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sunboki · 2 months

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— FOR THE NIGHT. a Christopher Bahng fiction

Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

WORD COUNT. 1.1k words

AUG'S NOTES. this bangchan is from my “Korea’s Most Wanted” universe because i have yet to get over him from october…

“Bin, you said it was shipped friday.” The man, Christopher Bahng, grumbles, massaging the pinch between his brows.

His counterpart, Bin, whom he was now quarreling with on the phone groaned profusely, claiming how shipments were already slow—not to mention with the new investigations on his business underway.

The life of The Gunsman isn’t an easy one. It’s a constant game of tag against the police and the government while wielding a well-planned dictionary of excuses to avoid suspicion.

So now, as Bahng’s precious system becomes increasingly jeopardized, he finds himself losing more and more sleep to a worrisome degree.

And, having left the party filled with chairman, associates, and colleagues alike, Bahng slips into the safety of his car, once again troubled with the demands this illegal trade calls for.

“Well tell him I’ll have to serve his head on a platter if the ammunition doesn’t arrive by Friday. I’m running a charity event with how many funds I’ve given the idiot.”

Although halfway into Bin’s response, a quiet, though audible sound rustles in his backseat.

Instantly, he’s lurched a pistol from his thigh, aimed directly at the responsible interruption.

“Bahng. Bahng?” Bin echoes, only to be hung up on as Chris takes in the sight before him.

Lying in his backseat, curled up in a miniature ball, is a girl.

Your face is wrinkled in discomfort, hand resting right below your cheek, smushed against his car, a Lamborghini’s, interior.

How you got here without him noticing is beyond him, how long you’ve been here an even larger mystery.

His hand falters with the pistol, gawking with obvious surprise prior to stuffing the weapon back into its leather holster.

Instinctively, he would’ve called an assistant, asked them to take you home, find someone who knew you. Except, by the look of your current state, he has an inkling you wouldn’t be the greatest help navigating.

You’re gone.

Plus, the party’s already drawing to a close, people scattering out in every direction. The last thing he needs is to draw attention to himself.

Bahng may work illegally, lacking the fear of blood on his hands, but he’s not heartless.

Stifling a sigh, he rakes a hand through his hair, repeatedly clearing his throat in the case you woke up.

Leave it to him to end up with a random girl in his backseat.

Fine. Home it is.

Or, one of his many homes in the area.

Starting the engine, he spares repeated glances at you on the drive back, simply met with your same, woeful expression. Eyes screwed shut, lips pursed, cheeks stained a pink hue.

Pulling in, he stalls in the front seat, debating on all his morals up till now.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this..” Words a mere mutter, he carefully opens your door, gingerly dragging you out from your awkward position.

Knees pulled to your chest, Bahng keeps one, scarred hand on your back and another beneath your thighs while your head hangs, both hands bunched into fists, pressed to your chest.

Scared.

Whatever happened before, however you got here, you were scared—that much was known.

Somehow, the realization had him holding you closer.

Swiping the code to the door, he silently curses the loud beep, confusing himself with his concern for you.

Why did he care? You’d wake up, he’d get your home address and send you off. Why was he now so conscious about your comfort?

Heading up the winding stairs, he pulls his office chair from its place, deciding water as the best option.

“I’m going to put you down for a second, okay?”

Gently idling you into the chair, his movements halt when your arms reach up around his shoulders, a soft, barely divisible whine slipping past your lips, unwilling to let go.

He can barely recognize anything with how loud his heart rams against his rib cage.

Pull yourself together Bahng.

Ensuring you were still asleep, he slips into the kitchen, filling a glass with water before returning to you.

Your head jerks from when he holds the rim to your mouth, unwilling to cooperate.

“Just water sweetness,” He soothed, hating how worried he was, how senseless this behavior was.

Yet, he only continued to ease you into each sip, palm cupping your cheek for support, narrowly masking his astonishment when your eyes slowly opened, barely awake.

“Mm..?” Your vocal cords betray you, leering on the verge of dream and reality as you try acknowledging your surroundings.

No amount of recollection aids your perception in figuring out how you got here, only aware of the blaring ache in your head and a strangers voice in the distance.

One thing’s for certain. You feel awful.

Discerning the splash of water dumped down a sink, you’re once again hoisted into his arms, disappearing back into unconsciousness as Bahng nudges open his bedroom door, settling down on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t mean to man-handle you, but we need to get these shoes off.”

Situating you upright, his arm slips down, propping each of your ankles where he can pull the heels from your feet.

Softly placing you down, he savors your feeble grip grasping at his clothing, gradually loosening in an attempt at holding his face.

“Unfortunately, I can’t stay here all night sweets, you’re gonna have to let go,” Bahng whispers, easing your wrists down to your sides.

Unfortunately? What’s gotten into him?

Although, just as he adjusts the comforter over you, turning to go, he hears a sniffle.

C’mon, ignore it, she’s fine.

Another sniffle.

Screw it.

“If you tell me where you live I can take you home?” He utters, lingering by your bedside like a child waiting to hear if they can go on a play date.

It’s painful admitting the effect your tears have on him, brows creasing so sadly in a way he can’t ignore.

“Are… Are you gonna hurt me?” You whimper, feeling absolutely exhausted the longer your mind races, frantically piecing together any clues of your whereabouts to no avail.

The pad of his thumb wiping free falling tears, he shakes his head, a miniature smile gracing usually serious, unmoving features.

“I can’t say I haven’t hurt someone before, but I’m not gonna hurt you, alright sweetness?”

Nodding fervently, his face contorts, admiring the adorable manner you blink up at him, lashes all clumped from crying.

Look, his ego isn’t too fragile to admit you’re cute.

“..How did I get here?”

Bahng chuckles.

“I don’t know the answer to that myself.”

Freeing your arm from his sheets, you furiously rub your eyes, frown tugging at the corner of your lips, hiccuping as your breathing shallows.

“I know things are scary when you’re this drunk. I promise everything will be a thousand times better in the morning.”

And with that, he pulls the comforter over you, bidding a quiet good night and nearing the door for a second time.

This time, you intervene, latching onto the fabric of his shirt.

“Thank you.”

What did he just get himself into.

He sucks his teeth, surveying the sleepy eyes you’re torturing him with.

“Don’t mention it.”

sunboki, may 2022 ©

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jadedrrose · 10 months

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i do feel that with some songs! rarely though i feel it with osts from one piece mostly the strawhats and... law i only heard like 2 snippets he has a different one in the wano card iirc? i might be wrong it played like once unlike the zou one. but the best one for me is to the grand line... when i say i get goosebumps everytime I GET GOOSEBUMPS EVERYTIME. it's so lovely and i really feel like. ascending with that

as for others,, one is jericho from iniko... most of aurora's songs (warrior soft universe and the seed are some of my favourites,, though really she's great) and cochise's songs (who is way different than the previous two but oh well lol everyone has different tastes so idk) - i do go from nintendo soundtrack to beethoven to beats and rap in a second so like. YEAAAAH there's no inbetween (ignore the casual recommendations)

also i never ship anything at all either... other than self-type crap because really. most of the time i just can't find myself to ship the characters at all?? and obviously im not criticising anyone who ships them. for me it ALWAYS needs to make canonical sense (so like if its enstablished and its a cool ship thats not illegal yes 🤝) but the rest? no. and idk about you but the self-shipping is "therapeutic" to me? — cause it feels great like connecting to the characters on an even stronger level,,, idk i get even more curious about them and search shit up (though u can do that normally too) my dumbass even ends up like going "yeah but they wouldnt even like me" and i get sad 💀💀 am i just delusional 💀 maybe lol

and,, for the prompts. u said u wanna make something fluffy right? the domestic stuff with law. or did u change ur mind? i kinda have some sweet phrases and ideas in mind but if u steered from that i wont send em lolol (actually did i just dream of that or. cause i camt find thw post anymore did i not scroll enough or was it a vision damn,,) this got really big again srry 👺🗿😨

1. I love Nintendo soundtracks so SO much too god they just 🛐 (rn my favorites are Breath Of The Wild and Mario Galaxy, and then a few from Age Of Calamity’s ost. I’m sure as soon as I play Tears of The Kingdom that will join the list lol. OH ALSO SOME SMASH SONGS)

But Law’s full theme is on YouTube! The one you hear in Zou is just the beginning/end of the full song, but the part that makes me 🤯 is like the “chorus” of the song (at least where the chorus would be if it was a real song with lyrics lol). I still don’t understand why they never used more of it in the anime lol

2. You’re so right about the self-shipping tho. (The therapeutic thing) That’s the only thing I “ship” but even then I keep it to myself 90% of the time (Law is the only one I’ve ever posted the art I made for him/me lol) And idk if maybe I feel so strongly about Law since I relate to him way more than the others I like?? But yeah I went and spoiled myself looking up his wiki when I first started liking him 💀 I also agree with the “would this character even like me? No” with everyone except Law oddly enough?? He’s just like me fr. What I’m implying is that we’d be perfect for each other LMAO.

