. All horror movies end the same way.

MC: He defeated… the jailer?

MC: The jailer here is a figment of his imagination; it doesn’t exist.

MC: The prisoner’s trapped in his own dream.

To prove what I’d said, I quickly pulled up the homepage of the movie where the summary and all the reviews were written. I pointed it out to him.

MC: Look, it’s even written in the movie’s summary…

I raised my head to clarify with him, but Charlie chose to completely ignore me, turning his attention to the plush pillow on the sofa. His eyes were very shifty.

Suspicious. VERY suspicious…

MC: Charlie, you… you didn’t take this movie seriously at all, did you?

Charlie closed his eyes in a slight grimace, his eyebrows knitting…

That reaction…. I KNEW IT.

However, he quickly bounces back from that moment of frustration. His expression suddenly turned serious and exaggeratedly grim.

Charlie: (Y/n), life is but a fleeting one.

The hell is this man talking about!?

I didn’t quite know why, but the serious tone he was taking with me sounded vaguely threatening. I could only nod in accordance.

Charlie: I see that you agree as well.

Charlie: If one wishes to have a glorious life as glamorous as the sun in this fleeting period, then some trivialities will have to be forgone.

Charlie: Alas, that movie earlier was an unfortunate one to have been forgone by this perfect life of mine.

MC: ……

MC: I see. I never knew that there was such a poetic way of saying “I don’t remember”.

Charlie: Who says I don't remember?

Charlie: I remember as clear as the day how my Fiancée got so terrified that she burrowed right into my arms.

I helplessly sighed. Looks like it'll be a long time and a good long way before I'll ever manage to understand how that brain of his works.

MC: Then, does the matter of rating and evaluating this projector still exist in your precious time of existence, Dr. Zha?

Charlie: The projector? Average.

Charlie: It's hard for me to be evaluating a projector below $200,000.

Charlie: But, I can consider using it as a console for couples.

He raised an eyebrow, smiling.

MC: And just where are your thoughts running off to?

Charlie: I'm just giving my honest, unbiased opinion.

Charlie: I hope you can convey this precious review of mine to the brand makers. Consider it my good deed for the day.

MC: Alright, Mr. Charitable.

MC: Now, are you quite done with your charitable acts? I'm going to pack the projector up and send it back.

Charlie: Why?

MC: Because… I feel like I don't really need a home theatre.

Charlie stilled my hand with his own, moving to block the projector off from me.

Charlie: Wait. I’ll take it if you can’t find a use for it.

Charlie: Send it to my house next weekend.

MC: You sure about that?

Charlie: Of course, I naturally have the right to accept any common personal property that my Fiancée chooses to give up.

Charlie: Come to my house next week, and don't stand me up.

With that being said, he confidently walked out of the apartment.

The golden sports car parked by the road gave a tremendous roar as it sped up. It soon faded away, replaced by the ever-present bustle of the people on the streets

Watching the silhouette of the car gradually disappear, the events of what had gone on within my apartment resurfaced to the forefront of my mind… Charlie was far more bizarre than any horror film I'd ever watched.

However, it’s as if his appearance was slowly lowering my impenetrable guard over my small piece of land.

Now, as for what will appear in the future… Will it be volcanos? Or channels? Who knows; we’ll just have to wait and see.

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✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 + 3 | Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

END 4 | Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

END 5 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Paradox⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: Prologue

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #查理苏 #Charlie #For Night For Paradox #昼日疑魂 #Daytime Spiritualities

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morgana-ren · 3 years ago

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His thin, calloused finger pokes almost curiously at your plush lips, sliding a feather-light touch down the gash. It’s playful- almost innocent- the prodding of a shy young man who’s never had the opportunity to study the subject of female anatomy up close and personal before. Red eyes widen in wonder, tongue sliding across teeth as he takes in the sight seeped in fascination.

“It’s so warm.” He muses, almost certainly to himself. ‘Tight’ and ‘warm’ and ‘wet’ are all keywords that come to mind when he thinks of what sits so snugly between a woman’s thighs but he’ll be the first to tell you that imagination pales sickly in comparison to the true experience. He knows that men have found a seat among divinity nestled deep within the constrictive, clammy walls but he’s never had the pleasure of situating himself between them before.

He looks from his intensive study of your pussy back up to you, and you think, if only for a moment, he looks as if he wants to thank you. If you had the capacity to acknowledge his expression of gratitude, that is. Between the ratty ties that bind your wrists above your head and the hastily placed gag between your teeth- what you think is a a ripped up t-shirt for both- it would be quite difficult. This isn’t to mention the drug coursing through your veins that muffles the panic to a dull roar and replaces it with an almost tickled sort of humor. It’s fair to guess he’d grown tired of your endless struggling and disobedience, wanting to examine your private anatomy with minimal interruption.

And examine he does.

The plump flesh resting low beneath the thick of your belly shudders with each experimental swipe of his finger, goosebumps racing from your limbs to your extremities as he takes two of his fingers and spreads you apart with his knuckle, peering deep between your legs with an expression akin to a researcher discovering a brand new species. You should be mortified, kicking and screaming and utterly violated, but the fuzz sitting atop your brain crosses the wires in the worst way. Your cheeks feel hot, hands flexing futilely in the air and you find yourself wishing for one disgusting moment that he would apply more pressure.

It’s impossible for him to have heard you, beyond the realm of physical possibility, but he obliges your request none the less. Two of his dry fingers press down on your apex, swollen bud catching on the pads of his fingers. It’s not much but you moan, squirming into his grasp and coaxing more from him. His touch was empirical, Spartan even, but the reaction it garners fills him with more confidence.

“Oh,” he breathes, barely above a whisper. His face, in comparison, is prideful and so terribly loud, beaming with all the joy of a man who feels as if he’s just discovered the secrets of the universe. He rubs harder, sloppy and amateur and and almost boorish but it’s enough to force unwanted waves of pleasure washing up your abdomen. A free hand slips his knobby finger between your folds, searching clumsily for your hole before slipping inside.

Another moan, this time of pain, but the sounds have no differential in his mind, not anymore at least. Your body clenches down on him, sending a sympathetic response shiver down through his spine and directly to his cock. His interest in you has reached the end of its scientific period, instead entering an ominous, much more carnal nature.

His eyes, glassy and pin-pricked, darken, his posture stiffening slightly as he comes to a conclusion. ‘The curiosity is too overwhelming’ you can just picture him rationalizing to himself, but the truth of the matter was he decided the final outcome of this little test long before the he slipped the drug into your veins. He palms himself awkwardly, fumbling his zipper between two fingers as he removes his pants with the barely concealed excitement of a painfully obvious virgin. It would be cute in any other situation- with any other man.

Right now, it’s simply as sinister as every other one of his movements. Jagged and rough, calculated but still so utterly damning. Even your drug-marinated mind knows where this is going and you can only beg him through so many muffled pleas to go easy, but like most virgins, he’ll dive in with all the enthusiasm of a starved predator and with equal disregard for his prey.

“You’re so pretty-“ he murmurs, a rare moment of softness as he climbs atop you and situates himself on either side of your hips. You hope, spitefully, that if you’re so pretty, he won’t last long, but you’ve seen him fight and know the endless capacity of his stamina. Something tells you his refractory is mirrored in it. Desperation replaces the snide remarks floating in your mind as you feel the all-too-hot, swollen head of his cock flub ineptly between the lips of your quim in search again of your entrance.

It takes him a moment but he finally catches, looking down at you with manic eyes and a cruel, terrifying smile widening across his face at the realization. There’s nothing you could do, certainly nothing you could say, and his frenzied features only driving that point home.

“I’ll make you feel good.” He says, more than likely to himself. “Be a good girl for me and make me feel good too.”

#nsft #tw noncon #tw drugging #bleemp blomp #muses for a later day or some shit #I got nauseous on the sofa and didn’t wanna write anything that required real effort so here’s this #he would treat sex like a science experiment at first huh #fuckin weirdo #gotta love him.#Tomura gaze into the pussy like a magic 8 ball like #👁👁

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years ago

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.17}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

For a Saturday afternoon in late October, in Scotland especially, it was unreasonably sunny and therefore warmer than anyone should allow. Dreadful, really, and Robin was only glad that she had her beloved round sunglasses to keep the brightness out of her eyes at least as she followed the beaten path. Snape however wasn't as lucky, and all he could do was to scowl at both the warmth and the sunlight as he and Robin made their way towards Hogsmeade like they had decided to the day prior.

It was already quite late, almost the time where most students would be returning to the castle, but Robin had intentionally chosen to head down to the small village only now. If things went according to plan, they wouldn't have to come across any students at all, despite it being the most crowded Hogsmeade Saturday she had ever experienced. Bloody 'nice' weather… good thing they would be staying off the main street the entire time.

They had decided on what to sell the night prior, picking some of the less expensive objects and ingredients to test the waters for now. Still, once they reached the narrow alleyways and passages that were as void of people as they had been when Robin had been here for the first and only time, in her third year, she still couldn't help feeling a little nervous. She had managed to deal with the sleazy shop owner when she had been younger, and less knowledgeable… she certainly would be perfectly fine now too, right? All she had to do was to act on the now genuine boldness and knowledge she had only been able to feign the last time; if anything, it should be way easier now than it had been back then. Yes, she would definitely be fine; and she would win this bet she had going on with Snape.

"What should I demand for the few things I'm selling? Legal or not, I still gotta stay within the normal range of what this stuff is selling for. And since we said it's your choice what I'll be asking for, you better give me a number before we go in." Robin finally said, when they arrived in front of the ominous black shop. It was way less intimidating than it had been back then… or perhaps she had just grown used to thriving in the shadows.

"How about we stay somewhat realistic with this and set the price below value nonetheless. 200 galleons, perhaps?" Snape replied with a subtle not-smirk, giving Robin a look that conveyed both sincerity and amusement.

"That's BELOW value?!" Her jaw dropped, eyes wide with surprise and incredulity. "How much is this stuff worth for real then?"

"Anything between 250 and 300 galleons would be reasonable. In theory, of course."

"That's above a thousand pounds! That's ridiculous! Why would anyone pay that much for these ingredients when they could just gather them for free?"

"These objects are rare for a reason, namely that it is nigh impossible to simply gather them. Not nearly everyone is as… capable as you are, Robin. And for the few people in the field who require rare ingredients for their work in the first place, even 500 galleons would be no sum at all."

"As I said: ridiculous!" She scoffed, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly before she couldn't help smirking up at him when a new thought entered her mind. "Good thing I happened to you, or you'd still be buying your ingredients like a fool."

"I appreciate the way you say that; you really did happen to me. Like a natural disaster or the end of the world." He teased right back, putting on a neutral facade while quirking an eyebrow. "But I would have to agree. It was a very good thing indeed."

Robin's smirk turned into a genuine smile, and she took a deep breath. "So is 200 galleons the price you set?" She was absolutely ready for this now, all nervousness gone. "The bet is still on, isn't it?"

"If you are still looking forward to losing, then yes." He quipped, but even his tone let on now that he didn't much believe in his own victory in this scenario at all. It was a tease, and an encouragement for her to do her best. She definitely would do just that, if not for the ridiculous amount of money she could make then at least to humour him.

"Oh, we'll see who's losing here soon enough." Robin replied with one last smirk while dropping her sunglasses into her pockets, then she set her stony facade of perfect neutrality in place and focused on the task at hand. Bold, and stoic, and serious. Just like last time.

The bells above the door chimed when she stepped through first, letting her eyes flicker over the dusty shop that had very much stayed the same since her last visit. As had its owner, whose eyes widened noticeably as they landed on Robin first. She didn't miss the brief shadow of concern that flickered through his face upon the obvious recognition, but after two seconds of staring, he caught himself and flashed her a wolfish grin.

"Spare me the sweet-talk, I'm not here to buy from you." Robin was quick to speak first, giving him one of those piercing icy glares that could kill if they were to become any more tangible. The man's smirk dropped from his face immediately in return, and his frown deepened with every step that Robin came sauntering closer. So close, in fact, that he backed up seemingly subconsciously until his back hit the closest shelf behind him, making the jars and bottles rattle in protest. Obviously her sinister reputation had either spread even to this godforsaken place, or the impression she had left here four years ago had persisted throughout the time in between. Good.

"What can I do for you then?" He finally asked in a strained voice, while his eyes sought for a way to escape her presence. Honestly, Robin didn't know why people were this uneasy around her, considering how tiny she was in comparison to mostly everyone else, but then again, so were scorpions. Small in size, but often lethal. The thought made her smirk ever so slightly, which only served to upset the man in front of her even more. If everyone already thought she was insane, she might as well act on it. Showtime.

"The better question is what I can do for you." She started in an almost eerily sweet tone now, giving him a haunting smile. One of those that always made her shudder when Morgan sent them her way, and that had absolutely nothing happy or polite about them. "The dust on your shelves is piling up by the years, it seems, and yet here you are, still in business. Which can only mean that what you usually sell isn't put on display, is it? You certainly aren't that foolish."

"How do you-..."

"Knowing things is my trade, you see, and as you certainly have noticed, I have used my talents to become someone who indeed doesn't require affiliations, but who people wish to be affiliated with in return." She let her eyes trail over the many objects in the storage shelves for a few seconds, then they snapped back to his. Obviously she had no idea of whatever shady business this man was involved in, but the pieces of the puzzle she could see told her by far enough. So she would play on that now. "I have no use for this shop any longer. In fact, I could easily replace you in this line of business entirely. Or I could end your dealings with a single word in the right place at the right time. However, I have no intention to do either."

"Under which conditions?" He grumbled, frowning down at Robin wearily while the general tension and unease stayed present on his features nonetheless.

"None." She gave him that bone-chilling smile again. "I have no need to threaten you, there is nothing you have to give that would be of interest to me."

"What game are you playing at?" His question came out more shallowly than he probably would've liked, which only served to humour her in return.

"None you would understand." The corner of her lips quirked up into a sincere smirk for a moment, then she turned on her heels and sauntered through the shelves and displays. "Not when you are asking all the wrong questions."

The man seemed to be entirely confused now, deprived of his usual position of having the upper hand, of being the one who led the conversation and controlled the outcome of it. Indeed, he looked rather relieved to be free of Robin's piercing gaze now, but stayed standing in his spot with his back to the shelf nonetheless. She had him right where she wanted, and he obviously didn't have the slightest idea. Perfect.

"What are you here about?"

"Hmm." She hummed in feigned indifference, not even giving him a single glance now as she studied the dusty jars and bottles in distaste.

"What the bloody hell do you want?!" He asked again, not in anger as it might have sounded to anyone who didn't know better, but in unease and desperation.

"I want you to start asking the right questions! I don't have all day." She snapped back at him, approaching him in certain steps once more that had him trying to back up on instinct, only to hit the shelf again. For a moment he actually seemed to think then, which usually was a great improvement to any situation already, while Robin glared at him impatiently nonetheless. The moment he would realize that she was no threat to him was the moment she would lose, and thus she did her best to keep up the impression of danger as long as possible.

"What is it that… you can do… for me?" He finally dared asking, holding her gaze even though the twitching muscles in his face were a clear indicator of his real sentiments. Really, he needed to work on his facades.

"Finally a question worth answering." Robin sighed in feigned annoyance, then went back to the safe neutrality of talking business. "I have a few objects to sell which certainly will be of interest to you."

"What kind of objects?" His tone was weary, but there was no denying that he was interested in the offer. Wordlessly Robin placed the ingredients on the counter behind her, well out of his reach of course, but close enough to see. His eyes widened in an instant as he stared at them first, then at Robin. "Where on earth did you get those?"

She ignored his question, merely giving him an indifferent look for a second, then continued on her own terms. "You certainly know the value of what I have to offer, and be assured, so do I. But seeing as you obviously will be able to sell them for a much higher price than what I expect you to pay, please be so kind and spare us both the time and effort of trying to bargain with me."

"How much?"

"300 galleons."

"Are you bloody joking?!" He scoffed, while squirming under Robin's glare nonetheless.

"Do I seem like the type to joke?" She raised an eyebrow at him with an otherwise grave expression, and finally he just had to look away, anywhere but at her.

"Fine…" He grumbled in disdain, and when Robin graciously made way for him, he moved over to an inconspicuous trunk in the far corner. "But you'll have to take it in cash."

"Fine."

Without another word, he opened the trunk and climbed in, descending a staircase Robin could only guess was hidden inside it. A minute later he returned with a large wooden box, which he placed on the counter next to Robin's cardboard box of ingredients. While he then moved to inspect the ingredients more thoroughly, Robin for her part counted through the thirty stacks of ten golden coins each, in carefully hidden amazement. Honestly, if her facades weren't routine by now, her jaw might just have dropped from the amount of money under her very fingertips. A thousand and five hundred pounds… three hundred galleons. Bloody hell.

"These ingredients are first class… better than most I have seen." The man's scratchy voice finally drew her attention back to him. "I should be able to sell them for a high price indeed."

"Obviously." Robin replied with a sigh in feigned annoyance yet again, and when the man began sorting the few ingredients into the shelves far behind the counter, she carefully stored away the many golden coins in the depths of her backpack. Good gods, she still couldn't believe it. This was bloody insane.

"You know, it's been four years and I still have absolutely no idea who you are." He finally said as he came back, quite obviously more at ease now that the reason for her presence had been revealed. The wolfish grin returned to his lips a second later, but he did well to stay at a distance to Robin. "But I must say, you are still creeping me out more than anyone I know. There just is something about you, all that danger and all the smarts… If I wasn't so terrified of you every time you show up, I might just have to ask you out, now that you've turned into such a delicious piece of eye candy as well."

"The 'eye candy' will likely cut your tongue off if you do not keep your lewd comments to yourself." Snape's sharp voice cut in before Robin herself could reply, and the man behind the counter jumped visibly as his eyes frantically scanned the room for the words' origin. He obviously hadn't taken notice of Snape's presence before just now, but Robin couldn't really blame him. Snape was truly remarkable at staying unseen by anyone whose eye he wanted to avoid, and Robin could only hope that he would show her how he did it one day. For now, she just was more than happy when she felt his presence coming up right behind her, and she directed her attention back to the man behind the counter, who looked even more nervous now that they both stood before him.

"You should keep in mind who you are speaking to." Robin said to him in a neutral calm, seeing no reason to intimidate him any more now. "I came here to trade, not to socialize. Have a nice day."

Turning on her heels, she gave Snape a small smirk, then made for the door. The bells chimed once more as it fell shut behind both of them, and finally they were out in the street again, turning right and walking a few steps before Robin couldn't help grinning at last. It had gotten considerably darker now, the sun gone and the warmth quickly fading, but it didn't matter. This entire ordeal had been a big success, and gods, it had been way too amusing for anyone's good. They still walked on in silence for a little while, until Robin just couldn't help nudging Snape in the side ever so slightly in her giddy excitement.

"I did it." She grinned up at him, not even bothering to take the necessary step away again, which left her arm brushing against his as they walked. "Can you please tell me that this actually just happened? Because I honestly don't know if I dreamed it or not."

"Didn't we say 200 galleons?" Snape asked in return, a tease more than an actual question, as was visible in both his tone and the not-smirk. "Because I cannot remember saying that you should go for 300."

"I wasn't seriously going to sell under value. You know me, I like to push the limits."

"I know." His smirk turned into a real one, and his eyes finally met Robin's while the two of them sauntered along the alley. "That was one of the most impressive displays of power I have come to witness to this day."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up at the compliment, her heart skipping a beat, and when he just gave her a look in return, she went on with a smirk. "Well, find me someone else to snap at –someone who deserves it– and I will repeat the 'display of power', if it entertains you so."

"I certainly will, at a later point in time. For now I have lost a bet, and I would like to pay the price for this… unfortunate misjudgment of your talent for trade as soon as possible."

"I won't complain, I've been looking forward to this part of the trip all day."

"I had feared you would say that." He sighed, but the smirk stayed on his lips nonetheless, and Robin knew that he shared her sentiment after all.

"May I choose my drink?" She asked then, with mischief written all over her face as a mirror of the plan she had made this morning.

"You traded for more than I suggested; I would say you deserve the freedom of choice."

"Great. I want firewhisky."

Snape stopped in his spot in an instant and turned to look at Robin with an equally shocked and amused face that had her grinning even more. "Are you certain about that?"

"Yeah. I've always wanted to try it, but there's never been an opportunity to." She shrugged easily, her gleaming eyes fixed on his. "And seeing as I've never had any kind of alcoholic beverage before, we might as well start there."

A small snort escaped him as his lips curled up into a sincere smile. "You want to start drinking, and choose firewhisky as your first?"

"Whyever not? I do things entirely or not at all, remember?" She smiled in return. "But funny how that is what's bothering you, and not the fact that I am choosing something alcoholic in the first place."

"As if I would care… On the contrary, I appreciate it even! It opens up the possibility of us drinking something other than coffee in the evenings together, once in a while. However that is only if your first glimpse into the wide field of alcohol isn't ruined by something as crude as firewhisky."

"I am open for suggestions, should I end up not liking it, but I want to try it first nonetheless."

"Fine. Your choice." He mused, and as he turned to walk on, a hint of a smirk played on his lips once again, with just enough mischief in it to have Robin feeling excited. Whatever he was plotting in that big brain of his, she was definitely going to enjoy the outcome of it.

