Gojo’s Body Irl:

▌ ﹙ DAMIAN WAYNE，notes of the void ﹞

₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ ONE SHOTS !

001. kiss me beneath the milky twilight ! ━━ a movie night, a soft blanket, & damian wayne learning that love can look a lot like pride & prejudice.

₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ HEADCANONS !

₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ BLURBS !

₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ SMAU !

001. you're always on my mind, that's how much i care !

002. you make me feel stupid, but it’s the kind of stupid that i like !

© MINORLYATFAULT | do not steal. my work is not yours to repost, translate, or alter — credit does not equal permission. proceed with care. respect the creator.

Dragon!Knight!Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

guess who's baaaack!!!

Fanfic commission for @jewish-jason-todd, thanks for buying me minecraft <3

"Mm.. the flowers are wilting again.." You murmured, your fingertips just barely grazing over the rotting petals of your garden.

Jason, your personal knight, trailed behind you, scars adorning his face, the rest covered by his armour. "Shall I inform the royal gardener, your highness? I'll make sure he does his job correctly this time." He said, his voice gruff and stern.

You shook your head. "No need. I'd rather I take care of my lovelies myself. Besides. I'm sure the gardener has already... received your message." You said, referring to the last time the gardener had allowed the flowers to wilt, making Jason give him a fearing earful.

You turned to Jason just as the sun began to set. "Will you be staying over in the castle this time? Or will you be staying in the village as usual?" You asked as you held onto a small glimpse of hope that he'd stay.

"My apologies, your highness. But I'd much prefer to rest in the village. I'll return on time tomorrow for my duties." Jason said, a small part of him also wanting to stay, but knowing well that he could not.

You sighed, hiding your disappointment. "Alright then. As you wish. I'll see you tomorrow morning, Jason."

He nodded. "Goodnight, your highness."

"Goodnight, Jason."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second Jason knew you were safe inside the castle, he legged it into the woods, away from the castle, away from the village.

A few years prior to his job of protecting you as your personal knight, the poor young man had been captured as a teenager, taken away from his adoptive father, who taught him all he knew about being a knight.

The Joker, a man who used to serve as a royal jester, tired of being the laughing stalk, being nothing but a joke, became hateful, villainous, with nothing but spite and pain coursing through his veins.

Though Bruce, known as the Dark Knight and head of the royal guards, tried to keep the Joker in containment, the jester managed to escape, continuously slipping out of Bruce's fingertips.

The Joker now only appeared occasionally, teamed with a group of bandits, terrorising the village.

But, when the Joker got his hands on young Jason, he cursed the young boy, hexing him into the same fate of turning into a beast, a monster of fury and horror, having the kingdom only fear him for what he is.

A giant, scaly, fire breathing dragon.

Luckily, Bruce managed to find some sort of cure to counteract the effects. By day, Jason remains a ruthless knight, living to serve you. But as the moon rises, he lives as this beast, hiding away, deep into the woods that no one dared to enter. No one knows about this treachery except for him and Bruce.

He'd never tell you, no. You were too innocent and kind. You were kind to him. What people and himself saw in his scars and brutality, you saw beauty. And he made the grave mistake of falling for you.

Jason's lungs hurt as he dashed further into the woods, his swords slicing through the branches in his way. He could feel the scales appearing on the side of his head. He could feel his nails grown into claws.

He fell to his knees, panting. He could only imagine the scared, disgusted look on your face if you were ever to see his transformation. No, he wouldn't handle it. He couldn't. You were very dear to him. So many nights he wished to stay at the castle, to be closer to you.

But he couldn't. Instead, he was here. In the middle of the ghastly woods. Black and red scales covering his giant body, wings tucked to his side, tail flicking back and forth.

He growled at the beast he became, extending his wings as he flew into the air, looking at the distance where he could see the castle.

You're resting. That's all that matters to him.

Except you weren't.

You knew your knight would scowl at you for sneaking out at this time. But you rarely got to see outside castle walls. You wanted adventure, you wanted freedom, you wanted thrill. And you were gonna get it.

Now, you've seen the village plenty of times before. But what you haven't seen were the treasures and secrets hidden within the woods.

You threw your cloak over yourself, your hood over your head as you began your walk through the thick trees.

Sure, you should be scared of the potential dangers, but how could you fear the way the moonlight danced over the branches, the trees creating beautiful silhouettes among the leaves the crunched beneath your feet.

You would've preferred to enjoy this walk with your trusty knight beside you.

But he's resting. That's all that matters to you.

Except he wasn't.

The dragon had, unfortunately, lost his balance when flying, landing onto a bush of thorny vines.

It didn't hurt, of course. Though, the pain of pins and thorns was quite irritable, especially since he was unable to remove them himself.

He seeked refuge in a cave, deciding that he'll just have to remove the thorns once his body shifts back into human again.

The walk was incredibly more peaceful than you thought. Not a peculiar sound to be heard, not a strange shadow in sight.

Though... that sudden low growl might've been a sign for you to turn around and run back to the castle where it's safe.

Unfortunately, your curiosity got the better of you. Bevause what could be possibly making that sound? It definitely wasn't a bear, no. It's too loud.

You crept your way, closer to a cave where the sound was sourced, and peered your head through the opening.

Whatever it was, it was deeper in the cave. You took a breath, carefully walking in as quiet as you could.

And if your eyes gotten any wider, they probably would've fallen out of your sockets. You were amazed at the magnificent creature in front of you.

A dragon, probably bigger than the castle, with beautiful scales and sharp wings, lying at the back of the cave.

Only a fool would approach such an unpredictable beast.

You kept walking.

".... Hello?.." You softly said, a sharp gasp escaping as the dragon growled, trying to scare whoever dared intrude his place of refuge.

Jason's eyes slightly widened, seeing you in front of him. What the hell?

He glared at you with a huff, smoke coming out through his nostrils. What the hell were you doing here? Why aren't you at the castle? Why are you alone?

