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oliviayamaoka · 3 years

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The Roseville Murders

Danny “Jed Olsen” Johnson x Female Reader

After getting yourself into a rather tragic incident, you are reassigned to work elsewhere to protect your young career as a detective.

Your life would sure but slowly change when you meet a bright journalist named Jed Olsen, always looking to get inside information from you regarding the murders in Roseville. Seeking Jed Olsen’s help in finding the Ghostface, a spark ignited between the two of you.

Chapter One: Roseville

Y/N rubbed her eyes, tired from the long car ride you just endured. It was a long car ride from your old home but at least the day was nice. It wouldn’t be long until dusk came. In a way, you were glad. You often thrived in the nighttime and took it as an opportunity to wind down and finally rest. It was a large rental truck that you had taken on your journey to your new home, Roseville. You didn’t necessarily choose the location; you were assigned to go there. After the incident, you were assigned to help in the investigation regarding some gnarly murders. This piqued your interest since you had an interest in crime and journalism, more so crime.

It was quite the strange time, being a junior detective, or that’s what they called you anyways. Your time in the police academy was short-lived, it didn’t take long to become a detective in the nineties. Even so, you managed to impress some detectives and officers. You also had an eye for stuff that would normally slip other people’s mind, the small details were more or less important to you. Admittedly, your interest in detective work stemmed from the fact you loved horror movies and shows. Even books. It would be a silly idea in the eyes of others but you figured you could do some good. You were also extremely annoyed at how incompetent other officers could be, not writing reports in detail or straight up refusing to do a full investigation. It was ridiculous and you figured you’d try and change this.

Johnathan Stevens was the name of your supervisor, an older gentleman. He formerly investigated murders and unsolved crimes in the fifties and sixties, his prime. Some would even consider his work to dabble in the supernatural. You weren’t sure if you believed such things, not that you were a skeptic since there were small things you couldn’t explain growing up. His work was great nonetheless and he saw the potential in you. You admired him and he gave a good word to others on your behalf. He was the reason you got a job in helping the investigation in Roseville. Ah yes, Roseville.

You were excited in a way. Johnathan was able to get you a role in the investigation of the Roseville Murders. The prime suspect was a man in a costume who went by the name Ghost Face. They ultimately branded the series of murders as the Ghost Face Murders. Y/N read the files and you began to think of your own theories on who this mysterious murderer could be. The murders were premeditated and were always executed in a similar fashion. Y/N saw some photos left behind by the Ghost Face, he enjoyed posing and took pride in his work. Your train of thought suddenly ended when you saw the town’s sign.

“Welcome to Roseville.” You subconsciously mumbled. There was a slight feeling of regret and worry that itched at you from the inside but you brushed it off. No going back now, you wanted to be a good detective and help those in need.

Your hands brushed towards your turn signals. The apartment you rented wasn’t too far and you didn’t have too many things you brought with you. Roseville seemed like a quiet little city, very peaceful and tidy. A part of you had trouble even imagining that such grizzly murders could take place in what people would consider a perfect town or city. This seemed like a place where somebody would want to raise a family or live a quiet life, it pretty much had everything you needed. You didn’t blame them, the big city life was horrendous, as were the crimes there committed. Y/N sighed deeply as you pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building. It was red and looked somewhat old. Not that it mattered, you were happy with anything at this point. You rubbed your eyes again before resting your forehead on your steering wheel, putting your car into park.

It was about 6:00 PM, you didn’t have to be at the station until 7:30 PM. Much to your dismay, it was enough time to talk to your landlord. You had met prior on a phone call and you got the apartment rather easily. You saw pictures and were instantly keen on getting a lease for it. You checked your mirror to quickly fix your hair up and refresh yourself. After a moment or two, you got out and walked towards the door. Y/N pushed it open and caught a glimpse of the lobby. It was well-furnished and tidy. It was a lot better than your old apartment building in the city. Your mood lightened up, looking forward to a somewhat quieter life. You figured you had your share of the city bars and nightclubs, other shenanigans you encountered when you were slightly younger. You took a few steps in and walked towards the main office. Your shyer tendencies made you hesitate but you knocked lightly on the door, pushing it open.

“Hello?” You called out as you made eye-contact with a blonde woman.

“How can I help you?” The woman asked you, putting away some papers into a filing cabinet.

Her hair was actually kind of long and seemed natural. Her skin was fair and her eyes were a darker shade of blue. The woman’s dark eyebrows helped in bringing out her beautiful features. She was a thin but tall woman. Her attire consisted of a white turtleneck with a cardigan, dress, and black dress shoes with long, white stockings. It was a healthy mix of coziness and business. Y/N smiled kindly and extended her hand out.

“I’m Y/N L/N. I assume that you’re Deborah?” You asked as she quickly returned the smile, a more charming one. She shook your hand, her touch felt welcoming, something that was needed in Roseville.

“Yes, I am. Lovely to finally meet you! How was the trip?” She asked as you shrugged slightly.

“A bit boring but I made it.” You replied as she giggled a bit.

“Take it from me, Roseville is happy you decided to come. The rumors and murders have driven a few people away. We’re happy to have another officer to help.” Deborah said to you.

“Yeah, well, if anybody ever gives you trouble then you’ll know where to find me.” You said as she perked up. Deborah quickly walked towards her desk and grabbed a set of old, somewhat rusty keys. With a sweet smile, the woman planted the metal in your palm.

“Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate you choosing here to live. If you need help unloading your stuff, my brothers are one call away.” She said. With that voice and attitude, the woman would have made an excellent commercial woman.

“I should be fine.” You assured the woman before exiting the office space.

You swiftly walked out towards the parking lot. It was a rather nice evening so far. The sky was a mixture of pink and red with a nice breeze. You held your forehead for a second, having small flashbacks of a man grunting and swearing. You shut your eyes tightly for a moment before sighing stubbornly. Y/N didn’t want to waste anymore time remembering what happened, it was pointless. A part of you felt gross and weird. Your eyes narrowed in an annoyed manner, looking at the stuff you had to bring in.

Maybe you didn’t want to bring in that stuff anymore. You looked around, there was a bakery and a coffee shop nearby on the beautifully constructed sidewalks. Each shop had a small garden or some sort of plant in the front. Roseville was old in an industrial sort of way but the shops, houses, and plant life made it have a rather beautiful aesthetic. Not only that but you enjoyed the weather. You sighed softly, deciding that you should just walk to the police station. Ignoring the lazy and depressing feeling you had, you decided to just walk to clear your head of the memories. And so, you locked the doors to the rental truck and began your little adventure.

“You realize what you’ve done, right?” Jonathan questioned you, his nostrils flaring slightly. In his eyes were a deep stare of concentration. You felt numb but remorseless, you kept your head down.

“He was going to hurt me, Jon.” You mumbled to him, your eyebrows tightly knitted as you looked for any sort of agreement within his eyes. The man sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. Jonathan seemed tired.

“I know he was, kid... but you shot a man. You took a mans life. I understand you did it to defend yourself but the court might not see it that way.” He said.

“Well, I’m glad I did. He would’ve hurt more women. Innocent women.” You replied with bitterness in your voice. He sighed before sitting down, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. His eyes met yours as you looked away.

You thought about the incident a lot. You replayed your own screams in your head before the distinct sound of a gun fired in your ears. Before you even realized it, you were staring dead ahead, reliving it with intense focus. It’s not like you wanted to, it was automatic and you still didn’t process most of it. In fact, it felt like a dream. Y/N shut her eyes, exhaling sharply before looking at the man in front of her. Your eyelids rested, the numbness overcoming the raw feeling of the flashback you had just endured.

“There’s... a case in a city. A smaller city. If I talked to the others and reassigned you somewhere far, would you do it? We’ve known you for years and we care. I know that man could’ve hurt my wife, my daughter, my sister... we understand. Not many people know about this. We could help you.” He said.

“What do you mean? Won’t I be charged for it?” You asked him.

“Np, not if we... sweep this under the rug. But, if we do this then you have to do something in return. Do you want this?” He asked you. Your eyebrows lifted in surprise as you pondered his offer for a moment, you looked around the room.

“I-I do, but... will they actually do this? For me?” Y/N asked as he nodded. He seemed a bit gruff, just tired from the paperwork.

“We’ve discussed it but listen to me. You can’t tell anybody about this. We’re doing you a big favor, a huge one. The director said that more officers and detectives are needed in Roseville, he said they’d be glad to accept you. This will be a lot better than telling the court what happened.” He said.

“I, yeah, yeah.” You said, nodding in slight anticipation. Nonetheless, you were very grateful for this opportunity.

“Whenever you’re ready then but it might have to be in the next week or two.” Jonathan said to you as he looked around, somewhat nervously.

“Thank you...” You replied a bit awkwardly, not sure how to display your gratitude for him. He only nodded with a small smile, patting your head.

“Go home, kid. I’ll handle the guy.” He said as you nodded.

You sighed as you looked upwards, the sky was a mixture of purple and blue. This was your favorite type of weather. It brought peace and calmness. A small smile curled onto your lips when you thought of the old times, when you first experienced freedom and happiness. Your hands slid into your pockets as you continued to walk down the sidewalk, your gaze averting to the large building ahead. The Roseville Police Department, your future workplace.

The building looked rather strange for a police department. It had gates and vines around it, it almost looked like a school. Then again, school was indeed prison. You didn’t think about school much, in fact, you hated it. You never could relate to the other teens. Aside from writing and art, you really enjoyed watching horror movies. Anything horror intrigued you, books and movies alike. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that you were a horror fanatic. Strangely, it sort of inspired you to pursue this career. You were always pretty tough, blood and gore never bothered you. Even when you went to a morgue, it brought a small feeling of peace knowing the deceased were at rest.

You got closer and closer to the station, quickly since you were so lost within your own thoughts. The doors to the station were wooden yet grey, very large. Y/N looked around, there were very few police cars. Maybe being understaffed wasn’t the problem, it’s the fact that they seemed to be very poorly funded. You pushed the large door open, looking around the inside of the station. It was very eerie and quiet but seemed very cozy. A perfect image of the nineties. With your arms crossed, you walked up to the front desk. There was a cup of coffee, you assumed it was cold and took another look around. There were medical beds and tons of chairs stacked together. Not only that but there were statues and paintings. The paintings seemed old but the faces were creepy. Upon staring at them, you soon found inspiration in their haunting gazes.

This was going to be an interesting job, you thought.

Jed Olsen sighed deeply as he looked through different piles of papers that were piled together. It was rather stressful to have to proof-read his coworker’s work. Some of the work he looked over was really badly written. No wonder somebody of his talents got that job really easily. Ever since he arrived at Roseville, he thought he made a good impact on the city. Roseville lived in fear and that’s how he liked it.

As the young man’s thoughts turned towards his other line of profession, he smiled widely and rested his eyebrows. His name wasn’t actually Jed, it was Danny Johnson. Jed Olsen was the alter ego that Danny created when he came to this place. Aside from killing, writing was one of his professions. Danny was good at it and he even got to write about his own murders. It was exhilarating, to say the least. It brought excitement to this city, it brought excitement into his own life. The journalist façade was a great gig, he needed a job anyways. It was very convenient nobody questioned him or invited him to the bar. Then again, he was a bit younger so his coworkers didn’t bother to hang out with him much.

Danny looked around cautiously before pulling his bag towards him. He only carried around his camera. In his office, there weren’t any cameras and his door actually had a lock. There wasn’t anybody around since it was the evening and he decided to stay late to proof-read papers. His camera was black yet worn out and scratched up. Still, he chose to ignore it since that thing was his prized possession. Danny pretty much checked on it everyday to make sure it wasn’t broken and to just simply admire his work he did on it.

“Hmm...” He hummed to himself as he clicked through the photos on it. He smirked looking through his work.

His next murder was going to be perfect. Danny planned on getting more photos of Ghostface doing his heinous crimes. Jed Olsen managed to get photos of the serial killer taking pictures of his murders in rather cocky ways. And of course, the police had no idea that it was him who did it. The police here were amateurs that didn’t do their job right. It was incredibly easy getting away with the murders and surprisingly, the FBI didn’t get involved. Oh well, the law enforcement probably had other things to deal with right now.

As he clicked through the photos, thinking about his next murders, his thoughts were interrupted when he heard the familiar chime of the front door open. Maybe it was his boss? Danny quickly put his camera away in his desk drawer and rushed to unlock his door. The Roseville Gazette was usually a quiet place. He looked up as he noticed a young woman at the front desk of the gazette.

“Hey, how can I help you?” He asked, immediately switching to his Jed persona.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. I was wondering if there was a Jed Olsen around here? I didn’t realize it was quiet here.” She said with a smile.

For a moment, Danny focused on her smile. It was a beautiful and genuine smile. Strange but not everybody was as shallow as his victims or the people he met. His gaze averted to her eyes and then her face. She was indeed a very beautiful person. A pleasant surprise, not that Danny ever indulged in romance.

“You’re speaking to him.” He replied with a playful shrug.

Y/N stared at him for a second before raising her eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh. well nice to meet you, Mr. Olsen.” You said as you extended your hand.

“The pleasure is mine.” Danny replied as he shook your hand.

The touch of your hand was rather soft. He didn’t know it yet but he felt slightly flustered. Danny never really met anybody that he considered attractive. Maybe he did but he never paid attention to that sort of thing.

“Do you have time right now? Or wanna schedule a date to quickly go over your work?” You asked him.

“A date?” He asked blankly. Danny didn’t know what you meant but his brain took it in a romantic way since he thought you were pretty. Your eyebrows furrowed awkwardly in confusion as you nodded slightly with a small smile.

“Um, yeah... I can come back sometime or we can meet at a coffee shop. I’m a detective so... yeah.” You say, automatically getting awkward around people your age. Danny nearly facepalmed himself but his mind quickly went to darker places.

