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apollosfavkiddo · 23 days

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⛧° i hate you more. episode 1

⛧° Beginning. Sort of.

content: jason grace x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, 3rd person writing.

a/n: look who's spoiling you today? so, be welcomed to the first episode of my first ever series! i honestly hope you like it. by the way, i copied it from this fic on wattpad, cause i don't have the digital book. good reading!

word count: +6.6k

She didn’t know why she hated Jason. She just had that feeling deep in her gut ever since they “met” in that stupid bus to the Wilderness School, when she couldn’t remember her own name nor where she came from.

The only thing her stupid mind remembered is that she really didn’t like the boy sitting beside her. He seemed so… perfect. Like, the annoying type of perfect. The type of perfect that makes anyone fawn over you.

With that stupid messy blond hair, that stupid tanned skin and stupid strong arms, she just knew she disliked him, a very lot.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing they saw was her sea green gaze analyzing him. He grimaced immediately, as if realizing that he hated you too.

And suddenly, something came to her. Jason. That’s his name?

“Finally the sleeping beauties are up, huh?” A boy that looked like a latino gremlin with pointy ears teased. The girl beside him slapped him playfully on the arm.

“Shut up, Leo. Let the couple.” The girl in the front seat said, giggling ever so slightly.

‘Couple’? She and blondie were a couple? When she heard those words, she finally realized the position they were in.

Her head was laid on his shoulder, and it seemed like they had fallen asleep like that. He had a small wet stain on the sleeve of his shirt, that looked a lot like drool, probably hers. But the weirdest part of it all was that they were holding hands. Like, intertwined level.

She immediately let go and pulled away from him, her mind still dizzy and groggy from the slumber she was in.

“What the-“ She mumbled, trying to pull herself from that sleepy state she was in, but the boy beside her reacted first

“Y/n?” He asked, staring right into her eyes. He also seemed to instantly dislike her.

“Listen here, cupcakes!” A squeaky voice yelled out from the front of the bus. She drifted her eyes towards where the sound came from.

It was clearly the baseball coach. He wore a cap pulled low in his hair. Had a weird stubble and sour face, as if he had eaten something rotten. A whistle hung from his neck and there was a megaphone clipped to his belt. He’d be fairly scary if he wasn’t five foot zero.

“Stand up, Coach Hedge!” A student jeered.

“I hear that!” His eyes scanned over the bus as if looking for the culprit, but his eyes locked at Jason and Y/n. His scowl deepened, and she realized that the tiny man knew that they shouldn’t be there. She got scared for a few seconds if he was going to call them and ask how the hell did they got there. She had no idea what she would answer in that case.

The man looked away, clearing his throat. "We'll arrive in five minutes! Stay with your partner. Don't lose your worksheet. And if any of you precious little cupcakes cause any trouble on this trip, I will personally send you back to campus the hard way." He mimed hitting a homerun with a wooden baseball bat.

“Can he talk to us like that?” The blond boy - Jason - asked, but this time directed to the other two people sitting in front of him.

The pretty girl just shrugged him off. “Always does. This is the Wilderness School. ‘Where kids are the animals’.” She said, grinning as if this was some sort of joke that the pair was supposed to be on.

“This is some kind of mistake.” Y/n said, finally sitting up straight. “I… I shouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, right.” Latino Gremlin - Leo - spoke up again. “We’ve all been framed. I didn’t run away six times. You didn’t blow up a gas station. Piper didn’t steal a BMW.”

That last one earned him a harder slap, but this time with no hint of playfulness, from the pretty girl named Piper. “I didn’t steal that car, Leo!”

Piper and Leo, Y/n thought. Are we friends?

"Oh, I forgot, Piper. What was your story? You 'talked' the dealer into lending it to you?" He raised an eyebrow at Jason, as if to say can you believe her?

Piper looked at Y/n with hopeful eyes, as if she was supposed to believe her or back her up, but as far as she knew, she'd never met the girl before today. Still, Piper looked at her and talked to her and Jason as if they'd been friends long enough to share an inside joke and maybe a few secrets.

What the hell is going on?

"Anyway," Leo said, "I hope you've got your worksheet, Jason, cause I used mine for spit wads days ago." He looked up from fidgeting with the buttons of his army jacket, frowning at Jason's confused stare. "Why are you looking at me like that? Somebody draw on my face again? Piper, I swear -"

"I don't know you," Jason said.

“As much as I hate to agree with blondie here,” Y/n said, grimacing at the boy beside her as he rolled his eyes. “but I don’t know you either.”

Leo rolled his eyes with an amused grin. "Sure. I'm not your best friend, I'm his evil twin," he joked.

"Leo Valdez!" Coach Hedge yelled from the front. "Problem back there?"

Leo winked at Jason and Y/n. "Watch this." He turned back toward the front of the bus. "Sorry, Coach! I was having trouble hearing you. Could you use your megaphone, please?"

The coach unclipped his megaphone and continued calling out instructions, but his voice was distorted.

The students cracked up, growing louder as the coach tried again and the megaphone blared: "The cow says moo!"

"Valdez!" Coach Hedge yelled.

Piper stifled a laugh. "How did you do that?"

Leo flashed a tiny screwdriver at them before returning it to his sleeve. "I'm a special boy."

"Guys, seriously," Jason said, his tone pleading. "What are we doing here? Where are we going?"

Y/n looked expectantly at the two students in front of them, hoping whatever answer they gave would jog her memory, though those hopes weren't particularly high.

"Are you guys joking?" Piper asked, her eyebrows furrowed in vague concern.

“No! I have no idea who you- “Y/n began, but Leo cut her off almost immediately.

“Of course they’re joking, Pipes. They’re trying to get me back on interrupting they make out sesh last year, aren’t ya’? I already said sorry, guys. I’d never walk in on you two on my own accord, trust. Don’t wanna be traumatized.”

Y/n immediately felt her cheeks heat up, but she didn’t know if it was from anger or embarrassment. She grimaced again as if she tasted something sour out of nowhere.

“Uhm, I'm sorry to disappoint but, uh…” She hesitated a bit before glancing at the blond boy beside her. He didn’t seem too bad, but she still had that feeling deep in her gut that she hated him. “I’d never make out with him.”

The boy just scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Like I'm the worst option between me and you.”

Piper and Leo glanced at each other with confused expressions. They couldn’t understand what was happening between their friends.

“Uh… okay… what’s going on here? Why are you two bickering as if you aren’t completely in love with each other?” Leo asked.

“In what?” Y/n asked, her voice laced with disgust and disbelief.

“Not possible. At all.” He added, shaking his head eagerly.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Y/n said, exasperatedly.

“Leo. I think they’re serious.” Piper said, as if you two weren’t right in front of her and listening to every bit of conversation they had.

“We are!” Jason insisted. “Well, at least I am. Don’t know ‘bout her.” He said, pointing discretely at Y/n, who hissed and elbowed him on the ribs. “Ow!”

“Oh, please-”

“That’s it!” Coach Hedge yelled from the front. “The back row has just volunteered to clean up after lunch!”

The rest of the kids cheered as Leo muttered, "There's a shocker."

Piper's concerned gaze flickered between Jason and Y/n. "Did you guys hit your heads or something? You really don't know who we are?"

Y/n shook her head, Jason following suit.

Helplessly, he muttered, "I don't even know who I am."

Piper frowned. "Do you remember each other?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Y/n met Jason's eyes with disgust. She knew that she knew him, but she didn't have any memories of him besides the sound of his name and the feeling that they hated each other. Quietly, she said, "Maybe?"

Jason nodded, reluctantly.

"Huh," Piper said, her brows furrowed together in a picture of deep thought. “Let’s figure this out later, we’re already here.”

༺♱༻

The bus dropped them off in front of a large red museum, which sat in the middle of nowhere. All Yn could see was desert everywhere she looked. A cold wind blew over them, making her shiver. She wasn't dressed for the cold weather - she had on a pair of dark-wash blue jeans, worn black combat boots, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt that was about two sizes too big for her. Despite how comfortable it was, though, it wasn't nearly warm enough for the biting cold nipping at her fingers.

"Alright, crash course for the amnesiacs," Leo said.

"We go to the Wilderness School, which means we're the ‘bad kids.' Your family, or the court, or whoever, decided you were too much trouble, so they shipped you off to this lovely prison - sorry, 'boarding school' - in Armpit, Nevada, where you learn valuable nature skills like running ten miles a day through the cacti and weaving daisies into hats! And for a special treat we go on 'educational' field trips with Coach Hedge, who keeps order with a baseball bat. Is it all coming back to you guys?"

Y/n shook her head and muttered a small “No.”

She looked at the kids around them, wondering what they'd all done to be sentenced to a school for delinquents - and what she had done to get sent there, too.

Leo rolled his eyes. "You're really gonna play this out, huh? Okay, so the four of us started here together this semester. We're totally tight. Jason does everything I say, gives me his dessert, does my chores -"

"Leo!" Piper scolded.

"Fine, ignore that last part. But we are friends - and we have fun, at least when you two aren't busy sucking face or having those intense-looking, deep talks where you talk about life and the future and whether those children's books with the bears are called Berenstein or Berenstain-"

"Leo, stop it!" Piper said. "I think they have amnesia or something. We've got to tell someone."

Leo scoffed. "Who, Coach Hedge? He'd try to fix them by whacking them with his baseball bat."

The coach was at the front of the group, barking orders and blowing his whistle to keep the kids in line. Every few minutes he'd glance back at Jason and Y/n and scowl.

"Leo, they need help," Piper insisted. "They could be concussed or-"

"Yo, Piper." One of the other guys in their group dropped back to join the four teenagers as they headed into the museum. He wedged himself between Piper and Y/n, throwing an arm around Piper's shoulders. "Don't talk to these bottom-feeders. You're my partner, remember?"

"Go away, Dylan," Piper grumbled. "Y/n/n's my partner, not you."

The new guy looked at Y/n, something strange flashing over his face before he replaced it with a blinding grin. "Coach said there'll have to be a group of three, what with the odd number, so it's both of your lucky days!" He threw his other arm around Y/n's shoulders, and she bristled immediately, something like dread settling heavily in her stomach. As he dragged Piper and Y/n away from Jason and Leo, she glanced back at them one last time, meeting Jason's eyes for a moment and rolling her own before Dylan was walking her and Piper deeper into the museum.

༺♱༻

Y/n didn't need her memories to know she hated guys like Dylan. She met him barely five minutes ago and she already wanted to punch him to unconsciousness for several different reasons, and she didn’t think she was a violent person. Then again, she didn’t remember even who she was, so her opinion of herself wasn’t truthful. The boy kept his attention focused on Piper, which shouldn’t bother Y/n. But she saw the look of discomfort in Piper’s face every time he spoke with her and touched her.

Everything, without exception, that came out of the guy's mouth was either a flirty remark or something cocky about himself that neither of the girls really wanted to hear. Less than five minutes around him and she already knew everything there was to know about him – he was cocky, egocentric, an asshole and rude.

Y/ noticed some of the other girls in their group kept looking in their direction and snickering. One of them called out, "Hey, Piper, does your tribe run this place? Do you get in free if you do a rain dance?"

The other girls giggled, and even Dylan suppressed a smile. Y/n’s fists clenched at her sides as she glared at him. She was beginning to think that maybe she got sent into that damned school because of fighting, since she was this close to knocking Dylan’s perfect teeth out of his face. Or punch those racists bitches right on the face. Both were tempting options.

"My dad's Cherokee," Piper said through her teeth. "Not Hualapai. 'Course, you'd need a few brain cells to know the difference, Isabel."

Isabel feigned a look of surprise. "Oh, sorry. Was it your mom in this tribe? Oh, that's right. You never knew your mom."

Y/n had to dig her nails deep in her hand, so she didn’t punch that Isabel girl right in the face. For some reason that, like everything in her life right now, she didn’t know why, she knew the perfect spot and strength to punch Isabel and knock her out.

Really useful knowledge you decided to keep, brain.

Piper charged at Isabel and y/n was right behind her, but before a fight could break out, Coach Hedge barked, "Enough back there! Set a good example or I'll break out my baseball bat!"

The teenage racists kept calling out little comments to Piper as they made their way through the museum. Y/n quickly flipped them off and muttered something in a language she recognized but didn’t know which one was it.

Sooner rather than later, Y/n snapped, "Are you going to shut your mouths voluntarily or am I going to have to break each of your fragile little jaws to get you to shut up?"

The gaggle of girls rolled their eyes at Y/n’s threat, as if they doubted she'd follow through with it. Piper grabbed Y/n’s arm before she could make good on her threat. "Where'd that come from?" Piper asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They're a bunch of little bitches." she muttered. "They deserve to get more than just their jaws broken."

Piper gave her a small smile, hooking her arm around Y/n's. "Thanks for defending my honor," she said. "But I’m sure I can take care of myself, babes."

Despite her lack of memories, Y/n didn't doubt that for a second.

After more walking, the group of students stopped in front of a set of large glass doors that led out to a terrace. "Alright, cupcakes," Coach Hedge said loudly.

"You are about to see the Grand Canyon. Try not to break it. The skywalk can hold the weight of seventy jumbo jets, so you featherweights should be safe out there. If possible, try to avoid pushing each other over the edge, as that would cause me extra paperwork."

They all stepped outside onto the skywalk. The Grand Canyon spread out before them, huge and unforgiving in its depth. Y/n glanced over the side of the skywalk railing, flinching and quickly stepping back when she felt the flip of her stomach.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and a cold wind washed over the skywalk, making Y/n shiver. Piper, turning away from Dylan, asked with a teasing smile,

"Jason's sweatshirt not warm enough for you?"

“What?!” Y/n glanced down, her cheeks burning as she realized why the sweatshirt was too big for her. Annoyedly, she took it off and said, "Me and Jason, we're... dating?"

Piper raised her eyebrows at her once again. "You seriously don't remember? You guys have been together since before me and Leo even met you - you guys came here together at the start of the semester."

Y/n frowned, beyond frustrated by the fact that she was dating the only person that she remembered both the name and how annoying he was.

Piper's eyes were concerned as she looked Y/n over. "How about Leo and I take you to the nurse when we get back to campus?" she offered. "She might be able to... I don't know, figure it out?"

She felt, deep in her gut, that the school nurse wouldn’t be able to figure out what was going on with her lack of memories, but she nodded anyway. "Thanks," she said quietly. She couldn't remember Piper at all, but she wished she could - Piper seemed like a good friend.

Piper worked on the worksheet they'd apparently been assigned to complete during their field trip. Neither Dylan nor Y/n helped her, but Y/n felt like her excuse - namely not even remembering her own last name, much less what the definition of mechanical erosion was - was a lot better than Dylan's, which seemed to be that he was simply a fucking bastard.

Instead of helping with the worksheet, Dylan was hitting on Piper, touching her shoulder and flashing her that stupid smile. After the fifth time Piper pushed him away, Y/n shoved her way between them, her head barely reaching his shoulder.

"Quit," she snapped.

Dylan rolled his eyes, but that something from before flashed through his eyes again. It made her skin prickle with goosebumps and filled her with anxiety. And, again, that stupid feeling told her that lots of things filled her with anxiety.

Something told her Dylan's worst quality wasn't his inability to take no for an answer, and that made the dread in her stomach grow heavier.

She saw Jason talking to the coach, and she noted the look of relief on his face as the two spoke. She would have gone over to join them, but she didn't want to leave Piper alone with Dylan or to be near Jason voluntarily, so she stayed where she was, glancing over the worksheet in Piper's hands and wincing at the headache trying to read it triggered.

Lightning crackled loudly overhead, the cold wind picking up speed and strength. Worksheets flew into the Grand Canyon, theirs practically being torn out of Piper's hands by a gust of wind. The bridge underneath their feet shuddered and kids screamed, stumbling and grabbing the rails on either side of the skywalk.

Ophelia held the railing so tightly, her knuckles turned white, and she purposefully kept her eyes forward, not letting them stray toward the bottom of the canyon thousands of feet below them.

She almost immediately felt the tears forming in the corners of her eyelids when she looked down – not on purpose – and made a quick realization that if she fell, she’d die.

The coach yelled for them to go back inside. The storm clouds that had been lingering overhead churned like a miniature hurricane. The students around her screamed and ran for the building, which was only a few feet away from Y/n and her group. Piper and Dylan ran for the doors, holding them open and herding the crowd of teenagers inside. Y/n stood frozen on the skywalk, fingers tight around the railing.

She reached into her front pocket, not sure what she was reaching for. But what she did find was a small, cold hard metal. She pulled it from her jeans.

It was a key, made of what looked like solid gold.

Why did she have a gold key in her pocket?

What did it open?

Apparently, she was in a school for delinquents - had she stolen it?

Y/n looked up at the sound of the doors slamming shut, Piper and Dylan having lost their grips. Aside from her and the two of them, Jason, Leo, and Coach Hedge were the only other people on the skywalk. Great. A jackass, a jock, a little latino gremlin, a five-foot male, a beauty queen and a girl who wasn’t even sure her name was Y/n. Couldn’t be better.

Piper struggled with the doors, trying to open them back up, but they seemed to be stuck. "Dylan, help!" Piper shouted over the raging winds.

"Sorry, Piper," he said, standing there with a malicious grin like he was enjoying the sudden storm. "I'm done helping." He flicked his wrist and Piper went flying backward, slamming into the doors and sliding to the floor. Y/n tried to run toward her, but the wind was fighting against her. Dylan looked at her, smirking at her struggle, and flicked his wrist again, sending her backward toward Jason, Leo, and the coach.

Jason caught her around the waist before she could fall all the way to the ground, steadying her. She immediately got away from his touch, glaring daggers at him – who just rolled his eyes.

"Stay behind me," Coach Hedge ordered. "This is my fight. I should've known that was our monster."

"Monster?" Y/n questioned.

"What?" Leo demanded. A flying worksheet smacked him in the face and he swatted it away. "What monster?"

Coach Hedge's cap blew off, and Y/n was beyond shocked to see two horns sticking up above his curly hair. He lifted his baseball bat, but it was different. It had somehow changed into a tree-branch club, with a few twigs and leaves still attached. “What the fu-”

Dylan grinned like a psycho. "Oh, come on, Coach, let the boy attack me!" he mocked. "After all, you're getting too old for this. Isn't that why they retired you to this stupid school? I've been on your team the entire season, and you didn't even know. You're losing your nose, grandpa."

