#Silent boy with a hidden killer instinct | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fruggo · 3 years ago

Note

I’m not gonna lie this would be the first time I requested something so if I do something wrong I’m really sorry,

Can I request Quentin, Leon, Steve, and Frank meeting a female reader who, before the entity took her, had already faced off her own killer?

And this made her kinda tough? Like she knows what she’s doing

oh my gosh thank you so much!! this is my first ever request to fulfill so we’re in this together :DD seriously i really appreciate you!

i decided to do a headcanon kind of format for this, i hope that’s okay! also these are my absolute favorite boys aaahhh this is so fun for a first request

the boys x tough f!reader (part 1) (part 2)

warnings: swearing, reader kicks frank in the shins

word count: ~700-1k each (sorry if it’s too long…i kind of got really excited and uhhh maybe i got carried away,, yeah. sorry)

(also i'll be honest quentin's is not my best. that was the one that got eaten by the tumblr abyss and i had to write all over again, and it just didn't come out the same way that i wanted it to at first :( i did the other boys hoping i'd get some inspiration to fix it afterwards, but i got kind of stuck. so it's not my favorite, but i hope you like it okay! i want to write better stuff for quentin in the future, he is my favorite sleepy boy <3)

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

when you arrived in the realm, everyone thought you would be the same as the others—frightened, confused, and overwhelmed. but you took this nightmarish challenge in stride, adapting to your surroundings quickly and learning far faster than anybody else had.

your past experiences had made you independent and sometimes distrustful, so once you had the gist of things, you didn’t need (or want) anybody to tell you what to do. and nobody was inclined to, either—your instincts naturally told you what to do and when.

the first time you met quentin was a little awkward, i wont lie. you were wary of speaking to the other survivors; you weren’t going to let yourself get hurt again.

it was the beginning of a trial. the nurse’s fatigued shrills could be heard all the way from the edge of the wrecker’s yard, but you immediately started work on a generator, unafraid. a few minutes passed, when soft footsteps indicated someone’s approach. it was quentin—he started to work on the wires without hesitation.

you were a little surprised, only because the other survivors usually left you to your own devices. you got the impression that maybe they were intimidated by you, which you didn’t particularly mind. but you wouldn’t particularly mind some company now and then, either.

it was comfortably silent for a while, before quentin spoke up.

“what’s your name?” he asked, gaze still focused on the wires.

hesitating a little, you told him. then you said, “and you’re quentin, right?” you already knew most everybody’s name just from observation.

“that i am,” he replied.

then it was quiet for a while.

very quiet.

well, what were you supposed to say now?

the silence was deafening and very, very uncomfortable to you. normally you were okay with a quiet atmosphere, but it was the kind of silence that buzzed in your ears, chewed at your stomach, filled the area as if it were something solid. man, what were you supposed to say—

it was then that you realized poor quentin had fallen asleep, his face smooshed onto the generator. his cheek was now covered in grease and grime.

it made you smile—only a little. you finished repairing the generator on your own, causing quentin to wake with a start and bang his head on the pole protruding from the machine. he swore like a sailor until he realized where he was, smiling sheepishly.

“sorry, i wanted you to have your nap. you looked really tired,” you said. you also couldn’t stop admiring the dark grease on his face—it was really quite funny. and no, you weren’t going to say anything about it. it could stay there a little longer.

you spent the rest of the trial running the nurse around the whole wrecker’s yard, only suffering one injury until the end. quentin had no idea how you had been here for such little time and already knew how to outplay the nurse, one of the most difficult killers to survive against. he still didn’t know how to do it well himself, so he was thankful for you.

however, once the exit gates were opened, you found yourself in a bad spot. the nurse had caught you in an empty clearing with nowhere to hide or predict her moves, and she downed you instantly. quentin cringed hearing your agonized scream as you were hooked.

there was no way you were dying on his watch. once he was sure the nurse was gone, he gently lifted you from the hook, pulling out his medical kit to begin patching up your shoulder.

despite the pain, you had enough energy to smile at him and say, “thanks, nap boy.”

quentin feigned offense with a wry grin, pulling out some gauze. “is that all i’m going to be to you? nap boy?”

you hummed, pretending to be deep in thought. “maybe you won’t be if you get me out of here.”

“that won’t be a problem," he smiled, quirking an eyebrow.

“show me the gates and then we’ll talk, nap boy.”

from then on, quentin became your go-to source for supplies and general comfort. you weren't scared of this place, but it was nice to know you had somebody who would really be there for you.

he would often fall asleep on your shoulder at the campfire--he really was a nap boy, and you would never let him live that down.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐘

leon could not tear his eyes away from you the first time you arrived in the realm. your presence was strong; he could tell you weren’t one to back away from a fight.

most of the survivors had been (rightly) confused and disoriented when they popped into the realm, but you tried to accept it quickly. you didn’t like it, in fact all you wanted was just to go home, but you came to terms with it and jumped into trials headfirst like an insane person.

that was the courageous part about you—maybe you were scared, but you did scary shit anyways. in fact, you did scary shit to spite the fear, to prove to yourself that you were strong enough to overcome it.

and leon couldn’t lie, that was cool as hell.

you had tunnel vision and didn’t pay much notice to the other survivors; you were too focused on learning about this place and getting out of trials. having gone through some real shit, being here hardly came as a surprise to you. if you were going to be here forever, what was the point in mourning? might as well just accept it and try your hardest to survive. maybe someday this sick game would end, but for now, you were prepared to fight for your life and that’s all you could really focus on.

your first trial was not the best. even though you were resourceful, you didn’t know what the objective was yet, so you weren’t sure where to start other than analyzing your surroundings. luckily for you, leon kennedy was one of your teammates.

after being downed immediately by bubba’s chainsaw and tossed onto a hook, you were amazingly resilient to the pain. leon was the one to lift you from the hook, and he took out his medkit to help patch your wound, but you flinched away from him before he could touch you.

he was puzzled. “what’s wrong?” he asked. he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he wanted to help you.

you hesitated and looked him over before mumbling, “i’m fine.” and you tried to stand on your own, beginning to limp away. you didn’t want or need anyone’s help.

leon sighed, following after you. “let me help, that must hurt a lot.”

“i told you, cop, i’m fine. i don’t want your help, okay?”

leon opened his mouth to insist, but decided against it. if you didn’t want his help, then he shouldn’t butt in. that wouldn’t keep him from watching over you, though.

but then leon called after you (perhaps a little smugly), “do you even know what you’re supposed to do?”

begrudgingly, you stopped walking. no, you didn’t know what to do. “i’ll figure it out,” you said over your shoulder. and you would; you had been through enough to survive any situation thrown at you.

but maybe one pointer couldn’t hurt.

“do a generator,” he told you, giving you a cheeky grin when you turned around to look at him. he was lucky he was cute.

the first part of the trial had been rough, but after that first hook you were doing a lot better. you managed to find your own medkit from a chest, and you learned how to fix a few generators. you found it came pretty naturally, and were satisfied that you hadn’t needed anyone’s help (except leon’s. but you didn’t have to admit that yet). when the killer came near, you skillfully avoided him and stayed hidden as much as you could.

you were also pretending that you didn't notice leon hovering near you. he was not very good at being subtle; he was obviously trying to make sure you didn't get hurt. it was cute. you didn't want to ruin his fun, so you didn't say anything about it.

it wasn’t long before the gates were powered and in the process of being opened. you saw a red glowing light in the distance, and assumed that must be your destination. you put all of your remaining energy into sprinting to the exit, adrenaline pumping through your body.

but then there was a heartbeat. a heartbeat so loud it filled your head, splitting your concentration. it wasn’t your own heartbeat--it was the killer’s.

the sound of the cannibal’s chainsaw roared in your ears and pain tore through your body; you collapsed to the ground with a cry of agony. shit, that really hurt, and you weren't sure you could ever get used to it. eternity sure seemed a lot longer than you had first anticipated. would you really be here forever? doing this over and over?

biting your lip until it bled, you tried to crawl towards the gate, dragging the lower half of your body with much difficulty. it was no use, though--you hardly got anywhere, and you could already feel the killer picking you up. just like that, you were going to die? you had been so close..

but as you were being placed on bubba’s shoulder, you saw a flash of a police uniform and a blinding light, and before you knew it, you had been dropped to the ground, the exit gate looking awfully lovely and much more desirable than a meat hook. you gathered all of your strength and began limping forward, when suddenly you felt an arm firmly wrap around your waist and your own was placed around someone else’s shoulder.

leon. when you looked up at him, all he did was give you a calm smile, which you felt inclined to return. with him supporting you, the two of you made it safely to the exit and began the long traipse back to the campfire, where you would find yourself spending a lot of time together.

from then on, you always remained quite unfazed by the events of the entity’s realm—the only thing that ever made you feel weak was being around leon. he was just so cute :]

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍

you had never met someone so persistent in your life. from the moment the entity stole you here, steve harrington was after you, and there was next to nothing you could do about it. he sure was living up to his self-proclaimed role of babysitter.

you told him you were fine, that you didn’t need him following you around, but the asshole did it anyways.

“how cool do you think you are?” you asked him at some point, to which he simply shrugged with that stupid grin on his lips.

“i can take care of myself.” “i really don’t need you to baby me, steve.” “steve, if you don’t leave me alone i’m going to break your kneecaps.” these were all things that had come from your mouth multiple times recently. you were seriously thinking about that last one now.

you knew you could make it on your own, and you only wished he would give you a chance to prove that to him so he would leave you alone. but it was like he had attached himself to your hip, and for some reason the entity seemed to really enjoy putting you in trials with him. great.

he was a dumbass and a sweetheart, and you weren’t sure which one of those took higher priority. you knew he only meant well, but god, you wanted to be independent for once. why did he think he had to protect you so much? you arrived here after running for your fucking life, fighting off your long-time pursuer, and living in awful, ever-changing conditions. you had seen your closest friends die, right before your eyes. you didn’t need to be sheltered or coddled, but you couldn’t seem to make steve understand that, no matter how much you fought with him.

steve would literally throw himself in front of the killer for you. he clicked his flashlight in the killer’s face if they were after you, and he would swear and cuss until they chased him out of pure annoyance. it got him killed countless times, and you didn’t know whether to call him stupid or selfless. probably both.

eventually you decided to just copy him and see how it worked out. you weren’t scared, you had no reason to be. you wanted to show him you could be just as flashy as him.

as you arrived into a trial, steve right across from you (of course), you smiled to yourself. you had brought your best flashlight, and you were prepared to use it. the two of you began to work on a generator together, making light conversation as usual.

“if the killer comes here, hide. i’ll take him away.” “fuck you, steve harrington.” “sure, if you really want to.” “why don’t you ever leave me alone?” “it’s a mystery, isn’t it?” “i could punch you right now.” “but you won’t. i’m too good to look at.”

you know, the usual friendly stuff.

you purposefully connected the wrong wires, making the generator spark and sputter. “oops. oh no, the killer must be on their way,” you dead-panned. steve gave you an unamused look.

and indeed, only a few moments later, you heard the sound of the hillbilly and his chainsaw roaring in your direction. the two of you split up, and the killer’s weapon collided with the generator, making an awful screeching sound.

and that was when the chaos started.

steve began hollering and flicking his flashlight into the sky as usual, and after a moment’s hesitation, you did the same. steve looked at you in astonishment, pausing, but then he started again, even louder. you tried to outdo him.

“HEY BILLY! FUCK YOU!” you screamed, ignoring steve’s attempts to get you to stop. “COME AFTER ME, SHITHEAD!”

steve started actually yelling, just yelling, while you continued to swear meaninglessly. the poor hillbilly looked confused and overwhelmed, and eventually he couldn’t take the noise anymore--he just left, opting to find the other survivors while the two of you sorted out whatever it is you obviously had against each other.

it was dead silent now that the killer was gone, and you and steve were both out of breath. but as soon as you made eye contact, laughter bubbled up from your chest, causing you to collapse against the tree and slide to the ground. your voice was hoarse from all the screaming.

and then he was laughing too, stumbling over to plop down next to you, and your giggling started up a whole new round.

after the laughter died down, you stared at your hands, ignoring steve’s gaze on the side of your face until you couldn’t anymore.

“what?” you asked, finally looking at him. he was smiling all stupid again. “what?” you insisted, fighting off a grin of your own. you hated when he looked at you like that, because it made you want to smile back at him.

“nothing,” he said coyly, laughing again. you punched his shoulder playfully.

“c’mon harrington, when have you ever held your tongue before? spit it out.”

he nodded, that was true. so he said it. “i just like you, that’s all.”

oh. oh.

realization dawned upon your face. “is that why you always--”

“yes,” he interrupted you. “i thought it was obvious. man, you’re clueless sometimes.”

oh.

huh.

you guessed…maybe…steve harrington wasn’t that annoying. maybe.

𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍

to say you were feisty was an understatement. frank hated your guts at first because you were so good at evading him, which he would never admit. but the thing that made him really mad was that if he ever downed you, you would kick at him and try to trip him over, like actually bruise his shins. it hurt like hell.

this lead to his decision to constantly tunnel you, and he would laugh at you while you were on the hook, too. so you hated his guts just as much as he did yours. it was a mutual guts-hating situation.

your teammates always felt bad for you, but they also thought you were a badass and knew you could handle yourself. you hadn’t told anybody where you’d come from or what had happened to you, but they knew it was something interesting. there was a reason that nothing that happened here really got to you.

sometimes things escalated even further than shin-kicking. there was one time where frank had managed to grab the back of your shirt as you tried to vault a window, and as he pulled you closer to himself, you elbowed him in the neck and squirmed out of his grasp. while he stood stunned and lost for breath, you kicked the back of his locked knee so that he fell to the ground and bonked his forehead on the wall—the classic dead leg.

this was very funny to you.

not to him.

while you ran away, laughing to yourself, frank’s anger built and built. he was tired of letting you make a fool of him, and it was time to be serious about things.

he ignored you for the rest of the trial, forming a plan in his mind. there was something he needed to do after this, so he made sure to kill everybody else to please the entity—he couldn’t get caught up, it would derail his anger train. he also didn’t feel like getting kicked in the balls or some shit, so he let you out without a problem.

frank did some brooding at the ormond lodge before he was ready to go through with his plan. and his shins really, really hurt, so susie helped him ice them before he left.

the masked killer made his way to the survivor camp rather hastily. when he arrived, he saw you pacing around, deep in thought.

so he threw a rock at you.

it was just a pebble, really. maybe it could be considered a rather large pebble, but frank insisted in his mind that it was a pebble.

“ow, what the fuck!” you cursed, rubbing your sore shoulder and looking around to find the culprit. and then your eyes laid on him.

he looked so sultry standing there at the edge of the woods, arms crossed and mask smiling, you could almost laugh at him. he acted so serious, when really, he was just an angry and misbehaving twink.

you put on your best serious face, genuinely trying not to be amused by this, and strode over to the killer.

“what do you want?” you asked confidently, mirroring his body language and crossing your arms.

frank bristled at your approach, as if trying to make himself look bigger. he wished you were scared of him like everyone else, it would really make him feel better.

“i want a truce,” he said.

you almost burst into laughter at that. a truce? what the fuck for?

he said was willing to stop tunneling and camping you if you stopped beating the shit out of him with your sticky little hands. he didn’t say it like that, but you knew that was what he meant. you, a survivor, could beat up frank, a killer, and it upset him and his little ego :(

just to humor him, you agreed. and frank nodded.

“but,” you continued, raising your eyebrows, “you have to give me something else.”

he started to say “no, no way—“ but you interrupted him: “you’re asking me to stop fighting for myself and just give in when you catch me. i think i deserve something other than just not being tunnelled.”

frank glared at you under his mask, thankful that you couldn’t see. “okay. whatever. what do you want?”

“i want to see your face.” you thought this was a good choice, something you could lord over him forever. it was surely only a win for you. his face was something private, and you would be the only survivor to know.

of course you wanted to see his face, frank thought. everyone did; they wanted to find out if he was good-looking. which, according to him, he was. if you ever asked the other members of the legion, susie was the only one to actually respond. she felt obligated to compliment him as she was basically his sister. so she would say frank is handsome in a ruggedy, jess mariano kind of way. you wondered how she knew what gilmore girls was, since that came after her time, but susie would never give away her secret.

so with a sigh, frank agreed to let you see his face. he didn’t really care, all he wanted was to stop having bruises on his shins. it was kind of miserable, and the entity never did anything to help him.

when he said that you couldn’t do it here, and you asked why the fuck not, he said it was because some other survivor might see. you decided he had a fair point, so reluctantly you let him drag you all the way to ormond.

when he took off his mask, your first thought, whether you wanted it to be or not, was “wow! he really does look like jess mariano! but with tattoos! hot!”

you were lost for words. you didn’t really know what you were expecting, but you sure weren’t expecting him to be that attractive.

he could tell your thoughts from the look on your face.

this had been per your request, and you were planning on this being something you could hold over his head, but the situation had turned into something that he could hold over your head.

oh dear. frank morrison now held pretty boy privilege over you.

and soon you would find out that he was going to keep tunnelling you anyways.

listen i've been watching a lot of gilmore girls and i just get jess vibes from frank, except our boy is more of a twinky idk shdjfhsf i love this guy sm

#so many notes!!!! thank u!! :]#dbd x reader #dead by daylight x reader #dbd fanfic #dbd headcanons #frank morrison #frank morrison x reader #quentin smith #quentin smith x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #fruggo writes #dbd #dead by daylight #requests

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years ago

Text

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy

Summary: Spencer's gay. He joins the BAU and befriends the team, but it is 2003. It's a secret he has to keep. He just didn't expect it to be this hard.