And the being fine with the ship when it makes sense in canon is also how I feel, which I guess it’s not totally implied at all but Nami x Vivi is cute and makes sense. But yeah as long as it’s not morally wrong/you’re not shoving it down everyone else’s throats, idrc what you ship. (It just so happens that my least favorite ship seems to get shoved down everyone’s throat tho smh)

3. I do kinda remember wanting to do a fluff/domestic event? I think I ended up doing the virgin Law stuff instead tho? Or I just forgot lol. BUT I could use some suggestions for the 1k event. I’m probably gonna do both fluff and smut for it, so I’ll take whatever lol 👀

#ask things lol #law

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wind-becomes-lightning · 11 months

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I hope this isn't overstepping at all, but I've dealt with what you're dealing with before and I know how disheartening and frustrating it can feel to want to create and finish something but not being able to for whatever reason. The thing that really helped me more than I expected to was actually to just...stop setting goals for myself. Every time I set a goal and then missed it, I'd punish myself for it and it would just make me feel worse and it was like this cycle I couldn't get out of. Once I stopped doing that, things got a little easier. If it also helps, whenever I'm unable to get anything written down or drawn, I just keep telling myself it's a first draft and everything can be changed later. And doing that relieves so much pressure off me. It doesn't matter if I write bullet point sentences, if my sketch is just shitty lines, if it's completely illegible, it's a first draft and it can be changed. Writing full flowing sentences is hard, but shitty bullet points of what I like it a lot easier. I can fix it later. But doing that at least lets you open the door a little and get something out, ya know? Again, I'm so sorry if this is overstepping, but I just wanted to let you know what's helped me, from someone who knows how exhausting and infuriating it can be. I hope it helps, even a little. Just remember that all this should be fun, ya know? That's the end goal. It's all fun. If you're not in the mood for something, then that's fine. No one will be disappointed. No one will yell at you. These projects will always be there if and when you want to return to them. You got this, okay? Everyone deals with stuff like this, and being kind to yourself and letting yourself off the hook every once in a while is such a wonderful experience. Good luck, okay? I'm rooting for you and I love you!

No, thank you thats really sweet! I have in the past done a very similar thing that I just wrote outlines with bullet points and then wrote the real story according to bullet points. I think it doesn't work so well with what I am working on right now, because its just full smut left and I am not good at writing bulletpoints down for smut its usualyl just " - insert smut here" :D But for the other projects this is definitely a good option.

I think the issue is that if you write long form content you just know readers will jump ship if you don't upload fast. And yea, I know I know you shouldn't write for the readers and all, but in the end I am an attention whore just like everyone else and I want that seratonin feedback.

I guess its just that set myself up for failure last year when I wrote like a maniac. 5k a day or whatever, because I had constant output and would get constant feedback. Now that my output is very low, very very low, I just feel very useless.

Writing was the only thing I was semi good at and now I can't even do that, you know? It makes me feel MEH.

Gosh sorry thats not what you asked, I'm sorry. Your advice is real sound, thank you!

#ask things

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ne0nlightzz · 2 years

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Yo! this is basically any and all info for my page and writing /story requests!! [Fandoms,"Rules",DNI,ETC]

since that's why i started a tumbler acc, because the writing community on here is actually seeming pretty large and you can never try to put yourself out there on to many platforms with a writing aspect,right?...

well actually you can and that's why i wasn't even aware that i had a qoutev account for nearly a year when i went to go make a new one and was logged into that one on my laptop but ykyk.

•ACC RULES•

Basic acc rule- all of my soicals are LGBTQ+,OSDD/DID,SFW Agere/Petre,Furry and neurodiverse friendly but if you're homophobic or toxic i most likely won't hesitate to block your ass!:]

STORY REQUEST RULES

I WILL NOT WRITE-

Pedophilia

anything sexual with a kid-

ITS A CHILD WHY DO YOU WANT THAT IF ITS BELLOW 18 AND NOT HOW OLD YOU ARE AND YOU ARE YOUNGER THEN LIKE 14-15 GET SOME HELP MATE ITS A ISSUE-

Overly toxic relationships- like if that's the whole story im uncomfy writing that because its just- its not my best to write i guess-

I WILL WRITE

[its not actually that may rules,i just over elaborate and it makes the list seem long-]

Just about any relation ship[BxB/MxM,GxG/WxW,Poly,romantic,platonic]

I do write xReader stories [for the fandoms listed below] but at the moment i will only write Male-Reader, FTM-Reader or Gender neutral-Reader because there's just not enough of those and because that's what I'm comfortable with as I'm still newer to writing xreader/self inserts and stuff

I can write 'smut' but ive never actually tried because haft way through im just kinda have a whole "wtf did i just write and what will my friends think of me if they find this" moment but please request that with whatever you want but keep in mind i won't write sexual shit for children or family- im trying to stay sane here and am a minor, man, sorry.

platonic or romantic relationships

angst[god im getting go at writing angst- its weird],fluff,those (sorta weird n random) sexual but not scenes-

G0re- [i want to try writing g0re so bad ngl- because how dose one write g0re and make it good?-/injury ig

Okay lets be honest ill write just about anything but

ill try to write GxG but I will not be writing xfem reader at the moment,I'm personally uncomfy doing so because it makes me dysphoria horrible

anything outside the fandoms i have listed for requests [if its not there ask bc i might make acceptions]

weird ped0 and sexual minor/child shit[once again its a childddd ill write you a cute lil fluff sibling or parent figure thing but not anything that's illegal n gross<3]

if its a aged up AU ill think about it but won't 100% write it,ill really have to think about it

i just want to experiment with writing different things and learn different writing techniques so i can maybe find what exactly i enjoy writing the most and i feel like this would be a good way-

•FANDOMS•

Fandoms i will write for!

Supernatural

The Black Phone

The Lost Boys [yk that old vampire movie? love it-]

Creepypasta

Marble hornets

IT [all of them- also the bowers gang- I'll write for them 100%-]

FNAF/Afton's [yeah that can go downhill VERY FAST]

The owl house/Gravity Falls [yes, I'm aware imma nerd but give me a break- there good shows]

Ninjago[ill only write for season 1-3 atm because im re-watching it after god knows how long and can only remember those seasons atm]

Sander sides [does this even have an active fandom anymore?]