Coach Hedge let out a sound that was like a goat bleating angrily. "That's it, cupcake - you're going down."

"You think you can protect four half-bloods at once, old man?" Dylan laughed. "Good luck."

Uh- What?! Half-bloods?

Dylan pointed at Leo and Y/n watched in horror as a funnel cloud materialized around the curly-haired boy. He flew off the skywalk like he'd been tossed, somehow managing to twist in midair and slam sideways into the canyon wall. He skids, clawing furiously for a handhold, finally grabbing a thin ledge about fifty feet below the skywalk. "Help!" he yelled up at them. "Rope, please? Bungee cord? Something?"

Coach Hedge cursed and tossed Jason his club. "I don't know who you are, kid, but I hope you're good. Keep that thing busy" — he stabbed a thump in Dylan's direction-"while I get Leo."

"Get him how?" Jason demanded. "You going to fly?"

"Not fly. Climb." The coach kicked off his tennis shoes, revealing hooves instead of feet. That settled it – Y/n had officially lost her mind.

"You're a faun," she said, not sure where the knowledge came but sure it was the truth.

Coach Hedge looked at her with a suspicious glint in his eye. "Satyr!" he snapped. "Fauns are Roman. But we'll talk about that later." He leaped over the railing, sailing toward the canyon wall and hitting it hooves first.

"Isn't that cute!" Dylan turned toward Jason. "Now it's your turn, boy."

Jason threw the coach's club, which seemed kind of useless with the winds raging around them, but it flew right at Dylan, even curving when he tried to dodge it, and it smacked him in the head hard enough to bring him to his knees.

She didn't even feel sorry for the satisfaction that flooded her at the sight. Maybe a little, but that was because Jason is a prick.

Y/n noticed Piper feigning a dazed appearance, her fingers closing around the club when it reached her, but before she could use it, Dylan rose. Blood-gold blood-trickled from the wound on his forehead.

"Nice try, boy," he said, glaring at Jason. "But you'll have to do better."

His body dissolved into smoke, which was a decidedly freaky sight. He rose like an evil angel made entirely of smoke. The sight gave Y/n the strangest sense of déjà vu.

"You're a ventus," Jason said. "A storm spirit."

Dylan laughed. "I'm glad I waited, demigod. Leo and Piper I've known about for weeks. Could've killed them any time. But my mistress said two more were coming, said they were special. She'll reward me greatly for your deaths."

Four funnel clouds touched down, two on either side of Dylan, each of them turning into venti-ghostly young men with smoky wings and eyes that flickered with lightning.

“Oh great,” Y/n muttered to herself, clutching the key in her hand. “just fucking great. It wasn’t enough one wind-man, it had to come four more, because life is already great.”

Piper was still down, pretending to be incapacitated, but she looked determined to fight. Jason stood tall, like a warrior, staring at the five venti without a shred of fear in his eyes. But he was unarmed - there was no way he could take on the storm spirits without a weapon.

A weapon.

Y/n frowned, looking down at the key that was still in her hand. She took a closer look, and it had something that looked a lot like an insignia. She didn’t know what it meant, but she swiped her thumb over the inscriptions on the metal. She blinked, and the key was gone.

In its place was a sword made entirely of gold.

Dylan frowned, a look of angry confusion flashing through his stormy eyes. "Where did you get that?" he demanded.

Who knows, Y/n thought. But I'm definitely not complaining.

She moved into a familiar stance, her eyes settled on Dylan's smoky form. Just as she was about to charge toward him, Dylan raised his hand, arcs of electricity running between his fingers. Y/n barely had time to be scared before Jason was pushing her out of the way, the lightning bolt meant for her blasting through his chest.

Y/n watched in horror as the blond boy she'd woken up next to barely an hour ago flew backward, taking a hit that had been meant for her. A single spot on her chest blazed like she'd been branded, filling her with fury. She looked back at Dylan, releasing a furious shout as she charged toward him and his storm spirit companions, vengeance moving her limbs forward.

She met the closest storm spirit head-on, her body agile as she thrust her sword at the spirit, the thing in question just barely getting out of the way. Y/n feigned right, then moved left and stabbed her sword through the smoky mass in front of her. To her amazement, the storm spirit dissolved into some kind of golden powder.

Dylan shouted something, his tone furious. Y/n ignored him as another ventus charged her. She planted her feet and brought her arms close to her chest, gritting her teeth as she felt the cold wind wash over her. It only pushed her back a foot before the gust passed her, and she charged at the spirit again, moving like she was a dancer performing a piece she'd done so many times it was muscle memory. Her sword pierced through the spirit and it, too, turned into gold dust.

“Suck it!” She shouted excitedly.

A few feet away, Piper was trying to fend off the other two storm spirits, but they were dancing around her, toying with her. Y/n moved to go help her, but a voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Stop." Y/n looked back in shock to see Jason rising unsteadily to his feet. His shirt was covered in soot, and he was missing a shoe, but all in all, he looked pretty good for a guy who'd just been struck by lightning.

“What the fu-” Y/n began, for the second time. And, for the second time, Dylan interrupted her.

"How are you alive?" Dylan demanded, his form flickering. "That was enough lightning to kill twenty men!"

"My turn," Jason said, a lethal look in his eyes. Y/n watched him reach into his pocket, taking out a gold coin and flipping it in the air. It transformed into a gold sword, not too different from the one Y/n’s key had turned into.

Dylan snarled in agitation, backing up. He looked at the two remaining spirits and yelled, "Well? Kill him!"

The spirits left Piper alone, flying at Jason with their fingers crackling with electricity. He took the first one out within seconds, his gold sword turning it into dust.

The second let loose a bolt of lightning, but Jason's sword absorbed the charge. With one quick thrust, the second spirit was reduced to dust as well.

Dylan wailed in outrage. "Impossible!" he shouted over the wind. His glare flickered from Jason to Y/n, settling on Jason. "Who are you, half-bloods?"

“Who cares? I’m better than you.” Y/n said, smirking, proposedly cutting Jason off the sentence.

Piper looked stunned. "Y/n, Jason, how...?"

Coach Hedge leaped onto the skywalk, dumping Leo before bellowing, "Spirits, fear me!" Then he looked around and realized Dylan was the only one left.

"Curse it, boy," he snapped at Jason. "Didn't you leave some for me? I like a challenge!"

Y/n frowned, a little peeved the faun thought Jason killed all four of the storm spirits by himself.

"Hey, I took out just as many as he did," she muttered.

Leo got to his feet, breathing heavily. "Yo, Coach Supergoat, whatever you are - I just fell down the freaking Grand Canyon! Stop asking for challenges!"

Dylan hissed at him, but there was fear in his eyes. Or whatever those were.

"You have no idea how many enemies you've awakened, half-bloods. My mistress will destroy all demigods. This war you cannot win."

Above them, the storm exploded into a full-force gale.

Cracks expanded in the skywalk, sheets of rain pouring down on them. If Y/n hadn't been cold before, she was fucking freezing now. Especially because she was too proud to wear Jason’s purple sweatshirt.

A hole opened up in the clouds, and Dylan looked up at it. "The mistress calls me back!" he shouted with glee. "And you, demigod, will come with me!"

He lunged at Jason, but Y/n moved fast, pushing Jason to the side and raising her sword to attack. The spirit yelled with rage, letting loose a torrent that knocked them all backward. The worst of it hit Y/n. The wind knocked her sword out of her hand, and she watched it clatter noisily to the glass floor of the skywalk. Her back hit the railing and she lost her balance, tumbling over. She managed to grab the railing with her left hand as she hung over the abyss below her.

Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down, she chanted internally.

She closed her eyes tightly, the tears rapidly making their way into her eyelids.

She could hear her name being screamed, could hear the unmistakable grunts and shouting of a fight, but she was a little busy trying to keep her faltering grip on the railing to pay her surroundings much attention.

Her fingers slipped, and with a shout in a language that did not sound like English, she was plummeting to her death.

She couldn’t move. She just accepted her fate, the upcoming death. Her clothes and hair were flying in the opposite direction, and she could only hope that, maybe, dying wouldn’t hurt as much as she thought it did. She didn’t scream. She just... let it happen.

She wondered briefly if she was hallucinating when she saw Jason diving off the skywalk after her, rocketing down to her. She wasn’t. He tackled Y/n’s waist and pulled her close to his chest.

Great, he’s stupid enough and now we're both gonna die, she thought.

But to her astonishment, the wind suddenly died around them. She opened her eyes, the tears still flowing down her face, seeing Jason's face a few inches above hers, his eyes shut tightly. They were hovering in the air about fifty feet above the river at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Y/n breathed. His eyes opened, and he looked around them, taking in their position with wide blue eyes.

"Whoa," he whispered, his gaze moving to meet Y/n’s. She wanted to hug him, even if the only thing she remembered was hating him. Y/didn't remember ever meeting Jason, but she knew him. She couldn't explain how, but she did. And she did not like him.

Jason looked up. The rain had stopped, and the storm clouds seemed to have calmed a little. He looked back at Y/n. "Hold onto me," he told her, repositioning himself so he was hugging her to his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to ignore how inexplicably right the closeness with him felt.

Jason looked up again, and they suddenly surged toward the sky. He held her tight as they flew back up to the skywalk. As soon as their feet touched the skywalk, they ran to Piper and Leo.

Piper stared at Y/n and Jason as if they'd turned into horrifying mutants during their trip into the Grand Canyon. "How did you...?"

"Apparently, I can fly," Jason said quietly.

“And I'm afraid of heights.” Y/n muttered. "Is he okay?" She asked Piper, looking at Leo, whose curly hair was covered in gold dust.

Before Piper could answer, Leo muttered, "Stupid... ugly... goat."

"Where did he go?" Jason asked.

Leo pointed straight up. "Never came down. Please tell me he didn't actually save my life."

"Twice," Jason told him.

Leo groaned even louder. "What happened? The tornado guy, those gold swords... I hit my head. That's it, right? I'm hallucinating?"

The look on Piper's expression seemed like she wanted to agree.

Jason walked over to where his sword was, picking it up and flipping it. Mid-spin, it shrank back into a gold coin and landed in his palm.

Jason picked up Y/n’s sword. He handed it to her, and she took it, not gratefully, looking at it for a moment. She took a closer look at the hilt, and the same insignia that was in the key was in her sword. She slipped the pad of her thumb over it, and it turned back to a key.

"Yep," Leo said. "Definitely hallucinating."

Piper looked at Y/n as if she'd never seen her before - so not much different to how Ophelia had looked at her when she first woke up. "Those things-"

"Venti," Ophelia said. "Storm spirits."

"Okay. You acted like... like you'd seen them before."

She looked from Y/n to Jason. "Who are you guys?"

Jason shook his head. "That's what we've been trying to tell you. We don't know."

The storm dissipated above them. The other kids from the Wilderness School were staring out the glass doors in horror as security guards worked on the locks. It didn't look like they were having much luck.

"Coach Hedge said he had to protect four people," Jason said. "I think he meant us."

"And that thing Dylan turned into..." Piper shuddered. "God, I can't believe it was hitting on me. He called us... what, demigods?"

Leo laid down, staring up at the sky. "I don't know what demi means, but I'm not feeling too godly. You guys feeling godly?"

"Not particularly," Ophelia admitted.

There was a sound like twigs snapping, and the cracks in the skywalk began to widen.

"We need to get off this thing," Jason said. "Maybe if we—"

"Ooo-kay," Leo interrupted. "Look up and tell me if those are flying horses."

Y/n looked up to see a dark shape descending from the east. As it got closer, she saw a pair of winged horses, with massive wingspans. They pulled a brightly colored chariot behind them, and there were two figures inside of it.

“What the fuck?” Y/n said, finally concluding her thought.

"Reinforcements," Jason said, meeting Y/n’s eyes. For the first time, she didn’t pull away. "Hedge told me an extraction squad was coming for us."

"Extraction squad?" Leo struggled to his feet with Piper's help. "That sounds painful."

"And where are they extracting us to?" Piper asked.

The chariot landed on the far end of the skywalk. The flying horses seemed uneasy as they stepped on the glass, as if they knew it was about to break. Two teenagers stood in the chariot - a tall blonde girl and a bulky guy with a buzzcut. They both wore jeans and obnoxious orange T-shirts with some kind of logo on the front. The girl leaped off before the chariot had even finished moving, pulling a knife and running toward their group as the guy reined in the horses.

"Where is he?" the girl demanded, her gray eyes fierce and intimidating.

"Where's who?" Jason asked.

She frowned like his answer was unacceptable. She turned to Leo and Piper. "What about Gleeson? Where is your protector, Gleeson Hedge?"

Leo cleared his throat. "He got taken by some... tornado things."

"Venti," Y/n said. "Storm spirits."

The blonde girl arched an eyebrow at her. "You mean anemoi thuellai? That's the Greek term." Her gaze flickered from Y/n to Jason. "Who are you, and what happened?"

Y/n let Jason explain. When he was done, the blondie didn't look satisfied. "No, no, no! She told me he would be here. She told me if I came here, I'd find the answer."

"Annabeth," the guy with the buzzeut grumbled, having joined them halfway through Jason's explanation. He pointed at Jason's feet. "Check it out."

Jason's left shoe was still missing, having been blown off by the lightning bolt he took to the chest.

"The guy with one shoe," the guy said. "He's the answer."

"No, Butch," the girl – Annabeth - insisted. "He can't be. I was tricked." She glared at the sky as if it had personally offended her. "What do you want from me?" she screamed. "What have you done with him?"

The skywalk beneath them shuddered.

"Annabeth," Butch said, "we gotta leave. Let's get these guys to camp and figure it out there. Those storm spirits might come back."

"Fine," Annabeth muttered. She fixed Jason with a resentful glare, and Y/n bristled, moving to clutch her key in her pocket.

The girl turned on her heel and marched back to the chariot.

"What's her problem?" Piper asked. "What's going on?"

"Seriously," Leo agreed.

"We have to get you out of here," Butch said. "I'll explain on the way."

"That girl looks like she wants to kill Jason," Y/n muttered, eyeing the girl's distant figure with distrustful eyes. “Don’t really judge. I’d want to do that too.”

Butch hesitated. "Annabeth's okay," he assured them. "You gotta cut her some slack. She had a vision telling her to come here, to find a guy with one shoe. That was supposed to be the answer to her problem."

"What problem?" Piper asked.

"She's been looking for one of our campers, who's been missing three days," Butch said, his expression grim.

"She's going out of her mind with worry. She hoped he'd be here."

"Who?" Jason asked.

"Her boyfriend," Butch said. "A guy named Percy Jackson."

#⛧° i hate you more.#all my love 🍀#postcards from leah #jason grace #jason grace x y/n #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus x reader #pjo #jason grace x reader #jason grace x you #jason grace series

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ritcchamadayo · 1 year

Text

This came to mind so

What Twst Characters Would Use as A Weapon (Mafia AU!)

Heartslabyul

Heartslabyul is known for being a strict organization. Every little mistake goes unnoticed, and will be judged by their boss himself.

Riddle Rosehearts

He definitely uses his scepter as a short range weapon, like a polearm would. But, just in case, he'd like to keep a handgun on his hip at all costs so he can fight against longer ranged enemies. Definitely something elegant, a rather old model but definitely shows Riddle's personality.

Ace Trappola

Handguns, definitely handguns. He can even dual-wield, if he wants to. He's not always precise and wastes a lot of bullets, (much to the dismay of Riddle and the Heartslabyul finances) so make sure to pack more spares and get him aim training! He's surely a force to be reckoned with if he hits those shots.

Deuce Spade

Ah, the classic baseball bat with spikes. He nailed the spikes in himself- and it doesn't look as neat as he wanted, but oh well. He'd usually let Ace or someone else take the kill but he won't hesitate to bludgeon someone when needed.

Cater Diamond

Assassins pop up when you least expect 'em, honey. He'd be all over you on parties and celebrations, giving you gifts and calling you nicknames- until you find his signature jewel-embedded, poison laced folded knife ledged between your chest. Cay-cay's here to slay-slay, and i mean literally!

Trey Clover

Definitely the mom- i mean supervisor of the gang. He'd usually watch from the back lines, and then use his medium-range sniper rifle to snipe off some heads with precision when you least expect it. Don't underestimate him though, he's still got you beat on hand-to-hand combat when needed!

Savanaclaw

An unruly bunch, to say the least. Chaos always follows behind their footsteps, as their leader, the Great King of Lions, executes high-risk high-reward bounties perfectly.

Leona Kingscholar

Who needs weapons? Only herbivores. Leona would face guns with his own bare hands, pouncing forward with the speed and agility of a Lion and knocking his enemies out of balance, swiftly destroying their gun *and* their skulls. Out of all the gang leaders, he's the least likely to die assassinated because of his instincts and reflexes.

Ruggie Bucchi

Watch out, cuz this guy's got a machine gun! Despite his scrawny stature, he's strong enough to hold down an area by making it rain bullets, effectively cleaning the way for Leona to pass through. Although, he'd never use it unless he knows there are no civilians in his line of fire. Shishishi, It's always better to get your boss through clean and unscathed, cuz blood on laundry is god awful!!!

Jack Howl

He owns a pair of silver brass knuckles! His speed and agility almost matches those of Leona himself, and Jack prides himself in his pack. He'd go on bounties with a big group, and if they ever get into a gang fight with the other gangs, he'll be sure to run to your rescue if you're getting beaten up!

Octavinelle

The mafia group behind the infamous Mostro Lounge industry. They affiliate themselves with blackmail and infiltration, and most of the time for monetary gain. They're led by a capitalist, after all.

Azul Ashengrotto

Does he fight? Sometimes, maybe. But he's usually breaking out deals with other companies and families while his two bodyguards stand behind him, ready to strike whenever. So, i guess his weapon of choice are Jade and Floyd? But he'd land the killing blow using the sharp edge of his scepter, a clean shot to the heart and blood staining the octopus ornament on the scepter. You better accept his business proposition, unless you wanna end up dead!

Jade Leech

This particular Leech twin doesn't like to get his suit dirty. He'd be manning the long-range sniper rifles and precisely taking out enemies quick and silent enough to not out himself. He's the one to go on most infiltration missions for Azul, so he also has high precision on using a handgun with a silencer. Don't cross this one, cuz you're going down and nobody's gonna know.