Tags: gay!spencer, coming out, hurt/comfort, insecure!spencer, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, dad hotch, protective!hotch, protective!derek, childhood trauma TW: one instance of explicit homophobia, but it is referenced a lot, as is Spencer's internalised homophobia at the start of this fic. A shit ton of heteronormativity but tbh that's just canon lol

Pairing: Spencer Reid/OMC, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, The BAU Team & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Consider this my contribution to pride month 😌 I've waited so long to post it and I'm so glad I'm finally doing it because it's definitely one of my all time favourites <3 Gideon is here somewhere but just like with all my early season fics he's not really part of the plot I combined my moreid and gen taglists bc it was hard to know the audience for this, but just ignore it if you're not interested!

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn’t do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore. — richard siken, a primer for the small weird loves

Spencer has only told one person in his whole life.

His mother guessed. For as long as he can remember, she’s used gender neutral pronouns when talking about his future partner, read him all the gay literature she could find, promised him that he’s perfect just the way he is.

The trouble is that Spencer only believes her until the first grade, when Ryan Sampson shoves him over in the playground and calls him gay. His mom had only ever used that term in a sweet, loving way, taking care to associate such words with positivity, as long as his dad wasn’t around to hear. When that word comes out of Ryan Sampson’s mouth, it is not said with sweetness and love; it is said with venom, and Spencer learns quickly that his mom is wrong. He is not perfect just the way he is.

And so, he keeps it a secret. When his mom notices him getting uncomfortable at the mention of future partners, she stops bringing it up, though she refuses to give up the diverse education she provides for him outside of school. His dad tells him that one day he’ll be a strapping young man and marry a nice girl in a church, and Spencer nods along. He ignores the way his stomach turns with anxiety at the thought. Ignores the screaming match his parents have that night. Ignores the fact that it started because Diana chipped in with ‘or boy’.

He’s in high school by the time he’s twelve, and the only part he’s grateful for is the absence of pressure to get a girlfriend. His dad’s out of the picture now, and Spencer tries not to let himself think that maybe if he wasn’t like this he might have stayed. Diana’s so out of it most days that she doesn’t remember what she noticed about him when he was a child, only recalling the last few years of shoving himself so far back in the closet he can hardly see the door anymore.

It feels like he’s lost his last ally.

(He hates that a small part of him feels relieved she doesn’t remember; that he almost feels assured by the fact that the last person to know who he really is has forgotten. There is only this version of Spencer Reid now. No other exists.)

He makes the mistake during his second undergraduate degree. He’s just turned eighteen but he is already a doctor and, fortunately, this alienates him from most of his peers, but someone manages to slide past his defences. Ethan Miller is twenty, in the second year of his (first) undergraduate degree in Chemical Engineering, and he’s nice. Spencer doesn’t have a lot of experience with friendship, but they get on well and Ethan makes him laugh. For the first time, he feels comfortable in the presence of anyone other than his mother.

They slip into an easy friendship: waiting for each other after class — Spencer back in the undergraduate buildings now he has his first PhD under his belt — and going out for ice cream and pizza and Thai food. Ethan goes to parties while Spencer studies, and then they reconvene to watch Doctor Who and play cards.

For almost a year, Spencer keeps his secret carefully locked up, hidden behind the mask he’s perfected after so many years. Even though he’s eighteen, nearly nineteen now, he doesn’t try and explore that side of himself. No, that’s far too risky. He doesn’t try and pretend any other way either, he just stays silent and lets people’s assumptions lie for him, but he can’t help the longing that claws up his throat when he locks eyes with a passing guy on campus. One time, he’d seen two men kiss on a bench in the city, and he’d run back to his dorm and had a panic attack. Why couldn’t he have that?

The feelings don’t stop, and he doesn’t know how to make them. He hates that he isn’t normal, but still longs for the touch of a man, the feeling of being wrapped up in strong arms, of being kissed by dry, chapped lips, and falling asleep to a heartbeat approximately 11% slower than that of a woman’s.

It’s a constant battle inside him, emotions raging, and he struggles to control it, suppress it, tame it.

He pays a sorry price.

Ethan makes him feel comfortable, and that turns out to be a detriment. He relaxes around the other boy: he tells him about growing up as a pre-teen in a high school, about how a child feels living 260 miles away from home, even about his mother’s illness.

And one day, it slips out. They’re on the beach, lying on towels as they look up at the blue sky, talking about what their futures will look like: Ethan will be a successful chemical engineer in Berlin, and Spencer will work for the FBI, profiling serial killers.

“You’ll have to marry a German girl,” he tells Ethan. “It’ll be tough to convince an American girl to move all the way to Germany as soon as you graduate.”

“Yeah, and what about you? You’ll be off fighting crime around the country, not much of a life for a family.”

“Oh, I imagine my husband will be the type to—”

“Husband?”

Spencer freezes. It shocks him as much as it shocks Ethan. He doesn’t even pay much attention to Ethan’s disgusted face and his outraged tirade. He hears slurs and insults, hears him say that he can’t believe Spencer tricked him like this, that he was probably waiting to make a move on him, that he was never to look in Ethan’s direction again, but Spencer is frozen in time.

He’s never allowed him to think much about what his personal life might look like in the future, but he’d said ‘husband’ on instinct, without thinking, and it’s clearly something he actually wants. Ethan’s words sting, but the moment brings about a realisation Spencer is thankful for; it instigates a journey of self-discovery and self-expression, of the joy of living as your true self.

He loses his first and only friend, but he gains something much more valuable. He visits gay bars — nervously sipping a non-alcoholic drink in the corner at first, before soon becoming confident enough to respond to the men who sidle up to him and ask for his name. He lets go and dances the night away, sometimes going home with one of the many dance partners he acquires during the night, sometimes heading back to his own dorm happily alone.

Makeup and dresses and skirts and heels make their way into his wardrobe, and he befriends girls and drag queens and other gay men who encourage him to be exactly the way he is. And the best part is, he never has to come out to any of them. All of them know, and that’s good enough for everyone.

The fun comes to a sad sort of slow, however, when he joins the BAU. Everyone knows law enforcement’s relationship with the LGBT community is less than adequate — Spencer’s seen it with his own eyes: butch lesbians and men in dresses getting roughed up by angry police officers for ‘lewd behaviour’ or ‘drunkenness’ when they’re just being themselves. It’s not safe for him to tell anyone, so he doesn’t.

He still goes out with his friends when he’s in town and wears makeup and dresses and crop tops when he’s at home, but presents as rigidly straight Dr Spencer Reid to his team at the BAU.

The hardest part about it is that he loves his team. He’s known Gideon for years — and he wouldn’t be surprised if he suspects something after coming over to his house unannounced one night, only to have a man other than Spencer open the door — but he settles into a comforting dynamic with Hotch. He can’t help but see him as something of a father figure, and he knows Hotch has a soft spot for him, always looking out for him and taking him under his wing without a moment’s hesitation.

Elle, JJ, and Penelope all take a shine to him, too, teasing him without a hint of malice in their tones, only the kind of playful kindness that reminds him of his mother. He forms a special bond with Penelope and they spend hours watching Doctor Who together and geeking out on all the areas their interests overlap, and the comfort he feels with her matches the comfort he’s found with his new group of queer friends.

(She doesn’t hold a candle to Ethan, he decides one night, after he’d cried at a movie she’d made him watch and she felt so bad she made him hot chocolate and jam toast and cuddled him until he felt better.)

Derek becomes a brother to him. He puts him in a headlock at least once a day — which Spencer has been reliably informed by multiple sources is a very brotherly thing to do — and teases him relentlessly, while simultaneously being fiercely protective of him. Enough so, that Spencer sometimes wonders if he even has Hotch beat in that department.

He loves his team and his team loves him. It should be simple. It is still 2003.

He comes in one morning late for a briefing, his shirt buttoned wrong and his hair is a mess, and he’s fairly sure that his attempt to cover the hickey at the base of his neck with concealer has been ultimately unsuccessful. It’s obvious why he’s late. Gideon is too engrossed in the case file to notice, but Hotch raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face as everyone else immediately takes to teasing him.

“Who’s the lucky lady, pretty boy?”

Elle raises an eyebrow to match Derek’s shit-eating grin, “Someone definitely got some strange last night.”

“When do we get to meet her, Spence?” JJ asks, smirking as he takes a seat.

He’s bright red — as if he needed to look any more debauched — and Spencer tries to ignore the hurt that seizes his chest at the reminder of his need to stay quiet. This team respects him, and he can’t throw that away just because Spencer gets too comfortable.

God, he wishes Penelope was here.

“None of your business,” he mutters, trying to keep his tone light. He fails.

Naturally, Hotch notices and swiftly moves the briefing on, and Spencer keeps his gaze locked on the case file, not missing the absence of a reprimand from his superior. He’s constantly thankful for the older man, but in this moment, he wishes he could hug him.

(A voice that sounds dangerously close to Ethan’s rises up and taunts him in his ear: he wouldn’t want a dirty homo like you anywhere near him—)

Derek doesn’t let up on the case, continuing to bug him about the special lady in his life. He does concede that it could’ve been a one night stand, which is one front he’s right on, but a couple more concessions are necessary before Derek comes close to the truth of last night.

Eventually, Derek stops, and Spencer notes that the cessation of comments comes suspiciously close to the last time Derek and Hotch were alone together. He doesn’t have it in him to feel angry at Hotch for stepping in when he had it handled; doesn’t have the energy to act as though his pride is wounded, because really, neither of those things are true, and he doesn’t need to add another item to ‘Spencer Reid’s List of Things He Pretends to Be.’

The situation is forgotten, and time moves on.

Things change when he finds his first proper boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the giddying rush of emotions it turns out to be, and Spencer spends his days smiling as he daydreams his time away.

His name is Oscar Wilkins, a History professor at Georgetown University, and Spencer falls quickly in love with him. Ever since their mutual friend had introduced them at a gay bar one evening, they’d spent all their free time together. He’s kind and gentle and understanding of Spencer’s hectic and unpredictable job, and he finally has the chance to experience everything he quietly and shamefully longed for as a teenager.

The only downside is the silent breaking of Spencer’s heart that the most important people in his life can’t meet his boyfriend. He longs to show Oscar off, to hold hands in front of his team, lean up to press a tender kiss to Oscar’s lips. He wants to put a framed picture of the two of them at the Washington Monument on his desk to remind him of why he needs to get through the hard days; he doesn’t want to have to sneak out of the hotel room he shares with Derek to whisper hushed, loving goodnights over the phone.

But he’s too scared. Too cowardly.

It’s different being who he is with his gay group of friends littered with wlws and drag queens and other gay and bisexual guys. They understand.

But Derek and Hotch are two extremely masculine, alpha men: Derek’s a ladies’ man and Hotch is married to a woman he met in college with a baby on the way and both have a strong and dominant energy that still sometimes manages to intimidate Spencer even after all these years. And Elle and JJ are lovely — some of his closest friends, really — but sometimes they remind him a little too much of the mean girls he went to high school with.

The hardest person to keep his secret from, though, is Penelope. She’s his best friend and he desperately wants to give her all of him, but he’s so scared. He’s lost a best friend to this secret before, and even though he’s certain she’d be fine with it, what if she accidentally let it slip to Derek? What if Hotch found out and didn’t see him in the same light anymore? What if the girls started teasing him? What if Gideon didn’t want to mentor him anymore?

The fear paralyses him. And it’s a cycle he doesn’t know how to break.

Fear, though, doesn't stop everyone from noticing his daydreaming, his dopey smile when he checks his messages, his urgency to get home where he would’ve stayed until the small hours of the morning before. As excellent as he is at hiding his sexuality, he’s fucking terrible at hiding the fact that he’s in love: it was easy enough to pretend he was straight, but hiding something this all-consuming is an impossible ask.

Derek comes over to perch on the edge of his desk one afternoon, sighing as he sits down. “Pretty boy, this is getting ridiculous,” he says, snatching Spencer’s attention away from his phone. “You’ve been grinning like an idiot for the last twenty minutes as you’ve texted Future Mrs Reid. When are we going to meet her?”

(He hates the new nickname the team has given his mystery significant other, although Oscar had found it hilarious. “It’s funny because when we get married, we’ll hardly be able to tell,” he’d argued through his laughter. “Neither of us will change our name because of our academic profiles, and we’ll both still be ‘Dr’. Our wedding rings will be the only indicator.”

Spencer hadn’t argued back, because he’d been too tongue-tied and flushed pink at Oscar’s use of ‘when’ in regards to their hypothetical nuptials. It was only made bearable by Oscar kissing him gently and tucking him under his arm, not embarrassing him any further as Spencer had sort of anticipated, warmth settling over his chest at the thought of their future together.)

“You won’t,” he replies, perhaps a little too curtly.

Derek starts at that, clearly not expecting it. He definitely should’ve tried to play it off as a joke. “What— should I be offended, pretty boy?”

You wouldn’t call me that if you knew who I really am.

“That’s up to you, Derek,” he says calmly, although he still can’t meet his eyes, “but you won’t meet the ‘Future Mrs Reid, so I think it would probably be best if you left it alone.”

“Damn,” Derek mutters under his breath, clearly pissed off and probably more hurt than Spencer ever intended. “Suit yourself.”

And with that, he gets up and leaves his desk. Spencer’s only solace is the text message he sees on his phone when he picks it back up: I love you so much. You know that, right?

The light-hearted ridicule comes to an abrupt halt after the incident with Derek, and it’s clear that he had been the biggest contributor to the teasing. He’s thankful that the jokes have stopped, but he wishes desperately that it didn’t come with the growing distance between him and his team. Loneliness takes the place of his previous irritated anxiety, and he isn’t sure what’s worse.

It all comes to a head at the end of a case in Michigan. They’re stuck in the lounge of the small inn they’d stayed in the last few days, a snowstorm having blocked them in and grounded the jet, although Gideon had long since retreated to his room. The fire’s going and they’re the only guests around, so it’s cosy enough, but Spencer can’t help but feel sick at the idea of another night away from home.

It’s only been two weeks since he’d snapped at Derek, but the chasm between him and the team is only widening with each passing day. He knows it’s not a case of ‘pick a side’, but the team’s morale relies on light-hearted banter and teasing, and him not being a part of that anymore has only brewed awkwardness. Everyone’s trying to give him space when space is the last thing he wants.

Oscar’s keeping him company over the phone at least, but it’s not quite enough to quell the loneliness swimming around his stomach, and the 'discrete' sideways looks he gets from the team only make him feel worse.

“At least it’s nice and toasty in here,” JJ sighs as she takes a sip of the hot chocolate the kindly inn owner had made for them all.

Elle hums in agreement. “There are worse places to be grounded.”

“I dunno, man, I just wanna get home,” Derek says, not taking his eyes off the fire. Spencer can’t help but agree.

“Oh, come on,” Hotch muses, considerably more jovial now the case is over, “we’re here, and that’s not going to change any time soon. We should make the most of it.”

“It’s at least nice to be somewhere sort-of Christmassy now it’s December,” Elle points out. “We could be stuck in a dingy police station like we probably will be next week.”

“Ooh, I noticed that Jemimah and Kiran started planning the Christmas party last week,” JJ says, smiling at them. “I offered my help, but they seem to have it covered.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow“That’s probably a good thing. You don’t need more work on your plate.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” she murmurs, smiling as she brings her mug to her lips again.

Spencer doesn’t miss that Derek is still stewing on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you looking forward to the Christmas party, Spencer? Will you come?” Hotch asks, clearly trying to rope him into the conversation, which he appreciates. He’s been making a lot of effort with him the past few weeks, and it’s just about the only thing that’s getting him through each day.

Before he can reply, though, Derek erupts from the other side of the room; an already pissed-off man being pushed over the edge. “He won’t even let us meet his fucking girlfriend, Hotch, he’s not gonna want to come to the Christmas party!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air as he glares at Spencer with a stormy expression raging across his face.

Suddenly, Spencer can’t stay silent anymore, and his retort shocks himself just as much as it does everyone else. “I don’t have a girlfriend!”

It might be the loudest he’s ever shouted in his whole life. He’s always been quiet and restrained, the type to state his feelings as calmly as possible no matter how he’s feeling on the inside. Even in the biggest fight he’s had with Oscar, his voice was barely loud enough to qualify as a shout.

There’s a brief stunned silence, but Derek quickly slices his way through it, voice raising to meet Spencer’s fiery emotion, fierce and loud. “Oh, don’t even go there, Reid, you’re really gonna try and argue that? You’re gonna lie about her as well as not let us meet her? What a boyfriend you are.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a girlfriend!” he repeats, voice catching this time as tears rise unbidden to the backs of his eyes and all the emotions of the journey he’s taken with his sexuality over the years flood him in a wave of intensity he’s not prepared for.

“You’re fucking lying—!”

“I have a boyfriend!” he yells. “Alright? I have a boyfriend. I’m gay.”

The anger and emotion quickly dissipates, and he’s left standing alone in front of the team he’s put so much effort into hiding this from, watching shock spell out across everyone’s expressions. He’s never felt smaller than he does in that moment, and he quickly grabs his phone before running upstairs to his room, locking the door behind him.

“Oh God, Oscar, I fucked up so bad,” he cries over the phone as soon as his boyfriend picks up.

“Hey, hey, breathe, baby,” Oscar says gently, but Spencer can hear the anxious concern in his voice, “it’s gonna be okay, I promise. I’m here. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just— Oh God, I just told the team.” A new wave of horror rolls over him as he realises what he’s done. Times might be changing, but it’s still only 2006, and he doesn’t know each and every nuance of his team members’ political positions and, fuck, he hates that his existence is a fucking political position.

Oscar’s been so understanding of his reluctance to not tell the team, even though Spencer’s met pretty much everyone in his life. He isn’t sure what he’s done to earn such a gracious and understanding boyfriend, but he’s not about to question it.

“Baby, I know it’s scary, and I know you’re really worked up right now,” he counsels, voice soft and reassuring, using the nickname he knows Spencer loves the most to make him feel as safe as he can from 700 miles away, “but it’s probably not as bad as you think. From what you’ve told me about the team, they love you so much, and even in the case that in the past they've had some issue with gay people, I can't imagine they’d ever actually think of you any differently when it comes down to it, Spencer.”

