#Elle is staying in the area and I get to watch her grow up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

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

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

Spencer has only told one person in his whole life.

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

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

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

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

It feels like he’s lost his last ally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pays a sorry price.

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

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

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

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

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

“Husband?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s the lucky lady, pretty boy?”

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

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

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

God, he wishes Penelope was here.

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

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

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

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

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

The situation is forgotten, and time moves on.

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

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

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

But he’s too scared. Too cowardly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re fucking lying—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer nods.

“Do you mind if I talk to him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

taglist : @criminalmindsvibez @moreidstrobed @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @temily @enbyspencer @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids (add yourself to my taglist via this form!!)

166 notes · View notes

darling-cas · 3 years

Text

Hoax (an original story)

I amaze myself sometimes.

My therapist says I need to go back to things that bring me joy, says I need to find happiest in life again. During one specific session, I was asked to name a time when I was truly at peace, a time I felt moments of pure joy outside of my partner and friends. The first thing that came to mind was a time years ago, when I would post stories here, on this website, for you all to see.

This surprised me honestly, because if you knew me personally (*cough* hi @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie *cough*) you would know the amount of stress and pressure I put myself under when it came to writing We Are Young, Whatever It Takes, etc, etc, etc. But despite all the negative emotions, the moments that always stand out to me is sitting on my laptop after I clicked post, watching all the love and adoration pure in from each and every one of you.

I say this monthly but, I really do want to get back into writing. Thanks to my therapist and business major partner, I’ve been dipping my toes into editing for others as a side job. But I want to make my way back to writing my own stories and sharing them with even the smallest corner of the world. This story, Hoax, I wrote actually one year ago, when I first started therapy and after a hard heartbreak. It helped me feel like myself again and lifted me out of the darkness.

I hope, for even the smallest number of you, it does the same. I hope you can feel the same magic that I felt when I wrote it. Take this as a thank you for, years ago, bringing me such joy and happiness.

Until next time...

Cas.

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

The air was midsummer sweet.

It was an Indian summer of blue sky dreams and late evening tears, with the weather shifting moods in the blink of an eye. Grey clouds would eclipse the setting sun with their mighty fists, soaking up the colour of the earth like ink drenching a cotton ball.

And with the continuous alternating weather came the busty smell of sunblock and wet grass. Summer scents combined with the salty air and pungent fish that cling to Jake’s senses from the moment he started his journey along the coastal towns.

His mountain travels started just mere days ago. The task of hiking the grand peak was something he was finally going to cross off his bucket list. Dipping into his savings and requesting a week or two off work was a small price to pay when it came to the tranquility and beauty laid bare before him.

Born and raised on the outskirts of the city, there hadn't been much nature for him to appreciate and admire growing up. But from the moment Jake entered the first small, close-knit fishing town, all he could seem to do was appreciate and stare in outright awe.

The land laid undisturbed all around; the mountains, the trees, the ocean, they had all planted their roots, dug in their heels, and refused to surrender. Cities had been conquered, the vast expansion of country fields and towering summits were placed in chains, forced to give themselves to man. But here, on the coast of fishing villages, it seems as if Land and Man came to an agreement, a compromise, an understanding, to live in peace as one.

Roads of all kinds swerved, twisted, curled up and down along the coast, between the trees. Houses of unnaturally charming bright blues, yellows, oranges, and greens sat gracefully against the mountain rocks, climbing up the forest-speckled cliffs. Homes and buildings of sea-weathered colour rested on the broken shoreline. Boats bobbed in the water, their docks reaching out towards the horizon like fingers longing to reach and touch a disappearing lover.

In the coastal towns, driving along the sunset stained ocean, Jake swore he would never see true beauty again.

Even now, when the sky wept tears of sorrow, its beauty never vanished.

The weather came on suddenly, as he passed the welcoming sign for Higdon's Harbour. The roads became slick, a ghostly fog settled in, and the colours were muted a few shades darker by the clouds above. Rivers trickled down the mountain side, disappearing into shallow ditches. Waves started to leap and jump to catch the increasing wind. All while the sky cried on and on.

Jake drove on through the town. Classic rock thumped softly in the background and raindrops tapped on the roof of the car. He had planned not to stop for the night until the next town over. He had driven through several rain storms since the start of his trip, and this was nothing.

But the cracks in the sky's broken heart continued to grow with exceptional pain. Tears of despair quickly turned to tears of anger. The beating on the car became more aggressive as the wind wailed daunting threats and the ocean frantically waved its arms.

It became too much, too quick. Jake was used to driving through bad weather, but not seaside storms. Not gusting winds and sideways rain. Plus, he decided, he was already making good time. So when the flashing green neon sign reading Beaumont Motel came into view, he didn’t hesitate to pull off the road, into the parking lot, and turn off his car.

A bell jingled above as Jake pushed open the door. He stepped into the warmth of the lobby, drenched through his clothes and soaking the carpet under his feet.

“Turned nasty out there real quick, didn’t it?”

Jake threw off his hood, shaking out his damp, blonde hair as he caught sight of an older woman with long grey hair smiling at him from behind a wooden desk.

She pulled her beige cardigan closer around her, brown eyes crinkling in the corners. “Looking for a room, hun?”

“If you happen to have one available,” Jake replied, walking towards the desk and setting down his backpack. Judging by the lack of cars in the parking lot, he was more than confident there were plenty of empty rooms. Still, he glanced at the woman’s name tag and flashed her a smile. “Vera.”

“Oh, hun,” Vera chuckled. Her fingers tapped away on the computer that looked too new to be in the small, tacky, lobby with flower-patterned wallpaper. A lobby that was decorated with simply a small sitting area off to the side, a dusty fireplace warming the room, a dark wooden desk, rouge carpet, and outdated lighting fixtures. “I think I have one or two available. For how long will we be seeing your handsome face around?”

“Only a night,” Jake said. “I’m just passing through.”

“Storm pushed you off the road, huh?” Vera turned around and grabbed a key off one of the hooks on the wall. “It should only last the night. Nightly storms are common for us during this time of year. Here you go, hun.”

“Thank you!” Jake took the key before picking up his bag once more, throwing it over his shoulder.

“If you’re looking to warm up a bit, Kay & Elle, the pub next door, is open for a few more hours,” Vera informed him, fixing her wool cardigan on her shoulders. “A lot of the locals inhabit the place, but we’re friendly folks here. I’m sure they’ll keep you entertained for a bit.”

“Thank you for the suggestion!” Jake pulled his hood back over his head. “Have a good night, Vera.”

She waved him off with a dazzling smile. “Enjoy your short time at Higdon’s Harbour.”

Rain beat down around Jake as the lobby door closed behind him. The sticky air promised an onslaught of thunder and lightning, but it had yet to develop. With a glance at the metal key in his hand, Jake made out a marked 9 engraved at the top. His toes were cold as he quickly made it to the door and inserted the key before pushing the door open and stepping into the musty smelling room.

It was just as drab as the lobby. The double-bed was dressed in off-white coverings. Cream walls, dark carpet, and tacky seaside pictures. Along with two side tables by the bed, a small TV on top of a mini fridge, and a bathroom door on the far wall.

It wasn’t the nicest looking room he’d ever stayed in, but he would also be lying if he said he hadn’t stayed in worse before.

With a tired and uncomfortable sigh, Jake tossed his bag onto the bed, peeled off his wet coat, and padded off into the bathroom.

He never really thought of going to the pub Vera had mentioned. His only plans that evening consisted of taking a scalding shower before crawling into bed. Maybe watching some TV or reading the book at the bottom of his bag to spice up the night.

Yet, once the two former items on his agenda were checked off, an uneasiness fell over him. Neither the TV nor his book could hold his attention. The bedsheets itched his legs. His heart thumped in his chest, just fast enough to be noticeable. He couldn’t sit still.

Lightning flashed outside and Jake’s head whipped in the direction of the window. The pub came into view; the two porch lights twinkled in the dark and laughter sounded in time to the pounding storm. It shimmered in the lightning’s afterglow, the rain creating a silver mist of magic around the stone building.

Jake tossed off the sheets and threw on some clothes and his damp jacket. The pull in the pit of his stomach pushed him towards the front door without Jake even really realizing what he was doing. But he chalked it up to boredom and the anxiety of being knocked off his schedule.

He left the warmth of his room behind, almost crashing into a figure as he gently closed his door. An apology was on the tip of his tip tongue when a feeling of nausea washed over him. He felt dizzy, stomach turning. But it was gone between one blink and the next, along with the person. Jake got a glimpse of red hair out of the corner of his eye followed by bells and laughter as the door to room 8 snapped closed.

The thunderous weather started to overload Jake's senses and the urge to get to the pub was greater. With his head down, the figure fading from his memory, Jake made his way across the parking lot.

A drink or two would kill some time, he thought to himself. At least it would help settle the uneasiness and put him to sleep.

The mist around the pub seemed to glow as Jake drew closer, but he was too busy keeping the rain out of his eyes to pay much mind to it. Warmth shot up his arm as he pushed the door open, a jingle filling the room.

The smell of liquor and smoke tainted with the slight scent of sweat greeted Jake as he stepped over the threshold of Kay & Elle. The low rumble of a banjo filled the space, bouncing off the wooden rafters, mixing with the low mumbles and chuckles of the clusters of people scattered around the room. It wasn’t a full house, but crowded enough given the storm outside.

With his footsteps sounding off the wood floors, Jake made his way to the dark-oak bar. He received a few stares and nods of acknowledgment as he walked by men and women alike, sitting at tables and standing by pool tables. As he walked past, he took in the stone walls, the empty stage in the back, the shimmering yellow lights, and the photos of fishermen, smiling ladies, and vast landscapes littered throughout the walls.

He took off his jacket, his heart having settled from the moment he entered the pub. Jake wasn’t a man who believed in faith, but in his bones, deep in his marrow, he knew this was where he was meant to be, for whatever reason.

“Well ain’t you a fresh face,” the elder man behind the bar remarked as Jake sat in one of the barstools, just a few seats down from a hunched over figure nursing a glass of whiskey.

Jake placed his wet jaket on the chair beside him as he chuckled. “Hard to be a stranger in this town.”

“Small-town life, my boy. Everyone knows everyone.” The man threw a towel over his shoulder, his dark hair pulled back in a low pony-tail, causing the wrinkles on his slim, tan face to be on full display. His green eyes sparkled in welcome and his smile pulled at the faded scar on his left cheek. “Passing through?”

The dim lights jumped and danced off the many bottles lining the wall behind the bar. A muted glow hugged the bar, the music changing to the beat of a fiddle.

“I am, but the storm took me off the road for the night,” Jake explained.

“You staying at the Beaumont?”

Jake nodded. “The woman, Vera, recommended I stop by for a drink.”

The words tasted bitter, full of half-truths and false tales. But Jake wasn’t sure why, just as he wasn’t sure how to explain his need to be sitting in the pub at that particular moment.

“That woman,” the elder man chuckled with a shake of his head. “She sends more business this way than any billboard ad ever could. Well, have a drink while you’re here…"

“Jake.”

The music skipped a beat as the fiddle played a harsh note. The air turned bitter and cold. Jake’s limbs urged him to run, screamed that he made a mistake, scolded him for giving his name so willingly. But it was a reflex; the word leaving his lips before he understood what was happening. An impulse came over him, the same one that pulled him to obey the man's demand and order a drink.

No one seemed to notice the odd behaviour, aside from the hunched over figure a few seats down. His depthless brown eyes flashed to Jake, grey hair falling across his pale, sweaty forehead. There was a look of pain and madness in those eyes. Jake opened his mouth to say something when a draft of beer appeared in front of him. And suddenly he couldn’t remember why his limbs felt tense or why there was a cold sweat on the back on his neck.

“Nice to meet ya, Jake,” the bartender smiled with a gleam in his bottle-green eyes. “Name’s Murphy.”

“Likewise,” Jake raised his drink before bringing the glass to his lips, downing half of it in a few gulps.

The hunched man tipped back the last of his whiskey, slamming the glass hard on the bartop.

“Murphy,” he spoke in a husky voice, like the sound of asphalt and gravel.

A flash of irritation, with just a hint of sadness, came over Murphy's face. He didn’t say a word as he quickly prepared another glass, sliding it gently in front of the stranger.

“Take it easy, Harold. That’s your third now.”

Harold grunted, shooting back half the glass without a word.

Murphy sighed, every other emotion but worry washing from his face for the smallest moment, before he turned back to Jake with a smile on his lips.

“So, where were you headed before the rain knocked you off track?”

After another smaller sip of beer, Jake explained his mountain travel plans and his desire to reach the great peak that waited for him at the end.

“Good on ya. Do it all now while you’re still young and can move about,” Murphy said with a chuckle. “This a solo trip? Or are you with someone special? Perhaps they’re waiting for you back in your room?”

“No,” Jake chuckled, ignoring the grunt of clear annoyance from the man a few seats down from him. “Just me.”

A glimmer appeared in the old man's eye. “So no one speical then? No sweetheart waiting for ya?”

Glass rattled as Harold slammed his empty drink back down on the bar.

Jake cast a sideways glance at the stranger. Restlessness rushed through him as he slowly sat up straighter. Tension gripped his limbs as Harold turned to look at him. Those unnaturally dark eyes shined with intensity. They held so much knowledge, so much pain, so much fury that Jake couldn’t look away.

“Don’t waste your time with such things, boy,” Harold grumbled, voice rough and firm. His brows were pulled together so tight they were touching, as the bar cast his face in shadows of back and grey. “Love is pointless.”

He said the word love with such hatred, Jake felt as if the stone structure surrounding them would cave in and collapse.

Murphy, for his part, looked just as on edge. It was a fact that did little to calm Jake's sudden nervousness.

“Harold,” he sighed. “Let’s take a moment-”

“There is one thing that is certain when it comes to love,” Harold continued, eyes gazing unblinkingly at Jake. “It is nothing but pain. Love is made up of pain and heartbreak and bitter ends. It is a useless and pointless part of the whole damn human existence.”

A hush fell over the bar, as if even the other guests could sense the mood Harold had brought about. The upbeat tone of the fiddle suddenly switched to a soulless wail. . A shiver ran up Jake’s spine and he begged his body to turn away, to dismiss the man and be done with it. But he couldn’t. His unmerciful gaze pulled him in and suddenly Jake was drowning in the scent of liquor and smoke and dead leaves and depthless seas.

“You fight so hard." Harold gripped his glass, and a crack started to appear. “You fight with all you have and give yourself completely and it's no good. It doesn’t matter. Nothing you do is good enough. Love is about fighting a losing battle and in the end, only one person suffers the consequences. And it's usually the one who fought the hardest.”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was firm, loud, booming over the music as Jake jumped back in his seat. He didn’t realize how intently he’d been listening to Harold. How he was hanging on to every word like it was air. Or how, while talking to the terrifying man, for the first time since entering the town, Higdon’s Harbour glowed with colour.

An angry, remorseless, pulsating red colour.

Harold held Jake's gaze for a moment longer, intense eyes cast in complete shadow, before turning back to the bar.

“Thanks for the advice,” Jake found himself saying, voice shaking more than he'd like to admit. He didn’t mean to speak, the words simply rushed out of him with an aftertaste of smoke.

Clearing his throat, Jake downed the last of his beer before pushing the glass towards Murphy for a refill.

A hush fell around them for just a few moments, the tension already starting to subside. Jake felt his shoulders drop as he slowly sipped his beer and Murphy slid Harold a glass of water. After some small talk with the old bartender, Jake felt himself able to breathe once more. His body started to relax, the fog lifting from his head. He was breaking the surface and forgetting all about the darkness of the ocean and the murdered limbs of the trees on the forest floor.

While on his third drink, Murphy started to get busy with the other parties of the bar. Tables started to ask for refills, and drenched couples walked through the door, the wind roaring behind them. He drifted more and more between the bar and the tables. And it was about that time that Jake decided he would soon be calling it a night.

“You shouldn’t have stopped, boy.”

Ice crawled up Jake’s spine at the sound of that sandpaper voice. Murphy was off to some seemingly remote corner of the bar. Jake couldn’t help but notice that every new body who walked in stayed far away from the bar, from him, and from Harold.

Jake gripped the tall draft in his hand, foam and condensation running through his numb fingers.

He turned to face Harold, those black soulless eyes dragging him into the abyss. He was in a freefall, too much rushed through him all at once. A thumping started at his left temple and his heart dropped to his stomach as he fell and fell and fell from the bowels of the sky through the open arms of the corpse-like trees.

“You shouldn’t have stopped,” Harold spat, teeth clenched and head hung low. “You should get out of this cursed town before they get you too. They know you’re here. They knew you’d be here before you knew you’d be here. They got to the rest of this damned town. They got her. Get out before they get you too, boy.”

Fear rooted Jake in place. Fear for what, he couldn’t tell. But in the back of his mind, in the depth of his soul, he knew Harold was right. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have stopped. Yet, the thought of leaving caused his heart to clench and spots to form behind his eyes. Without his control, he found his lips forming the words -

“Who are they?”

The lights flickered with the time of the thunder clashing outside. The fiddle faded out and the haunting strings of a violin floated through the room, accompanied by a soulful woman's wail.

He knew he shouldn’t have asked. He shouldn’t provoke this man. He should just pay his tab, get up, and leave. But it was unexplainable, much like the whole night had been. He simply couldn’t help himself.

Harold completely turned to Jake. The harsh lines on his face caught the glow of the dim lights. His eyes burned with unattainable wisdom and passion. Jake's heart started to race, limbs locking into place as he noticed the music slowed. Along with, somehow, every other body and soul in the bar. A haze filled the room, a mist blurring and engulfing everything that was not Jake and was not Harold. Even the storm seemed to hush, with only the woman's cry continuing on.

“Let me tell you a story, son.” Harold’s voice turned mystical, the words floating in the air between the two. “Cause I’ve lost my friends, my family, this whole damn town, and yet no one will believe me. They think I’m a nut-case, a man full of grief. But I ain’t, you hear? And maybe you’ll believe me. Maybe you won’t. But they took my wife-”

“Your wife is missing?”

Jake’s pulse jumped as Harold leaned in close, his blood-shot eyes burning crimson red. “For years now. Cause they took her.”

“They?” Jake repeated, feeling physically ill.

Harold nodded. “The fairies.”

He should have laughed. He should have backed off. His mind should have been yelling at him that the man was senile, crazy, insane. He should have bid him goodbye, called over Murphy, and been done with this place, this man. This man who was staring at him with all the earnestness in the world.

Fairies.

The word danced around in his head, bells and whistles suddenly joining in with the escalating violin. Suddenly, the whole town made all the sense in the world and yet, none at all.

“Fairies?” Jake spoke slow and steady. “They’re just folklore. A myth.”

Even as he said it, the words turned to dust on his tongue. He wanted to wash the taste out with his beer, but found he genuinely couldn’t move.