A new detective? A detective who wanted to talk to him one-on-one? None of the detectives decided they wanted to question him. Did this woman find something? Did she suspect him? She looked like she could be a psychologist or something so maybe she wanted to see how he’d react when explaining the Ghostface articles he wrote? He’d have to get her last name and see where she lived. Y/N looked like she’d be easy to kill.

“Jed?” She asked in concern.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely... I have time right now. Sorry, I just get zoned out when I think of the murders and the sick photos he took.” He apologized.

“Don’t be sorry, that type of stuff is something nobody can get used to.” You reassured him. Jed was actually quite handsome.

“Yeah, you’re right. Come into my office.” He said, signaling with his head where his office was. You followed him in.

The office was old. It seemed rather boring at first but that’s what office jobs are for, anyways. His desk was quite clean. Jed seemed to be a very organized person. It would make sense considering his work on the Ghostface murders. You took a seat across from his desk and smiled a bit as he sat down. You were a pretty diligent worker so got straight to the point.

“So, Jed... as you know, there’s an ongoing investigation on the Ghostface Murders that I was assigned to.” You began. Danny nodded, leaning back in his office chair comfortably. He stared at you intently, watching your expression as he worried.

“I took on the liberty of reading your work on the murders. You write about him in a very peculiar way... admirably, almost.” You said to him. Danny tried to hide his worry but he was trying to figure out a way to kill you quickly. Maybe you were FBI? You were already sharper compared to the other officers/

“Anyways, I really love your work, Jed. I’ve taken a personal interest in the Ghostface. And as a detective, I’d like to get to try and get to know him as best I can.” You said with a hint of excitement in your eyes.

“Get to know him…?” He replied, slowly reaching for the knife taped under his desk.

“With your work and your input, I could put together a psychological report on him. If we want to catch him, we should figure out what type of person he is first.” Y/N said.

Danny’s fingers stopped right above the knife. His hand slowly backed away from the bottom of the desk. So, she didn’t suspect him? Danny almost laughed out of relief and at her. He was stupid for thinking she could’ve found out he was Ghostface. Y/N only seemed to be interested in his work.

“Oh, I see… yeah, that would make sense.” He said to you as you crossed one leg.

“I’m glad you agree. I’m determined to catch him and maybe even see his motivation.” You replied to him. Danny’s eyes sparked for a moment as he stared at you.

“His motivation?” He asked as you thought for a moment.

“Probably sounds strange, I know but… he must have a reason, right? And I find it so interesting how he goes about his murders. I actually have a theory about him.” You explained.

You seemed to trust Jed Olsen. The other officers and detectives said he liked to bug and probe them all the time for more information regarding the murders and what their progress was like. And truth be told? There was very little they could go off of. Ghostface was too methodical and careful, left absolutely no trace of himself besides the pictures Jed retrieved. He was a hard-working journalist and you had a good feeling about him, anywyas.

He was also pretty cute.

“I don’t think it’s strange, at all. I’ve never seen any of the detectives so passionate about the case. They always brush me off… so, what’s this theory?” Danny asked you, watching your expressions.

“Well, I only just saw your work today but I thought about it when I walked here. Ghostface seems to be rather cocky, a common trait in younger men. But, since we never caught him or anything, I know he’s really careful with what he does. The murders are also premeditated. They’re too… clean and carefully executed even if it is a bloodbath.” You sort of rambled on.

A weird feeling tingled inside of Danny as you continued to explain your theory.

“He’s really cunning and methodical. And based on my other observations, I think he uses the murders as a way of expressing himself. I’ve read about other serial killers caught… they usually leave marks, take trophies, and know the victim in some ways. Or they’re just cold-blooded but not in his case. I think he sees the murders as a form of art or something along those lines.” You said to him.

His eyebrows raised in surprise. Who the hell was she? Danny thought for a moment. She was right, he did see his murders as art and something beautiful. Did she see it that way too? This woman was strange, indeed. As as young detective, he admired her naive nature.

“That would actually make sense… he does seem to make an unnecessarily big mess when killing and yet, the police can’t find anything on him? It makes total sense.” Jed replied.

“Right? Anyways, I was going to ask if you can type of a report or something along those lines. Give me every single detail you know about him and your analogy. Your input could be vital to solving this case.” You said, standing up.

“If you don’t mind me asking, detective, why are you so interested in him? You’re really passionate about this.” He said to you.

“I wanna understand him and see more of his artwork… it’s pretty fascinating. Also, you can just call me Y/N. Have that report ready in a week?” She asked him.

“Yeah, definitely.” Danny replied to you.

“See you then, Jed.” Y/N said as she nodded with a confident smile.

Y/N was indeed young and naive. Although, she didn’t share anything confidential, she placed a lot of trust into the journalist. Then again, why should she be untrusting of him? The young woman was so passionate, intelligent, and seemed to have a very strong sense of independence. Danny assumed she came here without any authority, taking matters into her own hands. A by-the-book cop? Maybe, maybe not. Danny found that strangely attractive. However, she might even hinder his efforts and catch him. He couldn’t let that happen, yet…

There was something so intoxicating about her. Danny never met anybody that was so compassionate and understanding to his cause. Maybe, he saw her motivation in his own twisted way. This woman wanted to understand him, to see things as he does. Nobody has ever went to that length for him. Not only that but, she had no problem talking about such grimey things in a way that she didn’t get disgusted. The man had a bit of a crazed stare in his eyes as he began to recall her features.

Detective Y/N, just who were you?

And so, the obsession begins.

#dbd x reader #dead by daylight #dead by daylight fanfic #dbd fanfic #ghostface #ghostface x reader #jed olsen x reader #danny johnson x reader #dead by daylight x reader #danny johnson #jed olsen #the ghostface

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anntoldst0ries · 3 years

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shinrin-yoku (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: ~1.7k, PG Summary: When life's difficulties hit, Noelle navigates her way through them by turning to the nature. Category: Hurt & Comfort Warnings: mentions of trauma

A/N: May is a Mental Health Awareness month and here in the UK the theme is nature. My MC, just like me, runs to the woods when things get tough. It helps her clear her head and reconnect with inner strength.

I struggle with mental health myself and it’s important for me to speak up and address the subject. There is nothing worse than shaming or discrediting someone’s difficult feelings. It’s fine not to be fine.

If you struggle alone, please don’t. My inbox will welcome you with open arms. Two heads are better than one, even if we just complain, at least we can complain together 💜

For @choicesmaychallenge2021 Day 13 - Mental Health

SHINRIN-YOKU - A Japanese term for ‘forest bathing’ or the sense of well-being you experience while in nature.

It all starts with a seed. This tiny element which, without aid, is sentenced to certain death. But give it the right soil. Give it water, sun. And it can grow. Into something big. Powerful. Scary.

She is five years old.

They live in a townhouse, a classy Victorian era building. Undistinguished, one of many merging into the background of a typical London street. The colors are also very standard, dirty white married to ivory beige, bar for the deep green door - their rebel child.

For the random passerby, it’s nothing special. But for her, the walls of a storey house encapsulate the whole world.

The garden behind the house is neat and clean, visibly well taken care of. She doesn’t remember exact details anymore, but she remembers begging her parents to go camping in the garden with her brother. The ticklish feeling of long and slim blades of grass on her tiny feet. Looking at the stars with pure awe and delight, that only the unspoiled mind of a child is capable of.

The plot of land that the house has been built on borders a beautiful forest. A wooden fence separates the two.

To her, it’s a passage to a magical world.

A world without any particular order, living its own life, unconstricted by rules. Not in the slightest does it resemble the garden on her side of the fence, where things grow according to the rules laid out by the adults.

There is a feeling inside her that she’s too young to name, to throw it in lingual context. It’s not until years later that she realized what it had been. Freedom. To grow however you please. To be what you want to be.

Robust, effuse trees tower over her, making her feel so small. As if she hasn’t already been feeling small enough, living in a world full of giants.

But they mean something else too. They bring a secret and a promise. Promise of a bigger world out there, far from the confines of the place she calls home.

The forest draws her, singing a melody that only her heart can understand. One day, she will be a part of it.

She lives the teenage dream life.

That’s what everyone says.

She doesn’t have any real problems. She’s lucky not having to worry about money. She’s got friends. Her family is great. She just needs to stop whining. Her life is perfect.

Their words, not hers.

None of them know what happens behind closed doors.

The childhood forest is a cloudy memory. Her home is now thousands of miles away, in a city with a giant red bridge, which for some bizarre reason has ‘golden’ in its name.

But the call from nature doesn’t care about distance. It can find you about anywhere. It’s different and yet the same.

Because nature beats in one rhythm and speaks in the same language, everywhere.

The morning is chilly and humid. She’s wearing a wooly coat, carelessly threw on a pair of PJs hiding underneath.

Her steps are brisk, breathing short and heartbeat elevated. Something’s bothering her blanched face.

The voice, again.

When it first appeared, she thought it had her best interest at heart. Used to give her advice and like a good friend, ream her out when she did something bad.

Over time, things took a turn for the worse.

Snarky comments. Casually mentioned wrongdoings. Feedback on what she could have done better, differently.

Noelle hoped the voice would go away on its own.

It hasn’t.

Not only did the voice not go away, but it was actually growing stronger with each passing day. Became more vocal. Judgmental. Openly hostile.

It fed on her fears.

It’s your fault - it told her - that your parents are getting divorced.

You are not good enough.

Even a lie, repeated enough times, will finally become the truth. And so it did for her, to the point where she couldn’t distinguish her own voice from the voice of the tormentor. Sounds faded into one.

Whoever said words can cut like a knife was right. But those who knew thoughts could leave scars that are much deeper, were truly wise.

The young, beautiful girl who never hurt a soul, became a hostage. A prisoner locked in the jail of her own head.

A giant tear rolled down her face. Made of all the words her heart couldn’t say.

She hugged the tree tightly and inhaled the woodsy aroma, the scent filling her lungs fully.

It’s sensuous.

Just like that, she is small again.

She’s got all that she ever wanted.

Degree from one of the best medical schools. Graduating with honors and glowing recommendations from even the strictest professors, who kept assuring her that her future in medicine is so bright it’s actually blinding. Then, a dreamy residency in one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country.

Pretty impressive, right? Even a fool could see that. But the only fool whose opinion she cared about, couldn’t. All these things were clearly not good enough for Ethan Ramsey to stay.

She wasn’t good enough for him to stay.

Not longer than a year ago he was just a concept, an ideal without a face, body and voice. To her, he was a celebrity, a hero, someone whom mortals don’t have access to.

It was preposterous to consider for even a second Dr Ramsey could actually see something in an intern.

Standing among the moss-covered trees, every fiber of her being was filled with the thought of him.

Did the Amazonian forest remind him of her, just like every forest around reminded her of him?

Just when she won the battle for her career, she lost another. Because life had to be a zero-sum game.

As painful as that would have been, she wished she had something to hold onto. A scene she could replay in her mind. An image of him walking away. Or saying goodbye.

But he left without a word.

That was the pattern. That was history repeating itself.

She took her shoes off and stepped on the soil frosted with morning dew. It’s cold and wet. It’s refreshing. She is grounding. Reconnecting with Earth.

Tunes in with the rivers of grass, towers of trees, fences of bushes.

If the trees could speak, they’d tell stories not many people would believe in.

Tales of heartbreaks. Parables of spirits.

They are all nature’s poems.

Hauntingly beautiful. Riveting. Written without a single word.

Because nature speaks its very own language that only the soul, not the mind, can understand.

Pain is ripping her apart. But it reminds her that she’s alive. And this, in itself, is a miracle.

She doesn’t know who she is anymore.

Some people call her a survivor. But it doesn’t feel like the right word. So many things in her died. So much was lost.

The attack took a lot from her. Danny. Bobby. Sense of security. Identity. Direction.

Right and wrong, good and bad, righteous and vicious. These are all just words. Someone needs to come and teach her the meaning of them anew. Draw lines, mark out frontiers. Save her from herself.

The ground is soaked. Torrential rain turned the soil into soft mud, warm and easily slipping through her fingers. She falls on her knees, praying for the ground to consume her.

Fill every part of her. Silence the internal cacophony. To sink into oblivion.

Not many people knew about the panic attacks and recurring nightmares. They’re always the same.

She’s standing in the middle of a swamp. Danny and Bobby are drowning, their arms reaching out for her. She knows she can only save one of them. She runs out of time trying to figure out how to save both. As a result, they both die. Time stands still and yet everything is spinning, moving, racing. The reality is a riot of overbright colours.

Suddenly, a ring breaks the silence. A polyphonic intruder. She looks at the screen through hooded eyes and notices the caller’s name. It’s him. He’s petrified. Worried to death. Asks her to stay where she is.

Some time later, maybe 10 minutes, maybe an hour - who knows? - he emerges from the gathering of stocky oaks.

The moment he catches the sight of her, he starts running. She notices a lab coat underneath the jacket. He’s soaking wet.

Even though he is so close, he doesn’t slow down. Crashing into her, he scoops her in his arms. Catches her in the tightest of embraces.

Asks her if she’s fine. No. Not that question again. She’s tired of people fussing over her and gets angry.

Had it not been for the attack, would he even be here? The voice asks mockingly. It doesn’t matter to her. He’s there now.

Deep baritone is gentle and full of concern. It’s not like that. It’s not his intention to fuss. He’s simply worried. Because she is the most important thing to him in the whole world. Yes, he wasted so much time. That’s why he refuses to lose even one more second.

A dam breaks within her. Eliciting a quiet sob. She clutches his shirt, holds onto him for dear life. Moments later, she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. Singing her poignant birdsong.

How is she supposed to cope? Will things ever go back to normal? What is normal anyway?

In the confines of the infamous patient room she never felt more scared in her life. But here, out in the open, she feels so safe. As if she’s had a silent agreement with nature, which vouched to protect her at all costs.