He’s crying too hard to reply, and Oscar understands immediately, gently transitioning into a story about his day that slowly starts to calm him down, and by the time he’s wrapping it up, his tears are starting to subside.

“Thank you, Ozzy,” he whispers into the phone, lifting himself up off the floor and making his way to sit on the bed instead.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmurs warmly. “Do you want me to stay on the phone for a bit?”

“Yes please,” he whispers again, holding it as close to himself as possible, drawing all the comfort he can from his boyfriend’s voice.

He lies there listening to Oscar’s voice and trying not to think about the disaster downstairs for a good ten minutes before there’s a tap at the door.

“Oz, there’s someone here,” he says, voice panicked.

“I think you should probably speak to them, baby,” he urges. “I’ll stay on the phone with you while you do, if you like?”

“Please.” He gets up from the bed gingerly, keeping his phone tightly gripped in his right hand as he slowly unlocks the door with his left, revealing Hotch on the other side.

“Hey, Spencer. Do you mind if I come in?”

He’s riddled with nerves, but Hotch is smiling warmly, and he’s never said a harsh word to Spencer, so he steps aside and lets him into his room.

Hotch quickly notices the phone in his hand, visibly still on a call. “Is that your boyfriend?”

Spencer nods.

“Do you mind if I talk to him?”

His brows knit in confusion and his lips part slightly in surprise, but it’s all he can do to hand the phone over, watching Hotch carefully.

“Hi, Spencer tells me this is his boyfriend?” Hotch inquires politely into the phone, his tone still warm. “I’m Hotch, Spencer’s boss.”

He can vaguely hear Oscar speaking on the other end of the line, and he worries slightly that Oscar will somehow give away the familial feelings he holds for Hotch, but the conversation doesn’t last long enough for the anxiety to really take over.

“Everything’s fine here, I just want to have a conversation with Spencer, so is it alright if we hang up and I talk to him alone for a minute? He can call you straight back afterwards.” After a brief pause in which Oscar says something, Hotch looks back up at him. “Are you okay with that, Spencer?”

He nods hesitantly, and Hotch says a quick goodbye to Oscar before surging forwards and wrapping Spencer in a hug. It catches him off guard, but he doesn’t waste any time in burying his face into Hotch’s neck and soaking in the comfort and warmth that always radiates from his father figure.

“Come on,” Hotch says softly as they pull away a good minute or so later, “let’s sit down, shall we?”

“You’re not mad?” Spencer can’t help but ask, the question burning his tongue as anxiety — however quietened from Hotch’s hug — still swims around in his stomach.

“There are many things that could make me mad, Spencer,” he says earnestly, “but this is not one of them. I would never be angry at you for being who you are, okay? I might… I might be overstepping here, and if I am, then tell me and I’ll back off, but I’ve always seen you as a mentee, and over the years that’s developed— well, I see you more as a son these days. And part of that is wanting to protect and support you no matter what you do or say or who you are.”

Spencer wastes no time in diving back in for a hug, clinging onto Hotch for dear life as he hugs back, rubbing his back gently.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us sooner, Spencer,” he says in a voice soft with affection and regret. “But I’m so glad you’ve told us now.”

He only presses closer at that, tears springing back to his eyes. “I didn’t want to lose you.” He knows what he’s implying, and even in a roundabout way, he’s glad he’s telling Hotch.

“Oh, Spence,” he sighs sadly, “you couldn’t do a single thing to lose me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Really?” he asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

“Really,” Hotch promises, pulling away as Spencer does. “Now, you have a whole team of agents downstairs who are feeling very sorry for themselves and really want to see you.”

Nausea rolls in his stomach and panic springs back up as he looks at Hotch, desperate for some sort of grounding. “Are they angry at me? Do they hate me now?”

“No one hates you, Spencer,” he says firmly. “I promise you that. Everyone just wishes that they’d made you feel more welcome and comfortable. We all hate that you felt you had to lock up something so integral to who you are, and we can’t help but feel we played a part in it.”

“No,” he protests — the last thing he wants is family blaming themselves when it has nothing to do with them, “it’s not your fault, it’s just…”

Hotch nods. “I understand, it’s okay. Now, do you want to go down and see them? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it might help ease your mind to see that they really don’t hate you.”

Spencer pauses, taking a moment to think. “Can I see Derek first?”

“Of course,” Hotch says understandingly, and the comforting smile that crosses his face makes Spencer feel safe and taken care of. “I’ll send him up?”

Spencer nods and Hotch hugs him once more before leaving the room almost reluctantly. He wastes no time in picking up his phone and sending a text to Oscar. You were right. Hotch is fine. He’s just sending Derek up before I go and see the team but he says that no one’s angry and I think I believe him. Thank you, Oscar. I love you.

Not even half a minute goes past before his phone lights up with a text back. I’m so glad, baby. Call me later, okay? I want to make sure you’re okay before I go to bed. I love you more.

Before Spencer can argue that actually, he is the one more in love with the other, a hesitant knock sounds on his door. Nerves suddenly flip his stomach, and he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times before forcing himself to cross the room, revealing a very worried and regretful-looking Derek.

“Oh, pretty boy,” he says sadly, before crushing Spencer in a warm and tender hug. Immediately, he relaxes into the arms of one of his best friends, and relief courses through his blood at Derek’s reaction. “I am so sorry that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me that you were gay or had a boyfriend. That’s completely on me. I don’t care who you love, Spencer, I just want you to be happy, okay? And if this guy makes you happy, then that’s fine by me. But if he ever lays a hand on you or—”

“Derek, Derek,” he laughs, “it’s fine I get it. Thank you, though, I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier and for snapping at you in the bullpen that time…”

“I understand, Spence,” he promises. “It’s in the past, okay? And I’m sorry for pushing so hard. I mean, I’d love to meet him but if you don’t feel comfortable or you don’t want to, that’s fine, too. It’s your life, man.”

“No, I… I think I want you guys to meet him. It’s been so hard to keep him away from the people I consider my family, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe after Christmas, we can all have dinner or something.”

Spencer smiles shyly. “Well, Oscar’s a great cook, so I reckon we could work something out.”

Derek grins, throwing an arm around his shoulders as he immediately jumps back into teasing him as they make their way to the door to go downstairs and see the rest of the team. “Ooh, lover boy’s got him a chef, hey? What else does this Oscar have going for him?”

Spencer chatters eagerly about his boyfriend to Derek, barely skipping a beat when he joins everyone downstairs, his friends taking his cues and joining in with the conversation seamlessly. He’s had enough fuss for one night, and the warmth and understanding on everyone’s faces tells him everything he needs to know.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow with eager expectancy as they all settle back into their seats by the fire, a warm and unbelievably happy feeling settling in Spencer’s stomach.

He blushes, digging out his phone from his pocket and unlocking it. “More than a few, I think.”

He finds the most recent picture of his boyfriend — a candid shot of him cooking in the kitchen, spatula aloft, and a huge grin on his face — and hands the phone around.

“Oh wow, you like them buff, huh, pretty boy?” Derek teases as soon as he gets his hands on it, and Spencer’s stomach twists in a sudden bout of fear, expecting to see some hesitancy or even disgust on his friend’s face. What if he thinks that Spencer has a crush on him? What if he’s uncomfortable around him now?

But if Derek’s having any of those thoughts, they don’t show on his face. He’s smiling widely and openly, all the pent-up anxiety and frustration borne from hurt gone from his body language, and he looks completely comfortable sat next to Spencer, his arm stretched out behind him on the back of the sofa.

They sit happily around the fire for a couple of hours, settling into a happy, intimate familiarity Spencer hadn’t realised was missing when he was hiding something so integral to his being from his family, and he’s still smiling when they finally part ways to head to bed, the clock ticking closer and closer to 1 am.

He gets ready for bed quickly, brushing his teeth and throwing on the top he’d stolen from Oscar the first time he’d stayed at his place; a welcome change from his worn and wrinkled suit. As soon as his teeth are brushed and the lights are all off except for his bedside lamp, he pulls out his phone, knowing there’s one more thing he has to do before he goes to sleep.

“Spencer?” Penelope’s voice sounds down the line, clearly concerned. “It’s almost 2 am here, are you okay?”

“I’m gay,” he says, getting straight to the point. The main reason he ever kept it from her was because of his fear of it accidentally getting out to the team rather than fear over her reaction. After all, multiple of his drag queen friends are also hers.

“Oh my God,” she says in that small voice she uses when she’s not actually talking to you, before finally actually replying to me. “Spencer, I’m so happy you told me!”

He doesn’t miss her choice of words, or the way she says them and he tilts his head suspiciously. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry, a couple of months ago I saw a text from Oscar on your phone when you went to the bathroom during one of our Doctor Who marathons, and it wasn’t hard to figure out the relationship.”

“And… wait, you’re not mad at me for not telling you sooner?”

“Spencer! Of course not. I was waiting for you to be comfortable enough to share it with me. I felt awful that I knew without your consent but I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to catch you off guard or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s fine that you waited, baby genius, I’m just so happy you told me now. What finally gave you the courage?”

“Well, it might have slipped out in front of the team this evening,” he admits sheepishly, “and the only reason I never told you was because I was scared that it would slip out somehow — accidentally, of course, I didn’t think you’d tell anyone on purpose — and now everyone knows. It’s been killing me not to tell you, Penelope, it really has because I love you so much and you’re my best friend and I trust you with my life, it’s just…”

“Whoa, slow down, Spence,” she laughs fondly, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me, I understand. But I’m glad you finally told everyone and you can be yourself completely with us, now. We all love you no matter what, you know that right?”

“I do now.”

“Good. You should get some sleep, baby boy, it’s late and you’ve had an emotional evening.”

Spencer smiles. “Yeah, I know. You should, too, Pen. I’ll see you when we can finally make it home, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too, 187,” she says softly, and Spencer can hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight.”

As soon as he hangs up, he settles down into the bed, turning off the light and pulling the duvet up over his shoulders before dialling one more number.

“Hey, baby,” Oscar says, voice as gentle and caring as it always is, although thicker with tiredness now. “I take it everything went okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer murmurs, already feeling tired as the safety he always feels at the sound of Oscar’s voice settles into the fibres of his being. “It went so well. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

“I can’t wait either, sweetheart. Are you in bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Can you talk to me as I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you, Spence,” he says softly, before transitioning seamlessly into a story about the professors on campus, and his gentle comfort and the knowledge of the unconditional love his family has for him finally lulls Spencer into the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

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sparklingchan · 4 years ago

Text

Prologue|| Stormbringer- Stray Kids Demigod AU

Pairing : Reader(fem.) X Felix

Word count : 1.2k+

Warnings : Family issues, mentions of mythological monsters, not edited.

Genre : Romance, Demigod AU, fluff, angst.

Description: Two twelve year olds kids with apparently normal lives find themselves in a rather uncomfortable position when they are told the truth about their not-so-normal parentage.

A/N : FINALLY I managed to post this!! I haven’t been feeling well lately so hope I didn’t keep anyone waiting too long. This prologue doesn’t necessarily connect with the main plot of the story but it does lay the backdrop for it so this part might come off as plain.

Hope everyone’s been keeping well, given the current situations. If you need anyone to talk to, I’m right here!

SERIES MASTERLIST || Click here for introduction to the story and glossary and here for the Stray Kids demigod diaries!

Lighting in the Sky

"Before the world existed, there was nothing. Only a primary void, a nothingness and ..chaos. "

Your glazed, intrigued eyes follow every word from the new book your mother reads out from, your curiosity unable to handle the wonderful way your mother always turns every story into a mystery.

The bright green cover of the book looks attractive, and smooth like glass. Instinctively, you hold your finger up to its surface.

Its cold.

" 'Famous tales from Greek Mythology ' " you read out its title, now no longer paying attention to your mother's words, "Mum, do you think the people in these stories are real?"

Your mother stops mid sentence, not really surprised when a rather familiar memory finds its way back to her. Thunderstorms, a handsome young man, rapid heartbeats, a little baby girl.

"I'd like to think so," she runs her fingers through your hair, "But not all of them are as heroic as they're made to be in these books."

You wondered what her words had meant for a long time after that. For a 12 year old girl, you'd been way too curious, way too hard to deceive. But truth is something that cannot be hidden for too long.

You remember that day as clearly as if it were yesterday.

It was your 13th birthday , a joyous day for a young girl who'd always wanted to experience the so called 'exciting' teen years. Your mum had prepared an amazing celebration for you- a small picnic by the seaside, a chocolate cake (your absolute favorite), the second edition of 'Famous tales from Greek Mythology ' as a gift. It was almost perfect.

Almost.

While on your way to the parking lot, a dog pounces at you. Except it wasn't just a dog. It was a Hell Hound.

You'd only seen the likes of it before in your story books and in your nightmares that were as vivid as memories. But you know exactly what a hellhound really is. Hellhounds are dogs that guard the Underworld - world of the dead .

"Get off of me, you dog!" You scream as the monster claws at your face.

Viscious creatures and brilliant killers these dogs are and if it weren't for two boys showing up to your rescue, you are sure you'd have become the hellhound 's food that day.

"Are you okay, y/n?" The boys ask you.

"H-how do you know my name? Who are you people?" You pant, on the verge of tears, "What was that thing?"

The taller of the two boys - Hyunjin, as he would introduce himself to you later sends a look of confusion over at the shorter boy - who also introduces himself as Minho later. "We have a lot of talking to do, y/n. Where's your mom?"

Your mom is not one bit fazed when she drives the three of you back to your small apartment. It's almost as if she'd been expecting it all along.

Once you reach your house, your mom who's usually extremely cheerful and loud, sits you down quietly on the couch and tells you the truth. Of who you are, what you are capable of.

"Sweetie, your father is not the book author you think he is. I'm so sorry I lied to you. " she sucks in a deep breath, almost scared, "Honey, your dad is...a God. A Greek God. The ones we read about."

And that one sentence turns your entire world upside down. Everything you've ever known just changes.

But sometimes changes are for the best, you'd like to think.

Minho and Hyunjin reveal that they come from a place called Camp Levanter - a home for kids like you, demigods is what they're apparently called.

"A-are you like me too?"

"Yes, y/n. We're like you." Minho says, "I'm the son of the Greek God Dionysus and Hyunjin over here is the son of the Greek goddess Aphrodite."

Hyunjin pats your head ever so gently and in an alluring voice says, "Do you want to come with? We could be your friend. How does that sound?"

You find yourself nodding almost immediately.

And just before you walk out of the door, you give your mom the tightest hug, assuring her that you'd do just fine.

"By the way, mum, what's dad's name? You never told me."

You mom sighs, as the skies outside rumble with thunder, "Your father is Zeus - the God of sky and lightning. "

The symbol of Love

"Are we going to die tonight, Nana?"

Felix shivers into the embrace and pulls his greying, old grandmother closer, her weak body already completely corrupted by the cold and snow.

"N-not you, Lixie. You have things to do." She mumbles, holding the 13 year old kid to her chest, hoping to find some kind of warmth in this freezing cold weather, "I-its not your time yet. You will go back to your father, you hear me? You didn't have to come with me anyway!"

Felix's father wasn't the nicest person - to put it decently. He didn't so as much bat an eye towards him. Perhaps he was ashamed of having a child out of wedlock or worse, he was reminded of Felix's gorgeous mother he so dearly missed everytime he saw Felix.

Anyhow, parental love never made it into Felix's life from his father's side so instead he grew up under the warmth of his grandmother's love.

On his 13th birthday, Felix receives his first and last gift from his father; a step mother. That fall, his father marries an old colleague in a small ceremony. And Felix would later go on to hate himself for ever thinking that this new addition to the family might fill up the blank space his birth mother had left behind.

Not ten days after the wedding, his new step mother 'accuses' his grandmother of being rude and unwelcoming and begs his father to throw her out of the house.

Which all comes down to this moment, where his grandmother is freezing to death and he cannot do anything but watch silently.

"Hey, do you need help?" When Felix hears that voice, his first instinct is to brush it off as a hallucination, for who would help two homeless people in this bone chilling weather?

"Felix, do you need help?" A few rapid footsteps and two boys present themselves in front of him, panting as if they'd been running all the while.

"W-who are you?" He stutters, hugging his grandmother closer, "How do you know my name?"

One of the two boys reply gently, "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, Felix. How about we go to my place? Your grandmother might like a warm cup of tea, don't you think?"

And so he agrees to go with the two boys.

Once they'd warmed his Nana up and fed her, Felix gently tucks her into the bed of the guest room they'd been given. As scared as Felix was to accept their help, he knew he had no option. His grandmother meant the world to him and he couldn't watch her succumb right in front of his eyes.

The two boys are very careful in approaching Felix, making sure to not scare him more than he already is.

"What are your names? How do you know me?" They let a whole hour pass by as the three boys sit on the dining table, occupied with plates of untouched food and full bottles of water, letting Felix be the one to start conversation. And when he finally does, Changbin breathes a sigh of relief. Really, he was starving but he didn't want to seem rude in front of their new friend.

"I'm Chan," Chan introduces himself, and then Changbin speaks, "I'm Changbin. And why do we know you, you ask - well the three of us have quite a lot in common, you see. More than what meets the mortal eye."

Mortal eye? What's this all about? Felix finds himself more confused than he already was.

"We're the children of Greek gods, Felix. " Chan sighs, " You, me and Changbin. Is it hard to believe?"

Felix is about to say 'yes' out of pure impulse but he holds his tongue this time ; these guys don't seem like the kind to make such obnoxious claims, even as a joke. All his life, Felix had spent as an outcast, among his friends, among his cousins, among his classmates. His father had treated him like he were a monster. And his estranged mother who his father never said anything about? Felix finds suspicion knocking at his door.

Whilst its still extremely hard to believe, Felix responds,

"I want to believe you."

Chan and Changbin exchange a look of surprise, complete astonishment since none of them had expected Felix to even listen to them. And now that they have his attention, they find themselves a tad bit pressured as well.