“The Harbour Fairies,” Harold whispered. “Nasty creatures. And if you believe they’re just a myth, you’re as foolish as the rest of them. If you believe there isn’t more to this world, that we’re the only beings here, you’re blin. These aren’t just some little buggers who pick your berries and sprinkle dust. They are savage, mischievous demons.”

Jake started to shake his head, mostly to clear the fog that had started to form. “I don’t-”

“We here grew up wearing our clothes inside out and carrying bread in our pockets to stop the little people from leading us astray,” Harold spoke with more urgency than Jake had heard all night, “But little good it did. Everyone was blinded by what was right in front of them. These creatures play tricks. Oh, they love tricks. And not the fun kind. No, the kind that leads you over a cliff or dead at the bottom of the sea. They are unpredictable forces of nature who lead you in the woods, and suddenly you're never heard of again.”

“And they got your wife.”

“They stole her,” Harold spat the words into the air. His gaze flicked towards the red-head who walked past them, beer in hand, before he spoke again. “They took her from me. Everyone here believes she ran away, but I know. I caught them you see, I saw it with my own two eyes. One day she was in the garden, the next…”

… she walked into the woods, never to be seen again. Jake knew because he saw it himself. He watched it play out in Harold’s aged eyes. And suddenly he was inserted into a story that was not his. He didn’t feel right; too tight in his skin, eyes unable to properly focus on the greys, blacks, and whites of the world. But he still watched.

A grass-stained seven year old boy cradled the arm of a pretty girl with messy blonde hair. They sat in a treehouse, feet dangling over the edge, kicking at the clouds. The girl had tear-tracks running down her cheeks and dead flowers stuck in her hair. She was biting her lip, nodding as the boy spoke.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” he whispered sternly.

“I didn’t mean to,” her lips trembled, gaze moving to anything but the boy before her. “It wasn’t my fault.”

The boy shook his head as he ran his hand over the forming bruise. “You gotta be more careful Cathy. What if something were to happen to ya?”

“Then let's get out of this town, Harry,” a seventeen-year old girl twirled in the headlights of an old pick-up truck. The waves crashed against the shore in the distance, the sun tenderly kissing the horizon goodbye. The girl’s blonde, messy braids whipped around her shoulder, dress bunched at her ankles. She stood before a brown haired boy, grass-stains on his jeans, leaning against the red truck. “Let’s pack up and leave after graduation next week.”

“And go where, Cathy?” The boy shook his head. “I have a job lined up on the boat and you have-”

“Nothing! I have nothing!” She threw her hands in the air. “I ain’t got nothing lined up. Just my next shift at the diner. I want to go to school, you know I do. But papa-”

“Don’t worry about your father,” the boy grabbed at the girls skirts, pulling her so close their hips touched. “I told you, I’ll protect you from your papa.”

The girl bit her lips, forest green eyes glancing over the boy's shoulder. Her face was tender but the look of caution never left. As if she wanted to believe the boy holding her but her heart refused to pay heed. “Promise?”

“I do.”

Applause thundered across the crowd, the waves beating against the rocky cliffs. The man lifted the woman's veil, tucking a piece of messy blonde hair behind her ear before gripping the back of her neck. He leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. Whistles and wails filled the air, a screaming violin starting to play as the newly-weds walked down the aisle.

She held on her husband’s arm like a life-line, biting her lip as her father clapped the bride-groom on the shoulder. Her eyes darted around the crowd, the same look of caution from five years ago still masked her face.

It was a look that never left her face, a look that was forever present in the back on her eyes. It was the only thought Jake found he was able to form; the look of a woman who was scared. The look of a woman who was holding a secret.

And maybe she was, for that look stayed with her for all the years to come, Jake noticed. He watched Harold's and Catherine’s life play out before him, just as Harold described. The twenty plus years together. The moments of tender love, the moments of bitter fights. The squealing laughter and howling sobs. The funerals and the weddings, The slamming bottles and doors leading to nights together and alone. It wasn’t the best marriage, but what marriage is, Harold said.

They never had kids, their life centred around just the two of them, their fading love and the growing tension. Every second leading up to that moment, in a garden of muted yellows, reds, and oranges.

Flowers in her messy hair, a near fifty year old Catherine knelt before a bed of dirt. Sunglasses covered her eyes, dirt stained her knees, finger nails, and cheeks. She was silent as she worked.

A door slammed in the distance. “Catherine!”

The tension became electricity in the air. Catherine’s head snapped up as footsteps made their way to the backyard.

Jake noticed it at the exact moment she did. The wind switched directions, bells jingled off the tree tops, mystical laughter floated out from the forest on the other side of the garden.

Catherine turned slowly. The flower fell out of her hair. She tossed the sunglasses onto the ground and her bruised, deep green eyes glowed against the muted world. She walked towards the tree line, footfalls light. Laughter bubbled past her own lips and, between one step and the next, she was gone.

“... the forest swallowed her up and I knew they got to her.”

Jack was back in the bar. Everything rested as it had, and he himself wasn’t even sure if what he had just witnessed was real. Surely not, but the description and details felt real, tangible. As if, for a moment, he truly stood in Harold's memories.

“The forest was the only way out,” Harold’s eyes were wide, urgent, and the brightest things in the whole bar. “It was either through the house or the forest. And she’d been acting out for years. Always in the garden, out on her own. They got her, it's the only answer. But,” a pause, eyes shifting. “I know where she is.”

Jake swallowed, throat dry as sandpaper. “You do?”

“An island just a few miles out in sea. A rocky cliff, that's where they stay,” Harold nodded, talking more to himself than Jake. “She's there, with them. I’m taking my boat out tomorrow morning. I’m going to get her and-”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was enough to make Jake jump back. He never noticed how close he had been leaning towards the old man. Just as he never realized how tightly he was holding his warm, untouched third glass of beer. He pulled his hand back, wiping it on his jeans as the pulsing in his left temple grew stronger.

As he looked around the pub, Jake took in all the faces looking his way. Eyes bounced between him and Harold, whispers and murmurs accompanying the flute and violin pair. It was only when Murphy loudly, purposely, cleared his throat that the inhabitants of the bar started to look as if they weren’t listening.

“Harold,” Murphy spoke softly, placing a hand on Harold’s tense shoulder. “I think it's time to head home, friend.”

There was a fight in Harold’s eyes, Jake could see it. That bloodshot, haunting, soulless gaze held a fire and life to them, ignited by the hatred for creatures that couldn’t exist. But the moment Murphy spoke, the moment Harold looked around the pub and saw all the eyes on him, the fire vashined. It was as quick as releasing a breath, there one minute and gone the next.

Harold held Jake’s gaze. There was still so much left unsaid, unanswered, and Jake found he didn’t want him to go. His mind and soul craved to know more about fairies and their secret world.

A laughter echoed off the rafters, and Jake realized for the first time that night how terrified and exposed he truly was.

“Tomorrow morning,” Harold grunted as he stood, the invitation loud and clear. Jake didn’t understand why Harold was inviting him along but it somehow made all the sense in the world.

With no other parting words, with not so much as a glance at any other living soul in the pub, Harold walked out. Back hunched as he disappeared over the threshold, rain and wind howling as they swallowed him whole.

A hush carried on throughout the pub for a few heartbeats. Until the flute faded back into the plucking of a guitar. Someone cheered, laughter followed, and soon the lively atmosphere of the bar was back once more. As if the haunted man with an implausible story wasn’t present a few moments before.

“Is it true?” Jake found himself asking, tongue sliding across his chapped lips. He turned in his chair, facing Murphy, who now stood behind the bar. He hoped his shaking hand wasn't noticeable as he raised his beer to his lips. “About those… about the fairies.”

The word tasted like strawberries and metal on his lips.

Murphy glanced up for the glass he was cleaning, scar strained across his cheek as he pursed his lips. “They’re urban folktales. Myths passed down through all the generations of the Harbour.”

“And his wife?”

Murphy paused. He let out a sign, placed the glass under the bar before turning to Jake. Worry and concern shinned in his eyes.

“She left him,” he explained softly, mindful of the ears around. “Packed up and left, just like that.”

“Just like that?” Jake raised an eyebrow at Murphy’s hesitation.

“There were… rumours about cheating and drunken fights but…” Murphy took a breath, crossing his arms on the bartop as he leaned in close. “Look, Harry's a good guy, difficult but good. Our families know each other well. And Cathy… well she had a hard life with her father. She wasn’t all there before she left and Harold took it hard. He still won't get help and has himself convinced the Harbour Fairies are behind it. Says he’s seen things with his own eyes that explains it.”

Jake swallowed, leg bouncing restlessly. “He’s going out tomorrow morning-”

“Yeah,” Murphy nodded solemnly. “We’ve tried to stop him, talk sense. But he won’t listen. And he’s at the age and point now where we've given up - what can ya do.”

A lot. Jake glanced around the pub, taking in the numerous people laughing, chatting, drinking. He didn’t know these people, he shouldn’t judge, but they could be doing something to help that man. He may be talking crazy but… was he?

The more Jake studied the bar, the more it felt like a fog was lifting. The pieces were falling into place. The math was suddenly starting to make sense. And Jake refused to acknowledge the answers that were before him.

“Where is she then?” Jake asked, breathing through his nose to calm his racing heart. “His wife. Catherine.”

“No one knows,” Murphy admitted. “She got out of this town, that's for sure. And no one has heard from her since.”

“No one checks in?” Jake couldn’t hide the disbelief from his voice. “No one’s tried to find out where she is or what happened.”

Murphy watched Jake for an uncomfortable moment. His eyes looked him over, mouth twisting as if to say something. But then his lips shut, he blinked, and he shrugged before pointing to the still full glass in front of Jake. “You want another?”

Jake's breath caught in his throat. Claws bit into his spine. His skin felt too tight as a breeze brushed the back of his neck, red flashing in his vision. The room was too small and too big all at once. He didn’t know why he was feeling such a way or what had brought it on. But his gut knew it was because of this town.

And he knew he wanted to get out.

The door to the pub shut as a couple walked out, but the noise still rattled against Jake’s bones as he shook his head.

“No,” he stood up, hand shaking as he pulled out some bills and tossed them on the bar. “I think I’ll call it a night actually.”

Murphy picked up the money, either not noticing the odd behaviour or choosing to ignore it as he smiled. “Well, Mr. Jake, I hope you enjoy the rest of your short stay. Maybe someday we’ll get to see you passing through the Harbour again.”

“Who knows,” Jake gave a nervous chuckle, “It seems anything is possible.”

He left the pub in shambles. The smell of ashes and fowl fish followed Jake as he made his way to the door. Tables were knocked off centre, chairs were tipped over. The banjo played too loud and slightly off key. Men and women alike stumbled over one another, drinks spilled onto the floor. Even Murphy’s slicked back pony was a mess, falling into his dark, sweat covered face.

The illusion was breaking, the corners being pulled back to show something ugly and monstrous. Something those who inhabited Higdon’s Harbour refused to acknowledge.

Jake stepped over the threshold, blood pounding through his veins. He welcomed the rain beating down on his face, the wind biting through his damp jacket and nipping at his icy skin. The door to Kay & Elle closed with a thunderous bang. The banjo and hysterical laughter was replaced by sorrowful wind and wailing rain.

He stood there for a moment, face turned towards the sky as he tried to will air into his lungs.

He needed to get out of this town.

Whatever force pulled Jake towards the pub earlier was controlled by a demon. He didn’t know what purpose it served him, to hear about Harold and the fairies… fairies that shouldn’t, didn’t, couldn’t exist…

Someone squealed and giggled across the parking lot. With a jump, heart in his throat, Jake started to make his way back to the safety of his room.

And he was almost there, just a mere few steps away, when his body suddenly felt as if it were stretched too thin. Nausea overcame him and his head spun. The rain pierced his skin like devilish needles and the wind sang a woman's lullaby in his ear. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, thunder crashing as someone bumped into his shoulder.

It was an innocent tap, the woman clearly too captivated by the lady on her arm to notice him. But it did all the damage in the world.

“Oh!” She gasped, the sound like a thousand bells. She grabbed his arm, full-lips pulled back in an apologetic smile as all the air vanished from Jake's chest. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn't breath, the pulsing in his left temple was suddenly magnified by ten. The warmth of her hand on his arm spread through his whole body. He no longer felt the wind and rain beating against him, he was too allured by her auburn curls, high-cheekbones, and hazel eyes that glistened like moss coated in morning dew.

She was the most hauntingly beautiful creature he had ever beheld. And every part of his being begged him to run.

“Are you okay, Jake?” Her partner spoke up. They were holding one another so close, arms locked tight, it was as if they were one. Gravity pulled them together; where one moved the other followed. A simple stranger such as himself could not doubt their adoration and love.

Jake ripped his gaze away from the red-headed woman and looked at her partner. He took in her slim face, the dirty dress, and messy blonde hair pinned back with a flower.

It was then that Jake noticed that both women were completely dry.

It was then that Jake realized they knew his name.

It was then that his eyes met the blonde’s green ones, and he saw it all.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” a seven year old boy with grass stains on his knees told the six year old girl with a bruised arm.

“I didn’t mean to,” she trembled, and Jake realized she wasn’t avoiding the boys gaze. She was looking at someone else. She was looking at the young auburn haired creature standing a few feet away, invisible to the boy and eyes tense with worry. “It wasn't my fault.”

Be more careful, the boy told her at the exact moment the creature met the girl's gaze and said, I know. I’ll protect you.

“I told you,” said a seventeen year old boy as he gripped a sixteenth year old's skirts. “I’ll protect you from your papa.”

You know he can’t, Cathy, The auburn creature said, standing over the boy's shoulder as she held the girl’s green-eyed gaze. I’ll protect you from them both.

The blonde trembled. “Promise?”

With all the power of the forest and the sea. I promise.

She was there, always there. She did all she could to keep her promise. But it seemed even she was limited in her abilities.

Jake watched Harold and Catherine's life play out once more. As the twenty plus years faded together, the moments of tender love vanished. The fights were more frequent, more aggressive than Harold let on. He stumbled home in the dark more than once, eyes bloodshot and words slurred. There were many years of fights and screams. Fists were thrown and bones were broken. And the red-head was there through it all, helping as best as she could. She cared for Cathy, tried to protect her, but it wasn’t enough.

Run away with me, Cathy. It's the only way.

And run she did.

It wasn’t a laugh that called Catherine to the forest that day in the garden as Harold’s raging voice bellowed off the walls of the house. No, it was not a laugh at all, but her name, spoken in bells and chimes, love and warmth.

Catherine stepped over the threshold of the forest, laughter on her lips, as she jumped into the arms of the beautiful red-headed fairy.

She didn’t leave, wasn’t taken. She willingly left her delusional old life for one of magic and wonder and respect.

Jake stumbled back a step, shaking off the hand of the creature before him. His head was spinning, his stomach turned and his vision blurred as he truly saw the two ladies before him. As he noticed the glow around them, the electricity that danced in their wake.

This town, these people… how could anyone let a woman suffer as Catherine did and not do anything? How could they not see what was right in front of them?

And these creatures, the fairies, Harold painted them as the demons and yet, this fairy was Catherine’s saving grace, her lover, her protector...

They shared a look, the two lovers, before turning back to him. They didn’t say another word as the fairy smiled at Jake, white teeth flashing, and blew him a kiss. They turned to leave, Catherine giving him a wink over her shoulder, before disappearing into their hotel room. Right next door to his.

Jake stumbled as fast as he could to his room, slamming the door behind him as he tried to catch his breath and will his mind to understand what the hell was going on.

It took him a few moments to realize, for the first time all night, he was completely dry.

----------

Light had yet to transform the morning sky when Jake sped out of the Beaumont Motel parking lot. The rain had stopped and the winds were whisked away. Grey clouds lingered in the sky, suffocating the rising sun on the horizon.

What was once a piece of art to Jake was now the ugliest thing he had ever seen.

The mountain reached its claws to the sky, holding all the trees and buildings in the palm of its hand. The roads swerved in and out of its fingers, weather-worn homes running up the forest-speckled hills, trying to escape. The ocean leaped for joy as it played with the rocky cliffs, trying to capture and destroy anything it could reach. The boats bobbed in the water, begging to be let free, while the docks pointed their fingers to the open sea, luring in any desperate and lonely souls to the corrupt town.

The ocean was painted an angry blue against the grey light. The white-capped waves pounded against anything in their way. What Jake once thought was a place of harmony, he realized now, was an illusion.

The image had been shattered, broken beyond repair.

The land had won after all, he realized now. It had conquered Higdon’s Harbour and all within it. There was no agreement, no compromise to live in peace. For nothing could truly defeat nature.

The land cackled against the last remains of the raging storm winds. For it knew the game it was playing; it knew who truly ruled the town. And it was not man.

Jake made it out before the first kitchen light flickered on. Before the inhabitants of Higdon’s Harbour woke and started about their delusional lives. His heart pounded in his chest the whole way, hands shaking as they gripped his steering wheel. Even when he passed the city line, his body refused to relax. Not as the sound of chimes echoed on and on and on in his head.

By the time Jake remembered Harold, he was long gone. And he was too far out to turn back. Too far out to hear the news, or see the headline of the Higdon’s Harbour newspaper that morning. And to hear the otherworldly laugh that accompanied it.

Man Crashes Boat Off Rocky Cliffs In Desperate Search Of His Wife.

#oringinal character #original writing #original story #fairies #tog #acotar #fanfiction #tog fanfic #tog fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #cas writing #personal

34 notes · View notes

thewistlingbadger · 3 years

Text

Mixed Signals

Summary: Emily and Spencer are trying to see if Derek likes Spencer. Derek is trying to figure out if he's gay with the help from Penelope. The 4 of them come to the realization that they are NOT on the same page at a club, where Emily and Spencer make out to see if Derek will get jealous.

CW: Platonic Spencer/Emily, friends who kiss, Derek has bi panic, gender non-conforming Spencer Reid, intimate friendship, inappropriate language, kiss in the rain, miscommunication, love confessions, first kiss. Y'all asked for me to post the stuff i got in my notes so here ya go. Enjoy.

Okay. So Emily and Spencer definitely came to the club with something up their sleeve. Spencer had always kept quiet about his crush on Derek. After all, the year was 2008. Gay marriage wasn't legal and if you were out you could be called slurs, or worse. And in the workplace? You could be terminated. The only person he ever came close to telling was Elle, but then one moment she was here, the next, gone.

Emily tried her best to be shocked at the news. It takes one to know one, she told herself. But nevertheless she made sure that he knew she was a safe space and that all she cared about was his comfort. He ranted to her about gender dysphoria and wanting to tap into his feminity, but being too afraid to do so. He asked her if she thought Derek liked him back, and tonight, they would find out.

Everyone knew Emily Prentiss was a lesbian. She made it no secret, while also making sure you minded your own business. She read queer romance novels on the jet, there was a pride flag on her desk and if you asked her what was on her calendar, she would tell you next Wednesday she had a meeting with her local LGBTQ+ advocates and that there would be a march next month, if you wanted to come.