Floyd Leech

The full opposite of Jade, Floyd would rather crack someone's skull open instead and bathe in their blood. Floyd leads the more violent missions, and also in charge of torture. He has a pair of brass knuckles with elegant eel engravings given to him by Azul and Jade, and he loves them! But sometimes, his *real* knuckles are enough to break someone. Or would you rather he use his teeth instead and chomp off your flesh?

Scarabia

Possibly the richest gang around. Their leader, Kalim Al-Asim, acts as their front face in public scenarios while his right-hand man, Jamil Viper, does all the dirty work and cleaning behind everyone's backs.

Kalim Al-Asim

Knowing Kalim, he's probably forgotten to bring a weapon. It would be hard to imagine a name as big as Kalim's to not gather attention though, and there would be a lot of assassination attempts. Luckily for him, Jamil always hides a nifty shotgun for him if he ever gets cornered. Just one quick aim to the head, and boom- But this rarely happens, because Jamil's here to intercept before they could even see Kalim!

Jamil Viper

Jamil, Jamil, Jamil. Part bodyguard, part housewife /what. He's always looking out for the gang! But underneath all that, he's a crafty assassin out for your blood. He knows every single way to take someone out, be it using firearms, poison, sharp objects, or even his own fists. Though, his weapon of choice is a revolver! It's only thanks to Jamil that Kalim gets to live without a care, and Kalim loves Jamil like his own family.

Pomefiore

You wouldn't think there'd be elegance in the art of murder. Think again, with Vil Schoenheit now on the case! Pomefiore specializes in providing any type of poisons and drugs to whoever dares to strike a deal with them.

Vil Schoenheit

Don't be fooled by his intoxicating beauty, darling. Because most likely, the sweet scent of his perfume is also toxic! Vil has grown quite the resistance towards poison, and he always knows which one to use for which types of occassion. You better believe when i say each crime scene left by The Queen, always looks as beautiful as he is in his craft.

Rook Hunt

Vil Schoenheit's personal bodyguard. You don't see him beside the great Vil all the time, but rest assured, he's lying in wait with his bow and arrow aimed to your head. One misstep, and it'll cost you your life. Even a slight graze from the arrow would kill you, as a hunter never forgets to lace their arrows with the finest poisons and anesthesias. He was part of the Savanaclaw gang once, but after a scuffle between the two leaders, Rook decided to join Pomefiore in pursue of beauty and elegance.

Epel Felmier

Definitely not the most elegant one in the group, but 200% deadly. He prefers the head-on way of charging into battle with a bat or a metal pipe, but Vil taught him how to make use of his looks and kill more cleanly. Act like a maiden in need of assistance, infiltrate their defenses. And when you least expect it, a shotgun to the back will be your end. He still comes home all drenched in blood though, in Vil's dismay.

Ignihyde

The main gang for technological advances and info-broking. In addition to their human forces and the ever-adept technology team, they also have the forces of a couple dozen war robots if you ever cross their way!

Idia Shroud

Fighting? No no no, no way. Some shut-in like that wouldn't have the physical capabilities to go on front line fights. Instead he leads his gang to technological advances and innovations, most of the time making and rigging his own set of firearms from the confines of his room. But if anyone ever tries to assassinate the leader of Ignihyde gang, if they aren't killed by the security system, Idia himself will finish you off with his signature electric gun. Get ready to be fried to a crisp!

Ortho Shroud

Despite still being young, Ortho replaces his brother on the front lines and spreads his words to the gang. A being of technology himself, he's rigged to the brim with ground leveling firearms and first aid tech to help the team out. Just give him 10 seconds- his firing beam will level cities in a blink of an eye. But Ortho isn't allowed to use the beam without Idia's direct order, and Idia doesn't want any trouble with any other gangs, so shooting smaller beams with his fingers would work better.

Diasomnia

A well-feared gang. Diasomnia holds power to higher-grade firearms because of their leader, Malleus Draconia, and his royal upbringing. Diasomnia has privileges to firearms harder to procure, and typically just looks like royal guards instead of a gang.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus rarely gets into fights due to his position. Most of the time, Diasomnia's forces will be hard at work while he strategizes from atop his throne. But if he's forced to fight for his life, he would pick up his antique handgun. The wood carving simply bleeds elegance, and you should be thankful if your last sight was The Malleus Draconia pointing his gun at you while he towers above your beat-up body. Goodbye, Child of Man. This should teach you to never cross Diasomnia.

Lilia Vanrouge

Right hand man to Malleus himself, but he prides his work on assassination more than being on the front lines. His signature weapon is a cleaver, and you'd know it's the work of one Lilia Vanrouge when the victim have multiple slash wounds all over their body. He's been around in Diasomnia for so long, everyone suspects he's older than he looks- even his skills and experience way surpasses the rest!

Sebek Zigvolt

One of Malleus's bodyguards. He traditionally has an AR at hand just like Silver, but he uses a Revolver when the AR isn't in use. Typically you'd choose small, unnoticeable guns as Mafia to not get caught, but Sebek shows his domination over his enemies with his choice of firearms. He'd usually go for the attack, while Silver defends.

Silver

One of Malleus's bodyguards. He traditionally has an AR at hand just like Sebek, but he also uses a baton as a weapon of choice. He'd usually go for the defense, and leaves Sebek to attack and get rid of enemies. Silver specializes in defending and protecting, so if you're ever in trouble, Silver will make sure you live to see the next sunrise!

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thescribeoflostmemories · 2 years

Text

Valentine's nightmare

2.6k words

Prt2

Yan! Modern! Pantalone x Modern! Ex-idol! Reader x Yan! Modern! gangster! Childe

Using Childe's actual name

Tw: R18+, use of pet names/ using Sir, sexual themes(just a couple of crumbs), implied drug use, r18, bondage, death threats(implied), blackmail (kinda?), violation, knife play/food play, dub-con(?), allegations.

viewer's discretion is advised.

“I promised; that you and I are going to have a feast on the day of harvest. And we will have our fill of our chalice. A toast to our never ending baptism in sin and flaw. May we douse ourselves of greed's decadence, never again taste the light at the end of the tunnel.” - Scribe

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The meet and greet didn't go so smoothly, and you were expecting it. There are loads of questions that come to you about why you left. If you're being honest, your manager told you that'll be your last concert. You couldn't stop crying as you couldn't renew the contract as told by your lawyer.

Tears stained your pillow. You lived alone in a quaint little city you call home. You had posters of when your band first launched. Figurines decorated the acrylic stands with books, magazines or even that odd skull shaped paperweight next to it.

You recount all the terrible 'conspiracy theories' that made your stomach churn. Rumors to incite against you, it started when you climbed up the ranks. Other singers and staff members started to get into accidents. Your other teammates are cautious of you too, and it puzzled everyone.

"Mister fluffkins." Grabbing the stuffed toy next to the bed and hugging it. "Am I really a terrible person?" Rubbing your cheek with it. So silly, thinking a simple toy would answer you. "I guess, I do need some fresh air…" It doesn't hurt to go out once in a while.

So you change out of your clothes and freshen up. You have to say, it does feel nice to be out in the open like any other person. Nearly every store you went into has snippets of your band’s song. So you tried to avoid it to not let the situation get to you.

Lunch time, currently at the park bench eating some Ice cream. You had a couple of rolled cakes from a vending machine, maybe you should give one cake away.

"Hmm, maybe I should call up Childe. It has been a while." At least two months since you've last seen him, you're beginning to miss him.

Without her knowing, some group of thugs noticed her. Thinking it'll be some easy stuff to nab her. "Hey, missy. Need some company?" Sneered one with a baseball bat.

"Uhm… " You tried to ignore them but it only agro them.

"Miss, we'll be good to you.-"

"In what way, gentlemen?" You heard a familiar voice. From behind is Childe, who wrapped an arm around your neck.

"Huh, you're-" the ruffian's lackey seemed to notice Childe.

"The Tartaglia gang from down the lane right? Come here, girlie. Let's get away from these guys and I'll show you around. I'm sure you'll like to look at a beautiful scene instead."

" Wait, Juju. Let's just go-" one tried to pull your harasser away from the scene.

"don't ignore us, pretty boy! " He broke free and tried to punch the ginger haired man.

" Usually, I'd play a bit more. But in this case. Close your eyes and ears, girlie." He ordered before going in, dodging a punch by sidestepping. In comes another punch to the side from the thug. Childe decided to give an uppercut to end the charade in one fell swoop, causing the towering man to tumble over.

"Tell your boss, I'll be looking forward to that discipline of yours." You couldn't see it, but the lackeys know what he meant by discipline. Him beating the fuck out of them.

"Yes, sir! Sorry!" They scurry off, carrying their fallen ally. Childe turns to you and smiles.

"I told you to look away." He says walking over to you. You checked up on him for any hidden injuries, only for him to pull your hands away when you were about to check his shirt.

"Childe, what if you got hurt?" To which he replied with a hearty laugh.

"Awe, that's sweet of you to care so much about me. Pumpkin." You sighed and let go of him, scratching your head. Your ice cream got thrashed on the ground but at least some of your things aren't disturbed.

"Thanks, anyway, Childe." You thanked him

"Nah, no problem." An idea seemed to sparked in his mind and grabbed your hand.

" Oh yeah, ___. Are you free later this Saturday? "

A pit in your stomach made you furrow your brows together. "Childe, you've known me since high school." You sighed, and as usual he tried to ask you out.

" Please, a friend of mine told me to have a date by then. If I bring Tonya instead, he'll make fun of me." He pouted, which is kinda true. There would be one person who would jest that he didn't get a date, and his foster father would just try and set him up with someone's daughter he knows of.

" Please, I'll treat you with some of that (pref. Food) downtown after that!" He bowed his head and put his hands together, you're familiar with that hand gesture since he had mentioned he's friends with a guy from a certain area that's riddled with other gang members.

" Childe… " You sighed before giving your answer.

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" Childe! Slow down!" You screeched, holding onto his waist as tightly as possible. A few days have passed, after buying a brand new outfit for Childe's invitation. You felt uneasy about this, especially when you're nearly crying to dear life.

"Haha! Sorry ____, it's the fastest way to get there since you took too long to get ready! " With glee he takes such a thrill in the situation. Especially with you so close to him, he could feel your chest on his back. His heart was pumping in anticipation.

"Childe!" Cold wind hit your face as you closed your eyes and held on for dear life. Zooming past numerous people and a couple of warning signs to slow down. You both were lucky that the Police didn't seem to notice his speed limit.

Infront is a very fancy restaurant, your manager tried to take you to this particular establishment before you left. 'Poison ou Poisson' sounds pretty intimidating to you.

"You didn't tell me that it was this fancy." Now you feel silly wearing a simple dress.

"You're worrying too much, babe. He's understanding." He's never this dismissive to her, it only deepens her concern of this friend of hers.

"But Childe… " you mumbled as he pulled you into the restaurant where many eyes were placed on you from other customers and staff.

Nervous as a squirrel, you fiddle with your hands while Childe talks to the server.

Up came a man clad in black and hints of blues and purples. "Ah, 'Childe', welcome. And who is this lovely lady of yours?" The light lipped man kissed your hand. Velvet-y voice could lull you to sleep if he wanted. Blushing you replied, stuttering mess.

"That name sounds familiar, but nevertheless. It's a lovely name for a woman like yourself" He knows, yet coys with you.

"Th-thank you, sir..?" You noticed that he hasn't batted an eye due to his eyes covered by his lashes.

"Please, just 'Sir' is enough." As much as he would love to tell you his actual name. The bliss of hearing you say sir incites a hidden joy within him.

"Childe, why did you bring her here? I told you; 'come here at this date.' not with a date." The affluent man sighed, but not out of exasperation. Gloved hand partially covered his face before a twisted smile arose, hidden behind it. Overhearing their conversation from mister fluffkins's mic in her room while she's dressing up. So he had to hurry up and rent out the entire place and fill it with his own hand-picked staff so none would be the wiser.

"You told me last time." Childe, pouted. If you had known better, this would be considered an interactive, and elaborate play. Starring you as the protagonists' love interest.

"Gentlemen and Lady, your seats are ready." The waiter says.

" Let's go, you two." 'Sir' gestures for both Childe and you to come with him to the table. The most private table out of the rest.

The meal was silent for the most part, it only feeds your gnawing anxiety as it goes on. Occasionally, you'd see the bifocaled man eyeing you during the conversation while you eat the strawberries off the cake first.

"You liked strawberries, yes?" He said after placing the strawberry from his cake to yours. Childe went away probably to the restrooms.

"Here." He took a piece of his cake and offered his fork to you. You were hesitant with that, looking back at his face. That perturbed smile rests on his face, his eyes ever so slightly open.

"What's wrong? Is there something on my face?" His lips pursed a bit, his head tilted to one side. Curious, why you aren't that interested in the fruit nor the cake like you'd usually do.

"N-nothing, it's just that. You remind me of someone, yet at the same time I don't know anyone with your face nor voice." Which is true, but to be honest you pulled that out of your ass.

This thought alone entertained Pantalone, and his fox-like smile returned. "Hmm, maybe we did cross paths once." He pushed the fork gently to your ruby tinted lips.

"But that's no use to think about, try living in the now, little miss." He didn't want to open the wounds, hearing those cries in the night whenever you hugged mister fluffkins. It breaks his heart, he wishes to just pull you into his embrace and murder the bastards that dare whisper terrible things into your ear.

But now you're here, with him. Since he was so insistent with feeding you cake, you opened your mouth. He wondered what that candied lips of yours taste like, he had dreams of it every night.

There's chocolate sauce next to their plate, surely Tartaglia wouldn't mind if Pantalone took a bit of initiative. Dipping the fruit in the dark substance, and feeding it to her. Who hesitantly ate it and got some of the sauce on her lip.

"There's some chocolate.." He pointed at his own lip to where the dip had stained your perfect lips. Of course, you got a napkin and tried to wipe it off, successfully.

He got closer with his own napkin to wipe it off. "Silly, it's over here." There's a strong odor wafting from the napkin as he wipe the stain, inhaling it causing her to feel drowsy.

"Ah… "You hold on to Pantalone's hand, he looked surprised at the notion. "S-sorry but, I need to go now." Eyelids blinking slowly, as if fluttering to sleep. So you stood up and tried to walk away.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, my Rose." He managed to catch you as you nearly fell down. Everything's so dizzy and distant.

"Ajax, you simpleton! You were supposed to meet me alone!" You could hear Childe's faint voice from behind.

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"Oh my, she’s cute down there, but even cuter on my lap.” You're awake, but didn't dare to move, all you know is that you're restrained. Hands bound from behind, eyes blindfolded and your mouth gagged.

"You claim to know her personally, but do you really?" Pantalone hummed, a click of something and a couple of thuds. Are they playing a game while you're being held hostage? For what? There are other more wealthy people than you. You're nothing more than a fallen pop star sensation.

"Oh yea? Name that one guy who made her cry every night for four months." Childe seemed pissed as another satisfying click like glass was heard. He tsk'd, he probably missed and lost focus. But your ex-boyfriend from college? The one who left you for that one night hooker?

"Is that it? A toddler could answer that one. Try again, Ajax the lesser." You could have sworn you could hear him snigger at 'Childe'. Making the next player's chance at striking hit something out of frustration.

" Why you-! " Ajax broke something wooden.

“Then if you really know her, why did she get into the entertainment industry?” Pantalone crooned, as calm as you could picture him. He wouldn't dare to make a fool of himself in your presence.

"Oh… ohhhhh." Realization hits the skirmish loving man like a brick, or rather a cue stick from behind his head.

"Indeed, why not show her to just let us love her instead of her needing others' approval." Suddenly Pantalone's footsteps come over to you, caressing your cheek so lovingly. He knows.

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(DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE 'DESSERT' PROCEED TO THE NEXT LINE BREAKER)

"Look at her, so wet." Something tore your top part open like a knife then followed by hands groping you. "Mm." One moaned between your legs, like a starved man. His hands gripped on your thighs when you closed

Whimpers were muffled by a ball gag that they forced on you. Drool dripping down your chin, you could feel someone kissing your neck. "Gods… This is better than I imagined." Groaned what you assumed is Childe or Ajax rather, mouth pressed up to your clothed sex. Embarrassed, you tried to press together your legs to separate him and yourself. But it only pulled him closer, having to kiss and worship you.

"She loves it." The flirtatious man whom you've just met mumbled in your ear, fondling your exposed skin and leaving love marks on your neck from behind. Deft hand cut the underwear off letting Ajax dig in like an actual child getting their favorite meal. Amused as you writhe in a fraction pleasure of what they could do to you on his lap.

"Be a good girl and let us love you." The Regrator teased your ear before rubbing the little nub above your slit, he felt your body squirm against him. Undoing the gag before capturing your lips with his. Your legs stretched and toes curled in delight while it rests on Ajax's shoulder, haggard breaths and sob like whines echoed in the room.

"We have a long night ahead of us, Rose. You'll love it here." He groans when he feels you grinding against his crotch.

All you could do is mumble such nonsensical words, brain turning mush. Just hearing your satisfied indulgence, only pushes them to do more with you. The sweet scent from the incense fills your mind with one thing only.

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You did it, you escaped! Laughing and wailing at your new found freedom, laying in wait as you try to flee to your parents' home.

"What..?" You looked at them in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, ____. You need to find a husband, we're not always here for you." Your mother cried while your father looked away at the contract they signed their daughter away for.

Voices echoed in your mind, as bells chimed closer to your inevitable fate had in mind since the day you were born.

"You can't escape from us, darling Rose."

" From this point on, your husbands are going to take good care of you."

The things I do for y'all. Happy Saints and Souls day(s)

Tag: @youyue , @mellowwillowy

#reader insert #fatui x reader #genshin x reader #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #childe x y/n #yandere pantalone #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #yandere childe

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marlenacantswim · 3 months

Note

'let's say you lived in-universe in each town / city / location from each cornetto film during the events depicted. understanding you don't have any prerequisite knowledge of what's about to go down, what would you be doing? how would your fate befall you, or if you think you'd survive, how would you manage to avoid certain death?'

BACK ON YOU FRIEND!!!

OH YOU GOT ME BACK MY BELOVED, OOF AUGH!!!