"But don't disappoint me," Felix mutters, more to himself than to the boys, "Don't give me hope just to snatch it away."

And much to his surprise, he isn't left disappointed this time. These two boys manage to change his life completely, and now when Felix goes to bed at night, he finds a rather foreign feeling of fulfillment in his heart.

and for the first time in forever, he lets himself hope. Hope for a new family who would make up for the love his father could never offer. Hope for better days to come now that he's finally found a new identity and a new life.

****

Taglist: @chogiwow@ctrlaltfangirl@blueprint-han@whattaweeb@bigskzz@judewalid@kpopssuregi@crispy-chan

Note: Please DM or send an ask if you wish to be added to the taglist!

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jauneda1 · 3 years ago

Text

RWBY

The New War

Jaune's First solo Mission

One year after the initial attacks

War changed Remnant after the attacks one year ago. The kingdoms are all against each other Vacuo in a constant battle with Vale due to the leaders of Vacuo being taken out by the terrorist group know as the Black mask. They instilled a system in there kingdoms laws that makes it impossible for people to go against the military. Innocent men, women, and children are forced to live in poverty. While the men and women who took their nation get to live without a worry. Until the combined forces of Vale and Atlas military tried to invade and save the once beautiful kingdom. The only problem is that there are Grimm new kinds of Grimm no one has ever seen. Not to mention the White Fang are and still are a threat to both sides. They're force had grown exponentially due to their attacking and ultimate destruction of Mistral and the Huntsman Academy of Haven. Even with all this change and destruction of the peace our heros burst forward in hopes of finally ending this conflict.

Desert's of Vacuo

Jaune had just to touched down on a mountain range, from where the two where standing he could see the inner city, all the way up to around the capital. He wouldn't be able to do much just sitting here. Jaune's mission was simple sneak behind enemy lines and escort and evacuate a defecting White Fang lieutenant, her name is Ilia Amitola and she served directly under commander Adam Taurus. She is a valuable asset to say the least.

In Jaune's ear piece he can hear Raven checking in. She being his main mentor for the past year she would be kind of walking him through this mission of his.

Raven: How is it on your end?

Jaune: Clear. How everyone doing up there?

Raven: Don't worry about that you have a mission. Hop to it reminder you have a limited time window.

Raven: Not to mention this is your first solo mission so stay hidden and try not to cause a scene.

Jaune: You know your to serious about this I'll get in get out and be done. By the way what do we call this mission?

Raven: Jaune you have to be serious if your captured that's it. We can't come and save you. You'll be treated as if your acting on your own terms.

Raven: Ruby and Yang are gonna be heart broken if there best friend doesn't come back. Plus Summer will blame me for the rest of my days.

Jaune: Okay okay. Serious

Jaune took this short moment to remember everything he has learned in the past year. Then the people who are counting on him right now. Blake was the one who begged Ozpin to send someone in. He volunteered he was gonna keep his promises to his friend. It's what Arc's do, they'll never go back on there word.

Jaune: (Inhales) (Exhales)

Jaune: Commencing Virtuous mission now.

The Grimm in the surrounding area of Vacuo where a lot different from any of the ones Jaune is used to seeing. But they are still easy to sneak past especially with the gear Jaune has on.

Jaune: I gotta hand it to the tech guys this is supposed to hide my body heat and give me a near invisible camouflage.

Raven: Well not a hundred percent. It's more to give you the look of transparency but really your suit uses the surrounding area to automatically change and conceal you.

Raven: So don't thinking it'll get you out of trouble all the time.

Raven: Again try not to be seen. The target is supposed to meet you on the south west side of the city.

Jaune: Yeah and that means I need to go through the capitol. Should I plant bugs around or just stick to my main objective?

Raven: Stick to the main objective your on a 2 hour time window.

...

Raven: Jaune?

Everyone in the observation room back at HQ where shocked Jaune had encountered plain of some type of burial site but some of the people hung up on poles are still breathing they are just dehydrated and starved. There were soldiers, civilians, and children. What shocked everyone even Jaune as he can hear Blake shout out over the mic.

Blake: ILIA!

Jaune looked up to one of the poles to see a naked dehydrated and beaten women Jaune could tell she was alive but he wouldn't be able to fulton extract her, not in this condition. So mission complete he'll just call in a chopper and put her on it and do what needs to be done. Jaune wasn't obligated to do what he has intentions on, but if someone doesn't do something to weaken the Forces of Black Mask and White Fang here in Vacuo then the war to reclaim the kingdom will never come.

Jaune: Send in a chopper and make sure medical is on it.

Raven: You got it, Jaune I know what your thinking. Please don't do what your gonna do. Everyone saw your vitals spike.

Raven: But I've known you since you where a boy. I've been like your second mother please be on that chopper when it arrives back at HQ.

Jaune stayed silent and continue to stay silent as he climbed up the pole to cut down and carry Ilia she wasn't making the trip unless he did so. But the reason Jaune kept quiet wasn't because he was worried about what Raven said. It was because if Ilia was secretly defecting from the Fang why was she out here and for how long who knew she was a mole and was trying to defect.

But the answer was a red laser that pointed at Ilia's head. Jaune instinctively got in front of her and a loud shot rang out as it hit Jaune in the back. Jaune at this point was able to jump down and bring Ilia with him to keep her out of harm's way. This was a trap and Jaune had just been caught in it.

Raven: Jaune! Are you okay?

Jaune: Going dark until I can take out this sniper.

Raven: Jaune no your mission is complete you just need to get out of there.

Ruby: No that sniper could bring down the evac chopper.

Yang: So he's forced to deal with the sniper.

Yang: You've got this Jaune.

Jaune: Mhhm.

Two Minutes later.

The sniper was beginning to feel bored. Questions like how long is he gonna sit behind that rock, or is he still there and if so what is his angle. He's stuck and can't move. She then she had an sudden urge to check behind herself as if something that was life threatening to her was right there about to strike. When she looked there was nothing. But then her semblance hit her hard as she was nearly cut in half, she jumped back with a lot of force because she got hit but her gun took the damage.

Looking now it was the man she thinks was behind the rock. But how could that be he was more then 150 meters away he wouldn't have been able to have got this close to her this fast unless he knew where she was the second the bullet went off. It makes sense now the second the laser of the rifle tagged the traitor he glanced back eyes widen and scanning. Remembering it because it was odd he sensed danger evaluated it and reacted in under a second. Not to mention he took a bullet for her. He has aura does that mean he's a Huntsman.

The sniper had little time to think as Jaune's eyes focused and he rushed forward and was now behind her and chopped her in the back of the head knocking her out. Jaune wasn't going to let her live at first but he wants to send a message. After calling for a chopper. Jaune set the female sniper up on the same pole Ilia was left on. Jaune didn't strip her like they did Ilia but he was sure the Vacuen heat would do enough. If she doesn't return they'll come and find her later.

(Jaune's Mind)

"Make better choices next time cutie."

(Ricky)

"She is a liability, can't just let her go."

Jaune: Huh, Raven did you say something?

Raven: No all's quiet on our end.

Jaune had no idea what that was but he gave it little thought as Ilia's condition was worsening. It's a good thing to chopper 31 showed up right then and there. Jaune was gonna be honest Ilia was cute but he needed to make sure she was safe at HQ.

HQ Time 8PM

Ozpin had spoke to Jaune alone about his mission and the two of them where unreachable for an hour. All the while the rest of JNPR and all of team RWBY where bed side of where Ilia was recovering Blake had her friends hand clutched and hoping begging she would fight through this. Jaune had came into the room and seeing the mood of the room. He was sure that Ilia was fighting for her life. But the Arc had other plans he took a bullet to the back of the head for her. She wasn't gonna just die on him after all this work he put into saving her.

Jaune: Yeah no this mood is just not doing it for me.

Jaune: I didn't go through all that for you to just die infront of me.

Jaune put his hand gently against the side of her face giving her some of his kinetic energy. It was enough to boost her aura levels.

Jaune: So sorry but not sorry, your not dying today.

Everyone looked to Jaune everyone except Blake looked to him as the only thing keeping them all going. Jaune just brings light to the darkness wherever he goes. As Ilia's heart beat grew stronger everyone could hear the faint sobbing from Blake till she jumped up and wrapped her arms around Jaune's neck and cried into his shoulder.

(Yang's mind)

"He may be the reason we all keep fighting, but what is his reason. But what is your reason for fighting on Jaune, I know this all has to be effecting you. You don't even come to me anymore. Maybe Lady Killer doesn't need his Dragon anymore? Yeah no that changes tonight."

Jaune was not aware of how much trouble he is in later on tonight.😁

End of part 6

Teams and they're roles

RWBY: Alpha Team

JNPR: Bravo Team

Spies: Blake, Ren, Jaune, and Yang

Spies are top 4 who have high covert ops training, master's at close range and trained directly under Raven and Qrow Branwen. They're main objective is to be ghost in the shadows gathering info and all around espionage tactics.

Solo ops: Jaune, Yang, Blake, and Ren

Solo ops are simply the same as spies but they have been cleared for solo operation. These ops are espionage and covert only. If they are caught on solo ops they will not be given help from any outside options everything is on them.

Omega: Jaune, Yang, Pyrrha, and Ruby

This team is comprised of High-grades only of given orders to take out an entire compound this team makes sure of it. No matter the difficulty they get shit done. Not even they're friends know there mission details only Ozpin and Ironwood know.

#jaune arc #rwby #team rwby #ilia amitola #may zedong #professor ozpin #raven branwen #summer rose #white fang

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everlastingdreams · 4 years ago

Text

Weeping Monk x Reader : Playing With Fire chapter 19

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: The Huntsman, that is what they called your brother. A name he had earned by hunting down the fey for coin. Coin that is given by Father Carden for his services. You refuse to stand aside and watch how your brother hunts down those who are fey. When you start to warn the fey camps your brother wishes to attack, you find yourself behind enemy lines. But when the Weeping Monk becomes suspicious of you, you realise you are playing with fire.

Chapter Summary: You are still in a state of shock after what happened and Lancelot questions why you had wished to show mercy to the Huntsman.

Notes: Maybe I’ll post 20 in a bit as well, I don’t know. Took me 2 hours to proofread this one yikes. At least I made a new gif so there.

Warnings: None, I think.

Word count: 2038 words in this chapter.

Chapter: 19/ 33+ something (buckle up, it’s a wild ride.)

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

After riding like that for hours, you felt yourself grow more relaxed holding onto Lancelot. You didn't hate him like you had once done, you didn't know how to feel about him now. Could you trust him ? It felt so confusing. Still, you felt yourself grow tired after all this time without proper sleep and rested your head against his back. You hated to admit that feeling him breath calmly like this almost made you doze off. The thought that you might fall off the horse was what kept you awake. He had felt you lean closer against him, felt your head resting against his back and how you seemed more comfortable with holding on to him like this. Lancelot worried you would fall asleep and end up plummeting off of Goliath. It was time to halt somewhere and offer Goliath some rest as well. The last thing he wanted was to exhaust the loyal horse. He finally halted the horse near a river bank. He helped the boy off of the horse first before helping you, and he noticed you were having some difficulty dismounting. The Huntsman had not been merciful to you, and neither had his henchmen. When one of them had pushed you back to the ground with his boot, it had been in the spot where the boy had spotted the large bruise. And before that, the Huntsman had brutally kicked you in the stomach.

He would offer to check on them to see the severity of your bruises or injuries but he feared you would not appreciate the offer. Lancelot could feel that you did not trust him yet, you were not afraid but it did not mean you were comfortable around him. Lastly he dismounted and winced when he felt the thread on one of his sewed up wounds pull at his skin. The fey medicine you had given him had blocked out most of the pain, now he regretted not taking that chest with him. He could have made you drink the rest of that fey medicine instead of watching you be in pain now. You were glad he had picked this place to stop, so close to a river. You held a hand tightly against your abdomen. You felt the familiar burning pain that you had felt many times before, but it was worse this time. Draegan had kicked you before but never this brutally. You looked down at your hands, blood was stuck to them. And then you remembered that drops of his blood were also on your face.

Lancelot had noticed the shift in your behaviour and watched as you walked a small distance away from them before you knelled besides the river.

“Is she going to be alright ?” The boy looked up at him with a look of doubt.

A look that he shared with the boy “I'll go and see.”

“What should I do then ?” Percival was starting to sound bored.

“Do you know how to make a fire ?” He looked down at the boy, already guessing the answer when the boy looked at him as if he had insulted him.

“Do I look stupid to you ?” The boy shook his head, visibly irritated “You're not the only one who can set things on fire, you know ?”

The boy had a way to mentally slap him with his words, it was definitely one of Percival's talents. He elected to ignore that last sentence “Collect some firewood, and...set it on fire. It will be dark soon.”

“And you will talk to y/n while I do that ?” The boy seemed interested in that, there was a hidden undertone in his question.

He narrowed his eyes for a moment when he detected the undertone “Yes...what else would I do ?”

Even though the boy was nowhere near his height he stared him down for a moment before shrugging his shoulders “Alright then.”

He was perplexed by the boy's reaction, Percival seemed rather protective over you. But then again, you had always been kind to the boy so it should not come as a suprise. Lancelot turned to look in your direction and watched as you washed your hands in the river, one look at you and the memory of his own reaction to killing someone for the first time came back to him.

You were shaking when the water from the river streamed through your hands and watched as the water turned pink. The memory of you stabbing Draegan and watching as he collapsed to the ground flooded your mind. It happened so fast and you still couldn't believe that was your instinctive reaction. You swallowed the lump in your throat and started to rub your hands roughly, wanting to wash away the results of your unspeakable actions. Only when the skin of your hands started to hurt, did you stop. The blood was gone, but you could still feel it's phantom lingering, as if it had sunken into your skin. You wanted that feeling to go away, to be erased. But no matter how long you would try and wash it off, you knew it would taint you forever.

You were indeed the Huntsman's sister. A killer just like he was. You closed your eyes and felt the tears stream down your face. Your parents would never have forgiven you if they had still been alive. All of your kin was gone now, your brother had murdered your sister and now you had murdered your brother. When you heard quiet footsteps approach you quickly washed the blood and tears from your face. You didn't bother looking behind you when you heard him get closer, there was only one person you knew that was able to walk this quietly. He had always caught you off-guard because of it.

Lancelot had tried to think of something to say while he was walking over to you, but they had vanished from his mind when he noticed the tears staining your cheeks before you had washed them away. After a moment of silence he could only state what he believed was true “You did the right thing, y/n.”

“The right thing ?” You scoffed in disbelieve, it was audible how upset you were “I killed someone, I killed my own brother !”

He looked down at you, watching how you fought back the tears that were so evidently forming in your eyes “You had no other choice. He was not going to stop ! Had you not pushed me away when you did, I doubt we would both be here now.”

Deep down you knew Lancelot was right, but the guilt was clouding your mind.

“Why did you stop me then ? His blood would have been on my hands, not yours.” He still questioned why you had asked him to show mercy to the Huntsman.

You looked up at him and let out a sigh "Violence should never be the norm. Maybe he could have changed his ways.”

He found the mercy you had shown towards your brother both odd and admirable “Would he have shown you the same compassion ?” He knew the answer, but he was curious if you realised that the Huntsman wouldn't have blinked twice if you died.

You shook your head and let out a bitter laugh “He would have sold me off like cattle if I stopped serving his purpose. You heard what he said, what he would have let his men do...”

Lancelot had heard the threat, he had heard it loud and clear, and he had wanted to have the satisfaction of killing the Huntsman himself because of it.

“He has hurt you before...has he not ?” He gingerly reached down to touch your arm with the tips of his fingers, the one that he knew was covered in the bruises he had seen that day in the forest. You looked at his hand lightly touching your lower arm, the sleeve of your jacket covered the evidence he was referring to.

You nodded in silence, and then you felt him lightly touching your jaw, making you tilt your head so your neck was more exposed. You looked up at him and saw how he was looking at the bruises in your neck now.

“Many times ?” His fingers were almost touching your neck now.

You moved a little out of his reach and he moved his hand away “Many enough. It was worse when I was defiant, as you have seen.”

He was eerily quiet, ever since he met you he had known you to be defiant. You had shown him almost nothing else but defiance for so long, and it dawned on him that even with his reputation you always had been less afraid of him then you were of the Huntsman. Otherwise you had not shown him such defiance all this time.

Lancelot suspected what the answer to his question would be, but he wanted to hear the truth from you “Why didn't you leave ? If he hurt you... why not leave ?”

You shrugged your shoulders, a sad smile on your lips as you looked at the water “He was my kin and he did terrible things. If I stayed I could help those he wished to harm. I couldn't just turn away knowing that I could make a difference. As long as I stayed close I could help the fey.”

He swallowed thickly, he felt horrible thinking back to all the times he had threatened your life. You were suffering all this time and him hounding you had only added to that. He saw pieces of himself in you, both withstanding the silent suffering beside the ones who sought to 'cleanse' the fey.

A bitter chuckle escaped you “Besides, I have no one else. He murdered my sister, he practically raised me. Well...raised...”

By raised you meant he had practically shoved you into the hands of anyone close enough at that moment, to be cared for. Of course the people of Mirstone did not like the responsibility of caring for the little sister of the feared Huntsman, so they shoved some food in your hands out of pity before leaving you to yourself. You often spoke to the other children, but friendship was not an option. The parents would not allow their children to bond with you, it wasn't until you were almost an adult that the people you had grown up with started to treat you like a normal person. But it was not friendship. They feared the Huntsman too much to get close to his sister.

The words escaped him before he could stop them, because to him they were a truth that needed to be voiced “You're not alone anymore, y/n.”

You frowned when you heard him say that and looked up at him questioningly. He shifted on his feet, something he had always done when he was uncomfortable. What had he meant by that ? Did he... ?

Finally he cleared his throat and gestured in the direction of the boy “He needs us.”