Marvel/Spider man [Mainly Iron man or Spiderman because they are like my comfort characters- i also write for both the Tom Holland and Andrew Garfield Spiderman !!Not the actors but the character!!][spider man is now my gender-this is a joke,please don't attack me-]

those are my main fandoms that i will 1000% write for and below are some that I'm a bit iffy about writing for[like I'm not iffy about possible writing about a demonic triangle]

OHSHC[once again, is there even a fandom for this anymore?-]

TBHK

idfk- im not rly a anime person anymore and can't think of anymore fandoms that im still semi-apart of-

DNI

Basic criteria[Anti-LGBTQ+, Abelist, Racist, Sexist, ETC]

Ped0/MAPS/Zoophile

Fake-claimers [yk who u are]

Anti-Agere/Petre[i get it if you don't rly vibe w/ it but don't go bashing a coping mech man- it's not a kink or smt, just a way to cope and usually involuntary-]

Under the age of 13

Proshippers/Fujioshi/Girls who fetishize bxb n all

MASTER LISTS/MORE

My writing socials masterlist [you can find all my bigger works there]

Fandom masterlist

About me

My general socials masterlist [my other socials like Spachey and others]

EXTRA INFO

I'm dyslexic and that's sorta self-explanatory and explains any grammar/spelling errors in my work. While i do try to edit and catch all mistakes and errors sometimes they slip past me and don't get corrected, there for my work sometimes has a few minor errors but nothing that should actually affect the quality of my work a ton.

I[rarely]use slurs i can reclaim and will only use ones i can reclaim in my work[and that the character can reclaim- unless for drama purposes-] but I WILL NOT USE SLURS I CAN NOT RECLAIM!

I do work on my own individual story's aside from fandom shorts/oneshots so i don't always work on fanfics and sometimes have to take time for those stories!

To quickly address smt I've had issues with

While yes, I do fully support the agere/petre community's I'm not actually a involved part of them anymore due to personal issues and no longer finding it a safe place personally, I rarely regress and slip into headspace and only am a caregiver to one long distance little who is a close friend.

And while yes, I am open to writing 'nsfw content' that's not what I'm about, while yes I'll do it, I will never write anything not sfw for the agere community and want this to be a place for all kinds of people and stories. I want to write agere stuff but also don't want to have to keep my blog 1000% sfw because I write a few comfort n age/petre stories- but I also don't want to make my blog 100% nsfw because I rarely write that and part of why I do is being I'm hypersexual due to past personal stuff.

How many times did i say "while yes," in this? -

Yes.

PLEASE REQUEST- I LOVE GETTING WRITING REQS SO MUCH!!

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honeymoon-bear · 5 years

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hey so im not really one for Discourse TM cause fandom is supposed to be FUN and a hobby and this topic is super irrelevant and not important so totally skip this if you wanna but like. i really do not get why theres more indruck content than danbrey? like :’)) indrid and duck have met,,, like twice,,, , , and just. talked. like normal people (well. as normal as talking to the Literal Mothman can be i guess) while dani and aubrey have had TONS of interactions, their first one literally starting with aubrey thinking dani is cute? and their latest one being holding hands. its just??? weirdly out of proportion this isnt a callout post at all btw ship whatever you want!!!!!!!! its just. sad to see that no matter which fandom mlm ships will always be more popular than wlw :^))

#and once again!! ship!!!! whatever you want!!!! as long as its not illegal or anything ofc hh #if it makes you happy its valid yknow #this is just me thinking out loud!!!!#i just looked it up there are literally twice as many duck newton/indrid fics on ao3 than aubrey little/dani #this is bonkers (haha)#this is also not me playing favourites or anything????#i love both the MöthGuy and duck a whole lot #this post was written by a tired wlw thank you for reading this far #sorry for using 'this' and 'just' in like every single sentence here #i truly am. very tired

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latte-fairytaekwoon · 3 years

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𝑴𝒂𝒇𝒊𝒂! 𝑨𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒛: 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝑶𝒇 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, justifying, encouraging or promoting mafia behavior or lifestyle. This is simply a work of fiction and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

❥𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰

"Ok ok stop fussing now. I'll get you out now."

Hongjoong walked over to the portable crib and picked up his son who was currently whining and kicking his legs around, hating being cooped up inside the contraption for too long. Hongjoong picked him up and looked at him.

"You know, not even the people we lock up in solitary confinement complain as much as you."

The baby reached his tiny hands out, gently patting at his father's nose and cheeks, making Hongjoong chuckle.

"Then again none of them have ever been half as cute as you are. It's a crime to be this cute. I should punish you."

Hongjoong nuzzled his nose against his son's, causing the baby to let out a happy squeal. A tiny buzz let Hongjoong know Yunho was calling him.

"Hey Hongjoong. Your boss is on the line."

Hongjoong rolled his eyes at Yunho's teasing, always saying how you were the real boss. Putting the baby down so he could crawl as he liked, Hongjoong picked up the phone.

"Hey honey." He greeted you.

"How's the baby doing?" You asked.

Hongjoong got a deadpan expression.

"Well hello to you too Mrs. Kim, I'm fine too thanks for asking."

Hongjoong was so concentrated on your conversation he didn't realize the door was open and the baby inadvertently went out.

"He's fine don't worry. And he's no trouble at all, he's currently crawling around my office-"

Hongjoong abruptly stopped when he realized the baby was gone.

"Hongjoong....? What's going on?"

He could hear you getting ready to scold him if anything happened to your child. He stammered as he began looking around for him. A beep on the other line let you both know someone else joined your call.

"I think an enemy spy has infiltrated our base, but honestly, I don't have the heart to fight back." Yunho's voice was followed an incoherent babble, belonging to none other than your baby.

"Oh my God! Yunho is he with you?" You were relieved to find out the baby was ok.

"Yep, and although I'd usually send out a ransom note, I think I'm keeping him hostage for a while." He chuckled.

Hongjoong fumed as he walked out of his office.

"Heck you will! Give me back my son!"

❥𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪

Seonghwa peeked his head into the room, 7 pairs of eyes staring at him intently. Hongjoong sighed softly.

"You're late." He told him.

"Sorry. Got caught up with something." Seonghwa apologized.

"Whatever. Just get in. You haven't missed much of the meeting." His leader assured him.

Hongjoong was about to resume speaking, but he, like the rest of the members watched as Seonghwa opened the door and went to take his seat, a baby carrier on his left hand with his baby daughter inside.

"Night light!" San exclaimed the nickname they all had for Seonghwa's daughter.

"Night fury got stuck with babysitting duty?" Yeosang raised an eyebrow.

Seonghwa glared at him, about to say something but was stopped by Hongjoong.

"Guys! Meeting! Focus ok?"

Hongjoong began talking once again, detailing about a government cargo ship that was soon to land in the city, containing secret weapons.

"Now, if our information is correct, it'll get here in-"

A soft and subtle sneeze interrupted him, followed by a chorus of 'aaaws' and 'ooohs'.

"She's the deadliest weapon ever!" San clutched his heart.

"Yeah! Who can resist that level of cuteness?" Mingi agreed, crouching down to poke her tiny nose.

"I know! Isn't she adorable?" Seonghwa beamed with pride at his baby.

"Guys, remember? Timeline-" Hongjoong tried to get their attention again.

"Has she started talking yet?" Jongho asked.

"No not yet. But she's babbling a lot more, mostly songs in movies or cartoons though." Seonghwa explained.

"Ooooh! Can she do the banana song?! Night light! Watch uncle Woo."

Wooyoung began singing the minions song, not really getting a reaction out of the baby and further causing Hongjoong's annoyance to spike up.

"One more interruption and I'm shooting you all in your legs!"

They all stayed quiet, not wanting to further anger their leader. Hongjoong let out a sigh of relief.

"Now, as I was saying-"

"Ba ba ba, ba na na." The baby interrupted him as she tried to sing the song Wooyoung was previously singing.

They all stared in shock and adoration at her.

"Ok, that's actually fucking cute." Hongjoong admitted.

Seonghwa only giggled as he picked up his daughter and kissed her cheek.

❥𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸

Yunho tried shushing the whimpering baby underneath his desk.

"Buddy come on. You're going to get me in trouble. Now shush."

Having no alternative, he picked up his baby son, cradling him in his arms as he tried to keep him from making anymore noise. He cooed at him and even made funny faces, but the boy didn't seem to calm down.

"Why are you being like this?" Yunho pouted.