You glanced down, seeing parts of his body covered with thorns. "Are you hurt?.." You asked softly. You thought if this dragon were to hurt you, he'd to it by now.

He huffed, turning away, hoping you'd go back to the castle.

"I can help you.." You gently offered, stepping closer.

Jason growled, wanting you to be gone already. He didn't want you to see this. To see him as a monster.

You clicked your tongue. "Come on now, now you're just being stubborn." You said, walking up in front of him.

Jason scoffed in his head. He loved hated how persistent you were. Always helping others, getting what you wanted. He laid down, at this point, not caring what you did.

"There you go.." You whispered, your hand flat against him. "This might pinch.." You said before plucking out one of the thorns. You looked up to see he he was in any sort of discomfort. But Jason didn't budge. He's definitely been through worse.

You shrugged and continued to pluck the rest of the thorns.

"I've never seen a dragon before. I almost thought that they were a myth." You said softly as you picked out the thorns. Jason just lied down and listened. "The people of the village said that they were cruel and baked, ugly monsters."

'Yeah, that sounds about right,' Jason thought.

"But you are quite beautiful." You whispered. Jason felt like he couldn't breathe. There's absolutely no way you called him beautiful. Him? Beautiful? To you? He must be dreaming. This is wrong. This isn't how people react.

"There we go. All done." You said, kicking away the discarded thorns. Jason sighed, slightly nodding, appreciating your help, though still pissed that you're out at this hour. "Well, I should head home now.." I murmured. "Although, I do wish to see you again soon." You said, about to make your way out.

Though Jason groaned, quickly making his way beside you. He knelt down, wanting to accompany you on your journey back. No way was he letting you venture on your own again.

You glanced at his back, then back to his eyes. "You.. want me to..?" You said questionably, pointing to his back. He nodded. "Are you sure?" You asked again. And he nodded again.

You gulped before carefully trying to mount his back. Jason raised his wings, creating a border to make sure you didn't fall off.

He then began stalking through the woulds, occasionally using his wings to push away the branches to prevent them from hitting against you.

He reached the edge of the woods, kneeling down. He sighed, not being able to take you all the way to the castle. He refused to leave the woods in this form. It'll be too dangerous.

You slid off his back, resting your hand just at the side of his face. "Thank you.." You murmuted softly. "You're very kind. I promise to visit you again soon." You said. Jason didn't want you to leave the castle this late again. But, oh, how good it felt to have someone, especially you, look at him with awe instead of fear.

Jason nodded with a huff as he turned around, returning back to his cave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I saw something last night." You said as you and Jason strolled around the garden.

"What? Did you go outside?" Jason said with annoyance, pretending that he had no clue of the adventure you've been up to.

"It was fine, Jason. I wasn't hurt or anything." You reassured him.

"You shouldn't be going outside after dark, princess. It's too dangerous."

"It was a dragon." You bluntly said, waiting for his reaction.

Jason lightly scoffed. "A dragon hasn't been spotted for centuries, your highness. Are you sure you weren't just dreaming?"

You pouted at his dismissal. "Don't mock me, Jason. It was real. I know it was. And it wasn't like those silly stories the townspeople talk of. The dragon was kind. Quite a gentleman, I might add."

"A dragon? A gentleman? Are you sure you're not feeling ill, your higness?" Jason said with a kight chuckle, a faint dust of pink over his cheeks, turning his head slightly so you wouldn't see.

"I wish for you to accompany me tonight, Jason. I want to see the dragon again."

"No."

"Why not?" You said with a frown, looking up at him.

"I'm busy."

"Liar."

"I said no."

You huffed in defeat. "I wish you would. It really is a marvellous creature. Ethereal."

Jason raised a brow. "You should stay inside tonight. Get some sleep. Dream about this dragon again."

"It wasn't a dream!" You retorted, annoyed that your knight doesn't believe you as you stormed back inside the castle. Jason sighed, running his hand through his hair in frustration, praying you didn't go back to the woods tonight.

But, of course, you did.

"You'd think that spending years by my side, he'd believe me." You muttered, basically ranting your frustrations to the dragon lying in front of you.

The dragon let out a low whine, barely rolling his eyes.

"What? Don't tell me you're on his side." You said, crossing your arms. "I didn't come all this way at this time to be told off by a dragon too."

He grumbled, nudging his snout against your hand. You sighed, one hand held under his chin, the other petting over his muzzle.

"Just wished he'd spend time with me. When he's not on duty." You muttered quietly. "He's quite the charmer, you know." You said with a small chuckle.

Now you had Jason's full attention.

"Very handsome, too. Just like yourself." You said, stroking the side of the dragon's face. Jason's heart raced. Maybe he was the one who was dreaming and not you.

"But, I'm sure he's much more interested in women who know how to fight for themselves. You know.. warriors. Not dainty princesses who have servants to do everything for them.."

The dragon let out another low whine. 'No. That isn't true.' Jason thought as he leaned further into your touch

So, for the next few nights, you've been spending your time in the cave within the woods with the dragon. It's been comforting. Because of your royal status and the difficulty of stepping outside the walls, making friends hasn't come easy.

But still. It was nice to have some company during the nights. However, ot has been taking a toll on your energy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you alright, your highness?" Jason asked, concerned with how tired you looked. The guilt pooled in his stomach. He hated how much he enjoyed spending time with you, listening to you praise him, as knight and dragon, but simultaneously stealing away your sleep.

"I'm just fine, Jason." You said, waving him off

"Is it because of this dragon again?"

"Would you even believe me if I said yes?" You huffed.

"Yes."

You looked up at him, eyes wide. "What?"

"I believe you. You don't lie. And even if you do, you do a god-awful job at it." He said, looking down at you.

You scoffed. "You even mock me when you try comforting me.." You pouted.

"It's true, though," Jason said, patting your head, the small gesture itself being enough to flush your cheeks a soft pink. "Maybe you should take a nap, however. You look exhausted."

You shook your head. "No, no... I'm fine— oof!"