And this time, nature had an ally. Because Ethan will protect her, even if it’s the last thing he does. Holding onto each other, they stand in the nothingness.

It keeps them grounded. Connected to their roots. Turning over new leaves. Bending before they break. Growing.

They get lost. Mother Nature has a reward for those who do. They have a chance to find themselves. Over and over again.

~~~

If you made it this far - thank you & you're awesome 🥰

Tag list: @genevievemd @gryffindordaughterofathena @terrm9@starrystarrytrouble @the-pale-goddess @jamespotterthefirst @lisha1valecha @writer-ish @maurine07 @drakewalkerfantasy@iemcpbchoices @liaromancewriter @lem-20 @lucy-268 @oldminniemcg @queencarb @qrkowna @mercury84choices @lsvdw-blog @utterlyinevitable @stygianflood @udishaman @romewritingshop @romereadingshop @alina-yol-ramsey @stateofgracious @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @binny1985 @tsrookie @fayeswiftie @archxxronrookie @tinkertailorsoldierspy @schnitzelbutterfingers @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @theinvisibledreamergirl @custaroonie @irisofpurple @chasingrobbie @ethandaddyramseyx @quixoticdreamer16 @coffeeheartaddict @takemyopenheart @aworldoffandoms @potionsprefect @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

#open heart #Ethan Ramsey x mc #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week #mental health awareness

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spencers-renaissance · 4 years

Text

The Noiseless Crash of Crumbling Walls

Summary: After Derek and Spencer are paired up on a science project in their senior year of high school, they become the closest, most unlikely friends possible. But what happens when Derek finally finds out what Spencer's dealing with at home? Inspired by the prompt “where did you get those bruises?”

Tags: high school au, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, hurt spencer, protective derek, abuse, friendship, pre-slash, spencer just turned 16, derek is almost 18

Word Count: 4.6k

Pairing: Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Part Two

This is a platonic Derek & Spencer friendship fic because they are minors, but there are seeds being fairly obviously sown for part two of this series which will be set when they are both over the age of 18.

Spencer unfolds the creased piece of paper he’s holding for the eleventh time as he stares up at the house in front of him. He remembers the address scrawled on the sheet Derek Morgan had ripped from the back of his notebook earlier that day perfectly, the spiky peaks of his handwriting and the surprisingly loopy ‘y’s and ‘g’s are burned into his brain, but nerves have overtaken his helpless body. He’s not exactly in control of his actions.

It’s not much but it’s definitely a cheerful house, that much is clear from the brightly lit windows and colourful curtains, the many gnomes decorating the front garden and the carefully planted flowers neighbouring the vegetable patch. One of the windows upstairs is cracked slightly and he can hear 90s R&B floating through the airwaves, accompanied by a female singing voice. The welcome he knows he’ll receive, though, is exactly what’s giving him pause.

A happy home is so foreign to him he has no idea how to behave. He’s used to being the adult, but tonight he has to play the 16 year old he is, and his mask is so dusty and disused he’s worried he won’t be anywhere close to convincing.

Eventually, though, he summons up the courage to make his way up the stony path leading to the bright red front door. A brass knocker stares him in the face, but there’s a doorbell to his right as well, and the choice debilitates him for a moment, leaving him standing uselessly on the front step. He decides on the doorbell, since it’s a little more subtle, and he only has to wait a couple of seconds before the door is being yanked open and a smiling Derek Morgan is right in front of him.

“I thought you’d never come.” His voice is bright and cheery but Spencer wonders for a moment if he’s mad at him. He’d been early when he first turned onto Derek’s road, but his over-thinking and ritualistic obsession over the address written on a scrap piece of paper had made him late.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, and his desperation to be understood, his clear discomfort in such a foreign environment must be obvious, because Derek’s face softens even further.

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty boy,” he grins, slinging an arm around his shoulders and leading him deeper into the hallway as he kicks the door shut behind them.

Pretty boy. He’d used the nickname once earlier that day when they were planning when to meet up for their science project, and Spencer had flushed immediately. No-one’s ever called him pretty. He’s an awkward, lanky 16 year old senior who’s far too short for his age; his appearance isn’t exactly conducive to flattery.

The last time anyone had called him by a fond nickname was when he was eleven years old and his mother was still somewhat rational. She’d pulled him close and called him her baby boy, and while some pre-teens might have recoiled from such a name, he simply snuggled closer and tried to remember every second he was wrapped up in such warmth. Five years later, he’s so thankful he did. He replays it most nights before he drops off to sleep.

He blushes again at Derek’s easy affection, trying to relax into the warmth of his house.

“Is that your friend, honey?” A woman emerges from what Spencer assumes is the kitchen, drying her hands on a teatowel. She looks every bit the stereotypical American mother, dressed in casual, comfortable clothes with a warm smile plastered across her face. “It’s so nice to meet you, sweetheart. I’m Fran, Derek’s mom.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he says shyly, trying to meet her eyes but failing miserably. He can’t help that this whole experience is so out of his comfort zone it’s ridiculous.

“Do you boys want any snacks to take up with you?”

“Are you hungry, Spencer?” Derek asks, and he internally panics for a moment. Yes, is the answer. Yes, I’m so hungry. The only thing I’ve eaten today is an apple this morning. But is he allowed to say that? He examines the both of them and it does look like a genuine offer, but will they guess that something is wrong if he says yes? It’s only six o’clock, though, so maybe he can swing it.

“Yes please,” he dares, “I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Fran says, putting her hands on her hips. “You both head on up. I’ll bring up a tray.”

Derek’s room is big, filled with football trophies and posters. It’s so achingly normal that Spencer’s stomach clenches as he gingerly takes a seat on his bed at Derek’s instruction.

“I did some research that will help us with our presentation,” Spencer offers as Derek sits on his desk chair, spinning around to face him.

It had been a shock when they’d been paired up. Derek’s friends had hollered and laughed when their chemistry teacher had paired them together, and Spencer had gone bright red at the humiliation, not that he could exactly blame them. Pairing up the skinny nerd who’d been moved up two grades with the jock who was almost guaranteed a football scholarship to an excellent university later this year had been a rather bizarre choice on their teacher’s part.

It’s not that Spencer minded: along with being the quarterback with a 4.0 GPA, he was also painfully nice. But everyone else certainly did. Every girl in their science class had sent him death glares as Derek had sauntered over to his desk at the end of class, wearing a lazy grin.

“Chill, pretty boy,” Derek chuckles as he pushes himself side to side in his spinning chair. “We got time.”

“I have to be back home by 9,” Spencer says sheepishly. He’s sure most people in their senior year are allowed to stay out later than that, and he hopes against hope Derek thinks it’s only because he’s sixteen and not that he has to get his mother into bed and try and force her meds down her throat so she won’t wake him up in the middle of the night convinced the shadows in her room are government spies.

“Still three hours. Anyway, I’m sure my mom can drop you home,” Derek shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, we have weeks until we have to present. Why don’t we spend tonight getting to know each other? I feel like I should know a little bit about my project partner, especially if we’re going to be working together for the rest of the year.”

“The rest of the year?” His voice squeaks anxiously but he can’t help it, Derek’s completely catching him off guard.

“Yeah. Ms Farron keeps partners from the first project together for every assignment that year.”

This is news to Spencer, but he tries to keep calm. It’s a good thing, right? Derek has always been friendly to him, and he’s intelligent, too. It’s unlikely he’ll fob all the work off onto him. But being taken advantage of and subsequently left alone is what he’s used to: ‘getting to know each other’ is decidedly new territory. Spencer’s head is spinning.

“Oh.”

“So, pretty boy,” Derek grins, giving himself another 360 spin, “tell me what a 16 year old is doing in senior year.”

“I got moved up two grades back in elementary school,” he explains, grateful that this is at least a rather impersonal topic. “My teachers wanted me even higher but two grades is the maximum our school district allows.”

“I guessed that much,” Derek points out. “Why were you moved up two grades?”

They’re briefly interrupted by Fran’s delivery of a delectable spread for them to feast on. Spencer reaches for a cracker and dips it in some cream cheese, but as soon as he’s swallowed his first bite, Derek gives him a look that tells him he hasn’t exactly gotten away with it.

He sighs. “The last time I was tested, I had an IQ of 187,” he admits, looking down at his worn sneakers. He’d expected to be told to remove them, but he’s glad he wasn’t. His socks almost certainly have holes in them, and laundry isn’t something he can afford to do often. “And I have an eidetic memory.”

Derek lets out a low whistle. “Damn, I knew you were a genius but that’s some next level shit,” he says, before popping a grape in his mouth. “You’re going places, Spencer Reid.” He’s saved from having to fight his blush too hard by Derek moving swiftly on. “Your turn to ask me a question.”

Spencer takes a second to think before deciding to push the boat out, to ask something he actually wants to know instead of playing it safe. “You’re popular, star of the football team, get straight As,” he starts slowly, not meeting Derek’s eyes. “What makes you so nice? You could easily join in with your friends and be another asshole jock pushing me into lockers.”

When he looks up, Derek’s face is an array of emotions. “Kindness costs nothing,” he says seriously, and the intensity of his gaze surprises Spencer. “I saw my pops shot to death in front of me when I was ten and I got my ass kicked every day in freshman year, believe it or not. I know what kindness can mean to a person just as much as I know what cruelty does to someone.”

Spencer doesn’t really know what to say to that, but he knows that he’s finally relaxed a little. Derek’s stark honesty and vulnerability, as much as he doesn’t know quite the right way to react, is refreshing to him, and it’s made the icon of their school seem much more human.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Spencer says quietly.

“Thanks, man,” Derek says, a half smile crossing his face. “What about your family life?”

Spencer swallows another bite of his cream cheese and crackers, his empty stomach thanking him for finally filling it. “My dad walked out when I was ten,” he admits, treading as carefully as possibly. “It’s just me and my mom now.”

“I’m sorry. Are you and your mom close?”

How does he answer a question like that? They’re close in the respect that Spencer cares for her and spends every free moment he has with her. But he also holds his breath every time he turns down his street, half expecting to see his house up in flames, and they’re going hungry this week because she threw most of their groceries in a nearby river after convincing herself it was all poisoned. They don’t exactly have a typical mother-son relationship.

“Something like that,” he mumbles, stuffing another cracker into his mouth. Derek clearly takes the hint that he doesn’t want to elaborate and moves on.

They spend the rest of the evening taking it in turns asking one another questions, ranging from simple ones like their favourite colours to deeper conversations around their future plans and biggest fears. By the time 9 rolls around, they’re lying next to one another on Derek’s bed both facing the ceiling as they trade questions back and forth. Fran’s dinner tray is now covered in crumbs, her carefully prepared spread having been demolished by two hungry teenagers.

Their assigned topic, Enthalpy, Entropy, and Free Energy, hasn’t even been touched, and Spencer can’t find it in him to care. He could throw together a perfect presentation the night before if he needed to. Right now, getting to know Derek Morgan seems far more important. Ironically, the boy he’s only really started to get to know three hours ago is probably the person who knows him best in this whole world, and the thought makes his chest hurt.

The jittery nerves that had consumed him at the start of the evening have dissipated into a calm companionship, and he can’t believe how comfortable he now feels. He doesn’t want to leave, but he has to take care of his mom; she’s already been on her own for so long today.

As if on cue, Fran knocks on the door, poking her head round. “Would you like me to drop you home, Spencer?”

He feels guilty accepting, but the last thing he wants is a twenty minute walk home through the streets of Chicago in the pitch black December night. “Yes, please.”

Derek comes with them for the short drive, and Spencer feels a little embarrassed as he points out the apartment block he lives in. It’s a shitty neighbourhood and his building is crumbling, but it’s home and it’s the cheapest they can afford on welfare. He ducks out of the car and shoots them both a grateful smile.

“Thank you for driving me home, Fran,” he says. “And thank you for a nice evening, Derek.”

“No problem, pretty boy,” Derek winks. “I’ll find you at school tomorrow and we’ll sort out another night to meet up, yeah?”

The smile the Morgans put on his face doesn’t fade until he opens the door to his apartment and reality brings him crashing back down to earth.

⭐️

Over the next few weeks, Spencer Reid gains his first friend. They finally end up actually writing their presentation and naturally, they get an A+ but Spencer’s anxiety that Derek would want to stop hanging out with him once the project that had brought them together was behind them ended up being for nothing. Derek had fist-bumped him as they’d walked out of their classroom. “Come over tonight?” he’d asked, and once Spencer had recovered from his shock, he’d beamed and nodded excitedly.

As Christmas comes and goes, they continue their bizarre friendship. Spencer runs up to Derek’s room as soon as the door is opened, and dives under the covers on his bed, always freezing cold. The first time Derek had cuddled Spencer, he hadn’t been able to stop smiling. He’s seriously touch-starved, and it’s only more apparent from the way he craves contact with Derek. He’s ridiculously thankful that the older boy is so free with his affection, not consumed by the same toxic masculinity that seems to plague the rest of the football team.

It’s nearing February when Derek asks the fatal question.

Spencer had whizzed home after school and made sure his mom was okay before running over to Derek’s, breezing past Sarah on the staircase and diving onto the soft, clean bed sheets. He’s sometimes jealous of all the home comforts his friend has access to, but he does his best to tamp it down. It’s not like it’s Derek’s fault that he’s well-loved and cared for.

“Whoa, pretty boy,” Derek chuckles as he spins around from where he’s doing homework at his desk. “Where’s that shy boy who sat right on the edge of my bed only two months ago, hm?”

“You prefer confident Spencer and you know it.” He moves up the bed a little to sit with his back against the headboard. He’s never become so comfortable around a person this quickly before but there’s something different about Derek.

“Can’t argue with that.” He gets off the chair and moves to sit next to Spencer on the bed, lifting his arm to let the smaller boy cuddle close. Spencer sometimes has nightmares that the boys at school find out how affectionate they are with one another and call them gay after which Derek doesn’t want to hang out with him anymore. (Secretly, he thinks he might actually be gay, but he won’t tell Derek that. Just in case.)