The baby nuzzled his face against his father's chest before opening his mouth against it. Yunho immediately pulled the baby a few inches off him.

"Ok I get it now. You're hungry. Please don't do that again. My body doesn't work like your mom's."

Setting the boy back in the carrier, Yunho reached inside the baby bag and got out the bottle and baby formula. He quickly mixed them together, careful not to spill any of it on his desk. He looked around and realized he had absolutely no idea how he was going to heat it up. When the baby began fussing again, he quickly stooped down, trying to quiet him down.

"Uhhh Yunho?"

Yunho hit his head as he quickly stood up, looking at Yeosang who was right in front of him with a folder. Yeosang noticed the baby bottle in his hand and snorted.

"Is that your new guilty pleasure?" He teased.

"I'm not in the mood Yeosang. In case you haven't noticed, I sneaked him in."

Yunho picked up his child and rocked him in his arms, trying to stop his crying.

"Hi junior." Yeosang waved.

Scanning the baby, Yunho and the bottle, Yeosang ended up deducing what was going on.

"Give me the bottle, I'll heat it up for you." Yeosang offered, taking the bottle away from him.

"You will? Thanks Yeo. I'd really appreciate it." Yunho thanked him.

"No problem..." Yeosang looked at the bottle, studying its structure and model.

"I kinda want to try out the new fire weapon I created and this might just be the perfect test subject..."

When he heard those words, Yunho quickly stopped Yeosang.

"A microwave will do Yeosang! Don't fucking use my son's bottle for one of your weird experiments!"

Yunho gasped when he realized he cussed in front of his kid.

"Don't tell your mom."

❥𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰

Yeosang carefully weighed the powder into the brown paper bags, careful not to go above the amount he needed. His eyes trailed to the tiny hand that tried reaching up for the contents he had.

"No no no sweetheart. Don't touch anything."

He put what he had in his hands down and picked up his daughter, setting her down and making her rest on top of a stack of books he had.

"Ok. Here you go. Play with this. Your mom says you like it." He handed her the rattle that was shaped like a chicken leg before going back to concentrate on his task.

The baby shook the rattle a few times before becoming bored with it. Instead, she was fascinated by all the intricate colors and strange devices inside her father's laboratory. Looking next to her, she saw a display of assorted test tubes that had different liquids in them. Curiously, her hand reached out to grab the red colored one. At that moment, Yeosang had finished weighing the stuff out and placed them in a container. When he looked back, he saw his daughter pulling out the test tube.

"No don't touch-"

Yeosang quickly scooped the baby up and covered her with his body as the tube fell to the floor, not only splattering the contents, but immediately setting off a tiny explosion that spread a horrible smelling gas in the air. Yeosang covered his daughter's face as he quickly got them out of the room. At that moment, Jongho came running down the hall.

"What was that?!" He immediately asked.

"One of the test tubes I was working on." Yeosang explained, as he scanned his daughter to make sure she was all right.

"Seriously Yeosang?! We've told you time and time again to be careful! How did it even happen?"

Yeosang immediately turned to his daughter, who was merely sucking on her thumb, looking at him with the most innocent eyes ever.

"You're lucky it was one of the least deadly ones and I got you out of there in time. Otherwise we'd both be laughing ourselves to death." Yeosang chuckled at her and kissed her forehead.

Jongho shook his head.

"I swear to god, if your daughter becomes another crazy scientist like you, I'm joining another gang."

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷

The diminutive man strolled from one corner of the alley to another, sighing as he stared once again at his watch.

"Where the fuck are they?" He shook his head, hating people being late above anything else.

Finally hearing footsteps, he saw the two figures approach him. He smiled contentedly until he saw that one of them had a baby strapped to his chest.

"All right Changbin, we got the money now where's the drugs?" San asked, not yet giving him the bag of money.

Changbin looked at San, then back at the baby boy.

"Don't look at the baby, look at me." San gestured to his eyes.

Changbin raised an eyebrow at him before looking over at Wooyoung, who looked completely unfazed.

"Just don't even question it man." Wooyoung suggested.

Changbin hesitantly got out the package from his coat. He was about to hand it to them, but he stopped when he looked at the baby again.

"Don't look at the baby, look at me." San repeated himself.

"Look man! It's just feels completely unorthodox to make illegal transactions in front of an innocent baby ok?! Did you kidnap it or something?" Changbin scanned him.

San scoffed in offense.

"This is my kid! Can't you see the resemblance? He's as handsome as me."

Changbin raised an eyebrow.

"You're seriously bringing your kid.... you know what? Never mind."

Changbin opted for giving the package to Wooyoung and then taking the bag of money.

"Pleasure doing business with you."

San waved at him when he departed. As him and Wooyoung made their way back to the car, his son started babbling something incoherently. San looked down and patted his head.

"Yes I know he's a mean, grouchy dwarf. Don't worry about him."

❥𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲

Mingi sat down on the stool in front of the bartender, setting down the carrier on the chair next to him.

"I'm here." Mingi told the man who had his back turned.

"Oh Mingi you've come. Tell me what can I get-"

The pink haired man stopped when he saw the baby and pointed at her.

"Just give me my usual and don't worry about her. She's covered."

Mingi opened his trench coat and took out a baby bottle before taking the baby out of the carrier so he could feed her.

"You got the info Hyunjin?" Mingi lowered his voice.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes as he prepared him his drink.

"Mingi you brought a baby inside a bar. Forget trying to avoid unnecessary attention, everyone is already looking at you weird."

Mingi looked around, noticing a couple people staring at him as if he was crazy.

"Oh...right."

Hyunjin set the drink out in front of him before pulling out a folder and sneakily handing it to Mingi.

"Even got a few of the members' names gathered for you. Don't be fooled by their small numbers. These guys are very deadly and are slowly gaining momentum in the criminal world."

Mingi nodded and stuffed the folder in his coat. At that moment, his phone started ringing and he panicked when he saw who it was.

"Do me a favor. Hold her and cover her ears."

Hyunjin obeyed and cringed when Mingi fired a gun at the roof.

"I'm gonna need all of you to be quiet for a minute or else I'll put a bullet in your heads."

Mingi then quickly answered the phone, suddenly changing his tone.

"Hey baby. Oh nothing. I'm with Seonghwa, he wanted to see the baby.....no! I'm most definitely not working at the moment." He laughed awkwardly.

Hyunjin shook his head and looked down at the baby girl in his arms.

"Mind sharing some of your milk with me? I think I need it."

❥𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰

"Wooyoung? Do you see the target?" Yeosang's voice echoed through his ear piece.

Wooyoung casually tilted his head to the side.

"No. There's too many people. " Wooyoung answered casually.

He looked down when he heard his daughter sneeze.

"Bless you." Wooyoung cooed at her.

"I'm literally trying to put a bullet through a man's head and you're giving me your blessings?" Yeosang asked.

"Not you idiot! My princess just sneezed and-"

"Oh my gosh! What a lovely baby you have!"

Wooyoung turned to find a young woman standing in front of him, twirling her hair in her finger as she looked at him and his daughter.

"Thanks..." Wooyoung answered.

"Is she yours?" She asked, stepping closer to him, reaching her hand out.

"Yeah...mine." Wooyoung shifted in his seat, moving the baby so she wouldn't touch her wandering hands.

Wooyoung tried not to cringe as the girl didn't seem to get the hint and continued talking to him.

"Want me to put a bullet in her head?" Yeosang offered.

Wooyoung immediately declined the offer as quietly as possible, not hearing what the girl said until she repeated herself.

"I asked if there was a mom in the picture."

She tucked her hair behind her ear before sitting down next to Wooyoung, her hand brushing on his shoulder.

"Cause if not.....I could help out in more ways than one." She bit her lip.

Before Wooyoung could even respond, he was saved when you suddenly showed up.

"I'm giving you ten seconds to run before I pull the trigger."

The girl froze when she felt a gun pointed at her back. Wooyoung waved.