In the same breath, she had no problem kissing Reid. They both knew that there was nothing romantic about the them. Kissing just...helped them both I guess. When Spencer would come over because he was having nightmares, Emily would scoot over in bed and make room for him. When she would get up around noon, Spencer would wrap his arms around her and kiss the side of her head as she brushed her teeth. Or when she could tell he was getting overwhelmed, she'd pepper his face with kisses till he'd be calm again.

Most people said I love you in words but for them, they had heard those words growing up from the mouths that did not mean it. Their kisses were tangible, real. They said I love, care, and respect you without even needing to pronounce a syllable.

Everyday, Derek came crying for help in Peneople's corner. He had never considered being anything but straight but his pretty boy got him second guessing himself. Derek didn't have the luxury of being able to figure himself out while young. And now that he was an adult, an established FBI agent, he feared it was too late. Penelope was his shoulder to cry on, filling his ears with positive affirmations. Giving him flyers to queer support groups and telling him when pride would be rolling into town.

"What if I don't like men and I just like pretty boy? Do I even like him like that? What if I'm just overthinking it?" "Well then you'll find out tonight." Peneople said with a wink. She ordered another round as Spencer and Emily found their way to the booth.

Derek tried to act normal but he couldn't help but notice how smug the both of them. Like they were inside a joke, and Derek wasn't. It made something rise in Derek, he just didn't know what.

Spencer still couldn't piece it all together. The looks, the touchs, the names, they had to mean something. Despite contrary belief, he wasn't all that oblivious. He knew Derek had been flirting with him for years. But why? Derek was always pulling girls whenever they went out to places like this and he never had shown interest in men. So why would he like Reid? Although, thought of Spencer being the only male that Derek was attracted to made his heart flutter, he knew it was unrealistic.

"Hey. Wanna dance?" Emily said putting her hand on his shoulder. He smiled. She always knew how to do that, pull him out of thought. As he got up he started to think about all the things he loved about her. Her gentleness without making him feel babied, her understanding without having the ability to understand what he was going through, the way she knew things about him that he didn't tell her that only he knew.

Like how he didn't need to drink to be a good time. As their bodies pressed together and they moved to the RNB beat, they laughed at each other. "Don't forget the task at hand Spence." She teased. "What task? The task of finding you a girlfriend? Because let me tell you, she won't come if your hair is looking like that!" He started to run his fingers through her hair which just made her laugh more.

Derek was watching them have fun while he was downing his drink. "What's wrong Derek, this is your scene! This is where Derek Morgan is Derek Morgan. And let me tell you, Derek Morgan? He does NOT sit at the booth like a sad puppy when the love of his life is out there dancing! Something that is a rare sight for our eyes!" He sighed, taking another sip from the glass, but he stayed glued to the leather seat.

"C'mon Derek! Do something! If you're not gonna go after Reid go after another dude! Or a gal! Scout out the area, look for someone who seems worth while! There's only one single friend out of the 4 of us and right now it's looking like it's gonna be me because Emily is having a grand old time with Reid."

Glad to know he wasn't going crazy, he responded. "Yeah, speaking of which, since when are they so close? Like you said, we barely get to see Reid dance. Then all of a sudden he's taking Prentiss's hand and they're grinding it up on the dancefloor?" He couldn't leave the irritation of his voice.

"Jealous much?" She wiggled her eyebrows. He rolled his eyes. "Don't you think it's weird?" Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. Of course not dummy! If you haven't figured out what Emily Prentiss was by now, you probably never will! Ignoring her thoughts, she asked "well what do you think it is?" He stared at the pair, trying to get get ahold of what it all meant but he turned away, empty handed.

"Did you see that? He was staring at us for a long time..." Spencer said looking over Emily's shoulder. "Do you think it's working?" "I don't know...he looked upset...he's drinking right now. Mil, I don't want to do this if he's drunk..." Emily could hear the doubt stirring in him. She didn't want to push him but she had the feeling that this would be the only chance. She wouldn't get Spencer to agree with her on this again.

"Hey." She tilted his chin down toward her. "It's your call." She smiled. God, you just gotta love her, he thought. He smiled and went for it.

"Hey, they moved away from the dance floor. Where'd they go?" Derek said sitting up straight searching over the crowd of clubbers. "I don't know..." Penelope now getting concerned. She stood up and-

"oh my god-" "What?! Are they hurt?! What's going o-" his search for them was interrupted by Penelope's hands clutching the sides of his face and directing it to the right side of the room, were he could see Emily and Spencer making out.

They both just stood there, jaws on the floor. "I thought she didn't swing that way..." Penelope said, shocked to her core. "Reid?" Morgan said, not as if he was calling for him but as if he was surprised that Emily was kissing Spencer. Or was Spencer kissing her? Unlike the last time he was staring at them, he was now paying attention to every detail. The way Emily's tight long sleeve shirt left nothing to the imagination and how she was pulling Reid in by the inside of his pants, then feeling him up after. She smirked mischievously into his lips, as if it were just a game.

Reid on the other hand, looked like he was about to cum on sight. He was still playing with he hair like how he was on the dancefloor, but this time his eyes were screwed tight. He barely moved his mouth meaning that A, Prentiss was doing all the work and B, when he did move his mouth it was in the smallest way possible and by god did he look amazing. Holy shit, did he just see some tongue?! Oh fuck, Derek thought, the realization hitting him like a truck. I like both of them.

He continued to watch them. Spence's hair was getting in his face and Emily was too busy teasing him by thumbing the hem of his sweater vest to notice. Derek could tell how much it was bothering him but he also seemed so carefree, so trapped in the moment, the sensations. He moved his head back ever so slightly, as if to ask for more but her mouth never left his.

When they parted, Derek could swear he saw a string of saliva in between them. Damn. This is not what I expected would happen tonight. He thought maybe he'd see a beautiful girl or a handsome dude, giving him an answer he'd been craving; Gifting him the knowledge he had wanted this whole time. But that? Whatever the fuck he just saw? Left him with more questions than answers.

"Derek? Are you okay?" He snapped out of it and looked at Peneople who had a worried expression on her face. That's when he realized that she hadn't been ogling at them the whole time like how he was. "Did that answer your questions?" She tried to approach in a different way. "I uhh." No words could form. "Oh, he's having a gay panic moment-" "No it was definitely for both of them." he blurted without being able to stop himself.

Penelope spit the shot out of her mouth. "You like them BOTH?" "No I-" He was completely out of his element. He started racking his brain, trying to process what he just saw. Why was that so hot? If he had a crush on Reid (like he thought he had the whole time) then wouldn't seeing his boy being kissed make him freak out? But somehow, seeing Spencer being man handled by Emily made him speachless. An "ohhhh" from Penelope was what broke him out of thought. "Well, congratulations Derek. I think you just might like guys and girls."

"Holy shit" they laughed hysterically. Spencer was about to fall to the floor. "What was that?" Emily laughed. "I was trying to make it look believable!" "Yeah by acting like a slut? Okay." She went off in a giggling fit. "Well I think it worked." "No shit?" She asked, looking to the booth. Both Derek and Penelope were standing up. "Well I'll be damned. I don't think I've ever seen him that red." she smiled "holy shit. I did that?" "Hell yeah you did! go get 'im lover boy." He hugged her and thanked her for her help, then made his way back to the booth. He got intercepted by peneople on the way there.

"So. What the fuck was that?" Peneople shouted over the music. "Go ask Emily! I'm going to Morgan." What? "oH!" The pieces somewhat clicking into place. "Oh my god how did I not know!" She gave him a hug. He gave an uncomfortable chuckle "thanks Penelope. But I really gotta go-" "But! He likes you too!" Penelope called after him but Spencer was already too far away to hear. God damn the level of miscommunication that's going on right now! Annoyed at the circumstances, she walked off to Prentiss.

Spencer slid the booth, "Hey." Spencer said. He shifted uncomfortably. A few seconds ago he was having the time of his laughing with a friend. Now he sat across from a different friend, a friend who he didn't want to be friends with. The person he wanted something more with looked down at the ground with a hand over his mouth.

Spencer frowned "what's wrong?" Reaching for the other's hand. Derek looked at him, doe eyed. "Boys." Was all he said. Huh? He had never seen Derek like this. "...Do you wanna dance?" He asked concerned. Derek nodded rapidly and they were off.

Whatever groove Spencer had while dancing with Emily had left because he was back to his normal stiffness. He wondered what was wrong with him but he couldn't decide what it was considering the amount of events that had just occurred. How do I make this less weird? What does he want? Spencer's thoughts reflected on his face.

Fuck. What's going on? Derek wondered. Sure, they were swaying and he had his hands on him, a big improvement on their relationship but he knew something was off about Spencer. So naturally, that's when Derek turned on his profiler mode and started pawing for answers.

"I was watching you earlier, you had some moves pretty boy. Didn't know that about you." There's a lot you don't know about me the genius thought. Instead he responded with "really?" "Yeah. I thought you didn't dance." "I'm not good at it." Spencer laughed. Derek couldn't resist rolling his eyes at the comments. You were practically fucking on the dancefloor talk about 'I'm not good at it.' Boy please. Spencer caught his eyes rolling though. Becoming defensive, he said "we were just being silly. It didn't mean anything." "That make out didn't look so silly. Looked pretty serious from where I was standing."

Spencer was taken aback. Was he mad at him? There was a hint of protectiveness but why would Derek be protective over him when he was with Emily? They've known Emily for a while now, they trust her.

Spencer didn't let him slide away with the snideness. "So what's your problem tonight. Had too many drinks and are now pissed you're not the only one who knows how to have fun?"

"I'm not drunk." Derek grumbled. "Oh really? Derek we've been here 2 hours now and the whole time all you've done is sit down with Penny and drink drinks. And all of a sudden you're acting all strange? How do you explain that hm?" Derek looked away realizing his error, licking his lips.

You're gonna profile me? Two can play it that way. "It's the fact that it's Prentiss huh. Do you like her?" Derek still couldn't meet his eyes. "Or did you just think I couldn't get her?" Spencer wasn't one who got easily mad but the bullshit Derek was pulling was infuriating. Do I just let the cat out of the bag or do I see how he plays it out?There's too many mixed signals going on.

Spencer scoffed annoyingly, letting go of Derek and storming off. "Kid wait!" God damn it Derek this is the one thing you're not supposed to fuck up. Emily stood up from the table that she was at with Penelope. "What's going on?" "I don't know!" They both watched Spencer leave. "Oh no..." "What the f-...he likes him Emily I swear! It's all he's been talking to me about for months! I really don't know what's going on!" Emily tried to make her way through the crowd but Derek was already out the door, trying to reach Spencer.

This is just fucking great. I go out to a club, a place that I already don't like just to try to make a move on some dude, some asshole, and now it's raining. Could it seriously get worse? "Spencer, c'mon man!" Derek heard him curse in a language he didn't understand. "I don't have time for bullshit Derek! Don't waste my time!" He kept walking back towards him.

Derek caught up to him, his feet splashing into puddles. "Look man, I'm sorry. Just let me explain!" Spencer didn't even look at him, he just kept walking. As a final attempt, Derek grabbed his hand, Spencer now facing him. "I'm not trying to waste your time pretty boy. Or bullshit you." The rain drops sliding down both their faces. Despite there being no light other the moon, they looked into each other's eyes. Derek didn't have a firm grip on Spencer's hand, but Spencer didn't feel the need to let go.

"You should start explaining yourself because I don't like dealing with nonsense." His chest rising and falling with every deep breath he took. "For the past couple of months I thought I was seeing you differently so I talked to Peneople about it. She suggested we go to the club to see if I liked you or if I only liked girls or maybe even if I liked men in general. When I saw you and Emily kissing, I- I can't explain it. I liked it. I liked watching you two kiss but then you came over to me and I started feeling jealous and I don't know what's going on with me-" "shut up." Spencer grabbed Derek by the collar of his wet shirt and their mouths smashed together.

It wasn't a pretty sight. It wasn't delicate like how most people want their first kisses to be. But it reflected every emotion that the both of them had felt that night. The rain helping their mouths slide together, the small droplets getting smushed when their checks or chins touched. Derek thought that getting kissed by Spencer looked good but oh man did it feel better to actually be kissed by him. Derek slid his fingers through his hair, imitating Spencer when he kissed Prentiss. The water droplets clinging to the ends of his finger tips. Their bodies closer than Reid's and Emily's ever were.

Spencer pulled away, resting his forehead on Derek's. They both felt the breath of the other, the rapid in and outs trying to get back to their normal speed's. Spencer still had his fingers on Derek's collar, still keeping him close. "Please tell me that that cleared up some stuff for you." Spencer breathed.

"We could be that. Friends who kiss but not romantically." Derek offered. All he knew was that he would die a sad man if that was the only time he'd get to kiss Reid. "If we kiss, I'd like it to be in a romantic way. I didn't spend countless hours watching you go home with countless women to not have you kiss me in a romantic way Derek." Derek laughed at his bluntness. "Alright kid. Good. Because I wouldn't have it any other way." He went in for another kiss, and Spencer happily kissed him back.

"I think it did." Derek panted back. Spencer moved his arms around Derek's neck, pulling him into a hug. "I've had a huge crush on you for forever. I didn't say anything because I didn't think you were gay. Emily and I only kissed like that to see what your reaction would be. I don't like her, she doesn't like me. We're just friends. There's no romance behind it." He explained, still hugging him.

By: Mic

#mic writes fanfiction #criminal minds #cm #spencer reid #moreid #derek morgan #emily prentiss #peneople garcia #emily and spencer #emily prentiss and spencer reid #spemily: friends who kiss #bi derek morgan #bi spencer reid #Derek has bi panic #kiss in the rain #wingwoman penelope garcia #wingwoman emily prentiss #gender non conforming spencer reid

40 notes · View notes

remscorner · 3 years

Text

False Manipulations (Sebastian x F!Reader)

(A bit of info: this is a fantasy AU where the characters all live in a large town named 'Honocrotalus', name for pelican. Though the layout of the town is not the same from the game, it's much larger.

(There are a few OC's in here but only background characters for the plot)

Narrators POV // 12:00 pm

Y/n strolled through town swiftly, her footsteps barely emitting noise.

She'd come across many 'wanted' banners of her masked face throughout her journey and it was getting tiring.

Ever since she was a child, she'd always been on the wrong side of the family.

At least she thought so?

After years of mental, emotional and physical abuse, Y/n had ran away from a family in which kidnapped her many years ago.

This was the result of having to steal and rob from others in order to keep alive.

It all went downhill from there, she even had the blood of the innocent resting in her hands, using her own blade.

Fortunately the public hadn't known what she'd looked like, nor did they figure out her real name.

The only description being the nickname 'Rabbit' and 'a slim figure wearing an oversized black cloak covering her clothing beneath and a white rabbit mask'.

Y/n never thought the word 'slim' would be a fit description over herself...

At least in her eyes.

But of course, being on the run across the entire country had her starving a bit.

Her stomach growled and she cringed at the soft ache in her belly before sighing and staring at an abandoned sales cart and smirking.

She swiftly stole three buns off the top and stuffed them inside her cloak that had held her mask.

Since nobody knew what she looked like, Y/n was free to roam around town without a care in the world.

"Guards! Draw your swords!" A large voice echoed down the streets, many had crowded around the commotion.

Y/n pushed through in order to find three of her old bandit friends she hadn't seen in years.

One being just a child at age 13.

Her eyes widened at they fought their way through the kingdoms guards, two of the three secretly getting away while one had stayed to hold off the men.

Y/n's teeth gritted softly and she pulled up her hood, quickly putting on her mask before jumping over the crowd to help fight off the imperial guards.

Her sword drew from her scabbard and had stroked at ones shoulder before throwing it back to another right beneath his ripcage.

"N/n!?" (Nickname) The bandit yelled in surprise, obvious struggle hid between her teeth.

"Hey November! You better get to Molly and Ellie now! I'll hold them off don't worry! Elles gotten so big!" She grinned, reminiscing back to when the dirty blonde was only five.

"You sure you got this!?" November yelled in between pants and Y/n nodded with a giggle.

She smiled gratefully before leaving the masked killer to fend for herself.

She was strong enough from fighting off many in the past to get through a couple more guards before one had struck her shoulder from behind.

Y/n yelped and many were shocked to hear how feminine the murderer had sounded.

They'd been looking for her for years and they'd only now, found out she was most definitely a girl.

Just as Y/n had tried to compose her stance, another guard had broken skin right above her knee and she'd looked down in surprise before her hands were pulled behind her back.

"Shit..."

____

Currently at the Wright's castle, lunch was being held awkwardly in the large dining area of the palace.

And yet, with shock sat Sebastian next to his half sister which he'd held a different last name to, just like the rest of his family.

Sebastian McCarthy, the poor isolated boy was different and despite his family's disapprovals, wanted to catch the wanted Rabbit himself.

"What do you mean Rabbits been caught!?" He stood up from his seat, the chair scraping the floor with a trip.

One of Sebastians two knights, Sam, had barged into the dining room with the news just before.

"The other guards are bringing them to the castle now! Your majesty!?" Sam yelled in a panic, staring over to Demetrius.

He'd been king for years now and even had the family's name changed to Wright after marrying the queen, Robin.

Of course Sebastian had kept his previosus surname...

Demetrius nodded with a frown before the family had told up to meet Rabbit at the enterance hall.

"Sebastian I know you've wanted to meet him for a while now but please just go to your room" Robin said in a pleading tone.

"I'm staying here"

"Why don't you just listen to your mother-"

Just as Demetrius was about to scold his stepson for his disruptive behaviour, the castle doors opened and three guards were escorting a young woman with h/l, h/c hair and e/c eyes.

She wore an oversized cloak in which the hood was pulled down to reveal a pretty face.

They'd torn off the cloak to the ground, showing the rest of her features.

She wore a white oversized blouse where the top three buttons had been undone, black pants and a belt where the rabbit mask and an empty scabbard was held.

"Who's this?" Demetrius scoffed, belittling the knights intentions.

Sebastian slowly walked closer to the girl with a curious expression.

She stared back at him, apathetically.

"This is the Rabbit, sir.." a knight to the left of

Y/n said anxiously.

Y/n shot him an irritated glare, eyes catching Robin who eyed her carefully.

"A girl..?" The ginger uttered softly, Sebastian began to grow angry.

"I've been looking for a girl this entire time!?" He exclaimed and Robin let out a snort before turning away from the odd stares shot her way.

It had to sound pretty weird coming from Sebastian who hardly had the interest in girls.

Neither did he have an interest for boys, he had never cared for such silly distractions like love.

"This is ridiculous!" Demetrius scoffed, it was the first time Sebastian could agree with his stepfather.

"Aw shut up old man, I don't wanna hear from you either.. let the prince talk.." Y/n grinned flirtatiously, throwing eyes to Sebastian who'd eyed the sharper canines she'd had compared to his own.

If he'd known any better, he would've thought she was a vampire...

"Wh-" He stepped back and Demetrius yelled out.

"You'll be exiled faster if you wish!"

"Hey Princey, what's it like living in this place? I'm pretty sure you know but I've stolen and sold a couple things from here!"