Okay. I'm in London. Here's the thing about me: I would believe there's a zombie apocalypse going down at like, the first bit of evidence. i'm a flexible little fuck, my default state is the fetal position. i'd gather up the shit i'd need to survive, and find some hole somewhere (probably in wherever i live. let's say we're roomies in this theoretical scenario) and just kinda vibe there and in the immediate area. i'm hoping for an attic maybe? as long as there's power, or fucks tons of batteries, i'm set. i can draw, i can write, i can put on my headphones and listen to shit on my cd player. if i was an adult in 2004 i'd have fuck tons of disk audiobooks, and books that i bought and never read, and this seems as good a time as any. in terms of weapons? probably the american baseball bat i brought with me when i moved to europe in this theoretical scenario.

sandford time! i think i'd be able to tell something was going on? with a village so small and my penchant for making friends, i think i'd be attending enough funerals and feeling enough grief to get kinda conspiratorial. i like to think i'd keep that shit to myself, but who knows; i can see myself airing out my worries to the wrong person and getting Dealt With. everyone loves me though, so at the very least the NWA would be very conflicted about it. I imagine they'd poison me and then throw me in the water to fake a drowning.

now newton haven? yeah those blanks are extremely physical, i don't think i stand a chance. imagine if we lived there at the same time and i got blanked first (bc i feel like i would, they'd get me while i was watching the sunset from a bench somewhere) and then i ended up blanking tf out of you when i inevitably trip over my own feet and my arm explodes into blue ink and you walk in and it's like a sitcom for a few brief moments.

actually no, new thought: blank and human roommate sitcom. blank keeps having to come up with convoluted lies about why her arm keeps popping off and why all the laundry keeps getting stained blue. the season four finale changes the status quo when her identity as a blank is revealed. the next five seasons are the blank hashing out increasingly convoluted schemes to try and turn their roommate into an empty. the human roommate never gives these situations the dire attitude they deserve. in fact, both characters keep an unnerving amount of levity to this fucked up game they're playing.

yeah that's us. we get incinerated when the town blows up bc we're too busy laughing about my most recent attempt to blankify you (it involved a fake lottery ticket and a prank call from the queen of england).

perfection. i think this is 100% how it would go down in all cases.

#whoop thank you so much for shooting the question back to me #because i actually didn't think about my answers to them at all when i sent them to you #so i got to think which is always nice #running my mouth #ask and you shall receive

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sh1tbird-shantytown · 2 years

Text

in this segment of “things i wanted to happen in season 4” we have:

Lucas had been silent since he joined up with them. Besides the occasional answer to a question, he seemed jumpy and stayed to himself.

So Steve took initiative.

“Hey, Sinclair,” he laid back and waited for the boy to catch up. Robin and Nancy gave him a confused look, but he waved them on. Lucas raised his eyebrows but nodded in a casual greeting. Steve let the quiet surround them as he thought.

“What is it, Steve?”

“Is there something you need to let off your chest?”

Lucas’ shoulders sunk a little, “No, nothing.”

Steve crossed his arms and looked up at the bare treetops, “I’ve been taking care of all your asses for three years, Sinclair, I know when you’re lying.”

Lucas glared at his shoes and then sighed, “You know the team captain? Jason?”

Steve nodded, serious, “What’d that idiot do now?”

Lucas pressed his lips together, “I already told you, but, I don’t know, man….”

Steve pressed a hand into Lucas’ shoulder gently, supportive, “Don’t lose yourself, Sinclair, we need you right now.”

The kid nodded and then looked him in the eye, “He’s whack, Steve. He’s got it in his head that Eddie is some kind of Satanic serial killer and that it’s his God given duty to get revenge for Chrissy’s death. I’m just…scared I guess. Because now he’ll be after me too, and now I’m in danger of being beaten to death via baseball bat.” Lucas’ voice got dimmer and slower as he spoke. Steve’s hand shook where he clenched it in his pants pocket.

Steve rubbed his shoulder and gave him a slightly awkward side embrace, “I’ll take care of it, Lucas. But, you see him, you run. Got it.” He took the hand in his pocket out and poked Lucas in the chest threateningly, “No matter what. You book it out of there and you don’t stop.”

Lucas nodded and furrowed his brow, “But what—“

“No matter what, Sinclair.”

Lucas nodded again, “Okay.”

Steve bobbed his head once and stepped away to flick his ear, “Good.”

—

Steve hadn’t planned on doing this before. He considered, sure. But he granted that Jason had a pretty decent reason for thinking Eddie was to be blamed.

But then he went after Lucas.

But now, Sinclair was in danger. One of his kids.

And he hadn’t been saving their asses for three fuckin’ years for some phsyco jock to threaten one of them.

So, he found Jason. He found the car and the friends and had his nail bat peaking out by the bare hilt of one of Dustin’s old backpacks.

“Just in case.”

Jason walked up as his crowd watched warily.

“Well, well, well! Steve Harrington, come to join the hunt?”

Steve grinned the way he did when customers returned broken tapes, “Not a chance, Carver. I’m here to give you a warning.”

Jason’s eyes squinted just as they’d began to widen, “That’s a shame.”

Steve placed his hands on his hips, “I want you to leave the kids alone, Carver. You do whatever crazy shit it is you’re doing, I don’t care. But you stay the hell away from the kids. You hear me?”

Jason laughed, “Kids? Kids?” The group of boys behind him stepped back with shifty eyes. Steve frowned deeper. “Is that what they are? Because, the way I see it, they’re just a bunch of demon pawns!”

Steve dug his heels back into the Earth, “They never did anything to you.”

“They’re protecting a murderer!”

Steve growled in the middle of his chest, “Where’s your proof? Because, to me, it just looks like you’re searching for a scapegoat and you think it justifies a spree of your own.”

The boys behind him mumbled to each other.

Jason grabbed a metal bat from one of them, “Alright, Harrington! Let’s go!” He separated his feet and raised his elbows.

His wrists were too limp.

Steve shrugged and tugged the bat out. Enjoyed it as all the basketball team’s eyes bulged and Jason went pale white in shock.

The nails still had left over black sludge of demodog blood and even before that there was stains. The nails rusted in some places through it’s age. And Steve raised his arms with practiced ease.

“You ready?”

#steve harrington #stranger things #jason carver #stranger things 4 spoilers #stranger things 4 #lucas sinclair

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wkemeup · 3 years

Text

The Kid from Queens

summary: Bucky and Y/n take a trip to Queens in search of the boy Bucky saved on the day that changed his life pairings: bucky x reader warnings: none! 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Bucky sank further into the backseat of the taxi, rubbing his palm against his jeans as he turned to look out the window. He was nervous, more anxious than you'd seen him in months. His eyes were unfocused as he tried to count the windows on the buildings, though they were little more than a blur. You curled up closer to his side, wrapping your arms tightly around his bicep.

“He’ll want to see you, Bucky,” you told him, brushing the hair away from his face. He was tense, firm muscle under your grip. “Did you know he lived so close by?”

Bucky shook his head as the taxi crossed the border into Queens. “It never came up.”

It was a Thursday evening when Bucky overheard one of the older guys down at the VA talking about a kid named Parker. He’d nearly frozen dead in his tracks, enough that his grip pulled you to an abrupt stop in the middle of the lobby, squeezing your hand so tight it began to ache. He was as rigid as you’d seen him the day Rollins stormed in the front door and nearly destroyed everything Bucky had built for himself. Only, this was different.

Bucky didn’t look as though he wanted to retreat, to escape out the back door and run until his feet couldn’t carry him. He was curious, a hitch in his breath, eyes glued to the men as they spoke fondly of a young kid who often hung around the VA in Queens, fixing up the computers with broken tech he’d swiped out of dumpsters and garbage bins.

It took a full five minutes before you could gather his attention again. He was too focused on listening to the men speak amongst themselves as he stood just on the edge of the room at a careful distance. His lips were curved into a frown, but his eyes were a little lost – sunken, sad. The dots were there on the wall, the red tape drawn along the board from Bucky’s time in Afghanistan to the kid he saved on the worst day of his life. You could tell by the stunned look on his face he never once considered the possibility of running into the boy again.

You carefully withdrew Bucky back to the kitchens where you sat him down and forced coffee on him. He was painfully quiet, his mind clearly running through every worst case scenario. While he was distracted and stirring sugar into his mug, you stepped outside to ask whether the men knew more about where Parker was staying.

It was Bucky’s idea to go find the kid, though it took him nearly a month to come around. He battled with himself for weeks about it; pacing along the living room, murmuring to himself about whether anyone from his old unit would even tolerate seeing his face after that day. He’d had enough experience with Rollins to tarnish whatever strand of hope he held onto that Parker might be an exception. Even though he saved the kid’s life, he still blamed himself for the loss of eight of their friends. He wondered if Parker did, too.

“Maybe we should go back,” Bucky started again, his hand quivering a little as you gripped it tightly. Excuses began to pile up, the dozens he’d considered since the moment he stepped into the back of the taxi. Maybe you would have let him back out if it weren’t for the cab rolling up to a steady stop in front of an old, brick townhouse with broken shutters and a baseball bat lying on the stoop.

You quickly paid the driver before slipping out the door, Bucky in tow. He stared up at the apartment for a while before either of you moved. The taxi was long gone, the gentle glow of a sunset just beyond the skyline. You could smell the fresh scent of oregano and garlic wafting from the open window in the living room, giving way to the garlic bread toasting in the oven.

“Bucky? You ready?”

He clenched his jaw, a deep breath filling his lungs as he started to shake his head. Bucky turned away from the door, facing you as you gripped his hand a little tighter.

“I haven’t seen him since it happened,” he admitted, shame seeping into his voice. “I don’t know if he would even—”

“Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky took a few steps back as he looked up to find Peter standing on the doorstep of the apartment. He seemed to be surprised the boy had recognized him at all. It had almost been two years since they last saw one another, but Bucky had changed significantly from the picture you’d seen on Sam’s desk. His hair was longer now as it hung loose down by his shoulders, a scruff of beard covering his cheeks. He dressed in loose clothing and the absence of a limb in his left sleeve did not go unnoticed. He shifted himself to put his right side forward.

“Peter,” Bucky acknowledged tensely.

Peter bounded down the steps in feather light skips until he stood in front of Bucky. A smile lifted high into his cheeks as he looked Bucky over, a hand swiping through his untamed hair. He started to laugh, almost as if his body couldn’t quite contain the excitement, or maybe it was the nerves. His eyes flickered briefly over to you, though they didn’t last long. His smile didn’t falter for even a second.

But Bucky didn’t say a word. He held his ground, stone as a statue. Peter swallowed, a little nervous now in the silence.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Peter asked, his back straightening and for a brief moment you could imagine what he would look like in a military uniform, in beige camo and forty pounds of equipment on his back. He went from a kid to a man in a matter of seconds.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Just checking in on you.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. It didn’t seem like an answer he was expecting.

“Meant to do this a long time ago,” Bucky exhaled, scratching at the back of his neck, “just wasn’t sure if you’d want to—I mean, after what happened that day—”

“You mean when you carried me seven miles through open terrain while you were bleeding out?”

Bucky froze. You tried not to let the shock manifest on your features. It was the first time you’d even gotten a glimpse of what happened to Bucky on that day outside of his incoherent mumbling in his sleep. You glanced down to find Bucky’s hand trembling ever so slightly and you quickly slipped your fingers against his, giving him an anchor to hold onto.

Peter smiled, though it was softer than before. “Sir, you saved my life. I never got a chance to thank you for that.”

As Bucky looked at Peter, you could tell there was more he wanted to say. Whether it was to argue over how much of that praise he deserved or to remind the kid that he also lost eight others from his unit in the same attack, you weren’t sure. But before Bucky could part his lips, a woman appeared in the doorway of the apartment; long brown hair, wire rimmed glasses, and a wooden spoon stained in marinara in her grip.

“Sauce is getting cold, Peter!” she called, pointing to the kitchen with the end of the spoon.

“Sorry, Aunt May.” Peter grimaced, a flush of pink in his cheeks.

She narrowed her eyes upon Bucky, glancing over the army jacket hung over his shoulders and his last name woven into the emblem over the right chest. Her stance slacked. “Oh my God.”

She raced down the stairs. Before Bucky could get a word in, she threw her arms around his shoulders. He stumbled backwards a few paces, his hand slipping from yours as he stabilized her with a hand to her spine. He was rigid for only a moment, the physical contact of strangers not something he was entirely welcome to, though when you heard her whispering ‘thank you, thank you, thank you,’ as she held onto him, he started to relax.

He brought her nephew home.

“Stay for dinner,” she insisted as she finally released him. “There’s plenty.”

“Oh, I don’t know...” Bucky mumbled, a quick glance at you.

“Your girlfriend is more than welcome, too,” May said, a wink in your direction, before she headed back up the stairs and into the apartment. The smell of garlic bread drifted out into the street and you could practically hear Bucky’s stomach growling.

“I talked to Pietro recently,” Peter offered, a small piece of bait to draw Bucky inside as he began to ascend up the stairs. “He said he saw Rollins in county lockup last week.”

Bucky’s ears perked up, intrigued. Pietro must have been another from their unit and it seemed Bucky wasn’t the only one with a distain for Jack Rollins. He glanced over at you, almost as if asking for permission, and you gave him a smile in return, nudging him towards the door.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky conceded, a slight laugh in his tone. You followed him up the stairs; another stone loose from the baggage chained at his feet.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n

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notmrskennedy · 3 years

Text

Friendliness

A/N - ha so i just wrote this - no editing we die like men. here’s the alternate ending to my other post Likeability (this one is the more predictable one y’all will probably like whoops) if you’ve read the other one, just skip to the end it’s all the same in the middle

Summary - The Team meets a very unfriendly scientist which Spencer’s taken a fancy to

W/C - 2.9k (whoops)

Warnings - Mild Anatomy/bones/etc discussion, a pinch and change of swearing

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy.

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies.

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case.

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him.

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls.

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets.

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured.

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.”

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter.

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.”

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns.

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen.

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!”

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt?

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this.

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“

“Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what?

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude.

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled.

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated.

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere.

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed.

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with.

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for?

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands.

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages.

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude.

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her.

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler.

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second. She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now.

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening.

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them.

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be.

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond.

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin.

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life.

“I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care.

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about her ass.

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face.

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks.

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough.

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling.

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

Emily is barely awake when she sees it. JJ’s soft breathing next to her is lulling by itself, let alone if you add in Rossi’s rhythmic snoring and Luke’s idle whispers of sleep talk. Emily could do with some sleep and maybe a few days off. They could all use a few days off, especially after coming to terms with the fact a grad student had killed 12 women just to get a little action.

From a scientist who freely admitted to enjoying the company of bones over real people.

Alive people.

No wonder Stewart had done what he’d done.

Emily turns in her spot, lays back against the wall of the airplane and the seat. After nearly five decades—she’s never thinking about that again—of plane rides, she can comfortably say she can sleep anywhere. With any amount of noise, or cold, or pain.

But her eyes are accidentally open when she peaks around the seat cushion. Spies the Wild Dr. Reid in his natural habitat, reading some ridiculously long book and…carding his fingers through your hair? He’s got a lock curled up around his finger, gently twisting it as he reads. You’re sleeping—knocked the fuck out—in his lap, gripping loosely onto his leg.

You deserve the sleep, Emily decides with a smile. You’d worked the hardest on the case, up for nearly four days with as little rest as you can manage. How Stewart managed to stay awake enough to attack you is beyond Emily. She’s missed out on a few hours just today and she’s losing the battle with her eyelids.

No one ever asked her opinion of you. Probably didn’t have to. You were not the easiest to like, but you’d captured her respect and a bit of her heart when you’d said at the beginning of the case: “I’m an excavator by trade—I’m at archeological digs most of the time—so it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that these ladies are murder victims. I don’t think I’ll sleep until I’ve got names for them. And maybe the murderer on my table.”

Emily understood the unease, the apprehension. Why everyone was relieved when you’d turned down the plane ride she’d offered you. How they all bit back groans when Emily had insisted. But they’ll have to get used to it, Emily thinks and she settles again. Because they’ll see you again. No doubt about it. The way you’re wrapped up around Spencer, how you hold tighter when the jet bounces a touch, says just that much anyway.

#no editing lads #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #reid #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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the-brohood-of-hotties · 3 years

Text

Forget me not

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman REBORN! Pairing: Hibari x Reader Wordcount: 2,210

Summary: Hibari is a weird man, famous for his rather aggressive aura. After he moves into your neighborhood, an oasis inside a big neon town, Hibari Kyouya brings with him the weirdest situations into your life, as he makes a startling entrance with an accident with his "co-worker", Yamamoto Takeshi.

This is an entry for #khrevents April Angst 2021/ Day 8/ Yearning, Longing/ Reincarnation AU/ "I don't want to forget you."

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30658199

The glass door from your coffee shop and gardening club swings open, you don’t really care to see who’s there because it’s almost the end of your shift and you’re really entertained with social media, though you did greet the person entering. “ Good evening. Welcome to the Daily Lily.”

“Good evening, I’m afraid we’ll have to check out your storage.”

“Are you the police?”

“...No.” The voice seemed hesitant, you notice.

“Then I can’t help with that, we have a promotion on cheesecake today though.” You smile and finally look up, afraid it might be a man trying to mess up with you. Well, it was two men, in fact. You’ve heard the rumors around the neighborhood, that Hibari Kyouya was a man with a weird aura that just moved in alone with some exotic pets, while he seemed delicate and handsome, he just had this introverted, aggressive aura and you’d never expect him to show up in your small business as the companion of another guy. Tall, tan skin, dark hair, buff, a scar on his chin in contrast with a bright gentle smile. He seemed to carry a baseball bat in his back, which made the combination of sports and their suits really off, they both seem to be either Japanese or Korean.

While Hibari, the grumpy one, seemed to not be so happy about being with the other guy. Like a puppy and an old cat. "We don’t wanna bother you, but-..." The baseball guy was cut off by a loud noise coming from the back of the store. Normally you would be worried that your co-worker got hurt or something, but today? You’ve been alone for the second half of your shift. It’s not supposed to be noisy there, you’re frozen in the spot.

Hibari immediately bursts into the staff-only area of your shop, and before you can protest, the other guy gently grabs your shoulder. “Everything will be fine, we’ll take care of this situation. I just need you to hide in the restroom.’’