You accidentally tripped on an overgrown root in the garden, your leg scraping against a rose bush as you fell to your knees.

"Your highness!" Jason exclaimed, kneeling at your side.

"I'm— I'm alright, Jason.." You said, lifting up your dress slightly, wincing at the two thorns stuck in your leg.

Jason sighed, shaking his head. "Come on, let me take you to your chambers.." He muttered, lifting you uo bridle style unexpectedly.

You gasped, wrapping your arms around him. "Ja— Jason! Put me down! It's just a thorn!" You exclaimed, your face now a bright red.

"Do not argue with me, your highness." He said firmly, taking you back inside the castle, straight to your room.

He carefully settled you down onto the bed, kneeling in front of you. He hesitated, gulping as he looked up at you. "I.. May I?"

If your cheeks could've gotten any redder, then they certainly have. You nodded slightly, looking away.

Jason then gently took the hem of your dress, lifting it just enough to see the thorns. "I told you to get more sleep." Jason whispered, grabbing the tweezers off your nightstand.

"Be quiet.." I murmured in response.

"This might pinch." He said before plucking out one of the thorns. You slightly wince as he pulled out one of the thorns. Oddly enough, this seemed quite familiar.

"There we go.." He muttered, taking out the second thorn before taking out a cloth, cleaning away the speckled blood.

You cleared your throat. "So... it's getting late... Will you be staying tonight this time?" You said, just as you did every evening.

"What?" Jason said, his head snapping up to look out the window. "Shit." He hissed as he saw the moon begin to rise. "I must go." He said in a panic. "Goodnight, your highness." He said before rushing out of the room.

"Wait! Jason!" You called out for him, pulling your dress down as you rushed after him. Why did he always leave before sun down?

He laid no mind to you as he dashed out of the castle, straight into the woods. Not onto the path to the village.

"Jason?" You called out as you followed him, but he still kept sprinting.

Your lungs hurt as you tried to keep up, but even with that heavy armour on him, he was still so much faster than you. Where the hell was he going?

But the deeper you went into the woods, the more familiar it looked.

Your eyes widened when you saw Jason dash into the cave.

"No— Jason, wait!" You tried to warn him, not wanting him to disturb the dragon inside.

You ran into the cave, but the dragon wasn't there. Just Jason backing up into the cave wall.

"Your highness?! Go! Go away! Get out!" Jason yelled.

"Jason?—" You stepped forward, but your eyes widened as you saw the scales appearing on the side of his head. You saw his nails growing into claws.

"Don't! Don't look at me!" He screamed, turning away, hiding his face as he transformed into the monster he saw himself as.

You gasped, watching Jason grow into that ferocious dragon you've been spending your nights with.

Jason, now a dragon, roared out in agony, his wings covering his face.

"Jas— Jason, it's okay!" You yelled, trying to calm him down, but to no avail. He turned to you, roaring in your face, fire shooting out in front of you, blocking you from Jason. You gasped as you turned, sprinting back to the castle.

There it was. The panic and terror that Jason anticipated if you ever saw the truth. He panted, lying on the cold stone, his wings going limp as he wallowed in his returned lonliness.

You returned to the castle, back to your chambers, tucking yourself to bed, and closing your eyes, praying that it was just a dream.

But the next morning, when you exited your room, it was Bruce awaiting for you. Not Jason.

"Bruce?.." You said questionably, tilting your head in confusion.

"Good morning, your highness. Please excuse the unexpected change. Unfortunately, Jason is feeling ill, so I shall accompany you until he is better." Bruce explained.

"But, I... I thought he did not get sick." You said, noticing how Jason never had even a small cough ever.

"Today must be an unlucky day, your highness. But, do not fret. He shall return to his duties the second he is better." He reassured as you nodded with a sigh. Guess last night wasn't a dream.

So, Bruce accompanied you through your day, walking around with you around the garden.

"Mm.. the flowers are wilting again.." You murmured.

"I'll let the royal gardener know, your highness." Burce said softly.

"No.. no, it's fine Ja— Bruce." You quickly corrected yourself. You didn't like this. If it were Jason, he'd take great offence that someone dared to allow your precious flowers to wilt. He would've started threatening the gardener again.

Your day went on, but you began to miss the presence of your loyal knight. Maybe if you didn't follow him, nothing would have changed.

"Bruce?" You called out to him as you strolled around.

"Yes, your highness?"

"Has Jason ever gotten sick before?" You asked.

"When he was younger, yes. I always told him to stay inside our home, yet he always snuck out to the pub to listen to the live music." Bruce said.

Your ears perked up at that. Maybe Jason would be at the pub. You look up at the sun. It was late afternoon.

"So... he'd be at the pub?" You asked, double checking.

Bruce nodded, looking down at the flowers. "He always was stubborn. He hasn't been sick in a long while. But I reckon he'd be there right now, your highness— Your highness?" The second Bruce looked back up, looking around the garden, you were suddenly gone.

You didn't even give it a second thought as you raced out of the castle, throwing your hood over your head. You didn't care if Jason scolded you for being outside the walls without permission. You wanted to see him.

You panted as you made it to the village, people setting up for the night market, as you tugged your hood down.

You entered the pub, the place bustling with laughter, music, and drunkards. You glanced at the counter, and lo and behold your beautiful knight, slumping at the bar, his head on the counter.

"Is... he okay?" You quietly asked the bartender, looking at Jason with concern.

"He's been here since early this afternoon, miss." the bartender said, shaking his head. "I'm surprised he's not losing his liver yet. Mighty impressive, to be honest." He said, cleaning the rim of the glass.

You sighed, staring down at Jason's state.

"Jason?.." You softly called his name, lightly brushing the hair away from his eyes.

"What..." The knight murmured, drool drying down his chin, his eyes droopy. But even so, he could still recognise this beautiful eyes of yours.

"You're.. you're not in the castle..." Jason mumbled, his words slurred.

You shook your head. "No, I'm not."