Y/n ignoring Demetrius, instead spoke to Sebastian with love eyes casually staring into his, she was always good at manipulating others with her deceiving looks.

"You know I've always wanted to see you up close like this, what's it like seeing me so up close?"

"Watch it" Sebastian glared daggers into her head, she snickered softly.

It was amusing seeing such anger fuel up in a bit like him.

"So aggressive..." Y/n said with a smirk, she pouted softly, her stance lightly swaying.

He sneered at her, he felt as if she was mocking him, teasing him for his issues with his anger, his issues with her.

Is she crazy? Does she know who she's talking to?

"Take her to the cells" Demetrius ordered, Y/n sighed with an irritated look before she was led down into the deeper parts of the castle, ones only high ranked criminals would get to experience.

Robin had locked eyes with her as she passed by and Y/n politely nodded to her with a blank expression.

Y/n had left her pondering to herself, intrigued with the killer.

"Strange girl..."

____

"She's in there... be careful Seb, she's got a couple screws loose in there" Sam warned as his prince friend neared the cells, twirling his index finger around with the target of his head.

Sebastian only nodded back before leaving Sam behind him.

It was dark down in the cells, the room was lightly dimmed from torches which gave off the impression the room was brightened with a yellow hue.

Sebastian took a stop in front of the girls cell, the only cell which had been occupied really.

She sat in the corner on a thin, cold bed, her eyes closed.

He could hear her humming to a song he couldn't recognize.

She sat leg straight out, one bending up as she rested her arm on her knee.

Y/n knew he was there, she knew he was there a long time ago.

"Rabbit" Sebastian said, he held his ground.

Chin up, back straight..

"Hello, Prince" she grinned lazily.

Y/n opened her eyes, watching as his broad silhouette shifted in the light behind his figure.

She could see his brows furrow at the nickname.

Sebastian kept his guard, she was dangerous, he knew.

But something about her made him so intrigued with her mindset.

Why had she chosen to kill so many, why kill the innocent.

Though he couldn't care less for the village, seeing his mother so distraught with her people being mercilessly murdered, he had to admit, felt terrible.

He became obsessed with catching the culprit, the bastard who hurt his mother so deeply.

Sebastian wanted to do everything to torture and question the murderer as much as they did with the towns people.

Unfortunately, he didn't know what to do with the girl now.

Seb didn't expect a woman to come striding in, not that he was expecting much of a man either.

He was really expecting more of a monster than the pretty sight in front of him.

"Wanna join me?" Y/n asked, pulling a plate of mashed potatoes and bread towards herself, given to her by Sam as an order.

Though she was cruel and unstable, she wanted to keep her healthy.

The 'she' in question being Robin.

"I already ate" Sebastian frowned, he didn't expect her to be so calm in a situation like being locked up.

"Stay with me then? It's lonely down here" she pouted softly.

Y/n didn't miss the look of disgust on his face, it nearly made her laugh how shocked he was.

Maybe if she was still a kid, she would be hurt by the expression the prince wore.. but now it was more amusement than it ever was with anybody else.

Yoba was it satisfying watching innocent humans like Sebastian grow angry with her.

It was a sign that showed she'd successfully gotten under his skin.

"You'll eat, then I'll join you.. but I won't be here for company" Sebastian growled, Y/n nearly laughed at the mans attempt at being threatening.

It was hard to be threatened when you've killed many...

"I'll make sure to enjoy whatever you'll do to me then"

#sdv #sdv sebastian #gaming #stardew fanfic #stardew sebastian #stardew valley #stardew #stardew sam #sdv fanfic #stardew au

33 notes · View notes

ellewords · 3 years

Note

i feel like suga is the type of person that would hate to actually drive during a road trip, but he is always the first one to offer to stay up with you while you drive.

like, i feel like there was probably a road trip after the third years graduated with as much of the team as possible because they really didn’t want to let go of that high of being around everyone so soon. it had to be a relatively short one (a week, a week and a half?), but the plan was to just drive to a few towns that were pretty popular tourist towns. as such, they were often in the van they rented driving between the towns (and sudden stops if an area piqued their interest). during the long stretches, suga doesn’t sleep at all, not even when the driver switches. he never leaves the passenger seat and no one complains because they really don’t wanna have to stay up the entire time. also, depending on who is driving, he’ll do whatever they need of him to help them stay awake.

with asahi, suga puts on podcasts that he think will strike his interest and talks through the entire thing like he’s one of the hosts. he also tries to use the podcast to tease asahi, and 1000% of the time, asahi gets more flustered than he should.

for kiyoko, he puts on a playlist he made for her in their first year that fully contradicts anything kiyoko would actually like, but she secretly adores it because every time they play it, suga tries to convince her that it’s perfect for her and she likes to see how riled up and persistent she can make him with just an unconvinced look.

daichi and suga normally just talk quietly among themselves. it almost always starts with the pair joking about the years they had known each other and ends in thinly veiled deep, sentimental discussions about how they couldn’t have asked for a better best friend and that they hope to remain close for the rest of their lives.

(ennoshita only drives if the other three are exhausted but it usually results in suga trying to lecture him on how he has so much potential and that he’s worth more than he gives himself credit for only for ennoshita to end up lecturing suga about the exact same thing. they end up having to shift dynamics so that ennoshita is scolding suga like a child about anything other than something serious because of that one time when they got so serious while talking that they started tearing up and almost ran a stop sign. thank god no one was coming.)

even though suga doesn’t sleep, he still tries to be his normal energetic self when they make stops at little towns and tourist spots because he doesn’t want to drag the group down. because of that, the rest of the team agrees that when they make stops for food, they try to drag it out for as long as possible so that suga can get some sleep, otherwise he’ll stay up for days on end between the drives and the stops. he hasn’t picked up on that fact yet. (yachi has never been as strict with the team as she is when she is trying to keep them in check so suga can sleep for what little time he gets in peace. suga also hasn’t picked up on that.)

— from elle ! not me falling more in love with suga because of this hc bec i totally see this too 🤧 thank you sm for this, placing the lil scenario i have under the cut :))

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

[daichi] : is he sleeping?

you looked over to your side to see suga sound asleep in the passenger seat, arms crossed and head leaning on the window. a small smile crosses your features as you texted daichi your reply, glad that suga was finally getting some sleep. even if it were only for several minutes at a time.

the rest of the team found themselves pacing between the aisles of the gas station’s little convenience store, trying to find ways to keep themselves occupied without getting into too much trouble with the staff. hinata, yamaguchi, and nishinoya are making funny faces at the security cameras, tsukishima beside them rolling his eyes as he scanned the shelves for something sweet, unable to fight the twitch in the corner of his lips at the sight of them. ennoshita and asahi are by the fridges, looking to stock up on some drinks, placing their hands on every bottle of soda to find the coldest one. it didn't really matter which one it was, they were just trying to take their time. tanaka is on snack duty, making a mental note of everyone’s favorite kind of chips as he throughly went through the displays, making sure not to miss anyone.

everyone else are seated by the windows, watching it all unfold, reminding the team to take their time so suga can get some rest. tsukishima walks up to them once he found what he had been looking for, “how long do we have to stay here?”

“just a few more moments,” daichi replied before gesturing to the spot next to him, “why don’t you just eat your shortcake here.”

meanwhile, you were growing tired yourself, being on driving duty for the past couple of hours. as you began to close your eyes, you hear suga shuffling in his seat, “are they still not yet back? what’s taking them so long?”

his words are mumbled, still half-asleep, and you fight the urge to swoon at how adorable he was being. you shook your head, “don’t worry about it too much, just go back to sleep.”

suga nodded, moving to rest his head on the window once again, “okay, but wake me up when you’re driving again. alright yn?”

you smile, he was just a little too sweet, “okay, go get some rest.”

he gives you a sleepy smile back, eyes fluttering shut as he gets a well deserved break.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

a question: what are the hq characters like on a road trip? | written on the margins masterlist

taglist : @haikyuutothetop @crystal-lilac @tobioespresso @sushijimawakatoshi @itsmeaudrieee @pantherhappy @jesssobs @mysticstrawberryballoon

join my hq taglist here. <3

#written on the margins 🔖#suga scenarios #suga headcanons #hq suga imagines #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu scenarios #anon <3

20 notes · View notes

pagingevilspawn · 3 years

Text

stick it

What even is this fic? Idk, but i was missing gymnastics, so this is what y’all get. Its super bad, super weird, and not a whole lotta jolex, but whatever.

Also, nobody cares, but the way I'm giving the scores is (most likely) different than what is averaged for Washington. I’ve never competed in Washington so i don’t know how hard their scoring is, but I did compete in one of the hardest regions in the US for gymnasts, so scoring was always a LOT more harsh than it was in other states and areas of states. Even though nobody is gonna pay attention to that I just thought I'd say something lol.

And fun fact- our girl is a (much) better gymnast than i ever was, so… tea 🍵🍵

~*~

Jo watched her husband do their daughter’s hair from the doorway, some kind of a braided bun she didn’t know the name of. She smiled at the sight. It never failed to bring a smile to her face, even though it had become pretty common these past few years. She cradled the bottom of her six month baby bump in the palm of her left hand, her right holding her piping hot tea in a thermos. Once Alex was done putting in all of the excess pins, she watches as he puts a hand over their daughter’s eyes, pulling out the can of hairspray and spraying it into her hair.

The almost nine year old girl lets out a giggle, commenting on how the hairspray smelt funny. Alex pulls out an Amped Up brush, combing back any flyaway hairs that might have escaped the spray. She snaps out of her trance when she hears her phone alarm go off, alerting the other two in the room of her presence.

“Mommy!” her daughter exclaims, running over to her to give her a quick hug, much to the dismay of Alex. He was just thankful that he was already done with her hair. Even after three years of doing hair it still took a long ass time to do buns, especially when his daughter was the perfectionist she was.

“Hey Dyl,” Jo reaches down, returning her daughter’s hug, giving her a tight squeeze before she watches Dylan retreat back to her dad, sitting in front of the mirror once again.

Jo looks at Alex, who’s attention was focused on adding the shiny black scrunchie into the little girl’s hair. “I’m gonna get Aub up.” she whispers to him, watching him nod before she turns and makes her way down the hall, where their three year old daughter was sleeping. It was only five-thirty, so she knew what a hassle it would be. Aubryella was exactly like her parents in that way, a complete night owl. It was always a hassle to get the girl down at night, but even tougher to wake her up in the morning. She flicks on the small night on the girl’s bedside table, the lamp shade casting a soft pink glow around the all pink room.

Much like her name, Aubryella was the definition of a girly-girl. She was all about pink, barbies, fashion, makeup… anything that would be described as girly, the three year old liked. Alex always gave props to Jo for that, since while she was pregnant with their youngest daughter she claimed that the tiny life growing inside of her was going to be an ‘all that and a bag of chips little diva’, so she thought it was only appropriate to give her a name to suit that title. (Good thing her mommy instincts were correct. She knew that if she gave Dylan that name and not Aubryella she would hate it more than life itself.)

She shakes the girl lightly, hoping that it was enough to wake her up, which it ultimately wasn’t. She begins to run a hand through her hair, which ends up failing too. Jo lets out a sigh.

“Aub. Aubrey. Elle. Ella. Ree. Aubryella. Get up sweetie.” she shakes the girl harder, finally stopping when the tiny blonde lets out a loud groan of protest. Yep, definitely a Karev.

“No mommy,” the girl says, her word muffled since her face was buried in her soft pink pillow case, using one hand to sleepily push her moms face away. It was too close to her ear, and she just wanted to sleep.

Jo chuckles, rolling her eyes at her daughter's antics. “It’s state’s day.” she whispers, knowing that that would get Aub’s attention.

As expected, the little girl gets up immediately, rubbing her tired as, not looking as asleep as she probably should, the talk of the upcoming meet more than enough to get her blood rushing. Though Aubryella wasn't a gymnast herself (she had started dance class a year ago and had found her calling then), watching gymnastics was something she loved to do, especially when it was her own sister competing. Not to mention, it was the topic of nearly every dinner for the past month and a half.

The mom watches as the girl hassles out of the bed quickly, picking up her blanket and rushing to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Jo stays behind, making the bed. Normally, Aub would need to do it herself, but since they were on a time limit, she decided it would be best if she did it instead. When the girl gets back in the room Jo picks out her clothes, a dusty rose sweater and black jeans, both wasting no time in putting them on. She runs a comb through her daughter’s long dirty blonde hair, a trait she inherited from her Aunt Amber and Grandma. Aub actually looked more like the two than her own parents to most people, with her dirty blonde hair and blue-green eyes. But anyone who actually looked at the girl could see that she had Jo's nose and Alex’s chin. Not to mention, that crooked grin was all Alex Karev.

Jo picks up her daughter from her spot on the bed, grabbing a jacket that was hung on a hook before heading out of the door and down the hall, stopping when she went down the stairs and entered the living room. She sets the girl down by a chair in the kitchen, going to the cabinets and pulling out the doughnuts and cereal. “Which one?” she asks, holding up each dessert in a different hand.

The girl grins mischievously, making the mom let out a small chuckle before pulling a powdered sugar doughnut out of the box. She didn’t know why she expected anything else.

Aubryella accepts the doughnut gratefully, giving out an absent minded thank you before shoveling the treat in her mouth, getting the white sugar all over her face. Jo doesn’t need to wait long before she hears two sets of footsteps come down the stairs, Dylan dressed with her white and light blue leotard on, black warm ups on over it, Alex in a simple pair of jeans, back t-shirt, and the damn black jacket that he never got rid of, no matter how many protests he got from his wife.

“Ready?” Jo asks, all three of them nodding in response. “Okay, you got your bag, shoes, extra hair ties, water bottle, lucky bear, extra bobby pins, thera band, notebook, phone, mascara, lip gloss, hair brush, wallet, tiger paws, ankle brace, knee brace, and wrist brace?” she questions again, going over the list she had memorized from years of training.

Dylan rolls her eyes impatiently. She didn’t want to be late. She couldn’t be late. It was States for god’s sake! Everyone in the state of Washington (who qualified) would be there. The judges would be scoring harder, and some of the competition was going to be new. She was going to go up against girl’s she hadn’t before. Her goal was to win everything. Maybe it was extreme, but it was true. This season she had done well, really well actually. Her first season as a level seven had started off in the best way. She swept the first competition clean, getting first on vault, floor, and all around, second on bars, and third on beam. As the season went on she just got better, scores getting higher and snatching more golds with each meet. She knew she wasn’t going to be in the Olympics one day, but getting a college scholarship was looking more promising with every first place medal she had stacked around her neck.

“Yeah, now let’s gooooo,” Dylan drags out, grabbing her dad’s hand and pulling him to the door, not even waiting for her mom and sister to follow. The four Karev’s shuffle into the car and drive an hour and fifteen minutes to the convention center where the meet was being held. They pile out of the car and check in, Alex taking a few minutes to add an extra layer of hairspray to Dylan’s hair while Jo puts a light coat of mascara on the girl’s eyelashes and dabs the lip rosy gloss on her lips.

Before the eight year old can run off her coach, her parents kneel down in front of her, her eyes letting them know how scared she was behind her calm facade. “Hey,” Jo grabs a hold of her little girl’s shoulders, making her hazel eyes that were identical to her own stare deeply into hers. “You got this. Go out there and have fun, alright? You know your routines, you won’t mess up. Okay?” she reassures her. Jo pulls her daughter into a hug, “I love you baby.” she whispers into her ear, passing her off to Alex.

Instead of staying on the ground, he picks her up and puts her on his side, much like you would do a small child. Dylan had always been on the smaller side, since neither one of her parents were very tall, but gymnastics had definitely stunted her growth a fair amount. For most people it would be a curse, but as all gymnasts know, it was a blessing.

“We’re right here if you need us. Go kick some ass Dyl, and win that state title. You want that banner right?” he teases. Dylan did want a banner though. At her gym, whoever won a state, regionals, sectionals, or nationals title got a banner hung up from the ceiling. She had one from last year, when she won floor, vault, and the all around as a level six, and even more from the years before that in levels three, four, and five.

But a banner as a level seven? Now that would be a dream come true. Why break the streak now? And not to mention, her group would be the last level seven group to go for the weekend, so if she got a high enough all around score, it could be factored in for the team’s total, which could mean another banner (this one provided by the competition) and trophy, if their total score was in the top three. And believe me, she was determined to win that banner, not for her, but for her team.

Another thing she inherited from her parent’s, their competitiveness.

Dylan gives her parents and sister one last hug and ‘I love you’ before ducking under the chain and meeting her coach and teammates on the floor.

...

“Camera, camera, camera.” Alex mumbles, fishing through Jo’s bag until he pulls out the phone. Dylan was about to go up on bars, and he was designated photographer, since his wife couldn’t film for the life of her. The one time she tried, she ended up shooting the ceiling instead of Dylan’s floor routine. Their daughter was not very happy about that.

He presses the start button just as the girl salutes, flashing the judges a smile before she begins. She rolls her neck and then adjusts her grips, stepping onto the mounting block and taking a deep breath before swinging her arms and launching into a kip, drowning out all of the excess noise in the background.

“Legs, legs, legs.” Jo mumbles to herself. It was Dylan’s biggest deduction, having her legs separated.

Straight legs, pointed feet. Kip cast handstand, hit the 180 degree mark, hold it, clear hip, hit 180 again, hollow body, her feet don't hit the ground, cast up to a squat on, she catches sight of the high bar before jumping to it, keeping her legs together as she goes into another kip, casting up into handstand, holding it at 180 for a second without an arch before hollowing back and beginning her giants, hollow body, tap, feet up, over, and again, see the toes in front, release, layout flyaway. Stick.

Dylan beams as she salutes the judge again, going over to her coach and giving her a large hug, finally hearing the cheering coming from her family. A series of whoops and whistles come from her mom and dad, while her little sister claps her hands and gives her a wide smile.

She waits a minute and a half for her score to flash up on the screen, a 9.725. The cheering from her section gets louder, and her teammates engulf her in hugs. It was a hell of a way to start off the meet.

…

Alex pulls out the camera again when Dylan salutes the beam judge, trying to mask her nervousness behind a smile. Alex and Jo both knew how she felt about the beam. She hated it with every fiber of her being, no matter how good she was at it. She glances over at her family, who all give her encouraging smiles. It was just enough to give her the confidence she needed.

He watches as she places her hands on the beam, going from a support to a press handstand for her mount. She stands, doing a few different moves and poses before swinging her arms up by her ears.

“C’mon Dyl.” he whispers to himself. His daughter didn't mind cheering on any other events, but beam was a different story. She was always worried whenever she was on the apparatus, so whenever a sudden noise came through, she struggled. It was something she was working on, but it was going to take time.