For a few minutes Robin followed him through the maze of alleyways, curious where he was leading her, until at last he stopped at the back of a wooden house that probably had its main entrance on one of the busier streets. With a not-smirk, he opened a small door that was so inconspicuous that Robin had missed it entirely on first glance.

"After you." He said as he held it open for her to pass through, and without a second thought Robin stepped into the complete darkness that lay behind it. She took three steps, but when she couldn't see where she was going nor knew where she was supposed to go, she waited until Snape had closed the door behind himself, which should leave him in close enough proximity. The suspicion was confirmed when she felt his arm moving around her shoulders to guide her along through whatever path they were following in this darkness, and for once she enjoyed the frantic drumming of her heart that came along with the situation. He obviously knew perfectly well where he was going, and as long as he kept his arm around her so securely, she actually saw no reason to be nervous for once. Only excited, by the touch and the darkness and the mystery. But before she had the time to really enjoy the feeling of being curled into his side, they took a turn and then stopped for a second as he opened a door.

The brightness of too many lamps and candles stung in Robin's eyes immediately, and she blinked it away while she let Snape pull her into the room ahead. It undoubtedly was some kind of bar or tavern, depending on what one wanted to call this less-than-average establishment. But there wasn't a single person she knew in this room, and she got the vague idea that that's just why he had chosen this place to come to. On the wall opposite of where they'd come in, the actual entrance door opened a moment later to welcome in a small group of customers, who drew Robin's attention to them with the irritating amount of noise they brought into the place. The remainder of the room wasn't any more spectacular than any other bar she'd seen before; booths and tables occupied by witches and wizards who obviously dreaded the minimal attention Robin was giving them already.

"Aren't we going to sit down?" She asked when Snape made no attempt to find an empty table and instead led her straight to the bar.

"No. We are only here for an experiment." He replied, and the calm and quiet tone of his voice contradicted the sinister facade that was back on his face now that they were among people again. Robin watched quietly as he ordered a single glass of firewhisky, and then pushed it towards her after the man behind the bar had set it down on the counter between them with an odd glance between the two. "Try it."

"You obviously haven't understood the concept of buying someone a drink… You are supposed to drink with me!"

"As I said, this is merely an experiment. I still intend to pay my debts to your very contentment afterwards."

"You do?" She quirked an eyebrow at him with a smirk, and any doubt was washed away by a new rush of excitement. If he wanted to make this a more complex thing than it had to be, she wouldn't complain. Especially since this 'experiment' obviously was just part one of a more elaborate plan he had come up with just now. With an almost teasing smile, she finally lifted the glass to her lips and took a large sip while keeping her eyes fixed on his, which were observing her intently in return. The very moment the amber liquid touched her tongue and ran down her throat however, it left a burning trace behind that really did the drink's name all honour, and she couldn't help coughing desperately. She still tried to breathe through the oddly pleasant pain of the intense burn, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that were mainly a result of the coughing, and while she definitely had learned her lesson to take smaller sips in the future, she also found that she did enjoy the taste after all. When her eyes finally stopped watering and she could open them again and blink away the blur, she found that Snape was still observing her. And he was having a very hard time not to laugh. His facades had stayed in place of course, but beneath all that she saw raw and honest amusement. A frown settled on her face in return, but she also couldn't help her own amusement at his expression.

"I know you're laughing beneath all that neutrality, and it's not fair!" She whispered to him with a scratchy voice, in a scolding manner, but her smirk betrayed her efforts, which actually sufficed to finally break him enough for the corners of his lips to curl up into a smirk as well. He was fighting it, that much was visible, but Robin knew that he was losing.

"How was the first sip?" He inquired in barely contained humour now, his own tease threatening to finally make him laugh, and that precisely was what made Robin laugh indeed.

"Good, actually." She replied softly, once she had regained some control over her body. "Tastes good, I just have to work on the dosage."

"Measurements have never been your thing, have they?" He quipped, and Robin sent him a very unconvincing glare and stuck out her tongue just for good measure indeed. Then she made a point out of taking another sip, a smaller one this time, and seeing as she knew what to expect, the burning came as a welcome sensation now rather than a pain. The smooth liquid warmed her insides all the way to the pit of her stomach, leaving her with the pleasant impression that she was burning from the inside out. Glowing, lighting up the room.

Without a word of warning, he suddenly snatched the half empty glass out of her hand and downed the remaining liquid himself before setting it back down on the counter in one move.

"Hey! That was mine!" Robin protested in a laugh, but the mere fact that he didn't mind drinking from the same glass as her left her feeling short of breath, and even warmer on the inside than what could be blamed on the whisky. For a moment she felt overwhelmingly tempted to try catching a taste of it on his lips, to seek out something far more intoxicating, but she quickly forced the thought away. Definitely not a good thought to entertain in his company… especially not in a public place. Damnit. She couldn't even blame it on the alcohol, she had only had two sips just now, and that hadn't even sufficed to leave any noticeable difference with her other than the warmth in her chest and stomach.

"We wouldn't want to get you drunk in public, now, would we?" He raised an eyebrow at her with a not-smirk, and it sent another surge of electricity right from Robin's mind to her very core. Of course he was joking, nobody would be getting drunk tonight, but still… what exactly was he playing at?

The question only grew in extent and relevance when he leaned over the counter –unbothered and unhindered by the bar man– and fished for an unopened bottle of the same drink with an unsurprising elegance before dropping three galleons on the counter and motioning Robin to the door without another word. She frowned at him for a second, but then turned on her heels and made for the exit indeed. He went to place the bottle in her backpack even while she moved, closing it up again just before they stepped outside; a gesture that had become so familiar over the summer that it didn't surprise her anymore, nor require much thought or effort on either end.

"So, are you going to share your plan with me or do you want me to make wild assumptions to humour you?" She finally inquired as they walked along the by now entirely lamplit street. It really had gotten cold without the sun, and she regretted not wearing something warmer, but she also couldn't be bothered to fish a jacket out of her bag now to wear under her robes. She didn't even know for how long she would be outside after all, nor what to expect now.

"It will be dinner time shortly, we should return to the castle." He replied innocently, while pointedly ignoring everything that Robin had obviously meant to ask about. Insufferable idiot…

"And your debt?" She refused to let him off the hook quite so easily, and therefore started with the obvious. "Didn't you say you intended to pay up as soon as possible?"

"I did, and I will. But seeing as you have made a point out of the fact that 'buying you a drink' in this case means spending the evening drinking together with you, at my expense obviously, I would prefer to go about it correctly."

"Correctly as in…?"

"Entirely, or not at all." He said, giving her a teasing smirk that had her biting her bottom lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. He really was getting way too good at playing by her rules, but she couldn't bring herself to do anything other than loving it.

"Perhaps having a bite of dinner would be a good idea though… Isn't that one of those pieces of common wisdom, to have a proper meal before drinking alcohol?" She finally asked, while they made their way through the darkness back towards the castle. "Because I honestly have no intention to get drunk tonight. I have tutoring to do in the morning!"

He let out an amused huff in return, and even through the darkness Robin could see the lingering smirk. "Neither of us is foolish enough to get drunk quite so easily, you do know that. But we certainly should attend dinner indeed. For the meal, and to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to our whereabouts of the day."

"And after dinner?"

"That you will see then." He smirked again, and Robin rolled her eyes in return. Honestly, he was enjoying the secrecy way too much. But she had to admit, the suspense was beyond exciting, and it left her with a giddy feeling and a resurfacing smile she just couldn't get rid of. If he wanted to play games with her, she would play along; she knew that he would only ever play to her advantage after all. Who knew what the evening was yet to bring?

______________________________

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amphibiandad · 4 years ago

Text

A Ghostly Gift

Gift exchange for @dappersdoodles :)

‘Twas the night before Christmas

And all through the house

Not a creature was stirring

Not even a mouse...

“Aether, where the FUCK is the tinsel?”

“I thought you didn’t want to do this,” Aether smirked to himself in amusement at the smaller ghoul. Anger falling from his face as he realised the drop of his façade, Dewdrop stomped in a manner that was a little too dramatic to be genuine moodiness and spluttered “n-no! I just want to get it over with is all! I mean, who would want to be dressed like this? It’s-it’s...”

Aether raised his eyebrows expectantly, trying not to break into a grin at the pink warmth growing on Dew’s face.

“Well...you know...ridiculous.”

Aether just couldn’t keep the laughter in. A hearty chuckle rumbled out from him and echoed on the old stone around the pair. It wasn’t his fault - it was impossible not to when Dew was so cute pouting in that adorable reindeer onesie. A fiery blush worked its way across Dew’s cheeks as he glared at the larger ghoul, just about to snap a retort when the rest of their motley crew rounded the corner of the abbey courtyard.

“Oh my God, Dew, you look so cute!!” Cumulus squealed, pulling him into a tight hug which the petite male pretended to try and squirm out of.

“Get off me, Cumulus! Cute is so not my style.” He grumbled.

“Well, it’s not my style either but at least it’s comfortable.” Cirrus shrugged. “I think Papa might have underestimated Mountain’s height though.”

Looking over to him, the others noted that Mountain’s onesie ended almost at his knees and he frowned as he sighed heavily, already mourning his normal clothes. A short snicker came from the fire ghoul at the sight but was quickly halted by a couple of sharp elbows in the ribs (courtesy of Rain and Cumulus, nonetheless) who quickly tried to placate the towering male across from them with soft, reassuring coos.

“I thought they were quite nice,” Swiss commented haughtily. “Although...” He swivelled round and bent at the waist, one hand on his hips and the other resting pensively on his chin. “Does it make my ass look too fat?”

“I’m not sure that’s possible, Swiss.” Rain answered, completely straight faced whilst Dewdrop continued to suppress his laughter at the risk of incoming punishment. “But in any case, I don’t think this is the worst outcome from the Cardinal losing a bet.”

“Hm, I just wish he didn’t have to use us as a bargaining chip.” Mountain mumbled in deep baritone.

“Well, at least it was a bet with the third and not the second.” Aether replied, crossing his arms and huffing a quiet laugh as Dew paled visibly at the prospect. “Who knows what nightmares he would subject us to?”

The group shuddered collectively at the thought. None had been told specifically what was to be expected of this evening with the third, only to wear the the festive pyjamas and be in the courtyard of the abbey on time. So far, the only one who hadn’t made it there promptly was his excellency himself and regardless of how fashionable or not the outfits were, the group were certainly glad to be wearing something warm in the chill of the winter evening as their breath came in puffs of thick mist.

The courtyard itself was bare under the pale light of the moon and had the ghouls wondering why they were called out here in the first place. Originally, the group had mused that perhaps they were to participate in a play for the clergy as a strange celebration of Yule - or perhaps something more...sinister...but having seen that they were obviously not in a theatre or in front of an audience, they were only more confused. Perhaps they would be incorporated into a strange ritual or made to do physical labour - maybe the third just wanted to laugh at them in their new get up.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter...

Suddenly, said papa rushed around the corner of the abbey in a flash, his feet furiously striking the ground in quick, light taps and looking for all the world as if about to shout something awe-inspiring...before slipping on the icy stones and falling flat on his face.

Dewdrop wondered whether tonight was simply an exercise in torture as he yet again went blue in the face trying to contain his laughter at the sight of the third, face down in the grass with his ass stuck straight up in the air. However, Dew wasn’t the only one trying to suppress himself as the rest of the group were trying equally as hard not to break the silence of the untimely fall by revealing the hilarity of it all. When the small, pained giggles did start to break free, papa finally raised his head and blushed for a moment in embarrassment that was almost adorable before laughing himself, prompting everyone to break out in loud hysterics.

Once the laughter had finally died down and the tears wiped away, the third stood gingerly, trying out his limbs to make sure nothing had been injured before putting any real weight on them, and the group finally had a good look at his outfit.

“Um, sir...” Cumulus started.

“Is that a...Santa suit?” Dew finished incredulously.

“Ah! You noticed!” Papa affirmed with renewed vigour, pointing his finger in the air energetically. “Yes, I caught wind of this new trend the kids are hopping on and thought we should follow suit - pardon the pun. Very nice, eh?”

“You mean Christmas?” Cirrus supplemented hesitantly.

“Why would you want to start celebrating Christmas? And that still doesn’t explain why you’re in a Santa suit - even though, I have to say, it looks very good on you, sir.” Swiss said with a teasing wink at the third.

“Ooh, I like you.” Papa returned with an equally flirtatious smile which caused an incredibly rare flush to bless the ghoul’s high cheekbones. “It’s common sense really, the jolly fat man is known by almost everyone on the planet! Why not use that to our advantage? It’s a genius idea if you ask me.”

“So...you want to pretend to be Santa so we can spread the clergy’s message?” Aether said.

“Exactly! And it’s a good job I cheated-I mean, that your cardinal lost our bet, too.”

“Why?” Everyone asked, puzzled.

“Because,” Papa dropped to a whisper as they all leaned in curiously. “You are all very much necessary to my plan.”

The teasing atmosphere of before was gone and replaced briefly by an air of confusion and wariness as the ghouls once again dwelled on the daunting question of why they would be necessary before the third straightened and resumed his eccentric performance.

“Now, let’s hop to it!” He jumped up and started walking briskly out of the courtyard and into the woods beyond, leaving the bemused group trailing behind him.

“Wait, where are we going?” Dew asked, annoyed.

“No, no, no,” Papa replied, not even breaking a sweat still, despite the others panting heavily behind him. “Patience, young one, can’t ruin the surprise!”

Again, Dew tried to calm the traitorous blush that once again bloomed on his face. He couldn’t quite tell if it was from embarrassment at being scolded or just from the third’s overly flirtatious manner but he had little time to ponder it further as only a few moments later, they found themselves at the edge of a vast clearing, covered in a light dusting of white frost.

“See? Here we are!”

The ghouls all looked in childish wonder at the spectacle before them, with Dew and Cumulus even letting out a delighted squeal.

“Wow.” Swiss said, equally as stunned.

Before them, situated perfectly in the centre of the clearing and illuminated like moonlit velvet, was a huge, black...sleigh.

[A/N: that’s right, get your mind out of the gutter, folks.] And it was a thing of midnight beauty; the railings and silver grucifix adorning the sides gleamed as bright as shooting stars and the interior was made of plush leather the deep red of a fine french wine - a luxurious gothic steed befitting of its owner to be sure. Said owner now stood with his hands on his hips, very pleased with himself as he regarded the ghoul’s jaws resting on the floor.

“Pretty ah...impressive, hm?”

“EE-“ Dew squeaked excitedly before remembering himself and coughing. “I mean, it’s-it’s...alright, I guess.”

Terzo found himself biting his cheek at that, he couldn’t reveal his amusement now.

“Good, now onto business.”

The group snapped to attention - well, all but Swiss, who was busy touching every inch of the thing to examine the luxe materials and muse about designers and such. All of them knew. They knew that now would be when he would strike, when papa would finally drop this mask and crack the whip. The cardinal was always very kind with them and treated them like his surrogate family but they were never under any illusions about how brutal the regency could be. Many a ghoul had been handed to the papas and come back completely different, refusing to speak of what they had seen or done.

“Ghouls,” The Papa commanded and again, they straightened with a fearful jolt.

And they waited.

Rain resisted swiping a hand across his bow as sweat started to drip down. Aether could feel his heart pound like it was Mountain himself in the ghoul’s chest, Cirrus starting to tremble slightly in the corner of his eye. Even Swiss stood rim-rod straight to await what was coming.

“I want you...”

The tension became palpable as the group held a collective breath.

“To help pull the sleigh, of course!”

They blinked.

Then blinked again.

What?

“What?” They asked in unison.

“Well, I can’t move it by myself, can I?”

“You mean it works?” Mountain demanded in an unexpected boom of sound.

“What do you mean? Of course it works! How else am I going to spread the word?”

“But, sir...we can’t fly.” Cumulus said softly, careful as she glanced over at Dew, his eyes a little too shiny to be just from the moonlight.

Terzo only chuckled to himself and beckoned the (somehow even more) confused group to the sleigh until they had all found a seat: himself, Dewdrop, Aether and Rain in the front while Mountain, Swiss, Cumulus and Cirrus took the back bench. He held his hands out in front, confidently, and closed his eyes in the picture of serenity before instructing them.

“Now, I want you all to copy me. Take a deep breath...”

They did.

“And imagine yourselves floating, light as a feather.”

There was nothing for a moment and the ghouls wondered whether they really were just on an evening of babysitting the senile but then the sleigh gave a heavy groan...and miraculously, the runners lifted, slowly rising inch-by-inch until the group were suspended almost six feet in the air. Dew didn’t try to stop his thrilled squeal this time.

“OH MY GOD OH MY GOD AETHER WE’RE FLYING WE’RE FLYING AETHER YOU GOTTA LOOK OH MY GOD-“

“Not quite flying yet, boy.” Terzo halted his excited rambling but couldn’t help smiling warmly at the ghoul at his outburst. “We’ll be gone in no time and handing out our lovely gifts for the little kiddies.”

Hearing of such gifts, the group in the backseat looked behind them to the huge black velvet bag and peeked inside to reveal...

“You’re giving them merch?” Swiss asked incredulously. Inside were the warm blue blankets, hundreds of T Shirts and-

“You can’t possibly be thinking of giving them the phallos mortus set!” Cumulus screeched suddenly.

“AHHH NO,” Terzo coughed. “No, no, that-that isn’t supposed to be there. Secundo must have...erm...put that there.”

Spluttering profusely about how it definitely wasn’t his or his idea, the third clambered into the back to throw the set out of the sleigh before coming back to face Dew.

“Now boy, I have a special job for you.” He said warmly.

“What?” Dee breathed with wonder.

“I need you to light my way.”

“You want me to be...your rudolf?”

The rest of the ghouls looked at the pair like they had just stripped down to their underwear and were prancing round the clearing, holding hands.

“How the hell is Dew going to be Rudolph? You got an LED nose in there, old man?” Cirrus said before stiffening as Terzo narrowed his eyes in a downright glare.

“You’re a fire ghoul, aren’t you?”

Dew nodded, confused.

“Well, just - boop!” He tapped the ghoul’s nose.

Dewdrop blinked for a moment, blushing hotly at the unanticipated contact before peeking up and gasping.

“Oh, you mean like this?”

A small flame bloomed to life on the tip of his nose and his eyes crossed as he tried to keep sight of it, Terzo letting out a small chuckle.

“Ah yes, fabulous.” He said, the light from the flame dancing in his eyes with laughter. “Now one more thing...the magic words to make us set off.”

The others chittered excitedly, finally all on board for the trip they were to take after all of the third’s encouragement. At his prompt, they huddled together, becoming a mass of brown fur and poorly disguised horns. As he whispered in their ears the words, there arose a collective groan but the group sat down again, nonetheless.

And finally, after all his hard work, the sleigh rose once again, shook slightly and shot off into the sky as Terzo and the ghouls cheered-

“Merry Christmas to all

And to all a good night!”

#ghostbcgiftexchange2020 #ghost #the band ghost #papa emeritus iii #dewdrop ghoul #fanfic #wholesome

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ieattaperecorders · 5 years ago

Text

Chrysalis

How much would Martin be willing to turn his back on in order to keep the one he loves? One possible outcome of Jon's will-he-won't-he (become an eldritch abomination) arc. A bit longer, probably easier to read on Ao3. Spoilers up to MAG 163.

Read it on Ao3.

Things like day and night didn’t really exist anymore, Martin knew that. But the quality of light from the sky -- slate-gray, cold and impenetrable -- made it feel like early dawn, which seemed as good a time as any to set out.

He shifted the lightweight bag on his shoulders. It was kind of nice that they didn’t need to load up on food, he supposed. Made the packing easier. Jon stood nearby, staring up at the endless gray with a blank expression on his face. There was a second bag slung over his shoulder beside the one Martin had packed, holding the tapes and statements. He’d refused to leave them behind.

Martin took out the safehouse keys and paused, hand halfway to the door, as he realized what he was doing.

“You know, I was just about to lock up,” he said, turning to Jon with a wry smile. “Isn’t that ridiculous? What am I worried about, someone coming in to rob our creepy cabin that eats people? Steal the silverware that’s probably alive and evil?”

Jon turned from the sky and smiled fondly at him. “If anyone did break in, they’d likely just settle inside and never leave.”

“Yeah.” Martin sighed, looking back at the cabin. “Shame burning didn’t work. You were right about that one.”

“It’s not made of wood and stone anymore.” Jon said. “It’s a part of this world, now. It doesn’t need to worry about fire.”

“I know it’s just just one place out of countless others and all. . . still wish there was something we could do. I mean, someone could stumble across it, couldn’t they?”

“I don’t know, Martin. I don’t know if anyone’s likely to be in a state to make it here.” Jon said. “But if someone did, they’d probably know not to trust anything that looks like safety.”

“Very cheerful.”

“Sorry. I did mean for that to be reassuring.” Jon mumbled. Something silver-bright flashed in his gaze for a moment. “At any rate, I - I don’t think you have to worry. It’s not for anyone else.”

“It’s not . . . sorry, what?”

“It’s our nightmare.” Jon said quietly, looking at it as if seeing it for the first time. He walked to the door and placed a hand flat against it. “My fear of losing you turned into a cloying lie of protection. Your fear of watching me . . . .” his voice went quiet. “. . . Decay. In my despair, in that room. The love we have for each other no longer something in which either of us can take comfort.”

He lowered his hand and turned back to Martin conclusively. “It’s for us. It’s what the safehouse was for us in our darkest moments. I don’t think anyone else would even see it.”