He scoffed, turning his head to the other side. "You're.. go— *hic* going to get in trouble again.." He grumbled, clearly annoyed. You sighed, placing your hand on his shoulder.

"Jason, it is almost sundown." You said worriedly.

Jason scoffed once more, waving his hand, dismissing you. "Who cares? Let everyone find out. That horrible, terrifying dragon they fear of in their stories is really the princess'— mmph.." You quickly covered his mouth before he could finish his sentence, looking around, making sure no one heard.

"Jason, please," you almost begged, "Let's go to the cave, hm? I'll stay with you, I promise." You whispered.

"Yes, just as how you stayed last night, too, huh?" He retorted in spite.

"Well, maybe next time to shoot fire at me, hm? Now, please, come on. I will not take no for an answer." You said stubbornly, swinging one of his arms over your shoulder, lifting him up, though his weight with his armour knocked the air out of your lungs.

"Uhm— Thank you, good sir." You nodded to the bartender, struggling to put the money in the counter before waddling off with Jason leaning on you.

"Get— ngh.. get off of me.. I don't need you.. or your help.." He muttered weakly as you made it into the woods. But, he made no effort to push you away, instead clinging onto you just a little bit tighter. And of course you noticed.

You huffed, rolling your eyes at his persistence as you made it to the cave, already noticing how his scales began to appear on his neck.

As you reached the back of the cave, his wings emerged, though the limped to the cold ground. As Jason fully transformed, he laid down on the ground, letting out small, low whines.

You sighed, kneeling in front of his face, gently placing your hands on either side of his head.

"It's okay, Jason.." You whispered. "I'll stay with you.."

The dragon whimpered, only leaning into your touch, not pushing you away this time. Not breathing fire at you or trying to scare you on purpose.

And you did stay with him. Jason was already fast asleep, his snores echoing through the cave. But you? You didn't even get a wink of sleep, but you couldn't care less. You needed Jason to know how much you cared for him, how much he makes your heart swell from his presence alone. How much you love him, knight or dragon.

Eventually, the sun peeked over the horizon, the ray barely making their way into the cave. You watched in awe at how Jason morphed back into human. God, he was absolutely gorgeous.

The knight remained lying down, his head resting on your lap as you threaded your fingers through his hair. You didn't want to wake him. He deserved his rest. And as he slept, you realised.

You finally spent your nught together with him.

Granted, they weren't under the best circumstances. He probably wouldn't even remember you bringing him into the cave, but... It's good enough for you.

Soon, he stirred awake, letting out a quiet groan. But as his eyes opened, he was taken aback to see your face above his. He quickly sat up, hissing as his head pounded, his mind dizzy.

"Your— Your highness—" He said frantically, trying to stand up, but you grabbed his wrist before he could.

"Stop. You're hungover. You need rest, Jason." You said, your thumb smoothing over his wrist.

Jason looked down where you held him, his thoughts scattering, his mind fuzzy.

"Your highness, please.." He muttered. You didn't know what he was asking of you, but if he were honest, he didn't know either.

"Don't be ashamed, Jason..."

"No. No.. this.. thing— this monster. It's vile and disgusting." He spat, looking away.

"You're wrong." You said firmly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "It's— It's the most magnificent thing I've ever seen!"

"You don't know what you're taking about." He hissed.

"You're beautiful, Jason." You said, staring right him, refusing to take anymore of his stubbornness.

Jason looked at you with wide eyes and disbelief. Beautiful was a completely new one for him. It's always been dangerous, scary, ludicrous. Beautiful hadn't been in his dictionary.

"Your scales are so sharp and bold, your wings are strong, your colour is gorgeous! Gosh, it's so hard not to love!" You said passionately, desperate for him to believe you.

Jason froze. How could you, such a perfect woman, love such a horrid.. thing?

"Your highness.."

"No... no, please, Jason.. no more of that.. no more honorifics.." You whispered.

He sighed, saying your name, rolling off his tongue so smoothly. Your heart raced hearing him call you by your name for the first time. "Don't do this.." Jason whispered. "Don't pretend to love.. this.. for my sake."

"You don't understand." You said. You tilted his chin up, making him look at you. "I am in love with you, Jason Todd. You have been by my side since day one, and you've never left, even when you had the opportunity to. And even as a dragon... I still can't stop myself from falling in love with you.." You quietly admitted.

Jason's breath hitched. This isn't right. He thought it wasn't right. A royal princess falling in love with a cursed knight. But, god, he'd be lying if he said it didn't make his heart pound.

He barely registered what happened. You barely registered what happened.

His hands somehow found themselves grabbing your waist, pulling you flushed against him before he pressed his lips upon yours.

You melted into the kiss before you could even acknowledge he was kissing you. But no matter. How much you've dreamt before that this moment would happen. And how much it's better than you ever imagined.

His lips were chapped, just as you predicted. His hands felt snug around your waist. It all just felt so natural. So perfect .

Jason pulled away as you both lightly panted, catching your breath.

"I— I'm sorry.." Jason muttered breathlessly. "I—"

"Jason.." You said his name softly, your hands on the collar of his armour, lightly pulling him closer. "Kiss me again... please..." You quietly begged.

Oh, and who was the loyal knight to deny a request from his princess?

He sighed, knowing well that he'd easily comply. This time, the both of you, knowing exactly what you needed, kissed each other once more, lips moulding perfectly together.

The fierce and mighty dragon, falling hopelessly for his dear princess. And the princess falling hopelessly for her dear knight.

@jewish-jason-todd I hope you enjoyed reading!! I haven't written in a looooong while, so I really hope this is good!! If i remember right, this is my first au fic, so I put lots and lots and lots of thought into it just for you! I can't thank you enough, you're the first person to ever commission me, and it really has made my day! I've already spent hours and hours on minecraft. Again, thank you so so much, I really loved writing this, and I hope you like it! <3

I love Damian so much

Jason would unironically do fan service.

Wouldn't it be funny to watch this muscular, brutish and tall vigilante make a heart with the same gloves that beat the absolute living shiz out of a criminal?