It was not how he wanted to tell you this, but he worried how you would respond if he outrightly told you that he wished to remain in your presence. So he had pointed out that the boy needed both him and you and hoped you would understand the unspoken truth.

You looked in the direction of the boy “Oh...”

For a moment you had thought he was talking about himself, you caught yourself feeling silently disappointed that that was not the case. You brushed the strange feeling aside and quirked a brow at him “Well, according to him he doesn't need us.”

Lancelot looked in the direction of the boy again before smirking down at you “Who else will tell him that if he makes that fire any larger they will see us all the way back to Mirstone ?”

You quickly whipped your head around and saw how large the fire already was, and when Percival tossed another piece of firewood in it you jumped to your feet. Lancelot was looking impressed by it, and you groaned in frustration before making your way over to the boy.

Taglist:

@itsjustjenna @ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @mixedchicaq @boredoomfm @soccmoss @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @lancelotapricot @captainbucky-yt @crystallizedtime @thesneakylittleminx @moonlightaura03

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

#weeping monk x reader #The Weeping Monk #Weeping Monk #weeping monk fic #Weeping monk x you #lancelot x reader #lancelot x you #cursed weeping monk #netflix cursed #Weepingmonkxreader #lancelotxreader

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willpowers · 4 years ago

Text

I know its 2021 and I havent written for death note since 2007 but like, ive been up all night so here meronia fandom, no more lurking in the reblogs lol

Rated T for swearing and like, implied possibility of nsfw?

Drabble 1

With the soft click of his door, Near let out a soft sigh.

Kira was unmasked and defeated, he had won.

No.

They had won.

His hand instantly went to his neck, almost on instinct by now, and held the cheaply made beads and wooden red cross he hid under his shirt.

Near had never been religious, and he knew these beads were just symbolic, the first one he could buy at midnight on that night, when grief kept him up and walking through the unexplored city, needing something tangible. So he could deny.

Denial was normal.

This... Was normal.

He winced slightly as the cheap wood splintered a bit, poking his pale finger. He let go of the effigy and held his still clenched hand at his side.

What would he do now?

Logically, he knew. He was L.

“Nate River” died with the man named Lawliet. Died with the thunderous slamming of the orphanage door that a 14 year old boy should not have been able to make.

“Near” was dead now too.

Died with that man. Light Yagami.

So L he was.

A predictable future for a perfect boy whose only flaw was not worshipping a strange adult who came to visit. His apathy, which before gave him freedom, was the final bar in this jail cell of a title.

Did he enjoy being a detective? Probably, in some way. The battle against Kira thrilled him.

No, it wasn’t the one against Kira that kept his attention.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the puppets. He let them all fall to the ground. One by one, their tiny rubber bodies bounced a bit. There was L, first dead. Near never cared for him much. Took him five minutes to throw together something of a resemblance.

There was Kira. Honestly he was thinking about the hamburgler for this one. Petty killer with petty burger thief. Fitting.

Then Misa... Mikami... The others. Names he couldnt wait to just file away in some police report and forget about.

Then himself.

The white puppet, which he didn’t put too much energy into, but still made look a bit like him. He was simple. Monochromatic and bored.

Then him. He picked up the blonde puppet carefully, remembering how it took all night to get it right. He painted every detail he remembered from their one meeting at the headquarters. From every hidden camera quick shot of the man who was as bright as he was loud.

He couldn’t bear to even think his name.

Near picked up the puppet of him, putting them in their usual spots on his index and middle fingers. He would enjoy the thought of being on Nears middle finger. He was vulgar enough to.

He stared at them, and stood up. They needed a better home. The puppets didn’t have to be thrown away, like the real counterparts. Near opened his best toy chest, one he put his favorite toys into, and laid the two puppets, side by side. He put the blonde puppet slightly higher than the white one. A little victory. One the real man couldn’t claim by his side.

Near closed the toy chest, then looked back around his room. His toys were scattered, dice piled high, and cards strewn about.

The sight disgusted him.

It looked so... Normal.

He kicked over the dice, letting the clatter as they fall echo through the silent room. Kneeling down, he picked up the finished puzzles and dumped them out, one after the other. Their perfect completion being ruined by the destruction, and wet by the falling tears the boy didn’t even know he was capable to make.

Near knelt in the middle of his mess and grit his teeth, letting more of those rare droplets fall, tainting all his toys.

Why did such a win feel like such a loss? Like it had no meaning? He always did what was told. Kept quiet, did well on tests, become a detective. Catch Kira. Save the day. Save the world.

But he didn’t care at all. He had only loved one thing in his life, and in the process of fulfilling his duty... Their duty... He lost him.

Taking in a shaky breath, Near picked up the toys and pieces of puzzle and dice and cards and put them in his bigger chest. He took his time. He usually had the others do this for him, but he hated the person who was reliant on everyone to do everything. That man fucked up. He was foolish. He could die along with the rest of the casualties.

At one point, he heard his door open. He mentally chastised himself for forgetting to lock it.

“I thought I requested the night alone.” He said sternly, trying to not let his emotions show.

However, he got no response, only footsteps closer.

Footsteps with a heavy walk that none of his associates used.

Footsteps that should be six feet under.

Hallucination wasn’t one of the stages of grief. And it wasn’t on his agenda. He bit his lip, not sure what to think about. He didnt want to turn around. If he was wrong about who it was...

So he put more toys away. Methodically putting away robot after robot.

Soon another hand joined him. Taking a stuffed sheep and tossing it on the bed.

Only one person would know that goes there.

He reached for another toy. But hesitated. His mind was racing, trying to put together the puzzle. Figure out what was real. What was a lie.

A charred, bandaged hand grabbed the toy and put it away.

“Are you going to ignore me forever, or just until your toys are away.”

Near’s breath hitched a bit, the voice was deeper, damaged, but unmistakable.

He finally looked behind him, eyes a bit wider than usual, but still doing his best not to show his emotions. He had to have some cards left in his hand, for whatever game this was.

He looked like shit.

His hair was uneven and singed, his scar had gotten deeper and he could tell from the bandages he got more scars in new places. If he was here, he had to have survived a gasoline based truck fire.

He had to have survived the Death Note.

The man smirked.

“Sorry to interrupt your pity party, but it just so happened a kidnapped girl under immense pressure couldn’t accurately write a slavic name.”

Near stood up, walking over and gently touching his scar. He felt the other recoil, but he couldn’t care less.

He pressed harder, and earned a wince. He felt the warmth, a bit of blood from the wound staining his pale white fingers.

Blood.

Fresh blood.

He was alive.

“Mihael.” He said, under his breath, only able to be heard by the man before him.

He stepped closer. He pressed a hand on his chest, felt his heartbeat. He closed his eyes and counted... Steady, not in danger. Warm, quickening?

Near closed his fist a bit, gripping the leather under his palm. His fingernails would leave marks. But he could mark him. He was here to mark.

“Mihael...” He said, slightly louder. A reminder to himself.

Mihael snorted. “What, did you just remember it?” He said, a bit of a flush on his pale face. He could flush. He was blushing.

Near gripped his collar roughly, pulling him down and pressing his still lips to the others. It was awkward and obviously full of inexperience.

He felt the other snort, and could imagine him rolling his eyes. Probably savoring that he was going to obviously beat him at this. Near could care less.

The blonde held his face and tilted it into a proper kiss.

Ah.

This was actually a lot better.

Near kept the contact, using the new angle to press further against him, closing his eyes now, like he figured he was supposed to do. He was out of his depth here. There was no swell of orchestra or butterflies in his digestive system... But it was enough.

He pulled back, looking at him proper now. They were still holding each other, Near by his face and Mihael by his collar.

“Youre not better than me. For kissing me first.” He said, an uncomfortable look on his beet red face.

“I never claimed to be.” Was his response. “About anything. That was you.”

Mihael glared. “Stop it. Stop saying that. Not... now.” He looked down. It seemed Near wasn’t the only one feeling a lost sense of something.

Near looked at him and pulled back, taking him by the hand and pulling him towards the bed.

“Prove youre better then. Unless you accept defeat..” He said, a coy grin creeping onto his face.

Mello went with him, smiling.

Nothing was solved, pieces weren’t clicked together in a perfect fit, the world didn’t suddenly make sense, and neither of them had a plan. However, they had a start.

And it looked promising.

#meronia #death note #mello #near #mihael kheel #nate river

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trashy-slashy · 5 years ago

Text

I’m very rusty and this is very trash ok

(What even is pacing lmao)

‘Are you going to kill me?’

Thomas Hewitt x FemaleReader

Stupid unreliable machines. After your car spluttered to a halt in the middle of the arid Texan wasteland, you’d had to wander a good hour to find any sort of civilisation. Sweat drenched your back and your throat burned. The lone building you stumbled upon had turned out to be a butcher’s, which seemed particularly bizarre on the side of a road. The shops occupant explained that there was a slaughterhouse nearby and some of your qualms settled. You acquired a bottle of water and waited as the clerk dialled a local mechanic

“What brings you here then, Missy?” The phone clacked back into its holder, the older woman turning to peer over her glasses at you. Despite the similarity in size, you felt incredibly small under her gaze.

“Visiting family” you lied instinctively, garnering an upwards head tilt from behind the counter. Something didn’t sit right about this place still; you were fairly sure she knew about your unease too. Flies buzzed around the butcher’s shop, your fingers finding purchase on a set of keys in your pocket. The awkward fiddling released some of your nervous energy.

You sat silent under the womans scrutiny for what felt like hours before the telltale sound of an engine pulled up to the shop.

“What do we have here then?” Your eyes widened as a man in a sheriff’s uniform strode through the door, carrying rope and a linen sack in one hand, the gleaming barrel of a shotgun under his other arm. His eyes glinted maliciously as his gaze fell on you.

* * *

Deeming it in your best interest, you complied as the man bound and gagged you, before unceremoniously bundling you into his backseat. Oddly enough, you didn’t feel much; shock you assumed.

“Mama says you want to stay for dinner!” He chuckled, a shiver running through your spine. The car jolted and you jerked with it, head bashing against the inside of car door. The sheriff heard your muffled grunt and giggled. “Sorry ‘bout that, these darn armadillos won’t learn...” Between the pain in your temple and the suffocating bag bound to your head you began to feel a little woozy. “Seeing as you’ve been so good, I’ll let that off you when we stop. I heard my nephew can’t wait to meet you” He sniggered, turning the car sharply. You whimpered as your head collided with car again, the throbbing overwhelming your thoughts, not giving you a second to contemplate what meeting his nephew would entail.

* * *

A short while later, the car pulled to a stop. Your ears perked up as you heard the man clamber from the vehicle.

“TOMMY! I got something for ya!” He shouted, slamming the door behind him. A few baited breaths later, the door beside you opened. “Take her downstairs then boy, come on” The sheriff urged, and not long after you felt yourself being pulled effortlessly from the car. The wind left your body as your stomach impacted what you could only assume was Tommy’s shoulder. Jesus christ, how big was this guy? His shoulder easily supported the span of your waist.

“Oh, hang on, wait just a second” A few moments later the bag was pulled from your head, leaving you face to face with the Sherrif. His name badge gleamed under the burning sun. Hoyt. “You kids have fun now.” His ensuing grin was up there with one of the most disturbing things you’d ever seen. So far.

You watched as he shrunk into the distance, soon finding yourself inside a dingy house. You didn’t get to see much of it before passing a sliding metal door, descending down into a dank, disgusting basement. The floor was hidden under a foot of murky water, the stench of rot and mould filling the air. The walls contained the same tools one might use to butcher livestock. You shivered unvoluntarily. There was no signs of animals being kept on the farm, nevermind actually getting one down here.

I’m the livestock.

You didn’t see any way out except for the way you came in. There was no escaping the man underneath you. His legs were easily twice the length of yours and overpowering him; stupid idea. Tommy paused for a moment, his breathing uneven. You sighed dejectedly. Neither your fight or flight instincts kicked in. Accepting your fate, you did the only thing you could think of.

“Tommy?” Your voice cracked from dehydration and the bubbling mixtures of emotions boiling up inside of you. He grunted in response, shuffling towards the middle of the room. Tears welled up in the corner of your eyes. “Just... please, make it quick.”

You were upright. Wrists and ankles still bound, but sat upright. Your captor stood before you, his face shrouded in darkness. You were right about one thing though. He was huge. Easily well over 6 feet tall and heavily built, his torso covered by an apron, that once may have been white, but now tinged with grime and bloodstains. His hands were more than likely bigger than your face. There was no way this man would show mercy. You gulped as he stepped forward, his face exposed under the lamp.

A crude leather mask covered the entirity of his lower face. His hair was untamed and grimey, some parts grazing his shoulder, others sticking wildly in all directions. The skin you could see was mottled, as if he’d been caught in a fire or even acid had melted his flesh. Most people would’ve screamed at the sight of this feral beast of a man. But you saw his eyes: saw the pain and confusion hidden in them and furrowed your brow. Why?

“Are... are you going to kill me?” You asked after sitting there for a few minutes of Tommy being deathly still, his eyes locked on you. He growled angrily, turning to snatch a cleaver from a nearby table, brandishing it at you. You froze, watching his chest heave as he poked you with the tip of the knife, but not breaking skin. His gaze never left your face, his free hand coming up to grip your shoulder firmly.

“What do you want?” You paused, gauging his reaction. Tommy made a low rumbling sound in his throat. You wondered if he was mute. He still looked confused, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you were 99% this man was a serial killer and that he was inevitably going to murder you, you’d say he looked kind of adorable. The cleaver clattered to the floor as he let it go, in favour of gripping both your shoulders. He stooped to glare at you, inches from your face, his fingers squeezing just hard enough to leave bruises.

“You don’t have to kill me” It was a matter of fact statement: worth a try. Tommy released your shoulders, a pained expression on his face. He nodded solemnly, his hand surprisingly light as he touched your neck. He jumped back in terror when you giggled, hand recoiled against his body. How can one man be so menacing yet a huge baby?

“I’m ticklish” You explained, going to gesture toward him. “Look-“ Your hands were still bound. Well that’s not going to work. Tommy seemed to notice and scooted his way around the table. It seemed almost alien how gentle his fingers were as he undone your ties. Wrists freed, you instinctively rubbed the circulation back into them, giving your captor a smile. “Thank you” His head tilted curiously, watching as you outstretched your hand. He made no motion towards you, eyes flicking between your hand and face. “I’m not gonna hurt ya.” How had this happened? Ten minutes ago you thought he was going to murder you in cold-blood, yet now... He looked like an overgrown puppy. You wondered if you were the first stranger to show him kindess. The thought made you sadden a little. “Tommy?” You mimicked his head tilt, gesturing him to come closer, hoping he’d get the idea. Eventually he complied, shuffling forward until your fingers met his belly. The warmth under your hand was comforting and it just felt... right. You couldn’t place it, but something about him was warm and comforting to you. At this point it seemed more likely that you would spook him.

“I’m gonna touch you, okay?” You murmured softly, trailing your fingers up his torso slowly. He froze up under you and whined. “Sorry Tommy I-“ you began to pull away but his hand enveloped yours, pressing it back against his chest. His heart thudded rapidly under your palm.

“Why is it so dang quiet down here?” Hoyt slammed open the gate at the top of the stairs, startling both you and Tommy. He grunted and stepped backward, whilst you almost fell face first off the table, steadying your hands on the wood below you. The sheriff grumbled when he saw you, snarling at Tommy. “Can’t you do something right for once ya dumb idiot? Dinner will be ready soon!” His nephew recoiled under his words and you felt rage boil in your stomach.

“Don’t talk to him like that!” You instinctively clamped your hand over your mouth. Whilst Tommy may not be the evil killer he appeared to be, the Sheriff seemed to be far more sadistic. Though currently he looked a little stunned.

“How in the...” he shook his head, pointing at the butcher. “You ain’t keeping her son, Ma won’t allow it!” Hoyt pulled his shotgun from his shoulder to his hands. “Now finish it and come for dinner, or I will.” He sneered, pointing the barrel at you. You saw it gleam for a second before Tommy stepped between you two, the sheriff sighing dejectedly. “Fine, but you bring her to Ma and explain yourself.” You heard the telltale sound of boots on wood as he left the basement.

“You shouldn’t...” you began, but didn’t know where you were headed. Tommy turned back to you, making short work of the ties around your ankles. “Thank you” He helped you off the table, keeping a firm but gentle grip on your arm as you both climbed the stairs.

Despite the circumstances, it seemed that everything was finally looking up.

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #leatherface x reader #this is garbage but i tried i cant control my dumb monkey brain #lil cutie tho

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black-streak · 5 years ago

Text

Waiting for the Worms - Goodbye Blue Sky

Part 10

Extra long, late Christmas gift. Warnings are always in effect. I'll leave it at that.

CLOSED list of friendly people: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

The moment the door creaked open, Marinette woke up, shifting towards the source upon recognizing its pattern. Damian stopped misstep as their eyes met, then proceeded to edge closer until he could sit upon the edge. They sat silently watching one another, Marinette's tired mind not fully functioning in her sleepy state now that the intruder was blatantly not a threat to keep track of.

The boy faced away from her, muscles tense and trembling ever so slightly. He twitched as though he wanted to turn around but aborted the attempt before it could even begin. His fists twisted up in the sheets at his side and he seemed to brace himself for something. Haze lifting a touch, she realizes she needs to bridge the gap herself this time. Normally he came to her in his own time, but just showing up in her room in the middle of the night told her how much he was already meeting her halfway; even if he needed something from her and not the other way round.

Reaching out, shuffling the sheets in warning, she rested a calloused hand on his wrist. His attention snapped over to her, head whipping over his shoulder and eyes locking once more. Only this time, he stayed close enough for her to see the shine to his eyes, fear hiddened in the depths.

"Damian?"