“You’re talking like it was made for us.” Martin said after a moment of silence.

“It was, in a sense. Shaped around us. Like mold growing over an old mask, taking the form of a human face.”

Jon turned away from the cabin and walked towards the path. On impulse Martin put a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“I’m scared too,” Martin said. “But we have a plan, and we have each other.”

Jon smiled sadly at him, needing only the barest prompting to nestle himself into Martin’s arms. He held him for a while, breathing deeply.

“I’m not afraid of anything out there.” Jon said softly. “Not directly. I’m just . . . scared I’ll lose you to it.”

“You won’t.” Martin said, and it felt like the truth. “I know, I know, there’s untold dangers and horrors the likes of which I can’t imagine, etcetera. But you’ll be there when I have to sleep, and I’ll be with you the rest of the time. And if something separates us, then we’ll just have to fight until we get back to one another.”

Jon nodded, then glanced back at the unchanged sky. “And. . .if I. . .lose myself?”

Martin was quiet for a while, unsure how to answer that. Then he gave Jon’s hand a squeeze, and smiled.

“If you do, I’ll come and find you. Bring you back,” he said. “Just like you did when I was lost.”

And oh, the smile on Jon’s face when he said that. It gave off a warmth that spread and spread until it covered Martin like a ray of real sunlight. If he could still make Jon smile like that, he could do anything.

“You know what I really want to see?” Martin asked.

“. . .What?”

“The look on Elias’s face when we kick down his door.”

Jon laughed, a sharp, loud noise of surprise and genuine mirth, and grinned. “Oh yes. I’m looking forward to that one as well.”

Martin kissed Jon’s hand and lowered it to his side, fingers twining with his. The two of them turned with purpose toward a path that once led to a village, which once had people, in what once was the world.

* * *

The journey would be the journey, according to Jon. Martin could accept that . . . mostly. He at least accepted that walking was the only way to get there. Even if he had been planning to dig his heels in on that, he’d have changed his mind after that road with all the abandoned cars. Too many of them had teeth.

It was just . . . the Beholding had never given Jon useful information before. No warnings about people who were coming after him, or knowledge about what happened to Sasha. Certainly not anything about what Elias was really up to. But it wouldn’t have given him that, would it? No. It would have hid that information, just like it hid the way to quit the Institute. So what did that say about the fact it was now telling him how to reach the tower? Either it wanted them there or . . . maybe it wanted them to go through everything in between. Throw themselves at all this horror, for its own pleasures and purposes.

Martin didn’t suggest turning around, though. A chance to confront Elias and find a way back was worth the risk of feeding the Eye, and besides, where else would they go? Regardless of the sinister force behind it, Jon’s insight continued to guide them across one nightmare after another.

It was while they were were traveling one of the empty spaces between when Jon stopped in his tracks, inhaling sharply. Martin stopped a pace later.

“What is it?”

Jon hesitated, swallowed and shook his head. “It’s. I’m all right.”

“Jon.”

“It’s just . . . a lot. Loud.” Jon muttered. “It will get worse the closer we go to what once was London . . . there were fewer people in the countryside.”

“Do you need a minute?” Martin frowned, concern edging into his voice.

“Yes. No.” Jon shook his head and resumed walking. “I think it’s better to keep moving. Standing in place just makes the moment longer, you know?”

“Just pace yourself, all right?” Martin followed.

Jon shrugged at him. “It’s not really something I can stop.”

They continued on, through forests of mirrors that they knew better than to let themselves reflect in. Through storms that went from rain to ice to shards of glass. Through tunnels they found themselves in after open countryside with no transition, like travel in a dream. They held hands and navigated the darkness by touch and by each others voices, and walked on.

* * *

Their bodies didn’t tire in the same way, but rest was still needed if only as respite from everything else. They tried to pick spots that were quiet and gave them room to run. At one point they settled in an empty place beside a road they’d been walking down. When Martin tried letting go of Jon’s hand to remove his jacket, Jon’s grip on him tightened.

“Don’t let go of me. Please,” he muttered. “Not while we’re stopped here.”

Martin paused. “Is switching hands okay?”

Jon nodded. Martin took the strap off his right shoulder, then took Jon’s right hand before shrugging off the left strap, slipping the bag off without breaking contact. He moved Jon’s hand to his knee while he removed his coat and folded it into the bag. As long as there was some physical connection, Jon seemed all right with it.

“What’s different about here?” Martin asked as he did this.

Jon frowned. “Don’t look directly at it, but. . . to your left. Have you noticed?”

Martin continued looking straight ahead, but let a little attention drift to his periphery. A few yards away from them there was something . . . off. He couldn’t tell if it was the color of the sky, or something about the ground, or the few bits of plant life that grew there, but something was wrong in an undefinable way. If there was one thing he could identify it was that the crooked, leafless tree near the horizon was the same one he’d been seeing in the corner of his eye for hours, and their distance from it hadn’t changed. The landscape was following them.

“I’ve noticed . . . something,” he said. “Didn’t really make note of it, I guess. Because there’s always something?”

“The Unknowing is strong there.” Jon said. “We may have to go through it eventually, but for now it’s keeping its distance. Oh. Try not to think directly at it either.”

“What does ‘think directly’ m--oh, dammit.” Martin winced as a wave of disorientation his his mind, momentarily blurring his thoughts and making his pulse race. “Jon. . .you know that when you tell someone not to think about something--”

“They immediately think about it.” Jon grimaced. “I’m sorry, I should’ve thought--”

“It’s all right, it’s all right. . .I’m fine, really.”

Don’t think about pink elephants. Martin told himself, and images of pink elephants tumbled into his mind. He focused on not thinking about that for a while, only half-considering the landscape to the left as he did so.

“So . . . should we be staying here?” he asked. “Is it -- well, I won’t ask if it’s dangerous, but do you think it’s more dangerous than everything else is? Or about the same?’

“The latter, most likely.” Jon said. “I just don’t want to lose sight of you. It’s still something of a . . . blind spot for me. I don’t want to risk not being able to find you if anything separates us.”

Martin wondered if Jon was being overprotective in thinking that an instant without constant physical contact could result in something swooping in to pull him away, or if Martin was being complacent in thinking that wouldn’t happen. He supposed it didn’t matter. Either way, he didn’t mind.

“Are you all right here?” Martin frowned. “I mean, if the Unknowing is, ah, bad for you . . . .”

“It’s sort of a relief, actually.” Jon’s brow knit. “I think it’s having some dampening effect on the Watcher. It makes everything softer. Quieter.”

“Really . . . .” Martin resisted the impulse to look or think closer at what they were talking about. They weren’t talking about anything. Not anything other than pink elephants, which he was still steadily avoiding thoughts of. “Should we try skirting a little closer to it? I mean, if it’s not more dangerous than any other place . . . maybe being near it would actually be good?”

A breeze blew in from Martin’s left, carrying noise on the wind. He heard the faint groan of a calliope and two whispering voices. They didn’t sound entirely like Tim and Sasha. But they also didn’t sound unlike them enough. He could tell from the expression on Jon’s face that he was hearing them too.

“Let’s not.” Jon said.

Martin nodded. “Yeah. Let’s not.”

* * *

There were close calls. They’d been prepared for danger, but preparation only gives you so much. When one fell the other could grab them and dig in their heels, they could run from waves of screaming flesh or burn back things that slithered from behind walls. But there was always more, and the dangers were never simple. And every time something got too near or gripped too hard for Martin to pull away, Jon was quick to put himself in front of it. He’d pin it with an unnatural gaze, eyes wide, teeth grinding in concentration and pain until something intangible was ripped away and they could resume running.

Martin should have been more afraid for himself. He knew he was vulnerable in a way Jon wasn’t. When the grass beneath their feet twisted into patterns so mesmerizing that Martin didn’t notice it was winding around him, Jon kept him walking. When something made Martin forget the world had ended, forget that they weren’t back in London during a time when everything seemed gentler, Jon shouted the truth at him until Martin believed it. Jon saw which parts of the ground were real and which ones shouldn’t be stepped on. Even the things that jumped out of the shadows with teeth and claws seemed to have more interest in Martin.

But he knew Jon was vulnerable too, in a different way. He was always ready to use his power to protect Martin, but it wasn’t really his power, was it? He directed and channeled it, sure. But it was the Watcher that was reaching through him, and Martin didn’t forget that.

One frightened morsel of humanity probably didn’t mean much to the Eye in a world that was nothing but food. Though Martin wasn’t safe from it, he doubted it had any special interest in him. But it had intent where Jon was concerned. It wanted something from him. Even after everything it had taken from the man Martin loved, Beholding was still hungry for more. Each time Jon drew on it, Martin swore he took a little bit longer to look back at him. He was certain the hollows in Jon’s face had been getting darker, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him blink.

So he did what he could. He kept the axe close and used it as best as he was able. He stayed alert. When something with long, ropey limbs and a face like an inside-out deer emerged from the hillside and wrapped itself around him, he tried not to panic. And when Jon jumped in and stilled it with a look Martin wriggled out of its tendrils, grabbed Jon around the waist, and ducked through a crevice in the rock wall.

With a loud scraping noise, the stone slid closed behind them - trapping the monster outside but plunging them into darkness. Martin groaned internally. Leaping from one danger into the teeth of another was starting to get so commonplace as to be tedious. He could feel Jon’s hands gripping his arm tight enough that he was sure there’d be bruises later, though he stayed completely silent.

Martin yanked the torch out of his backpack pocket and clicked it on, mentally crossing his fingers. The batteries were just lumps of matter - the torch worked when it wanted to, didn’t when it didn’t. But today it was cooperating, and its beam lit up the cavern around them. It was small, but not quite ‘pressing down from all sides’ small, which was good. It seemed for the moment that they were alone, which was also good. It also seemed that there was no way in or out, which was not as good. Martin tried to ignore the tight feeling in his chest, as if the air wasn’t quite enough to fill it.

“Okay. Well. I don’t think it can get in here. . . .” Martin said, flicking the light around the chamber. “Maybe we--”

The beam passed across Jon’s face. His eyes reflected it like a cat’s, which barely even registered as ‘weird’ anymore. But for a moment in the dark of the cave, there were more than two lights looking back. At least a dozen eyes glinted from the shadows around Jon, and Martin’s arm jumped in surprise. When the light returned it was just Jon’s own eyes watching him, blinking and squinting in the flashlight’s beam.

“S-sorry.” Martin angled the torch back towards the cave wall.

“Mmmhmm.” Jon rubbed his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m all right. Are you?”

“Yes. . .I think so.” Jon looked around the chamber. “I don’t see anything else in here. . .”

“You mean see, or see?” Martin asked, trying to make it sound like a joke.

“Either.”

“Hmm.” Martin moved the light around more methodically, in case he’d missed an exit or a tunnel the first time. Nothing. “Doesn’t look like there’s any way out. At least I’m not claustrophobic.”

The second he said that, he could feel the chamber shrink a little around him.

“Had to say it, didn’t you?” Jon smiled ruefully.

Martin winced. “I should just stop talking.”

“I wouldn’t like that.” Jon said.

“Are you okay?” Martin frowned. “I mean. . .after the coffin. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was getting to you. . . .”

“There isn’t a fear I’m not marked by in some way.” Jon’s voice was grim. “That was the whole point. But I’m not panicking yet.”

Martin nodded and sat against the chamber wall. He could feel exhaustion sinking in. That last burst of adrenaline burned through his reserves, which had been low for a while.

“I think . . . I might need to sleep again soon,” he said.

“Well. At the risk of provoking another change . . . there doesn’t seem to be any immediate danger here.” Jon said.

They both paused and braced themselves, waiting for a reaction. None came, and Jon continued.

“We could rest a while, find our way out when you wake,” he finished, sitting down beside him.

“As long as you’ll be okay here.” Martin said.

“I’ll be all right. Besides, we are here now regardless of how we feel about it.” He leaned against the wall beside Martin. “Thank you for pulling me away. I think that I was . . . . Well, anyway, thank you.”

“Of course.” Martin put a hand on his. “. . . Thank you for protecting me.”

“I always will.” Jon whispered, a intensity in his voice that thundered against the cave walls.

“Not unless you have to, all right?” Martin swallowed. “I don’t know if it’s smart to . . . you know. Use its ‘gifts’ too much.”

“I’m not going to let something take you if I have the power to stop it--” Jon began.

“I’m not asking you to.” Martin said. “Just . . . be careful? I can get away on my own sometimes too, you know,” he added the last in a teasing tone. As if this was all about Jon not giving him enough credit.

“Right . . . of course.” Jon spoke reluctantly, as if someone was reminding him of the health risks posed by cigarettes. Not disagreeing, but at the same time. . . well. “Of course you can. I’ll be careful.”

Martin pulled Jon a little closer and kissed him. It was a reminder, and it was gratitude, and it was also just a kiss. Then he passed the torch to Jon. They both tensed for a moment when it clicked off, but there was no awful sound of rock walls suddenly shifting. Martin’s eyes adjusted to the dark, which meant this was the sort of dark that eyes could adjust to, and as far as he could tell the chamber had remained the same size. They placed their bags around them and used coats as padding against the hard stone.

Jon settled Martin’s head in his lap and kissed his forehead, obviously trying to hide the dread. Martin felt it too. He told himself that the next thing he’d remember would be waking with only the ghost of terror he couldn’t recall gnawing at him. But deep down he knew that wasn’t how it worked. He’d likely forget his dreams, but he’d still have to endure them first.

Sleep was going to come whether he was ready or not, and there was no point in fighting it. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the soothing feeling of Jon’s fingers in his hair, until he couldn’t feel them anymore.

* * *

He woke gasping, pushing himself off the cave floor. His last cry still echoed in the cave around him, and his breathing was ragged. Martin felt around himself. . . even in his state of disorientation he could tell something was very, very wrong. Then it hit him - Jon wasn’t there. He wasn’t sitting beside him, wasn’t stroking his hair or squeezing his hand or wrapped around him and murmuring soothing words in his ear. For the first time since the world had ended, Jon wasn’t holding him when he woke.

“Jon!?” he called in alarm, eyes still adjusting to the dark.

Jon didn’t call back, but Martin could hear something coming from the other side of the cave. He felt around until his hand closed over the torch and he clicked it on. It lit up a silhouette on the other side of the chamber, sat facing away. It looked like Jon from behind, but Martin was immediately wary. He couldn’t see the figure’s face. Why hadn’t he replied when Martin called out? Why wasn’t he turning now?

Martin shone the light around the rest of the cave and found it empty, so he got to his feet and slowly approached. As he got closer, he heard what definitely sounded like Jon’s voice coming from the figure, whispering something indistinct.

“Jon?” Martin asked quietly. The figure didn’t respond. Hesitatingly, Martin moved to its side so he could see its face.

The figure didn’t spin violently around to reveal black pits for eyes and a maw full of fangs, nor did it fall over revealing a dessicated corpse, or dissolve into insects, or any of the other countless things that ran through Martin’s mind as he got closer. Its face was just Jon’s face. It was Jon. He was staring at the cave wall, apparently entranced.

He didn’t seem to see Martin. Whatever he was watching, Martin suspected it was well past the actual boundaries of the cave. His face was fixed in an expression somewhere between fear and wonder, and there were tears in his eyes. But as Martin watched, a smile slowly spread across his face and his mouth formed the shape of the word ‘beautiful.’

“Jon. . . .”

Martin might have gripped his shoulder a little harder than he needed to, shaken it a little more than necessary, but it snapped Jon back to reality. The smile fell away completely and he glanced around in startled confusion.

“Mh. . .” Jon began to mouth his name, then trailed off. Horror seemed to be settling on him.

“. . . What did you see?” Martin whispered.

Jon stared for a moment, then closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. “Terrible things.”

A thousand questions, a thousand more concerns were running through Martin’s mind. But like an idiot, all he thought to say was, “you weren’t there.”

“Wh--wha--”

“When I woke up.” Martin explained. “You weren’t . . . you were just staring . . . .”

“Oh. . .oh,” Jon reached for him, speaking emphatically. “I’m so sorry, Martin.”

“No, it’s - - it’s all right, that isn’t what I mean, I just - -”

How could he explain it? Yes, okay, he was a little needy when he woke, and yes Jon not being there had been . . . upsetting. But he wasn’t frightened right now because of how much it meant to him that Jon was there when he woke up. It was how much he knew being there when he woke meant to Jon. It was the fact that Jon had never left his side while he slept. Except tonight he had. Something had moved him away and kept him from hearing his voice. And that scared Martin more even than waking alone in the dark had.

Regardless, Jon was pulling him into an embrace he didn’t feel like resisting. So he reached out his arms and held back, tight as he could without crushing him. He heard Jon mutter apologies, soothing things and reassurances. But the fear didn’t leave this time.

They huddled together for a while, neither eager to break the hold. Eventually Martin shifted them into a more comfortable position, leaning himself against the cave wall and Jon against him.

“. . . I’m worried about you.” Martin said, after a while of silence.

Jon didn’t seem to have any reassurances in him for that. He just squeezed Martin’s hand very, very hard. Martin reached up and bushed his fingers over Jon’s temples, tenderly. Jon closed his eyes.

Even in the barely-there light of the cave, he could see the deep lines under Jon’s eyes. Between that and the gray that had taken over his hair, he was beginning to resemble the old man he always used to act like. Martin fondly ran his thumb over the little crow-foot wrinkles extending from the corners of Jon’s eyes. Then he stopped suddenly, taking a closer look.

They weren’t wrinkles. They were cracks.

* * *

Everything about the place screamed “leave.” Scorched scrap walls, doors ripped off their hinges, murals smeared with blood and ash. But things were bad in all directions, and Jon insisted this was the path they had to take.

Martin avoided taking in details as they walked, scarf over his face to keep from breathing in ash, which saturated the air. He didn’t speculate on what terrible fate had befallen this place, but it did seem strange that a settlement like this existed at all. It looked like it had been built after the world had changed, and it had time to build itself well. The shacks weren’t slapped together, they’d been reinforced and decorated. Woven blankets, curtains of beads and other possessions lay shredded in the empty doorways. There were the beginnings of farms and communal areas broken among the ruins. Had that much time really passed? Maybe time was just that malleable now. Or maybe this place had come into being already built up, already ruined.

Thinking about that kept Martin from thinking too hard about the bodies lying huddled on the ground. It wasn’t just sorrow or horror at the story those charred husks told that kept Martin from letting his gaze settle on them. They were the first people he’d seen that looked truly, truly dead.

Fates worse than death were one thing. He’d seen plenty of those, and yes, they were terrifying. But Jon had guided him back from the Lonely, and Martin had given him voices to follow out of the Buried. As long as they were both alive, there was a chance. Awful as being trapped in a three by three foot box or shrouded in an aching, numbing mist or wracked with fevers for eternity might be, they could hope to find their way out of it. Death was different. Martin was fairly sure that was still true.

He tried not to think about it. Kept walking.

Unfortunately, and in retrospect predictably, the settlement was a maze. The farther in they went, the more it began to grow and stretch out around them. Martin quietly cursed when he realized what was happening. He should have been used to the nightmare logic that was now natural law, but it seemed there was nothing to do now but press on.

At one point Martin realized that Jon wasn’t next to him. There was a moment of panic before he turned to find that he’d only stopped a few paces back. He was staring at a ruined fence, face slack. Martin exhaled and walked back to him.

“Jon, come on,” he tugged at his arm. “We can’t stay here.”

It took a moment for Jon to register Martin’s touch. He blinked at him, eyes slightly glazed, breathing heavily. His eyes were red, but Martin didn’t see any tears.

“Here. . . .”

Martin put an arm around Jon and gently turned him until his face was completely hidden in Martin’s jumper.

“Don’t look at it. Just hold onto me and keep moving.”

Jon didn’t respond, but Martin felt his arms reach around him and grip firmly. They began walking again, slower now so that Jon didn’t stumble. Martin kept his hand on the back of Jon’s head and they got some distance that way, Jon’s arms occasionally tightening a notch more, then relaxing, then tightening again. Martin didn’t want to guess what he was seeing.

Very suddenly, that grip tightened enough to squeeze the breath from Martin, and Jon’s face pulled free from his jumper with a gasp.

“. . .They’re still here,” he whispered, eyes wide.

Martin didn’t ask ‘who’ because it didn’t matter, the fear in Jon’s voice told him everything he needed to know. He felt the wind pick up, ash swirling in the air around them. In the distance, Martin was sure that he saw figures gathering.

“Shit.” Martin squinted at the distant forms. Some were close enough for him to make out details, twisted masses of scorched skin and scar tissue. Not human in shape, but made of human shapes - limbs and backs and screaming faces.

“This. . . .” his thoughts from earlier bubbled up with the rising tide of fear. “This one wants to kill us. Doesn’t it?”

“It won’t kill us.” Jon said with certainty.

“That’s something, at least,” he swallowed.

“It’s Desolation,” Jon continued, voice small. “It’ll kill one of us, leave the other alive to mourn. Like it did with them,” he pointed an unsteady hand to one of the figures.

Martin’s arms tightened around Jon. “Okay. Running? Running sound good? Can you, uh, See a way out of here?”

“I’m trying, but. . . ” Jon grit his teeth, pressing the heel of one hand against his forehead. “It’s all too much. The -- the loss, the anguish. I - - I can’t see anything past it, I- - ” his hand began to shake.