Don't get me wrong, the first time he did it, it was a joke to get under the skin of Bruce or another batfam and by chance a civilian saw them. And reluctantly he became a meme, a word of mouth Gothamite inside joke.

Desperately, Jason didn't want to hear "hey, ya gon do the heart? Make the heart!" that Gotham was asking of him.

But he had an epiphany. A realization that he could single-handedly, with upmost bothersome Gothamite support, be the most annoying person to the batfam once again.

So he gave Gotham what they wanted.

Thumbs up? no, too simple. fingers hearts? much better. hand heart on his metallic cheek? he was going all in.

he was cutting out heart-shaped cards and throwing them out to whoever could catch them. It became a hit.

And Jason looked forward to every night as he watched all the Batfam roll their eyes at the pure absurdity that became the weekly Red Hood fanservice.

And best of all? What were they going to do? Tell Gotham to stop encouraging this? Hell no.

Jason got the best sleep during such a painful time of peak Red Hood enthusiasm for the Batfam. And it was because of how excited he was to terrorize them for another day.

More of my favorite arts

La danza de los dragones.

Milenios después de que la devastación atacara las tierras que los dioses le otorgaron al mundo, Hubo belleza inundando cada plano de esas bendecidas tierras, las especies vivían todas en paz, lo inimaginable sucedía como actos comunes, la vida, en pocas palabras era tranquila.

Cada ser cumplió con su deber, las sirenas habitaban el mar, las hadas plagaban los bosques, los dragones surcaban sus cielos, y el sinfín de animales y habitantes mágicos acogió sin dudarlo a la especie que se consideró lo único simple en todo el lugar, los humanos formaron parte. El mundo tenía paz.

Hasta que la perdió.

Los humanos son imperfectos por naturaleza, no es que desearan serlo simplemente no podían controlarlo. Por eso cuando la envidia envolvió las venas de los primeros hombres nadie pensó que tendrían que interferir, los dioses no pondrían a seres destructivos en la tierras que contenían la paz ¿Cierto?

El resentimiento es una enfermedad aérea, los humanos, anhelantes de peculiaridad fueron la mejor forma de contagio. ¿Por qué los otros tenían magia y ellos no? Las innumerables cuestiones los hicieron envenenarse de envidia; decidieron entonces, si no podían conseguir la magia, la arrebatarían. Los primeros levantamientos iniciaron un día de pesca, con cientos de barcos llenos con marineros que zarparon con el único objetivo de poner un ejemplo. Miles de sirenas cantaron su tragedia aquel día.

Aquellos que alguna vez fueron respetados, incluso apreciados, esta vez fueron temidos, ya no había más debilidad en los cuerpos mortales, en su lugar se alzaron lentamente contra la magia que les había sido gentilmente mostrada. Años de sangre y lucha después; poco quedo de lo divino en el mundo de Modrum. Entre la crueldad de la guerra dos figuras singulares resaltaron. Sus caminos se marcaron por sangre, ambos con la amarga ambición de un mundo diferente

Aliados, compañeros, enemigos.

La sangre y el oro coronaron a los primeros reyes humanos, avariciosos y ciegos tomaron sin dar a cambio. El poder fue repartido en dos grandes reinos, Aurelen la tierra del oro y las hadas extintas y Sylvarith la montaña de bosques y dragones. Modrum fragmentado había perdido la gloria de sus grandes días. Las hadas desaparecieron, las pocas que quedaron fueron convertidas en esclavas, y las sirenas preferían mantenerse en lo profundo, donde su belleza no cautivaba y sus cantos se ahogaban junto a marineros de poca importancia. Poco a poco no quedó rastro de lo hermoso y divino que solía ser el próspero mundo de Modrum.

Entre todos estos seres solo uno fue considerado digno de permanecer. Con vida y relativa libertad, los dragones altos e imponentes sobre cualquier otro ser, lo suficientemente sabios para callar y tan audaces para no escuchar, Estas denominadas indomables bestias, fueron los compañeros perfectos para aquellos despiadados reyes que buscaban el control de tierras que no les pertenecían.

Hace cientos de años, el cielo se iluminó con un suceso histórico, la danza de los dragones expandió el poder de aquellos que se coronaron a sí mismos en cenizas y sangre. Ambas casas ahora convertidas en nobles palacios de reyes y jinetes se atravesaron en la guerra por el control de todo. El fuego envolvió el cielo con su calor y la sangre y el oro adornaron las cicatrices en las manos de los jinetes. Cuando finalmente todo termino no había mucho que salvar, las cenizas aun ardientes se forjaron en el terror del pueblo y la poca paz que pudo conservarse era sostenida por un par de manos débiles, un tratado de paz demasiado delgado impidió una segunda gran guerra. Sus coronas se consagraron con el poder absoluto.

Aquellos días oscuros se habían alejado de ambas familias, ahora un par de décadas después la fragmentada paz que se había conseguido después del baile de los dragones, estaba pendiendo de un diente de león. Los nobles herederos de ambas familias, Plint y Creed una vez más unidos por poco más que un hilo de odio fino, el destino de un mundo colgaba del espacio entre sus dedos entrelazados.

Oliver Plint no era un luchador, prefería entre todas las cosas montar a su dragón y escapar, aunque fuese por pocos minutos del legado que le precedía. No era un sanguinario ni un prodigio de la espada, si algo lo definía era su absurda gentileza. Todo lo gentil se extingue en el mundo, la amabilidad no coexiste con la fuerza.

Kaius Creed estaba preparado para una matanza, la espada y su dragón eran sus únicos aliados y además de su ambición por la corona de Aurelen, no había nada que le importara, era un guerrero un rey nacido en la corona, envuelto en brazas y oro, echo para odiar y destruir así tuviera que morir para lograrlo era un sacrificio digno de tomar. Nada duraba para siempre, a excepción del honor.