She lifts up her left leg, beginning her connection, a back walkover to a back handspring step-out. The girl circles her arms behind her immediately to prevent any balance checks. Jo and Alex both let out audible sighs of relief, knowing that if there was one thing that could go wrong in the routine, it would be that. From the looks of it, Dylan seemed relieved too. Her movements were less tense, she completed her jumps with perfect form, a split jump to a sissone. Her leap hit 180, and her full turn was controlled. All that was left now was her dismount. All three Karev’s sat on the edge of their seats, the baby in Jo’s belly kicking non stop, letting her know that it was in on the action as well.

Dylan kicks her leg into the air, toes pointed, knees locked. Cartwheel step-in, back tuck. Stick. She lets out a breath, turning to the judges and saluting, flashing them a smile, giving her coaches a hug before darting to her family, who had moved closer for the event.

“You did so good.” Jo says, pulling her into a hug over the plastics chains that separated them, Alex doing the same after.

“What score do you think I got Bree?” Dylan asks her little sister, who lets out an adorable giggle before holding out her hands.

“Ten!” she says, making her family laugh. One could dream.

The score flashed up on the screen then, 9.775.

Well, this was going to be a damn good meet.

…

The camera was locked on Dylan as she made her way to her spot on the floor, striking her beginning pose before her music blared through the speakers. She dances around the floor, gliding with an ease neither of her parents had ever experienced themselves. It was a wonder really, how both of their daughter’s were good dancers while they couldn't move for shit.

Her first pass was her hardest, a roundoff back handspring back layout. The family holds their breath as the girl sets high, finishing the rotation with ease, dancing around more before her leap pass, a switch leap to a straddle jump. She dances more, making eye contact with the judges as she moves. Floor was where she had the most confidence, being able to express herself through her music and choreography, that’s why it was always her favorite.

“C’mon Dyl!”

“You got this Dylan,”

“Yay Tissy!”

The family cheered before her second pass, a front handspring front pike, which she had a small step on, but nothing that would make a large difference in her score. She did some floor work, showing off her flexibility in her back with a series of rolls, standing up and doing a full turn. She makes her way to the corner, Jo and Alex watching the scene intently, Alex having Aubryella perched on his knee. This last pass sealed the deal. She runs, hurdles into a front pike, and connects to a front tuck. Stick.

A smile breaks out on the little girl’s face. She moves her limbs in unison to her ending pose, hitting it just as the beat dropped. A series of cheers come from everyone around her. Her family, teammates, coaches. She doesn’t need to wait long for her score to flash up on the screen. A 9.675.

…

Dylan’s last event was vault, her personal best. She had already done her warmups, and now she was just waiting for the judge to hold up the green flag. She adjusts her tiger paws after she salutes, just as Alex starts the recording. She sprints down the runway, hurdling into a roundoff, and pushing back into a back handspring. Her vault was a yurchenko drill. She keeps her form, legs together, knees locked, toes pointed. She finishes, salutes, then goes again. The three in the stands cheer. It was the last event. Her all around score depended on these vaults.

When she does her finishing salute a second time, she knows that it was even better than the last. She looks over to her family and gives them a smile, wanting nothing more than to run over to them, but she knows she can’t, they were too far away.

Her score takes a while to come up on the screen, which could either be a bad or good thing. The Karev’s hold their breath in anticipation, Jo stroking her baby bump with one hand, while holding Alex’s with the other. Even Aubryella was on the edge of her seat, well, more like the edge of her dad’s lap. Her hair was no longer down, but in a braided bun similar to her sisters, since she insisted that she wanted to look just like her. Alex was thankful Jo had packed extra hair ties in not just Dylan’s bag, but also her purse.

A series of loud cheers come from this section as they see their daughter’s score. A 9.800, a personal best.

…

“And now, your vault state champion in the eight to nine year old category with a score of 9.800 is… Dylan Karev!” The announcer cheers as the little brunette makes her way up to the first place podium, an abundance of applause coming from the crowd. A gold medal is placed around her neck by an assistant, who she thanks with a megawatt smile.

“These are your 2029 vault state champions, gymnasts salute.” the announcer says, causing all the girls to raise their arms to the position, all the families in the crowd taking photos of their daughters. Jo, Alex, and Aubryella cheer the loudest, more than proud of Dylan.

As awards went on, more categories were called.

“Your bar's state champion in the eight to nine year old category with a score of 9.725 is... Dylan Karev!”

“Your beam state champion in the eight to nine year old category with a score of 9.775 is… Dylan Karev!”

“On the floor, in second place with a score of 9.675 is… Dylan Karev!”

“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Your 2029, eight to nine year old all around state champion, with a combined score of 38.975 is… Dylan Karev!” The audience erupted into applause, her parents, her teammates, coaches, and even her teammates parent’s cheering for her. She accepts her fifth medal with a wide smile, hopping down from the podium and back into the crowd. She had just won her ultimate goal, an all around title.

After a few of the older groups were called, it was time for the team awards.

“In first place, with a combined total of 115.575 is… Seattle Gymnastics Academy!” Another first place team award. The team accepts the banner and trophy and poses for photos alongside the second and third place team, proudly showing off their trophy by raising it above their heads.

When she gets down and the awards finish, she runs to her parents, crashing into Alex with a gigantic hug. When she finally lets go, she hugs her mom and sister.

“I’m so proud of you Dyl.” her mom says, touching her cheek affectionately. Gymnastics was her daughter's passion, something she lived and breathed for. Seeing that light in her eyes and that grin was something she would never get tired of.

Aubryella hugs her big sister’s legs, “good job Tissy.” The name came from when the tiny blonde was younger and couldn’t say ‘Sissy’, and had stuck to it ever since.

The family of four makes their way out of the convention center, the drive back to their house was peaceful, the limited hours of sleep they got the night before catching up to them. They all crash onto their respective beds, the girls in their rooms and Jo and Alex in their’s.

Alex runs a hand through his wife’s hair, his other tracing circles on her baby bump, feeling the little life inside of her kick like a crazy person.

They stay like that for a while, savoring the quiet. With two kids in the house, it was a major rarity these days. Jo hums, nuzzling into his embrace. “I love you.” she murmurs into his shirt, on the verge of sleep. He reaches down and places a small kiss on the top of her head.

“I love you too.”

31 notes · View notes

imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

Note

Hello! I just finished the show after postponing it in fear it was that bad the critics said, and oh god there were nice reviews compared to what I saw. BUT really it came to my mind how would you would’ve wanted it to end, like in general for all the characters. I personally hated the writers guy for the the whole jj love confession yuck Ps- thanks for your writing it has keep me sane during this quarantine times <3

Whew, Lordy. I have so many thoughts I wanted to respond to this on it’s own. The short answer is in my taglines for the characters, which would probably go something like this:

Rossi finally started taking all of his vacation days, plus a little extra, until he finally decided to retire… again. It lasted about two weeks before he signed on as a part-time consultant.

Emily continues to serve as Unit Chief of the BAU, but now with a wife and son waiting at home. Of all the roles she had to act in her life, she found Chief, wife, and mother by far the most rewarding.

JJ left the BAU after several years and has dedicated her life to consulting work for non profits and government agencies serving and protecting children displaced from traumatic events.

Spencer continued to go to school in both a professor and student capacity. He fell in love with both the opportunity to teach, as well as his partner. The day his first child arrived, he retired with Rossi, although he only made it one hour before he returned as a part-time consultant.

Tara is busy with her work at the BAU, fixing up her antique luxury cars like her father taught her, and continuing to learn more languages. Under her guidance, the BAU is able to schedule more interviews with serial killers, which she uses to regularly publish research articles.

Luke and Penelope continue to see each other with no rush for the finish line. Together, the two volunteer at animal shelters to pair animals with veterans and other victims of trauma. He also continues his recreational boxing career, although his girlfriend has to watch with her hands over her eyes.

Penelope continues to be the bright backbone of the environmental research firm she works for, but the BAU couldn’t get rid of her that easily. Between the constant virtual and in-person visits, it’s almost like she never left.

Matt finally finished and publishes the “Simmon Stories,” and he spends his annual leave on a book tour with Rossi that mostly consists of sight-seeing with his family.

Seaver was invited back to the team after making a name for herself in the Domestic Trafficking Task Force. She is no longer a ‘probationary’ agent.

Elle and Kate, however, do not return to the BAU. Instead, the two women establish a nonprofit that focuses on providing long-term care and support to victims of sex crimes. In their free time, the pair also teaches extensive self-defense programs.

Blake continues to be a full-time professor in Boston, although she is often joined at work by her adopted daughter, who happens to share both a name and an affinity for learning with her former coworker.

Hotch returned to Fredericksburg to be closer to friends and family again, and has stayed very close with the semi-retired Rossi.

Morgan had another son, who inspired him to establish a community center in the Fredericksburg area for at-risk youth. Him and his wife regularly foster teenagers and help them find their way after high school.

The long answer, starting from Truth or Dare… If the writers really wanted to do Truth or Dare, it could have gone one of two ways:

(Preferred, the way I would write it) It should have been Emily and JJ.

I never understood the fact that the unsub cared that JJ liked Spencer. He… doesn’t know them. Why would have cared? As far as he knows, the two of them were single or married to each other. He has no reason to believe that was a taboo at all.

Emily and JJ would make sense, as not only are they both women, but Emily is her boss. As much as I hate forced coming out stories, I think it would have made infinitely more sense.

(Alternatively) Either end with JJ dying (I really wouldn’t want this, but it is better than what they wrote) or JJ admitting that it was a lie.

JJ would end up having closure with the scene, reuniting with Will, and being happy.

This means Rossi’s wedding wouldn’t have been ruined by the awkward shitshow that happened. Him and Krystall would be happy. No more trauma would happen to Rossi, and he would decide that he enjoyed living the quiet life sometimes. Eventually, he would shift into a part-time consulting position.

As for Spencer’s ending, without the weird JJ bullshit, he would spend his time going to therapy about his mother and the HEAPS OF OTHER TRAUMA. I’d also cut Max’s entire storyline because it was stupid as shit. I would have Spencer spend that time, instead, dealing with his repressed trauma surrounding women.

He would work through his tendency to base his worth and purpose on the women in his life. Someone would FINALLY tell him that Maeve wasn’t his soulmate and he was idealizing the SHIT out of her, and that he is allowed to move on. He would get closure from Cat and recognize that they both played into each other, but that he also couldn’t base his life on her, either. I would want the story to end with him having hope for a future where he can be happy on his own.

From that point on, most of the stuff I would do would be related to wrapping up character’s lives. Emily would find love that was unrelated to work. Tara would focus more on publishing research and moving to eventually take Emily’s position one day. Luke and Garcia would have started flirting more openly and building a relationship way earlier (cut the girlfriend who’s name I literally don’t even remember). Matt would continue being an adorable happy bean. They did him well. I know they couldn’t bring Morgan or Hotch back, but I would have loved to hear about them, as well as Elle, Seaver, Kate, and Blake.

Basically, I would have fleshed out the ideas I listed in their taglines. I think the BAU is the kind of job you do for a long time, but eventually grow out of. I think it makes sense most of them would end up leaving or switching to part-time, especially those who showed extreme trauma responses to certain situations or had a robust family life.

I’m sure I have more thoughts, but I’ve talked for long enough, lmao!

#Criminal Minds #s15 spoilers #alternate ending #s14 spoilers

52 notes · View notes

2manyfandoms2count · 3 years

Text

You can count on me (I will be there for you)

Hi, I’m Elle, and I have absolutely no idea how you can hack into a computer beyond the usual *typing sounds* “I’m in” you see in movies. I have therefore decided to leave Max and Markov do their thing backstage while I focus on a little mother-son moment (which there’ll be more of later, of course). Enjoy! xx

Also, small warning: there’s swearing on the last line. I think it’s justified.

---

Chapter 7

Ladybug shivers as they step out of the Voyage portal. Chat Noir pinpointed a blind spot area in a corner of the Mansion’s lobby from which they could hack into the house’s elaborate security system, and Max managed to get all three of them in exactly the right place. Apparently Gabriel Agreste didn't think much could happen beside the grand staircase; remembering the time she'd had to transform there, the spotted lady thinks it's just as well.

While her travel companions huddle around Max’s computer to deactivate the cameras, she takes a look around the space, making sure to stay within the boundaries Chat Noir indicated. How Adrien managed to grow up into the warm and vibrant person he is, while living in this austere place will always be beyond her. Whoever thought that displaying a giant mourning painting in an already colourless room was a good idea clearly doesn’t live here. She supposes it could be alright, were the place a museum, but as a house? It doesn’t help the large volumes feel homey in the least.

“Alright, cameras are looped, we can move around now.” Pegasus closes his computer and stands a little taller. “So, what exactly are we looking for, and how should we go about it?”

“Physically, purple butterfly-themed stationary, and anything that could compromise Ladybug or suggest a tie with Hawkmoth,” Chat Noir lists. “Even though I think we have a better chance of finding the latter two on a protected file. It’s not like my- Mr Agreste to leave things lying around in the open.”

Ladybug nods along. “Where do you think we’re most likely to find those?”

“My best guess would be Gabriel’s atelier, and Nathalie’s room. She’s been keeping quite a lot of paperwork there, since her illness a couple of years ago.” Her partner shrugs. “And I think anything numerical would definitely be on Gabriel’s computer.”

“If that's okay, I think I'll try to access the data from Adrien’s computer, if he still has it in his room? I seem to recall seeing some links last time we connected to it, and there’ll probably be less security to bypass.” Max suggests.

“And less risk of leaving fingerprints, or anything that could make Gabriel suspect anything was touched during his absence.” Chat Noir muses. “Good call, Max. How about you go to Adrien’s room with Markov, LB, you go to Nathalie’s room, and I check the study?”

“Sounds good to me.” Ladybug smiles.

“Perfect.” Pegasus nods. “Should I detransform?”

“Maybe that would be wise. Let’s give Kaalki some time to recharge so we’re good to go later on.” She nods, and hands him a box of macarons she managed to ‘steal’ before they left. It’s not the Kwami’s favourite food, but it will have to do.

Chat Noir watches the both of them run up the stairs and separate at the top, smiling as Ladybug’s newest costume addition flutters with her movements. Tikki must have really liked the veil for it to stick through the transformation. It looks good, and it’s a good reminder that they don’t have all the time in the world.

He takes a deep breath and opens the double doors that lead to his father’s study.

The room hasn’t changed over the years. Some designers, Marinette included, like to sprawl their ideas out in giant mood boards, pictures, sketches and fabric swatches gradually invading the walls as their collection takes shape. Gabriel Agreste isn’t one of these people. The decoration is as stark as ever, despite an upcoming fashion show, pictures of Adrien pulled up from different ads, and marble statues seemingly being the only personal touches. The only real spark of colour is his mother’s golden portrait, at the far end of the room. He often wondered why it hung there, and not on the mantelpiece, or anywhere else in the room where his father could see it while working. He can’t see her not being a source of inspiration.

He walks up to the painting and swivels it to reveal the family safe. It seems like a good place to start.

“Plagg, claws in.” He whispers.

The dark figure swirls out of his ring and spins around a little, taking in his surroundings.

“Gotta say, kiddo, I’m glad that we’re moving out soon. This place always gave me the creeps.” Plagg floats up to the pictures lining the walls. Adrien can’t tell if there’s a hint of nostalgia in his eyes as he takes in the shots of him that were taken around the time they met.

“I thought the Spirit of Destruction knew no fear?” His lips curl into an amused smile.

“I didn’t say I was afraid, just that I didn’t like this place.” Plagg refrains himself very hard from knocking over, or straight up Cataclysming, Adrien can't tell, a frame showing a very proud Gabriel, probably at the end of one of his first fashion shows. “Anyway, what are you doing, detransforming in the middle of you top secret mission? What if your lover walks in?” He asks mischievously.

“She’s my wife now, actually.” Adrien grins, still giddy at the thought.

“I know, just wanted to give you the satisfaction of saying it out loud.” He grins back. “Consider it your wedding present from me; you get to be sappy for the day. Not too much, though, or I’ll end up retching on your father’s stuff.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it won’t come to that. I just need you to open the safe, like you did that one time? Then I’ll retransform, on the off-chance Marinette does decide to come and check on things.”

“No problem.” Plagg zoomed through the heavy metal door, and was back out again a couple of minutes later. “Whew- I don't know if it’s because I’m getting old, but it felt a lot easier the first time around. Got a little Camembert for my troubles?” He pouted.

“That’s weird.” Adrien frowns as he pulls out the cheese box from his suit pocket and tosses him a piece.

“Eh, I wouldn’t sweat it. It was, what? Ten years ago? More? I lose count.” The Kwami catches the cheese and gobbles it down. “Anyway, technologies have evolved since then, and you know your progenitor likes to keep up.”

“True.” Adrien replies pensively as they take a look at the contents of the safe.

The contents looks pretty much identical to the last time they’d broken into it. The same books are stored on the lower shelves, with a couple wads of cash. At eye level, the book about Tibet still sits next to his mother’s picture. The Miraculous Grimoire that had gotten him into so much trouble is gone, he notices, but he doesn't worry too much about it. It could just mean that his father is using it for his next collection.

There’s something else missing, though. He seems to recall that there was a flash of colour around his mother, but maybe he’s remembering it wrong.

He shakes his head to clear the feeling that it's something important as he closes the safe, and calls his transformation phrase.

Swivelling the panel back to its original place, he sighs as he takes in Emilie’s portrait once more.

“Oh, Maman, I wish you were still here.” He says softly. It breaks his heart, but the more time passes, the less he can remember her face. Sure, the paintings and pictures remind him of what she looked like, but picturing her spontaneously in his memories is becoming a struggle.

It’s actually this painting he generally sees when he thinks about her. It’s vibrant, warm, solar, just like she was. He wishes she could have met Marinette. She would have adored her, he knows. She would’ve treated her like the daughter she never had.

“If only you could’ve seen us today. I’m sure you would’ve been a much easier guest than Father’s turning out to be.” He lets out a nervous chuckle, and gently touches the painting’s surface. It’s something his father always forbade him from doing, but he isn’t there, it’s his wedding day, and one of the most important people in his life isn't there to celebrate with him.

As he slides his fingers over the elaborate dress, wondering if she ever wore one like this, and if so, if his father kept it, he notices that there are some spots which are smooth, almost cool, in the midst of the paint asperities. He frowns, and touches them again; they’re definitely metal, glinting a little in the afternoon light.

Tentatively, he pushes down on one of them. The button sinks below the surface, but nothing happens.

He tries pressing on two groups, located approximately at eye level. This time, there’s a slight whirring sound, and he feels the ground move under his feet.

He’s too stunned to jump out when he starts to descend below ground level, his hands automatically slamming to the sides of the tube, eyes widening in panic.

“Chat Noir!” Ladybug and Max burst through the doors just before he is completely engulfed by darkness. She’s pale as she watches him disappear, clutching purple envelopes and something else in her hands. Max doesn’t look too good either.

“Shit” is the last thing he hears as he travels to whatever dark corner of the Mansion the tube is taking him to. He's not sure who said it, but something tells him they all did.