“Okay.” Martin looked around. Right or left, fifty fifty chance, right? Or it would be in world where the cardinal directions stayed where they were. “Hold my hand, and just - - just tell me if you see an exit.”

Jon nodded weakly, and they ran. But it was hard. The rows between the ruins were narrow, and ash obscured Martin’s vision. Worst of all, Jon couldn’t seem to keep his legs under him. Usually he was the faster of the two, but now he kept turning back, slowing and stumbling until Martin was almost dragging him along. Finally Martin gave up, grabbed Jon around the waist and threw him over his shoulder.

The figures were drawing closer, gathering together to form one mass - a towering thing with a choir of screaming mouths. How could something that big move so fast? It was catching up, and with Jon’s weight Martin was tiring already. Then one foot landed in a way that it shouldn’t have, his legs turned under him and they both went down, rolling away from each other on the soot choked ground. Martin immediately pushed himself up again. No time to stop, no room to catch his breath. Jon was a few feet away, curled around himself and shaking violently. His eyes were completely glazed over.

When Martin reached to help him up, Jon gripped his hand and looked at him pleadingly.

“Run,” he whispered. “Just run.”

Not a chance, Martin thought, but then the ground shook and the thing drew in on them. He had only a split second - it was here and it was close too close and there wasn’t time. But the things in this world were always more interested in him, weren’t they? If he did run, maybe he could lead it away. By himself he might be fast enough to lose it and come back around.

There was no time to weigh the options. He chose what seemed like a chance for escape over holding Jon and waiting for death. Martin ran.

There was a moment of relief when he looked back and saw there was some distance between him and it. Then confusion when he realized it wasn’t running after him at all. It was still in place, twisting and screaming, but not coming closer to him or Jon. Behind it, Jon was standing up.

Jon looked at the creature and his gaze was as eerie and intense as ever. But something was different this time. Martin found himself thinking he’s crying. And then, no. . .those aren’t tears.

With a terrible sound, Jon’s body split with cracks. They curled around scar tissue, opened the lines of his face and opened him. But what came out from inside him wasn’t blood and flesh and bone. It was dark and alive with movement, like television static. And inside that shifting haze, countless eyes peered back.

The cracks spread outwards from Jon. They split the sky, opened tears in reality. And where the sky was rent, Martin saw the merciless gaze of the Ceaseless Watcher. It was a hungering brightness at the center of everything. It was as impersonal as a surveillance state, yet as intimate as a face breathing into yours while you slept, horrible to see but impossible to turn away from. And the fullness of its stare was focused on that mound of flesh and sorrow and pain.

The things’ scream gave Martin the jolt he needed to tear himself away. He covered his face with his arms and huddled until the noise was abruptly cut off. In the silence that followed, Martin waited a good, long moment, then he lifted his head and opened his eyes.

The creature was. . .empty. That was the only word for it. It had fallen apart on the ground, lumps of flesh twitching and hissing, but with nothing at all inside them. Not dead. Not physically hollowed, but empty. Jon stood in the middle of it all. The cracks in the sky had closed, thankfully, but they still twisted across Jon’s back, warping his form.

“. . . Jon?” Martin said uncertainly.

Jon’s head snapped in his direction, and there was nothing in his eyes that Martin recognized. Only a piercing and terrible hunger.

Martin stumbled backwards as Jon made a beeline for him. Something caught his foot and he went down hard, landing sprawled on the ground. When he looked up Jon stood over him, and Martin was a frog open on a dissection table. He was an insect pinned under a child’s thumb. He was a secret caught in a blinding light, and every instinct in his brain was screaming at him to hide, but there was no place for him to go.

He was afraid of losing himself. Martin thought. He was afraid of losing himself, and I kept saying we had to go and now he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone and there’s nothing - -

The Archivist reached down, placing a hand on each side of Martin’s face and holding his head still. Martin should have been running, or screaming for him to stop, or socking him in the face. But all he could do was stare numbly back and wait for whatever would come.

“I’m sorry. . .” Martin said, anguish in his voice. “I’m so, so, sorry. . . .”

The figure in front of him lowered its forehead, pressing it against Martin’s. And suddenly, Martin Knew that Jon loved him.

It was immutable and certain as gravity had once seemed. He didn’t simply trust that Jon loved him, didn’t just understand it to be true because of the way he behaved and the things he said. Martin Knew it to his core. Jon loved him, he loved him so, so much. He had loved him for a long time now, and in that moment Jon loved him no less than he ever had.

The full weight of that love settled in him, the warmth and the brightness of it filled his mind and for a moment it overwhelmed everything else. He forgot the settlement, forgot the cracks in the sky. There was nothing but him and this one, perfect truth. He would never forget it, never deny it, never be able to doubt it. There was only one other thing Martin had ever Known so deeply, and he had spent most of his days since then trying not to think much about it.

Then the moment passed. The feeling faded from an all-consuming understanding to a gentle, quiet certainty. When he came back to himself his face was streaked with tears. Jon had taken a step back, giving him room to breathe, and now stood silently in front of him.

“Jon . . . ?” Martin asked, softly, hopefully. “Is it still you?”

Jon opened his mouth and the sound of crackling static came out. He reached for Martin, who drew back without thinking. Jon paused and lowered his hand. He patted himself on the left side of his coat, just over the pocket. Martin reached into his own pocket, feeling the shape of the object inside. When he realized what it was, he laughed. He couldn’t help it. The tape recorder clicked on as soon as he removed it.

“I think so.” Jon’s voice came out of the recorder, slightly distorted by the hiss of playback. “Though . . . I suppose I don’t know how one tells that sort of thing?”

“Okaaay. . .” Martin exhaled, looking from the recorder in his lap back to Jon. “Okay. This is new. Sort of weird, but could be worse?”

Jon took a careful step closer, testing to see if Martin would draw back again. He didn’t, and Jon sat on the ground beside him. The cracks in his body were slowly closing, the blur of static and Watching getting smaller between them. Martin set down the recorder, which continued to play Jon’s voice.

“Are you all right?” Martin asked. “You were looking pretty, uh . . . .”

“. . . Terrifying?” Jon tilted his head in Martin’s direction.

“Well . . . .” Martin didn’t want to use that word, but all the other words he could think of were just synonyms for it.

“Monstrous?” Jon supplied.

“As long as it’s still you, I don’t care.” Martin said emphatically.

“It is.” Jon said, with a little more confidence. “I’m - - I’m still me. Just.” He held up an arm and watched as the lines running through it slowly sealed themselves. “. . . With some some changes.”

The cracks now resembled long, twisting scars more than anything else, though in his periphery Martin swore he kept seeing things open and blink on Jon’s body. His gaze was still piercing, but with the panic passed Martin could also see there was affection and recognition in those uncanny eyes.

Okay, he thought to himself. Take a breath. Check in. It’s not as bad as you thought but this is obviously a . . . new challenge. See how he’s handling it.

“What exactly happened back there?” he asked.

Jon took a deep breath, and a sigh came from the recorder.

“It was overwhelming. It had been bad before, but . . . all those people.” He turned to stare at the sky. “They thought they had a safe haven. They built up walls and invented wards and believed they’d found tricks to keep the nightmares out. But it was all just so they’d have more to lose. So they’d build and love and cherish things that could be torn away from them. Just fattening them up.”

Jon moved his head and gestured while he talked, pantomiming his own speech. It was somewhere between unsettling and comical at first, but soon it began to feel natural and Martin noticed it less and less.

“An entire town,” Jon shook his head. “Silently screaming their stories of terror and agony and despair at me. I was wrapped in it all, and I couldn’t see out.”

“I’m sorry . . . ” Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, mindful of the wide, curling scar that covered his palm. “I can’t even imagine what that’s like.”

“But it’s all right. I’m all right now,” Jon turned back. “Better than all right. It doesn’t hurt anymore, Martin.”

In the back of Martin’s mind, a tiny noise began to sound. Like a distant, muffled alarm. “I’m . . . not sure what you mean? What doesn’t hurt anymore?”

“Any of it.” Jon smiled. “The fear and anguish, the things the Watcher feeds me, none of it hurts at all. Something happened back there . . . I was trapped in the heart of their pain. There was nothing outside of it - I didn’t remember you were there, or who I was, or why we were here. There was only the collective suffering of a thousand terrified souls, and it hurt more than anything I have ever known. And in the depths of it all, I realized that it didn’t have to hurt.”

There was a strange giddiness rising in Jon’s voice, and the alarm in Martin’s head rang louder.

“I could choose to stop letting it hurt me. I could finally stop tormenting myself, open my mind and drink everything in. And I did. And it was wonderful,” Jon stared out into the distant sky. “And all I wanted was more.”

“So. . . .” The alarm bell was reaching a crescendo now, and Martin struggled to keep his tone even. “What happened back there. . . what you did to it . . . .”

“I was greedy.” Jon smiled behind his hand, his tone sheepish but without regret. “I needed every drop.”

“Jesus, Jon.” Martin muttered.

“. . . And then I heard you!” Jon continued, unmindful of Martin’s tone. “And I remembered. And I realized that it was dead, and you were safe, and we were still together.”

Jon took Martin by the shoulders, gripping him with an manic energy that was startling, yes, frightening even, but still familiar, still so much like Jon, too much like him to be anything else.

“It was going to separate us, but I stopped it. It didn’t stand a chance against me. I don’t know if anything can anymore. I’ve gained so much . . .” he continued, eyes bright and alive. “I can feel my mind expanding to fill every corner of this dreadful world. I am burning, and drowning, and weeping, and writhing, and falling and dying and it is--” he closed his eyes, head tilted back in an expression of pleasure. “--Glorious.”

Martin looked at him grimly. “This is what you were afraid would happen. Isn’t it?”

“Not quite.” Jon smiled. “I was afraid of giving in, yes. I was afraid, and it feels ridiculous to say this now, but I was afraid there’d be a time when the things that I see would only ever feel right and leave me only with satisfaction. But what scared me the most was the thought that, if that happened, it would mean I could no longer love you. That you would just be something for me to watch, to know, and ultimately to discard,” he sighed, a sound of great relief. “But that didn’t happen. You Know that now, don’t you?”

Martin nodded, as there was no point denying it. In the corner of his mind, the image of the thing he had seen beyond the sky still lingered, and Martin wondered if it was capable of laughter. If it was laughing at them right now.

“This was. . . .” Martin pulled away from Jon, curling his knees up to his chest. “This was what it wanted too, wasn’t it? Why it let you know about the tower. It wanted us to keep throwing ourselves at the nightmares until one of them finally made you break,” he laughed once, a mirthless, choking noise. “I was an idiot to think that there’d be a reset button. A way to fix everything if we just went back. . . .”

“Martin . . . that’s not true at all.” Jon put a hand on his shoulder. “A way back does exist. I know what it is now. You were right all along. I was wrong.”

“Wh- wait . . . really?” Martin blinked.

Jon nodded. “The Ritual that brought about this world is still ongoing. It will go on for all eternity, never stopping, never, ever finished. But if it were to finish, if it were stopped or interrupted. . . .” He trailed off expectantly, leaving Martin room to fill in the blanks.

“Would everything really go back?” Martin looked around at the ruins - the charred wood, the whirlwinds of ash, the lumps of flesh that were first people and then things and then nothing. “Is that even possible now?”

“The world might have a few scars. One or two spots that don’t come back all the way. A few unfortunate souls who retain memories, plenty of bad dreams. I can’t say what state humanity would be in if it happened after eons had passed.” Jon tapped his knee thoughtfully. “But if it were done now, or soon? I think there’d barely be any damage at all.”

Guarding his heart was futile, hope pushed its stubborn way in whether Martin wished for it or not. They could go back to a world that yes, was often frightening and often cruel but was also gentle and kind and infinite things that this world wasn’t. All those people trapped in endless nightmares could just go back to their lives, they wouldn’t even know what had happened. It was too great a hope to keep down.

And if the old world came back . . . Martin didn’t know what that would mean for Jon now, truly. But if all of this could be undone, there was a chance for anything, wasn’t there?

“. . . There’s a catch.” Martin said. It wasn’t a question.

“Obviously.” Jon smiled sardonically. “The way back is very simple. Not easy, but simple. I suppose that’s the way of these things. Do you want me to show you?”

“I mean. . . yes.” Martin could faintly hear the alarm starting up again, but it didn’t change his mind. Whatever the catch was, they’d face it together. “I do.”

Jon looked at him for a moment, smiling sadly, then shook his head.

“No,” he brought his hand to Martin’s temple, “you really don’t.”

As soon as the hand touched him, Martin had his answer. It wasn’t a bone-deep Knowing like before, it was just information. No different than if he’d read it somewhere, save that it was given to him all in an instant.

Gertrude had said it herself. Jon was the ritual. He’d become it the moment he took on the role of Archivist, and now he had reached his apotheosis. While he continued, the ritual would continue as well. The only way to end it was to end him. No magic circles or ancient artifacts or complicated chants were necessary, just the sort of implements one would expect for such a task. The only truly difficult part was that being the linchpin of the apocalypse had made Jon very resilient to damage. Not invulnerable, just resilient. Killing him would take patience and determination. First the eyes, then the voice box. Then fire. . . .

There were other steps but Martin was trying very hard not to think about them. He curled up on the ground, arms wrapped around himself, shaking his head. Numbly, he felt Jon gather him up. His top half was tugged into Jon’s lap, and his head gently settled against his chest.

“I’m sorry, Martin.” Jon whispered.

“That’s not fair.” Martin groaned, tears in his eyes.

“I fear fairness rarely has anything to do with these matters.” Jon sighed, nestling Martin closer and stroking the back of his head. ”. . . It’s going to be all right.”

But that calm, resigned tone only filled Martin with anger, anger he didn’t want. Of course Jon was all right with this. Jon had been wanting to punish himself ever since he read that statement, and now he had the perfect justification for it. What was one person, after all, against the suffering of billions? You couldn’t argue with the math of it, no one could.

But when that one person is the world to you, what then? How do you save a world that takes that person away? Jon couldn’t tell him it would be all right, because he wouldn’t have to lose anyone. He wouldn’t have to go on afterwards, alone.

“It isn’t, though.” Martin said through gritted teeth.

“It is. I promise.” Jon said, tone still soothing.

“It’s really, really, not, Jon.”

“But it is.” Jon bent down and kissed the top of Martin’s head. “Because I won’t let you do it.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and even then Martin wasn’t sure he heard right. “. . . What . . . do you mean?”

“I won’t let you kill me to save the world,” he explained. “Even if you believe you have to. If you think that you have no choice but to put the fate of world first, I still won’t let you do it.”

Jon smiled affectionately as he spoke. “And you can’t sneak up on me, not anymore. There’s no plan you can concoct no matter how brave or brilliant that I won’t see coming. You can’t just overpower me, either, I’d stop you if I had to. Not the way Jonah did--” he added quickly. “I’d be gentler than that. But I would stop you.”

Martin blinked, disbelieving, as Jon continued to stroke his head, voice soft and serious.

“You won’t ever have to make that choice,” he finished. “Between me and the world. Because I’ve made that choice already, and there’s nothing you can do.”

The whole picture was beginning to fill itself in for Martin. He realized what Jon was trying to do and he pulled back, breaking contact.

“So it’s not my fault,” Martin said, voice grim. “If the worlds stays the way it is. Because I can’t stop you.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“That’s not how it works.” Martin said. “That’s not how . . . responsibility works.”

“Why not? You deserve this.” Jon insisted. “We deserve this, Martin.”

“I’m not sure we do, though?” Martin ran a hand through his hair, “and besides, I mean . . . this?” He gestured vaguely to the scene around them. The ruined flesh and burned homes and devastation that may as well have served as a map for everything else.

“No, you’ll see--” Jon leaned forward. “Everything is going to be different now. It isn’t just the Beholding. I am the single point of terrible knowledge around which this world turns. I can shield you from everything in it now. Even the fear. Even the dreams. You won’t ever have to suffer through those again, I promise!”

Jon clasped Martin’s hands, lit up with excitement.

“No more nightmares. No more guilt. No more playing those tapes over and over just to make myself suffer. We can go anywhere! This world is ours to explore and take of for all eternity. The things we’ll see, Martin,” his gaze was distant, rapturous. “Such horrible wonders. . . .”

He must have noticed Martin’s expression, because his own face sobered and he added, “but . . . you won’t have to see them. Not if you don’t want to. I can protect you from that too.”

“You’ll hurt people.” Martin said flatly.

“I was already hurting people.” Jon said. “Everything the Watcher fed me magnified the suffering of its victims a hundredfold. It’s no different now.”

“You didn’t have a choice then.”

“I don’t have a choice now.” Jon said, gesturing towards the sky. “It’s going to continue, the endless stream of fear and anguish. I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to.”

“But you used to want to.” Martin insisted. “And that means something. It means something that you didn’t want this.”

“Would you rather I go back to being miserable?” There was reproach in Jon’s voice. “You said yourself that it hurt you to see me wallowing. And it did! I was hurting you. And I was hurting myself, too.” He frowned. “Do you know what I would have done back then, if I’d known how to stop the ritual?”

Martin realized Jon was reaching towards his temple again and he jumped, pulling violently away.

“Don’t!” he shouted. Jon flinched, hand still halfway in the air. “Don’t- don’t show me. I don’t want to see it.”

Jon’s face softened. He lowered his hand and nodded. “I won’t.”

“Jon. . .you’re scaring me.” Martin said.

“. . . I know.” Jon’s voice was quiet. “I can see your fear. It’s rolling off you like ripples on a pond.” He tilted his head and leaned closer, something like wonder in his voice. “I wasn’t sure at first, but- -”

“Jon.”

Martin’s voice was firm with a chastising edge, and Jon seemed to snap out of it. He blinked sheepishly and looked down, folding his hands. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “That was, ah . . . sorry.”

“I- I don’t know.” Martin took a long, shuddering breath. Everything was roiling inside him. “I don’t know what to think. . . .”

He found himself remembering the woman who’d seen Jon in the cafe. The shock and disbelief that he’d felt when she talked about what he’d done. . .and Martin’s first reaction had been denial, hadn’t it? Not denying the truth of her statement, just denying that it could really be Jon. It could be instinct or addiction or mind control. There could even be the devastating possibility that it just wasn’t him anymore, that he was lost and there was only the Archivist. But as frightening as that thought had been, Martin found himself wondering if there had been a reason he’d considered that possibility but not a third one. That it was still Jon, and that he’d been in control, and he’d still done it.

Martin wondered what he would have done if the end of the world hadn’t happened. If they’d somehow escaped that but not the Eye, and it was a question of Jon either feeding on peoples’ traumas or growing slowly weaker, willingly starving until there was nothing left. Would Martin have changed his mind then? Would he have seen that third possibility as more palatable?

He supposed if it had actually come to that, there would still have been the Institute’s gory retirement policy. But they were well past that point now.

Jon still loved him, and Martin knew he still loved Jon. If he needed any proof of that, the way he felt at the thought of losing him removed all uncertainty. But love didn’t always mean safety. Sometimes it meant the exact opposite, and there was no kindness in the Watcher’s gaze. If Jon had truly embraced the Eye and was content to let the world suffer so that he could watch, did love make a difference in the end? If Martin rejected Jon now, if he disappointed him, if his own love wasn’t enough, would Jon turn on him?

“Never.” Jon said adamantly, speaking as soon as the thought entered Martin’s mind. “Not if you broke my heart, or told me you never wanted to see me again, or tried to burn me alive. I promise.”

A laugh came out of Martin. It was probably the wrong reaction, but he couldn’t help it. The pleading intensity of Jon’s voice combined with him just casually reading his mind. It was too much.

“I guess privacy’s not going to be a thing anymore, huh?” he asked.

Jon smiled weakly. “Is that a joke?”

“Not intentionally.”

Jon started to reach for his hand, then hesitated. “I understand if you’re scared. It’s . . . well, it’s probably only natural. But I promise you are safe with me. I’m not going to hurt you or . . . feed on you. I know this has changed me, and maybe not all those changes have been for the better. But it has also clarified me. There are things I understand so much more now.”

Martin was quiet. Carefully, giving him time to pull away, Jon reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.

“I will never hurt you.” Jon said softly. “I will never reject you. I will never change my mind and stop loving you. You don’t ever again have to be afraid that I only stay with you because I don’t truly see your flaws. That I don’t know the real you. That you’ll one day show me something that’s too soft, too needy, too unlovely and my feelings will sour. Because I see every part of you now. I know you totally and completely.”

Martin inhaled sharply, but those inhuman eyes held his gaze.

“I see every ugly, petty thought you’ve ever had.” Jon continued. “Every shame, every regret, every embarrassing secret. All the parts of yourself you wanted to hide because you were afraid they’d make others hate you, I know them all. And I only love you more. The joy of knowing you is the most wonderful thing, Martin.”

He smiled warmly, reaching to stroke Martin’s cheek. “Even now, I see a part of you still thinking I’m a monster who needs to be destroyed for the greater good, and I love that you care so much about this world. At the same time I feel that resolve begin to crumble, and I love that you care so much about me.”

There was no denying the truth of it what Martin was hearing. Those words resonated with the sure and steady certainty that Jon had placed in his mind, and he felt weak.

He was telling the truth about something else, too. That resolve in Martin was slowly, quietly crumbling. As he thought that, Jon leaned forward and kissed him once, tenderly. Then rested his forehead against Martin’s and sighed with contentment.