“Can I stay for dinner?” he asks. It’s a moot point: Spencer always asks if he can stay and the Morgans always say yes, but he doesn’t like assuming, especially since he knows how expensive food is. Not that Fran has ever complained about an extra mouth to feed, though. The dinners at Derek’s house are always a family affair, full of laughter and hearty, homemade meals and Spencer likes pretending he’s one of them, just for a little while.

The guilt that he’s leaving his mom for so long eats him up, only eased by the knowledge that she usually sleeps the afternoon away, worn out by a manic morning. He has no idea how to navigate this anymore. It was easier when the only person he had in the world was his mom, but now he has Derek and his family. And as much as he loves his mom and doesn’t mind taking care of her at all, spending time with Derek doesn’t automatically trigger gut-eating anxiety and heart-wrenching misery.

“Of course you can stay, don’t be ridiculous.” Derek elbows him playfully. “You don’t need to ask every night.”

“What if one night you don’t want me to stay, though?”

“I thought I told you to stop being ridiculous?”

Spencer can’t help but smile at Derek’s relaxed, easy grin. For some reason this popular football player with the world as his oyster and a million friends chooses to spend every evening with the nerd who’s two years younger than everyone in their year. For some reason, Derek chooses Spencer.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Derek asks the question. “Why don’t I come over to your place instead one evening?” It’s a casual suggestion, there’s nothing really behind it. “I’d like to meet your mom and see your bedroom. If you’re gonna make fun of my football trophies, I need some revenge material.”

Spencer freezes. He has no idea how to respond to such an innocent proposition. Derek takes his stunned silence as reluctance simply cured with a little more persuasion. “Besides,” he continues, “I feel bad that you always have to run home first before coming over here. It’s like a twenty minute walk.”

“I don’t know,” Spencer hedges, trying to buy time as he comes up with a cover story. “My mom is really particular about our space and she doesn’t really like visitors. I’m not sure your mom could spare you a family dinner anyway.” He pushes Derek playfully, hoping to God he’s even half-way convincing.

One glance at Derek’s face tells him he isn’t buying it, but he can clearly read Spencer’s troubled anxiety expression so he doesn’t push it. “Okay, pretty boy,” he says, relaxing back into the bed, “we’ll stick with the Fran Morgan dinner delight for now.”

Something tells him he won’t get so lucky next time.

⭐️

Spring is just starting to show her face the next time it comes up, and this time it’s completely Spencer’s fault. He shouldn’t have gone over to Derek’s. He should have made up an excuse and stayed in his shitty apartment with his mom, but he couldn’t help it. He was sore and desperately sad, and all he wanted was Fran’s comforting shepherd’s pie and a cuddle with Derek. So he’d made his way home, checked his mom was still sleeping before limping over to the Morgan’s.

He’d concealed it pretty well all day, but energy is seeping out of him and the pain is only getting worse, not helped by the decent trek across town.

He has a key now, so he lets himself in, hoping to avoid Fran until dinner time. Luckily, he’s quiet enough to not disturb her baking in the kitchen, so he makes his way slowly up the stairs, hoping Derek is not as perceptive tonight as he usually is. He’d briefly considered using bullies as a cover story if it came up, but Derek has spent almost every moment he could at school with him the last few days, he wasn’t out of his sight long enough to really encounter anyone cruel enough for it to be a viable story.

“Pretty boy,” Derek greets him, not turning away from the maths homework he’s finishing up. It gives Spencer a little extra time to make it to the bed like he usually does. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Spencer sighs. “A bit tired. You?”

“Training was rough today so I’m sore as shit, but otherwise I’m fine. Better now you’re here.” He turns to smile fondly at Spencer, finally locking eyes on his pale, sallow skin and defeated expression. He scrambles to try and make himself look slightly less terrible, but he’s not quick enough. “You sure you’re good? You don’t look it.”

“No, seriously, I’m fine,” Spencer tries to persuade him. “Just tired as I said. Can we watch a movie while we wait for dinner?”

Derek doesn’t look even close to convinced, but he gives in and brings up netflix on his computer. Spencer collapses against Derek and lets his eyes close as the film they choose plays across the laptop screen, but he must fall asleep because the next thing he knows, he’s being shaken awake by his friend and he’s in a completely different position.

“Spencer, wake up,” he says insistently, and the urgent worry in his tone makes him sit up, wincing when the movement aches his core.

“What? What’s wrong?” he mumbles sleepily, obediently sitting up at Derek’s instruction.

“Pretty boy,” Derek says, sounding teary and a little desperate, “where did you get those bruises?”

He freezes for a second before glancing down at himself and realising that as he’d slept his shirt had shifted, revealing his black and blue stomach. How the fuck was he going to explain this? Not seeming himself wasn’t such a challenge, everyone has their off-days after all, but bruises like these aren’t the sort of thing your best friend just drops when you don’t want to explain them.

“I—” He has no idea what to say. Tears spring to his eyes in a terribly unhelpful fashion, and Derek moves closer, wrapping Spencer up in a hug.

“It’s okay, you can tell me, Spencer,” he promises as he holds him so tenderly it breaks his heart. “Take your time.”

He cries for a good few minutes — it just feels so good to let it out — but as his painful sobs draw to a close, he knows it’s time to face the music. There’s no other option. He has to tell Derek. And maybe a teeny tiny part of him actually wants to tell his best friend.

“I haven’t been honest with you,” he confesses, keeping his head buried in his friend’s chest so he doesn’t have to look him in the eyes. Derek’s hand combing through his hair doesn’t falter. “The reason I didn’t want you to come to my place is because of my mom… She’s a paranoid schizophrenic. When my dad left I became her primary carer, and I’m— I’m not doing a good job.”

Derek holds him a little tighter and presses his cheek to the top of Spencer’s head, shushing him quietly. “Don’t say that, I’m sure you’re doing an amazing job.”

“The other night she got confused because she’d refused her meds again. She became convinced that I was a spy there to hurt her. I can usually talk her down from these moments, or at least guide her to bed to let her sleep it off, but this time there was no reasoning. Eventually, she got so worked up that she shoved me backwards, hard. It sent me sprawling face first across the coffee table, and she kicked me twice before considering herself safe and barricading herself in her room.” He tells the whole story through thick tears, shoulders still shaking with pent up emotion. He wishes it didn’t feel so good to finally get off my chest.

“Spencer, oh my God,” Derek whispers, sounding thoroughly shocked. He’s suddenly fearful that he’s going to report Diana, and he sits up, finally meeting Derek’s teary eyes with his own.

“You can’t… you can’t tell anyone,” he begs. “If anyone finds out, she’ll be locked away and I’ll be put into foster care. I can’t do that to her and I can’t lose you.”

Derek takes Spencer’s hands. “Okay, okay,” he soothes, making him calm down a little. “I promise I won’t tell anyone, okay? Not without your permission. But I also can’t let you be beat up by your mom.”

“It’s not her fault,” Spencer says desperately, “it’s not her fault. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, she thinks she’s in danger.”

“I know,” Derek promises him, “I know it’s not her fault, but she still hurt you. Has this happened before?” Spencer’s hung head and refusal to respond speaks for itself. “Okay, listen. I know you need to go home tonight, but come over tomorrow morning okay? It’s a Saturday and we can spend the morning figuring out a game plan and the afternoon taking your mind off it. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Is this… is this why you like being here?” Derek sounds nervous asking the question, clearly not wanting to offend him.

“Before I became friends with you,” he whispers, moving back to hide against Derek’s chest where it’s safe, “I went hungry a lot. We don’t have much money between rent and bills and mom’s medical expenses. I had to hide the groceries because she would become convinced they were poisoned and destroy them, but she got really good at finding them. I had to stop keeping them in my room because she would insist that I was corroborating with the government in trying to poison her.”

“Spencer,” Derek breathes, holding onto him for dear life. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t know about any of this, I would’ve done something, I could’ve helped.”

“I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“I’ll keep you safe now. I promise.”

When Fran comes and asks them down for dinner a few minutes later, Derek points to Spencer’s exhausted form slumped against him and asks if they can have it up in his room. She relents, and Derek manages to get him to eat a few bites of the risotto Fran had made, not leaving his safe cocoon against Derek’s chest.

He insists on driving Spencer home himself tonight, surprising Fran who had her coat and boots on already, but he escorts his friend right up to his door. “If you come in, mom will get confused,” he explains so Derek gives him a long hug in front of his apartment door instead, holding him as close as possible.

“Spencer… you know I love you right?” he asks, expression intense and serious as his gentle hands rest on his shoulders. “You’re my best friend. I’m always gonna be here for you.”

“I love you, too, Derek,” he whispers, giving him another hug. It scares him just how much he means those five little words, all the meanings that dance behind them taking him aback. For now, though, he settles on one more tight squeeze before deciding to not procrastinate the inevitable anymore. “I should go in and see mom.”

“Yeah. I’ll pick you up at 9 tomorrow?”

“Perfect.” His heart does an excited little leap at the thought of seeing Derek again in the morning. As he walks away back towards the elevators, Spencer takes a deep breath before inserting his key into the lock on his door and pushing it open. He only has to go 12 hours without seeing his best friend. He can do this.

His life suddenly seems like it holds infinitely more promise than it ever has. He supposes that’s the power of Derek Morgan.

Part Two

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @hotchgans @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith (taglist form)

#my writing #moreid #derek morgan #spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #derek morgan & spencer reid #derek #spencer #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #moreid fic #moreid writing #hurt spencer reid #protective derek morgan #moreid fluff #moreid angst

60 notes · View notes

writefightandflightclub · 4 years

Text

Marching far away (Din Djarin x reader)

Summary: some things are more potent in their absence. Din misses you, but before he can let go, he has one more promise left to fulfil. PURE ANGST with eventual comfort.

Author’s note: this is me breaking the tin can man’s heart for a spell. Sorry? Also, this is only my 2nd Din fic and I’m insecure, pls validate me? Or, come join me to simp, okay? (This has Cara in it- was written b4 the G*na drama)

Word count: 3k, oh hell. Was meant to be a blurb. Kriff it. I have no control.

Warnings: strong themes of grief, death of a loved one (reader). Hints of depression + trauma linked to that. A mess of angst and metaphors, tbh. Brief mentions of wounds, blood -not too graphic.

GIF: stunning, and from @qviism

The Mandalorian has awoken to many recurring thoughts in his time, most of them unpleasant. For many years, Din was jolted awake by memories of his parents, their love imprinted on him like a brand which never stopped burning. Yanked from sleep by a noise and grasping for his helmet before he grasps for a weapon, so that everything he is built of -everything he has promised to be- cannot be unmade. Rising to worry; to thoughts of what he is missing and fear of what might be taken away.

Nowadays, he awakes to thoughts of The Foundling. And, Din always, always awakes to the lack of you.

Some things become more potent in their absence. Din knows this. He knows it deeply. Never is the warmth of the sun craved more acutely than in the depths of a dead night. Din certainly finds you more potent in your absence. He finds himself wearing the memory of you like a perpetual perfume, clinging to his body and refusing to be scrubbed clean. Even when he has shed the heavy layers of beskar, in the dark and the solitude, the ghost of you still lingers there, enveloping his skin like a shroud.

Sometimes, Din wonders why he must always bear a weight on his body. A weight over his heart, like this, even when he’s stripped down. Still, like the armour, you are a vow he bears willingly. The only thing worse than bearing this would be losing you entirely. And losing you entirely, would be worse than losing his creed.

Din’s creed is immeasurably heavy.

You are heaviest. Immeasurable.

This morning, as the weight of you settles on his chest, Din stirs.

He peels his eyes open for another day of folding rituals into his seconds and minutes and hours until they become his Way of life. Another day of folding all of the promises he made to you into his heartbeat, his sinews, his bones, until you become a part of him.

As soon as he awakes, he longs for sleep again. Din isn’t sure he can take it any longer -watch yet another day blaze without you by his side. To admit that something fresh was possible would be to let you go. To extract “you” from “him” would be like trying to tear out his own skeleton and keep his heart beating. You are inextricable. Unforgettable. All he can do is hold on to you with every fibre of his being.

This morning, as the weight of you threatens to pin him down to the bed for another day, Din is relieved to find the sound stirring him is Cara, rapping on his door with a characteristically heavy fist. He is relieved not to be alone. He is relieved that today -especially today- Cara can help bear some of the weight of you. He hopes his burden can be made just a little lighter. Prays it can, for he doesn’t know how much longer he can carry you. Still, he is not ready to bury you. Not yet.

Not yet.

Din misses you. He misses you so badly. This is how you are able to cling to his body like perpetual perfume. To weigh on his breast. This is how you’re amongst every layer of him, from armour to bones. Because Din Djarin wears you like a creed. Because he chooses you, every day, and he folds you into the layers of him. The vows, the promises, the rituals. Until you are his way of life. Or, the lack of you is; some things are just more potent in their absence.

A dead body is heavier. Heaviest.

“Din? We gotta go.” Cara states perfunctorily through the door, cutting through Din’s spiral. “There’s some caf on the floor for you.”

Din’s face softens gratefully, the simple morning ritual a reason to crawl out of bed. This is how he gets through the day. One ritual at a time until the sun goes down.

“Din! Are you ready?” Cara asks, rapping on the door again when nothing but silence greets her.

Ready? Is he? He’s never ready to face another day without you. It always kicks the feet out from under him. You always tackle him in those first moments of the morning, before he can put his armour on over the cracks. You always attack him when he’s most vulnerable.

“Yep. Coming.” Din responds, his rough voice grogged by tattered remnants of sleep.

He reluctantly reaches for his armour. He stumbles into the refresher. He dresses himself, layering himself in ritual. Binding himself in his creed until none of his cracks are visible and he is shining like the glint of dawn over a horizon. Until he appears whole and unbreakable. If he didn’t have his creed to bind himself in, Din may have fallen apart altogether.