Los dos reinos se tocan de nuevo durante una gala particularmente absurda y cuando un par de movimientos en falso podrían destruirlo todo se necesita de dos almas corrompidas para evitar que los dragones vuelvan a danzar.

The cage is open, you can walk out anytime you want (Why are you still here?),

S2!Post!Hankel Spencer Reid x gn!BAU!reader

Angst (hurt/comfort). Autistic Spencer (you know the drill). Perhaps some traces of fluff if you’re like…. masochistic. Heavily implied happy ending.

— Explorations of Spencer’s (very glossed over) addiction. Love confessions? Half love confessions? Spencer admits it mentally, Reader implies it through actions. What am I saying? They’re sooooooo in love it pains me.

Warnings: *cracks knuckles,* okay…. —heavy depictions of drug addiction, mentions and allusions of suicide, previous mentions of being held hostage (Hankel). PACKED with Greek mythology references (sue me, i study classics as a degree), perhaps some light biblical imagery? Spencer being at rock-bottom. he’s kinda bitchy. he also disses hotlines (they do save lives, don’t listen to Spencer!!! he’s being a dick). mentions of childhood bullying.

w.c: 3.2k

a/n: title so long it’s basically a midwestern emo song.

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There’s intimacy in being fragile. Spencer knows firsthand, has romanticised his Glass delusion. The fear of shattering, fragmenting on impact, like jagged, sliced glass. He thinks of Charles VI, (1380’s King of France), what he felt when he refused touch. When he reinforced himself, shielding behind excess clothing, in the fallacious fear of dismantling.

Spencer does the same, hides behind fabric, shies away from human contact. Because— because being careful is better than being impetuous. If he can make himself so small he no longer takes up space then maybe they’ll be kind to him.

Monachopis. Has he always been this out of place? Has it always felt this way? Will it ever stop?

12 years old. Curling inward to shield himself from the ache of cracked fists. You’re not here, you’re not here, you’re not here. He still feels like that kid, the one bleeding across the school yard, smashed glasses, bust lip, new bruises to hide from mom.

Perhaps he should blame genetics. Find something to point the finger at. Mentally distort the truth, until it’s no longer a paling face he sees, drawing the first needle into his arm, forcing him to take what he never asked for. No longer that, but a bigger issue, a concern that cannot be personified, a larger statistic in the minefield of human psychology.

Those with ASD have a doubled risk of substance use.

He never stood a chance. Did he?

So just like Charles, he covers his arms. Veils the track marks that penetrate skin. Pretend they’re not there, pretend you’re okay. Okay? Okay, nobody has stopped to ask him if he is ‘okay’ since ‘the incident.’ When the shock wore off, and attention strayed, everyone lost interest.

He feels like an outlaw to his own team.

How do you move on from being bound, tied, degraded to something beneath human?

How did everyone else?

He understands now— the pull of addiction. The way it mimics, artificially replicates home. Something soft, in that one, life-ruinously warm moment between the first hit and the inevitable come down.

But just like everything good. It dies. Turns ugly. Disfiguring, decaying. What once was simple, a fleeting temptation, a way to starve off lonely withdrawal, has derailed into desperate, insatiable hunger. To reproduce the first time, to appease the way he palpates in the wake of something tiny—

Call it what it is. Not an analgesic agent, not a semi-synthetic, not a simple narcotic utilised in the medical field. It’s an opioid, two to eight times greater than that of morphine. Given to those dying, to help alleviate Cheyne-stokes breathing, to reduce pain before the end.

It binds to the opioid-receptions in the central nervous system.

He is no superior than those on the street. Begging for loose change to shoot up and placate the cold.

2AM. The phone connection is faint. Do you feel like killing yourself? Is the noose already tied, is the rope choking you? Do you need to breathe? Do you even want to? He wonders what it would be like, to call into those bullshit hotlines, to hear the detached, sharp-bladed sympathy of some stranger.

Instead, when the phone picks up, the blaring beep of a dial dissipating, he hears you instead.

“You know how it’s believed that Artemis killed Orion?” He starts. He cannot begin with hi, I’m scared of the dilaudid burning through my veins. Do you still love me? (Presumptuous of him to believe you loved him in the first place, he certainly wouldn’t.)

He doesn’t let you answer. Maybe he’s scared, or maybe he can try and satiate your concern by fact-dumping so extensively that you automatically revert back to oh yeah, boy genius is talking again. “Well— there’s this other interpretation, that she… y’know didn’t. Instead, they were hunting companions, and it was because of the animals he slaughtered on Crete, that Gaia. Mother ea— yeah, you know who I’m referencing. Okay.”

Even at his worst, he is conveniently a social disaster. They could poke holes in his brain, drag the sharp edge of a blade through the tissue lining of his stomach, and his mouth would still find a way to run:

‘You’re missing major arteries here, c’mon — I know you can push harder than that. Aim for my descending aorta, that will do the job correctly.’

It would be funny if he wasn’t the biggest screw up to ever exist. Social ineptitude has never looked worse.

“Anyway, um… so— disturbed by the blood-bath, and feeling repentant — she summoned this scorpion. Humans are no match for the gods, obviously. So any creation with intent will—“ he sighs, finding new ways to hate himself. “Basically he died. Yeah— dead. To… uh, sum it up?”

“And what?” Oh, there you are. He’s surprised you’re listening, that you didn’t hang up the moment his morbid rambling begun. He’s always surprised, surprised that you listen, that you stay, even when you shouldn’t. It would be romantic, if he wasn’t so flawed in believing you could never want someone like him.

“Well— Artemis gathered up the remnants of Orion and placed them in the sky. Yknow,… hence the constellation.”

There’s shuffling — a moment of uneasy silence. “Spencer—“

He keeps going. Shock-horror. “I’m not sure science would agree with that myth. It certainly counters the Big Bang theory. And the whole schtick regarding— look… it doesn’t,… it doesn’t hold any truth, of course. The gods aren’t real,” (if they are, they must spit at the flawed creation of him), “I just— it was on the forefront of my mind. Made me think of you.”