#angst is coming #but also the happy ending #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #mlb #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #ladynoir #adrienette #adrinette #fake wedding #one-sided reveal #aged-up characters #max kante #inspired by fanart #elle writes #yccom

11 notes · View notes

musictrash0426 · 3 years

Text

Killing Stalking

My name is Elizabeth Stevens, I’m 17 and it is one month until my senior year of highschool. Most of my friends are going crazy trying to plan out their futures. However, unlike my peers, I've known what I've wanted to be since I was 13. I want to be an artist, my parents fully support my decision which is nice. They have bought me plenty of professional quality supplies since my 14th birthday when they saw all the hard work I put into my art. I've even started selling prints of my work on Redbubble. I also have quite the following

Overall I live in a pretty good neighbourhood. It has great people, including my best friend Kai who lives a few streets over. My family and I live in a pretty large house. It has three floors which is a little big if you ask me. There are only the three of us living here, me, mom and dad. But with that being said my parents gave me the entire basement on my 13th birthday. They also helped me set up every room down here the way I want. Not much has changed, even after being down here for four years..

When you come down the stairs you are greeted with my lounge area. Where we have a couch, tv, game system, large bookshelf and some other things. Next we have my room where I have a fairly minimal look. I have a large bed, large dresser, a walk in closet, and my vanity where I do my makeup. The next room is probably my favourite; it's my art studio. Like I said my parents have supported me over the years so I have a lot of supplies. Honestly I couldn't be more grateful for them and everything they’ve given me. I have a full easel, desk, and a lot of supplies, markers, colour pencils, paint (water, acrylic, oils), alongside my new drawing tablet.

This morning when I got up, I went to my art room and started sketching. I've gotten into this habit as it helps me get into a creative mindset, along with getting into drawing for the day. Once I stop doodling I start to make a list of the things of supplies I had recently run out of.

As I was about to leave, I asked my parents if they needed anything. My mom told me to get her a drink from Starbucks on my way home as she knows I’m planning on going there anyways.

I get into my car and drive to the art store. Luckily this store is only 10 minutes from my house. I walk into the store and look for the supplies on my list. While going through the store, grabbing the things I needed, I decided I also wanted to try out a new paint while I was here. I got some winsor and newton acrylics in red, blue,yellow, sienna, black and white along with some mixing pallets. I also got a canvas as I want to make a large painting later.

My mom texted me asking if I could pick up milk and eggs. So I ran into the supermarket and picked up the few things she wanted. I then went to starbucks, got both my parents, and myself a few drinks, and went home.

I got out of my car balancing shopping bags on my arm,the drinks in my hand and I went inside. I put the milk and eggs in the fridge, gave my parents their drinks and made my way down to my art room to put my supplies away. I started brainstorming ideas of what I want to paint and I finally came up with a concept I liked. I open my sketchbook and I start to draw the rough copy of the picture before blowing it up on the canvas and painting it. While I am drawing out the picture I'm watching lavendertowne’s creepypastas series as it's one of my favourites on youtube.

In my concentration, I lose track of time, and before I know it it’s 4:30 pm. My mom walks to my art room saying her and dad are going on a trip for the next week. So I get the house to myself, which is cool. I've been home alone before. “Elle, you can have Kai over to stay for the week if you want.” mom said. “Also I transferred some money into your account so you and Kai can just order some food if you guys get hungry.”

“Thanks mom,” I say “ I love you.”

“Love you too sweetie.”

I walk upstairs with mom as her and dad are about to leave. I hug them goodbye and tell them to have a safe trip.

I decide to take mom up with her offer and invite Kai over for the week. Lately I haven't been wanting to be home alone. So I called him and he said he’d be over in 10 minutes.

I grab a glass of water and wait, before I knew it there was a knock on my door and it was Kai. I give him a hug and he smiles.

“It’s like we haven't seen each other in a while.” Kai teases me. We saw each other yesterday and I called him late last night because I just wanted to talk to someone.

Kai has literally been my best friend since we were both in diapers. Our moms grew up together so it was bound to happen that we would too. He’s my biggest support system, he’s one of the only people who know how I got into art. I watched a lot of anime growing up, I still do, and the art style is what got me into wanting to be an artist.

“Have you started a new piece yet?” Kai asked

“Yeah I have! And I just finished the rough copy” I say.

“Can I watch you work on it?”

“Of course you can silly,” I say with a grin. I show Kai the canvas to let him gauge what I’ve been working on.

“It looks really good!” But his face saddens a little bit. “Are you doing alright?” I give him a confused look. “You tend to draw horror pieces when you're trying to get yourself into a better place.”

Horror pieces are my favourite to draw. I don't have an explanation for it, but I've always liked them. Maybe it's because I loved horror shows growing up but who knows. I look back at all my works and Kai’s right. I tend to do these pictures more when I'm not the best headspace.

“You really know me, at this point it's mostly subconscious” I laugh “I was also watching creepypasta videos so the idea could have come from that. Anyways, what do you think about it so far?”

“I love it of course!” Kai says

I work on transferring it onto the canvas and after about 2 hours the pencil sketch is laid out. Once that's done we decide to go to the movies. We went and saw whatever Kai wanted to see. He picked some rom com which I wasn't mad at as I enjoy these types of movies.

After the movie we went to a sushi place for dinner. I wasn't that hungry so I got the rest of mine to go. Then we went to the supermarket to get some candy and pop for tonight. We decided that we were going to stay up quite a bit of the night so I can work on my artwork and we can just talk about life and stuff. We pull into the parking lot and head inside. This store is open 24/7 so we have plenty of time to get our stuff, but still it is 11:30pm and something makes the air feel very eerie tonight.

After walking around the store Kai and I look at eachother and we both feel like something is off because this uneasy feeling Kai and I hurry up and grab what we wanted. Kai and I decided to pick up Sour Patch Kids, gummy bears and some chips. We then went into the drink aisle where I picked out Dr. Pepper, and ginger ale. Kai picked out diet Pepsi and cream soda. We picked out the four flavours that we both love. We then decided to get a tub of cotton candy ice cream. As we were turning there was this lady who crashed her cart into ours as we were on our way to check out. I looked up and noticed that it was the same lady that had been in each aisle with us, which honestly didn’t make any sense as we just went to the isles we needed.

We check out of the store and head back to the car. After putting everything in the trunk of the car, I look up and see the same woman still there. What the fuck?

“Hey Kai, can you take the cart back please?” He nods and I get into the car and lock it.

I hear a knock that startles me and I look up. It was just Kai. I unlocked the door and he got in. “Wanna tell me why you had the door locked Elle?”

I look over and the woman gets into the car next to us oh great my horror brain made something out of nothing. She was also probably having a movie night with some of her friends.

“It’s nothing Kai, I think I’m just psyching myself out.”

“Okay.” With that we drove back to my place right in the nic of time too as it just started to rain. We shut off all the lights and lock the doors and windows upstairs. We head back down to my studio and I set up everything to begin painting.

I wanted something in the background while I was working so I put on Another. Kai and I have already watched it a few times but we didn’t want to start something new since I wouldn't be able to give it my full attention. Also it's a horror anime so it will put me in the mood for my painting.

I looked down at the outline I drew; it was a girl who had gone psychotic and had a knife in her hand. My plan is to add blood to her once the painting is completely dry, but first I start by painting the eyes. When they are finished they look very dead and already mentally gone inside. I take a break and lay my head on Kai’s shoulder.

“Tired?” he asks me.

“No, I just wanted a break.” We continue watching the anime after two more episodes. There was a bang of thunder and a flash of lightning, I looked out the small window and saw what looked to be a figure of a woman. I looked back to get a better look but she's gone. I must just be seeing things.

I brush it off then get back to my painting. About an hour later I finish painting the skin and I see another flash out of the corner of my eye. I think to myself how odd that is because there was no thunder. I brushed it off as the volume of the show probably just covered the sound. I decided to be done with painting for the night, so we moved out into the lounge area and continued watching Another. There was another flash and in the window we saw her. The woman from the supermarket was in my window.We were going to call the cops then with another flash she's gone.

We decided we couldn't take anymore horror tonight so we put on Ouran Highschool Host Club a few hours later we were on the episode where a character named Tamaki was trying to figure out his friend Haruhi’s biggest fear. When we see a flash of lightning in the episode, it also flashes here, and we see her silhouette again and she vanishes with the lightning once more.

Creeped out we went to my room and lay in bed, I cuddled into Kai because honestly I was shaking and needed comfort.

In the morning Kai and I woke up to banging on the door. I checked the time and it was 8:30 am. We got up and checked no one was there, but there was an envelope that said Elizabeth Steevens and Kai Kalua I brought it inside.

“Ummmm Kai?”

“Yeah?”

I turn the envelope to show him. We were both scared and didn't know what to do. We opened it and there were at least 40 photos of us, starting from when we were coming out of the movie. There were photos of us at the sushi restaurant, the grocery store, and the worst ones of all the ones that were taken looking into my house. Ones of us in my art room, in the lounge, and ones of us asleep in my bed.

Panicked, I call the police and they tell us to come down to the station. Since neither of us knew the woman's name they said there was nothing they could really do for us except to have us tell them if something else happens. Some help they were, I thought.

Kai and I went back to my studio and I continued working on the piece. This time our show of choice was Miria Nikki. As I was painting the hair I saw another flash and considering what happened last night we decided to go to my parents office and check the security cameras and lo and behold she's there on the property.

“Kai whats that in her hand?”

“I don’t know,”

I looked closer and saw that it was a knife. We once again called the police and this time they came, but hearing a car must have scared her. They came inside and asked to watch the cameras with us. Only this time she was at the back door that's connected to the kitchen and of course I happened to leave it unlocked…

“Oh Elizabeth, Kai, come out come out wherever you are..” The woman sang out menacingly. Her voice rang through the house loudly causing me to look to one of the officers for advice

He nods for Kai and I walk out.

“There you two are,”

“Do we know you?” I ask, genuinely confused as to who this woman is.

“Yeah I don't know who you are either.” Kai said just as confused.

“I'm Chloe. I am in your art class.” She says.

We were both confused; we don’t remember having ever seen her before. Our art class had six people in it, us two, three other of our friends and some weird girl who doesn't talk to anybody.

“... you’re the weird girl in our class aren’t you?” Kai questions.

“What did you call me?” She asked with a defensive tone.

“What did you expect him to say, you literally refuse to talk to us. Then whenever the teacher praises my work, you get angry. Besides who goes around taking pictures of people in their own house! That is fucking creepy.” I say

“I get angry because you always get the spotlight! Give someone else a turn.”

“Elle gets the attention because she actually shows her artwork, you just sit in the back of the class and do nothing. If you want attention why ignore us when we try talking to you? What is your problem? And why do you have a knife?” You can tell Kai is starting to lose patience with the situation, as his questions get increasingly aggressive.

“So I can get rid of my competition,” she smiles sweetly.

“What competition? There is no competition Chloe” I ask

“What competition? I have liked Kai forever!” Chloe says frustrated, slightly getting closer to the two of them with the knife.

Kai puts one hand out towards her, while using the other to pull me back with him a couple steps, creating distance between her and I before he speaks again.“I will never like you. Besides there is only one person I like, and hate to break it to sweetheart but it's not you.” This makes me curious who Kai was referring to.

“Then who is it then?” she asks angrily

That's when Kai kissed me. I kissed him back, albeit slightly flustered. This caused Chloe to become enraged, she came towards us with the knife and that's when the cops came out and told her to put the knife down. She complied and dropped the knife as she didn’t realize that the police were here.

One of the two cops took her away as the other came and told us they were going to hold her and do a mental assessment on her. He also checked to see if Kai and I were okay. After we tell him we are he also leaves, leaving Kai and I alone to deal with this new revelation.

“Do you actually like me? Or were you just saying that to get her to stop…” anxious about the answer since I have liked Kai for a while, but didn't want to make things awkward with him.

“Elle I have liked you for a while but I didn't want to lose you.” Kai says as he pulls me closer to him.

I don't know how to respond, all my mind was telling me was ‘kiss him’. I pull him in by his shoulders to another kiss, quickly dispelling doubts either of us had. Kai placed his hands on my waist and melted into it. He pulls away and leans his forehead against mine, just holding me. For the first time in a few days I felt safe.

“Kai?” I ask in a quiet tone almost a whisper.

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“Can you stay while my parents are gone?” I don’t feel safe enough to be home alone, and you wanted to stay in the comfort that he gave you.

“Of course I can angel.”

#anime #alone #creepy #artist #high school #home alone #horror #oneshot #senior #stalker

14 notes · View notes

omgjasminesimone · 4 years

Text

Juvenile Delinquents Epilogue

Logan x MC

Word Count: ~2400

For MC day of @rodappreciationweek, an MC focused epilogue to my story Juvenile Delinquents, where Logan and Ellie give their daughter up for adoption.

Ellie’s half hearted watching of a documentary is interrupted by her ringing phone. Ellie glances at the phone as it vibrates on her coffee table. She doesn’t recognize the number, but it’s an LA area code.

She hesitantly picks up. “Hello?”

“Ellie Wheeler?” The caller asks.

“...who is this?” Ellie counters. She doesn’t use that name anymore. Not since an ex at Langston who’d she’d confided in hacked her juvenile criminal record and publically released it after their messy break up.

“Oh, right. What did the investigator say... Elle Gordon was it now?” The caller continues.

Ellie frowns, turning off the tv. “Again, who is this?”

“Oh I’m sorry. I’m going about this all wrong. It’s Chet, Chet Johnson?” He says, as if she might have forgotten. As if choosing him and his husband to raise her and Logan’s daughter might have slipped her mind.

Ellie thinks about her daughter every day. Little things will stir up her memories, like seeing a yellow car (she’s pretty sure they conceived their daughter in Logan’s beloved car), or hearing a baby cry. Ellie tries not to dwell in the memories, because it’s just too painful.

“Chet. Wow. It’s been a while.” 5 years, to be exact. Ellie furrows her brow. “Is something wrong?” Maybe her daughter needs a kidney or something? She can’t imagine why else he’d be calling.

“No, no.” Chet is quick to reassure. “Nothing is wrong. It’s something good, actually. At least, I think it’s something good. Dahlia, we explained adoption to her, and she wants to meet her birth parents.”

Tears immediately well in Ellie’s eyes. “Dahlia, that’s pretty.” Ellie says softly. She and Logan never picked out a name, knowing they weren’t going to get to keep their baby.

“She’s amazing. She’s made us so happy. We’re so grateful to you. And to Logan. You gave us such a gift.” Chet gets a little choked up, clearing his throat at the end.

“I’d...I’d love to meet her. If that’s something you and Frank are comfortable with.”

“We’re very comfortable! We weren’t sure what your thoughts on this were going to be, we considered it might be too painful, that maybe you wanted a clean break. That’s why we didn’t reach out after the birth.”

“I think back then, it might have been too much, the loss still too fresh. But now, I think I can handle it. I’d really like to meet her.” Ellie reassures.

“That’s good to hear. Especially after all the effort that went into tracking you down! You and Logan are both difficult people to reach.” Chet replies.

Ellie swallows. “...you talked to Logan?”

“I did. He wants to meet Dahlia too. Frank and I were thinking we could all meet up at the park.”

Ellie doesn’t say anything to that, so Chet continues.

“...that’s not a problem, is it? Did something happen between you two?” He questions.

Ellie hasn’t spoken to Logan in almost 4 years. There was no big dramatic break up, their relationship just seemed to slowly fizzle out with them living on opposite sides of the country. She’d been busy with school, and he’d been busy with work, and they’d slowly run out of things to talk about over the phone. They never talked about their daughter, that topic too painful to broach just to have something meaningful to say to one another.

Ellie shakes herself out of her reverie. “No, that’s absolutely fine. Makes sense to do both the introductions at once.” She assures.

“Great! I’ll text you the details once we have all the logistics worked out.”

...

They schedule their meet up for a month later. Ellie flies home to LA from Dallas, where she’s working in her first post graduation position. The whole flight, she’s too anxious to eat anything. What if Dahlia doesn’t like her? What if they just sit there in awkward silence? Ellie doesn’t have a lot of experience with small children.

Despite her apprehension, Ellie is excited. She’s always wondered what Dahlia would be like, what she looks like now, if she’d be able to spot any of Logan’s mannerisms in their daughter.

If she’s being honest with herself, some of her apprehension might have to do with being reunited with her first love. Things just feel...unfinished between them. She almost wishes they’d had some big fight, just so she had some closure. But he just slowly...stopped calling. And she didn’t call him either. And then she just assumed they were done, and started dating someone else, all without ever speaking to Logan about it.

She doesn’t sleep much the night before the big reunion. Ellie is staying with her dad, who didn’t help her anxiety when he revealed he thought meeting Dahlia might be too much for her, so her stomach is in knots when she arrives at the park 30 minutes before the scheduled meeting time.

Ellie parks her dad’s car and makes her way over to an unoccupied bench. She takes deep breaths to try to calm herself down.

But then, Ellie feels like she stops breathing completely when spots a familiar yellow Devore pulling into the parking lot.

He steps out of the car. He’s just as beautiful as he was 5 years ago when she left him at that train station.

His hair is cut shorter, but it’s still long. He’s wearing the sparkplug necklace, like always. He spots her, freezing for a moment, before offering her a somewhat hesitant smile and making his way over.

She stands up as he approaches. They stand in front of each other awkwardly for a moment, before Ellie reaches out for a hug.

Logan squeezes her tight, resting his head on top of her’s and subtly breathing in her familiar coconut shampoo. “Eleanor Wheeler, it’s been a minute.” He greets.

It’s several long moments before Ellie pulls away, looking up at him. She doesn’t bother to correct him on her name change. “Logan, it’s good to see you.”

The former lovers sit down on the bench, engulfed in an uncomfortable silence reminiscent of their last few phone calls.

But this time, Logan actually broaches that subject he always avoided so as not to upset her. “Are you as nervous as I am about meeting Dahlia?”

Ellie smiles, nodding. “I feel like I have butterflies in my stomach.” She admits.

“Yeah, it’s kind of crazy. I’ve dreamed about this moment for so long, and now it’s actually happening.” Logan continues.

“Do you...think she’ll want to know why we didn’t keep her?” Ellie questions.

Logan leans back, looking thoughtful. “...no. She’s only five. I think by the time she’s old enough to wonder, she’ll already know the reason. We just weren’t in a position to give her what she deserves.”

Ellie nods. “We were too young. We did what was right for her. I know that. And yet, when I was at Langston, I still sometimes wondered if it was worth it.”

Logan furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I wanted what was best for her, but I also wanted what was best for me. I’d put so much work into Langston, I thought it was the end all be all, and I knew I couldn’t do it with a baby. But then, when I got there, college wasn’t really the amazing experience I thought it was going to be. It didn’t seem.....worth not having her.” Ellie admits.

Logan sighs, running a hand through his hair. Ellie can’t help but quirk a small smile that he still has that familiar nervous tell. “Ellie....” he trails off, seemingly not knowing what to say to that.

“Well, how was it for you? Not having your daughter?” Ellie asks.