“There’s something else I need you to know.” Jon said, quietly. “The way I am now, I know that. . .well, there’s a difference in power. And I want you to stay with me, more than anything. But I also won’t make you a prisoner.”

He pulled back to look at Martin. “If you didn’t want this, if you didn’t want me . . . it would break my heart, but I wouldn’t stop you from leaving. I would still keep you safe even if I had to do it from a distance, and nothing in this world would hurt you. You could go wherever you wished. You could find other people and try to help them, or ease their suffering. You could even try to stop the ritual.” Jon smiled at him fondly. “Raise up an army against me. I wouldn’t let you succeed, but I wouldn’t stop you from trying. If that was what you wanted.”

It didn’t escape Martin’s notice that Jon had begun speaking in the hypothetical, and he was fairly sure he knew why. If Jon saw as much as he said he did then he knew Martin’s decision had already been made. Probably just saying his piece now. He always did like to talk.

Jon’s smile became a little sheepish, and he shrugged. “I do mean it.”

“I know.” Martin said.

It was funny, he thought, how people changed. Sometimes it was dramatic and revelatory, sometimes it was a profound realization. And sometimes it was just a matter of quietly cutting off all excuses. Blocking off one path after another until the one you were always going to follow is, in fact, the only one left.

“If we find them. . .Melanie, and Basira, and the others,” Martin asked. “Can you protect them too?”

“Yes.” Jon said without hesitation. “And it won’t be long. I can find them much more easily now. Even Daisy . . . oh, you should see her now, Martin. She’s so beautiful,” he held his hand halfway to Martin’s face, eyes lively and glinting. “. . .Would you like to?”

“I’ll see her when we find her.” Martin said after a pause.

Jon nodded. He stood and offered Martin his hand. As he took it Martin saw tears, real tears, just brimming in his eyes. For a moment he wondered if it was a good sign that Jon was still human enough to cry. Then he wondered what made him think crying was a humans-only thing.

“Promise me one thing.” Martin said.

“Of course.”

“If you know what I’d have done if you’d. . .left me that choice. Put it in my hands whether or not to stop the ritual.” He paused. “Don’t ever tell me. Don’t ever show me. I don’t want to know.”

Jon looked at him, and Martin saw nothing but love in his eyes. He brought Martin’s hand to his face and kissed it.

“I never will,” he promised.

* * *

The plastic knob on the kettle clicked off, a cloud of steam pouring into the kitchen. Martin was rummaging through the cabinet, selecting a pair of mugs. He paused by the window. It had stopped raining recently and the warmth of the sun made steam rise off of London’s streets. Martin leaned out and breathed deeply, taking in the afternoon air.

Petrichor, he thought, smiling.

Years ago he’d made an offhand comment about liking the smell of rain, and Jon had gone off for minutes about soil and scent-producing bacteria. At the time it had been . . . pretty annoying, actually? Because Martin had known what petrichor was. Couldn’t have told you where he’d heard it, the internet probably, but he’d known it and he was a little irritated that Jon assumed he didn’t. Back then Martin had taken the presumption and Jon’s lecturing tone as more evidence that his new boss thought very little of him. But in hindsight it just filled Martin with affection. Recognizing Jon’s tendency to ramble on about something that he was excited to know without really noticing he was doing it.

Martin glanced at the dark figure in the corner of his kitchen, then went to pour the tea. He took his time, enjoying the mundane ritual of tea, strainer, and hot water. He filled his cup, added milk, then paused.

He sensed something, a feeling on the back of his neck, and when he turned the figure was standing behind him. Martin had neither seen nor heard it move. It stood perfectly still, and it was all eyes.

“What do you think, Jon?” he asked. “Sugar, or no sugar?”

Jon didn’t say anything. He never did in dreams. Martin wasn’t sure why, truth be told he hadn’t asked. There were so many things he’d come to file under “spooky Jon stuff” these days that he just accepted a lot of it. But Martin still liked talking to him. Felt sort of rude to just ignore him. Whatever Jon was doing - standing there, unmoving, unblinking, gaze fixed intently on him - it kept the nightmares away, and Martin was glad for that.

“Good point,” Martin said, stirring in the sugar. “May as well live a little, right?”

The tea smelled like tea. The countertop was solid, cool and felt just as it should. There were no uncanny dimensions to the kitchen, nothing out of place or subtly wrong about it. But he always knew that it wasn’t real. He couldn’t forget that the dream was a dream, or fully lose himself in it as he had in dreams before. That was one thing that Jon couldn’t give him, apparently.

Back in the world, Jon would be holding his sleeping body. Maybe resting Martin’s head in his lap, or curled around him in a mimicry of sleep himself. Part of him was there, part of him was here in the dream. And another part would be stretching itself outward, taking in the countless horrors that surrounded them in every direction.

After their time in the cabin Martin’s nesting instinct had been pretty well diminished, so he didn’t have much inclination to settle anyplace in particular. And Jon didn’t seem to care where they went as long as they kept moving, giving him new things to see. So he tried to find places that would be pleasant for Martin.

For the last. . .well, for a while, anyway, they’d been in a deep forest. The trees stretched higher than should be possible, some wider around than an office building. Shadows pooled deeply between them, and sometimes he saw massive, primordial shapes moving in the distance. But none of those creatures ever came near Martin. The colorful creeping vines that moved of their own volition never tried to wrap themselves around his limbs, nor did the shining clouds of iridescent insects ever cover him in a swarm.

Martin had to admit, when you had the privilege of safety from them, even nightmares could be beautiful. He’d walked with Jon down roads that had twisted into impossible knots without ever getting lost, without even getting dizzy. They’d traveled through a darkness so deep and silent that it swallowed the sound of Martin’s breathing, but he never lost sight of Jon and so it held no fear for him.

Once, he’d caught Jon looking curiously at a distant gray shore before glancing back at Martin, shaking his head and turning in the opposite direction. He hadn’t objected to avoiding that place, but later Martin found himself wondering what it would have felt like. To walk through the Lonely hand in hand with Jon, knowing he was loved and that the man who loved him was keeping the fog from reaching him. There was honestly some appeal to that.

Sometimes, very rarely, Martin heard screams in the distance. But Jon didn’t need to be close to get what he needed, and he generally made sure any sounds were too far away to notice.

Martin made a second cup of tea for Jon. He left it on the counter like a private joke, then went into the sitting room. The fluffy gray cat that had been napping in the corner lifted his head with interest when he entered and padded over, winding around Martin’s legs. He reached down to scratch behind his ears.

He had only met the Admiral once, the day they found Georgie and Melanie. Given how that meeting had gone, he knew he wasn’t likely to ever see the cat again. But Jon put him in all of Martin’s dreams since then. All things considered, Melanie and Georgie had been doing well. Which is to say they were exhausted, beaten down and traumatized, but still alive and with one another. The Entities didn’t have much interest in Georgie, but that didn’t mean she was safe. Not as long as Melanie was afraid of losing her.

Well . . . she was safe now. They both were. They had Jon’s protection even if they didn’t want it, and Martin felt some petty satisfaction at that thought.

The Admiral pulled away mid-pet, attention diverted by what was either a fly or a piece of lint floating in the air. He stalked towards it, head lowered, tail twitching in predatory anticipation.

Finding Daisy had been easy. Apparently Jon hadn’t even needed her exact location. just went to a place that he said “suited her now” and waited for her to find them. When she emerged all muscle and teeth and knives in the dark, Martin had nearly made the mistake of running. But Jon spoke in a reverberating voice and she was forced to answer back, settling down once he’d had her talking for a while. She did maul him a bit afterwards -- apparently not happy about being compelled. But it healed quickly and Jon admitted he may have deserved it.

She started traveling with them after that. Hard to say how long they’d been together with the way time was anymore, but it was long enough that Martin had gotten used to having her around. He was surprised how much he actually liked Daisy? She was good to talk to once you got past certain quirks, and he even missed her when she went off on long hunts.

He knew Jon was glad to have her near. There was something complicated that ran between those two. They liked each other, and they took a quiet comfort in each other’s presence. But there was also an unspoken sadness whenever they looked at one another. Martin wasn’t sure he fully understood what passed between them in those moments, but their friendship seemed good for Jon. Had there ever been even a slight chance of Martin feeling jealous or cut out seeing a deep, mysterious, bond between them it simply wasn’t a concern anymore. He felt Jon’s love for him deep in his soul. It was a single point of terrible knowledge around which the world turned. Nothing could shake that from him.

And if Martin occasionally caught Daisy eyeing his legs like she was deciding which tendon to cut, well. He’d gotten used to creepy looks lately.

“There you are, Jon.”

Jon was barely a foot away, eyes locked on him as always. Martin smiled. He never saw Jon move in dreams, but he was never far. Totally still, expression unchanging, no more responsive than a piece of furniture. Martin considered the sweater on the back of a chair and thought about draping it over one of Jon’s arms like he was a coat rack. He’d done it once before. They both laughed about it after he woke up.

This time he didn’t. Instead he sat in a chair by the window, setting his tea down beside him. Noticing that there was now available lap space, the Admiral stopped toying with his prey and leaped onto Martin’s lap, purring noisily.

They’d seek out Basira next. He and Jon had actually found her once already, before Daisy joined them. She’d been wary of them both and wasn’t exactly warm, but had been glad to accept Jon’s offer of protection. There was apparently some concern about a promise she’d made, but Jon seemed confident she’d come around. She just needed a little more time, he assured Martin, then they would bring Daisy to her. And then there would be four of them.

Martin glanced up to find Jon had moved again, now watching from the corner. Martin nodded to him and picked up the book of poetry he’d been thumbing through, one hand still idly petting the Admiral. He went from page to page, reading a little then flipping ahead, back and forth in a relaxed half-focus. The end of one poem in particular caught his attention.

Oh stars and dreams and gentle night

Oh night and stars return

And hide me from the hostile light

That does not warm, but burn

That drains the blood of suffering men

Drinks tears instead of dew

Let me sleep through his blinding reign

And only wake with you

Martin closed the book and turned to the window, to a London that was long and forever gone. Afternoon light trailed over sidewalks, spilled around the people going by. Families were walking their dogs, kids returning from school. A group of teenagers passed beneath his window, laughing and teasing one another.

A knot of sorrow, sudden and heavy, pulled at the pit of Martin’s stomach and a sob rose out of him. He covered his mouth as a second one emerged. Alerted to the sudden change, the Admiral lifted his head. He sniffed at Martin’s face and kneaded his shirtfront with tender paws.

Martin breathed deeply, body shuddering. He stroked the cat that wasn’t real, and looked out at a beautiful world that would never exist again.

And everything was wrong. And everything was terrible. And Martin was loved.

And everything was going to be all right.

#tma #tma spoilers #tma fanfic #jonmartin #this one is pretty self indulgent guys #bad ending but gay

200 notes · View notes

hobiwonder · 5 years ago

Text

crazy rich asians | 02

Genre: Chaebol!BTS. maid!reader. Smut, fluff. mild angst.

Pairing: Jin x reader, Jimin x reader, Hoseok x reader, Yoongi x reader. Possible future pairings.

Warnings for this chapter: language. mention of porn.

Words: 6.5k+

Summary: You overhear something you shouldn’t. Now some of the country’s most powerful - and rich - men would do anything to keep you quiet.

a/n: I'm back finally lol. this chapter moves along the change in feelings of the different characters. main pairing becomes more clear and also just sets the scene to the final few chapters. please let me know what you thought?

(dorks!!!!!)

“Wow.”

“Yeah...” Yoongi lets out a hefty breath he’s been holding since Jimin had mentioned the Will. He’d known his friends were multimillionaires. But never quite the exact aggregated amount of their wealth. Which he now knew was A Lot.

“Wait so let me get this straight, your dad has to marry Amber in order for you to get the money - what if he doesn’t?”

The unexpected question - that Jimin or Jin didn’t even take into consideration - makes Jin smack his younger brother on the back of his head. Light enough that Jimin’s exaggerated flinching was uncalled for.

“He should if Jimin here, can keep his dick in his pants.”

“Please! You slept with her before me, don’t act so self righteous.” Jimin’s scowl only earns him another glare from Seokjin.

“Once. Whereas you will probably make her your booty call.”

“Well I have someone else in mind for that now.” The smirk on his face is mirrored by Yoongi who just shakes his head at his friend’s unadulterated behaviour.

“Good. Call her from now on.” Jin doesn’t seem to catch on to who Jimin is referring to but it does remind him about your departure not too long ago. Hoseok seems to have the same idea when he speaks up before him.

“Speaking of, you assholes better have made sure y/n wasn’t outside at least this time.” His eyes don’t flicker away from his phone as he says so, making no move to get up and check if you had in fact, left.

“Are any of you going to check?” Jin knows the answer but somehow expects a different outcome. Negative.

“Not my house.” Yoongi is leaning back, stretching his arms behind his head to get comfortable.

Shaking his head at his useless friends and even more useless brother - he opts to have a look himself.

“I’ll be back. Meanwhile you peasants think up an idea on how to retrieve that will.”

“Excuse me?” Hoseok’s eyes are wide as if Seokjin told him he was an illegitimate child.

“Hyung you don’t have the inheritance yet. If speaking solely of net worth, mine is more than yours.” His record producer friend’s shit eating grin is well earned but doesn’t mean it doesn’t make Seokjin want to get this plan in motion sooner.

“Yeah yeah..” He’s not paying much attention to their mindless chatter about Jimin’s impromptu vacation.

A few strides later, he’s opening the golden doorknob carefully. That way if you were outside - which would be quite dumb of you he thinks - he’d be able to catch you red handed. Right outside the door, he doesn’t find anyone. He lets out a sigh of relief at the peacefully empty hallway. No servants or butlers and definitely not your cute little frame hovering in places you shouldn’t be.

Just when he’s about to head back inside - he hears the faint noise. Immediately, his feet are going towards it - not quite being able to pinpoint what exactly was that he could hear. Was there someone else lurking nearby? God. Were the staff always this nosey in this house? Then again he would know if he paid much attention even if he saw nothing wrong with not doing so.

Jin strains his neck further, hoping to see whoever it was, without being all too visible as he stood behind the massive vase in the hallway. The next sound he hears though, inevitably someone talking - worries him just slightly. Walking forward until he was nearing another room - there you were, sitting against the wall with your back hunched over. Seokjin couldn’t see your face but your voice was telling enough to let him know of your distressed state. You were sitting on the floor, hand covering your mouth to seemingly hold back a cry.

Who were you talking to? And where was the girl who not even half an hour ago blackmailed his brother and friend?

“I-I’m okay. I just miss you.” Your quaint, undoubtedly overwrought whisper in to the phone makes his chest constrict.

“I’ll let you know. I have to go now Nana. I love you.”

He’d never witnessed someone so rawly feeling emotions that weren’t joy or ecstatic even. The most he was used to was anger from his father. Frustration from his friends. Mostly bliss on his own. But never something like this. You sounded defeated and scared. Were you really crying because of him? He hadn’t anticipated that immensity the empathy would flood into him. He’d never really gotten upset and nor did he believe his brain had the chemicals to make the reaction happen which would allow him to feel said emotions.

He watched you - and heard - let out soft whimpers into your lap. His hands suddenly started to sweat and his feet itch to walk forward but he remained rooted in place. A few moments later, you were getting up, dusting your frumpy uniform before storming off to who knows where with a determined stomp to your steps. A small grin tugging at his lips at your determination. It was more than likely that you were feeling upset and intimidated by the situation you found yourself in. So why did Jin still not call it off when he went back inside the room?

He couldn’t answer that even if he tried. Maybe he was a masochist. Maybe he really did not have any regard for anyone but himself. It certainly wasn’t because he wanted to keep tabs on you.

“You good brother?” Jimin instantly notices his older brother’s more sinister expression.

“What are you looking so happy for?” Jin counteracts before Jimin can try and analyse him any further. He didn’t do well with emotions other than hunger, ecstasy and horny.

“Did you hear? It’s all over the news.” Hoseok is laughing obnoxiously loudly, shoving his wide screen phone in Jin’s face.

A familiar face is greeting him right next to his eyes - if only Hoseok would move the offending phone slightly back, Jesus. Taehyung’s bright blue hair is the front page of the news article. His hand is up a model’s skirt and face plastered on hers. The next set of pictures is him being spotted at a museum with his Posse before they tastefully switch to him at an elite rooftop club. His friend was always the centre of attention and quite obviously thrived on it.

He was very liberated and couldn’t careless of the strict rules his family lived by. Boy would he be in trouble if he comes back before his newest scandal dies down.

“What’s he done now?” Yoongi’s just shaking his head - being the older brother of said boy and rightfully being pissed off. He usually took the heat for his younger brother’s shenanigans.

“Just shoved his face in between a model’s tits for all to see. Nothing new.” The tick in Yoongi’s voice is all too familiar. He always had to do damage control while Taehyung partied the night away. He felt for his friend sometimes, he really did.

“Well, shit. What’s the damage?”

“If i’m lucky, just more shame.” Yoongi’s gaze turns back up to the ceiling, hands stretched behind him to cushion his head.

“Hyung, you really don’t have to keep being the martyr for him. Let him face the music when he gets back. Grow the fuck up.” Hoseok can’t help but feel like a broken record whenever he gives yoongi advice.

No matter how stubborn and wilfully isolated Yoongi remained from the rest of the world, he insisted on protecting his younger brother as much as he could. It would’ve been admirable if it was a rarity. Saving Taehyung’s delinquent ass was like yoongi’s day job at this point.Yoongi just shook his head, not dismissing Hoseok’s advice completely even if it seemed so that way.

“I’m more selfish than you think Hoseokie.” What did he mean by that? That story was for another day.

“Ladies, ladies,” Jimin eyes his older brothers, holding out his hands in a gesture to settle everyone down, “Let’s get back to business. Taehyung whoring around is like being surprised to find out that a lion eats meat.”

“What the fuck kind of analogy is that?” Hoseok is chuckling at Yoongi’s taunting but Jimin barely blinks.

“What is it Jiminie? You’ve had another revelation?” Standing and pacing was not something Jin had ever done before. And he wasn’t about to act like a commoner just because of a little maid who’d caught him off guard.

Taking a seat back at the couch, Jin takes the scotch from Jimin before settling his attention back on to the matter at hand.

“We need to use our newest asset.” Jimin’s devilish smile is nothing short of mischievous.

And Jin was very familiar with that look. He knew that his little brother was intrigued and despite having his eye on the prize, no doubt, he wasn’t thinking all business anymore. There weren’t many things that Jin and Jimin couldn’t have. In fact, he would argue that even if he tried to spend all his money - he wouldn’t be able to. Jin was only 27 and yet he felt like he was on his ninth life - all previous deaths were due to absolute boredom. Women flocked him to without him having to bat an eyelash, had too many servants to count, too many places to sleep and too little to want. Could he get bored of being rich? Not ever. But was he bored with things he could do that came with being rich.

That’s why he was always actively looking to spend his wealth on hobbies and objects that were unattainable. Dangerous. Something that was forbidden to even a man like him who could have anything. And at this very moment - it was you. It was hard to pretend that Jimin wasn’t also well aware of that fact. Hoseok and Yoongi were merely held back because they hadn’t received the ‘go-ahead’ from either himself or Jimin. That they were allowed to play with such a pretty thing like you. They were all good-looking, incredibly so, and extremely wealthy. It was a default that people wanted to be as close to them as possible. Not you. When Jimin had crowded your space, you looked ready to bolt. Like you would be anywhere but in that room with all three of them. And when your body had reacted quite the opposite way, clinging onto Jimin and Hoseok - it was he could do, watch in awe. Jin rarely saw people at war with themselves when it came to physical intimacy with himself or any of his friends.

He’d slept with his fair share of attractive house staff but never encountered someone like you. And that had to be why he was inexplicably attracted to you. Nothing more. The look on Jimin’s face meant he was too and he wanted to play with his meal.

“What do you propose? Shall we take turns trying to maximise our profits from said asset?” Hoseok’s shit-eating grin accompanied with his schoolgirl giggle annoys Jin more than usual but he doesn’t mention it.

Letting the younger ones have some fun, with his fists clenched. He needed another drink.

“Well, I found out from Amber that there have been some staff changes to the Manor and I wonder if our little maid being here has something to do with that. Minhyuk doesn’t work here anymore.”

“And?” Yoongi sounds just as bored as Jin probably looks.

“And, you little shits, he used to work in father’s wing. Know what that means? Hm?” Jimin is looking around at his older brothers like they are supposed to be on the same page.

And while it makes sense that the other two who didn’t live here were lost - it baffles Jin that he didn’t know of the change when he’s been here far longer than Jimin. How does he know so much in so little time? Though it clicks for him just before Jimin opens the pandora’s box.

“It means that y/n works there. She’s the only new hire and none of the other staff have been moved around.”

“And let me guess, you want to seduce her into breaking into father’s office and snoop around?��

Jimin is gasping in mock shock at Jin putting two and two together like the drama queen he is. “Precisely. Knew your brain hadn’t hibernated permanently.”

“Yah, shut up before I expose you and get you cut out of the will entirely.”

“You won’t. You’ve got too much to lose.” Jimin is tilting his head innocently, a juxtaposition between his words and actions.