Din shuffles towards the mirror, where he has your necklace pinned. A pendant with an emblem of a sun, rising over mountains. With each new day, he repeats the mantra which has become familiar to him.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.”

It’s a promise. A promise to remember you. He says it into the mirror, to a face that you never even saw. He repeats your name under his breath, folding it into the air filling his lungs. Each breath becomes a ritual. A habit of breathing, for you. For the Foundling. For Cara. Maybe, eventually, for himself.

Din keenly downs the strong, bitter caf before cloaking his face inside his helmet. Today, he resents the helmet, just a little. Wishes he could show the cracks, instead of his smooth dome of beskar, just for once. But weakness is not a luxury Din Djarin is used to being afforded. Strength is part of his code.

Din shuffles lethargically, quietly to the cockpit of the Razor Crest, trying to minimise the heavy thud of his boots. It’s early. Early enough that even The Foundling is sleeping. It’s still dark outside too, stars littering the skies up above like spilled sugar. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so tragic, he thinks -so haphazard.

Din had used to believe that stars aligned. That there was some order to the chaos. He had believed that most wholeheartedly when he met you, by complete chance. But now... now he simply believed they were a mess. That fate was cruel. That all was chaos. That the universe was nothing but spilled sugar.

The Mandalorian places a gloved hand on Cara’s shoulder and she turns, arms folded and her face already awash with tears, eyes littered with stars too. Angry stars, like fate has been cruel to her as well. She misses you, too.

Cara smiles thinly, caught-out in her grief but pleased that he’s up, and Din lowers himself into the pilot’s seat with a heavy thud, manoeuvring the craft up and away. There is no time for comfort. He knows he needs to make the canyon before sunrise. Has to watch the daybreak peek over the mountains. It’s what he promised. So, he flies in silence, Cara quiet too.

It all seems eminently doable to Din… until he lands the ship. Until Cara takes his hand and attempts to lead him out of the craft before the glowing embers of day set fire to the sky. Then, suddenly, the interior of the helmet tastes like salt, his wet tears of grief lining the insides.

“Din,” Cara says, her voice tinged with panic. “Din, please. The sun’s coming up. We can’t miss this, you understand?”

“I can’t do it, Cara. I can’t do another day without her,” he rasps through the vocoder, his voice a patchy rumble like an old stuttering engine.

Cara hasn’t seen Din breakdown like this since it had first happened. No-one has seen it. Even now, his voice is the only clue that he is broken. His armour may be smooth and unblemished, but the Mandalorian is cracked from within.

His pain travels through his body, though, becoming more visible. Din curls his spine and his shoulders in on himself, his body sagging under the weight of you. Under the weight of this. His gloved hands clench and dig into the arms of his flight console.

Din wants to run. Wants to turn the Razor Crest around.Wants to be weak, after so long beign strong.

“Din, you promised her.”

Promised? Promised?

“I promised nothing,” Din snaps at Cara, launching himself from his seat, his voice gruff like the snarl of animal. Like teeth tearing a chunk out of her. “She died before I could promise her a damn thing.”

Cara squares up to him, ready to suffer his outburst, but the fire leaves Din as quickly as it came. He’s simply a wounded animal lashing out. Even as Cara’s chin tips up at him, Din is falling to his knees on the floor, his head bowed into his gloved hands.

“Din,” Cara soothes, dropping to the floor with him and clutching his hands in hers, gently peeling them away from his helmet. “Din. Hey.”

Din’s voice is barely audible when he speaks again. “I wasn’t there at the end, Cara. I wasn’t with her.”

The Mandalorian finally tips his head up and meets the mercenary’s eyes. He finds them swimming with pain. With pity. Din hadn’t been there at the end. He couldn’t even hold you. He wasn’t even there to tell you that he loved you. That he would have married you. To tell you all that he would have promised and vowed to you.

Cara had been there, at the end, so Din supposes it’s a cruel thing to wish for. Especially as he can see from the distress in Cara’s face that she is replaying it. That her face contorts around all the details she left out so that Din didn’t have to know exactly how you suffered. Especially as she chews on the omitted details and prepares to smooth them with kind, white lies to ease his pain.

“Well, I was, Din. I was. And I told you what she said, yes?”

Cara had been the one to convey your dying words to Din. Had come back to the Mandalorian with your body in her arms, her hands stained red and her cheeks stained with glassy tears. Cara had been the one to hold Din as he yelled into the sky. As he crouched over you and blood bloomed through his gloves as he pressed his hands to your flowering wounds. As he took a boot and then his fists to the exterior of the Razor Crest. She had been the one to soothe him, and remind him of the Foundling and all he had left to live for as he dropped to his knees, just like this. Cara had told him what you’d said, with your last breaths. As you expended your last moments folding Din into your bones. Into your heart. Punctuating your story with him.

“Tell Din... I love him. And... m-make sure he watches the sun c-come up.”

“I told you what she said, but did you understand it? Did you understand what she meant?” Cara searches the T-shape in Din’s helmet as if she could truly read it, no longer holding back her own tears.

“She knew, Din, you tin-head. She knew every damn promise you would have made to her,” Cara says, clutching Din’s hands more tightly in her warm grip. “In her final moments, she was thinking about what her Mandalorian would need. Her man would need to know she loved him. Would need something to believe in -something beautiful. He’d need the promise of a new day. And a friend by his side to get him through the night. So, Din, there’s no kriffing doubt she knew you loved her, because she knew exactly what you would need to survive losing her.”

It was symbolic, Cara knew, but you understood Din. You understood his need for rituals and symbols. You wanted him to watch the sun come up, and you wanted Cara to make sure he did so again, even after the longest and darkest of nights without you.

Din leans forward into Cara’s shoulder as if all of his tendons have suddenly been cut. He hadn’t realised how badly he needed to hear his friend’s words. But you knew that he would need her.

Of course.

Even when Din thought all the promises has been lost, you forced him to look ahead to the promise of a new dawn; a new day, one day at a time. It was about marching forwards, with whatever rituals he needed to get him through. Like watching the sun come up over the mountains. For you, for Cara, for the Foundling. Until he could do it for himself too.

As Cara moves to wrap her strong arms around Din in comfort, suddenly he raises himself from the floor as quickly as he fell, until he is standing above her. Her brown eyes find his as she rises to meet him.

He extends his hand to her, and instead of taking it, she simply looks at him, a soft smile blooming at the corners of her mouth.

The only time Cara had known Din to take the helmet off was when he was horrifically wounded. And he’s so horrifically wounded now. She knows exactly what he needs.

“Why don’t you go out alone, Din Djarin?” Cara asks in a soft, earnest voice. “Why don’t you feel the sun on your face for a little bit? I’ll give you ‘til the sun hits that second peak, then I’ll be right out, okay?”

Din doesn’t speak; can’t speak, at such a kind gesture from a friend who knows him too well. Who knew you just as well. Din can’t find the words. All he knows is that he suddenly feels so much… lighter. He brings a gloved hand to the side of Cara’s face and dips his beskar dome forwards, gently touching foreheads with his friend in gratitude. She gives him a soft smile and an encouraging nod, and the Mandalorian shuffles out of the craft alone, his heavy boots dragging through the dirt. He faces the mountains. Faces the beautiful view across the canyon and collapses into the dirt, parking his butt and sitting cross-legged at the cliff edge.

The sunlight spills over the horizon, the light finding him and daybreak gleaming off of his armour; at first, Din reflects it back like he doesn’t want to know. Like he wants to remain in the darkness. But then, ever so slowly, he reaches his hands up towards his head and slips his helmet off, baring his face to a new day. Feeling the warmth on his skin. The light dancing in his warm, caf-coloured eyes. And he smiles. He smiles while thinking of you, for the first time in a long while.

Din is here because it has been a year. A year since you died.

In that time, it hasn’t grown any easier. But, today, Din is here with Cara to remember you. He wants the carry the memory of you with him forever, but he doesn’t want it to be so heavy. He doesn’t want to only remember you in death, even if you died with such honour. He wants to let your memory be something that can dance around him. Dance with him. Maybe even march along beside him. That’s how he wants to remember you; with joy, because that’s what you gave him, before you gave him grief – if only he would remember.

Din takes a few deep breaths and allows his soul to be stilled as the sun rises through the craggy, oranged peaks in front of him, drying the tears from his cheeks like the brush of a lover’s fingers.

He repeats the words under his breath.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.”

I’m still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.

That’s the thing about rituals. They mean something. They’re never supposed to be passive. They’re a way of life, folded into the seconds and minutes and hours of each new day. Folded into your heartbeat, your sinews, your bones.

Din looks out at the beautiful scene in front of him, and his smile spreads wider even as fresh tears threaten at his eyes. This time, they ball, but don’t fall. They twinkle in his eyes like stars blazing. Like suns.

Maker, he loved you. Loves you. And, Cara must have been right; you must have known he loved you too, then? Because why else would you think he would need this - exactly this, if he lost you?

The Mandalorian watches peacefully until the sun rises beyond the second peak, and, true to his word, he savours the warmth before slipping his helmet back on over his head. True to her word, Cara’s heavy gait kicks-up dust as she approaches, plonking herself beside him on the dirt and looking out across the canyon in gentle awe, suns balling in her eyes too.

After a moment in silence, she bumps his shoulder with her own, looking him dead-on in the T-shape. “I need you to talk about her,” Cara admits. “I know you can’t forget her, but you have to remember her too, Din. That’s how you keep her alive, instead of being haunted by ghosts. Or, that’s how we keep her alive.” Cara scrunches her face up, as if she knows how cheesy she’s about to sound. “Together. You’re not a clan of one anymore, Mando.”

“I know,” Din says gruffly, his voice lighter than it had been before dawn. He nods his head in agreement. “I know.”

The two friends wrap their arms around one another as the sun rises above the mountains, held together by its beauty, the possibility of a new start, and the memory of you.

Din tugs in the deepest of breaths and lets it go, as if he shrugging off a long-held weight from his shoulders.

Cara is the first to break the silence, looking towards her dear companion. “How about you shimmy indoors, clear out the snot from your helmet and come back with some hot caf? The child will be waking up in a couple of hours. ‘Til then maybe we can enjoy the views and figure out the best stories to tell him about his mama?”

Din rises, like the sun. Somehow looking fresh. He obliges Cara, giving her a moment alone with her memories too, and he wanders into the interior of the Razor Crest. As he retrieves his cup from inside the craft, he repeats his mantra once more under his breath.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.”

Up to now, Din realises, he had been repeating it. But he hadn’t been living it.

Things were set to change today. As long as he remembered you, Cara remembered you, the Foundling remembered you, you were not gone. You were simply marching far away.

Din would have married you. If there is something after all this, if there is anything true about the Force, Din hopes that one day, somehow, he gets a chance to make a whole new vow. Hopes that one day he might get to walk beside you again, and keep walking with you for always. Until then, he will keep marching on. And, most of all, he will remember you, so that if he ever comes across you again, he will recognise you, even if you are marching away.

Folding your name into his breath, Din joins Cara beneath the risen sun to start a new day, with a friend by his side. No longer a clan of one. Not alone, even wihout you.

THE END

Like this? I hope the story brought you some joy and that’s more than enough, especially at this moment. However, if you do have the energy and inclination please do reblog, and consider sending feedback in a comment or ask. (It gets me through the day, ngl).

Want more? Whether you want more angst or need recovery fluff, I got you. You can check out my Masterlist in my bio to read more of my works! I write for Star Wars and Oscar / Pedro characters. I have more Din and a Cara fic on there too, and plenty of Poe Dameron being silly if you need a cheer up.

Want even more? Just ask if you’re not already and you’d like to be added to my permanent tag-list / character tag-lists. Also, you can always check in my bio if requests are open rn if you’d like to see something specific. Request guidelines are at the top of my masterlist. Tagging: @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall @holybatflapexpert @himbopoes @arabellathorne @yourbucky084 @mandoplease @mylifeliterally @arkofblake @multifandomlife22 @yougottakeeponkeepinon @justrunamok @aisling-beatha @mndalorians

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #star wars #star wars x reader #din djarin angst #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #cara dune #cara dune angst #star wars fic #mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #gina carano

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nicole-lynne · 5 years

Text

Hints of Red

This is my entry for @mummybear‘s 1500 Follower Celebration. Congratulations babe! You totally deserve each and every one of them! My post was inspired by the song Better Man by Westlife and I am so excited about it!

Pairings: Klaus Mikaelson x Reader Warnings: Cussing, Implied violence, Drinking

Description: Klaus deals with the aftermath of his actions and is haunted by memories of the past

Klaus gripped the glass of bourbon tightly, balancing it on his knee. It was his sixth. The ticking of the clock was echoing in the room and with each tick, he was falling deeper into a void. Across the room, there was a little strip of light streaming in through the crack in the curtains, warming a book with a worn, red cover on the corner of the table.

Her favorite book.

He couldn’t move his eyes off of it, instead, replaying the last time she’d picked it up and had read aloud to him while he painted in the corner. She had been draped across the chaise in one of his old shirts and it felt impossible to keep his focus on the canvas.

Reading was like second nature to her, her voice melodic and sweet, giving him solace that he had never felt before her. He wished that they could relive this day after day, her reading and his painting.

Now the only sound was the ticking of the clock.

It was taunting him. Making it clear that he was left alone to wallow in his own self-destruction. He wanted to scream or throw something, but that wouldn’t change his situation. So he shot back the rest of his drink, the burn warm and familiar. Then he poured another one.

“You look like you could use another drink.”

Klaus turned his head, a deep frown on his face, to find a girl on the stool next to him. She had her hair piled on top of her head and wore a bright red dress shirt with a tiny little nametag from a restaurant across the street. Her head was tilted up towards him and there was a small smile twitching at the corner of her lip. His first instinct was to blow her off but that would take more energy than he had to give.