He huffed a breath through his nose, staying silent otherwise, not moving closer nor creating distance between them. Deciding he probably wouldn't speak on the issue in this mental state, she tugged softly at his wrist, shifting to the other side of the bed and lifting the bedding on the now opened side, keeping her grip on his wrist gentle enough to ensure he knew he could escape at a moment's notice with no resistance.

"Come here, little one. Sleep."

His face pinched up as though to protest only to soften into a confused little pout, "No questions?"

"None."

He eased up, padding further onto the bed and settling beside her, relaxing as time passes. Marinette maintained a foot and a half of distance between them, refusing to crowd the boy or make him uncomfortable after he came to her. She knew he craved attention and affection, likely touch starved throughout the last seven years, but knew Damian needed to decide for himself if that was something he wanted from her. Despite calling her family, Marinette knew she would need to tread carefully to not break that fragile trust, letting him decide if he wanted her as an older sibling, parental figure, or distant cousin. So instead of cuddling the distressed boy as her instincts screamed for, she turned away and listened until his breathing settled before slipping back to sleep herself.

...

Their plans started to take a new depth, Talia starting to speak more in places and times instead of abstracts, referring to several upcoming missions or events in which opportunities might present themselves and how to take full advantage and slip away.

She stressed the importance of not informing her when they decide to leave and where they'll end up.

The decisions laid out before her, Marinette mapped out every instance and possible outcome, taking the easiest routes and simplest plans and immediately scrapping them. Too easy to track. She also scraped any idea that seemed overly complex. Overactive imaginations such as Ras' would immediately think of the most intricate and convoluted plans and follow their leads. The distraction or escape itself mattered less than the journey afterwards, when the league would attempt to hunt them down to reclaim their heir. She wanted a middle ground. Something complex enough to throw them off of any path, but easy enough to not hit their radar.

The thought hit her in the middle of the night, Damian snug on the other half, having entered some time ago. Looking down at the child, she knew where they would go and how.

The next day, she waited for Talia in her rooms. When the woman entered, she waited until the door locked to speak.

"I've figured it out."

"Jason, what did I-"

"I'm not here to tell you any details. I'm just informing you that our departure is prepared for. And to say goodbye. You can't know when we'll disappear, meaning the loss of your son will blindside you as well. So I'm telling you now. His ties are broken, he won't come back, he will never feel the need to return. I'll keep him safe though. I'll remember your love and sacrifice. It's going to be okay Talia. You're doing what's best for him."

"I know," she gave a small smile, broken in the corner. With that, Marinette left her alone, knowing there was nothing left for them to say. The woman knew how grateful she was for this second chance at life. For the training and education. The trust and care. The connection to the world through her child.

The next morning she found a bag hidden in her rooms, filled with supplies and multiple currencies of cash, along with access keys to multiple unattached drop boxes across the world. Child support, she thought to herself with a huff of laughter.

…

The two had just returned from a particularly terrible mission, where Damian had made his second kill and she had taken some gruelling measures to protect the kid and prevent his needing to step in further.

When Damian entered her room that night, it seemed less for his own comfort and more for hers. As though he sensed how distraught his killing made her. He was too young and raised too harshly to understand why, but knew that it upset her and wished to soothe the gloom looming over them. If she had to guess, that probably contributed to why he avoided the act when out on the field. She took matters into her own hands, killed when the situation called for it and sometimes when the madness echoed a touch too loud, but she couldn't stand the thought of the little one becoming a killer.

Huddling amongst the sheets and feeling his tiny hand press between her shoulder blades, she decided the time to inform Damian had come at last.

"If I said we could escape this. The trainers who hurt and demean you, the woman who disowned you, the man who cares only about an heir and not the boy behind the title, would you want that?"

His breathing pattern threw itself off just a touch, a sign of his surprise, "What do you mean?"

"The League. Talia, Ras, everything. Would you want to escape. See the outside world, decide for yourself who you ought to be, instead of just becoming what they want. Stop being used."

"That's not an option though," he countered, tone cautious.

"Why not?"

"Where would I go? How? Nobody escapes."

"We could. I've spent enough time as Talia's pet to know how to evade anyone here. Watched and listened in to enough to know how Ras thinks. And you? You grew up here, you must have this place memorized like the back of your hand. Know the patterns and inner workings of its people. We could escape, together."

He stayed silent, hand wrapping into the back of her shirt subconsciously where it lay.

"And once we're out?"

"I grew up in the outside world, I know where to go, how to survive."

"You're saying I'd have to trust you with my life."

"I'd be trusting you as well. I'm trusting you now to even ask this," she mentioned, drawing attention to how risky bring up an escape plan to the heir of the Demon's Head truly was. Showing her trust in him to ease the fear of putting his life in her hands.

"And if we were to escape successfully, I'd be free then? To make my own decisions like you said?"

"With some moderate supervision," her voice betrayed her amusement at his prodding, "I'm not going to distance myself from your upbringing like they did, but I'm also not planning to micromanage your life. Just enough to keep you safe and guide you through the outside world. Does that sound agreeable?"

"I could live with that," he surprisingly sounded pleased by the notion instead of putoff as she had originally expected. She hummed in contemplation and fell silent for some time before feeling a tug from the hand still at her back.

"Jason?"

"Have a bag ready at all times. We'll need to leave at a moment's notice."

Damian fell silent, but she felt the way his hand relaxed it's grip at her, his quiet sigh all she needed. He would be ready.

…

Only a week after their conversation, an opportunity presented itself. Whether Talia played a hand in it, she didn't know, but either way, Marinette was not about to look this gift horse in the mouth.

The two woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of chaos. Screaming came from outside, the crackling of fire and clang of metal hitting metal in the distance. The city was under attack.

Marinette pushed Damian to the edge of the bed, urging him up and grabbing their bags from hidden compartments around the room, throwing a change of clothes to the boy and grabbing her own, shoving armor and her mission clothes on, knowing the boy was doing the same somewhere out of sight. Soon, they were back in front of each other, Marinette adjusting his one small bag onto his back and carefully strapping the rest to her own before handing his katana over, bending down to look him in the eye.

"If it comes to it, don't hesitate. Your life is way more important to me than theirs. They will aim to kill you. I won't let them. But if someone gets past me, protect yourself."

"I know."

"Promise me. I don't care how much you think it upsets me. Promise me you'll do whatever it takes to make it out of here."

He looked down, lips twisting and brow furrowing before he met her eyes and nodded, "Promise."

Nodding, she led the way out, bladed staff at her back, knives in hand. By some stroke of luck, most of the fighting stayed some distance away. Happening upon a small crisped body, unrecognizable, she pushed Damian forward, grabbing a small blade off him as he passed and pushing it into the crumpled hand of the dead, pushing back fear at her own lack of respect for the dead. Now was not the time for a crisis. Looking up, she met his confused eyes, gesturing to the body size and pointedly looking him up and down. Realization struck and he nodded back. She wanted them to assume he died in the attack. As she headed towards a tunnel up ahead, he tugged on her wrist, leading her another direction. She gave a questioning look, but followed upon his insistence. As they turned another sharp corner, a body hit hers. She rolled with it, seeing another approach Damian and throwing a knife with perfect precision into the would be attackers neck as she hit the floor, her own now straddling her stomach. Before she could even start to fight back, a flash of silver crossed above her and blood rained down, covering her as the body dropped heavy on top of her. Shoving it off, she rolled onto her stomach and into a crouch, dragging her arm across her face and looking up into Damian's wide eyes, katana dripping blood in his hands. Clearing what she could from her face, she stood up and put a hand on his shoulder, turning him away from the scene and internalizing the moment to panic on later. She yanked her knife from the neck of the other and picked up their pace down the hall once more, urging him to take over directions again, not knowing his escape path and glad for the distraction it offered him. Turning down another path, Marinette caught sight of the carnage down a separate hallway and rushed them along faster. Damian pulled off the path into an alcove and shoved at the wall until it gave way to another blocked off path. They took the time to reset the wall to cover the path once more. At this point, she took out a glowstick, snapping it and allowing the acid green to light the way.

At some point the path turned upwards and continued winding for another mile before letting out into a basement. Deciding not to tempt fate, they changed into civilian clothes and made their way out of the abandoned building. From there, they set off for the next city over before taking one of many sets of airline tickets shoved into the cash bag courtesy of Talia and flying out. Arriving in a new city, they rented a hotel room and burnt the remaining tickets.

The next week followed the same pattern. Buying bus tickets and airline tickets under different IDs, some stolen from other league members, some falsified and placed in the bag weeks before with no one the wiser.

By the end of the week, they reached their final destination. Gotham City. The last place anyone would expect Jason to run back to. Renting an apartment was easy enough, Talia and the league having been very thorough in teaching how to falsify documents, the former having taught her personally, the latter having taught Damian.

Around this time, in a dingy, inconspicuous hotel, Marinette broached a rather difficult topic.

"Damian, you need to decide who I am to you before we move forward."

"Put me down as-"

"Hold up, I'm not finished."

He huffed at her interruption, but gestured for her to continue.

"Do you know how Talia came across me?"

"You were a dead boy who came back to life and dropped into a coma. She took you in and healed you in the pit. You were connected to someone she cared about once."

"Have you heard of Batman and Robin?"

"Yes? I don't see what this has to do with anything."

"Jason was Robin. I was killed by the Joker, sat in a grave for something like six months in a dead body. It came back to life and I clawed out of that grave and to a hospital where I was indeed in a coma for a year before coming back and being found by Talia."

A contemplative pinch in his forehead showed up as he thought on her words, "You said Jason was Robin. But you died. What does that mean?"

"This is Jason's body, but I'm not Jason. I'm his soulmate. I died for him and the connection was lost. I've never been Jason, in all the time you've known me."

"Why are you telling me now?"

"You deserve to know exactly who I am before you decide anything. Especially anything pertaining to my guardianship over you."

"But I know who you are. What body you inhabit means nothing."

Marinette felt a tiny smile tilt the corner of her lip, "All the same."

"But… Out of curiosity, what's your real name?"

"Marinette," the name fell heavy off her tongue, foreign and harsh after nearly three years without use.

"On paper, you'll be my older brother, Jason, who gained full custody over me upon the death of our parents."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. In reality, you're my big sister though. Alright?"

"Alright. Mind if I take some liberties with the paperwork?"

Narrowed green eyes seemed to assess her for only a moment before he nodded and moved on to the next piece of legal work. The fact he could understand the jarbel on the sheet still caught her off guard at times. Shaking her head, she made a few adjustments on the electronic documentation, saving the work and erasing any trace of proof of her having hacked the system. Having her own laptop was coming in handy.

With their identities secured, she rented their new place and had them moved in within three days.

While their cash wasn't even near dwindling, she began her hunt for work. Her first instinct was to return to design, but after so many years, the idea of designing clothing with no real purpose no longer held its appeal. Hopefully something would come her way soon.

…

Their first night in their new home, Damian crawled into her bed with nightmares from the night of their escape. She certainly felt the terror of that night in the back of her mind as well.

"I'm sorry," the seven year old murmured, hunched up as though expecting anger.

"What for?" She whispered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes while turning towards the small voice.

"I didn't listen. When we escaped. You told me only to protect myself."

"You did protect yourself."

"I also protected you. You probably didn't even need my help, yet I killed that man before you could."

"I told you to do what you deemed necessary. Could you think of an alternative option?"

"No… they wouldn't have stopped until one of you were dead. He had to die for us to escape."

"Correct. While I wish that blood wasn't on your hands, his death in that moment was inevitable."

"You are still upset though."

"I would be upset either way. You shouldn't have to witness such things. But I'm glad we're both safe and that's what's important. That you're okay and neither of us will be put into such a position again."

"Do you resent your soulmate? For putting you through all of this?"

"No. Never. I chose to die for him. I chose to take every hit the Joker intended for him. I chose to take his place in the horrific life fate planned for him. He fought me in those last moments, you know? Tried to force his way back into his body. He didn't want this for me either. But I got a second chance. I've learned so much. I got you. And he's safer, wherever he is."

"You love him," he stated.

"I love him," she agreed easily.

Silence fell over the room and Damian shifted closer until he could snuggle right up into her side, holding a tense position until she wrapped an arm around him and whispered a soft goodnight. With that gentle acceptance, he immediately softened in her hold and fell into a restful sleep.

…

Around eleven in the morning, she woke abruptly to a yanking sensation in the back of her mind. Stumbling out of the room, she pushed over to a bar stool in the open kitchen, collapsing onto it and leaning on the table before promptly blacking out.

#jasonette #maribat #ml x dc #WFTW #part 10 #im not thrilled with how this turned out?#but im also not sure if I could have written it any differently #the past tensed third person static perspective I gave this whole story is kind of weird #oh well #works so far

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trashyswitch · 4 years ago

Text

Please Go To Sleep...

Thomas is exhausted, and Remy won't leave him alone till he gets his latte. So, Remy decides to use one of his favorite persuasive tactics: tickling.

Well...I'm uploading this fanfic in Toronto. Why am I in Toronto? I have to get some tests on my heart. So...I'm risking my immunocompromised health in the Toronto General Hospital. I'll let you know how things went next time I post, or on Tumblr.

This is Tickletober Day 27: Favorite Spot

Thomas sighed as he laid in the bed in agitation.

“WOOOOO HOOOO! DANCE LIKE NOBODY’S WATCHIN’!”

Thomas growled into his pillow.

“Come ON, THOMAS! DON’T BE SUCH A PARTY POOPER!”

Thomas flipped him off.

“HAHA! SEE, YOU GUYS? THOMAS IS HAVING FUN!”

Thomas flopped his hand onto his bed and covered his head with the covers.

“AWWWW! Is Thomas preparing to do the BLANKET WORM?! HELL YEAH! GO THOMAS GO!” Remy started jumping on the bed and fistpumping the air. “GO THOMAS GO! YOU CAN DO IT THOMAS!”

Thomas finally threw a pillow at the man.

Remy pushed the pillow off his own face. “...Well that was rude.” Remy gasped and whimpered to himself. “Thoooomaaaas! You spilt my LATTE!” Remy whined, screaming the word ‘Latte’ like a toddler.

“J-st c-njurrr up -nothrr ooonne.” Thomas said to Remy through his pillow.

“But- NO!” Remy threw the starbucks latte cup at Thomas.

It bonked against the back of Thomas’s head. “Ow” Thomas grunted, rubbing his head.

Remy threw a pair of keys at Thomas next. “WE ARE BUYING ME ANOTHER LATTE. RIGHT NOW.” Remy ordered.

The keys clanged against Thomas’s head, in the exact same spot. “Oooohohow. Remyyyyy!” Thomas whined, wincing and rubbing his head in pain.

“You RUINED MY LATTE! My other white SHIRT, is COVERED IN LATTE! I NEED MY LATTE, OR I’M GONNA HURT SOMEONE!” Remy ordered.

Thomas rolled his eyes and shoved his face further into his pillow. “Y-u kindaa diid.” Thomas muttered.

“GOOD.” Remy shouted. “IT’S ALREADY GETTING BAD THEN.” Remy added, before pouting and crossing his arms in anger.

Thomas scoffed at that. But then he sighed and picked himself up. He got off his bed and wrapped his arms around Remy’s waist. “Come on, Remy. It’s time to sleep.” Thomas told him, lightly resting his chin on Remy’s shoulder.

Remy shook his head. “Mm mm. Not until I get my latte.” Remy ordered.

Thomas groaned. “What about tomorrow?” Thomas offered.

“Earlier.” Remy ordered.

“I can wake up early to get one.” Thomas compromised.

“No you can’t.” Remy told him. “Besides: earlier.” Remy added.

Thomas sighed into his shoulder. “You are just begging for a midnight latte, huh?” Thomas clarified.

Remy whined and bounced impatiently. “Yeeeeeess!” Remy whined back.

“Hmm...You don’t think anything else will help you get into bed with me?” Thomas asked with a smirk.

Remy softened his expression a little, but quickly hardened his expression. “No.”

Thomas smiled and slowly started to pull Remy along into bed. “If we sleep, we can dream about a latte factory.” Thomas offered.

Remy blinked in confusion. “...There are latte factories?” Remy asked.

Thomas shrugged his shoulders and made an ‘I dunno’ humming sound. “Might be.” Thomas told him. “Maybe we can discuss it in bed?” Thomas suggested.

Remy narrowed his eyes and looked away from the man. “No. Not without my latte.” Remy ordered.

Thomas blinked in surprise. He was truly being stubborn tonight. Were latte’s really that important to him?

Remy pulled away from him and turned to face the tired Thomas. “Listen, Thomas. If you don’t get me my Latte, I might need to force you.” Remy warned.

Thomas sniffed a laugh. “And how are you gonna do that?” Thomas asked him, crossing his arms in amusement.

Remy growled in anger, but quickly dropped his behaviour when he found an interesting feature on Thomas:

Thomas’s chest was bare. That gave him ideas to use the most playful, yet strategic version of persuading: tickling.

Remy started to feel a smirk growing on his face as he leaned into Thomas’s ear. “By taking advantage of your bare body.” Remy whispered proudly before pulling Thomas into his own chest. Thomas giggled and rested his head back on Remy’s shoulder, while Remy wrapped his arms around his waist.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Cuhuhuddling? Your forceful strategy is cuddling?” Thomas specified.

Remy hummed. “Not quite. Close, tho.” Remy replied before lightly poking and skittering his fingers on Thomas’s belly.

Thomas wiggles around a bit and let out slight titters. “Rehemy...wahahahit-” Thomas giggled, wiggling even more before breaking out of his grip.

“What? I’m just giving you belly rubs.” Remy told him as he pulled the man back into his arms.

Thomas yelped and squealed as more of his belly and ribs were poked and squeezed. He knew EXACTLY what Remy was up to, and he was NOT having it. Thomas started wiggling about even more, and struggled in an attempt to get out of his grip once again. But Remy had pulled Thomas further into his chest, locked him in with his arms, and took a big breath:

PBBFFFBBBBTT!

“aaAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! EEHEHEHEHEHE!” Thomas screamed and bursted out laughing.