"Hi honey." He smiled.

"Don't 'honey' me. First you take our daughter out on a mission and then I find some skank trying to take my place?" You scoffed.

"Should have taken my offer when you had the chance." Yeosang poked fun at him.

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸

Jongho kept his eyes on the road, occasionally looking at the rearview mirror to check on the little boy in the baby seat.

"Getting sleepy there buddy?" Jongho chuckled when he saw the baby's eyes open and close slowly.

"Don't worry. After we deliver this package, I promise I'll take you to get ice cream......just don't tell your mom I've been feeding you that before you're old enough."

Jongho began to sing softly, hoping it'll help the baby sleep faster. However when he looked at the rearview mirror again, he noticed a strange looking car tailing right behind him.

"Huh....strange..... very strange."

Jongho gripped the steering wheel tightly. Looking back at his son, he noticed he was now fully awake.

"Buckle up buddy cause we're in for a fun ride."

Shifting the gear, Jongho immediately pressed down on the accelerator before rapidly making a u-turn, momentarily confusing the car behind him. Jongho drifted through the different alleys, hoping to loose the car, but it still seemed to catch up to him. His son on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the fun ride.

"Oh shit." Jongho cursed when he saw you were calling.

Pressing the button, he answered your call.

"I just got off work, barely going back. Think you can handle the boy for a little bit longer?" You asked.

"Take all the time. I'm going to be late too."

Jongho made a rather sharp turn that had your son squealing excitedly. You immediately sensed something was off.

"You're on a mission aren't you?"

"Yeah and we kinda ran into some chasers." Jongho chuckled rather amused.

You sighed softly.

"Where are you?"

"Gangnam district. Near the old abandoned factory." He answered as he continued trying to loose the car behind him.

"Give me 5 minutes and I'll be there."

Jongho couldn't help but bite his lip at your words.

"God baby, I love you so much."

He then turned his attention to his son who was still having the time of his life.

"Hear that bud? Mommy is gonna be joining us soon."

Gifs not mine, credit goes to their respective owners.

#ateez #ateez reactions #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez dad au #dad!ateez #dad!au #ateez mafia au #mafia!ateez #mafia!au #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho

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blue-mood-blue · 4 years

Text

They tell him that his name is Benzaiten Steel.

They tell him that he’s been shot.

Officially, publicly, his condition is unknown - they haven’t released any details yet, pending the investigation. As he understands it, the investigation amounts to his mother and brother pointing to each other in accusation, both of them held in separate interview rooms of the HCPD while Ben lays in his hospital bed. They were hoping he could give them answers, Ben realizes when the doctor and the officer both hover around his door uncertainly before turning to go.

But Ben doesn’t remember anything. He can’t tell them if his brother in law enforcement went corrupt or if his mentally ill mother finally slipped too far. If it was an argument, or an accident, or which of his incredibly small family is more likely to lie. He wouldn’t have been able to tell them his name if they hadn’t told him first, because Ben hardly remembers anything at all.

It’s the head injury, the nurse tells him at two in the morning while she gives him more pain medication. Not from the blast, which had caught him in the shoulder and was more than enough damage to a body on its own, according to her. He must have hit his head on something on the way down, gave himself a nasty bump and some swelling. Nothing to worry about too much, she added quickly after getting a good glance at Ben’s expression. Just... just the memories might not come back. Hard to tell with these things.

Ben chews over the possibility after she leaves, slipping in and out of sleep. He should want to know, right? He should be searching for those memories, and the way he fit between them. He should be looking for himself... looking for the truth.

There are two people in his family. One of them shot him. He can’t imagine a truth there that wouldn’t tear him in two anyway.

Ben takes a moment to pity whoever it was he used to be - must’ve had a sad life, in the middle of that mess. Couldn’t possibly have been happy, in that little apartment in Oldtown, no one to call or contact besides the people led away in handcuffs. Such a small, tiring existence... didn’t he feel stifled, trapped? He does now. He thinks about going back to that, and he can’t breathe.

Ben looks at the window instead. He can make out some stars, but only a few - it’s hard to see much around the light pollution and the dome. He doesn’t remember, but logic tells him he hasn’t lived the kind of life that’s ever taken him off of Mars; he’s never seen any of those stars, or the planets around them, or their moons - not really. He thinks he might like to, and it’s almost a surprise when the thought comes to him; it’s as if his mind has been cleared of some dome hemming him in, holding him in place, and now there’s room to want. Ben feels untethered, adrift... free. Free in a way he knows, somehow, he’s never been before.

It’s a heady feeling. For the first time since waking, Ben smiles. He could be free. He could reach up to those stars and never come back down.

Benzaiten Steel might not remember anything about himself, but he learns that he’s a good actor. When the officer comes back with more questions, Ben tells them he’s afraid for his life, more afraid because he doesn’t know who or what to fear. “Be honest,” he asks, voice shaking with something (not fear, but the officer doesn’t know that). “Do you think this could happen again? Am I really safe?”

Benzaiten Steel is declared dead, and Ben boards a ship.

~~~

He still calls himself Ben; everything else, he cuts away and leaves behind as deadweight. He’s Ben Nothing, Ben Nobody, and he runs between the stars like there’s something chasing him. He finds work where he can, and he finds that the most lucrative work is the illegal kind. He finds that he’s good at it, charming people with a smile or disarming them with a few tears, and then liberating them from whatever they have in their pocket, or safe, or bank account.

Ben is happy. Ben is competent, secure, well-liked in the circles he moves through. Ben is as free as he ever wanted to be, in this life or any other. And if he feels like something unnamed is breathing down his neck some days, well, he is a thief, isn’t he? There’s always someone after him, law enforcement on several planets at least. If he avoids Mars and anywhere too close to that little, red planet, it’s his own business. There’s not much on Mars, anyway; only the Cerberus Province and the connections he could make there, and it’s a small sacrifice to make for all of the things he gets to see.

Ben isn’t lonely. He just feels a little adrift sometimes.

And it’s years before anything catches him.

He has a jewel that toppled a dynasty with the conflict it caused hidden in his pocket, and he slips into a dark, mostly empty theater to wait out the afternoon and the authorities. He already has a spot waiting for him on a ship traveling several planets away, but it won’t take off for hours. He has plenty of time.

Ben pulls out his comms to waste some hours, ignoring the movie playing on the screen; a kids’ movie, probably with the hope that whole families would make the effort of taking a trip to the theater to spend time together. It was a bad gamble, with the only person there other than Ben asleep in a chair in the corner. Ben snorts; kind of a stupid thought, that anyone would bother when they could stream whatever old movies they wanted directly to their home.

He’s in the middle of a game when he looks up at the screen. There’s a woman fighting a dragon, and he isn’t sure what caught his attention until it happens again.

“Andromeda!” someone on the screen yells.

Ben’s head hurts.

Andromeda! a younger Benzaiten yells. He can feel the warm sun beating down on him, the familiar sounds of shouting down a street somewhere too far away to worry about. His voice, thin and reedy and so young, makes its best attempt at a growl. You will never escape me!

“You will never escape me!”

His head throbs, and he could cry with how much it hurts.

I do not intend to run - I will stay and fight, because good must always succeed! Someone with his face answers back, swinging a sword made of paper towel rolls and too much duct tape, and then breaks from the script: And I’m faster than you anyway, Benten, so I can escape whenever I want to.

For a moment, he rests on the divide between Ben and Benzaiten. If he tries, he could pull back - but he also knows he could no more let go of that voice than tear his own heart out.

Juno. A knowledge from the long-dormant pieces of him whispers an answer he doesn’t ask for, as it drags the whole of his messy, painful history with it. That’s Juno. Your twin. Your family.

Benzaiten is still crying, hurt radiating from his head and his chest, and there’s no one around to care so he doesn’t stop. He watches the stupid movie three times, then boards a ship and tries to hide the evidence with makeup and a bright smile. He’s two planets away by the time he thinks about going back, all the way back, and by the time he’s three planets away he’s decided that it would be a ridiculous idea.

It’s been years. Fuck, it’s been so many years. Does Juno live in the same place? What if he’s married now; out of the two of them, he was always the one looking for someone to hold onto him. Would he even want to see Ben?

The answer should be yes, but Ben’s not an idiot, he knows reality is more complicated. Juno buried him, and mourned for him, and maybe even started to heal - and Ben had run. Run without looking back, leaving a death certificate and open wounds behind him.

Is Sarah still alive?

The question stops him cold, staring through the window and the pieces of galaxy he’s passing. If Sarah is alive, he would have to see her, too. That’s a promise he made himself a long time ago - that he wouldn’t choose between them. He was the one who held the family together. He’d always been that.

The Benzaiten in his head, the person he isn’t sure he is yet - anymore - tells him she loves you.

Ben, here and now, tells him she shot you.

Both of those things are true. And when Ben pulls away from the window, he tells himself that’s what he’s afraid of, that someone he loved hurt him and could do it again, that he might let them in the foolish, stupid need to find out if the love was still there somewhere under all of the hurt. To know trying hard enough could mean getting better.

If there’s another fear, if he can feel the gravity of Mars pulling him back and down and heavy, he doesn’t let himself think it. And he’s gotten pretty good at deception, so he might even believe it.