It’s innocent. If you don’t take into account the stored vials he keeps stashed in his cabinet sink. If you pretend you’re just two people, two old, weary friends, who are insomniac and restless. Then again, where Spencer is concerned, everything is innocent. He’ll bare the weight of existence with no expectation of a return favour. So willing to give give give. Always taken for granted. Tossed to the sidelines. You’ve watched the team ignore his plans, call rain check after rain check, incessant excuses for something so diminutive. Even now, they can’t see what’s right in front of them. The blunt of the truth.

The aftermath of the Hankel case.

“Bad night?” You ask. Like you don’t feel it in your ribs.

He sighs, head spilling back against the wall. Throat bared, it would be so easy for hands to wrap around the unmarred skin, to put him down. “Aren’t they all?”

You’ve both been trained to pinpoint human behaviour. Discern threat from over exaggeration. You don’t hesitate, he knows you don’t— he’s seen you behind the weight of a gun. Dominant hand curved around the grip, aligning the front and rear sight. Firing pin striking the primer of the cartridge, no recoil— he’s watched you no more than blink when the bullet penetrates.

He always anticipates a flinch that never comes.

Sometimes, he has this dream, where he’s got the same Hornady branded bullet, lodged through his chest. Sometimes he wakes up and still believes he’s bleeding out.

He can hear your keys, the clattering that fades into the grating, confirmative slam of a door. You’re out of the apartment complex, and what? He’s too busy thinking about some warped manifestation of his subconscious?

Will he ever live outside of his mind?

The call doesn’t end (5 dragging minutes of heavy breathing and awkward silence), until you’re standing right here, flesh and bone, in his kitchen.

He’s making himself small again. Sat against cold tile, he shields his face from view. As if that alone will incrimate him. He knows you know. And it’s scary; to be so raw in the face of someone you love.

When you drop to your knees, it feels like tending to a wounded animal.

“You didn’t need to come,” he mutters, obstinate.

“So what?” You brush it off, ever the hero. Spencer thinks they should marbleise you in the Vatican. “I still did.”

You came. You called. Spencer fucking hates that cliche. Except, no.. no he doesn’t. Sometimes, he wants to make himself sicker, just so you have reason to touch him.

Reaching up, he feels your calloused palm, the way it cups his jaw, coaxing his face to lift. He thinks, knows, you’re disturbed by the sight. Red-rimmed eyes, and waxen features. Skinnier, hollow. If he is Leander, then he prays you don’t suffer the same fate as Hero.

‘Geniuses are never happy,’ they told him as a child. Detailing the cyanide found in Viktor Meyer’s stomach, Wallace Carother’s affinity for Potassium Cyanide. Hans Berger, Valero Legasov, Alan Turning. Some things hurt more than can be described.

Is it really so startling that he turned out the same? When that’s all he’s ever known?

Spencer stares. He tries to look through you, but it doesn’t work. Not when you’re warm, and real, and if the come down is configuring you into reality, and you’re not really here, then so be it. He’ll take what he can get. “You’ll find Dilaudid in my bathroom. Left turn from the hallway. I suggest you call 911. Report drug possession. They’ll take it more seriously if you say my name, emphasise the doctor in the title.”

“No.”

“Yes—“ indignantly, he huffs, “Yes. You will. Otherwise you’re guilty by association. The FBI will fire you, take away your credentials. You’ll be ruined.”

“That’s if they find out.”

He can’t comprehend why you’re covering for him. There’s decency, empathy, general human kindness, and then there’s this. “You’re supposed to be an upholder of the law.”

“Pft,” you scoff, brush it off. “Yknow, in Alabama, you can’t play cards on a Sunday. Alaska, no moose on sidewalks. There’s also a ban on wearing masks in Georgia. California has—“

“I get your point.” He cuts off, “Well— no, I actually don’t. Considering they’re dumb laws that waste time. Drug paraphernalia, in contrast, is not.”

“Even high, you’re a stickler. Guess old habits die hard?” you push up, and he chases your touch. “C’mon, golden boy. You’re getting a cold shower and some water. Gonna flush that shit out of you the old fashioned way.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a modern alternative…”

He doesn’t let you see him naked. Partially because, it’s his body. This vessel that feels so alienated from the better part of him. He’s never let someone undress him before, see behind the meticulous layers. But, mostly.. well, he has a firm belief that the first time you take off his clothes, it will be in better circumstances. If that ever transpires.

You’d probably think him deranged: hi, i’m saving myself for you, because any touch that isn’t yours makes me sick.

He’d rather rot alone than string someone along who could never fill the void of you.

The shower is methodical. Skin recoiling from the harsh rivulets of water. 3 minutes spent standing there, staring outwards not in. Complete disregard for the mirror, he’s all soft features and freshly-washed pyjamas when he pads into the bedroom. Corduroy pants, thermal-wear socks, some dumb science print embellished onto the front of his shirt. (‘Never trust an atom, they MAKE UP everything’ — yeah, he hates himself.)

You don’t talk. Not until he’s consumed his body weight in water. He fights off the urge to warn you about the dilution of sodium content in blood. Hyponatremia. Fatal, with a likelihood of seizuring and long-flight comatose. You’d probably just laugh at him, considering it was two glasses, a litre at best.

He’ll use his intellect to hurt. And you’ll counter him with little regard.

Even at his ugliest, you still stay.

“I’m fine,” he protests— hating the way you look at him when he’s so raw.

It’s that gaze. That same sinking, pity-warped gaze he received when he talked about his mom, about the kids at school. Adolescent meat-heads who pushed him into lockers, and beat him between class. Its— suffocating sympathy that he no longer has room for.

“No you aren’t,” this might be the worst you’ve ever seen him.

Would you have known? If he didn’t make the call? Cassandra complex. Disambiguating. A psychological phenomenon where an accurate prediction of a crisis is dismissed. Silent concern, the intuitive awareness that he never recovered, it was only going to lead to this—

Oh fuck it. You knew. The entire team did. You’re just the only one who cared enough to help.