Logan lets out a humorless laugh, gazing down at the sidewalk. “I...I didn’t deserve to have her. I still don’t Ellie. I never left the gang, I never went back to school, or did any of the things I promised you I would if you let us keep the baby. I’m just a fuck up you were smart to get away from.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that Logan.” Ellie pleads, wrapping her arms around him in a comforting loose hug. “You can still do all those things.” She assures him. “And I know you would have, if you’d had your daughter to motivate you.”

Logan returns her hug, burying his face into her hair. Ellie feels tears welling in her eyes. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed being in his arms.

She feels Logan expel a little breath, and then he murmurs. “They’re here.”

Ellie pulls herself away from his chest, looking to the parking lot where Chet and Frank are getting Dahlia out of her car seat.

The little girl takes both of her dads’ hands as they make their way over, all smiling merrily.

Ellie and Logan both rush to their feet, meeting the family halfway.

Chet smiles and hugs both of them, Frank following suit. Chet then crouches to Dahlia’s level. “Baby, these are your birth parents, Ellie and Logan.”

Dahlia grins up at them. “I grew in your belly!” She announces giddily to Ellie.

Ellie laughs, dropping to a crouch so they can be at eye level. “You did. You had quite the kick!”

Dahlia’s grin widens, and then she turns her attention to Logan. “I like your hair! It’s the same color as mine!” She compliments.

Logan crouches too, offering Dahlia a shy smile. “I think you got my eyes too, but that’s definitely Ellie’s nose.” He playfully bops their daughter’s nose, and Dahlia giggles.

Ellie sees some of Logan in Dahlia’s facial features, but their little girl definitely resembles Ellie more. It’s like looking in a time warped mirror.

The five of them take a seat at a picnic table and make small talk. Ellie can barely pay attention to anyone besides Dahlia though. Genetics are so crazy. Dahlia wrinkles her nose like Ellie does when she seemingly disagrees with something that was said. And her smile starts in the corner and then grows, just like Logan’s.

Eventually, Dahlia grasps Ellie’s hand and drags her over to the swings. “Will you push me Ellie?” The little girls asks sweetly, and Ellie is quick to do as requested.

“Logan! Logan look!” Dahlia calls as she pumps her little legs. Dahlia has warmed to them so quickly. She’s clearly a very friendly and happy little girl. Ellie feels a little silly for spending so many hours fretting over Dahlia not liking her.

Logan makes his way over, taking over pushing duty.

“Daddies, look! Look!” Dahlia calls out when with Logan’s assistance, she gets higher than ever before.

“Alright Logan, put a little less power behind those pushes please!” Frank calls a little worriedly.

“Oops, my bad!” Logan calls back, gripping the chains to stop Dahlia’s momentum.

Dahlia pouts as she looks up at him. “But I like going high Logan.” She whines.

“No can do kiddo, you heard your dad.” Logan returns, pushing much softer this time.

Ellie smiles as she watches the two of them. It kind of hurts though. It’s so easy to envision a world where they could be mommy and daddy instead of Ellie and Logan.

Hours fly by, and before they know it the sun is setting and the park is getting ready to close.

Ellie and Dahlia walk back to Chet and Frank’s car hand in hand, the men all trailing slightly behind them chatting.

Ellie has to keep all her focus on not crying as she faces saying goodbye to her daughter, again.

“Sweetie, wasn’t there something you wanted to say to Logan and Ellie?” Frank prompts.

Dahlia nods enthusiastically, and motions for them to come close. They both crouch, and Dahlia wraps her arms around both their necks in a warm hug. “Thank you for my daddies!” She chimes sweetly.

“And thank you for Dahlia.” Chet starts choking up again, and Frank wraps an arm around him, placing a kiss to his husband’s cheek. “We really cannot express how grateful we are to the two of you.” Chet elaborates, fighting back tears.

Ellie kisses Dahlia’s chubby cheek before freeing herself from her daughter to wrap both Chet and Frank in a big hug. “Thank you for making her so happy and loving her so much.” She murmurs in their ears.

Logan stands, holding Dahlia with one arm and reaching out his free hand to shake hands with Chet, and then Frank. “You guys are amazing parents. You’ve done such a great job with her.”

Chet laughs, wiping at his eyes. “Well, you guys provided us with some pretty great source material.”

Dahlia lets out a big yawn, all the hours of playing clearly wore her out. She reaches for Frank, and Logan passes her over to her dad. She rests her head on Frank’s shoulder, eyes blinking sleepily.

“Well, we should let you get out of here.” Ellie forces herself to say.

“Yeah, we need to start getting home. But this was really great. Would you guys be up for doing this again? Maybe on an annual basis?” Chet offers.

Both Ellie and Logan readily agree.

“Bye Ellie! Bye Logan! See you next year!” Dahlia chimes when she’s strapped into her car seat minutes later, waving at them merrily.

They wave back before Chet closes the door. Chet and Frank hug them both again, saying their goodbyes.

Ellie finally lets the tears fall as the car drives off. Instinctively, she looks to Logan for comfort, burying her face into his chest and crying into his shirt.

Logan wraps his arms around her as he lets her cry it out, gently rubbing her back. “We did the right thing Ellie.”

“I know. But it’s still hard.” She returns, but her tears are starting to subside, calmed by Logan’s gentle embrace.

Ellie eventually pulls herself together, hesitantly letting go of Logan. But she can’t bring herself to say goodbye to him just yet, even though her dad is expecting her home soon.

Luckily, it seems like Logan isn’t ready to say goodbye either. He cups her cheeks, wiping away the last few stubborn tears. “God, I missed you troublemaker.” He admits softly.

“I missed you too.” Ellie returns. And then, she gives into the urge she’s been feeling all day. She wraps her arms around his neck, and captures his lips. She can’t help but let out a happy sigh when his hands tangle into her hair as he kisses her back. For the first time since leaving LA 5 years ago, Ellie feels like she’s home.

...

taglist: @choicesarehard @brightpinkpeppercorn @regina-and-happiness @drakexnadira @flyawayboo @fairydustandsarcasm @alesana45 @maxwellsquidsuit @god-save-the-keen @mrsmckenziesworld @paisleylovergirl @iplaydrake @sinclaire-made-me-sin @choicesgremlin @lovehugsandcandy @desireepow-1986 @blades-of-light-and-shadow @justdani14 @emceesynonymroll @emichelle @badchoicesposts @client-327 @riverrune @liamzigmichael4ever @princessstellaris @mskaneko @anxious-arliah @zaffrenotes @iam-ankita @ohsnapitzlovehacker

#logan x mc #logan rod #ride or die #choices fanfiction #rodaw

48 notes · View notes

consumedkings-archive · 3 years

Note

✦ or ❄ if u like perhaps? 🥺❤️

oh yeah baby i do like!!! i like a lot!!! i’m sorry this got so long, and i hope i did your boy justice!! (❁´◡`❁) also i hope u don’t mind i slapped wes into the world with double the cult activity instead of just the one.......i just love the extra ~drama~

send an ask for our muses to be caught in tropes!

elliot/wes + my muse bandages yours due to an injury + our muses huddle together to stay warm

wes is bleeding.

he’s bleeding, and it’s fucking snowing outside, and nobody ever, ever told elliot she was going to have to haul someone nearly two-times her own height into an abandoned farmhouse, because she would have strongly considered the logistics of punching them in the face.

except well, now, here she was: doing that exact thing.

“fucking christ, you’re heavy,” elliot puffs, shutting the door once boomer has skittered in. her voice comes out hoarse from straining in the cold, but her hands shake because there’s blood on them, and wes only laughs weakly from where he’s sitting at the center of the living room.

“i’ll hop on a diet right away,” he replies. his breath is shallow and the dark spot on his ribs has stopped looking red and looks more black in the growing darkness. “gotta keep my girlish figure, i know.”

“shh--shshshhshsh,” is the incoherent string of shushing that comes out of her as she rifles through the kitchen first and then the adjacent bathroom for a medical kit. the priority, of course, is to stop the bleeding and then get warm, not the other way around.

blissfully, the brunette stays quiet--whether because he’s obediently abiding her shushing or because speaking causes him pain, she doesn’t know and doesn’t care to figure out--and she eventually makes it out into the living room with a first aid kit, nudging wesley into a laying position. he’s since carefully shrugged out of his jacket, leaving it deposited on the floor, and boomer has made a bed out of it.

“now, i’m not a doctor,” elliot begins, pushing his shirt up to look at the hastily-bandaged gun-shot wound. it’s luckily nothing that really punctured; a graze, if anything, but probably still hurts like hell.

“you don’t say?”

“oh, yeah?” elliot cocks a brow upward, undoing the makeshift bandage she’d slapped on him in a hurry, made of ripped fragments of the hem of her shirt. “oh yeah, wes? i’ve got half a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and you wanna mouth off to me right now?”

wes wheezes, the attempt at strangling a laugh so that it doesn’t flex the wounded area that much. “sorry, doctor honeysett.”

“yeah, you’re gonna be when i’m through with you.”

“doesn’t that violate HIPPA or something? i think maybe there’s a rule about--jesus christ, elliot!”

he hisses out the last of it when she douses the wound with peroxide, and she tries not to smile too big. there’s something close to frigid agitation in his eyes, but when he catches sight of her grin, he scoffs under his breath, like maybe he can’t stay that mad at her anyway.

“extenuating circumstances,” she replies finally, cleaning carefully around the wound before drying it and beginning to bandage. “what’s the luck of us getting stranded together twice, deputy beltran, hm? we’ve got one cult out there saying it’s the bend of the world, and another cult saying shit about auras and star charts aligning, so maybe fate is real.”

“maybe,” the brunette grits out between his teeth, “or maybe, they’re fuckin’ nuts.”

she flashes her teeth in a grin. “yeah, could be that too.”

by the time she’s finished bandaging him, shoved two painkillers into his mouth, helped him onto the couch, and started a fire in the rustic fireplace to fend off the cold, elliot thinks she would be happy to sleep anywhere. even on a snowy front porch.

“you gotta get some sleep,” wes slurs patiently from where he’s sprawled on the couch.

“someone’s gotta keep watch over your dumbass.”

“you gotta--honeysett,” he insists. “honey honey, gotta have your beauty sleep.”

she feels a smile fight its way onto her face. “you’re a lot funnier when you’re high on oxy.”

a little sound billows out of him that might be a laugh, or a scoff, or a pleasant blend between both. he squirms behind her, shifting until he’s laying on his good side, boomer curled up on his feet as ell sits with her back against the couch.

“okay,” wes says, breath puffing, and his hand reaches the top of her head, patting her like she’s a kid and not the deputy that just hauled his ass into a cabin and bandaged him up. “okayokayokayokay, honeysett, i’ll get my beauty sleep. need it more’n you, anyway. but it’s cold. c’mon. we already uhhh...” his voice trails off as he loses his thought. “we already double-spooned boomer once.”

it is cold. it feels like the fire is doing nothing to warm her, not even a little bit, so she makes a noncommittal noise and scoots him back against the couch--because she knows that he hates having his back open--and crawls on with him. immediately, his body heat already radiating warmer than the piss-poor fire she’d built.

boomer curls at their feet, content, and wes shifts a little, puffing out a noise of distress when the movement agitates his wound.

ell’s eyes open. “stop squirming. you’re being annoying.”

“hey, ell? hey?”

“uh-huh.”

“fuck you, this couch is tiny.” he murmurs sleepily, without heat. “and--thanks.”

she sighs, closing her eyes again. things will be better in the morning, she thinks, trying to ignore and wipe out the looming threats in her brain. she’ll stay awake, listening, until the sun peeks through the curtains, but maybe if she does it with her eyes closed it’ll feel like resting.

“you’re welcome, beltran.”

#my writing #oc: wesley beltran #ch: elliot honeysett #ask games #writing prompts #thanks again bb i!!! hope u like!!!!

7 notes · View notes

dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 years

Text

What Fresh Hell?: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst, talk of child pornography, talk of sexual abuse with children

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

Billie’s father is seen parking in the driveway, and even from where you’re at, you can feel how angry he is. He turns this whole blue energy of the house into a light purple. Both red and blue mix to create a whole mess of emotions. He’s not right in the head either, but that’s clearly not going to stop him from marching in here. As soon as he does, him and Billie’s mother just go at it.

“I have been calling you all night!” she yells.

“I'm sorry, Marilyn. I turned my phone off.”

“How could you turn your phone off? What if Billie got sick or—we needed you!”

“I said I was sorry!” he groans.

She slaps his arm and gives an angry scoff. She turns away and leaves the room. Thankfully, William stays put to give her time to cool off.

“What's being done to find my daughter?”

“We're assessing that right now,” you answer.

“She's been missing since yesterday! What the hell have you people been doing since then?!”

“Where have you been, Mr. Copeland?” Gideon wonders.

“Me?”

“Where were you all day and all night?”

“I have a cabin in Brandywine Valley,” he says, but that doesn’t tell you where he’s been this entire time.

“The police tried you there.”

“Well, maybe I was out at the time.”

“Billie tried your cell phone yesterday afternoon. You didn’t answer then,” you comment.

“Well, I shut it off sometimes. I like the solitude.”

“You didn't fight your wife for custody of your daughter, but you like being in her life,” Gideon rattles off the facts.

He wants to make him nervous. It’s working.

“I want her to grow up in her home with her friends around. This is the only place she's ever lived.”

“So, you love her very much.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you waste any precious time we have left?” Gideon sighs and cuts to the chase for this is taking too long. “You weren't at your cabin. You weren't at work or with friends. Police didn't call us until a little while ago because they thought your daughter might have been with you—that you might have taken your daughter. Until you can give us a satisfactory accounting of your whereabouts from the time your daughter went missing until—would you help me understand why a devoted father who talks to his daughter every night suddenly turns his phone off and disappears for almost twenty-four hours?”

“I was… busy,” he hesitates.

“It was 1:30 in the afternoon. You called your wife at 11:30 that morning and found out Billie was missing.”

“So?”

“Well, Brandywine Valley is fifteen minutes away. Where were you, Mr. Copeland?”

William knows he’s been caught, so he chooses the right option to tell the truth. He sighs heavily and sits down with a long and tired look on his face.

“I—I was at Sloane Kettering hospital in New York City. Dr. Baylan Mahal is the head of Oncology. You can call him if you want.”

“I will. Did you have a relapse?”

“It's in my lymph nodes now. There's nothing more they can—” he cuts himself off. “Please find my daughter. Find my daughter.”

“Call Sloane Kettering,” Gideon instructs of you.

“Yes sir,” you say, already taking out your phone.

The bad news is that Sloane Kettering vouched for William, confirming he was with them the entire day with proof through cameras as well as the sign in sheet. If he didn’t take his own daughter, then that means it really is a stranger abduction—most likely. The good news is that Derek, Elle, and Hotch did have something when they returned from the park. You didn’t want to upset the parents even more, so you had a small meeting on their lawn as soon as they arrived.

“What do we know?” Gideon asks as he jogs up to the rest of the group.

“We talked to a kid who had contact with the unsub. He came back to the same street more than once,” Hotch informs.

“Well that tells us he's at ease in the neighborhood—comfortable talking to kids in plain view,” you fit the pieces together.

“He lured Billie with a story about a lost dog.”

“She recently lost one of her own.”

“That indicates previous knowledge of the victim,” Spencer says.

“But it doesn't necessarily mean that she knew him personally. This only means he's aware,” you counteract.

“Actually, it's not uncommon for predators like these to know the kids that live around his area. He’s from this neighborhood.”

“Then we go door to door and ask for voluntary searchers,” Detective Russet speaks up.

“The neighborhood is already crawling with uniforms. They're everywhere. Having more searchers is only going to make the man who did this go into hiding,” you point out.

“So far, you followed the child abduction response plan to the letter,” Gideon trails off.

“For the past few hours, yes,” the detective nods.

“So now we need to move past the guidelines and change tactics. If we don't, Billie isn't gonna make it past the next twenty-four hours. I want you to corral these clowns,” Gideon points to all of the news cameras. “We're gonna need 'em—all of 'em.”

Before you can deal with the press, it’s about time to give the profile. Usually, you’d have more time to put one together, but Billie is very high risk. If you don’t put one out now, she could die sooner rather than later. Every single cop that’s around this area is in one room, listening to your team give the profile. Each and every one of them are listening intently, taking down notes as you go along.

“Billie Copeland has been missing for twenty-two hours. It is vital that we locate her in the first twenty-four,” Gideon starts off.

“The unknown subject, or unsub, in this case is most likely a resident of one of the subdivisions around the park. We have cancelled the amber alert. We need to coordinate with all your officers to pull everyone off the street immediately,” Hotch explains.

“That’s fucking crazy,” a random officer scoffs.

“Just hear us out—”

“But it goes against court procedure. You guys wrote the damn thing.”

“Actually, Carp is just a guideline for immediate response to child abduction. Believe it or not, we're already late in the game, and we do know enough about this unsub to know that if he feels like we're closing in on him at all, he will kill Billie to avoid detection. If anything, we need to lessen the pressure on him,” Spencer spits out.

“This man fits in because nobody knows what he is. Can we really know our neighbors? He walks his dog and does yard work. Solitary activities appeal to him. However, if you watch closely, you'll see he pays a little too much attention to the neighborhood kids. Largely goes unnoticed because he isn't perceived as a threat. He’s a white male in his late twenties to thirties. He has a menial or temporary job and is socially marginalized and frustrated. He relates better to kids than he does to adults. It’s not his first offense to children, but it is his first abduction,” you explain.

“How do you know that?” Detective Russet asks.

“First-timers hunt closer to home. Experienced predators don't.”

“He's had a recent stressor—a job loss or other setback. Unable to maintain a normal relationship, he'll have extensive pornographic materials in his home and on his computer. And while they won't all involve children, some of them definitely will,” Hotch takes over.

“Since he used the missing dog ruse, and we believe him to be a regular fixture of the neighborhood, it's quite possible that he truly does own—or did at one point—own a dog named Candy. We recommend cross-checking veterinary records with residents in the neighborhood,” Spencer says.

“He will not inject himself into this investigation.”

“Don't these guys like to know what the cops know?” the detective says.

“No, not this type of unsub. He's hiding. He doesn't know what anyone saw. He doesn't know if there's any information about him out there. He's unlikely to walk in and ask us, ‘can I help you?’. But I can guarantee you he will be watching the news. So, how we handle them is very important,” Gideon stresses.

“Check your canvass records. One of you may have had contact with him in the early stages.”

“What about registered sex offenders?”

“We've got somebody working on that right now.”

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, everyone clear on that? Good luck. Thank you,” Gideon closes this meeting out.

Derek immediately leaves off to the side to call Penelope to have her work her magic touch on the already growing pile of suspects. You’re scheduled to go back to Mrs. Copeland’s house with Elle just to make sure she and her ex-husband are doing alright. Before you do that, however, you walk over to Spencer who is kind of all by his lonesome.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” you ask.

“Could be better. What about you?”