~~~

Ben dances more, when he remembers dancing. Nothing feels as free as the movement, as his total control over it. Not even the stars.

How much of his running was escape, and how much was just running?

~~~

He still calls himself Ben.

He has his reasons. “Benzaiten” is too memorable, and sharing a face and a last name with a sibling seems like a really good way to get that sibling into trouble. There’s a reputation in place already with the name he used. There are days when he doesn’t feel like he fits in Benzaiten’s life. He finds plenty of reasons.

He doesn’t visit. He thinks about it, comes close - as close as a planet and one ticket fare away, once - but Ben can’t bring himself to step foot in Hyperion City. Hyperion belongs to Juno, somehow. He was the one who stayed (I do not intend to run - I will stay and fight), and going home feels like... trespassing. Ben knows Juno wouldn’t say that. It doesn’t stop him from thinking it.

Hyperion City has a newspaper, though, and a subscription service that seems a little optimistic in its range. Maybe not all that optimistic, since Ben regularly takes advantage of it - between jobs, and only on his personal comms. Most of it has nothing to do with him, but he skips and skims through the digitized pages anyway, looking for whatever hints of a life he can find. Juno is a private investigator now, which doesn’t surprise Ben. There’s an engagement announcement and no following marriage announcement, which does.

(Sarah is guilty, and dead, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that. He doesn’t linger on the thought.)

Sometimes, when he feels brave, he imagines what it could be like. So what’s this about a gala at that new art gallery? You know, the one that lasted a whole night before it got blown up?

Juno’s laughter from the other side of the comms connection, maybe a little too young. Uh huh, I heard. The HCPD put it all over the news, along with how they saved the day. Or didn’t you hear that part?

They can say whatever they want, I know a Juno Steel case when I see one. Now, Ben adjusts on the bed, miles and miles away, glancing at the window to see if he can get a peek back the way he came, tell me everything.

Maybe the next time you come to see me, Juno says, and just like that the thought disintegrates. He can never put too many words in Juno’s mouth; there are just too many things he doesn’t know.

Ben gets lucky one day and sees a whole half a picture of Juno, looking out on a crowd. He’s not the focus - he’s standing next to some politician in the middle of a speech, a Ramses O’Flaherty who makes a lot of promises that sound like the “too good to be true, but wouldn’t it be nice” kind - but Ben will take what he can get. He can’t decide if Juno has more or less scars than he would have expected, given his line of work. He wonders how they all got there. Juno is standing on the stage with the politician; he must buy some of those promises to put himself so clearly in the man’s corner.

There’s a kind of worry in his gut about it, but Ben tries to take it as a good sign. The Juno he knew had a hard time trusting people; it would be nice if he’d found someone to believe in. It would be nice if that trust is well-placed.

Ben has to leave his comms behind for a job, taking a burner along instead, so he gets the results of the election at the same time he gets the announcement of O’Flaherty’s death and the conspiracy over Newtown. It doesn’t have to mean anything - just another politician who wasn’t what he seemed to be, or didn’t manage to hang on long enough to make good on his promises. That’s all it is.

He still looks for Juno in the stories he reads. He can’t seem to find him, anymore.

~~~

For the first time since they were nineteen, Benzaiten sees Juno across the room.

For a moment, he feels like he’s seen a ghost. A ridiculous thought, from the dead twin.

Juno Steel is so far away from Hyperion City, talking to Zolotovna in a resplendent dress as if he’s lived the kind of life that makes him belong, immediately and implicitly, among the disgustingly rich. Ben, who is there for a reason, he knows he’s there for a reason but fuck if he can remember why, tries not to make it obvious that he’s staring. He’s failing at that, he knows.

But Juno is here. Juno is here in the room with him, so different than he remembers, with so many more scars. With one less eye. Ben wants to ask when that happened, wants to demand that story, just as much as he wants to fade into the crowd and run.

He feels untethered; he feels like, if he runs, he’ll never find his way back again. Just this once, Ben lets himself understand that the tug of gravity pulling him back was never a leash around his neck as much as it was a rope around his middle - giving him a way back home. Juno had always been his anchor, keeping him from drifting too far.

There’s no going back, now. There’s no going home, no home to go back to.

Juno’s glance turns in his direction, and Ben is about to duck out of the way - an amateur move, guaranteed to catch his sibling’s eye, but he thinks he can be forgiven for being a little bit off his game - when Ben realizes he’s not who Juno is looking for. A man slips by him, tall and confident and familiar in a way that tells Ben exactly why he should be familiar. Juno can’t seem to help the way his face changes when he spots the man.

So the thief grabbed at Juno’s heart and pulled him away from Hyperion. That’s why Juno is here. It’s... infuriating, because there’s no way a common con deserves Juno Steel. Because it was never a thought in Ben’s head that Juno could be convinced to leave Hyperion, and he never thought to ask. (I do not intend to run. Running was Ben’s job.)

Ben is ready to do something stupid. He’s halfway across the ballroom, walking directly towards his brother well and aware that the impact will cause an explosion of a scene, when he sees Juno tilt his head.

There’s a comms in his ear.

Ben has been a thief long enough to recognize the habits of another thief - especially a new one.

He doesn’t remember what he came to this event for, but there’s nothing, mark or prize or job, that Benzaiten wants more than to understand the stranger in the dress who almost has his face. If he breaks something with an impulsive decision, he thinks as he continues to cross the room, well - wouldn’t be the first time.

He’ll let himself be selfish. That’s what Ben does.

#the penumbra podcast #tpp #benzaiten steel #juno steel #junoverse #ben lives au #don’t ask my why i do not know #i was just curious about a Ben who becomes a thief #and it kinda spiraled from there #so i guess the hot takes are:#Ben’s family is a grounding force for him #and Ben also struggles with dealing with his mistakes #GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR VERY COMPLICATED EVENING JUNO

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lovely-necromancy · 3 years

Text

A Cure for Insomnia CH.4

WARNING OF DEPICTION OF A PANIC ATTACK and mentions of drugging.

////////

The rest of the day went by pretty uneventfully. That is after Nate lectured you about stranger danger and how you couldn't just walk forty miles in two hours. You really have no clue how you messed up the math that bad or how calling Nate for a ride never crossed your mind. Nate made you promise not to get into another stranger's car, especially without knowing their fucking names.

“I mean seriously YN, you just hopped in their car because they had a dog?! That's literally the first thing they tell you not to do when you learn about stranger danger!” he said munching on a boston cream donut. It was a good thing you'd brought donuts because you caused this man to stress eat...or was that a bad thing?