“Or two.” He finally said, swirling the liquid around the glass.

“It should be against the law for a Friday to be bad.”

Klaus was silent. He didn’t care much about this girl’s bad day. In a swift motion, he shot back the bourbon and gestured to the bartender. “Two more, please?”

The bartender poured the drinks and set them down in front of Klaus. He paused for a moment before lifting one of the glasses and setting it down in front of the girl with a loud thunk. She raised a brow quizzically and Klaus shrugged it off and picked up his own glass.

“Don’t say a word.”

She hid a snicker behind her hand at his annoyed expression but still pulled the glass closer, examining the contents like it might explode.

“Watch this.” She leaned in and whispered.

Suddenly, she was lifting herself over the bar and reaching for the spray nozzle. She clicked the button and started filling the cup with Dr. Pepper. Then she snatched up a lemon and squeezed the lemon, squirts of the juice flicking across the surface, before popping a bright red cherry on the top and sitting back down, a look of pride on her face.

Klaus studied her with an amused expression, “well now you’ve ruined a perfectly good drink.”

Her jaw dropped a little in shock. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. I made the bourbon even more tolerable.” She shoved it towards him excitedly. “Just try it and you’ll see.”

“I would never drink that filth in a thousand years.” He scoffed, offended that she would suggest that he drink the sugary disgrace.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her deflate at his dismissal and reach for the glass. For some strange reason, it made him a little sad to see her disappointed. Sooner than she could move it away, Klaus’s hand shot out to stop her. She looked up at him with wide eyes, holding her breath to see what he would do next. Had she offended him by refusing the straight liquor?

“I suppose one little taste wouldn’t kill me. Although it may tarnish my reputation for drinking such rubbish.” A glimmer of teasing behind his eyes.

“I have a feeling your reputation can handle it.” She joked back but still let him take the drink from her hand. “I’ll try it your way if you don’t like it.”

Klaus eyed the drink warily and brought it to his lips and took a sip. The refreshing taste hit his tongue and he had to force himself to keep a straight face. While he always enjoyed the heat that tinged his throat as a good bourbon slid down to warm his belly, this was a more light taste as the liquor mixed with the fizzy soda.

She had a crinkle on her nose as she cheerfully watched for a reaction and he couldn’t help but relish in the feeling of her eyes on him. He mulled over his thoughts for a long moment, trying to decide what he should say. The longer he waited, the more intense her gaze became and she leaned in closer and closer until a grin grew on his face.

“I knew it!” She whooped, gently shoving his shoulder a little bit.

Klaus laughed loudly, louder than he had in months. Somehow, this girl who had inserted herself into his evening of pity had made him feel better than any of his family had in a long time. These days, they were the ones causing his trouble and he was sick of trouble. But she’d brought a smile to his face.

“Okay, so it wasn’t the drivel I thought it would be, but it doesn’t hold a candle to a nice stiff drink.”

“Just admit that you liked it better, I know what I’m doing. It’s like a superpower I have.”

He tilted his head inquisitively, “what, always being right?”

“Well, that’s a give in,” She gave him a cheeky wink, “no, I can always tell what alcoholic drink someone will like. I knew from the minute I laid eyes on you, that you’re a bourbon cherry smash kinda guy.”

“Wow, you’ve really got me pegged, haven’t ya?” Klaus was pleasantly surprised that he was enjoying the banter they’d started. “I’m Klaus, by the way.”

All his problems of the day were starting to melt away as this fragile, human girl was babbling on about different drinks that were ‘totally underrated and yummy’ although he wasn’t following a word of it, rather he was caught up in the sparkle of her eyes and the way her hands were waving around eccentrically.

Time seemed to move quicker when he was talking to her, and suddenly, hours had passed seamlessly. The bartender was calling out for the last call and they exchanged a look of disbelief, still caught up in the story she was telling about her childhood iguana.

“Could I walk you home?” He asked, attempting to sound casual.

“That’d be great,” she slid off the bar stool, “let me pay my tab and we can go.”

“It’s alright, love, it’s on me.” She opened her mouth to protest but he held his hand out to her, “And don’t try to argue, it’s already taken care of.”

Wordlessly, she slipped her hand into his and let him lead her out of the bar. The night air was cool against her heated skin and they strolled along, enjoying the sounds of jazz music floating down the streets from open windows.

“That was really sweet of you to take care of my bill, Klaus, you didn’t have to do that.”

“It was my pleasure. I wanted to thank you for being the only person in a long time to put a smile on my face. It’s not an easy feat.”

Giving him a bashful smile, she squeezed his hand. “I like your smile, I hope I get to see it more.”

How much time had passed?

He hadn’t moved except to refill his drink. Anything else proved to be too difficult. The canvas in the corner was left untouched, the doors and windows closed tight to keep out the sound of the compound, his family had scattered for various reasons. There was nothing to motivate him from moving from his spot on the couch.

If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the feeling of her arms around him, holding him tight to her chest as she ran her fingers through his hair. He could feel her chest rising and falling underneath him, lulling him into serenity.

No one would have ever guessed that a delicate human could be the only real comfort for the original hybrid. But she never judged him, never expected him to be anything other than who he was. It was the thing he loved most about her. She saw the real him behind all the walls he’d spent years building.

Maybe that was the problem. She could see into the very depths of his soul, see through every lie when he’d messed up, see what he was even when he’d tried to hide it. And he wasn’t sure if he liked that.

“Do you know what today is? Nik, are you listening to me?”

Truthfully, he’d been so caught up in the sight of her bare skin that he’d barely heard her honey voice ask him the question. He raised his head slowly to meet her eyes, blushing at the playful grin she gave him.

“Forgive me, love,” He lifted her arm, pressing a chaste kiss to the inside of her wrist, and he smiled when he felt the chill run down her body. Still so affected by his touch. “Now, pray tell, what is today?”

“Today is one year from when we met.” She twirled her finger around one of his curls lazily, basking in the warmth of the sun pouring in from the open balcony door.

“No, that couldn’t be. Are you sure you’re not thinking of another one of your boyfriends?”

“Niklaus Mikaelson!” She shoved him futilely and he tightened his hold on her waist. Relenting to his strength, her bottom lip jutted out in a pout. “You’re a real fool if you think for one second I could be with anyone but you-”

She was cut off by Klaus connecting his lips to hers firmly. Involuntarily, her resolve disappeared and she sunk into the kiss. She’d felt his lips a thousand times before, yet each time she felt like a melted popsicle in the summer sun.

Much before she was ready to let go, he was pulling away with a clever grin. “My dear, I was just teasing you. Do you truly believe I would allow another man to have what is mine? Or that I would forget the most important day of my life?”

Words were lost to her at his question. He chuckled at her dazed expression before raising off the bed, letting the white silk sheets fall back over her curves. She took the chance to admire the tensing muscles of his back all the way down to the perfect curve of his bare backside as he walked across the room. In the blink of an eye, he was back at her side, slipping under the sheets and tangling his legs with hers.

“Nik, you know it startles me when you do that.”

“Well how do you expect me to get around, love?” He quipped.

“You could walk to and from like a normal person instead of speeding around like a hot rod.” Laughs mixed with hot kisses against her neck as he held her flush against his chest. He savored every little giggle that he was pulling from her.

“But then I wouldn’t get to see that funny little look on your face when I startle you. And it’s such a cute face. Besides, I haven’t got the time to waste by walking at a snail’s pace.”

She snorted, “you’re an original, Nik, you’ve got endless amounts of time. But I can tell you, if you keep whipping around here, you may lose me to a heart attack.”

Klaus’s nose traced yours lightly, “I wouldn’t want that, I’m going to be keeping you around for as long as you’ll have me. Don’t want to have that ruined by something as miniscule and human as a heart attack.”

Her heart warmed with his lovely words, she buried her face into the crook of his neck and inhaled the sweet scent of her love on his skin mixed with a hint of mahogany and bourbon. It would be impossible for her to ever be tired of that smell.

She trailed tiny kisses along his collar bone, hoping to stir something in him for a third time that day, but he took matters into his own hands, flipping her onto her back and he rolled on top of her.

“I have a gift for you, my sweet cherry.” His voice low in her ear and she shivered in anticipation.

Hastily, he sat up and tugged her into a sitting position. From the side of the bed, he revealed a small necklace box to her. She held it, shocked, her eyes darting between the box on her palm and Klaus’s face.

“Wha-what is it?”

“Why don’t you open it and find out?”

Zealously, she flipped open the lid to find a delicate ruby necklace on a gold chain, the sight taking her breath away. “Oh, Nik, it’s stunning. You shouldn’t have...”

“Hush now. You deserve more than anything I could ever give you but that won’t keep me from trying.” He trailed a finger down her cheek, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You are the love of my life and I will cherish you until my dying breath.”

He ghosted his lips against hers and then lifted the necklace out of the box, fastened it around the back of her neck. The ruby fell between her breasts like a beacon on her naked skin and he fell back onto his palms to get a better look.

“I am the luckiest man in the entire world to have the most perfect woman at my side.”

Red. That’s all he could see when he was angry. The red of blood dripping onto the cobblestones. The red of a raging fire consuming the land. The red of the very devil in his soul.

That was before.

Now all he could see was a different kind of red. The red of her cherry lollipop. The red of her camisole slipping down her shoulder. The red of the sunset from the last night he’d spent with her.

And then it was gone before he’d really had a chance to enjoy it. His heart clenched at the memory of that split second rage that burned his future to the ground. He wondered if she thought about him the same way or if he was only a distant memory to her now.

How much time had passed?

He wasn’t drunk, maybe close, but not drunk enough to forget what he wanted to forget. Instead, he was consumed by pain and sorrow. There was the overwhelming urge to cry, a feeling he’d never felt as strong in the years before her. Everything was different after her.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” She screamed at the top of her lungs.

Klaus stormed into the compound, blood drenching the front of his white shirt. She followed hot on his heels, hollering obscenities the entire time. Her voice echoed off the walls, making his heart race with adrenaline and he was close to losing control.

“Enough!” He screamed as he whipped around to face her.

She shrunk back for a fraction of a second before moving to get in his face, her teeth grit together. “Why in the fuck would you do that, Nik?”

“Why were you following me in the first place? I told you to stay here!” He growled menacingly.

“I followed you because I had a bad feeling and I didn’t want you to get hurt.” She rammed the heels of her hands against his chest and he snarled. “You had no right-”

“I had every right! I’m the King and I can do what I want!”

She backed away, letting out a growl of frustration. “You pigheaded man!”

With a disgusting delight, he laughed like that was the most amusing thing he’d ever heard. Tonight, he was a different person. He was cold and nasty, refusing to see the part he had played in what had happened. The countless bodies that lay on the floor of Rousseau's at his and Marcel’s hand.

It had seemed like a good idea in the beginning, to follow him and make sure that the Faction didn’t outnumber him. She hadn’t the faintest clue what she could do as a human, but she loved him and she’d put up a hell of a fight.

What she hadn’t expected was to find Marcel and Klaus feasting on the poor bodies of the Faction, scattered across the floor of the bar like peanut shells. To see the man she loved tearing into people like an animal.

“They tried to make a mockery of me. I cannot stand for that!”

“Are you so worried about your reputation that you would kill mercilessly after you’ve worked so hard for redemption? Why is this so important to you, Nik?” She crossed her arms stubbornly, her wrath-filled gaze on him.

“Would you have me let them live after they have so clearly gone against me?” He spat the words out like poison. In his head, he knew he should stop, he should apologize, but his mouth was saying anything but.

This was pointless, she could see that now. All of the pain she’d buried had risen to the surface and she couldn’t go back to hiding it again.

“You’re not yourself, Nik. These past few months, you’ve changed. You’re callous and paranoid, driving away the people who are closest to you. I have loved you for years, watching you break and put pieces back together time after time, but I cannot figure out why this is the thing you’re willing to throw everything away for.”

He looked at her with a cold glare. “This is my home, my kingdom, and no one will stand in my way.”

“Well...” Her voice was a quiet whisper, “then I won’t stand in your way anymore.”

Those words stunned him and it became eerily silent. Klaus wanted to deny her, to fall at her feet and beg her to forgive him for all the months he had been cruel to her during this crusade for New Orleans.

His feet stayed frozen in place, his desires being overpowered by his pride.

Her eyes were filled with tears, begging him to say anything that would compel her to stay, anything that would show the man she’d fallen in love with still existed. After a few moments of silence, she reached to the back of her neck and unclasped the ruby necklace from their first anniversary.

They both stared at it dangling loose in the air. All their memories were captured in the gem like a time capsule. She let go of the necklace and it dropped to the ground, bouncing on the cobblestones until it came to a stop.

“Good-bye, Nik. I hope you enjoy your lonely kingdom.”

Turning sharp on her heel, she walked out of the compound, leaving him in the glow of the blood red moon.

There was only one thing to do, it had been in the front of his mind the whole time. Klaus wanted to go to her, to work through this fight and be able to hold her the way he used to.

Would she laugh at him? Did she hate him for everything he’d put her through over the years? Maybe he had worn her down until she couldn’t even stand to look at him, let alone be with him. Was it possible for her to ever love him the way she used to?

There was only one way to find out.

Klaus let the empty bottle fall onto the floor and roll away, clanking against the other discarded bottles. Forcing himself up, he took a shaky breath and wiped away the tears that had stained his cheeks. He was disheveled, his scruff grown longer than he usually let it and his shirt was wrinkled and stained.

Those things didn’t stop him though as he walked down the stairs and out the compound like he was in a stupor. He passed through the streets, the path to her being one he’d walked so many times since he’d walked her home on that first night.