Jimin was a slithery snake, that much Jin knew. Hell, he was often proud of his younger brother’s extraordinary mind but even Jin knew that he was sharp underneath his soft exterior and disarming smiles. Which meant that he’d made up his mind to include you into their devious plan. But something about the phone call Jin had witnessed before, he felt a little uneasy in the pit of his stomach. The feeling is all too foreign and unfamiliar that he has to place a hand on his abdomen.

“Well boys, just let me know when my turn is. She was too cute for me to pass up on. Now if you excuse me, I have to pick up Taehyung.”

Yoongi’s passive face turns up into a scowl at the mention of his younger brother. “Good. At least he’s bringing back enough of his brain cells to know not to ask me any favours for a while.”

“That’s why he called me, hyung. I’ll drop him off at the Hilton.” Yoongi murmurs a thanks at Hoseok, glad that his friend could sense that Yoongi would rip Taehyung a new one unless he took some time to cool down. He already had to hang up on his father’s personal secretary twice since the news broke out.

“Later sluts.”

“Bye hyung.” Jimin is waving Hoseok goodbye before he finally sits, looking expectantly at Jin.

“So, what do you say? You in for some adventure? It’s been a while since I fucked someone I wasn’t supposed to.”

His pursed lips would have you think he was talking about a physics phenomenon and not sex. “Yeah? And what do you suppose is called when you sleep with your future step-mother?”

His smile is blinding. “The family jewels. I’ve just as much right as father now.”

“Jesus christ.” Yoongi mumbles before putting down his half empty glass. “I’m just glad I won’t have to merge with that obnoxious knob my father keeps insisting I do business with to expand. Tell me what’s needed of me and then wire me the money. No need for details that don’t concern me.”

Stretching like a feline, Yoongi takes his leave. Leaving Jin to marinate a little more in his conflicting feelings toward Jimin's pet project. Well, he did willingly take part but that was before the five foot something intrusion in their plans. There wasn't anything particularly extraordinary about you. So why was Jin finding it so difficult to separate himself from the situation like he usually was able to?

"Jin hyung?"

"Yeah?" Pretending that he wasn't distracted by any thoughts of you, Jin stares back at Jimin's smirking face. He's holding a sheet in his hand, waving it around like he's going to cast a spell.

"Let's figure out the logistics here shall we?"

"You do that on your own brother. I've got some business to attend to." The clink of his heavy scotch glass is definite as he sets it down.

Jimin doesn't argue and that in itself is suspicious. Giving Jimin a pat on the back, Jin heads out with a mission to let off some steam at the gym. Just knowing you were somewhere in the Manor put him on edge and he wasn't about to flail like a teenager in front of you should he encounter you again.

"I'll do that. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Maybe."

___________________________________________________________________________

"Y/n, Please make sure you are supervising the staff as they move through the rooms. I'd like you to personally go through the checklist before my inspection. Mr. Kim will be spending a lot more time in his home office starting the week after next and we cannot afford the Manor to be anything short of impeccable."

Anders was talking just as fast as he was walking, causing you to almost have to jog besides him as he fired off the list of chores. it was odd enough that you still had a job, let alone climbing up the rank and supervising other staff. In Mr. Kim's wing no less. For a split second you thought you were part of some joke and any second you'll be laid off. But Anders had all but looked through you like it was any other day of work.

"And please, take note that due to the eventful nature of Mr. Kim's work, we will be expecting many visitors therefore everything needs to be tidied up before and after Mr. Kim's work hours. you will be rostered on to take care of his wing, including the guest rooms, living room, library and the restrooms. Mr. Kim's office will be out of bounds and I shall take care of that room. understood, dear?"

Anders is looking at you warmly for the first time today and like a true airhead that you'd been acting these days, it takes a few seconds for you to nod at him.

"Yes sir. Will I be working the regular hours or will my shift hours be changed?"

"I presume it will be on a weekly basis for a little while. For this week you will be required to tend to Master Kim's quarters after 5pm and get everything set up for the next day. Of course, with the exception of today."

His smile is kind and lighthearted. You know he isn't this forthcoming to all of the staff. Perhaps your age being the closest to his own children gives you the soft advantage. Nonetheless, you are thankful for the little bit of gentleness, guidance and just a light hand ever since you'd started working here. And maybe Anders has a little bit of hand in you getting this sort of promotion in such a short amount of time.

"Okay. I will get to it right away." Tucking your notebook in your apron, you nod at him.

"Y/n?"

"Yes?" Your heart is thumping too loudly, too fast in your chest. The events of yesterday flooding in your mind.

But Anders didn't seem to display any anger so far.

"I say this for your own safety, dear. Try your absolute best to keep a respectful distance between the people of the house and yourself."

"O-Okay." Spinning right around, you bolt.

There was no way Anders didn’t know something. He had to have known that something incredibly inappropriate happened, right? Did Mr. Kim’s sons complain about you? There was no way they probably didn’t make you seem like a creep. Snooping around their house like paparazzi. Just thinking about the events of yesterday made the blood rush to your face fast enough to make you slightly dizzy. It still felt like a fever dream. Something that was far too.... astounding to have every happened to you. You could count on one hand how many times something memorable happened to you in your short life. And yesterday was equally memorable as well as terrifying. This uncertainty you felt with your place in the Manor was something you didn’t want to feel much longer.

The more you thought about it last night, the more angry you became at yourself. How selfish could you be to put your job in jeopardy? Especially when you have so many people counting on you to keep it for a long while. You had stupidly put yourself in the midst of some money war happening between very powerful people. Now you’d become someone for them to play with or at least that’s what you felt like. Yes the kissing was great, your traitorous body soaked up the physical intimacy like a starved nymphomaniac but at what cost? Tossing and turning, sleeping had been futile.

And maybe your red eyes gave Anders some indication about what had been troubling you. Still, you were adamant on keeping yourself away from their traps. No matter how beautiful and alluring their words were. No matter how beautiful each one of them were. They were unattainable and a lowly worker like you was never going to be someone worth their respect. Head filled with many thoughts, you march towards the crowd of people awaiting your instructions.

You will not think about them. Especially him. Kim Seokjin.

______________________________________________________________

A week goes by much easier and uneventfully than you had expected it to be. And the more days that pass, the more that one encounter feels like a fever dream. Like it happened in the fantasy realm. Something twisted conjured up by your brain after it got tired of your insipid life. You’d managed to speak to your grandma on a regular basis to make sure she wasn’t worried after your out of the ordinary tearful conversation with her. As usual, your mother had not been interested in talking with you and it hurt you just like it always did. Though it was becoming so normal and expected that you suspected your numbness to it soon. You awaited that day.

“Miss. y/n, would you like me to change the glasses from the liquor table? One seems to have broken...”

One of the staffer’s, Jihoon, trails off as he inspects the damage. Your eyebrows furrow at his observation. You left everything in place last night before leaving. No broken glass anywhere. Was someone here after hours? Mr. Kim’s schedule didn’t show any scheduled meetings after 6pm - which was unusual anyway as he finished up by 5pm most days.

“That’s odd. I’m sure this wasn’t broken.” There are a few shards of glass peeking out from the bottom of the liquor cabinet and sure enough, when you bend down, you can see the remains of the glass pushed underneath it.

“Oh boy. Be careful when you clean that up Jihoon. I’ll go get a new set.”

“Maybe one of the masters we’re here.” Jihoon shrugs absentmindedly, proceeding to vacuum all the shards and the mention of the other men in the house makes you jolt like you’re the one vacuuming glass into your bare hands.

“Y-Yeah. I’ll be right back. You’re free to go when you’re done. I’ll do the last sweep before calling Mr. Anders.”

“Okay! See you tomorrow noona!” You say your goodbyes before heading to the storage room. Jihoon had been here overnight so you wanted to let him rest as quickly as possible.

Feet rushing you out quickly, it feels like every breath is being stolen out of your lungs while the memories from last week are rushing into your empty brain. Why couldn’t you get yourself together? It was one incident. Yet, your whole life seemed to revolve around it. It was getting pathetic. You hadn’t seen any of the boys since then and the more days passed, the more it was clear that they played around with the staff on the regular. You weren’t anyone special. The more it made you angry that you let it happen. How dare they treat you like a common groupie? You may be just a household worker but that didn’t mean these rich trust fund babies should treat you like this.

All the comebacks you could have said then were coming to the tip of your tongue now. Especially for the tall, handsome eldest with lips of sin. Lips that didn’t touch yours and annoyed you so much for some reason. If you saw him again, he was going to get an earful!

Your emotions were getting the best of you. So much so that the force with which you were pushing in the key with to unlock the storage room was rattling the mahogany door rather loudly. Thankfully, before you disturb the peace down in the basement even more, you’ve opened the door. It’s only the second time you’re here as you were not allowed the key before. Seeing as you managed Mr. Kim’s wing, it was given to you by Anders to keep with you at all times.

Locking the storage room again after you’ve grabbed a new case of - extremely expensive - glasses, you make the tread back to the meeting room. The Manor is quiet at this time in the morning. The only activity most likely happening in the kitchen while breakfast is prepared. You were on time for all your tasks regarding Mr. Kim’s wing, a spring in your step as you thought about having a cup of tea with the cooks in the spare time you had. The next task was to get everything ready for tomorrow’s Family dinner that Mr. Kim was hosting. Thankfully you didn’t need to be there. You may have been promoted but you were not allowed to stay for the intimate family gatherings as only the very essential staff stayed. You could understand given the influence of the people present in the home and how anything could be made a spectacle if it were to get out.

“Oh Y/n, glad I caught you.” Anders is walking towards you down the hall.

“Mr. Anders.” He’s smiling as he approaches, eyeing the box in your hands.

“Everything looks good. I have inspected the room. I presume these glasses are for the liquor cabinet?”

“Oh, yes they are. Did Jihoon call you? I was about to do a last sweep before paging you.”

His kind smile greets you as he shakes his head. “No need. Everything looks remarkable. You are doing a wonderful job, dear. Join the others in the kitchen for some tea and muffins. They smell especially good today.”

He’s walking down the hall to Mr. Kim’s office as he reminds you of the treats. It’s such a wonderful morning now that Anders has acknowledged your hard work too. You must really be doing a good job. Without wasting any time, you walk a little too fast to the meeting room to display the glasses. Before you can though, a call for your name stops you in your tracks.

“In a hurry?” The deep, mocking tone of a certain someone you were trying to avoid is all you can hear.

Taking a few steps back until you are facing the doorway where you heard his voice from, you come face to face with an image only your imagination tried to conjure on nights you were so, so tired. The real thing though, was far more picturesque. The eldest Kim, Seokjin, stood there, lean muscle on display while his jeans hung low. Hair wet and skin looking slightly flushed due to the shower you assume he just had, judging from the towel around his neck. Even if you tried, you wouldn’t be able to stop your eyes from memorising each ridge on his abdomen. There was something about seeing him in casual wear when you have only ever witnessed him in slacks and expensive silk shirts.

“Are you done? I get that I'm the most handsome man you’ve ever seen but the staring does get old.” He’s sighing as if he bears a great burden on his shoulders.

"I wasn't- wasn't star-"

"Anyway. Bring me a glass of scotch will you?" He cuts you off before you can actually properly say anything.

Now sitting on the plush couch with his legs spread and an arm slung behind the backrest. Looking like something out of a magazine cover. Ugh! He was so infuriating. He didn't even respect you enough to let you respond to his ludicrous remarks! Nevertheless, you were in no position to be angry. He was your boss after all. And after last week, you weren't about to stir up trouble and get yourself fired.

You must have been zoning out for a little too long because you can feel Seokjin's stare burning a hole through you. His gaze indifferent and apathetic. "Well?"

"Yes... Sir." Your mouth aches from the force with which you clenched your jaw before answering.

Standing a good distance away from him really helped your mental state. You were much more clam and composed. You had space to think. Unlike when you were in that room last week. His proximity made it worse for you to think let alone compose a coherent sentence to stop whatever the men were practically forcing you into. Who even makes a deal with a servant anyway? They could toss you out whenever they want to, that's for sure. So really, they were playing with you and you'd been nervous and scared and made that stupid call back home like the gullible sheep you were. That's what rich people with too much free time on their hands did. Play with innocent people's feelings. Not knowing how much trouble it may cause for them. So, whatever. You weren't going to think about it and let them get the best of you again.

Turning swiftly, you complete your original task of replacing the liquor glasses. Carefully pouring one for Seokjin - despite your dislike for the man - as to not pour too much or too little. He's in the same position when you left, albeit, his body more relaxed into the sofa than before as he flicks through the channels. The noises erupting in the room suddenly, however, make you halt in your tracks like you just witnessed some sort of tragedy. The high pitched moans and whimpers are bouncing off the walls all too clearly. The sounds are so pornographic it has your whole body on fire and your pulse racing. Taking a look at the TV - of course, it actually is porn. And what do you know, that's enough to rattle you once more as you almost see it happening in slow motion.

The glass that was weighty and secure on the tray in your hands; now tumbling to the tiled floor like it was fairy floss dissolving in your hands. The loud shatter compared to the very obtuse and unmoving reaction from Seokjin is too metaphorical for you to not notice. This incident now can pretty much sum up your encounters with him. Seokjin hasn't moved an inch, casually watching porn like it was the weather man. All the while you're glancing frantically at him and then the floor, then back at him and back to the floor where they shattered glass is scattered on the floor.

"I'm- I'm so sorry, sir! I'll clean this u-up." What even was happening. How the hell do you apologise with those noises in the background?!

"Don't interrupt. You've already broken expensive glass, don't sully my enjoyment of the film too." Again, he has yet to even look at you.

"This is hardly a film." The words escape you a little too quickly and a little too loud. And of course, Seokjin would notice now. If only because of your ticked tone and the scoff that’s bound to get you in trouble.

“Any movie that I’m in is worth watching.”

“Excuse me?” What was he talking about?

That’s when all plans of being poised and professional go out the window. Due to one rookie mistake. Taking the bait that he dangled in front of you because you turn around like a fool and look at the large TV screen. The sight is slightly unexpected. You had expected to see porn, of course. But not porn that included Seokjin. Sure enough, it’s hard to deny that it’s really him behind a really attractive blonde, someone you recognised from a lot of hollywood movies, flexing his biceps as he intently stared at the camera. You could feel your body tightening up, your thighs connecting with each other on instinct. You can feel the perspiration build up on your skin, your heart rate a million miles an hour. Seokjin was naked in all his glory, hair still looking as if it had just been styled in that effortless way. Even though the snapping of his hips behind the woman displayed how much his muscles were being exerted. The scene was mesmerising. His smouldering eyes holding yours captive that you forget that he was actually there in the flesh. Currently watching you look at the screen like a pervert.

Seokjin’s chuckle breaks your blatant staring at his naked form in the video that was playing by pausing it. So you had no other choice then to look back at his smirking face. The wheels turning in your head, trying to find a viable excuse to get out of another uncomfortable situation you seem to have pulled yourself into just because you can’t help your reactions. The anger was also starting to creep up your spine, getting dangerously close to the part of your brain that failed to control your impulsivity. All because Kim Seokjin was pushing you to your limits. So instead of making a comment on how you had shamelessly watched a good minute of his sextape with some A-List actress, you clear your throat and look him dead in the eye no matter how hard it was after seeing what you had.

“I will have Jihoon bring you another glass and clean this up right away.” Taking a small bow, you cheer internally that you didn’t stutter.

“I don’t want Jihoon. I want you.” Your breath hitches at the heat in his words. Somehow they didn’t convey the appropriate message considering the context.

“S-Sorry?” Seokjin clears his throat, looking back at the TV before speaking again.

“To clean up this mess.” He waves his hand at the shattered glass again, flicking the TV to some cartoon channel.

“O-Okay.”

“Aw, did I miss all the fun?” The cheery voice from the doorway finally takes Seokjin’s attention away from you to his younger brother.

“If by fun you mean the maid breaking house property then, no. I’m sure she’ll make more mayhem soon enough.”

“If you can kindly wait till i’m out of earshot to discuss me, that will be great!”

It’s like you’ve asked them for 2 million dollars or something because Jimin’s eyebrows have shot so far up his forward you’re worried that his eyes might fall out of their sockets. Seokjin is looking at you, really looking at you, for the first time it seems. Even you hadn’t expected to lose your cool because you’re slapping your hand over your mouth, knowing you have definitely screwed up now if you hadn’t already.

“Oh?” Jimin’s tone is mocking and amused. Showing how unexpected your outburst was.

“It seems that our little maid has a spine after all?” He walks to you like a predator ready to trap his prey and it sends a chill down your spine.

Jimin was attractive.

That much was obvious. Somehow his soft features didn’t translate to his personality, he didn’t seem human in the way he addressed you. His tone was almost vindictive. Like he couldn’t believe that someone of your stature would talk back to him. As much as it didn’t make sense, you looked back at Seokjin out of instinct. As if he could save you from whatever Jimin will inflict on you. Which was ridiculous given that moments ago you were ready to strangle him.

“I-I don’t appreciate being treated like a toy.” Chin up, feigning all the faux confidence you could conjure, you stand your ground.

Jimin’s cackle is like needles in your skin. It makes you hot and cold at the same time. Walking over to you, he’s merely a few inches away. Clearly trying to intimidate you as he’s done before. The scent of his cologne hits your nostrils and you have to clench your fists to stop yourself from taking a deep inhale. Perfumes were your weakness. Seeing him up close again is enough to remind you of the last time. But you were more prepared now. No way you were going to let him kiss you again.

He brings up a jewelled hand, twirling the stray strand of hair that was framing your face. “Oh darling…. But you are a toy.”

His smile is so big and endearing - had you not already recognised the evil twinkle in his eyes. How dare he?! Your hands balling into fists, nostrils flaring from the sheer anger that you felt right now. This was one of those moments you would surely regret later on. Because you were about to slap the living daylights out of him.

“Let her do her actual job Jimin-ah. I believe we have things to discuss.”

Seokjin’s command is Jimin’s - and perhaps yours too - saving grace. He’s turning on his heels swiftly walking to where his brother lounged. You have to take a deep breath, snapping yourself out of it before you say something that might get you fired for real.

“Oh, y/n, bring me a glass of champagne too while you’re at it.” Jimin winks at you and you scurry out of the room without even responding.

This family was crazy.

_____________________

Champagne? Seokjin wondered what his brother had done in just a week to warrant a celebration.

“Is this another premature celebration Jimin? You know it ruins all the fun when you end up failing. For you that is. It’s very entertaining for me.”

Jimin is flipping him the finger as he sits down, changing the channels until it lands on something he is vaguely paying attention to.

“That was very rude you little shit. I was watching that.”

“Hyung, they were playing rugrats. You’re 27 now. Watch Naruto or something.”

“Tell me why you’re here before I kick your ass.”

“Wow, being around servants has turned you into a commoner too, huh?” Jimin is clicking his tongue like he's gravely disappointed. Obviously referring to you.

The mention isn’t healthy for Seokjin right now. He’s spent far too much time thinking of last week and the phone call he’d witnessed. Though the majority of that regret was not actually kissing you when he had the chance. Your lips had haunted his dreams too many times. This was an odd activity for his brain and he was now worried if you carried some sort of disease that caused all his brain waves to malfunction and make him think solely about you.

Jimin throws up his hands in defence when Seokjin remains unamused, moving a little closer to talk in a much more hushed tone.

“Okay okay. Hold off on the dick measuring. I’m here to tell you when we’re going to put the ‘plan’ into motion.”

Jin arches a brow in question. So soon?

“The family dinner is tomorrow. Most of the staff will be gone so less witnesses.”

“Is… the girl working the night? I don’t think essential staff includes the cleaners.”

Jimin smiles wide like he always does when he’s up to something. Though to be fair, he is always up to something.

“She isn’t but leave that to me.”

“Wasn’t gonna help.” Seokjin shrugs, feeling slightly ticked at his brother’s suggestion.

What was he up to now and why did Jin feel the need to protect you from Jimin’s devious plans?

#bts #bts fanfction #jin fluff #sexy jimin #bts scenarios #bts x reader #hobiwonder #HOW DO I TAG THIS LMAO #ALSO WHY WONT THE GIF SHOW UP UGH

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such-fun · 5 years ago

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Fic: Closer to the Light 3/? Kylo Ren x Reader

Closer to the Light

Pairing: Kylo Ren x Reader

Summary: You rejected the Force once, but it’s pull won’t be denied.

Spoilers: No TROS spoilers. Takes place just before The Force Awakens and continues from there. Rey will feature but not as heavily.

Tag list: @babsbixby, @i-am-lokii-of-asgard, @holacherrycola90, @bookworm-nerd6, @fanofallthingsnstuff, @bulba-bulbasaur, @thomasscresswell, @vampgguk, @johnnysactualgf, @siobhanlovesfilm, @hockslutter, @hopplessdreamer, @prurose

Three:

White walls greeted you when you woke.

Lying flat on your back, it took a minute for your eyes to focus. The ceiling above you and walls around you were a stark white, cold and sterile. The bed you were strewn across was more of a bench, without benefit of a cushion or anything that would offer comfort.

Behind you was a door that blended in rather well with the walls, and you realized there was no mechanism beside it to open it. That must mean the only access to the room was on the outside.

The cell was cleaner and tidier than your humble tent, but it was a prison nonetheless.

It took a long minute for you to work up the energy to sit up, pressing your back against the wall and positioning yourself to face the door. You couldn’t control much in this situation, but you would do your best not to be taken by surprise.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching you made you tense, your spine straight as they came to a stop. You could see the barest of shadows on the floor, hinting of their presence mere feet away.