After you agreed to having better stranger danger instincts, Nate told you things would be run a little differently around the shop. Apparently the camera out back had died on Sunday, which although weird could be explained away as a camera that hasn't been updated or switched out since the shop was opened, maybe even before then too. So unfortunately Big Jo and Nate still didn't know who broke into your car or if they had been looking for anything. But Big Jo still wants to take precautions like the two of you leaving together and in the morning one of you waiting in their car with the doors locked for the other to come and then entering the building together.

Nate also mentioned a few other things, shipping and inventory related, that wouldn't really pertain to you or change any of your current tasks. It's really just to limit the amount of people coming through the back room. The back room was the emptiest you've ever seen when you went to check on your deer skull. You wonder if you hadn't been hired who would've gotten this position and how long they'd be able to keep their mouth shut about the obviously illegal activity going on. But you remember the person who had this position before you had been Bambi, a sweet if not oblivious girl. So, had you not come along the Cowells would have probably found someone else who didn't have an ounce of perception for their surroundings.

The week goes by slowly and with no further incidents. The deer skull has been completed and you plan on taking it to Maddie's Workshop next week to get a mount for it. In the time that you were bleaching and polishing the bones Nate took it upon himself to clean around the shop. Even though he's made it clear you just have to do your task list here, which takes about an hour maybe two depending on the tasks, he's always working on something.

Nate's the type of guy who's never content to just chill he needs to keep moving always chasing that high you get from accomplishing a goal, whatever he's made his that day. He's probably just substituting whatever he did daily with these new deep cleans of his.

Even with the lack of incidents following your car's break in the two of you have kept to the new precautions. Nate even going so far as to remind you tonight that on Monday if you arrive before him you'll need to stay in the car. At this point you think it's less about safety and more about the security of the store's extra curricular activities. Either way you don't really mind.

Things seemed to return to normal, you were back to driving yesterday and after you rearranged furniture in your house you felt a little less on edge. And every night this week you'd been able to get a good night's sleep, which although not too strange did stand out to you. Maybe another thing that had kept you on edge this week, because it meant when you saw a shadow pass by you during the day you couldn't write it off as quickly as you normally would.

But tonight it seemed your luck had run out. You sat on your bed with your sketch book in hand just doodling strange squiggles till your eyes were so tired they couldn't focus. Putting the book down to rest your eyes and crack your wrist, you sigh not feeling tired at all. The thought of a hike isn't really appealing right now, plus if you made a run into the mini mart you'd probably see either Ronnie or even Tim working behind the counter, that thought set your ears a flame. While the night life in Kepler was decent especially for a Friday night in summer, you just felt the need to be alone.

A drive was the best answer you had. You'd just choose a random lane on the interstate and take a random exit till you found a diner or something, order a tea and a slice of pie. Like you were a background character in someone else's story longingly staring out the window as your dreams slowly slipped through your fingers in this cold cruel world. Ok, you'd been joking about that because you saw a TikTok saying that, but your melodramatic ass actually thinks that sounds fun.

Throwing on some jeans and a flannel over you muscle tee, you were out the door. When you were checking the lock you'd heard rustling coming from around the house where your bins were. Worse case it's a stalker, best case just some raccoons. Either way you decided to calmly but briskly walk to your car, locking the doors immediately. Once in you drove around the side of your house, luckily, you assume, you spot the chonkiest raccoon you've ever seen digging through the bins. His tiny little person hands drawing an awww from you even though his demonic gleaming eyes should send a chill down your spine.

Hissing at the car Chonk returns to dig through your garbage. Weird how he only comes on your pizza weeks. Probably has a thing for Leo's homemade pizzas. You sure as hell do, as much as you love it you do save a slice for this little guy. You haven't put it out yet though, eh you'll do it tomorrow.

Having solved that mystery you sit in your car and link up your phone so you can have your driving playlist. It's mainly Folk Punk and Sea Shanties and while most might say it's a weird combination you say it's the same genre just different fonts. You could drive hundreds of miles into the middle of no where listening to this playlist and you'd be just fine...maybe have an emotional break down or two but expressing your emotions is suppose to be good for you. Mouthing along to Jim Bogart as it comes through the stereo you set off on your little excursion.

Just like when you have the urge to hike at night the urge to drive is nearly one in the same. Momentum taking you forward and not looking back as you do, needing to just go forward with no real destination in mind. Tonight however would be a little different you'd stop at the first diner you see that's out of Kepler bounds. Or turn right back around at one in case you hadn't found anything. There've been times that you kept driving straight through morning and didn't know where the hell you ended up. Not to mention you rarely remember the ways to get back after going for so long, and gps can only get you so far in some of the towns that also border the Monongahela Forest. You'd just have to rely on dumb luck tonight.

Unlike hiking, which gives you a burst of adrenaline as you push your body to its limits to move as far as you can and as much as you can. Driving gives a much more relaxed feeling, it's a feeling a weightlessness that gets lighter and lighter the further you get from home. Some may describe that feeling as a wanderlust or nomadic calling, but you've never cared for either of those things. You've only ever wanted to stay in one place for as long as you could remember. Moving around so much in your youth really messed you up, and you promised yourself this would be the last time you uprooted your life. And you've really come to love Kepler in these past few months. You can't imagine how you'll feel next year after getting to know the community more, but so far it's been really compassionate and understanding, a few rocky spots here and there but nothing like your hometown.

Without realizing it you've picked up your speed, you're doing 75 in a 55 zone. Even with no other vehicles around you slow down to just above the speed limit. While there might not be any cops around looking for easy tickets you don't want to risk dissociating at 75MPH or more. That could only end horribly. Though dissociating behind the wheel at all would be horrible. In the middle of shaking yourself from these thoughts you catch sight of an exit sign, which holds the logo for Denny's on it, and the exit is coming up in five miles. Switching lanes you cross over and get ready to hop off on the next exit.

You're pretty sure the only pie Denny's has is the dry apple with a scoop of ice cream. That isn't very appetizing to you, but then again you aren't really a fan of pie, a fact you seemed to gloss over when you made the decision to drive out here this late at night. Not too bothered by the fact, you remember Denny's has a salted caramel and banana pancake which should work in place of pie.

Pulling into the parking lot there are only three other cars, peering into the diner you don't really see anyone so the cars must belong to the skeleton night crew. Entering the Denny's you see there actually is one other patron, you only see the back of his head as he makes no move to look at the new arrival.

“Hun, seat yourself, I'll be out in a bit.” is the motherly voice that rings out from the kitchen, truly something you've only experienced in the south. Walking into a diner in the dead of night and being treated like a daytime regular.

Seating yourself near the TV mounted to the wall you let the sounds of the soap opera playing drown out any buzzing you feel in your head. The waitress is out within minutes and though she startles at your masked face she regains her composure very quickly.

“I'd like the salted caramel pancakes if it's alright.” you say declining the offered menu.

“Just the pancakes?”

“Ah, yes please. And water's fine too.” it really pays to know the menu prior to coming in. Gives you ample time to run scripts over in your head.

Viv, the name on her name tag, nods and gives you a smile as she spins right round to the kitchen. Probably happy she won't have to run out so many times for just one order or maybe to spend time with the cooks in the back. You remember working food service sucked but the line cooks made it so much better at the end of the day. Even if they said you were too quiet and called you 'mouse'.

It might not have been exactly what you set out to do but this little midnight self date was really nice, you should do this more often.

Pancakes finished and mask back on you waited for Viv to bring out your check, then you notice the other patron also making his moves to leave. You're sat facing the door so when he turns and comes closer dread fills your veins like burning cold dry ice. It's David, a local from Kepler you briefly met when you first moved. He gave you really bad vibes and over all was just a very skeevy dude.

What made you feel worse about him was when he left town to “help his sister” right after Bambi disappeared. Those in your circle told you she always talked about leaving Kepler one day but you trusted your gut in saying she didn't leave by her own choice. It got made for her, and David leaving just furthered your theory. You look away hoping he hadn't noticed you but unfortunately you could hear his footsteps falter and then pick back up by passing the door completely.