“Same. This is just going to be another nightmare to add to my list,” you sigh sadly.

“Do you dream of children often?”

“It’s a lot less than what you’d think it’d be. I swear this job never gets easier. When I agreed to take this job when Gideon offered it, I was ecstatic. I thought I’d really make a difference.”

“But you are—”

“No, I’m not,” you cut him off. “All I get are some victims that are saved, and a shit ton of nightmares to follow it. The payoff is actually worse if I think about it. Just as I’m about to collapse from extreme depression, I think of this team. I think of you and Penelope and JJ and Derek. I think of kids like Billie. I think of everything good that comes out of these cases. While there isn’t much, I try to hold onto the good as tightly as I can in hopes some of it will rub off on me, you know?”

“Try going through life with an eidetic memory.”

“Bless your heart, Dr. Spencer Reid. Seriously. You’re doing a great job if it means anything.”

“It does. Thank you,” he smiles shyly but brightly.

“Y/N, come on!” Elle calls for you.

“Duty calls. Save that smile for me when I get back, yeah?” you flirt.

You’re already gone before Spencer can come up with anything clever to say. All he’s getting are flushed cheeks and a fuzzy brain. You actually make him forget what he’s about to do… and that’s saying something.

wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@averyhotchner @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @fan-girl-97 @paulaern @inkstainedwritergirl @estrela-rogers @abitchforjay @kwbaby24 @redsalv20 @joonie-centric @spencerreid-mgg @sixpencespencee @boygenius-reid @reidemandweep @prophecyflame @happynekochan1

#what fresh hell #series rewrite #criminal minds series rewrite #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #cm fanfiction #season 1 episode 12 #s1e12

52 notes · View notes

kainissoable · 3 years

Text

Homecoming but Okayer

I started thinking about how to make Silent Hill: Homecoming more coherent and emotionally satisfying without having to discard too many of the major story beats. What I ended up with was about 2000 words of a half-baked idea, which in fairness is still slightly more baked than the idea the team who were paid to make the game came up with.

We start with a shorter version of the opening nightmare with more of an emphasis on the nurses. It’s hard to tell, but the two or three patients they’ve mutilated all bear a resemblance to Alex without actually using the same model. The dream ends when a nurse stabs him in the chest. Just behind her, he sees Josh, and wakes up shouting for him.

Alex wakes up and winces, putting a hand to his chest. As he takes some nondescript medication and looks around the shabby motel room, we get a voiceover of his mother, reading out the letter she sent to him inviting him back home before his next deployment. She never mentions his name.

When he reaches Shepherd’s Glen, the fog is so thick he can barely see. There are dozens of abandoned vehicles on the road in, and eventually he has to get out of his car and walk.

The town is pretty much deserted, but there are signs of violence on almost every street. Then he recognises someone in the fog – Detective Wheeler. He runs over, but Wheeler doesn’t recognise him, or know of any Alex Shepherd. Wheeler coldly tells him that whoever he is it’s best if he leaves town. There’s nothing good here now.

He leaves, confused and unsettled, but carries on down the empty streets. On his way, he finds one other living person – Judge Holloway. He calls out again. Surely his Aunt Maggie will remember him. There were no ties of blood between them, but he’d been friends with her daughter Elle since they were small, and she’d almost been a second mother to him.

Judge Holloway looks at him blankly until he says his name, and then she’s all smiles. Oh, hasn’t he changed, no wonder she didn’t recognise him in all this fog. Go see your mother, dear, she’s waiting for you. Such a pity Elle isn’t here to greet you but she’s busy.

Alex continues, feeling more optimistic, until he sees the third figure in the fog. From a distance, it looks like someone crawling along the street, but as he gets closer, he sees it’s no human. Armed with only a utility knife, Alex either fights it or flees, and eventually reaches his childhood home.

When he gets there, he can look around a little and pick up a couple of things. There are several pictures of his parents and brother, Josh, and in his mother’s sewing room is a picture of Josh and an older girl. Alex says he remembers that being taken, must be eight or nine years ago by now.

When he finds his mother, she looks like she’s been crying. She looks at him for a long time before hugging him and starts crying again. “I missed you too, Mom.” Alex tears up a bit too. It’s been a long time since he was last home. She glances out the window and hands him his dad’s old pistol. “See if you can find Elle. It’s not safe out there.”

Alex takes the pistol and goes out in search of her. He finds Elle hanging up a missing person poster. Her little sister Nora vanished a few days ago. Alex says he’ll help her look.

There’s no sign of Nora, but once or twice Alex sees Jake in the fog. If he runs towards him, the vision fades and all he finds is a dead end. He finds a hairband at the playground near the cemetery, but then sees Mayor Bartlett in the graveyard. Concerned for him, Alex follows him to a run down hotel.

He doesn’t find the mayor inside, but he does find several more monsters and a room he can’t get into with a woman inside. He sounds like such a nice young man, she says. Would he help her remember? Alex agrees and finds some letters and postcards of hers. As her memories start returning, she becomes distressed and guilty for her infidelity to her dying husband. Alex can choose to comfort her, help her come to terms with her actions, or speak to her harshly. Her ghost may then move on, leaving him a key to find the mayor.

Mayor Bartlett is in a garden that actually looks like a garden. He’s talking to himself, or possibly to the tree in the centre. Either way, he laughs when Alex asks about Nora, then panics. “He” has woken up.

The world changes and the tree twists into something closer to a corpse. It picks up Bartlett in one hand and crushes him. Then it turns its attention on Alex.

Alex fights and kills it, then faints as the world tuns back to normal.

He wakes up in a jail cell with Deputy Wheeler staring at him through the bars. He’s clearly suspicious, and things might have gone very badly for Alex if Elle hadn’t vouched for him. Wheeler releases him because law isn’t starting to mean much in this town now, and Alex and Elle find themselves fighting through dozens of monsters on the streets.

Jake appears again in the distance, but Alex holds Elle back when she tries to help him. He says he’ll explain later, because the monsters are closing in.

They take refuge in Dr Fitch’s surgery after being surrounded and find his daughter Scarlett’s playroom. Elle picks up one of her dolls which has fallen on the floor and asks if now is a good time for Alex’s explanation. He tells her that it can’t be Josh. He died last year in a boating accident. Alex says it was his fault, he should have been watching him more closely, but he was so distracted doing his reading for the army aptitude test, Josh wasn’t a priority. He wanted so badly to make his dad proud, but all he did was fail his family again. Elle starts to say something, but she doesn’t get beyond Alex before the world changes and she vanishes.

Alex explores the Otherworld surgery looking for her. He doesn’t find Elle, but at the bottom of a perilous descent littered with monster nurses, he finds Dr Fitch crying and cutting himself over and over with a scalpel. Alex tries to talk him out of it, but Fitch keeps babbling about his sins and how sorry he is to his little girl. The “little girl” is a disproportionate porcelain doll over twice his height, which kills the doctor and makes a spirited attempt to do the same to Alex.

Once Scarlett is killed for the second time, Alex wakes up in the playroom where he was. Elle wakes up beside him, but instead of a doll, she’s holding a key. She recognises the seal as matching the one in the town hall where her mother works. Elle gives the key to Alex and returns home to check on her mother and let her know what’s happened.

Alex goes to the town hall alone and discovers a ceremonial dagger hidden there. He recognises the pattern on its hilt as matching his mother’s jewellery box. He goes back home in search of answers and walks in on an argument between his parents and Judge Holloway. He doesn’t catch much more than his dad shouting that he failed.

They all turn as Alex bursts in and his mother’s face goes pale. Judge Holloway asks him to come with her. Elle’s tracked down Nora in Silent Hill, she says, what reason does he have to stay here?

Alex wavers, but before he can make a decision, a group of monsters burst through the window. His parents and Judge Holloway are dragged away, the former by more inventive redesigns of Pyramid Head, the latter by a monster taking some design inspiration from the Missionaries in SH3. Another of the same type attacks Alex.

The Otherworld returns once it’s defeated and Alex has to navigate a twisted version of his childhood home. While there, he finds his mother’s jewellery box and inside finds some photos of him and Josh growing up. This is where anyone who hasn’t already twigged finds out that Alex is a trans man, and always felt that he was letting his family down because of his identity. Looking at these photographs with his mother’s neat hand crossing out an illegible name and replacing it with Alex is the first time he feels accepted by her.

Alex escapes the hell house and finds Wheeler, who he convinces to help him rescue his family and loved ones from Silent Hill. Once there, they split up to cover more area. In the undercroft of a church, Alex discovers the shared history of Shepherd’s Glen and Silent Hill, of how his town’s four founding families kept the Otherworld’s influence at bay with a blood sacrifice every 50 years – a child for every family.

He heads deeper into the crypt and finds his parents at the centre of a shrinking ring of fire, two of the pyramid headed monsters looking on impassively. It transpires that his mother had invited Alex back to be sacrificed, but they couldn’t go through with it, not after losing Josh the same way. They hoped that the town would accept the accidental drowning, but realised too late that it hadn’t. Alex has the option to try to save them, but either way he fails. The monsters don’t stop him from leaving the church.

Outside, he finds Judge Holloway. Apart form a couple of bruises, she looks unharmed, and she comforts him as he weeps. Eventually, Alex asks after her daughters. He says he knows what the powers that be want her to do, but they can’t save the town now, but they can still save the people. She agrees, says she knows where Nora was being held and if they hurry, they might be able to rescue her. She leads him to a large open room and runs though a door which locks behind her. Nora was already dead, and this human centipede of hands reaching out to choke him is all that’s left of her.

Alex defeats the monster that was once as close to him as a sister, and when the noise ends, Judge Holloway returns, expecting to see him unconscious on the floor. She flies into a rage, telling him to abandon this selfishness or everything will be for naught. As she speaks, her voice becomes more and more difficult to understand as her body changes and she abandons the last of her humanity.

The monster that she changes into tries to drown Alex and fulfil the final sacrifice. She loved him as much of either of her daughters and she’s willing to sacrifice him just the same. Alex fights for his life and takes hers with a heavy heart. It wouldn’t have worked, he knows. It has to be someone of the Shepherd’s blood to consign him willingly to the water, and now there’s no one else left. He looks into the deep, dark pool he was so recently fighting to get away from, and jumps.

Depending on his actions, there are three fates for Alex. If he lets his self hatred and guilt rule him, his death saves the town in a bittersweet ending. If he chose wrath and vengeance, his body is dragged out of the water by the two pyramid headed monsters to become another judge of the guilty. If he chose to accept himself and come to terms with his actions, Elle and Wheeler pull him out of the water and he survives as well as the town of Shepherd’s Glen.

#ro rambles about silent hill #i don't know a damn thing about how the us army works and don't care enough to look it up for homecoming #so chalk all inconsistencies with timelines up to usual silent hill nonsense #yes i stole the title from those twilight but okayer comics but homecoming really isn't as bad as those books were #it's not good mark you but it's a mediocre game with some good ideas and a lot of bad execution of them #wouldn't play it even if i had the right console but i don't regret its existence

11 notes · View notes

meflemming · 4 years

Text

The Ghost of You, It Keeps Me Awake || Solo

TIMING: Present LOCATION: Flemming Residence, The Woods SUMMARY: Miriam is visited by an old face. She doesn’t take it very well WARNINGS: Body Horror, Gore, Death

Or, a reminder that tigers never change their stripes, and Miriam is, was, and will always be the villain (even if it’s her own story).

A glass of wine dosed generously with blood. A bathtub filled with bubbles from one of those strange, sweet smelling bombs that Morgan had gotten her. The cursed Alexa actually playing decent music, something soft and classical. All perfect ingredients for a nice day in.

Miriam didn’t want to stay cooped up in her workshop, pouring over half finished products or cleaning bloodied instruments. She wanted a small break. She wanted to… oh, what was it called? Relax. She wanted to relax, and desperately. So she pulled her hair up and sunk in slowly to the claw-foot tub in her bathroom, feeling more than a little decadent. The wine was nice, the hint of iron bringing out the other, sweeter flavors. She sank down into the water until her nose was completely covered, leaned her hand back, and closed her eyes. She let the music soothe her and willed herself to thinking. This was a relaxing time, not a thinking time. She just needed a bit of a think-free time.

There was a half-finished drawing on her bedside table, a portrait of Theo as she remembered him. She’d been thinking about him far too much, lately, hence her need to not think. More than just thinking about him, she was remembering him far too fondly, all the good times they’d had together. Trips to the lake on hot summer days, going to the movies, candlelit date nights, whispers of sweet nothings in the dark. And he’d faked all of that. There had been no love for her, only for her money, what it could do for him and his rotten coven.

The drawing was half finished because she kept destroying them, throwing his face into fires and garbage disposals. Miriam knew that Elle had found the remnants of one shredded drawing on the kitchen table when she’d watched the house a few nights before, but her assistant hadn’t said anything, merely cleaned the area up and left Miriam a bar of chocolate in its place. Elle didn’t ask questions; what she knew about Miriam’s life was what Miriam had deemed fit to tell the girl, and Elle didn’t blab. It was one of the many things she liked about her.

Miriam sank down even further into the water, completely submerging and chastising herself. There would be no thinking, not right now. And so she didn’t. She simply stayed submerged in the water, listening to music until the water went cold and the incessant sounds of the ridiculous teeny bopper band that she’d recently learned was called Vampire Weekend started playing on the Alexa, forcing her to emerge from the water to scream at it to shut up.

Reaching for her wine glass, Miriam was going to give herself just a few extra minutes before she drained the tub and dried off. Except there was no wine glass. Miriam’s eyes brinked open.

Theo was not as she remembered him. Rather, he was sitting beside her tub as she’d killed him. Half dressed, half skinned, pale, and with dark, sunken eyes. He’d died of blood loss before she’d even made it above his hips. Her first time skinning someone alive, and it had been messy. She’d cried, too, as he cursed her name to hell and back.

Miriam jerked away from him. Theo took a sip of her wine.

“You even drink blood pretentiously,” he said, his nose wrinkling at the contents of the glass. He smacked his bloodless lips with a bloodless tongue.

“You aren’t real,” Miriam said. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. She couldn’t smell him, couldn’t hear his wicked heart beating in his wretched chest. He was just another nightmare, a waking one this time, one that had tricked her into thinking she’d brought a glass one wine into the bathroom when she hadn’t. She hadn’t. This wasn’t real. “And I have no desire to deal with any more frivolous fantasy versions of you. Go away, Theo.” She stood up, soaking wet, and grabbed a robe before getting out of the bath. If she didn’t need a drink before, she certainly did as she avoided looking at him. He was just a figment of her imagination. Nothing more. Never anything more.

“Oh, I’m very real, baby,” he said, his glassy eyes trained on her every move. “I thought, of all people, you’d know better than to not believe in ghosts.”

“Then you’ve finally decided to haunt me after all these years?” she asked. She laughed, the sound of it ringing bitter and hollow.

Theo grinned, taking another sip of her bloody wine. Apparently, even apparitions could grow fond of the taste. “I’ve been given an opportunity. I couldn’t let it pass me by.”

“You’re thirty years too late with any sort of opportunity, darling,” she spat out as she passed him, expecting to go right through him.

Except he was solid. His hand reached out and grabbed her arm, gripping it tightly, so tightly. Miriam jerked away from him, shocked. Theo held firm, his grin full of blood stained teeth almost reaching his eyes.

“I think I’m just in time, darling.” He leaned forward. He didn’t smell, but she could feel his breath on her cheek. It was unnerving. “You killed me, and that would have been enough, but you just had to keep going, didn’t you?”

“You ruined me, you--”

“No, I made you happy, you stupid bitch. I gave you a loving husb--”

“Bullshit!” She pulled away from him this time, her eyes flashing red and her teeth sharp, deadly. She would kill him again if she could. “You didn’t love me. You never loved me! You loved money, and when I ran out you would have left as quickly as you came.”

Theo sneered. “And I thought the Flemming family would never run out of money.”

“Fuck you!” Miriam shrieked, her voice hurting even her own ears. “Fuck you! You lied to me! You never loved me, and you lied to me!”

“And you killed me!”

Miriam looked over at this man, this corpse in her bathroom. Solid though he was, real though he seemed, he was nothing compared to her. Because, as he said, she killed him, and she could do it again. “Then we’re even.”

Theo got up in her face then. She’d forgotten how tall he was, especially when she wasn’t wearing heels. Neither of them looked as put together as they had in pictures. Her, with her wet hair and red, vampiric eyes. Him with his pale parlor and bleeding wounds. A ghoul and a ghost. Even in death, they made a miserable pair. At least, now, they both realized how miserable they were.

“You killed my family,” he said quietly, almost confused. “Me? I can understand me. But my mother? My aunts and uncles and cousins? Gilly?” His voice cracked, and she looked away. Gilly was still recent on her own mind, though it had been months. “They’d cared for you. They didn’t know why I brought you into my life, just that we all benefited from it, and they’d liked you far more than your own damn family had liked me.”

“They all deserved to die,” Miriam said, shaking her head. “They all deserve to die. All of you. Every last, wretched witch.”

Theo looked like he was suffering, and she took a sick amount of pleasure in it, even if her stomach twisted. It was just like when she killed him the first time. “And, what, Miri? You gonna kill us all?”

“Yes,” she snarled. She shoved past him into her room, and he followed, leaving bloody footprints in the wake of her wet ones.

“You can’t. It’s not possible. You can’t even leave the damn town line.”

“Watch me, you bastard.” She dried off her hair. In a flurry, she started getting ready, even though she had hours before the sun sank below the horizon, yanking open drawers and pulling shirts off hangers. She laid her jacket out on the bed, and he walked over to it, fingers just barely grazing it. “Don’t touch.”

“Why not?” he asked. “It’s mine.”

“Not any more.” She proceeded to ignore him as she spent hours prepping. Eventually, she watched him die all over again, and she looked away, unwilling to watch.

She strutted out, passed Elle, and drove off without a word.

***

Miriam licked her lips and looked over her handy work.

Far from her first time, she wasn’t nearly as messy with the middle aged alchemist she had pinned to a barren tree by her hands, her skin flayed from muscle and her muscle flayed from bone. She hadn’t even gotten any of the blood on her. Good.

She kept her face impassive, stared for as long as she could before the scene in front of her no longer looked real. It was a painting from the Renaissance, a monument in the Louvre. It was ghastly and horrifying, and it satisfied her.

She fed off the scene before her, its pain and misery, just as it fed from her.

When she was done looking, she doused the tree in gasoline and lit it on fire. After all, she was a witch hunter. All good witch hunters knew that the best way to dispose of a witch was to burn them.

That’s what she’d done with what was left of Theo, all those years ago.

She’d stay until there was nothing but ashes left, and she tried to tell herself that the feeling in her chest was pride over another witch dead.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn to see a gathering of people ready to welcome another of their own to the other side. Theo was among them. Gilly, too. They both looked away from her. She looked away from them, as well.

#p: solo #the ghost of you it keeps me awake #body horro tw #gore tw #//this is fine #wanted to do something fun for potw :)

14 notes · View notes