“Excuse me?!” No time for excuses, you heard someone grunting and the loud noises start getting too repetitive. Your phone was given in your hands and you basically got pushed into the room by the taller guy. “Sorry, huuh I really need to go there… ” He said as the door slammed on your face. The restroom was cozy enough, you had it decorated as you wanted, and you were firmly holding your phone in case you needed to call someone...But then, who would you be calling? The police would probably make things worse, especially because they seemed to be armed, or worse, maybe these guys are the police in disguise. You fidget your fingers along the cold black surface as a way to calm down a little, it seemed pointless. The noise was too loud to just put on earbuds and ignore them, but you realize: And if this is all a scheme? Rushing to peek at the door, as your eyes meet the pastel walls of the store, you realize it seems like no one’s here at all. Until you hear the cranky storage door opening, and as soon as you see the Baseball guy again, you close the door. Don’t want him thinking you’ve been spying on whatever happened in the storage, with your heart racing, you hear a gentle knock on the wooden door, accompanied by his voice. “Everything is fine! You can come out. I’m sorry I didn’t say my name before, I’m Yamamoto Takeshi and my company here is Hibari Kyouya.”

Decide to close the shop soon as you could for the day, you come out of the restroom, greeted by the two men.

“I am not your partner, Yamamoto Takeshi.” He mutters, Hibari looks completely clean, you could still mistake him with a businessman. While Takeshi seems to have bruised his hand a little. You offer him your first-aid kit which he accepts, then you close the curtains so there’s no curiosity about that’s going on inside. “So, what happened in my storage?” You cross your arms, with a cotton stained with blood between your fingers, slightly annoyed by the whole situation. Making mental notes of what to tell your therapist later, then going back to cleaning the dry blood on Yamamoto's calloused hand.

“Two burglars, they were armed but easy to deal with.” Hibari finally says something directed to you, maybe it’s the first time he bothered to look in your eyes. Not that you’re annoyed by that, perhaps he’s just introverted. But at the same time, now that he looked at your face, it's like something inside him got frozen, awkward. It's such a weird feeling, especially since he doesn't really show it off, you just can tell. “Are you guys police officers?” You change the subject, brushing it off your mind, Hibari looks away, you can’t tell if he’s offended by being compared to a cop or something else. “Not at all! We just know how to handle them. We’ll send you a check to compensate for the damage and the working time you spent in the restroom as well.” Yamamoto finished his bandage and happily hands you paper and pen. “Just write down your shop’s address and info and the check will arrive in 3 to 5 days.”

You couldn’t really believe in such kindness, or at least knowing how to deal with the consequences of their vigilante work but since they already know the shop you write it down anyway. “ Are you all putting me in some pyramid scheme? You two seem like stage actors.” They do look like handsome actors, you think.

“We aren’t.” Hibari actually pulls out an unused bullet from his pocket to show they’re not lying, effective but scary. He just turns away and keeps browsing the plants you got for sale, examining the quality of an English Ivy’s vine. “Don’t scare them, c’mon. Isn’t this shop your neighbor now?” Yamamoto jokes around, Hibari sends him a deadly look and you decide you won’t touch the neighbor subject ever again.

“If you two excuse me, I have to close the shop and go home. It’s getting late and I don't plan to work more today.” You operate the register and turn off your computer for the day, swinging the keys in your index finger. Anxious to get home to your cat and a nice hot bath to relax. “Thank you again for your kindness, next time you visit the shop anything from the coffee and plants is on me. But don't do crazy stuff again.” You smile as everyone leaves the inside area with you. “By the way, who’s going to take these two burglars out? Did you guys called the police?”

“Kusakabe already took them, before you got out of the restroom.” Hibari says in a beat, interrupting Yamamoto before he could say something else. “Who’s that?” You raise an eyebrow, the Baseball guy blurts out, dismissing any curiosity you might have. “He’s a friend of ours who’s actually a cop!” That’s weird, you didn’t even see a vehicle, and usually, when cops stopped around they were always noisy and had the blue and red lights on. Off-duty cops, detectives, spies, what are these people doing around? Your curiosity around these two can only grow. It’s not like your hometown has anything important in the first place. Anyway, you say your goodbyes and already invited them to come once more. Perhaps it will be good to have these two around, at least against burglars.

Hibari turns to Yamamoto as soon as you disappeared in a street corner, with earbuds on, bursting your playlist for a nice walk and everything “That’s why we shouldn’t operate with any civilians nearby, we might be compromised now.”.

“It wasn’t that bad, I think they got to sympathize with us, it’ll be just a weird day on their life.” Takeshi stretches his arms, it’s quite complicated to deal with you and Hibari all at once. “But, still if we didn’t interfere these guys might take them hostage, steal the shop, or whatever their intentions were. We’re lucky you saw they had guns when passing by the street.”

“I am sure Kusakabe will find out their true intentions, but meanwhile we cannot afford to bring attention to us. No more.” Hibari walked down the street, ready to get to his new apartment. “And, Yamamoto.”

“What?”

“If you get back here in the shop, don’t do anything weak and stupid.” A threat, how much that suits him, it must be a serious matter, no wonder the Foundation decided to settle in that small town for a while. Once Hibari got home, greeted by Hibird’s singing, he lets out a long sigh. What happened today? Two Mafia men going out for a civilian’s small business as if it’s a serious matter for them. But especially, the Cloud Guardian feels like he just knows you from somewhere. Your voice and eyes seem oddly familiar, but if he was to put this feeling into words it’ would simply smell like bullshit. Herbivore bullshit. He takes a long shower, and gets to bed to read something before sleeping, but can’t concentrate on his book. It can’t be, he even loses sleep and feels exhausted, only falling asleep when his body couldn’t take it anymore.

He wakes up in a bad mood, feeds Hibird and Roll, and opens his fridge: nothing, just a bottle of water. Well, he has to remind Kusakabe to do his groceries, but for now, he’ll be ok with going to your shop for breakfast. He gets changed from his kimono to casual clothing, it’s 07:00 AM when he walks down the block and notices no one’s inside the shop beside you, as he opened the door a ring is heard, you turn your head to see who’s there, the shop seems clean and decorated with paper and fairy lights hanging on the wall, plus with the plants of all sorts, making the place lively, with soft lo-fi music in the background. “Hey, good morning Sir.” He murmurs a response and orders blueberry pancakes with a black coffee on the balcony. “Thanks for coming after yesterday, I came here earlier to clean but your partner Kusakabe was waiting at the door to help me out.”

“Good.” As you manage the register, he notices you have cupcakes with colorful glaze and cutesy decor right beside you, and a poster that he can’t read from that distance. You see he’s staring at something and offers him one of the cupcakes. “Today I’m throwing a small event here, the shop will celebrate 2 years of business, come by if you want to.”

“I’m not letting you give me everything in the shop for free.” He rejects and suits himself a table nearby the window. “I don’t like parties, or crowded places so I’ll stop by tomorrow.” This hurts your ego a little bit, but it would probably be embarrasing to have a stranger around, he’s quiet most of the time. You wonder if Yamamoto is more of a party person, then, your thoughts drift to the question: Is Yamamoto Takeshi single? He doesn’t have a wedding ring, and neither does Hibari.

You shake your head before you could turn red in front of him. “Well, I’ll save you a piece of cake my parents made then.” You say, as you get prepared to do everything for today’s menu ready.

“You don’t have to.” Ouch. You decide to not offer him more things, but this behaviour makes you wonder if he has a jealous partner.

Usually you let everything sort-of-ready so you just need to heat them in the oven on the back of the balcony. Cooking is time-consuming, but at least it’s pretty lucrative. “I think I’ll take around 30 minutes since you’re an early bird. You can use a laptop to work or shop for flowers if you like stuff like gardening.” You turn your head to talk to him, but to your surprise, he’s already looking at some pots and examining some other gardening products you have around, you didn't expect him to be this kind of person, gardening takes nurturing, care, and a lot of attention towards a living being who doesn't even communicate like animals. He does like gardening apparently, you expected him to pull off a MacBook and have an online meeting over his meal or something, maybe doing finances of whatever organization he's probably the leader at, at least that's what his expensive suit tells. When you get to serve his plate, the spare chair has a basket full of gardening materials, seeds for fruits and veggies, some pots, a small rake, and a trowel.

As the clients come in and you get busier, he didn’t want to be a burden, so he just sat there and tried to enjoy his breakfast, even though the place was a little more crowded than he would like to. But still, Hibari can manage that for a bit, and then he realizes how the situation just got weirder to him, how come he’s doing that for you? And why did you felt so familiar? Spending most of his life there, just occasionally traveling he never noticed a person that matched that specific scene in his head. Is this some Herbivore bullshit? Maybe. Hibari is still pondering over this subject but as long as no one from the Foundation or Vongola finds out, he just found out a place with good pancakes, open from Monday to Saturday, how convenient. The whole saved your business and life thing or the fact that you’re attractive is just a small detail. When he’s done, Hibari gets up from his table and your co-worker comes to clean his spot. He takes his basket to the balcony for payment, but not before adding a purple flower to his shop list. When he gets to pass all the products, which usually the clients would take one or two plants, but he got around seven, letting the purple flower for last.

A small vase blooming with forget-me-nots, as you pass it on the register, you read the silly little tag you put in some pots as decoration, each has a quirky phrase or pun with the names, that one reads:

“Don’t forget about me”.

#hibari kyoya #KHR Fandom #khr fanfic #fanfiction #reader #hibari x reader #yamamoto takeshi #forget me not #I kinda want to continue this fanfic hhhh

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introvert--weeb · 3 years

Text

The Case of the Other Time-Leaper

Below is the first chapter of this Tokyo Revengers fanfiction. Please bare with me as I haven't written in this style for a long time <3

Please do give some constructive feedback on what you all think. And whether it should be continued here.

Shibuya, Tokyo. 5.07.2005

"Kisaki wishes to meet with you."

The voice of Shuji Hanma filled the cold night air, his golden eyes narrowed at the one he was talking to. He really didn't want to be an errand boy for Kisaki, especially when the jobs were not as fun and thrilling as the others. Yet here he was, standing at the entrance of an alley, glaring at a shorter male who simply stared blankly back.

Genji had arrived in 2005 a few hour ago so he really wasn't expecting someone to request his presence already. While it was a little strange, the grey-haired boy was bored and in desperate need of some entertainment. After all, beating up random people he found was getting old quickly.

"Sure, just give me a moment, yeah?" He pushed himself from the wall he was leaning against before heading over towards the recent unconscious boy that had provided some brief entertainment. Rummaging through his pockets, he pulled out a wallet and pocketed it into his own jacket. "I'm good to go!" Genji smiled, his eyes focused solely on the tall boy. Hanma didn't know what it was about those eyes but they sent shivers down his spine, almost resembling instinctual fear. Something about the grey-haired boy had him on high alert for the first time. But he led the boy to where Kisaki was waiting regardless.

"So you're Tetta Kisaki?" Throwing his cigarette to the ground, Genji crushed the butt under the toe of his boot. For some reason, he was expecting someone more...intimidating? Not some scrawny blond with glasses. But hey, who was he to judge? He had come across a load of people in his travels, most of them surprising him.

Kisaki watched the newcomer in both caution and interest. He had heard about a boy that suddenly turned up and was beating down gang members left and right. All reports seemed to make out that Genji was something of a monster but the person stood in front of him seemed like nothing more than a regular 16 year old.

"I'm Genji! At least, that's what everyone calls me... I am surprised you heard of me considering I only arrived here a few hours ago!" Genji didn't wait for an answer to his earlier question. It was pretty obvious that he must be Tetta Kisaki considering the lanky male had brought him here.

"Here? As in Shibuya?" Hanma butted in.

"No, no, no. Here as in 2005! I can't remember where I was beforehand though! I do think it may have been 18th Century France though!" None of what was coming out of Genji's mouth made any sense to the other two boys. What did he mean he came here from 18th Century France? He was dressed in modern clothing after all. Surely if he had come back from then, he would be dressed in old timey clothing? Hanma put it down to the boy being delusional. After all, what sane person would believe anything coming out of the stranger's mouth?

"What are you talking about?" Kisaki asked, his interest piqued by what the boy was saying. Logically, none of what he had said was possible, but there was a part of the blond that believed him. That this Genji person had travelled through time and ended up here. And he would be damned if he didn't find out if it was possible.

"Leaped through time. I ended up here as I had no real destination in mind. Just had to get out before they pulled out the good ol' guillotine," Genji laughed, recalling the only memory he had from the last experience. "Didn't want to lose my head more than I already have, after all." The laughter started to creep Hanma and Kisaki out. It was a laugh of a person unhinged. Hanma knew he was crazy but damn, this boy was making him look normal.

"So you can travel through time...willingly?" Kisaki tried to confirm this information and smirked when the grey-haired boy simply nodded, now finding his attention on his lighter. "Then, are you willing to use that ability for me? I can make it worth your time," the blond simply came right out and asked the request. If he had a time-leaper, he could make sure his plans would work. Having Genji around was looking like a huge advantage. Hanma glanced over at Kisaki as if he was insane. Did he seriously believe what the boy had said? Sometimes, Hanma had to wonder if he was the normal one in this situation. Without proof, there was no way he would believe anything Genji had to say. Maybe he would get the shorter male to prove it later.

"What's in it for me? They do say that a favour is meant to be repaid with...something or other. Or was it that nothing in this life comes in threes? That didn't sound right..." Genji had lost himself in trying to recall a popular saying, his spare hand harshly ruffling the short grey strands. The information he was searching for must be in there somewhere. After all, that's what minds are for, collecting stuff to recall later, right? But it seemed as if his was failing him. "But never mind that! As long as I get to have some fun, I don't mind doing anything. However, want someone killed and that will cost you some candy!" Genji grinned, his eyes sparkling like a child in a toyshop. That is what he reminded Kisaki of anyway. A small child that had been told they could have whatever they wanted for simply having a mouthful of veggies.

From that moment, it seemed as though an agreement had been set. Kisaki could use Genji as a tool to further his plans, as long as he provided some entertainment for the older teen.

Somewhere in Shibuya, Tokyo. 6.07.2005

Takemichi comes back to the past, a clear mission in mind.

Meet with either Manjiro Sano or Tetta Kisaki and prevent the two from meeting.

Now that the blond thought about it, it seemed easier said than done. After all, he doesn't recall ever coming across either of them in his original past and he had no idea what they looked like. The only information he had was that they were the Top Two of Tokyo Manji Gang in the future. And the only people he knew that had any information about Toman were Kiyomasa and his small gang.

What the young teen didn't expect was to be thrown straight into a brawl as soon as he gets to said past. One punch to the face and he was out-cold on the ground, shouts and jeers being the last thing he hears before losing consciousness.

When he had finally regained consciousness, he wasn't expecting Kiyomasa and his gang to still be where the Fight Club takes place. Maybe he could use this situation to his advantage. After all, it would make his mission a lot easier if he could meet up with either Kisaki or Sano as soon as possible. Quicker he was in making sure they never meet, the sooner he gets to go back and Hinata would be safe. That was his thought pattern anyway.

Kiyomasa obviously didn't take the mention of his boss' name falling so casually from Takemichi's lips very well. In no time, Takemichi was beaten up a lot worse than he has ever been, blood staining his skin.

What was he thinking? He couldn't save Hinata. Not when he couldn't even stand up and protect himself. All he wanted was to head back to the comfort of his future. At least there he wasn't being beaten by Kiyomasa with a baseball bat.

Genji had decided he would wander around Shibuya, having heard about there being Fight Clubs taking place there. However, he must have been late since when he got to the location, all he saw was a beaten and bloody blond. He was about to walk off again in search of some other type of entertainment until he caught sight of the blue eyes. Those eyes didn't fit a 14 year old boy and it clicked almost immediately for the taller boy.

"Hey! You're a time-leaper, aren't ya?"

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo revengers fic #tokyo revengers spoilers ahead #the case of the other time-leaper #original character #canon divergence au #follows main canon #kisaki tetta #hanma shuji #takemichi hanagaki #hanagaki takemichi #toman arc #constructive criticism welcome #feedback welcome

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mellointheory · 3 years

Text

inhaling smoke, i just awoke

Red wakes up because he’s cold.

It’s winter in Hypixel City, and even the amount of toxins the city puts into the air doesn’t keep the weather from getting cold. Red used to live near a factory that, despite its other drawbacks, kept the air around it warm. He moved away from the factory after he lost his job at the pharmacy. Of course, at that point there wasn’t much of a factory to move away from.

He fights the urge to stay in bed, even though his blankets are thin. It’s only when a glance at his alarm clock tells him it’s 10:46 AM that he gains the motivation to get up. His hands are numb and he blows on them periodically as he gets dressed. There are stains on his palms and fingertips; skin spotted in dark purple and blue. He was working on something new before he went to bed: a recipe of his own that should give the user enhanced eyesight. He tried it last night and all it did was give everything he looked at an edge of bright orange or cyan. He still has the residual headache from it behind his eyes.

Red and white hoodie. Headphones. Bag full of enhancements--the kind that people will actually buy. A baseball bat painted with candy-cane stripes, just in case. Then it’s time for him to go to work.

He ended up in the dockyards of the city after the pharmacy incident, partially because no one would come looking for him here and partially because it was full of exactly the type of degenerates he could sell to. This was where the unwanted of the city ended up; hybrids and cyborgs who’d gone to the wrong place for their surgeries, stray creatures trying to scrape through living in alleyways. One of them ducks into a gutter as he passes; a kind of modified creature with fur and wings. It’s probably been commissioned by some rich person in the upper quarter of the city, then tossed out as soon as they got bored with their living artwork.

Red turns up the music in his headphones and shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets, trying to keep them warm. It’s snowing out here; flakes of grey slush raining down. He could almost mistake it for ash if it didn’t melt when it touched his skin.

A neon sign, its glow still noticeable despite the late morning due to the dark clouds hanging in the sky, catches his attention.

Munchy, it reads in cursive yellow text. Below it are the glass doors of what appears to be a small bar. It’s a little early for one to be open, and there’s far more patrons than he would guess from a place like this. They must serve breakfast or something. He’s not dumb enough to sell in someone else’s establishment without talking to the owner first; but this has more potential customers than anywhere else he’s passed and he’s loathe to let the chance go.