Overhead, the moon shone bright like a lighthouse in the night. A full moon. It had been a month since he’d let her leave.

He hadn’t thought of what he might say and sooner than he’d realized, he was standing outside of her apartment. It was a mere ten steps away and he was losing the gumption he’d gained from the walk.

Stepping forward, again and again, and then his hand was knocking on the faded red door. He could hear the unmistakable sound of her footsteps coming towards the door. His heart stopped as the door swung open and she was in front of him. Her hair was back, with little strands falling against her neck, and she was wearing one of his old shirts with her little shorts peeking out from the edge.

She let out a little gasp of surprise at the sight of him. His immediate thought was that she was scared of him and that idea broke his heart even more.

“Nik...” He’d barely heard her voice above the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

“Hello, love.”

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

She was even more lovely than he could ever possibly remember. Klaus was speechless as he watched her glance out the door, waiting for something that might tell her this was a joke. Then she raised her eyebrow, waiting for an answer and he looked down at his feet nervously.

“I...I had to see you, I can’t stop thinking of you.”

Folding her arms tightly, she stepped back just enough to let him through the door, no invitation needed. He passed by her, brushing against her skin and the touch shot a spark down his spine, but she shifted her body back so he couldn’t touch her again.

The room was the same as the last time he’d been there, a fire blazing in the fireplace, with books scattered on every surface and a long-forgotten cup of tea cooling by the couch. There were little pieces of her everywhere that made him yearn to sink into its comforts.

“Is everything alright, Nik? Are you hurt?”

Her voice snapped him back to the present. “What?”

“I asked if you were hurt?” She was still lingering by the door, her arms wrapped around her body like she was trying to hold herself together.

“No, I’m not hurt. Physically, that is.” Klaus turned so that he was facing her directly. “I don’t know what to do without you. Every plan I’d ever made for the rest of my life included you and now...I’m just lost.”

Her face softened with understanding, realizing that he was hurting. “I get it...”

“You do?”

“Of course I do. We were together for so long, I don’t really know how to be alone.” She moved over to the couch and tucked her feet under her body, studying his face the whole time. That confession eased his own fears a little. “Have you been sleeping at all?”

“I’m not really sure...” He mumbled.

“Oh, Nik.” Reaching forward, she grabbed his hand and pulled him to sit down next to her. He settled into the cushions and let the familiar scent of her cover him. “You look so worn out, you need to rest.”

“I can’t rest, love. I can’t close my eyes without seeing the image of you walking away from me. I cannot rest until you understand how much I love you, how much I need you.” She let out a deep sigh, already shaking her head, but he continued before she could speak. “Please listen, understand, that I am nothing without you. I thought that winning New Orleans was what I wanted...”

“But?” She asked tentatively.

He lifted his eyes to meet hers, praying to see forgiveness, “but I realized that all I want is you. You tried to tell me that it wouldn’t make me happy, but I was an idiot. I didn’t listen to you and when you left, I should have stopped you...”

When he’d first told her about who he truly was, he’d told her all of the ways he’d betrayed his family, all of the mistakes he’d made, and the feelings that lurked in the shadows of his mind. But he’d promised that he would never hurt her. In that promise, she saw the man that he was and everything they could be together.

“You broke my heart by letting me walk away. I kept thinking you would call out for me, ask me to stay, but you didn’t. Why are you coming to me now?”

“I thought that pride and reign of the city would be all I’d ever need. I was wrong...” Klaus took her hand apprehensively, expecting her to yank it away, but she didn’t. “For a thousand years I have been taught that control and fear are the best ways to get what I want. Then I met you, and you showed me that there was more to life. You helped me right the wrongs I had made. You made me want to be a better man.

“When I started this crusade for New Orleans, I lost sight of the man I wanted to be. I let my past creep back in and allowed it to twist our relationship into something ugly. For that, I will never be able to forgive myself.”

“It wasn’t only you...”

“Yes it was. Every day, you were fighting for me to be what you needed, and I failed you.”

Cautiously, she raised up and sat in his lap, sliding her arms around his neck just as he wrapped his around her waist. It was a position they’d been in so many times before but he couldn’t remember his heart beating as hard as it was right now.

“Listen to me, Nik, we all make mistakes. I’d say ‘we’re all human’ but that’s not exactly true.” She quipped. “But I never stopped believing in you. I know what kind of a man you are and the fact that you’ve been this torn up about it, makes it clear that you’ve changed.”

“Do you hate me?” He asked, his voice as quiet as a child being scolded.

Her thumb rubbed on the nape of his neck, considering the question. “I could never hate you, I love you.”

Tears shone in his crystal eyes, “can you ever forgive me?”

“I think I’m already starting to. I can’t picture my life without you and I don’t want to anymore.” A little smile teased on her lips and he’d never felt so happy to see her smile before.

“I vow to you that I will win your forgiveness and your trust. My life will be devoted to you and your happiness until my dying breath.”

She giggled, snuggling in closer to him and he held her tighter, afraid she might disappear. “That might be quite a long time.”

“Anything shorter than eternity will never be enough time with you, love.”

Leaning forward, he captured her lips in a gentle kiss. Butterflies erupted in his stomach at the sound of her heartbeat jumping erratically and he pulled her in deeper. They had missed out on so many kisses in just that month and he intended to make up for every one.

Overwhelmed, she drew back with a giddy look on her face. “That’s one thing I’ve definitely missed.” He snorted in agreeance.

“What about this?” He asked, slipping out her necklace from his pocket.

Her jaw dropped and she grabbed it quickly. “I never thought I’d get this back. Please don’t ever let me take it off again, Nik.”

“Never, darling.” He muttered before pressing a kiss to her temple and snuggling into the cushions, finally relieved to have his love back in his arms again.

#mummybear’s1.5kfollowerscelebration #klaus mikaelson #klaus x reader #the originals #vampire diaries #klaus mikaelson vpd #klaus mikaelson to #klaus mikaelson fanfic #klaus mikaelson story #klaus mikaelson song prompt

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bathunterofdevon · 4 years

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Art/Animation/Video Update:

Good day everyone.

You may or may not notice how quiet and inactive I've been lately - when I promised I would give regular updates about my renewed determination to practise art and learn to animate successfully. In the beginning, when I first started this new challenge, I was pumped up, and full of energy to start it. I made a promise that I would never give up no matter what, and always focus on getting better. And in the first 5-6 days, I did keep a level head and kept on going, with a clear goal at the end of it. But, over a relatively short time, -by day 5 I think- I became exhausted and couldn't carry on anymore. My own brain kept feeding and replaying bad memories over and over again, which left me feeling weak and spiritually broken. Eventually, I just burned out and collapsed. That was weeks ago now. Something I didn't expect to see again has returned suddenly, and with a vengeance.

The past two weeks have been nothing short of hell for me. Realistically speaking, there is nothing wrong with me. I didn't have a rough or traumatic childhood. I haven't lost anyone close to me. I didn't break up with a long term girlfriend (never even had one to begin with). And yet, for some reasons which I feel are too complicated and awkward for me to discuss here, I've been feeling overwhelmingly cynical and bleak, like there is absolutely no point to me being alive. I feel like I have no future. And my brain is stuck in the past and I can't pull it out of there.

I remember feeling like this back when I was in Canada, and 3 years before that. It is strange. I don't think I have any legitimate reason to be depressed. There are so many people around the world who have really suffered terrible losses and come from real, hard and trying life circumstances. I know people who were sexually abused when they were children. I know someone who suffers from Schizophrenia, and regularly experiences headaches after being involved in an incident that gave them serious injuries in their childhood. I don't have either of those. I'm living with my family again - my Mum and Dad, and my family all love me and think the world of me. I recently started a new joj as a host and food busser for this new fancy restaurant in the town near where I live. And when people ask me what I'm feeling, I always tell them I'm fine. So everything should be okay. I'm doing all the things I ought to. I'm not old. I'm not ill. But for some reason, I'm just so sick and tired. Of virtually everything.

I'm beginning to feel increasingly distant from my own life situation, like I'm on some kind of autopilot. Everything feels almost illusory and surreal. In a way, I wish I had some kind of real illness, like Coronavirus, or Cancer, with visible, manifest symptoms that everyone would notice. At least then there would be some kind of treatment for it. The past few days, my bedroom has slowly turned into a prison. I've become so lethargic, I haven't had breakfast in weeks. I've spent virtually entire days in my bed, and my dressing gown. I haven't even had the energy to take my dog for a walk. He is always sitting outside my bedroom door wagging his tail waiting for me to take care of him. I haven't spoken with my old school friends, or my extended family in ages, and I fear I'll never have the courage to break the mould and talk to them. And my bedroom is increasingly full of useless things that used to amuse me many years ago, but are now collecting dust. My piano is basically an ornament now - I haven't touched it in a very long time. My guitar's strings have long rusted and I haven't changed them in 7 years. I retrieved an old TV from the attic and hooked it to this laptop so I could use it as a second monitor to help with studying references while attempting digital art. But I've never even switched it on in months. My studio mic and audio interface - I suspect one or maybe both of them may be broken, but I can't even be bothered to investigate which - it just doesn't matter anymore. There are old songs from years ago that are half-finished that I wanted to finish and put on Soundcloud/maybe even Youtube, but music doesn't bring me enough joy anymore. Nothing does.

You know–it's funny. My Gundham Tanaka video I released a year ago is becoming far more popular than I ever anticipated it would. I keep receiving new messages from newcomers telling me: 'My depression is cured' or 'this just made me feel so much better', etc etc. It's gratifying for me to hear people say things like that. But it's beginning to get a little tiring, all the same. It's a message that's just so out of tune with what I'm feeling.I just feel like a walking, rotting corpse. Even Kaede isn't making me feel happy anymore. Instead, I just feel lonely, and miss her. Speaking of which, a few weeks ago, I watched a video by Weebynewz about her execution, and I've discovered new information about it that I didn't notice before, which has made me feel a hundred times more uncomfortable. Now I feel quite sick, and even seeing the thumbnail for her execution video is enough to ruin my mood and break any focus and concentration I once had.

I am lucky that I have online freerfs who I converse with regularly and who are always asking me if I'm okay. I'm grateful that they are there to make my daily experience marginally less shit. But these days, I rarely ever talk to them. I only respond now. I haven't got the energy to make small talk, or follow up on new developments or catch up with new memes. I know they're always looking out for me, but they are never going to get me out of this. The best they can do is stand well away from the event horizon and wait for me to force myself out of it.

Fortunately though, for those of you who are worried about me, it's not completely bad. I have started taking medication again. You see, for a long time, I mistakenly believed you weren't supposed to take antidepressants while driving/learning to drive because they make you experience tiredness as a side-effect. Recently though, I learned that that's not technically true. You can take meds while you are driving, but the idea is that you are not supposed to drive if you feel tired, or your senses are impaired. In addition, I am looking to see if I can visit a counsellor and start having sessions. I'm kind of desperate for good news and a hope of recovery at the moment, but I guess it's still better than nothing.

No matter what happens, I know this isn't really me. It's certainly a large part of me, but it's not all there is to my character. And frankly, I'm sick and tired of this, and I want it to stop. I want to keep entertaining all of you with silly videos. And maybe one day, I'd like to do a Q+A video/face+voice reveal, unprivate my old videos I made a decade ago, and introduce all of you to my real self. Then when that happens, I can finally move on, transcend my love of the Danganronpa franchise, and try something new. I'm not sure what that would entail. But it might be something that incorporates my love of music, anime, visual novels, and possibly writing/voice acting.

Until that day finally comes, I'm going to remain stuck in this rut for who-knows-how-long. I won't know when the day will come, but I like to think I'll be fully aware when it has, since I'll feel totally different and refreshed. The only way I can come to terms with this long, dreary spell of melancholy is if it exists to serve some kind of purpose. And if this experience is to mean anything, then ultimately, my purpose is finally one day break free from it and discover a secret 'purpose' or 'why', or perhaps unlock a hidden potential I never knew I had all along. When that happens, then I can make my return and move on. Then my story could pick up from where I last left it. Or perhaps I can rewrite it altogether.

I wish you all very well and sincerely hope NOBODY else in the world feels like this,

- Bat

#Bat Hunter #Update #Long emo post

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decadang · 7 years

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Metroid: Samus Returns Review(ish)

I beat Samus Returns last night, with a time of a little over 15 hours which for me is pretty normal for my first 100% playthrough of Metroid games, so not bad. This is my personal tumblr as most of you all know so this won’t be some formal review or anything, but I loved this game and I want to talk about it, so that’s what I’m gonna do.

It’s been a long time since I’ve played a Metroid game, let alone a 2D Metroid. I haven’t even finished Federation Force...not sure I will, at least soon. Even so, Metroid is my favorite game series, maybe favorite world of fiction ever, so when Samus Returns and Prime 4 were announced you can imagine my elation.

I thought about replaying other games to get a refresher on playing, but decided against it, plus I figured I wouldn’t be too rusty. Started up SR, just like riding a bike...mostly, hah. Being on a brand-new system, there were some changes to the usual control scheme from the GBA. They certainly could have stuck with the old one but after a bit of adjustment I like the 3DS control scheme and I think it translates very well. The addition of both the touch screen and free aim give Samus more options which is only a good thing.