Soon enough the door slide open, and you remained steady under the unrelenting gaze of Kylo Ren. Two stormtroopers flanked him, but he paid little attention to them. Taking a step inside your cell, and letting the door close behind him with a wave of his hand. The troopers remained on the other side as guards.

You both spent some time in silence, appraising each other. You didn’t know what he was hoping to find as he studied you, but for you it was merely a battle of wills. If there was a trace of your old friend in him, you hadn’t seen much of it on Abafar. You wouldn’t waste time looking for Ben, not when it was Ren’s mask that stared you down. Instead it was pure stubbornness that drove you.

Someone had to speak first. One of you would crack, and it wouldn’t be you.

“We found your friend,” Ren’s voice, so void of human feeling thanks to his vocoder, still sounded so wrong to your ears. Even so, you smiled to yourself. It was a minor victory, but it was still yours.

“I don’t have any friends,” you said, admitting it more to yourself than to him. Yours was a desolately lonely existence, even if it was of your own making.

“The pilot,” he clarified as he moved to stand in front of your prone figure. He was trying to use his size to intimidate you undoubtedly, but you hardly shook under his withering glare.

Certainly you feared him, of that there was no doubt. But what good would shaking and crying do you? And until you discovered what exactly he wanted with you, all you could do was sit there and let him play his games.

“Imagine my surprise,” Ren continued, the tiniest note of amusement detectable, “after capturing a ‘legendary’ Resistance pilot, your face was one of the first things that appeared when I searched his mind. Why did he come for you?”

All traces of amusement were gone now.

“I don’t know,” you replied softly. Your mind recalled Poe, dashing and honorable, all but begging you to leave with him. You wondered if you had taken his hand, if you had joined him, would something have turned out differently? Would he have still been captured by the First Order? You felt bile creep up your throat.

“Is he dead?” your voice a harsh whisper.

“He is an enemy of the First Order,” Ren declared darkly. “and was dealt with thusly.”

You clenched your jaw at his non answer. Whatever his fate, the outcome would likely be the same in the end. Torture or death, the Order didn’t grant rebel fighters many options. But you still wanted to know, needed to know.

Poe seemed a good man. He didn’t deserve whatever they were doing to him. Or had done to him. A stray thought left you wondering if he could be on this very ship. Was he a few cells away, battered and broken?

As your worries began to get the better of you, you felt the smallest push. The sensation, once very familiar, was the only warning you got before Ren invaded your mind in full.

Letting out a pained grunt, you struggled to save your thoughts from his relentless perusal. Your hands fisted, and you clawed at your temples before letting out an angry shout.

“Get out!”

You don’t know what did it. If it was the power of your anger and grief that the Force was drawn to, or simply long held power that brimmed at the surface, but you shuddered at the shockwave effect that your shout had. At once you were alone in your thoughts again. Ren took a surprised step back, his limbs taut and hands clenched.

Having control of your mind once more, you felt like a weight had been lifted and you took in a shaky breath.

“And here I thought you all but powerless,” he sneered.

“Why am I here?” you tried to sound strong, demanding, but the hesitancy in your voice betrayed you. You may be no match for the great Kylo Ren, but you were stronger than he thought. Stronger than even you thought.

A connection with the Force, though it might weaken, never truly disappeared.

“Why did I search you out?” He considered you with a slight tilt of his head. “Why are you now my…guest?” At that he gave a small but scornful chuckle. “Because for some reason the Resistance believes you useful.”

Crouching down to meet you eye to eye, Ren regarded you curiously.

“I would have killed you,” he revealed, and you lost all feigned bravado at his confession. “If you are a possible ally to the Resistance, then you are a threat to the Order.

“But you are here, alive, because the Supreme Leader wills it.”

If there was ever a man you could honestly say you hated, it was the Supreme Leader. You hadn’t learned every detail of what happened that fateful night at the Jedi temple, of what had driven Ben to turn so viciously on his brothers and sisters. But you were not wholly ignorant. Ben had become the Supreme Leader’s pupil soon after. As Snoke’s mentee, you knew that man (or monster) had made Ben his puppet as he pulled the strings behind the scenes.

You loathed Snoke, and Ren’s willingness to anything his new Master demanded, even sparing your life, had you shaking your head in dismay.

“What happened to you?” you sighed sorrowfully. “Ben—”

“Ben is dead!” he roared, slamming a furious fist into the wall beside your head. “I killed him all those years ago,” Ren growled. “Like I should have killed you.”

“Why didn’t you?” you breath hanging on his every word. He was terrifying in his fury, but you refused to allow yourself to cry. This moment was too important. Maybe you would finally discover why he had spared you. What drove him to simply walk away and leave you shattered but alive among the carnage he had caused.

“Sentiment,” he sneered, pushing himself up from the floor and drawing to his full height. You could actually feel his scowl as if burning your skin. “Weakness.”

Composing himself, Ren towered over you, standing inhumanly still.

“You should have died with the rest of them. I should have chased you to the Outer Rim and ended you then. But the Supreme Leader thought you weak. You were no threat and in his mercy he allowed you to live.” Snoke had no mercy, and you found yourself unable to look at Ren’s masked face any longer.

A victory for him, to be sure.

Ren took a small step forward and you felt his power urge your chin up, unwillingly meeting his gaze.

His hands reached for the latches of his mask, pulling it away to reveal the face that would always haunt your dreams and nightmares. You stared into his fathomless brown eyes, and saw nothing.

“It was the act of a craven child,” he cautioned you. “That boy is long dead. And as soon as the Supreme Leader wills it, I will correct the mistake.”

With that promise, he backed away and waved his hand. The door opened, the troopers outside turning to look at their Commander as he walked out, head held high. You, by contrast, were no longer controlled by his manipulation of the force. Your chin fell to your chest and you finally allowed yourself to give in to the fear.

Your hands shook as the guards looked away from you in dismissal and the door to your cell closed once more.

After a few minutes of giving in to your feelings of terror and despair, you took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, forcing your body to calm down.

You had spent years running, ignoring your past and your connection with the Force. Pretending like it had been another’s life. But there was no more pretending. You weren’t allowed that luxury anymore. You may not know why the Supreme Leader wanted you alive, but you did know that Ben—Kylo Ren—would not be your unlikely savior. Not this time.

If you had any hope of surviving, you would have to welcome the Force back like an old friend. Invite it into your body, will it into your hands and mind. Learn once more how to mold it to your will.

It was no easy feat. It would take a lot of effort and time. Still, you considered as you sat taller and folded your legs in front you, resting your hands in your lap, you had nothing but time.

You closed your eyes, your breathing slowed, and you encouraged your mind to go blank. Mentally, you began to reach out to the void, to find your connection with the Force and stoke it, allow it to grow and flourish.

And as you gazed into the darkness, you could feel something sinister looking back at you.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #star wars #the finalizer #the first order #snoke #fanfic #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #ben solo #the resistance #fic: closer to the light #kylo ren x oc

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argentdandelion · 4 years ago

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The Crime a Moose Can Get Away With

A Thidwick the Big-Hearted Moose and Green Lantern: The Animated Series "Prisoner of Sinstro" Comparison

Who is more corrupt or unjustified in choosing to let people die: the future supervillain, Sinestro, or a big-hearted moose?

Thidwick the Big-Hearted Moose Plot

The plot starts with Thidwick inviting one Bingle-Bug who's in some mild discomfort to ride on his antlers. The Bingle-Bug invites more "guests" to live on Thidwick's horns without Thidwick's permission, who cause him pain. Guests point out and exploit his "big-heartedness" and say he's made his horns a "public hotel", which is certainly not the case. One guest, a Zinn-a-Zu bird, causes him physical harm by plucking out 204 of the hairs on his head to make a bird nest on his antlers; another guest, a woodpecker, drills into his antlers and causes him pain. The guests' sheer peskiness, and Thidwick's belief he can't remove them because they're his "guests", make his other moose friends leave him.

The seasons change to winter, and his other moose friends leave for better feeding grounds on the far southern shore of the lake. Though there's no more food ("moose-moss") for Thidwick to eat there anymore, the guests say Thidwick has no right to take their "home", his horns, to the far end of the lake. More and more guests pile onto him, including fleas and a hive of bees.

Then he's pursued by Harvard Club Hunters shooting at him with a bullets like hail, all while carrying 500 pounds' worth of guest-weight. Cornered at a spit over the lake after an exhausting chase, Thidwick realizes all moose shed their antlers at this day in winter, and throws his antlers, guests aboard, off himself and into the direction of the hunters, as he joins his moose friends at the other end of the lake. In the final page, there’s view of his old shed horns on the wall of the Harvard Club, with the following:

"His old horns today are

where you knew they would be.

His guests are still on them,

all stuffed [taxidermied], as they should be."

"Prisoner of Sinestro” Plot

In "Prisoner of Sinestro", the Green Lantern Sinestro saves a mysterious alien, Neuroxsis, from a space-frigate run by the Spider Guild, an organization known to torture and devour prisoners in its care. In a homage to the film The Thing, Neuroxsis unpredictably “mind-jumps” from one person to another, using their bodies to try to kill the others crew members.

After realizing what’s happening, Sinestro creates a foolproof way to determine who’s under Neuroxsis’s control at any given time: he depressurized the spaceship. Neuroxsis’ possible hosts all wield “power rings”, devices linked to the bearers’ minds which will only create life-support fields for the individual users under the dangerous conditions if the users are presently in control of their bodies. Sinestro claims the ship’s cell for prisoners (“the ‘Sciencell’”) is the only room still pressurized; Neuroxsis will have to jump back to his body inside the Sciencell to save itself.

Though Neuroxsis does jump back to his body, Sinestro later reveals he “must have forgot [he] compromised the chamber’s seal” when the escaped the cell himself earlier in the episode. Though he easily could have saved Neuroxsis while he was in a state of shock from being unable to breathe, he did not. As Neuroxsis dies, he says “Justice is served”, and explains what happened to another character, Hal Jordan, who did not witness the interaction:

Sinestro: "I must have damaged the venting system when I escaped. The criminal's body suffocated before his mind returned." (not true)

Hal Jordan: "Thaal...the Green Lantern code…"

Sinestro: "I didn't kill him, Jordan. I simply didn't save him...in time. A tragic accident. Perhaps it's for the best---you wouldn't want Neuroxsis getting loose on Oa, would you?"

Similar Antagonists

The pest-guests and Neuroxsis have some broad similarities: they exploit the protagonist(s)’ kindness, take over their body or bodies without consent and override their desires, and deliberately harm their targets’ body or bodies.

Thidwick’s houseguests “took over his body” in the sense of physically burdening him up to the point he had to carry 500 pounds while fleeing the Harvard Club hunters, plucking out 204 hairs from his head to make a nest (when there was no information saying it was the only option, at that), “outvoting” him from swimming to the other side of the lake, and leaving him in an area where there was no more food. The houseguests also mistreated Thidwick for months, judging by the passage of the seasons. Neuroxsis takes over crewmates’ bodies more directly: his species can explicitly “take over another’s body and will”, and the person so taken over does not recall what the mind-jumper has done with them afterward. Neuroxsis’s motives are more sinister: he jumps from person to person to get them to kill each other, ostensibly to get to Oa with no witnesses or suit its murderous desires. Unlike with the pest-guests, Neuroxsis's mistreatment lasts for hours, at most.

Though the pest-guests’ decisions would lead to Thidwick likely dying of starvation, Neuroxsis’s whole goal was killing everyone. Unlike for Neuroxsis, the pest-guests wouldn’t actually benefit from Thidwick’s death.

Morality of “Not Saving”

Both Thidwick and Sinestro choose to “not save” the antagonists, in situations where they believed the protagonists would die without intervention.

There’s some ambiguity between how much Thidwick understands of the hunters’ motives and their actual motives. They say they “must get his head for the Harvard Club wall”, not specifically “antlers”. If Thidwick can understand humans, perhaps he would have thought the Harvard Club Hunters only wanted to kill him for the wall, and the guests would be safe, if annoyed that Thidwick shed his antlers. However, they did take his head-less antlers (plus pest-guests) at the end. The line “His old horns today are where you knew they would be” suggests it can be expected the hunters would be interested in his head-less horns, even though they claimed to specifically want Thidwick’s head. If Thidwick thought there was a high chance the hunters would kill the pest-guests, he committed a murder-by-inaction, or wanted them dead and let the hunters do the dirty work.

Sinestro’s legal guilt is also ambiguous. It’s unclear whether Thaal didn’t remember his method of escape compromised the Sciencell’s integrity until later on, or whether he was outright lying when he said the Sciencecell would be safe. Either way, given how quickly he fixed the seal later, he clearly avoided easy methods of saving Neuroxsis’s life that would not put himself at risk of harm. He wanted the outcome of Neuroxsis dying: when Neurxosis is dead, he unnervingly says “Justice is served.” and tells Hal: “Perhaps it's for the best---you wouldn't want Neuroxsis getting loose on Oa, would you?"

What Does the Work Think?

Both Thidwick the Big-Hearted Moose and Prisoner of Sinestro have meta-messages framing characters’ actions.

At first, the narrative of Thidwick the Big-Hearted Moose suggests Thidwick is doing the best he can in this situation, accommodating his 'guests' and not being rude. However, the description later shifts from “guests” to “pests”, and the narrative calls Thidwick “poor Thidwick” (as in “pitiable”) and blames the pest-guests for Thidwick being trapped. The final line is most condemning: “His guests are still on them, all stuffed as they should be”. The book, therefore, shows a meta-message of the guests being terrible people who should be punished with death, rather than only illustrating their deeds and characters’ reactions to them.

In “Prisoner of Sinestro”, everyone knew before Neuroxsis’ death that he was one of the most wanted criminals in the galaxy, though no one knew for what at first. By the moral standards of the show and real life, that’s not enough information to determine whether Neuroxsis should be killed or “not saved”, After all, one of the crewmates, Razer, was originally a criminal in the hateful, cult-like Red Lanterns: he acted to kill thousands of people, his actions led to the death of one Green Lantern, and, like Neuroxsis, he was once held captive in a Spider Guild prison. While Neuroxsis is portrayed as scary when people figure out what’s happening, when Neuroxsis is dying, the treatment shifts. The musical cues while Sinestro lets Neuroxsis die, Neuroxsis’s weak flopping and pained breathing noises, and Sinestro’s unsettling dialogue conveys the feelings of “Sinestro is morally suspect” and “Sinestro letting him die is sad and scary”.

If one’s aware of outside materials, Sinestro’s actions are further cemented as immoral. In many Green Lantern works, Sinestro later founds the evil Sinestro Corps who gain their power by terrifying others. In contrast, Thidwick’s choice never leads to his descent into evil, no one criticizes his choices, and everything is perfectly happy for him in the end. (Unfortunately, the author cannot find the plot of All Aboard Thidwick, written by a different author and ostensibly a sequel of sorts.)

Who is More ‘Evil’?

If the ship (other than the Sciencecell) were still depressurized, even if Sinestro sealed the Sciencell up again and saved Neuroxsis’ life, Neuroxsis couldn’t mind-jump into another host without risking suffocation within seconds. He could have been safely contained, so Sinestro did not “not save” Neuroxsis as the only way to preserve his own life or the life of others.

One could argue Thidwick simultaneously distracting the hunters and lightening his load by throwing his horns to them was the only way Thidwick could survive. However, Thidwick’s smile before and during the part he throws his horns, and the insouciant attitude of his dialogue in that moment, make his thinking awfully suspicious. He isn’t troubled at all by the possible fate of his pest-guests when he ends up with his moose-friends at the other end of the lake, either.

Both situations might fall into the legal idea of “duty to rescue”. In the words of Wikipedia, it’s a concept that states “a party can be held liable for failing to come to the rescue of another party who could face potential injury or death without being rescued.” Who should be persecuted? Who is more corrupt, or unjustified in his actions: a Seuss moose or Sinestro?

#Analysis #Cross-Comparison #Morality #Ethics #Dr. Seuss #Thidwick #Green Lantern: The Animated Series #GLTAS #Sinestro #Thaal Sinestro #Consent #Moral Framing #Meta-Messages #Neuroxsis

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milliondollarbaby87 · 4 years ago

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From Gotham’s White Knight to Two-Face

“You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain”

This was something uttered by the new Gotham district attorney not long after he had begun to get involved with the true low life and scum of the city. Predicting his very own future something that he probably wouldn’t have even believed himself. Happy with his life and how everything just seemed to be falling into place for his professional and personal life. Although his turn to become the villain would not be well known and his death was used to highlight the good side and not the monster that he had become. Rachel’s death pushed him to a very dark place very quickly, going from the incredible hero making such a difference to then going about avenging her death with the traitors within the police force to the mob and more importantly to The Joker.

I have watched The Dark Knight many times now and on a recent cinema trip to eventually witness it in all the IMAX glory it got me thinking about Harvey Dent. Thinking about how we don’t really talk about him that much when discussing The Dark Knight. I mean we all know why because Heath Ledger’s Joker is utterly breathtaking and scene stealing. But that is not meant to take away anything from Aaron Eckhart and the marvellous performance he puts in as Harvey Dent and then later Two-Face. I would even go as far saying it is one of the most impressive turns from good to evil as a character within Nolan’s trilogy. While some characters are walking a fine line between the good side of them and the bad side of them. Dent completely goes from one extreme to the other in dramatic fashion.

Batman highlights to Jim Gordon that Dent was the very best of them and that was the reason why The Joker wanted to bring him down. The toughest target and to prove the point that everyone could be corrupted and changed if you managed to push them far enough. Obviously Dent had no idea that Bruce Wayne was Batman, so the link with Rachel was rather awkward for Wayne. Immediately Dent wanted to get to meet Batman and when the press conference is called he did not actually want the man behind the mask to step forward. Sacrificing himself in hope that Batman would indeed to the right thing in saving him.

A small joke made by Rachel about how terrified Harvey was of the trust fund brigade, but this was very interesting to see unfold when he could not cope with Bruce Wayne and his pals. The fundraiser that was thrown in his honour was something that he did not really want to do or attend. Which shows his character in different situations as he was quite happy going up against the mob and criminals of Gotham even having a gun pointed at him in court not effecting him as much as the rich socialites of the city.

The panic of trying to free himself from being tied up whilst also talking to his love Rachel was never going to end well. A very cruel technique used as they both left with people they trusted and woke up tied up, with a timer and being able to speak to each other. Having to try and reassure the other that everything was going to be ok. That was far from the truth as Batman and Gordon attempted to get the locations of the pair. Falling into oil drums and being stuck on the floor with the oil, mixed with fire was never going to be a good combination, especially as he also had to say goodbye to Rachel.

The build up to seeing him physically injured from the incident was rather impressive, as we see that his nickname given when he was working internal affairs was about to become very true. He really had become Two-Faced. But while visually we can see he has changed the important thing to really focus on is that as a person his spirit was well and truly broken. So much so that he would never be the same again, especially when it comes to the choices he makes when seeking revenge. I also feel it is possible that his new outlook on life links with how he looks, so with his features being destroyed by the oil people will expect him to be a monster.

We instantly see him become the villain when waking up with his face melted off basically, then seeing his coin on the bedside table knowing that Rachel was not saved. She had his double headed coin, something that she did not realise to begin with when he loved leaving things to chance. Now though the coin would also become a symbol of his new dark side, one side of the coin had been burnt. This was one of his trademarks of leaving things to chance, although in his lighter days he always said heads for what he wanted the outcome to be knowing that was the only option. Now it would become a sinister game and first used with none other than The Joker, something he certainly likes very much!

In that very sense The Joker had already won, he took Gotham’s real hero with a face and proud to represent and be changing the city, not needing a mask like Batman and destroyed everything about him. Taking away someone you love being the worst possible thing to happen. That is what he cannot deal with at all, after the encounter with The Joker and managing to escape the hospital before it was blown up he sets on his way to find the people responsible and involved in Rachel’s death. Picking them off one by one and letting the coin decide, as soon as he makes the first kill it is sure that he will never be the white knight again.

The turning on Jim Gordon and forcing him to lie to his family, holding his young son at gun point. That really is one very dark turn right? Especially when Batman seems to take forever to arrive. Anyway the final scene and moments with Dent really show that he had become the evil monster, the villain that he predicted right at the start of the film. Although Batman was not going to allow the world to know about Harvey Dent becoming the villain, he was symbol in a different way to the dark knight and everyone just needed to continue the good work he started.

The Dark Knight: The Rise and Fall of Harvey Dent From Gotham’s White Knight to Two-Face “You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain”

#Aaron Eckhart #Batman #Bruce Wayne #Christian Bale #Christopher Nolan #Gary Oldman #Gotham City #Harvey Dent #Heath Ledger #Maggie Gyllenhaal #The Dark Knight #The Dark Knight Trilogy #The Joker #Trilogy #Two Face

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looselucy · 5 years ago

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The Broken Brother

My attempts at sleep had been fruitless, barely able to cram in a few uninterrupted hours of slumber because I was utterly unable to take my mind off Harry and his brother.