Red pushes one of the doors open with his forearm and walks inside, exhaling as warm air swirls around him. He walks up to the counter and sits down, resting his elbows on it and sliding his headphones down around his neck.

“Can I get you anything?” A blonde man in an apron turns towards him, sliding a cup of coffee across the counter to someone sitting a few seats down.

“Um, yes.” Red straightens his back, smacking his palms down on the counter. “Could I talk to the owner?”

The man squints at him through green eyes, vaguely suspiciously, then shrugs. “Sure. He’s through those doors,” a finger points at a pair of double doors at the other end of the bar.

Red spins his bar stool in the direction the blonde man directed and gets up, walking over the strip of linoleum floor between squeaky-clean booths. He pushes the indicated doors open and find what appears to be a small casino. His gaze passes over the poker and pool tables and catches on a figure behind a desk all the way at the other end of the room. He takes a step forward.

“Excuse me,” a voice at his elbow says, and he turns to see a cat.

A catboy.

The man is standing behind a counter to Red’s right, soft fur and pointed ears and huge eyes. He’s patterned like toast, is Red’s first thought. Soft, cream colored fur that shades to tan on his face and almost black on the backs of his ears. His hands that rest on the counter are delicate and covered in short fur as well, except for soft pads on his palms and fingertips. Red wonders if he has claws. His blue eyes are mostly pupil at the moment, dilated in the low lights of the empty casino.

“You need to leave your weapon here.” The cat hybrid says apologetically. He has little fangs that glint against the pink inside of his mouth when he speaks.

Red reaches up and pulls his basketball bat from where it’s strapped to his back, extending his arm full length to hand it to the other man. The cat hybrid leans forward to grab it as close to the handle as possible and Red glimpses his tail curling up behind the counter to help him keep his balance.

Coming here was a very good idea.

The thought stays even when he walks up to the desk at the other end of the casino and sees a demon sitting there.

The demon’s name is Bad and despite his initial disappointment that Red was not in fact a traveling muffin salesman, he gives Red permission to sell his enhancements in that area. Red may have glossed over all of the benefits of the various concoctions he creates, but he receives the go-ahead that he needs.

If anyone bothers you, feel free to let me or Antfrost know! The demon said cheerily as Red was on his way out. The catboy nodded in agreement, eyes staying downcast when he handed Red back his baseball bat.

Red half hopes that someone will mess with him. He waves a goodbye to the blonde man working behind the bar and hooks his headphones up over his ears again as he strides out into the cold of the street.

He sells half of the supply he packed, and only one person tries to rob him. That’s a downright phenomenal day of business, honestly. He starts to head home when he gets hungry in the late afternoon. The sun is low in the sky at this point, and that combined with the heavy cloud cover of winter has it dark enough for the street lights to be on. Its not night, but there’s a grey gloom over everything that’s only faintly dispelled by the blue-white street lamps every once in a while.

Red hums along to the music in his headphones as he walks. It’s finally stopped snowing. There’s about an inch of snow on the ground, trampled to grey slush on the street and sidewalk, and in the gutter stained various colors by whatever toxic muck runs through there. He spies a patch of untouched snow near the base of a building and squats down, pressing his forefinger into it.

The snow stains red, chemicals bleeding off of Red’s skin into the pristine whiteness. A trail of crimson trails after his finger as he drags it through the snow.

He draws a penis.

“Excuse me?” A voice asks hesitantly, and Red looks up. The catboy from earlier today is standing above him, huddled in a dark green coat. Like an angel from above, back in Red’s life already. Antfrost, the demon had said his name was.

“Hi, Antfrost.” Red beams, standing up and shoving his headphones down around his neck so he can hear the man properly.

“Hi, I—didn’t catch your name.” Antfrost glances down at the penis Red drew in the snow.

“I’m Velvet, but most people call me Red.” Red sticks out a hand.

“I can see why.” Antfrost stares at the red stains on his skin, hesitates, then reaches out and clasps Red’s hand. He shakes it once, then pulls his back. His fur is like soft silk and the pads on his palms are warm enough to leave the faint ghost of his touch on Red’s skin.

“Do you sell sedatives?” Antfrost asks abruptly, shoving both his hands into his coat’s pockets. Red notices that his tail is nowhere in sight, which means it’s probably tucked away into his pants to stay warm. The thought is unbearably endearing to him.

“What kind of sedatives do you want?” Red asks, swinging his shoulder bag around in front of him and unzipping it to look through it.

“A mist or something?” Antfrost tries to peer inside the bag, although odds are that he doesn’t know what any of the potions’ colors and appearance actually mean.

“How wide of a range do you need?” Red zips his bag shut again and folds his arms.

“Big.” Antfrost’s pupils tighten to little slits, and he frowns. And now he looks dangerous, a fanged man with narrowed eyes and some goal not yet revealed to Red. It’s fascinating.

“I don’t have anything like that with me,” Red starts, and before Antfrost can open his mouth he continues, “but I can make some for you within an hour. When do you need it?”

“Tonight.” Antfrost says resolutely. “How much will it cost?”

“For you? Free.” Red turns and starts down the street again. Antfrost follows a few feet behind.

“Are you sure?” The cat hybrid asks.

“Of course I am. Your boss did me a favor, so I’ll pay it forward.” Red glances back at him. “I can make that in half an hour, if you don’t mind waiting at my place till it’s done.”

“That’s not a problem.” Ant puts his hood up. His ears make little points in the top of the fabric.

Red’s apartment is only a few minutes away, but it’s long enough for his hands to get numb. His headphones double as earmuffs, so he puts them back on as they walk to keep his ears from getting cold. He’s thankful for when they finally make it up the stairs to the small, three room apartment that he calls home.

Damn, not even the first date and Antfrost has already come home with him.

Red fumbles with his keys and unlocks the door with cold fingers, kicking it open and nodding at Antfrost to go inside. He pries the keys out of the lock and closes the door behind them, exhaling. He doesn’t have heating, but the walls and insulation make it at least a little bit warmer than outside, and as soon as he starts cooking what Antfrost has asked for, it’ll heat up in here.

The front door opens directly to the small tiled kitchen that Red uses almost exclusively for manufacturing. The counters are occupied by synthesis stands and bunsen burners, and the open cupboards are full of jars of multicolored chemicals. Red sets his bag on the ground and rolls up his hoodie sleeves, nudging his chin at Antfrost. “Can you pull the pots out of that and put them in the fridge?”

Antfrost nods, turning around from where he was ogling the liquid-filled glass on Red’s shelves. Red slips past him and reaches up, pulling down four different bottles and putting them on the counter. This is a simple recipe, it shouldn’t take him long. He starts the blue flame of the burner and holds his hands over it, letting his numbed fingers warm up.

“How large of a radius do you need this to cover?” Red swirls a vial of zolazepam hydrochloride, then checks the temperature of the flame and turns it down slightly.

“I don’t know, big?” Antfrost rests his elbows on the counter, staring at the swirls of bubbles in the depths of the liquid. “Like, small stadium sized.”

Red whistles, sloshing tiletamine into one of the vials in the synthesis stand. Some of it splashes on his fingers, adding to the stains on his skin. He doesn’t mind. Antfrost is definitely planning something very, very interesting tonight. Hopefully no one can trace the origins of the sedative back to Red. He adds a few more chemicals to another vial, caps them both, and presses a button to start the process. He puts a few pumps of nitrous oxide into the mixing chamber.

“It’s like a cock-fighting ring,” Antfrost bursts out.

“You mean a strip club?” Red raises an eyebrow.

“Wh--no.” Antfrost blinks. Pauses. Gathers his words again. He’s cute when he’s flustered. “It’s like a pit where they get genetically modded animals to fight and bet on it. They have a bunch of chimeras trapped in there.”

“So you want to get them out, huh?” Red turns a valve and watches as the two vials mix, emerald green and golden liquid swirling together.

Antfrost nods.

“Why tonight?”

“They keep them all locked up except for the fights.” Antfrost explains. His ears flatten back against his head as he speaks. “But they’ll all be out in their cages tonight. So if I can knock the entire place unconscious…”

“You can get them out.” Red finishes. “What are you gonna do with them after? Keep them in your basement?”

“Drive them to the edge of the city and let them out.” Ant’s tail has slipped free from wherever he was hiding it, and Red is so distracted by its back-and-forth swishing that he almost forgets to turn down the flame exactly when the mixture is boiling at 211° Fahrenheit.

Antfrost wants to be a hero.

Red grew up in the bowels of Hypixel City, pinching pennies like his parents taught him to. He only stayed off the streets due to an unusually high tolerance for chemicals that landed him a job at a pharmacy, mixing drugs for addicts trying to get their fix through the guise of medicine. He’s experienced with cynicism, with people busy deciding something wasn’t their problem simply because they didn’t have the strength to care. And here was this hybrid man, planning an optimistic rescue mission just because he knew animals were being hurt and it made him sad.

Kindness. Red wonders when it became something unfamiliar to him.

The liquid he’s mixed evaporates into a faint yellow mist that he splits into three different vials. He caps them and lines them up on the counter. Antfrost reaches for the one still under Red’s hand and, impulsively, he slides it farther away from the hybrid’s grasp.

“I’m coming.” Red declares. Antfrost looks up, pupils dilating and expanding to make his blue eyes suddenly seem three times bigger. Fuck, that’s cute.

“Are you sure?” He asks, screwing up his face.

“Absolutely.” Red nods.

“Can you fight at all?” Antfrost steps back and gives Red a once-over.

“I don’t carry a baseball bat around just because it makes me look sexy.” Red reminds him.

“Okay, sure,” Antfrost says doubtfully.

“When do we leave?”

Antfrost looks around for a clock on the walls, turning in a slow circle and finding none. Red shakes his sleeve back from his wrist and holds his arm out to let the hybrid read the time. It’s 5:43 in the afternoon.

“I have to get back to Bad’s bar and work.” Antfrost yanks his hood back up over his head. “But I’ll come get you around midnight, if you’re still up for it.”

Red leans against the wall to let him pass. “I will be.”

Antfrost casts a glance over his shoulder, eyes glowing faint blue from the inside of his hood. “Are you sure? You really, actually want to help?”

“Don’t have a reason not to.” Red shrugs.

There’s a long silence, then Antfrost finally says a soft thank you and leaves.

#velvetiscake #antfrost #long post #badboyhalo #ppcrew cyberpunk #mello writes

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

Harringrove April Day 16- Nostalgia

On just about every flat surface in their mansion, Steve’s mother had put out some fancy Tiffany light fixture.

Steve’s room was the only place in the whole house he got to have any day in the interior design, and his lamp, well it didn’t quite have a stained glass shade, or ornate detailing to fancy up the mansion, his happens to be an old nursery lamp from when he was six and still had a themed bedroom.

At the peak of his too cool for school teenager bullshit, he’d attempted to throw it out, sent it away to the curb with a bag of stuffed animals he claimed he didn’t need anymore, but the very same night he started having nightmares again, so he scrambled to get it back before the raccoons found it first.

That dusty old lamp had saved him from countless nights spent awake and terrified, and he wasn’t one to say he was ashamed of that.

Except, now Billy Hargrove, the pinnacle of badass, is in his room, and there it is, still plugged in on the nightstand.

Of all things too, it couldn’t have just been a generic race car lamp or something he could play off as not really being for kids, it had to be stupid Bambi.

There’s a story behind it, that when he was a toddler, his first venture out of Indiana was to go see his gramma over in Maryland, and, after one look at his big brown eyes and his fluffy brown hair, she immediately nicknamed him Bambi.

After that the name just sort of stuck with him, his parents using it when they wanted on his good side, to make up for forgetting his birthday, or as an apology for leaving him alone so long the babysitter left, so of course his mom thought it would be adorable if his bedroom was themed around it.

Somewhere in a dusty corner of the attic, he still had the curtains and the quilt and the wall hangings, and under his bed was a pillow embroidered with his name and a picture of the clumsy cartoon deer made by his gramma. And of course, there was the brightly shining lamp.

He would never admit that he kept them there for when he was at his most frightened, clutching the pillow to his chest during a nightmare, or wrapping the soft material of the tiny old quilt around his shoulders when he felt an imaginary pair of eyes watching him.

Because Steve had seen some shit, he felt that after witnessing a ten-foot tall faceless monster come through the ceiling and try to kill him, and having a herd of baby versions of that same monster charge at him with nothing but a baseball bat to protect himself and a group of defenseless children, he had earned the right to use a damn nursery lamp in his bedroom.

But, that ass-backwards swell of pride at still using his childhood comfort items at 19 years old is definitely crushed by the fact that, after being in his room for a grand total of five minutes, that’s immediately what Billy drifts to.

A drunken apology at a New Year’s party might have made up for the concussion and proved he was probably not going to beat his face in again, but it didn’t change the fact that he was in Steve’s bedroom with the edge of the printed lampshade pinched between his fingers, and a contemplative look on his face.

It was a little while after their truce was reached, that Billy just started showing up at the Harringtons’ door unannounced. Sometimes it was to borrow Steve’s first aid kit. Sometimes he’d steal some of his weed. Once he’d come over just to watch something on Steve’s TV. Whatever his reason, Steve had let him in every time.

In this particular instance, it had been Steve who had called Billy, because he had a math project and an essay due first thing tomorrow morning, and Nancy was too busy to help him.

At first he’d considered just not getting the work done, but he decided Billy would do. He was smart enough that the co-ed teacher in the math class they shared had begged him to switch to the advanced classes, so Steve figured his help wouldn’t be so bad.

But his desk where all of his school stuff is is upstairs in his bedroom, where he’s left out the dumb baby lamp, and of course that would be exactly what Billy goes straight for. Steve feels himself start to panic a little, unsure if he could trust Billy’s reaction, and convincing himself that Billy might beat his ass for being a fragile little fairy or something.

It never comes, Billy just sits down all casual on the bed next to Steve, pulling one of his legs up so he could cross it over his knee, and nods over at the lamp again. “Wish I still had something from when I was little.”

The weight of the entire universe is lifted from Steve’s chest, knowing that Billy isn’t going to tear his head off. He lets out a sharp breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “Yeah?”

Billy nods and looks down, fidgeting with the pendant he always wore around his neck. “My dad threw everything out. All I have is one little picture of my mom.”

Steve knew he lived with his step-mom, but had never even thought about what happened to Billy’s real mother. He realizes the pendant was probably a locket, the very one that holds the aforementioned picture, and asks “Can I see it?”

It looks like Billy has to think about it, as he keeps twisting the locket between his fingers, before he nods and opens it. Steve leans towards him, putting his hand up under it and holding it in his palm, straining to see the tiny, aged picture.

Even though he’s never seen this woman, it makes Steve incredibly sad, seeing her little face all worn out in that locket around her son's neck. He wonders if she was dead, or if maybe she’d lost custody for some reason, or if maybe she had just left, but whatever happened, when his eyes flicker back up to Billy’s face, the tears shining in his eyes and the way he avoids his gaze, he knows better than to ask.

Steve lets the locket fall and watches Billy snap it shut quickly, and he realizes he has no idea what the right thing to say is.

What he wants to say is that he’s sorry, for him losing his mother and having nothing but one yellowed and tear stained picture to remember her by, but that seems too much like prying, somehow not really appropriate.

Instead, he remembers what Billy said about his dad throwing his stuff out and says, “Your dad must be a real asshole, huh?”

Billy scoffs and blinks away the last of the tears in his eyes. “You’ve got no idea, Harrington.” There’s a long awkward pause, until Billy asks, “You know how I’m always coming over here with like, all kinds of shit wrong with me?”

Steve thinks he knows where this was going. “Sure.”

Chewing on the corner of his nail, Billy takes a moment to get his thoughts together, his eyes flitting nervously across the room, focusing on pretty much anything but Steve, mostly the picture frame behind him. “I lied. It’s not, like, fights or whatever I say. At least not with other kids.”

Steve himself was no stranger to conversations like these, he himself had to confess something of a similar calibre to Nancy, when they were still dating, because his father had come home from a business trip pissed off about something, and slapped him across the face just a little too hard. The sturdy silver ring that he wore on his middle finger had split the skin on Steve’s cheek, and he couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse to cover his tracks.

Admitting to it out loud was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do, so he decides he won’t make Billy say it. Maybe they weren’t on the best of terms, only here to do homework or whatever, but if he was going to open up about this, he definitely wasn’t going to make him experience that same humiliation he had.

“Is it your dad? That does that to you?” Nancy hadn’t been kind enough to spare him, forcing him to tell her once that the scar he so proudly sported wasn’t actually from a fist fight with Tommy like he said, and he wouldn’t do the same to Billy.

In lieu of a response though, Billy sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, his hands starting to shake ever so subtly, and Steve knows he’s got to keep pressing. “Do you need help? I can call the chief-“

“No.” Billy shakes his head and makes eye contact with Steve for the first time since he started talking. “Cops only make it worse.”

Steve could understand that, had tried once when he was about eight or so, with the assistance of one of the housekeepers, to call the police when his father twisted his arm so far behind his back his shoulder popped out of place, but they wouldn’t dare arrest a public figure like his father, especially not for a little corporal punishment. The first thing they’d asked was what Steve had done wrong, not why his father had felt it fitting to beat on his eight year old for a tiny mistake. He never asked for help again.

“Well is there anything I can do?” Despite their differences and the fact that he only called him here to cheat on his homework, he truly did want to help Billy. Something about repeatedly surviving horrific monster attacks made him a lot more protective of those around him, and now that they were over their dumb pissing contest, Billy was included in that too.

“Think you’ve done enough letting me into your mansion, unless that’s not good enough for your hero complex.” It was a pathetic jab, there was no bite behind his broken tone, and Steve would almost rather have him at his worst than see him so vulnerable and sad.

Steve tries to reason with him softly, “You know it’s not like that, Billy.”

“Do I?” Walls had been put up as Billy made his last ditch efforts to protect himself from being weak in front of Steve. “Cause where I’m sitting, it seems like you get off on charity cases like mine. You tryin to swoop in and save me, King Steve? Feed your ego so you can feel like the savior you were always meant to be?”

He was baiting him, trying to pick a fight so he’d push him away, Steve had seen it all before in himself and wouldn’t fall for it. “Listen. I just want to help you.”

Everything about Billy suddenly seemed to make a whole lot more sense. That whole part animal, tough guy thing was just an act, and Steve knew because he had done essentially the same thing.