“Ooooh! Ticklish, I see?” Remy asked with an obvious smile on his face.

Yeheah. You know that already though! You’re a version of me!” Thomas told him as he tried to get away.

“Doesn’t mean I knew how ticklish you are. Especially your neck!” Remy teased, fluttering his fingers on Thomas’s neck.

“Mmhmhmhmhmhehehehehahahahahaha!” Thomas giggled.

“Awww! Coochy coochy coo, my party killer!” Remy teased. He blew another raspberry onto Thomas’s neck.

“NOOOHOHOHO! STAHPIHIHIHIT!” Thomas begged.

“But why would I stop when you were being so rude earlier to me? I think Thomas needs more tickles~” Remy decided with a smirk.

Remy gently walked Thomas to the bed and laid Thomas onto the end of the bed on his back. Remy was standing above him and wiggling his fingers at him in an evil, anticipating manner. Thomas’s face grew red almost instantly as he tried to stop the man or tickle him back. But his sides were a no-go, and his armpits were not even ticklish.

Remy’s smirk widened. “Not ticklish, Thomas~” Remy sing-songed as he poked Thomas’s belly button.

Thomas let out a shriek and attempted to cover it up. But Remy grabbed Thomas’s dominant hand and pinned it to his side with his left, while he dipped and fluttered his finger inside Thomas’s navel. “NAHAHAHAHAHAHA! REHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAT MYHYHYHY BEHEHEHE- BEHEHEH- NOHOHOHOHO!” Thomas yelled.

“Not your ‘beEeEe’? What’s a ‘bEeEe’?” Remy asked. Thomas shook his head in frustration, while Remy thought. Suddenly, Remy gasped and snapped his finger like he connected the dots! “Ooooh! Do you mean your belly button?!” Remy asked. Thomas looked away, embarrassed. “It’s because I LOVE belly buttons! They’re so tiny, but FILLED with ticklish nerves just waiting to be plucked and played to my enjoyment!” Remy teased as he poked and scratched in his belly button.

Thomas giggled and whined as he covered up his face with his free hand.

Remy giggled as he continued. “Is poor Tommy too embarrassed to say the b-word?” Remy teased.

“BITCH!” Someone yelled suddenly, prompting Remy to stop

Remy and Thomas blinked in surprise and turned their heads to the source of the sound. Hidden behind the dresser, was a mustached version of Thomas, who was shirtless and dawned a white highlight in his hair.

“Is bitch the word you were talking about?” Remus asked, holding up a yipping chihuahua.

Remy sighed and proceeded to ignore him by tickling Thomas’s belly button to make him laugh again. Thomas’s red blush was right back onto his face in seconds as he squeaked and laughed while pushing Remy with his free left hand.

Remus’s smile dropped as he realized what they were doing wasn't dirty whatsoever. In fact, it was the complete opposite. So, Remus rolled his eyes and lowered himself back into the imagination.

Remy chuckled. “Wow! If tickling is the hidden key to getting Remus to leave, we should tickle you more often!” Remy told him. Thomas shook his head instinctively as his pushing against Remy weakened and lessened. The tickling was weakening him to the point where he couldn’t even push his own sleep persona off himself! “Uh oh...looks like someone is weeeaaakeniiing~” Remy teased.

Thomas tried to cover half his face up in the bed comforter. “NOOOOHOHOHOhohohoho!” Thomas yelled.

“Oooohoho, I think it iiiiis! Are the tickle-tickle-tickles on your belly-belly button making you all weak and giggly?” Remy teased, going for his sides to lessen the tickles a bit.

“KIHIHIhihihindahahaha…” Thomas admitted.

Remy tsked to himself. “Well, looks like I accidentally gave you what you wanted then.” Remy told him. Remy stopped tickling him and wiped away the ghost tickles as well. “I suppose I can wait till tomorrow morning to get my latte.” Remy decided.

Thomas let out a sigh of relief as he recovered from the one-sided tickle fight. “Ohoho boy...okay.” Thomas replied.

Remy tilted his head. “You okay?” Remy asked him.

Thomas chuckled and leaned his head back on the bed. “Yeah.” He replied. Thomas reaches his arms out to Remy, silently asking him for a hug.

Remy nodded his head eagerly and hugged him without even thinking. Thomas happily hugged the man and cuddled him. Remy smiled. “Feeling cuddly now?” Remy asked.

Thomas grunted tiredly. “Mm hmm…” He kinda replied. Remy started to feel his eyes slowly getting a little heavy. He watched Thomas as he closed his eyes and began shallowly sleeping. He was too self-conscious to try and move now, because he may wake Thomas up by accident. As much as he wanted his latte…Thomas’s sleep mattered just a little more to him. He was Thomas’s sleep, after all. There were times when Thomas used to ignore Remy’s begs to go to sleep. But now that Thomas was an adult, he listened to Thomas more. In fact tonight, Thomas had to encourage Remy to head to bed! Talk about irony.

When Remy and Thomas woke up the next morning, it was 9am. Thomas smiled and gave Remy a forehead kiss. “Good morning Remy.” He greeted him.

Remy immediately shot up and pulled the covers off himself. “LATTE HERE WE COME!” Remy shouted, scooting himself out of bed and pulling his shoes on.

Thomas bursted out laughing. “Come here, you go-getter!” Thomas ordered playfully, wrapping his arms around Remy’s chest and pulling him back into bed. “NoOoOoOo!” Remy whined childishly, squirming about. “Come ooooonnn Thomas! I want my Latte! I waited all night for it like a good boy!” Remy begged.

“Nope! Not happening. First, I need my morning revenge.” Thomas explained proudly, wiggling his fingers at him.

“WAIT- NAAHAHAHAHA! THOHOHOHOM!” Remy shouted.

A HA! So you ARE TICKLISH! I was just going for the wrong SPOT!” Thomas declared.

...Let’s just say Remy’s morning latte ended up being an hour later than usual.

#ticklefic #switch!remy #switch!thomas #platonic relationships

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maatryoshkaa · 5 years ago

Text

young god | chapter 1

serial killer!han jisung au

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

genre: angst, thriller, romance

pairing: han jisung ( stray kids) x reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: mild language, mature themes + violence

description: when your best friend Felix sets you up on a blind date with adorable medical student Han Jisung, you find yourself falling for his sweet words and dark eyes, and the even darker secrets he hides behind his charming, angelic smile.

watch the trailer here!

1 | blind date

You were beginning to wonder if you’d been stood up.

Mia’s Diner was usually busy, bustling with students and townspeople alike, but today it was nearly deserted: just you, two students studying in a booth across the room, and an old man reading what seemed to be a newspaper upside-down in the corner. A lone waitress was stacking clean milkshake glasses behind the counter.

It was raining hard outside, the drops sounding like impatient fingers tapping at the window beside you. As you peered through the glass, you caught a glimpse of a boy on a rusty bike, waiting to cross the street. Yang Jeongin, you recognized -- the delivery boy. A silver Walkman was tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, his lips mouthing the words to a song, a halo of dripping blonde hair sticking out from underneath his hood. He was smiling, despite the fact that it was pouring buckets, and he’d likely been up doing deliveries since 6 in the morning. Yang Jeongin was always smiling.

The light flashed red, traffic halted, and the delivery boy sped away.

Turning your attention back to the empty seat in front of you, you sighed.

Your date was thirty minutes late.

Your mind was running over all the ways you were going to give Felix hell when you saw him in class tomorrow; how you were going to explain to him that you’d been stood up on the blind date he’d arranged for you.

“You know what they call me? The Matchmaker of Miroh Heights. Has a nice ring to it, huh?”

You’d groaned as your best friend wiggled his eyebrows. Felix loved playing wingman. As the school photographer and a talented journalism major, he was the one who came up with the “Cutest Couples” section in the campus newspaper -- photoshoots and candid shots of pairings, most of which he’d set up. Still, you’d never thought that his...work...would extend to you.

It had been a while since you’d entertained the notion of love. You’d had your fair share of unrequited crushes and relationships that had not-so-pleasant endings, so the moment you’d enrolled into college and the workload had swept up your entire schedule, you’d left love on the backburner. You kept telling yourself that the right person would come at the right time -- but Felix seemed to have other ideas.

“Let’s see...Hyojong? Ah, no, I forgot -- he’s taken by that pretty senior. Lucky bastard.” He huffed. “Or...Seungcheol? Nah, doesn’t seem your type. Ah!” He snapped his fingers, making you jump. “I know!”

“Felix, for the last damn time -- I don’t need a boyfriend right now.”

“Just one date? Please?” The blond boy hung up the last photo, a mischievous glint in his eyes visible even in the dark room. “I know a great guy -- health sciences major and everything. You two are practically made for each other.”

“I’m a psychology major, ‘Lix. I don’t know -- you know I’m no good at blind dates--” you caught sight of his puppy-dog expression, and sighed in defeat. “Fine! Fine. What’s his name, then?”

The school journalist flashed an impish grin. “Han Jisung.”

Han Jisung.

He was the reason why you were here, sat in a near-empty diner on a rainy Sunday afternoon, waiting for a date to show up while a pile of psychology coursework waited for you back at home.

Maybe he couldn’t make it, you told yourself -- it was pouring buckets outside. Maybe it was better to swallow your hopes and head back. Biting your lip, you pulled out your phone, tapping on Jisung’s contact (courtesy of Felix) and typing.

New Message

Hey, I’m y/n! I’m really sorry, but I had to leave.

Your finger hovered over the Send button, hesitating. What if he was on his way? Or got caught in traffic? Still, it had been over thirty minutes…

You were so caught up in your dilemma that you barely registered the sound of the diner door swinging open, and the sound of wet footsteps squeaking until they stopped at your booth.

“Hello!”

You nearly threw your phone into the face of the boy who had spoken, his hand shooting out to catch it before it fell to the floor. Drenched from head to toe from the rain -- cheeks flushed and breathing hard as if he’d been running, dark hair falling in his wide eyes, lips spread in a breathless smile -- was your date.

His other hand was hidden behind his back as he handed your phone back to you, cool fingers grazing yours as your eyes met.

Well, shit.

He was absolutely, devastatingly, adorable.

“O-oh, hi!” You stammered. “You’re…”

“Jisung,” he finished for you. “Han Jisung.” He glanced at the empty seat in front of you. “May I…”

“Yeah, of course!” Your heart rate was steadily increasing, and you wanted to slap yourself. It’s just a blind date, y/n, stop getting your hopes up--

Your gaze fell on the hand he was still hiding behind his back as he slid into the booth. Noticing your stare, Jisung slowly and sheepishly pulled out a small bouquet of roses.They were an unusual colour -- a faint, peachy pink rather than the conventional ruby red.

They were also falling apart, clusters of wrinkled petals dripping and blown askew from the wind and rain, no doubt.

“They’re for you. I mean, I completely understand if you don’t want them, it’s just--I passed a florist’s on the way here, but it started raining, and--”

“I love them,” you blurted, and, seeing Jisung raise an eyebrow, you giggled. “I really do.”

You gingerly took the misshapen bouquet from his hands, bringing the flowers to your face and breathing in softly. They smelled pleasantly of petrichor, and something else faint yet sweet.

Jisung watched you, a smile playing on his lips. “You’re -- really pretty.”

You felt the blood rush to your face, your tongue tying into knots and betraying you oncemore. “O-oh,” you squeaked, “th-thank you?”

He chuckled as the waitress came to take your orders for drinks and food.

As she left, Jisung’s gaze wandered around the vintage movie posters, records, and other retro paraphernalia that decorated the diner’s interior. “This place is something else.”

“Right? Every time I come here, I think I’ve stepped into a movie. Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Dirty Dancing--” you blushed. “Sorry. I probably sound like a nerd.”

Jisung turned back to you. “Don’t apologize. What’s your favourite kind of movie? Rom-coms?”

“Psychological thrillers, actually,” you admitted shyly. Good gosh, that intense stare in Han Jisung’s eyes was making your heart do somersaults in your chest. “But romcoms are not far behind.”

He hummed in approval, an odd glint in his eyes. “So you’re into psychology?”

“Well, I’m majoring in psychology, so I kind of have to be -- although it’s been pretty hard on me as of late.” You sighed, suddenly remembering the mountain of final assignments weighing on your shoulders.

Jisung leaned in closer, resting his chin on his hands. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just--my final project.They’re testing our ability to communicate with and analyze a patient,” you explained. “Kind of like a therapist simulation. We’re supposed to find someone and, like, apply psychological concepts by giving them mock counselling over the course of a few months. And by the end of it, we have to write a conclusive report on their mental state. I can’t find anyone who’s willing to be my patient, which honestly makes sense -- it’s such an invasive topic.”

Jisung was silent for a long moment, dark eyes unreadable. Finally, he sat up a little straighter, cocking his head to the side. “I could be your patient.”

You blinked, mouth falling open. “Wha--are you sure? I mean, you really don’t have to--and it might take up a lot of your time--”

“I wouldn’t mind spending more time with you,” he replied, eyes glinting, and your heart skipped a beat.

“R-really?” You could already feel an incredulous, relieved smile spreading on your blushing face.

Jisung chuckled. “Just to see you smile like that, trust me -- I’d do anything.”

You were infinitely grateful that at that moment, the waitress arrived with your food. You weren’t sure your face could get any redder. You knew you were a hopeless romantic at heart, and had told yourself time and time again not to be swayed by sweet talk, but this was...different. There was something genuinely sweet in Jisung’s words -- he said them so honestly, with an almost childlike simplicity.

You sipped your drink in a feeble attempt to regain composure. “My turn to ask the questions. What’s your favourite food?”

“Cheesecake,” Jisung replied instinctively. You watched him bite into his burger and giggled at the way his round eyes widened even more before he practically inhaled the rest.

“Favourite season?”

“Winter.”

“Least favourite colour?”

Jisung froze, a weighted silence falling over the table. He swallowed, hard, before replying quietly, “Red.”

When you peered at his face, you felt an icy chill trickle down your spine. His warm brown eyes had darkened and grown impossibly wide, and the colour had drained from his cheeks. Had you said something wrong? You looked down at your clothes -- a soft, oversized beige cardigan and light blue jeans.

“W-well, it’s a good thing I’m not wearing red, then, huh?”

“No.” Jisung shook his head slowly, and his shaky gaze met yours. You felt your mouth go dry at how lost his eyes seemed -- bottomless pools of pitch black. “No, I’m sure you would still look pretty in red.”

As if on cue, your cheeks turned a bright cherry hue.

Deciding to change the topic, you cleared your throat. “What about dogs? Do you like dogs?”

Almost as quickly as it had come, the dark look vanished from his face. “I love dogs!”

By the time the waitress brought the bill, Jisung had you in stitches over a joke he’d made, and you’d long forgotten about the whole ordeal.

The rain had stopped when you two stepped outside. Behind the knitted clouds, the sun was setting, its rays of light seeping through the stormy sky like veins in marble. Jisung’s features were painted a soft gold, warm eyes sparkling as he turned around to face you. His hair was a strange colour, you noted -- under the dim lights of the diner, it had appeared a light brown, but now that you were in the sunlight, it looked more blond. It had also been dripping wet, soaked from sweat or rain or both after running all the way to you, but it had dried off now, the ends curling in his eyes.

Maybe you’d had one dose of sugar too many in your drink, because you suddenly found yourself wanting to touch it. So you did just that, fingers reaching for the soft, fluffy golden locks and ruffling them playfully. Jisung’s eyes held yours the entire time, his gaze questioning.

You huffed. “You’re cute, okay?”

He broke into a smile that made your heart flutter. “Okay.”

Cheeks blazing at your own sudden boldness, you quickly pulled your hand away, fingers lightly grazing the side of his cheek before you stepped back. “I--I’m gonna get going now. Thanks for a great time!”

“Of course. See you next time?” Jisung winked, handing you the bouquet of peach roses.

“S-see you!” With that, you turned and practically ran across the street, heart still threatening to leap out of your chest as you fought the butterflies in your stomach and the smile sneaking onto your face.

Behind you, Jisung’s face darkened, smile slipping from his lips as you disappeared from his sight.

#han jisung #stray kids #han jisung imagine #stray kids imagine #stray kids angst #han jisung angst #stray kids yandere #han jisung yandere #serial killer!AU #stray kids soft #han jisung boyfriend #stray kids boyfriend

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sennextheassasinkingoflight · 4 years ago

Text

Say It Anyways

Cursed (Tv 2020) Rated: M

Lancelot Centric Crossed posted on Ao3.

TW: Suicide, Depression, Self Harm, mentioned/implied Defenestration Additional tags and warnings: Major Character Death, Greif, Self-worth issues, Self Deprecation, Sad ending, Graphic descriptions, religious imagery and symbolism, author is sleep deprived, author regrets nothing, author regrets everything. SUMMARY: It only takes a moment for a decision to become permanent. A moment for a thought to became a plan and for that plan to become action. Lancelot has a lot of dark moments, and one night it’s to much.

The guilt weighed heavy in his gut. It was his constant companion, one he could never be rid of. He had tried and still the weight lingered, dragging him down, preventing sleep and laughter. It was as if someone had filled him full of river stones and he couldn’t be rid of them. A millstone around his neck.

How could he ever hope to atone for his actions?

For every Fey he now protected he had killed 10 there was no way to offset that count. He could give his body over and over as supplication shielding others from harm. He could give himself comfort and protection. He could give himself as company, and in acts of pleasure and still it would not be enough. Gawain called it love and perhaps it was but could one such as him ever return that feeling, or hope to understand it, least of all know it? He certainly didn't hate Gawain for not understanding. And he certainly didn't hate that moment afterwards wrapped in his arms when he felt safe, maybe loved, at the very least allowed to breathe comfortably. If only for a moment.