When the sun shone bright enough, I stopped even trying, admitting defeat and sulking out of bed. I headed to the kitchen and made myself a coffee, checking my phone every few minutes in the hope Harry had gotten in touch with me just to update me, let me know he was safe and that I didn’t need to worry. It likely wouldn’t have completely set my anxieties at rest, but it was bound to be better than how I was feeling then. I picked up my phone as soon as I was done making my drink, yawning as I called Louis and waited for him to answer the phone. “Morning, Alf! This is early for you? You ever seen this time of day before?” He seemed confused. “You usually wake up and fall out of bed and land straight in work.” Louis was so good at making me smile. He’d said a matter words and he didn’t even know that I needed cheering up, but it was such a natural thing. “Yeah, and that’s how I like it!” I giggled timidly. “I’m just calling to let you know I’m not gunna open up shop today.” “What? How come?” “I’ve not really slept. I dunno why, I just couldn’t get to sleep and I’m so tired. I think I’d just crash, so have yourself an impromptu day off.” “Are you sure? I can go in and run it myself if you need me to, it’s no worries.” “Thank you, but it’s okay. I know Libby is off work today too, so I’ll let you both make the most of that.” “Do you need me to bring you anything? Some kinda drug to knock you out?” “That’s okay, m’gunna try and sleep without the aid of drugs.” “That’s usually the best way.” “Yeah.” I chuckled. “Alright, wish me luck.” “Good luck! Get some kip.” “I’ll try. Speak soon.” “Bye, Alf!” After hanging up the call, I kept my phone in my hand, considering ringing Harry myself but I didn’t want to intrude or force myself back into the situation too early, before they’d had a real chance to talk and work through things as much as they could. I didn’t trust his brother, but there had to be a reason he’d shown up. There had to be a reason he wanted to see Harry. Besides, I didn’t think it was even likely Harry would be awake unless he had struggled to sleep in the way I had, which seemed likely, but if he’d been lucky enough to get some rest I didn’t want to be the one to wake him, not after such a chaotic night. As desperate as I felt, I knew I had to wait. Feeling a little lost, I sat myself down on my sofa, clutching my drink close to me like it was the only comfort I could find in those moments. I looked down to my right hand, glancing over the bruises that had formed on my knuckles, hating thinking about the reality of our situation. The fact it was his brother who’d attacked me on my birthday was fucking with my head; I wanted Harry and him to figure something out but I didn’t want that boy to be in my life at all. I didn’t want to lose Harry, yet I couldn’t grasp how things might be if they were really mending their bond. It seemed to me that there wasn’t a good outcome, something would always feel wrong no matter what. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, before there was a knock on my door. I knew it was Harry. I put my drink down and ran to the door, opening it to him as quickly as I possibly could. Even seeing him made me want to cry. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink, like he was hardly able to carry his own weight. There was a rather heavy bruise beneath his left eye which was made all the uglier by how swollen and red both eyes were, proof of his upset. He looked so deflated, defeated. I stared up to him, and it was like he couldn’t even look back at me, his eyes down on the ground, his whole body weak. “He didn’t wanna fix anything.” He eventually mumbled. “He didn’t wanna change. He didn’t wanna be a family again. He… He just wanted to steal from me.” “What?” “He came for money.” His bottom lip trembled, tears building. “He took my paintings, he just wanted money. I trusted him and he…” “Oh Harry,” I couldn’t help but cry for him. “I’m so sorry.” The second he broke, I practically jumped up to throw my arms around him, standing on my tiptoes to hold him as tightly as I possibly could. He wrapped his arms around me, hiding his face in the crook of my neck, letting it all out. My heart literally ached for him. He’d gone against his better judgement and given Jack a chance, an opportunity to prove himself and for the two of them to build something; to try again and be a family, which was something I knew Harry craved terribly, something he’d wanted since the very second they lost their father. His brother had totally abused Harry’s trust and kindness just to hurt him even more. I hadn’t believed that he would’ve been able to cause any more damage than he already had, but clearly I was wrong. Harry couldn’t contain himself, unleashing every shred of his sorrow against my skin, gripping onto me like he might collapse without my aid. I ran my fingers through his hair, my empathy so vicious I was barely able to breathe. “I’m so sorry.” I sniffled. “I’m sorry he did that to you, you don’t deserve that.” “I just wanted to fix it. I just wanted my brother back.” He wept. “I know you did, I’m so sorry.” It was as though I had hold of Harry’s entire weight, keeping him on his feet as he shattered against my body. He deserved so much more than he’d ever received. He’d been truly deprived of the sort of happiness he deserved and it pained me to think of him doing so well over the past few months only for his brother to appear and purposefully devastate the progress he’d made. “You don’t need someone like that in your life, Harry. You tried, and that’s more than most would’ve done after what he did.” Suddenly, he wrenched himself away from me in a split second, turning to slam the door shut with belligerent force, then pacing around my flat with his fists gripped down at his side. I was motionless as I watched him, the way he looked like he was going to punch something, like every inwards breath was a build up to something sinister. “Harry, please calm down. It’s okay!” “IT’S NOT OKAY, FEE! NONE OF THIS IS OKAY!” “M’sorry, I just-” I didn’t know how to handle him, what to say. There was no way I’d ever be able to even come close to understanding how he felt, so the simple fact of his brother clearly bringing nothing but malice into his life was not enough; the emotions that Harry had tied to Jack were far more complicated. And yet I wanted him to see it in black and white, even if it was temporarily in order to see him through this pain. “Has he gone?” I asked, and he nodded. “Good, then fuck him. You’re better off without him!” “But it’s my fault.” He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to me. “It’s my fucking fault because of what I did, that’s why he came back. It was all to get to me after what I did.” “You don’t deserve that, I promise. It’s not your fault.” “I made everything worse. I fucked everything up. I made him like that, I know it. He was bad before but now he’s… I’m so sorry, Fee.” “For what?” “For what he did to you!” “That’s not yours to apologise for.” I tried to approach him. “Listen to me! It’s not your fault!” “IT’S ALL MY FUCKING FAULT, ALF! ALL OF IT!” He screamed. “It’s my fault he’s like this, because instead of helping him and understanding him, I attacked him. It… It’s my fault he was here last year. He came looking for me and didn’t find me, so he…” I became speechless and sobered at the realisation of what he was doing, the way his mind was bending things and distorting them to make him feel guilt over what Jack had done to me when it was absolutely nothing to do with him, no matter what he thought. My mouth dropped open. “If it wasn’t for me-” “Don’t you dare.” I shook my head, voice quivering. “Don’t you dare twist this and feel badly about what happened.” “But-” “NO! Harry, you can’t keep blaming yourself for things that are completely out of your control!” “I just feel like I fuck everything up.” He dropped down onto the sofa and dropped his head in his hands. “I hate that you’re involved in this. I hate that he did that to you. I’m sorry.” “Don’t do this. I won’t fucking listen to it.” Being wound up was the last thing I wanted, but I couldn’t simply stand there and let him hate himself when the liability was not his to hold. “None of this is your fault. You have to accept that. I’m begging you, Harry.” He just about nodded, unconvincing but enough, still hiding his face and crying into his shaking hands. I hoped those false notions of culpability wouldn’t withstand or breed in his mind, because I was sure he must have learnt by that point that the actions and choices of others, especially his brother, were nothing to do with him and they certainly weren’t a moral reflection of who he was or the person he’d become. “I’m so tired.” He whispered weakly. “M’just so, so tired.” I approached him, crouching myself down right ahead of him and reaching for his hand, contorting his gripped fist so I could slot my fingers between his and soften the energy emitting from his frame, my other hand reaching for his cheek, looking up to him. “Let’s go to bed.” I spoke softly. “C’mon. I might actually be able to sleep now you’re here.” He looked up to stare into my eyes. “You couldn’t sleep?” “I was worried about you.” As quickly as he’d raised his head, he dropped it, twisting our hands so he could look down to the bruises I’d acquired when I’d hit Jack. “Fuck.” He gripped his eyes close like the sight had literally stung him. “I’m sorry.” “Harry, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for. You have to stop apologising.” “He… He’s got in my head.” He pulled at his hair. “He’s got right in my fucking head. I dunno why I let him in. I dunno why I didn’t ring the police as soon as I found out what he did to you because now he’s right in my fucking head and I don’t know what to do.” “You need to sleep.” Was all I could think to say. “Please come to bed with me. You don’t have to process this right now. You need to get some sleep.” I’d never seen someone’s exhaustion be quite so apparent, and though I knew sleep wouldn’t extinguish that entirely, it was the best option we had available to us then. Shakily, we both got back up to our feet, keeping our hands together as we moved from one room to the other and only detaching so he could undress himself. I got into bed, waiting with the sheets lifted high until he was ready to join me, where I had my arms open ready to take him in and keep him close. He came to me, rested his head on my chest and tucked his body right against mine. I held his head in place, caressed my fingers through his hair, kissing at the top of his head, keeping as much contact as I could with him to prove that he wasn’t alone, that I wasn’t angry, that he didn’t need to feel so terribly. I just wanted to be there for him. “It’s okay.” My whisper worked as a lullaby. “I’m here, it’s okay.” It didn’t take long for him to disappear into a deep sleep, and all it took was the sound of his heavy, peaceful breathing to let me join him.

It was the middle of the afternoon by the time my eyes opened once again, blinking back to life, not necessarily feeling any better than I had. Especially when I noticed that Harry was already up, dressing himself as quietly as he could. I watched him for a while, sat at the bottom of my bed pulling his top on before dropping his head into his hands again, his shoulders hunched and his head still hectic with thoughts. I got this awful impression that he had wanted to leave without waking me. “Hi.” My voice was frail but certainly loud enough that he would hear me, and yet he didn’t reply. “You sleep okay?” “Mm.” There was a rather immediate inimical energy in the room that I couldn’t understand. I knew he was hurting, that much had been clear since the second we heard the glass shatter, but it felt different to that somehow. I got out from beneath the duvet, crawling to the bottom of the bed and sitting just behind him, leaning to kiss his shoulder, hoping he’d ease up. He didn’t. “You wanna talk?” I asked. “No. No, I wanna go home.” “Do you want-” “I wanna be on my own.” He grumbled, getting to his feet. “Oh.” I was shuddering. “Okay.” I quickly questioned how long he’d actually been awake, overthinking and doing more damage. Because that was another good thing that had accompanied Harry finally finding the strength to open up and start talking about himself, his life, his sorrow. When he dealt with it on his own, he usually found a way of hating himself, reaching conclusions that weren’t healthy for his head. Years of being on his own had brought him to this state of mind where he was always the only person there to blame. But when he spoke, when he shared what he was feeling and thinking, he gained that second perspective that he truly needed. He could stop beating himself up and thinking the worst and gain the reassurance he so desperately needed. So as much as I wanted to let him go, give him his alone time if that’s what he desired, something was telling me I needed to push a bit harder. “Harry, what’s going on?” “Nothing.” “It doesn’t seem like nothing.” “I’m allowed to want some alone time, Alfie.” “I’m not saying you’re not, but-” “Then what’s the problem?” “This is the problem, Harry!” I yelped. “We don’t do this. I know this is a shit situation, I know this is fucked up, but please don’t turn away from me again. Don’t push me out.” For months he’d been doing so much better, slowly learning to share and be himself with no shame, but it seemed to me his brother and what had happened was forcing Harry back into his shell, one that had confined and harmed him for years. I could tell it was happening because I’d been the one to see the change in him, witness him switch from one state to the next. I knew exactly what it looked like when Harry spurned care and support, I was all too familiar with it. I wanted to call it out straight away, let him know I could see what he was doing and that I was rejecting it. What was different this time around compared to how it had been the year before was the fact that Harry was extremely aware of just how well I knew him, how easily I could read him and work out what was happening in his head. He couldn’t step away from what I was saying in the way he could before, we were too close for that. He looked down to me, taking a few moments to accept my words, sighing and then nodding. “Sorry.” He grumbled. “I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make you feel like I’m pushing you out, but I…” “Tell me how to help and I will.” “But I don’t think you can, that’s the thing.” He exhaled wearily, sitting himself back down beside me. “I wish you could but… I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do to… make this better. I just have to accept it.” I placed my hand against the back of his neck, my fingertips playing with the tufts of his hair, so happy that he’d placed himself beside me again, how he closed his eyes as a reaction to the contact I’d made, like my touch was a rare remedy he’d been searching for. “It’s okay to hate this and struggle with it.” I told him. “Things are going to be hard for a while, but then you’ll move on. You’ll learn and you’ll reflect and be better, like you always do. That’s what you’ve always done.” “Better?” He rejected the word, dismayed at the mere implication. “I don’t feel it.” “We all have shit times and… we can all act in ways that we maybe shouldn’t, that’s normal. But it doesn’t define you. The stuff that defines you is so much more than that. You’re so caring and thoughtful and-” “I still let him in.” He turned his head to me. “Even knowing everything he did. To me. My mum. Everything he did to you. I still let him in. What kinda fucking person am I?” “A good one.” We both had tears in our eyes as I tightened my touch at the back of his neck and rested my forehead against his. “You’re so kind. I wish you could forgive yourself in the way you do other people. You’re so good and wonderful and-” “Is that really how you see me?” “I can’t word how I see you, Harry.” He twisted his body, grabbed at my waist and heaved me from my spot round to his front so that I was straddling his waist, pushing his lips against mine with such vehement strength it was like I couldn’t completely calculate what had just happened, the way he’d moved my body, everything heady and unclear. For too long he’d kept himself in a cage, reaching desperately through the bars of his sins to tease his fingertips with the hope of happiness, a freedom from certain corners of himself and his history. I still believed that Rosebury was his redemption, his chance to break the barriers that he’d built when he was a child and finally experience a life that was built around love and constructive growth rather than distress and guilt. I wouldn’t let that be tainted. I grabbed at his face and kissed him with every ounce of energy I had, my whole body and soul totally invested in every move of my mouth, every flick of my tongue. His touch was heavy, one hand pressing at the back of my head so I couldn’t distance from him, not that I wanted to. The other stayed on my waist, coaxing my body closer. I could feel his tears against my hands, feel how his lips were still quivering, so minute and yet so obvious. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He gasped into our kiss. It was clear that his thoughts were disordered, perplexing him. He was dismissive one minute and passionate the next, kissing me and holding me like he had no desire to ever leave my side. It had been quite some times since I’d last been so anxious to get into his head and read his mind, figure out his thoughts and truly understand how he was feeling. It wasn’t necessarily that I felt he was keeping anything from me, but more that I believed his head was currently such a divided and devastated place that he was struggling to systematise it. All I could do was prove to him that I wasn’t angry with him for choosing to forgive his brother and try to help him; it would have been hypocritical of me to feel that way given how that was one of my favourite characteristics of his. I needed to prove to him that he had no reason to hate himself; that every action he’d taken was done through love and forgiveness, this idea and moving onwards and upwards and everyone’s lives improving in the process. That was all I could do. I had to ease the kiss eventually, though it seemed he wanted nothing more than to keep his lips with mine, be purely physical for a while so he could ignore everything else. I left a few chaste kisses against his beautiful lips before I pulled away from him, lightly stroking my thumb across the bruise below his eye. “Does it hurt?” I asked quietly. “No.” “Are you sure?” “It’s fine. But my hand-” Before he could even finish talking I’d grabbed hold of his hand and brought it up towards my eyes so I could examine the injury. The bruises on my knuckles were nothing compared to the ones on his. They were almost black, crawling down his fingers and edging towards the scars and cuts on his hands that were finally starting to heal fully. He must have hit Jack after I’d left, there was no other explanation for them. I took a deep breath in, woozy over the sight. “Let me go get a bandage for you.” I got to my feet, scuttling off into the bathroom. As much as he deserved it, I didn’t like the thought of Harry hitting Jack. It was just the fact it was his brother. I couldn’t even comprehend the hatred. Their relationship should’ve never ended up being that way. And I knew that he would have hit him for my benefit. I returned a few seconds later to see him looking off to nothing, utterly lifeless, eyes fixed on one spot but blank, like they’d glazed over. I sat beside him, took his hand in mine and got to work, trying to keep my eyes on the bandages but I kept glancing up to his profile, his heartbreak unmistakeable. I’d expected physical damage from his brother, but I hadn’t quite been able to anticipate the gross amount of mental damage he was able to inflict in just a few hours. “Is that too tight?” “It’s fine.” He answered, finally tearing his eyes from that vacant spot to look down to his hand once it was done. “Thank you.” “It’s okay.” “Can I return the favour?” He was already taking the roll out of my hand before I’d nodded, hovering my hand before him so he could cover the bruising. We sat quiet for some time as he wrapped my hand up as carefully as he possibly could, my stomach still twisting, constantly feeling as though I was on the verge of tears. “It was good, by the way.” He spoke. “Huh?” I looked from my hand to him. “That punch.” He tilted his head upwards, smiled softly. “You did me proud.” I dropped my eyes again, my cheeks swelling and flushing. It felt good that he’d even been able to say that at all, and weirdly I liked the thought of him being proud of me for the way I’d hit his brother like that. Something had come over me, this animal instinct to protect him. I didn’t think being that way would ever be a natural instinct of mine, in fact I would have previously said the exact opposite. It felt different when it came to him. “We make a good team.” I said. I watched his face, seeing the smile my words had created lift and then slowly fade away. I thanked him once the bandage was in place, stretching my fingers as though that would help me accustom to the feeling. Harry kept hold of my hand, and though the bruises were hidden now it was as though he could see right through the dressing, focussing in and zoning out. Excluding the times where he’d told me his darkest secrets, his most agonising truths, I felt like I’d been lucky enough to see Harry in a good state of mind a lot of the time. Being in our village was good for him and that had been obvious since the earliest days. He’d been happy and settled and growing. Seeing him then, I imagined that was how he’d been before he came to us. Seeing him so down was largely unfamiliar to me, but I could see that it wasn’t unfamiliar to him. I hoped the progress he’d made was the type that couldn’t be lost, that in however many hours or days or weeks he’d remember where he was and how we all made him feel. He wouldn’t trap himself in this gloom, and instead he’d stumble back to the light, focus on his future rather than his past. I hoped. “Please stay.” I whispered, my gut feeling telling me he wouldn’t. “I need some time.” He answered calmly and honestly. “It’s not you, Fee-Fee. You’re amazing, but… He’s said some stuff that I really need to think about, and I need to do it on my own. I don’t wanna drag you into this any more than I already have.” “But I wanna be involved. I wanna help.” “I know you do, but… This is mine to handle. I need to figure out… what to do. I dunno if I should… try to see my mum, or if I should drop it completely. I can’t stop thinking that… I’m clinging onto something here, and I dunno if it’s right.” My brows were furrowed, nodding but tentative over his choice of words. I understood it must have been hard for him that he’d never heard back from his mum, who was reason he was in Rosebury in the first place, but I struggled hearing him saying that being there was him clinging onto something. I didn’t want to question him. I didn’t want to get my back up and make him feel any worse, that was the last thing I wanted. So I didn’t say anything about it. I let him speak. I let him say what he needed to say. “I wanna clear my head, get away for a bit.” “Away from Rosebury?” “Maybe, m’not sure. I need to think about what I want.” He told me, and I had to appreciate how upfront he was being with me. “I need to think about… everything.” “What’s got to you the most?” I asked, and he looked away from me. “What’s he said that’s really got in your head? There must be something I can help with.” I was willing to let him distance, get some space and filter through his thoughts, as long as I’d let him know that I was there for him in any way he wanted me to be. He looked like he didn’t have a clue how to answer me, looking down to the ground and breathing uneasily, his tongue curving to run across the top row of his teeth. “I…” He tried. “It’s a few things. I… I dunno.” “Is it to do with your mum?” “Mm. I… Yeah. I just… I miss her so much, but I don’t wanna interrupt her life, y’know? I wanna see her and I wanna say I’m sorry, but I need to accept that fact that… she probably doesn’t want me around. I dunno if our family is beyond that now, I don’t… I don’t know. This is why I need to think. I need time. I need to stop waiting around when I don’t even know what I’m waiting for.” He was stuck between wanting to go and find her or forgetting it all completely, accepting that things could not progress, improve or be bettered. I hoped he’d choose the first option and seek her once again, but after everything they’d been through and how terribly things had gone with his brother, I would have understood if he went with the second choice. We sat in silence for a while, and though I hated the thought of him disappearing again and going off to handle this alone, he seemed so set on it, unsure of the outcome but absolutely sure of the method. “If that’s what you think is right then… okay.” I accepted. “I hope you… figure this out.” “I hope so too.” “I just wish you felt like you could do that here with me.” He didn’t have any words of comfort for me, but I wasn’t sure anything he could have said would’ve had the ability to put my mind at ease. I was having to accept the fact that for a while there wouldn’t be ease or certainty, there was too much for him to consider. Too much had happened for it to be simple. This wasn’t water under the bridge, this was high tides caused by a storm that was tearing the bridge down. He placed his forehead against mine, brought his hand up to pinch lightly at the back of my neck. “This is something I know I’ve gotta do on my own.” He was quiet, a goodbye in his eyes that he couldn’t word correctly. “I’m… I’m sorry.” I nodded, feeling less comfortable by the second, knowing how good he was at packing up and disappearing and not reaching out. I wondered if he felt he was doing me a favour by distancing because I was now directly involved in a way I hadn’t been before. I wondered if he thought me helping would do more harm than good because of how awfully I’d handled the way his brother attacked me. I looked into his eyes, aching over the thought of him leaving, vanishing for an indefinite length of time once again. But more than anything, I really wanted to know exactly what that Jack had said to him. I really fucking wanted to know.

#Happy Bloody Sunday #happy reading #HBS35 #1dff

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