Before Nancy Wheeler had taught him to be better, he and Billy really weren’t so different. He’d let high school bullshit bother him, beat up the nerds and fucked all the cheerleaders and mocked anyone lower than him on the social ladder like he was supposed to, but it always made him feel off.

In the end, it had been so easy to get him to the other side, to show him what to do instead, he supposed all he needed was a little push to help him actualize what he already believed.

And then it hits him, in that moment, that this was Billy’s push in the right direction. That he was Billy’s Nancy.

“I don’t expect you to tell me everything and I’m not doing this for me, just,” It became extremely important to him to not set Billy off, to say just the right thing to keep him on the right track. “my door is always open, Billy.”

At first, it seemed to have worked, Billy sat staring at the floor, his lip quivering as he mulled over Steve’s words, but, when he stood abruptly and snatched his leather jacket from where it was draped over the back of Steve’s desk chair, Steve knows he messed up.

“Where are you going?” He stands up fast enough to give himself a head rush while Billy shrugs his jacket back on and yanks the door open.

“Need a smoke.” That’s all he gets before the door slammed in his face, and he hears Billy's heavy boots stomping down the stairs and the sound of him slamming his front door.

He waits with bated breath and tears pricking the corners of his eyes for the sound of Billy’s car starting and tearing out of his driveway, but it never comes.

Still, he feels immensely guilty and selfish and stupid as all hell for not just biting his tongue. He should’ve just fought back, argued with him like was expecting him to instead of trying to be comforting like he was his fucking therapist or something.

Because this was Billy fucking Hargrove, stereotypical meat head bully. Why he even felt the need to help him, other than their similar upbringings and coping mechanisms, or the fact that Billy had obviously been reaching out, hoping for someone to care, was beyond him. Or maybe it really wasn’t, he knew exactly why, he just felt weak and stupid for trying, and especially so for failing.

Apparently he’d been so caught up in his little pity party that he missed the sound of the door opening back up, and didn’t notice Billy had come back until his bedroom door was open.

Steve was so relieved that Billy came back, that he hadn’t pushed him too far or fucked everything up, even if he reeked of too strong cigarettes, and growled at him when he came in, “Don’t we got fucking work to do, Harrington?”

They don’t end up finishing the essay. Steve was hopeless with numbers, and they were too busy goofing off, so the math project didn't get done very quickly. It was okay though, Billy wasn’t much help at all when it came to English anyways.

Steve walks him outside when he has to go, beating a curfew of midnight. He stops on the porch, immediately crossing his arms against the frigid cold of the night air. Billy stops too at his car, his fingers through the handle, and turns around, calling across the yard. “Hey Harrington?”

He hardly waits for Steve’s response, a quick “Yeah?” to tell him, “Thank you.”

There isn’t time for Steve to respond before Billy’s yanking open the door of his Camaro and backing out of the driveway, but he knows he’d still made astronomical progress tonight.

It makes him feel incredibly dumb, laying in his bed that night, illuminated by the warm light of that very same Bambi lamp and trying to put his thoughts of Billy to rest like he was some cheesy teenage girl, but he’s just happy to have found a friend, to have made a difference in somebody’s life, and he knows that on the other side of town, laying in own bed with his locket left open on the pillow beside him, Billy feels the same way.

#harringrove #harringroveapril #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #ej writer #story by ej!#love how I had something completely different planned but ran out of time and had to dig in my drafts for this fic #and it still took me forever to edit it

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 3 years

Text

My favorite.

NEGAN. ┃ THE WALKING DEAD.

❝ words: about 900.

❝ summary: when Negan comes back, he just have two things on mind.

❝ warnings: language and Negan being Negan.

Gif credits to the author.

MASTERLIST. ⎢ MULTIFANDOM TAG LIST

“Honey-boonie, I am home!”

You weren't expecting him. At least, not till tomorrow. But as soon as his playful and happy tone of voice echoes through the hallway, outside of his large room —where you are most of your time—, you can't help but feel a little alleviated of knowing he's still alive. Safe and sound. Coming in carrying Lucille over his shoulder, you notice the blood on his face and also staining his black leather jacket and his hands. You lick your bottom lip carefully, barely perceptible, rising from the king-size bed as Negan opens his arms showing you a huge smile from ear-to-ear.

“Have you misse— Of course you have”.

His laugh fills the room, putting down the baseball bat close to the sofa, to unzip his jacket and toss it over it. When you're close enough, he grabs your left wrist to push you to his chest. His calloused hands go straight to your ass, squeezing it with no shame while he sinks his nose into your neck.

“Oh… Home… Home, sweet home”. Negan hums lively, while you're trying to keep your composure and not to fall for his charms. “Will you help me with a bath, uh?”

As if you had another option(...). And he doesn't even need your reply, only asking for mere courtesy. So he brings you to his private bathroom turning on the lights and starting to strip himself, while you prepare for him the bathtub, filling it with warm water. It's been a week since he left The Sanctuary and watching him coming closer totally naked doesn't help to contain your desire. Negan is not the most gentleman in the world, even if you have covered all your necessities as his favorite wife —fact that he has demonstrated you sometimes—, but his ego and his arrogance are always predominating.

He comes into the tub, submerging his anatomy till the water reaches his neck with a pleased grunt. Then, you kneel on the cold floor grabbing a sponge to start cleaning up his face. Negan rests his back against the bathtub closing his eyes inevitably for your touch, washing off the blood from his skin.

“This feels so fuckin' good, sweetheart”. He whispers slowly, dragging every syllable through his teeth.

You remain silent, continuing with your main task as always until he is completely clean. Sometimes, like these ones, you can't explain to yourself how it is possible that he can be so despot while seeing him so relaxed and not opening his mouth to spit some bullshit. But then, he turns again into the jerk he is most of the time, standing up and stepping out of the bathtub while studying you with his piercing eyes.

“Clothes off. You know the rules”. Negan orders, grabbing the soft towel to dry himself before tossing it to the floor.

Rules. You hate that damn word. You're not a slave. Not even his wife, officially. And even if it was the case, you wouldn't be his slave either. But you have to obey without complaining. Gulping a sigh, looking at him disappearing from the bathroom straight to his bed, you remove your dress and your underwear to join him.

After drawing the curtains, you lie on your side of his bed not knowing if Negan wants to sleep or use you to put on you the frustration of not finding what he was looking for in his last expedition. But your silent answer is soon responded, wrapping his arms around you to move you closer to him. One of his hands travels to your throat, urging you to crash your lips on his. Devouring your mouth with necessity. But not the kind that turns into lust. Just necessity for feeling you.

You would like to not moan when his tongue finds its way among your lips to arm-wrestle yours, but you have done it. You feel ashamed of how easy Negan could make you beg for a simple touch, trying to keep in mind that you're not the only woman he cares about, that he isn't in love with you —what you don't know is that he doesn't allow you to stay dressed under his sheets because he loves to smell his own scent on your skin.

The leader of the Saviors bites and sucks your bottom lip, forcing you to drink his delighted growls when you place a leg over his, not even thinking about it before doing it.

“You're like a fuckin' candy, you know that? So damn sweet, baby girl”. His words give you goosebumps on your bare skin, as his fingers hold tight your throat to make you look at him. “Bet you're fucking wet just for me, right now, aren't you?”

“Yes”. You sound pathetic, not being able to hide your voice almost wrecking for your actual condition.

His hoarse laugh brushing your lips plays with your mind in the worst way, feeling his free hand roaming your thigh up to the curve of your ass.

“I need some rest”. He just says in response lying on his back, sliding his right arm under your neck, as he uses his other hand to rub his nose. “Be ready for when I wake up… I want your legs well spread to fuck that little warm pussy of yours”.

Swallowing, you nod your head imperceptible, getting somewhat comfier against his body.

“Good girl”.

#the walking dead imagine #the walking dead #negan x reader #negan x you #negan fanfiction #negan

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k-project-singularity · 3 years

Text

Facts & Trivia || Misaki Yata

The following is part of a series of posts made by me. The information listed is official canon provided by GoRa. Sources will go from the anime, to mangas and novels as well as official short stories. These are NOT fanmade headcanons. The purpose of these posts is to provide useful information for fans as well as roleplayers looking for confirmed lore for their muses. Please do not reply to argue with me about what you read here. I did not come up with this stuff myself. GoRa did. I’ll come back to edit these as I find more info.

Born on July 20, 1993 (The same year as Daichi Yamata, Tōru Hieda, Andy Dōmyōji and Saruhiko Fushimi).

Member of Homra since January/February 2009, when he was 15 years old alongside Saruhiko Fushimi.

His Homra insignia is on the left collarbone like Saruhiko Fushimi’s. Yata and Fushimi are remarkably known as the first and only case in which two clansmen received the mark on the same spot. Yata took great pride in this and will show it off often. He hates that Fushimi marred his own.

His weapons of choice are his fists and legs that Yata uses with expert street fighting moves and acrobatics. He also brandishes blunt weapons such as a baseball bat and a pole, and can control his aura to make his skateboard go faster as well as use it as a weapon itself.

He wears a smartwatch that he uses instead of a PDA. It has all the functions of a mobile phone, including camera and holographic screen as well as a flashlight. It was gifted to him by Fushimi, who personally customized it for him when they were roommates.

Yata called himself Yatagarasu to sound cooler as a Homra member. Yatagarasu is a crow spirit with three legs in Japanese folklore.

Yata is the vanguard of Homra. This means he adopts an all-out direct offense tactic, charging at the enemy on the front without any regard for his own safety. This used to make his duo with Saruhiko almost invincible as his friend would watch his back and finish off the enemy. But after they split up, this strategy doesn’t work as well and Yata often puts his own life at risk with it.

He was born with a different (and unknown) last name. His last name became “Yata” only once his mother remarried (In Japan children of remarried women get their new stepfather’s last name). Misaki was 6 years old at the time.

He hates to be called by his first name because it’s girly. The only people allowed to use it without getting yelled at are his family, Anna, and Saruhiko back when they were friends. Saruhiko still calls him Misaki out of habit, sometimes just to annoy him.

During his earliest childhood he was best friend with Rikio Kamamoto, dragging him around in all kinds of dangerous explorations. Departing from him at 6 years old, he reunites with Rikio once he joins Homra nine years later.

He always displayed a kind of tough, abusive friendship with Kamamoto, calling him names because of his weight and yelling at him when Rikio showed weakness by crying. Even now he doesn’t hesitate to fight him or physically hit him when in an argument.

Though he was born in Shizume City, he moved to live elsewhere at 6 with his mother when she remarried. When he was 12 his family moved in Chiyoda City (Saruhiko and Scepter 4’s district) and was able to go visit Shizume City again because it was nearby. At 15 years of age he returned to live in Shizume City when he moved in with Fushimi.

He attended Himuka Middle School in Chiyoda City, where he met and befriended Fushimi. Both of them dropped out at the end of their third year.

Though he was often bullied, Yata was kind of a bully himself at school, often forcing people into being his friends and scaring them with his fierce and strong personality. This caused the other kids to not really like him much and blacklist him behind his back.

Swears and yells a lot. He’s very manic and violent when he gets worked up and won’t hesitate to give a beating to fellow clansmen too if they anger him (or even if they don’t, in the case of Kamamoto).

He’s very good at baseball and is particularly proud of his straight as a pitcher.

He can use both the skateboard and surf board very skillfully. Even to the point where girls will find him cool, unbeknownst to him. He owns both boards stylized with Homra’s symbol.

His favorite subjects in school were PE and music.

However, seen how bad Yata was at playing Totsuka’s guitar, it’s safe to assume his only musical talent was singing.

He tried to learn to play the guitar from Totsuka.

He likes videogames, which he played a lot with Saruhiko in the past. He often goes to the arcade and has even taught Anna to play FPS games. This shows he might be a bit oblivious to what is appropriate for a kid when it comes to gore and violence.

For his age, he has pretty good housekeeping and cooking skills. However, Kamamoto has described Yata’s cooking as “too manly” for a girl’s birthday.

All animals seem to dislike him for some reason. This includes the horse strain Basashi and a retriever that Fujishima once picked up.

Neko, who also believes to be a cat, shows instinctive hostility towards Yata just like a real cat would.

Yata is actually upset when animals hate him and to bring it up is a sensitive subject.

This seems to be a “mirroring” trait to Fushimi, who instead dislikes animals and yet seems to attract them to himself like a magnet.

Eric Sōlt seems to dislike him (a reference to his dog-like personality), and often mocks him in English. Though Yata’s English is bad, he seems to be able to pick up the insults and gets very annoyed.

He’s very annoyed by how popular Kamamoto gets in the summer when he loses weight. Though, rather than because of jealousy, it might be because when Rikio is surrounded by girls it is impossible for Yata to approach him or hang out with him at ease.

He’s an active member of the Committee of Fattening Up Kamamoto Rikio, going great lengths with his cooking skills to make him gain weight (even to the point where his own living budget will be as low as to force Yata to eat poorly).

Yata appears to get overwhelmingly flustered in the presence of young women, to the point he looks outright terrified and avoids interacting with them. He seems to be okay with little girls or women far older than himself.

Because of his past drama with Saruhiko, Yata holds a personal and violent grudge towards Scepter 4 and anything related to them, reacting with suspicion and hostility towards any of its members.

By far the member who cares about Homra’s honor the most. Yata doesn’t tolerate that anything offensive is said about his King or clan. He also gets furious when his fellow clansmen act in dishonorable ways that could stain the Red Clan’s reputation, and will violently discipline them without any restraint if so.

In general, Yata proves to have great pride and sense of honor overall, refusing to strike at injured people, no matter how bad he hates them.

Despite his problems with Fushimi and how directly he insults him as they fight, Yata also won’t tolerate that anyone else speaks poorly of him. In general, Homra members know to avoid the topic entirely around Yata.

He’s known to not listen all too well to no one, save perhaps Mikoto-san (who however hardly ever tells him anything).

This may be another a mirror personality trait to reflect Fushimi, who instead doesn’t speak out his thoughts (“He never listens vs. He never tells”).

He won’t tolerate being bossed around by any guy save the Homra founders. Yata dislikes when people settle things on their own. Ironically, he is guilty of this fault himself as he often takes decisions and acts without waiting.

Despite his fiery temper, Yata is very nurturing and won’t hesitate to show concern and care for those he’s very close to. Though he may be aggressive about it, especially with Saruhiko.

Yata is tormented by not knowing the exact reasons behind Saruhiko’s betrayal. He’ll ask him several times, only to get mocked as a result.

When he and Saruhiko start arguing, Yata can get tunnel vision and forget about everything else around him, including bullets and grenades.

Though he always swears he’ll beat Saruhiko to death, deep inside Yata has never given up on getting his friend back, and always looks with hope for signs from Saruhiko that they can be comrades again. Because of this he gets even more hurt every time Saruhiko reiterates his betrayal and spite towards Homra.

Yata can be a bit of a crybaby and tear up more easily than most guys.

He’s terrified of ghosts. When he hears about ghost stories or thinks one may be close, Yata gets extremely jittery and manic. However, he strongly denies his fears and will react with nervous violence if accused of this.

#k project #lore #misaki yata

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jungshookz · 4 years

Text

CHAPTER ONE: It begins.

it’s... cold.

why is it cold?

the first thing you hear is the sound of someone calling for you, but his voice is shaky and he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears

“y/n… please… please wake up…”

your eyelids feel heavy and you can’t seem to open your eyes no matter how hard you try

fingers prod at your back and you instinctively go to flick them away but you can’t seem to move

“please wake up… please wake up…”

what the hell is going on?

when you finally manage to peel your eyes open, you find yourself staring directly at a pair of tattered old sneakers that you recognise to be jungkook’s

you know they belong to him because the seams on the right shoe started to split last week and he’s been too lazy to order another pair for himself

okay

well

if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that you don’t know where you are

“don’t leave me alone… i can’t do this without you…”

all you know is that your body is aching and your ears are ringing and your head is pounding and you feel like you’ve just woken up from a one hundred year long nap

long story short

you are noT feeling very well

a pained groan slips past your lips as you slowly push yourself up off the ground before reaching up to press your palm flat against your forehead

jesus christ

your brain feels like it’s about to melt out of your ears

“what’s going on?” you croak, “where are we?”

you clear your throat before reaching up to wrap your fingers around it

it kind of feels like you swallowed sandpaper and then gargled saltwater right afterwards

you reach up to rub at your tender cheek seeing as it was squished down against this rough wooden floor for god knows how long

“what... what’s... what’s going on?” you ask dumbly before looking around the room

you’re not sure what time it is but it’s obviously nighttime because you can barely see anything

you look over to see soft moonlight peeping in through the cracks in the wooden planks that are nailed against the windows

the only source of viable light is jungkook’s flashlight and even that’s starting to die on him a little bit

“don’t be so loud-” jungkook hisses as he glances towards the closed door warily, “i-i’m not sure. i woke up ten minutes ago. do you remember anything at all?”

“i wish i could say i did.” you mutter before looking over at the door as well, “where’s everyone else?”

“no idea.”

“huh.”

it’s weird

you really can’t recall anything that happened prior to this moment

you dO know for a fact that the eight of you were together at some point… but now it’s just you and jungkook

“well… okay, lemme just-” you slowly get up onto your feet before stretching your limbs out

your joints pop and crack back into place as you twist and turn and shake the numbness away

okay yeah

you’re definitely have to go for some kind of a massage as soon as you find a way to get the hell out of whatever crackhouse this is

“i’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for this.” you wrap your arms tight around yourself before shivering

it’s a little drafty in here

“oh, really? there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why we woke up in what seems to be an abandoned old house?” jungkook hisses as he gets up off the ground as well, “i can’t remember anything. something isn’t right here!”

“at least we’re still alive...?” you mutter, checking your hands and arms to see if there are any scratches and bruises

nothing

which is a good sign, right?

“how are you being so calm about all of this, y/n?” jungkook frowns

you reach down to dust off the front of your jeans before shrugging, “someone has to be, because if we’re both panicky, we’re probably never going to get out of this place.”

“wha-”

“did you find any other tools besides that flashlight?” you ignore jungkook’s panic-infused comments as you make your way over to the large set of drawers at the other end of the bedroom

“no, because i’ve been trying to wake you up for the past ten minutes. the flashlight was near me when i woke up.”