He looked over at the man sleeping softly beside him and smiled sadly. He always slept best after days like this. They had battled back another group of paladins and Cumbers men. The last of them according to Arthur and Guinevere. They had celebrated with the others over the victory and retired early to celebrate just the two of them. Slowly he lifted a hand and ran fingers through coarse unkempt hair and smiled softly. Leaning in he pressed the ghost of a kiss to Gawain's temple and stood from the bed. He should leave a note but nothing he says will matter. It won't change anything in the end. Besides, what would he possibly say?

He dresses in the dark silent as the assassin he is. He slips from the room, leaving his swords behind, and makes his way down the hall of the keep they occupy. Gently he pushes Percivals door open. He can smell wine on the boy and knows he wont wake, not that he would have anyways. He watches as the boy turns in his sleep. He isn't a boy now, a young man full of life and having seen too much in too short a time. Just another atrocity he is guilty of causing. He reaches out a hand and pulls the blankets up against the chill and let's his hand linger a moment on Squirrels shoulder, caresses it gently with his thumb. He fights back the urge to shed tears and tears his gaze from the serene face blanketed in shadow. He closes the door softly behind him, footsteps echoing lightly down the halls as he heads toward the stable. He has one final stop.

He steps into Goliaths stall and the horse nudges his shoulder. He does cry now, but not for himself, not for fear of his actions, but because he is overwhelmed and cannot hold back the ache that's been building and building in his chest. The relief at knowing what he is doing and that it means he will be free. He raises his hands and strokes Goliath's muzzle up his cheek and down his neck. He buries his face into the familiar scent and speaks lowly to him.

"Take care of them Goliath of Gawain and Percival. They'll take care of you." He sniffs and wipes at his face pulling back to look him in the eye. Goliath nuzzles his face and he stands there enjoying the quiet comfort of his stead. Finally he turns from the darkened stable and heads out into the snow. Newly acquired item in hand. The snow is falling hard and fresh and he vaguely wonders if his footsteps will be visible come morning.

He enters the woods not as a hunter but as prey. He's unafraid of what he might find here. The dark doesn't frighten him, it has long since been his ally against Fey and Man and Beast alike. Which of those it will ally against with him tonight he dare not imagine. On he walks until his legs ache from the cold and his fingers have long since gone numb. He had not dressed appropriately, there had not been a point.

He looks around absently. He can't see far, the moonlight and the starlight cut off from him by the canopy of trees. A fitting metaphor for a demon cut off from the love of God and man alike. He strips out of his cloak and lays it in the ground. He uncoils the short riding whip and kneels on his cloak and removes his tunic. Grasping the whip in his hands he looks towards heaven one final time. The first strike is unfamiliar. It's been some time since he'd done this and if Gawain found out…. It didn't matter now, he wouldn't. As he continued to strike at his back the ache returned a familiar comfort to his person. On instinct he recited the Lord's prayer as he worked. And then laughed mirthlessly, blood running in rivulets down his back. He was a creature from hell, spawned to kill. Born in the fire and blood of conquest, famine, war, and death to devour the souls of the living and save the damned in doing so. Reciting a prayer he had been forced to learn on his knees with bloodied hands wouldn't save him from the fires if hell. Surely that's where he was going, there was no chance he would be accepted into the afterlife of the Fey after all he had done. He winced, the whip coming into contact with a particularly nasty split in his flesh. How many was that now? It didn't matter, he could still feel them. The wolves howled near by and for a moment he reconsidered his plan. Ultimately though, there was nothing to change.

He would not be missed. Beyond Gawain and Percival only Arthur, Guineveir, and Merlin accepted him. The rest of the Fey regarded him with unveiled mistrust and thinly hidden hate. And he wondered more often than not about the motives of the five he called friend. It was in his nature to wonder, to ask questions, to be mistrustful. He knew what trust could earn him, he had known it at the hands of Carden and the other paladins as a child. It was broken bones and bruised skin, sore muscles and degradation. He was nothing. Nothing more than a killer bathed in blood and irredeemable.

He blinked spots from his vision. Lifted the whip again and let it fall with a splitting smack that echoed around him. The snow around him was now pink with blood. His fingers were growing numb again and his thoughts hazy. He smiled, finally they would be free of him. Free of his stoic attitude and bloody hands, the mistrust his presence brought and pain he reminded them off. This was a blessing he could give them. It was a blessing he was happy to give. They could move on, be well loved and adored by their people and he would be forgotten to the rivers of time.

He blinked tears from his eyes only to feel them freeze against his cheeks hidden by the mark of his kin. The switch fell from numb fingers and he lay forward in his ruined cloak. His vision swam with darkness, the howls of wolves nearby. It wouldn't be long. He would die as Jezebel had. Perhaps it was fitting for one such as he. He closed his eyes and remembered Gawain's smile, that image let him drift to sleep in the cold.

Arthur retched.

How? How could this have happened. Lancelot was a trained warrior. One of the best among Fey and men alike. And yet, here his corpse was, torn apart by wolves. It was bloody and gruesome and he couldn't bear to look upon it any longer. He turned his back and shook his head in an attempt to clear it. What was left of the body was shirtless, the garment folded neatly to the side under a layer of snow. His cloak soaked with his own blood, and the whip beside it too. He presses his eyes closed and rubs at them with the heels of his hands. This had been intentional. What was he to tell the others? Never had he been so grateful that Percival had stayed with Gawain, or that he had told them to check the castle and town instead of the woods.

Nothing had been out of the ordinary. Nothing accepts his swords having been left in his room. None of them had grown concerned until supper time arrived and they hadn't seen him. Now the dark closed in around him as the others gathered his remains and wrapped them in that same familiar old cloak. How was he to tell the others? Why hadn't he seen this. He was king now, Lancelot to be one of his knights. And he missed this.

The trek back to the keep is the longest one Arthur had ever made. They move in slow, sombre steps through the woods. On the edge he stops and takes a deep breath Percival and Gawain are coming to meet him. He's frozen to the spot.

"Any luck?" Percival asks chipper and hopeful. He stares at the boy, too far still to see him clearly. To see the bundle the men behind him carry. He doesn't respond. Voice stuck in his throat. He swallows and straightens his back.

"Arthur?" Gawain inquires, voice sharp and on edge. He's a wizened old soldier he knows what silence like this means. He's sat beside too many sickbeds, sought out to many wives, and mothers, and brothers, and husbands not too. He quicken his steps and passes Percival and still all Arthur can do is stare at him.

"Arthur! Damnit, did you didn't you find him?" He looks away from Gawain who is boring holes into his skull. All he has to do is look behind him, accept the silence for what it is but he isn't. So steeling himself Arthur makes eye contact and speaks,

"I'm sorry." It's barely a whisper, a breath on the chilled night air. And now the famous Green Knight looks past him. He steps to the side and puts a hand on his shoulder. There's nothing more he can do. This would have been better inside where it was warm and they could be safe from the cold. Not that it would take the pain away.

Gawain stares at the bundle. He knows it's a body. Knows its Lancelot's body and still he stares. He ignores the looks on the faces of the men carrying him. He can't stand the pity he knows he will find there.

“NO! No. No. nononono Gawain. No it can’t he can’t. No.” Percival shouts behind him. Instinctively he puts out his arm and stops the boy. Pulls him close and forces him to stop struggling.

“No. Please no. Why? Why HIM!?!” Percival screams into his chest and what is he to say to the child they had trained, that they had raised? He looks over Percival at the soldiers,

"Inside then."

He hears a voice say, hollow and far away. It's not until they've marched inside that he realizes it was his own. They set Lancelot down surprisingly gently. He wonders idly if it's because they think he's likely to go off on them. He doesn't blame their fear. It's Percival that ultimately returns him to reality. The boy is trying to stop his crying and falters. Sobs wrack his frame when Gawain turns to him. Instinctively he opens his arms again and Percival steps into their protective embrace. He looks over his shoulder and stares at the blood soaked cloak, the ice is melting in the warmth of the room. A puddle of pink forms around it spreading outward in a mockery of a battlefield death.

"How?" His voice is empty to his own ears, but he needs to know.

Arthur meets his eyes again and shakes his head.

"Wolves. He went out there without a weapon." King Arthur sounds very small, smaller than he had when they first met, and Gawain thinks bitterly that it’s finally time the man showed some humility.

"What are you leaving out?" He can see there is more in the way that he shifts on his feet, flicks his eyes away from them and back. Arthur looks pointedly at Percival and shakes his head.

"Say it anyways." He says, voice breaking. He knows what’s gone unspoken. What's coming.

"Gawai--"

"SAY IT ANYWAYS!" He roars and Percival flinches in his arms.

"His back was bloody. Whipped bloody. He went out there to die." Arthur holds his gaze until he drops his head to Squirrels shoulder. They cling to one another desperately, attempting to stay standing amidst the crashing of their world. He closes his eyes and pulls Squirrel closer. They stand there in the flickering light of torches for hours. The only thought in his mind "why?"

It's two days before they can gather enough wood for a pyre. They give him the burial of a knight at Arthur's command and Gawain agrees. More people attended than he thought would. No one has been told the truth. Those who recovered the body are sworn to secrecy. It is not the way a knight should pass, nor is it something they can accept yet. Gawain cannot bear the way the others would speak of him, nor does he wish for Percival to hear it. It will be hard enough with them all so happy that he is no longer around.

"Why did he do it?" Percival asks no one in particular when only the five of them remain. His eyes red and puffy from crying and lack of sleep.

"The same reason we've all thought about it." Merlin answers looking at Gawain and to the others in turn.

"He believed himself alone and unworthy."

They watched in silence as darkness came and the flames burned until there was nothing but embers to remind them of the man who had saved them.

#Cursed #Fanfiction #Lancelot the Weeping Monk #Gawain #The Green knight #Percival #Squirrel #Arthur #Major Character Death #suicide

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halo-jpeg · 4 years ago

Note

I hope I didn’t leave a bad impression with my last ask, gah, I’m not good with social interactions. I wanted to make it up to you by giving you a happier ask! What if slashers (any of them you want to write for) with reader who isn’t an S/O but rather a really good best friend who was there for them since the beginning?

Oh, what was your last ask, if I may inquire? Either way, this idea is absolutely adorable, I’d love to write it!

Michael Myers

Michael grew up with you. Your mother and his were great friends, so the two of you were kind of forced together.

He wasn’t too fond of you at first, but you grew closer as the days passed. It was inevitable.

You grew even closer as school went on, always there to run away from bullies or patch up any wounds thst were given. Sadly, being friends with Michael is a one-way ticket to Freakville.

I can imagine that the two of of you would spend lots of time in his forest together, building forts out of branches and such.

Now, in the current day, you provide shelter for your murderer friend, spending the nights watching movies or painting homemade masks together.

He keeps you safe from anyone and anything posing a threat to you, following you around whenever he can, and making sure you’re never harmed.

You patch up his wounds, feed him, and make sure the police don’t come sniffing around your house. Even if they did, you talk them into leaving without suspicion.

You know Michael could never bring himself to hurt you, so he lets you boss him around quite often with no more than a glare and a huff.

He’s like a tsundere, but platonic. He’d never admit that you’re his best- and only- friend, but it’s the truth, and he loves you like family.

Jason Voorhees

Jason was so, so shy, but something about you made him want to be your friend. You were so... normal, and be admired that.

It took quite some encouragement to actually go talk to you, and he had Pamela at his side through it all. He was so afraid you’d hate his face.

The moment you choose to be his friend he’s attached to you. He’d put all of his trust in you, and he’d see you as a sort of protector.

Ever since he started hanging out with you, less people have bothered him. Probably because he was usually out in the forest with you, away from prying eyes, playing hide and seek or tropical explorers.

You came back to Camp Crystal Lake every year, even after he died. You couldn’t bear to leave the memories. You spoke to Pamela a lot, too, keeping Jason’s spirit alive between the two of you.

When Pam died, you went to the lake to pay your respects at her tombstone. You had never guessed Jason, big, scary, murdering Jason, would greet you with a great big hug.

You moved out to the lake on a whim, and Jason moved in with you, patrolling the grounds at night and helping you with chores or gardening during the day.

He’s just as clingy as ever, but now, he’s your protector, and he always will be.

He doesn’t like when you swim in the lake, but he battles down his fear and acts as a life guard whenever you insist on taking a dip.

You patch up his wounds, making sure he’s clean and healthy, and in turn he keeps any pesky teenagers at bay, as well as keeps your crops nice and strong. He’s a great farmer.

Billy & Stu

Billy and Stu were best friends from the beginning, and they weren’t opposed to having a third party join their group.

Even as kids Billy was super popular, so both you and Stu were in the clear when it came to bullies.

You spent most weekends sleeping over at each other’s houses watching all sorts of movies. Horror, comedy, action, romance- you name it! Because of this, you’re just as much of a movie buff as the others.

When other friends like Sidney, Tatum and Randy came along, Billy and Stu made sure you knew you were still top priority.

They didn’t hide their murderous plans from you for long, unable to bear seeing you so worried for your own life.

Once you knew they were the killers, you couldn’t be angry or scared of them. Although, you did feel slightly guilty as your friends died off around you. Anyone would.

As adults, movie nights are still inportant, and you find yourself watching movies as you patch up their bumps and bruises from their hunts.

They keep you plenty safe, and the three of you together have the best fun. You’re all meant to be.

Danny ‘Jed Olsen’ Johnson

Danny was an outcast as a kid- he preferred photographs over people, but something about your face was next to irresistible.

Confident little Danny strolled right up to you one day and asked if he could take some pictures of you and your pretty face.

You and him clicked at that very moment, and he even taught you some of his photography skills.

His mother loved the hell out of you, and was always happy to have you over for dinner.

The night that Danny killed his mother and father, his first instinct was to go find you for help. Let’s just say you were surprised to see a bloody, terrified Danny crawling through your bedroom window at 3 am.

He ditched town for a while, finding shelter and solace in an old shack he’d stumbled upon, you taking up the job of bringing him food and whatever else he would need to live.

His Jed Olsen days were just fine, him showing his face again and living with you until people linked the Jed alibi to the murders. Then he was hiding again.

You hid with him, being the errand boy/girl, and spending most days chilling around with him doing who-knows-what. You were like a sister/brother to him, and he was just the same to you.

He trusts you with his life, and he kills off anyone who bothers you. You can even make requests, like you would to a rad DJ at a party. Although this was different... being murder and all.

Any and all S/Os of yours must pass the ‘Danny Test’, wherein he sees if they’re good enough to date you. Most fail. He’s picky, and overprotective.

Brahms Heelshire

The first day your parents brought you to the Heelshire residence to spend time with their friends, Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire, both you and Brahms were reluctant to meet another child.

Living a life of seclusion Brahms never imagined meeting someone hed actually care for enough to consider a friend. He was proven wrong.

He wanted to see you every day, and you wanted the same. You ended up having play dates every second day or so, and Brahms found himself actually growing very fond of you.

The fire was devestating, and you couldn’t sleep for weeks and weeks. In the future, an ad for a nanny job seemed like a shockingly nostalgiac idea, so you took the job to see tbe house where you made so many memories.

Brahms recognized you almost instantly. He basically rushed his parents out of the house so he could see you in action, in a natural environment where you could be yourself. He needed to know if it was really you.

Upon confirming that it was you, (Y/N), he showed himself that same day without fear. All it took for you to burst into happy tears was him saying your name in the same voice he had as a child.

Now, Brahms loves to reenact the old days, having tea parties and playing in the forest like he had as a child. He’s so happy to have you back!

He’s a very jealous man, so he’s never going to be fond of your S/O, but he’ll tolerate you having one as long as you promise not to leave him.

He won’t go in the walls very often anymore because he’s not afraid of you. He also won’t wear his mask much. His trust in you is infinite!

Pyramid Head

Before Pyramid Head became the monster he was, he had a normal life in a human world, with you glued to his side like two peas in a pod.

At school, he would keep you safe from bullies, using his abnormal height and strength to scare them off.

He always inwardly groaned when people would say the two of you were cute together, because neither of you liked each other like that.

The day P.H. went missing, you had been heartbroken. Who knew you would stumble upon him again years later in hell on earth?

When first running into Pyramid Head as we know him now, neither of you recognized each other. How could you, after all those years?

You would have been dead if you hadn’t spoken, and if he hadn’t recognized your voice. He was completely shocked.

Unable to speak, It was more than difficult to tell you thst he was him, your old best friend. After plenty of struggling you finally realize.

Now, he’s your ultimate bodyguard. Nothing and no one will ever hurt you. He knows Silent Hill like the back of his hand, so he’s like a guide as well.

He’ll do his very best to train you to defend yourself. He can’t lose you, not after you’ve finally returned again.

He’s got serious attachement issues, so he never leaves your side. Despite all the défense training, he won’t leave you alone for long.

Amanda Young

Amanda lived a rough childhood, so it was fantastic to have a friend like you to help her through it.

She was defiant, even as a child, so she stood up to anyone who would try to tease either of you. It usually resulted in a harsh beating, but she always walked away alright.

As she fell deeper and deeper into a dark spiral, she ignores your attempts to help, and before she knew it she was addicted to drugs. She wishes she’d have listened to you and your warnings.

When you heard she had been kidnapped by the infamous Jigsaw, you were horrified. You had never in a million years expected her to walk out alive, yet she did.

She kept her mentoring with John Kramer on the down low, keeping that new identity hidden. You were just glad she had gotten off of drugs.

Balancing a stable life with you and enough time with John was difficult and strenuous for your relationship. Sooner or later you grew curious as to where she always was and demanded an answer.

She told you. In a moment of vulnerability she spilled her guts, telling you everything about her gae with Jigsaw and it’s outcome, how she was training to kill. She had cried, afraid you would leave her or turn her in to the police.

Of course you did neither. After a bit of a rough patch where you had to get used to the idea, you and Amanda grew closer than ever. You even helped her with some traps and devices for her games.

You saw how she looked up to John like a father figure, glad that she had someone like that in her life again. John grew fond of you as well, and before you knew it, he was training both of you to be his disciples.

You and Amanda regarded each other as siblings for the rest of your days.

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