You’re not like the rest of them. Maybe they can blanket suspicion, play pretend, refuse to get their hands dirty. But, there’s a reason you’re better. You don’t sugar-coat reality. You act. You react.

He’ll see your name on a wall one day. An award adorning your efforts.

“You’re exhausted, lie down.”

Spencer fights the urge to scowl. Since when were you in charge? Admittedly, he knows the answer to that: since you spitballed into his apartment, better yet, since you spitballed into his life. So, like the good, propitiated loser he is, he complies. Shock horror…

“What are you gonna do? Tuck me in?”

“You wish.” Instead, you force your way onto the right side of the mattress. “Get comfy, you’ve got your own, free of charge, narcotics anonymous sponsor tonight.”

“You’re not great at the whole ‘tough love’ thing.”

“Then call someone else next time.”

Vulnerability feels like being ripped open at the seams. Like some botched Pygmalion creation — stitched wrong, still breathing. He wants to fall asleep, to just… fade into himself. But— you have this uncanny, accursed ability to make him honest.

You, draped over his bed, does little to appease the sickness in his mind.

“I never asked for this,” he starts, “I didn’t— I didn’t even want it. How is that fair? I never got to decide, I wasn’t even given the anatomy to choose. Now—“

The words rip free like Prometheus’ daily punishment: inevitable, agonizing.

He laughs. Cold. Something ugly that doesn’t belong to him. “Now, if I’m not thinking about my next hit, I’m thinking about how you see me. How the team must see me. It’s— it’s the disappointment. I just— I don’t know why you stay.”

It’s all so tentative. The moments before, when you extend your hand, run it across the curvature of his jaw. All it takes is the touch and he’s crashing into you. Like there is no feasible option but to submit to the basic human need of contact. Face pressed into your shoulder, he feels like dead-weight. Something unworthy of labour.

Stop pushing that boulder up the hill, Sisyphus. Let it fall. Let him fall.

His hand knots tighter in the fabric of your top. Like if he lets go, he’ll spiral into Tartarus itself.

Why? Why would you do this—

“You think I’m going to cut and run just because you’re inconvenient? Pft, i’m too stubborn for that. And, well…” there’s a sigh,… “I care about you too much. Alright? So be inconvenient. Fuck, call at 3AM. Call at 5AM. Make me drop everything and come over. I don’t care. I want to carry the burden. I want to carry your burden.”

His touch lingers near your lower back. Drawing soft halos there, faint and uneven. “I hate you,” comes out muttered, something muffled by skin.

“No you don’t.” you counter, immediately.

“No I don’t,” just like that, he breaks. Cease-fire. How could he ever hate you? The statement was deflective, at best. Some way to make you ache the way he aches. At least then it would be a level paying field.

“I hate who I am when I’m like this. I hate— I hate my mind. It’s not… it’s not accurate, the way people romanticise it. I can’t be what they all expect of me.”

You’re doing that thing. The one where you don’t respond. Where you just listen, without interjecting, without cutting through his incessant monologues.

Sometimes, he feels like he dreamed you up. Like you don’t even exist, a stowaway in his brain, something to re-mantle whenever he’s lonely. Real people aren’t this good — this good to him.

“I don’t get to make mistakes. I need to have the answers every single second of the day. I can’t be me. You’re the only one, how are you the only one who notices? I’ve tried so hard, I’ve been so good—“

He’s tangled into you now, tethered like Daedalus’ forgotten son trying to stitch his broken wings back together mid-fall. If he could, he’d crawl into you. Find somewhere warm to safely exist. Without hurt.

“This isn’t just, I’m not like this just because I need you. Please— please remember that. I miss you always, even when I’m sober. Even before— before everything. I’m not in some—“

“What?” you finally (mercifully) interject. “Some drug-infused decline? Where you‘ll lean on anyone that will give you the time of day?”

Spencer flinches — not because you’re wrong, but because you’ve drawn blood from a wound he didn’t know he still had.

He hates that you’ve distinguished him as some mischaracterised energy vampire. Like you could ever be nothing. Like you’re just the closest fix he can find beyond a chemical high. Designer drugs, manufactured in a lab, they say Heroin feels like a hug from God.

Until your body becomes gluttonous for a hit that never appeases.

You— you are not a hollow high. You are slow and real and catastrophic.

Oh, you’re dependable, a want that morphed into all-encompassing devotion over slow dragging time. “Yes, to the former. No— no, definitely no to the latter. You’re not just some emotional crutch to me. You’re, I don’t know, you’re just… everything.”

Spencer swallows, pulls back, feigning composure. “I should be able to do this alone,” he mutters, “Normal people can. I should be—”

“C’mon, Spence. You’re not a machine. You were never built for that.”

Another sharp laugh. It pierces— you can almost taste the blood this time.

“I’m so tired,” he says in defeat. “I’m so tired of trying to be someone worth saving.”

Pressing your forehead to his, you’re kind to not mention the tears. To just let them occur, free fall. “You don’t have to be anything,” you murmur into his hair. “You just have to be. That’s enough. That’s enough for me, and i’ve got you. Okay? I’ve got you. Always.”

“Will you stay with me?” He doesn’t mean tonight, you know that well enough. “Will you stay with me through it all?”

You’re aware of the burden it would imply, the jagged, ugly reality of withdrawal. The toll, sweat-soaked skin and cold fevers. Irrational begging, pleading for god, just one more fix. The way it would change him, change your untainted perspective of him. When you agree, it is not misguided.

You know what you’re signing up for.

“Yeah. I’ll stay. Through it all.”

If this is love, true unvarnished love, reciprocal and real, then he’s sorry he found you at a bad time. Give it, give me, a few months, he thinks, and i’ll spend the rest of my life giving you everything.

Just a teacher leading his students to be the new generation of sorcerers ✨

Okay I was finally able to carve out some time to post stuff so incoming!!!!!