“maybe there are some batteries in here somewhere…” you yank the creaky drawer with a grunt

you’re met with disappointment when you see that all that’s in here is a folded piece of paper

“what does it say?” you jolt in surprise when jungkook suddenly speaks up directly behind you and you give him a gentle nudge with your elbow before picking the note up

don’t let the light die

“don’t let the light die…?” you frown lightly before peering over at the flashlight in jungkook’s hand

really??

you’re not supposed to let the light die and all you get to help you with that is a dusty old flashlight?

that’s the equivalent of bringing a water gun to a sword fight

“what do you think that means?” jungkook whispers and you shrug in response

“i don’t know. this seems like some kind of an elaborate prank or something. and whoever wrote this has the handwriting of a three year old toddler, so i wouldn’t worry too much about it,” you tuck the paper into your back pocket for safe-keeping before pushing past jungkook to explore the rest of the room, “how long do you think we have until your flashlight dies?”

“not sure…” jungkook shakes it before tapping it against his palm, “maybe, like, twenty minutes at best?”

“okay, well- oh, wait!” you spin around before letting out a scoff, “we’re so dumb - we can just use our phones-”

you pat your pockets down and-

…

where’s your phone?

you curse quietly when you don’t feel the familiar rectangular shape anywhere

whoever put you here took your phone too???

harsh

your snapchat streaks are all probably gone by now

you and jungkook had a 1385 day streak!

okay

you know what

it’s fine

you’ll just email snapchat later and beg them to restore the streak it’ll be fiNE

in the meantime, you should probably focus on getting out of this place instead of your snapchat streaks

“okay, let’s just-” you run a hand through your hair before looking around the room, “just help me look for something, anything we can use to defend ourselves in case we need to- i don’t know, fight someone?“

“oh, god. you think we’re going to have to fight our way out of here?” jungkook whines, his brows knitting together in concern

you whip around to glare at him, “you’re the stronger one out of the two of us, so you better be prepared to fight if we need to, you wuss-”

there’s a bunch of junk scattered around this bedroom so you’re sure you’ll be able to find something to use

you’re a little bit hesitant to get on top of this bed because you don’t know how old this house is and the sheets look pretty nasty

the mattress creaks underneath your knees as you crawl on top of it and your nose wrinkles at the musty, mildewy smell

gross

you flip over the questionably stained pillows one by one and perk up when you spot another folded note under one of them

“another one?” you mutter to yourself as you pick it up

don’t turn around

god

what is with all these cryptic messages, seriously?

you don’t have time to try to figure out what all of these mean!!

“y/n, check it out!” you turn to glance over your shoulder to see jungkook holding a baseball bat up triumphantly, “found it in the closet!”

“oh, sweet! good job, kook.” you hop off the mattress (thank god) before scurrying over to join him by the closet, “what else is in here?”

you nudge him to the side before dropping to your knees to dig through the mess of items on the ground

“nothing much…” jungkook hums, “clothes… shoes… you know, normal things that go in a normal closet-”

you pause upon noticing a tattered looking leather journal buried underneath all the clothes

“and there’s this.” you pull it out and dust the cover off before wiping your hand on the side of your leg

it crinkles as you open it up and you smooth your hand over the first page

the pages are wrinkled and yellowed and honestly you can barely read the words because most of the ink is faded

you flip through it slowly and reach up to adjust jungkook’s hand so that you can get more light on the book

“what’s that?”

“someone’s journal or diary or something, i guess?”

“...i feel like that can’t be a good sign.”

you flip through the pages faster and faster and you feel your heart starting to pound in your chest

these messages are… creepy

don’t turn

can’t hide

no door

trust him? trust them?

all smiles :-)

“damnit.” you mutter to yourself as you bring the book closer to you to trY and read the faded messages

on the last page (the rest of the book is blank) is a messy sketch of what appears to be a bunch of long panels formed into the shape of an octagon with a little red ‘x’ in the very centre of it

okay

here’s what you know

you woke up in a room in a house and you don’t know how you got here

the only source of light you have is a shitty old flashlight

the only kind of weapon you have is a shitty old baseball bat

this journal has a bunch of weird messages scrawled inside of it but you don’t know if the information in it is important or if the owner of the journal is just insane

and… yeah!

that’s about it

there’s really not much else to unpack here

and as much as you would like to stay here wondering what the hell is going on, you really don’t have the time for this and it would probably be more productive to actively try to get out of this place

and you feel like if you bring the book with you, something spooky might happen… so maybe you’ll just leave it be

at least that’s what all the scary movies you’ve ever watched have taught you

you never mess with the journals!

you toss the book aside before getting up onto your knees and dusting them off

“alright, c’mon-” you brush past kook and head towards the door with the baseball bat in your hand, “let’s go.”

jungkook’s lips part and he lets out a squawk before stumbling over to join you, “what- wha- what do you mean ‘let’s go’?”

you turn to look at him right as you’re about to reach for the doorknob before raising a brow, “i mean, let’s get out of this room so we can get out of this house-“

“no!” jungkook shakes his head frantically before backing up, “i-i think we should just stay in here until the morning. it’ll be safer that way and we’ll be able to find everyone else a lot easier.”

your shoulders drop and you resist the urge to roll your eyes

he wants to STAY here?

you’d very much like to LEAVE here so you can go back to the comfort of your own home

and you feel really gross!! you wanna take a shower!! rinse all this grime off!!

“jungkook, from the looks of it, it’s not going to be morning for a couple more hours, and you said yourself that the flashlight probably isn’t even going to last one hour.” you gesture to the flashlight in his hand - which flickers and dies for a brief second, proving your point - before placing a hand on your hip, “now, c’mon. i have a bat. you have your fists. we’ll be fine.”

“but- what about that note you read earlier? a-about not letting the light die and stuff? a-and all the messages in that book?”

“exactly! we can’t let the light die - someone had to have put it there for a reason, right?” you appeal to jungkook’s spooky little conspiracy in an attempt to get him to lift his feet up off the ground, “that means that we need to make use of our only source of light and get out of here as soon as possible, okay? we have each other. we’ll be fine, kook.”

jungkook chews anxiously at the inside of his cheek as he thinks to himself

a good ten seconds of silence ticks by and he still hasn’t responsed

oh for god’s sake

you let out an exasperated sigh, “look, if it makes you feel any better, i’ll lead the way! and we can hold hands or something.”

“i don’t-” jungkook reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, “i don’t need to hold your hand-“

“alright, fine, we won’t hold hands since you’re a big strong man who definitely isn’t scared shitless right now,” you shake your head and reach for the doorknob again, “can you please just get over here so that we can-”

BAM!

you immediately fall backwards in surprise when suddenly someone starts pounding at the door

you wince as your elbows hit the ground and sharp pain shooTs up your arms

“are you okay??” jungkook helps you back up onto your feet and you nod quickly as you keep your eyes glued on the door

it’s being pounded on so hard that it’s practically vibrating

“HELP! HELP ME!”

you recognise the voice to be taehyung’s and you can’t help but feel a sense of relief even though relief should be the last emotion that this situation brings

“LET ME IN, PLEASE- PLEASE, I KNOW YOU GUYS ARE IN THERE, PLEASE LET ME IN-”

you go to open the door but jungkook suddenly grabs the back of your arm and yanks you backwards, “n-no!”

“wha-” you turn around to look at him with wide eyes, “what do you mean ‘no’?! are you insane??”

jungkook’s grip tightens around your arm and he looks over at the door warily, “y/n, don’t open it!”

“PLEASE- PLEASE, I DON’T WANT TO DIE-”

“we have to open the door!” you hiss, “taehyung’s in trouble!”

“but- if you open that door, all three of us could die!” jungkook stammers, “that locked door is the only thing keeping us alive! we don’t know what’s out there, y/n!”

you jump as the doorknob starts to rattle violently

at this point, taehyung could probably break the door down and come in himself

you look down at jungkook’s hand around your arm and then back up towards the trembling door

What do you want to do?

> [A]: Open the door! That’s your friend out there! Taehyung would do the same thing for you… right? Wouldn’t he?

> [B]: Are you serious right now?! Jungkook’s right! You can’t open the door, otherwise whatever’s out there is going to get you guys too! Sorry, but everyone for themselves…

Place your vote here.

You have one hour.

Good luck.

#choh2020 #choh2020 drabbles

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samiralula01 · 4 years

Text

Jason Todd is the Anti-Batman

* A pointless rambling of the relationship and parallels between Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd.

Picture this opening scene: There are two boys in a dark alley.

One is dressed in an expensive suit with a tie his dead father helped him with only earlier that evening. His hands are stained red with the same blood now puddled on the grimy cement. His face is in shock.

The second boy is dressed in tattered jeans and hoodie. His hands are stained with tires grease and are clutching a tire iron. His face is in shock.

Decades later, there are two more scenes to consider.

A seriously injured man sits slumped over in his father’s study. Without warning, a bat crashes through the window, and everything falls into place. He now knows what he needs to do.

Elsewhere, an emotionally distraught teenager is curled up into a fetal position on a hotel room floor. Heart wrenching cries can be heard from him. But it is only momentary. He now knows what he needs to do.

These two individuals are Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd. While they are both broken and determined men, Batman is a hero. The Red Hood is not. He is the anti-Batman and this is why.

Two Boys in an Alleyway

Despite similarities in their stories’ early themes and elements, Bruce and Jason came to walk down very different paths. One of justice, and the other vengeance. Batman is determined to protect the innocent and Jason more so on punishing the guilty. Both their ideologies have intrinsic flaws, of course, and will naturally clash often. But this wasn’t always the case.

Before they became a father and son perpetually in mourning for who they once were and what could have been, Bruce and Jason were remarkably similar. The two are cut from the same cloth and Bruce knows this better than anyone else.

In the Dumpster Slasher three-part story line, (Batman #414, #421, #422) Bruce becomes emotional. Violent. He sits in the batcave alone that night and contemplates his emotions.

“Nearly blew it. I let it get too personal. Lost my detachment...nearly lost control. Almost beat Cutter to death. Wouldn’t have been any big loss.”

Only one issue later, at the end of this story arc, Robin is out on the streets and becomes angry when he happens upon a pimp is threatening a prostitute with a knife. Now, I want you to compare his line here to Bruce’s and note what Jim Gordon said to him as well.

Batman: "I think he’s had enough, Robin. What were you trying to do, kill him?" Robin (Jason): “Would it’ve been that big of a loss if I had?”

It is important to note here that Batman is not worried or upset just because Jason roughs up a pimp. That would be hypocritical considering his own earlier actions. If anything, it’s because one of the main reasons Batman even takes in these kids, these ‘robins,’ is because he doesn’t want them to be like him.

And Jason was acting just like him.

Jason can and has screwed up and failed due to his own actions, but it was never the reason Batman became upset with him. His reactions in the comics when Jason does things like running ahead and ‘jumping the gun,’ are more like this:

He either makes a teaching moment out of it or is attempts to understand Jason’s reasons in doing any such thing. When Bruce does become harsh in his discipline, it’s either when he feels as though Jason has endangered his own life or as I said, he acts too much like him.

While there are quite a few more similarities between Bruce and Jason that makes them alike, such as both being introverted and interested in obtaining all sorts of knowledge that they might not even feel is relevant, they are both, at the core of their characters, deeply caring and compassionate people.

The differences only start to show with how they act on it.

The Not-So Dynamic Duo?

“What happened to you as a child, the terror, the pain, the horrors (...) you were broken, and I thought I could put the pieces back together. I thought I could do for you what could never be done for me. Make you whole.”

Hot take. Jason Todd is a villain and is best written as a villain.

Not in that campy way like he’s written during Dick and Damian’s Batman and Robin run while wearing that stupid pill-headed hood, (although, I grant he has a few lines that are enjoyable to read) but in all his serious, vengeful and downright brutal motives.

The Red Hood is the perfect Batman villain because he’s so different from what the widely perceived perfect foil to the controlled and disciplined Bat is...the Joker.

The Red Hood was vengeance at its purest. It is justice without being tempered by mercy. It is the rage of victims who were forgotten to become statistics. While other vigilantes wait for a cure, hope for rehabilitation, and pretend their system works, the Red Hood is a man of no such faith.

And this makes him a villain. And a damn good one.

During the Red Hood’s time as a crime lord in Gotham, he goes around blowing up buildings. He throws grenades into trucks. He mows down his competition with gunfire. Batman comes upon the bloodied hanged corpse of a man he was finished interrogating.

But what is so compelling about this all is that before all the murder, all the guns and explosions, Jason Todd was a very different little boy. And all the great and memorable villains start that way.

The Joker is not someone you’re meant to sympathize with or even understand. In fact, I find him more terrifying because he’s unknown. He has no backstory (unless you want to believe the one he gave in Killing Joke, but the clown has a new story for every face he meets) and seemingly does what he does for a laugh of all things.

Jason Todd is in pain. He’s traumatized. Betrayed. Buried. Replaced. He is no one’s son because his father abandoned him.

Once upon a time, Jason Todd was a boy who saved himself. One of the biggest lies that Batman himself perpetuates is that he saved Jason from a life of crime. He tells Alfred that Jason was always dangerous. Bruce simply took him off the streets before he could be any worse.

But I don’t believe that’s true.

Jason grew up surrounded by crime, poverty, substance abuse and yet this amazing kid saved himself everyday by making a conscious choice to be kind and care about school, care about keeping his mother alive for over a year when he was just a child himself. That amazing kid was magic.

Jason Todd as Robin was magic.

“Jason smiles. A bright smile. The kind Robin, the Boy Wonder should have.”

A good portion of his character’s assassination was in order to push the Tim is the perfect Robin idea. It was editorial decisions. The same ‘suits’ who insisted that Tim Drake be the Robin in the New Adventures cartoon despite having Jason’s backstory and personality. But I digress on that.

Jason Todd was an introverted, studious, and emphatic person. He wanted to make friends with other kids his age even though he was a loner at heart. He joined the school baseball team and was a class officer, even if his training kept him from most social interactions.

He was also very much in tune with non-verbal cues and small changes in the environment around him. He was a thoughtful person who could be found admiring the stars or passing by scenery. When he teams up with the New Teen Titans, we get to see these aspects of his personality:

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful before. We’re actually riding above the clouds.”

“Every so often, I notice you become awfully agitated...like something was going on you didn’t want to be part of. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

It didn’t take Bruce long to fall in love with this boy and ask to legally adopt him. He found him to be smart, thoughtful, quick at learning and funny as hell. Their first meeting opens with Batman laughing in the very same alley his heart was ripped out decades earlier.

Even in the Rebirth canon, (RHATO #48) we see that Bruce is already set on taking in Jason while he’s still with Ma Gunn’s school. He likes this kid. A lot.

“Butler, actually. You’ll meet him someday, I’m sure.”

Jason Todd was happy. Most of the time. Unfortunately, he still wrestled with depression and would sleep all day on occasion and could be found crying hidden away on his own, withdrawn from the concerned Bruce and Alfred.

In A Death in the Family, Alfred and Bruce sit down and discuss Jason’s worsening mental health, particularly after the Diplomat’s Son where Jason becomes witness to sexual assault, suicide and the failings of both Batman and the GCPD to protect innocent people. Barbara, his tutor, someone he cared about and got along with, is also shot a few months earlier.

Bruce thinks Jason has become suicidal. Alfred does not disagree with this theory and supplements it with things he’s observed himself about the ‘lad.’

“I’ve come upon him, several times, looking at that battered old photograph of his mother and father, crying. When he’s seen me, he’s hidden the picture and left the room, refusing to talk.”

It is then that Jason discovers the truth about his mother at the worst possible time, when he’s not even thinking straight, and thus leads way to the tragedy that will be his murder at the hand’s of the Joker.

The Curse of Jason Todd

“Do you have any idea what you have done?! Do you? You have no inkling of what you’ve created -- what you have unleashed! You have set free a curse upon this world!”

Red Hood: Lost Days, which depicts Jason’s dark post-resurrection origin, opens with Ra’s al Ghul bellowing this line, the steam from the Lazarus Pit still rising off of him.

I’m not going to analyze this line, I’m just using it to supplement a point of mine I hope I’m getting through well enough. The Red Hood is a compelling, tragic villain. He is similar to Batman in ways that Bruce always knew and may have even feared because of how intimately he knows his own deepest, darkest thoughts. Jason is the perfect foil as an antagonist for him because of what he represents to Bruce.

And it’s not his anger, or his rage, or even his brutality.

It’s his compassion. His caring. His emotions. And how they can open up the worst parts of themselves.

Both are motivated by preventing whatever trauma happened to them from ever happening to anyone else. They both trained for years with this motivation. And they’ve both acted out on the very person who inflicted their trauma onto them.

Here’s where their paths start to differ, however, and what separates them with a line of morality.

They both get angry. They both care so damn much. About Gotham, about innocents, about each other. They both get too emotionally invested and deal with consequences related to that. To manage with that, Bruce shuts down. He creates all these choices, rules and symbols. He uses every ounce of his self control to keep them.

Bruce Wayne is not a good person. He forces himself to be with discipline and will. He chooses to be a good man and constantly pushes himself to live up to that. Because it’d be too damn easy to be just like the Red Hood.

Jason doesn’t understand that. Because no matter what Bruce had done or will do, he doesn’t hate him. He can’t. Despite his denial of the fact to different people, he still thinks of Bruce as his father. This great figure that so many others revere and are even intimidated by.

He’s not the only bat-kid to think of Bruce in this light despite the fact that the man is not. It took Dick years to overcome that perception. Tim only just started to begin understanding this true nature after his own father was murdered.

But even if he did understand his (once)father, he still became the complete opposite of him despite so many early parallels. He doesn’t hold back his words and emotions, he doesn’t go into a state of controlled dissociation or emotional disengagement.

Jason Todd—the Red Hood—is Batman without all his rules and control. In a way, he’s what the darkest part of Batman himself wants to be. Jason does what Batman can’t do when it’s needed.

Because in Batman’s book, life beats out justice. Even if he could take down abusers and murderers, he won’t. He will choose saving and protecting lives over the apprehension of killers...he always does.

Batman is justice. Red Hood is vengeance.

Jason is a victim’s fantasy. He punishes and kills the guilty. Something Batman won’t do.

He is the anti-Batman for better or for worse.

#jason todd #bruce wayne #comic meta

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