Speaking of new things, the Aeion abilities. I liked all of them, though some more than others obviously. Scan Pulse sounds pretty strong in a game about exploration, yeah? But it doesn’t really reveal anything you couldn’t have already figured out by playing normally, plus it doesn’t open paths for you. The others were implemented well and were useful in many different situations, my favorite being Lightning Armor. Management wasn’t too tough aside from bosses which helped them feel like they were ready and available, a good thing for the biggest gameplay change from the original Metroid 2.

On the bosses, I liked all of the new changes to the Metroids and the additions as well. Most of them weren’t too hard with a couple exceptions, though the exceptions were pretty tough and added a lot of good difficulty without being frustrating. I think the Omega Metroids were a little too weak for being the last stage before the Queen, but it doesn’t detract from the fun.

Music was great, a lot of remixes which is expected. The new tracks were good too, my favorite of them being the Chozo Laboratory. Music and sound has always been such a character in the series and I’m really glad that it was preserved well.

In presentation, the 3DS’ stronger processing alongside the new graphics really helped SR388 come alive and give the game a new, strong identity in the canon which Metroid 2 originally lacked a bit. Samus looks better than ever and her new suit is pretty cool, very Prime-esque - a lot of this game being Primey. Her body language speaks just as well as it ever has, maybe the best ever. Her encounter with the baby Metroid is now one of my favorite moments in the whole series and it’s all told through sound and visuals.

To compare it a bit to Zero Mission, Samus Returns trades a new gameplay sequence for a few more new bosses and some better upgrades to the existing bosses, so it edges out ZM a little bit, for me.

Overall, the series is definitely back on a high note and I’m very excited for the future. It might be more than a year until Prime 4 but Samus Returns was so good that it’s perfectly fine with me.

9/10

My now favorite 5 Metroid games, for reference:

Super Metroid

Metroid Prime

Metroid: Samus Returns

Metroid: Zero Mission

Metroid Prime 3: Corruption

A little bit of spoiler talk, under the cut.

Ridley tho! It was good to see him again and I’m very happy that Prime is now firmly in the canon. It’s always been kind of a toss-up how it affected the series at large other than definitely after the first game, so having Proteus Ridley was a nice touch. I’m curious as to whether it means Prime 4 is going to bring something from the mainline into its story since presumably Sakamoto is working on that game too. I can only hope so, and I wonder if Prime 4 might even be at a different spot in the timeline than just after Prime 3.

The X Parasite at the end was cool, and more than just fanservice since we know the X took over SR388 after the Metroid extermination. It could lead to a Fusion remake, presumably since the team has assets for it with the Fusion suit and the X. I’d rather have a Super remake if we get any at all but either way, it wouldn’t be too bad. Even so, for the next 2D game I think all fans would prefer a new chapter in the story, myself included.

The Chozo Memories at the end of the game were pretty nice, a look into the lore which I always enjoy. It is cool that the final one showed a civil war of sorts breaking out between the Chozo but unless some are still alive, it’s just a little cool thing. I do still like that the Chozo are shown as no big good in the universe and how it sort of impacted Samus’ upbringing in addition to the manga, being that she’s a hardened bounty hunter and all. Anyway, that’s all for now. See you next mission!

#metroid #metroid: samus returns

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flowerfan2 · 8 years

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A Lost Boy Comes Out

Inspired by Darren Criss’ Billboard interview about his amazing new EP, Lost Boys Life. Klaine, 2250 words, A03

A Lost Boy Comes Out

This headline or a variation on the theme is all over social media, as they knew it would be, but the smile on Blaine’s face when he wakes Kurt up with a kiss the next morning confirms that Blaine has done the right thing by coming out.

As a vampire.

After Blaine shuffles off to the shower, Kurt lays back in bed, remembering the events of the night before….

*****

Kurt stands in the wings of the small theater, watching as Blaine and Cooper talk easily with the audience. Blaine’s lovely smile is broad, and he waves his hands excitedly as he speaks about the inspiration for the new song they have just performed. The evening was advertised as a launch of Blaine and Cooper’s new EP, and includes a variety of songs from the past ten years of Blaine’s career as a songwriter and Broadway star as well as the three new songs penned by Blaine and Cooper together. Kurt had joined him on stage for a piece from the joint album they put out last year, and for a toned down version of a song from the production of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf that had been the breakout show for both of them.

But Kurt knows that this evening is more than just a celebration of the new pop project Blaine and Cooper had dreamed up late one night while playing video games. Blaine is about to share his secret with the world, whether the audience knows it or not.

Blaine shoots Kurt a quick glance as he gets ready to sing their last song, and the nervousness is clear on his face. Kurt gives what he hopes is an encouraging nod, and then Blaine turns back to the piano and begins the intro to Lost Boys Life. As he sings about hotel rooms and miles to go, his face is intent on the piano, and Kurt can see how much he wants this to go right. As Blaine gets to the chorus, he looks up at the audience, eyes wide and pleading, and Kurt’s heart clenches tight in his chest.

I was living a lonely life until I fell for you, I was living a lost boys life, it was all I ever knew And every morning the sun comes up and the darkness fades away I was living a lost boys life, it was all I had to say.

When Blaine finishes the song the audience breaks into loud applause, and everyone surges to their feet to cheer for him. This is nothing unusual, of course, and Kurt can feel the grin spreading across his own face as he claps for Blaine from the wings. After a moment or two he joins Blaine on stage, and the audience whoops for him as well, someone yelling out “we love you Kurt and Blaine” which causes Cooper to give them both a friendly shove.

“Sure you guys don’t wanna sing one more for your fans?” Cooper asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “Something sexy, maybe?”

“Not tonight,” Kurt says, taking Cooper’s arm and pulling him off to the side, letting Blaine have the audience’s attention. “Tonight is for Blaine.”

“I’m not sure they get it,” Cooper says. “I mean, I love the song and all, but he doesn’t actually come out and say anything.”

“He says plenty.”

“Yeah, all the sappy stuff about how much he loves you, sure, but…”

“Patience, Cooper. We’ll get there. The night’s not over yet.”

After Blaine signs autographs for a few minutes he apologizes to the crowd and joins Kurt and Cooper backstage, a reporter trailing behind him. Kurt goes to his husband, straightens his bowtie fondly, and then hugs him tight. “You did great tonight,” he whispers in Blaine’s ear. “I’m so proud of you.”

Blaine looks elated and terrified in equal parts as they squeeze into a small dressing room. “This is Kara,” he says to Cooper. “She’s doing the story on us.”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” the woman gushes out. “You know how much I admire your work, both of you.” Despite her apparent youth, Kara has been following them for years, always writing with a large dose of respect and a welcome touch of humor.

“Well, we admire your work too,” Blaine says, and Kurt nods in agreement, motioning to Kara to take a seat.

“Your piece on the intersection of immigrant rights and the LGBTQ community was very well done,” Kurt says. “It was important to a lot of people.”

Kara blushes. “Oh, wow, thank you.” She blinks at them, and takes a deep breath. “Okay, well, shall we get started?”

“Sure.” Blaine sits down on the couch, shoulders straight, and Kurt sits down next to him and takes his cool hand in his.

Kara asks Blaine and Cooper some easy questions about why they decided to start a band together, and how they decided to go with such a pop sound. Then she asks about the name of the EP, and Kurt feels Blaine tense beside him.

“Well, it’s about me, obviously,” Blaine says, choosing his words carefully. “And Cooper, too. We’re lost boys.”

Kara looks patiently at Blaine, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Um, like Peter Pan?” she asks.

“Nope – more like the Kiefer Sutherland movie,” Cooper contributes.

Light dawns on Kara’s face. “You mean… like vampires?”

Blaine meets her eyes, and Kurt squeezes his hand tighter. “Yeah. Like vampires.”

“Huh.” Kara looks a little stunned. “Wait, you were at Pride this year – you go every year – that’s outside, in the daytime-”

“That’s not actually a thing.”

“As long as we wear sunscreen,” Cooper says. “Although Blaine tans really easily, he’s lucky.”

“Oh. Wow.” Kara draws in a deep breath, then looks down at her pad, thinking. “Well, I guess you kind of hinted at this with the Sting cover, too.”

“Actually Blaine’s been singing ‘Moon Over Bourbon Street’ for years,” Kurt says. “It’s perfect for his voice. And Sam really loves playing the string bass, although he couldn’t be here tonight.”

Kara looks at Kurt, as if just now remembering that he was in the room. “So, Kurt, are you… um… a vampire… too?”

“No, I’m not. We met in high school, just like we’ve always said.”

“But Blaine was…?”

The story comes out, haltingly at first, but Cooper helps it along when Blaine falters. Coop has been great through this whole thing, Kurt thinks to himself, easily agreeing to Blaine’s plan even though it meant outing himself as well. They aren’t really brothers, Cooper and Blaine, but they’ve been traveling through the world together for over a hundred years, so they might as well be.

“I really had transferred to Dalton after being beaten pretty badly,” Blaine explains, as Kara asks them again about how they met. “But switching schools, cities, countries – that’s always been a way for us to start over.”

With Blaine’s slight stature he was lucky enough to be able to start his new life as a high school student, when he wanted to, even though he had been twenty-two years old when he was turned.

“What made you pick Ohio this time?”

Blaine looks at Kurt for a long moment through his dark eyelashes. “Fate, I think.”

Kurt feels his heart skip a beat, and he holds Blaine’s gaze, then stands up, wiping his palms on his pants. Their work here is done. “Sounds like a good place to finish up. Kara, feel free to give us a call tomorrow if you need anything else.”

It seems to take forever to get back to their place downtown. Social media has already gotten the news – apparently there were at least a few people in the audience who had gotten the right meaning of the “Lost Boys” reference – and a group of fans are crowded around the steps in front of their brownstone.

“Blaine – is it true? Are you really a vampire?” This from a tall girl holding her phone up to record Blaine’s answer.

“I am,” Blaine says, smiling despite his obvious exhaustion.

“And you’ll hear plenty more about it later,” Kurt says. “We love you guys, but it’s late and we’d just like to go home.” He knew he should have had security on their house tonight. Not that Blaine can’t take care of himself, but they shouldn’t have had to deal with this outside their own home.

“Are you a mutant? Is it a superhero thing? Did the government do it?”

Blaine ignores the questions as he concentrates on unlocking their front door, his hands shaking ever so slightly.

“Blaine – Blaine - do you drink blood? People blood?” The girl’s voice rises in excitement? “Do you drink <i>Kurt’s</i> blood?”

Kurt’s patience comes to an end, and he fights to keep his voice level as he replies. “What goes on in our bedroom is no one’s business but our own.”

Blaine gets the door open and they quickly go inside, closing the door on any further questions. When Kurt turns to Blaine, however, he’s surprised to see a laugh pulling at Blaine’s lips.

“What?”

“You don’t even realize what you just said, do you?”

“I told them our lives were private, that’s not…” Kurt replays his own words, and slams his palm into his face. “I just told them you bite me when we have sex, didn’t I?”

Blaine takes Kurt in his arms, and peels his hand away from his face. “Kinda think you did.”

“Well, fuck.”

Blaine looks at him, almost shy. “I’d like that, if you’re not too tired?”

Kurt grins. He grabs Blaine by his slim hips and pulls him tight against his body, relishing the feel of him. “I suppose we might get more questions about this tomorrow. I may need my memory refreshed on how it all works.”

As they make love that night, Blaine is gentle with him, caressing every inch of his skin. Kurt loves it, loves Blaine, in every way they are together, but he worries that Blaine is feeling vulnerable after his revelation. Not that he’d blame him. Blaine doesn’t bite him tonight, even though he usually does – it’s a natural part of their sex life, one that Kurt treasures as uniquely theirs. And it’s hot as hell.

But apparently tonight is more about comfort than anything else.

Kurt’s worries are confirmed when they cuddle up together afterwards, and Kurt sees a tear slip down Blaine’s cheek.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Kurt says softly, pulling Blaine against his chest. “We’re gonna be fine.”

“What if… what if people hate me?”

“Come on, no one’s going to hate you. Or if they think they do, it’ll blow over, just like everything else.”

Blaine sniffs into Kurt’s neck. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“You’ve been thinking about this for years. For decades, even. You needed this.” Kurt presses a kiss to Blaine’s hair. “You’re not meant for keeping secrets.”

“They’re going to say shit about you, too,” Blaine says sadly. “Probably already have.”

“I can take it. We’ve been in the public eye for years, Blaine. We’ve had people say mean things about us before. This won’t be any worse.”

“What if it is?”

Kurt pulls back and finds Blaine’s eyes, pushing his hair back from his face. “Whatever happens, the people who love us will still love us. I’ll still love you. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Blaine curls back down against Kurt, his normally cool skin warmed from Kurt’s body heat. “It’s true, you know. The song.” Blaine noses against Kurt’s neck and winds a leg between his thighs, pressing himself as close as he can. “I was lost until I found you. In all these years… there’s never been anyone like you.”

“I know, sweetheart. Me too. Me too.”

“Love you so much, Kurt. So much.” Blaine’s words are full of emotion, and Kurt feels a lump forming in his throat at the power of it. Blaine feels so much. It’s what makes his performances so compelling, but it’s overwhelming, sometimes, to be the focus of it.

“Love you too, Blaine. Always.”

“I may have been alive for over a hundred years, but I never really lived until I met you,” Blaine murmurs.

Kurt knows he’s being serious, but suddenly it’s too much. “Sounds like your next song,” he says lightly.

There’s a pause, and then Blaine huffs against his skin. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Me? No, never.”

Kurt can feel Blaine smile against his skin, and then Blaine rises up on an elbow to look at him, his mouth quirking with a smile. “Be nice, or I won’t write you any more songs.”

“Promises, promises.”

“That’s already been done.”

“I could do it better.”

“I’m sure you could – although, I think that’s a song already, too.” Kurt laughs as Blaine retaliates with a shove to his shoulder, and then they’re tickling each other and squirming as they get tangled in the sheets.

Blaine finally pins Kurt��s wrists, hovering above him, curls sticking out everywhere, and laughs in delight. Kurt is breathless. He wasn’t alive either, not really, before he met Blaine. He can’t believe it sometimes, how lucky he is. This is only one more amazing moment to add to their story. Kurt grabs Blaine and pulls him down for a kiss, and lets himself bask in the joy of it - being with this man, his beautiful husband, the love of his life, no matter how long either of them live.

#klaine #glee #blaine anderson #kurt hummel #AU #vampire!Blaine #lost boys life

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