“Hey...YN, right?” fuck he remembers you, alarm bells are ringing at this fact. Why would he remember someone he briefly met months ago?

“It really is you, still as quiet as I remember.” what did he mean the two of you only met a handful of times and that had been because of your mutual friendship with Bambi.

Where is Viv with the check? You'd really like if she saved you from this painful situation right now. But you aren't sure what's worse having to sit here and listen to David tell you everything he's been up to these past few months, like you even care. Or the thought of leaving with David having him follow you and maybe doing whatever he did to Bambi to you.

“Yea so my sister's better now, I should be seeing you around soon. We should catch up maybe do Saturday Night Dead. Does the Crypt still do that?” great a fucking rhetorical question, he knows the Cryptonomica still does it's weekly movie nights, it's only been two months he's been gone. Not to mention it's a big hit and a huge source of revenue for the shop.

You haven't said anything this whole time, fuck being polite to a potential killer, and fuck being polite to this creep. He's just been talking nearly nonstop for the last few minutes. He must really love the sound of his own voice or thinks he's the most charming person to ever grace the Earth with his presence. Since he's not really caring that you aren't proving to be a stimulating partner in this conversation. He really does love hearing himself talk. By the time he's said his own goodbyes Viv finally makes it out from the back.

She apologizes for the wait, had to go on her break sometime you supposed. You take your time finding your wallet, it's in your back pocket but you wanted to stall for time since you could still see David's car out there, you were also keeping an eye on your own car. Only relaxing when you saw him pull off from the corner of your eye. Oh look you've “found” your wallet, handing Viv your credit card you just want to get out of here quickly now.

You pay and leave a nice tip for Viv, while she didn't save you from that creep it's not like she could've known. You sit in your car for a moment or two just breathing in and out in the glow of the diner lights. Almost meditating before you begin your long drive back to Kepler with all these thoughts of David, Bambi's disappearance, and how it can't be coincidence that David is coming back at the same time that you have a break in. Could you be his next target? Were you just over thinking things? Just blaming this poor guy because you didn't like him? But you've always been intuitive and bad vibes aren't something to ignore. David appearing now meant something.

Just that thought alone put you on edge as your skin begins to crawl. With a few calming breaths you go to start the car and sync your radio when you notice the glow of the lights changed from the slight yellow to a sterile blueish white. Looking up where the diner should be you see the mini mart back at Kepler...how on earth did you get here? You didn't drive! You couldn't have dissociated while driving, you never even turned the car on and you can barely take a hike dissociating let alone do something as complex as drive a car.

It happens before you can register it, on shaky legs that move on their own you are passing the threshold of the convenience store and catching the tail end of a conversation.

“ppened to not feeding into delus...” the voice cuts off as the door shuts behind you. You know that voice why is it so hard to focus?

Something warm brushes your hand and you see someone in front of you. Who is that? You can't see their face, they've got a mask covering their face. Like you but that person is not you. You might know them...Tobais?

“Yea? You good there?” confusion, you blink hard and see you are standing in the mini mart now, Connor standing under your hand, Toby hovering close by and both Brian and Tim watch with unease over by the register.

“...I don't know how I...how I got here.” you register movement in the background but not consciously.

It's the shifting of Brian's head as he looks out the front windows and spots your Kia.

“You drove.” shaking your head, “Maybe...I don't...I dissociated?” in your confusion you can register Toby stiffen in front of you.

Fear, fear, uneasy, breath....are you breathing? Your head's so jumbled right now.

You scan the shop trying to look for answers that may help you but you find none. The more confused you get the more worked up you get, chest rising and falling rapidly. You take a step back or try to and end up falling on your butt. It's starting to get hard to breathe with your throat constricting, you bring a hand up to your larynx.

“..re.....have..attack......”

“could be o...me..”

“.....pressure...”

Is all you can make out with your fuzzy consciousness before a heavy pressure is piling on your chest and knocking you fully on your back. The pressure is actually pretty lifting as contradictory as it may seem. Instead of restricting your breathing more it seems to be kick starting your lungs to exhale and inhale. With oxygen coming back into your body you can feel your toes and the tingle behind them. You can feel your fingers and the fur under them. Fur?

Taking in a big breath you move your head and come face to muzzle with Connor. You give a nod of recognition to the dog before lying flat again and staring up at the ceiling. After about ten minutes you're thinking more clearly than before, which isn't saying much.

“Thanks.” you aren't sure who it's directed at but you still mean it.

It's silent until Toby breaks it, “I'm taking you home.”

“Car.” it's all you can manage to say but the message though distorted got through.

“I'll drive it, Brian follow behind.” there is no room for arguing, driving under any influence must be a touchy subject for Toby. Or maybe you're really fucked up right now and just can't comprehend how bad.

You use Connor to get up, he seems ready and no one else makes a move to you. Toby pushes past and holds the door open as Connor guides you, still holding onto his vest with one hand, and Brian murmurs something to Tim before following you three.

Outside Toby already has your keys in his hand, when did he get those? Did you give them to him? Your hand is risen, you must of...how on earth did you even drive like this. Had you really driven? There's a lump in your throat again and you're breathing's gone shaky, god you hope you didn't hurt anyone. You must have been zoning out for too long, not only is Connor pushing your legs but Toby has a grasp on your forearm coaxing you forward.

His grip isn't suffocating, honestly even seeing it there you still don't feel it. Maybe it's because you're so numb, or maybe it's because he's genuinely helping you but you can't feel the pain that usually comes with being touched. The sharp jab that feels like you've been struck with a fire poker where ever someone laid their hands on you. After he's pushed you into the backseat, more like nudged you, even making sure you didn't bump your head, he buckles you in then snaps and Connor jumps into the car and lays across your lap.

You're shaking, actually trembling as you look at Toby. What's going on? Why can't you figure out what's happening? The brunette doesn't say a thing as he gets into the driver's seat and buckles in to drive you home. That's strange you think, how does he know where to go? You told him right, just follow the road...or maybe he guessed from the other day. What happened to you? Why the mini mart? You were at Denny's.

“This town doesn't have a Denny's.” did you say that out loud?

“I...I went for a drive, a town over...up...no.. north I think...” you start blinking barely able to keep your eyes open before your eyes lock shut. It's sending you over the edge even more in your confusion.

“Hey, hey just focus on the Denny's. What'd you do once you got there?” is he trying to distract you? Calm you down? Or is he trying to piece together what happened like you are? You can remember Denny's just fine, the dull yellow glow of the inside the skeleton crew murmuring in the back, the pancakes you had, and the “conversation” with David. Did David do this, had he put something in your water glass? Did you even touch your water glass after he left? Breathe. You need to breathe. Toby's waiting.

“Pancakes...I had pancakes. Then that creep came over...and he started talking. Didn't like. We aren't friends, I don't know him. I don't understand why he'd talk to me. Didn't like. Didn't like.” finger back to pressing down on your larynx and the weight of Connor preventing your legs from striking out at the seat in front of you.

“Wait, were you drugged?” Eyes flash to the rear view to lock with your own teary stare.

“No, maybe...I don't think so.” you barely feel the pain in your throat right now, this is all so overwhelming. “He left, I...I watched him drive off before getting in my car... I had an episode while the car was off then..” then you were at the mini mart. You never touched the ignition.

“I didn't drive, I never started the car. Didn't, didn't, didn't” Your attack is probably stressing even Connor out now, but this is all so confusing.

You're so focused on the fuzzy events you don't notice Toby bristle. Or how he grips the steering wheel tighter until his knuckles grow white despite his already translucent skin. He might not be able to feel or see it in the mirror through his mask but he's probably gnawing off more of his face. He'd deal with it after he dealt with you.

You've made it to your house and he's waiting for the headlights from Brian. When he sees them in the rear view he gets out but not before telling you, or maybe Connor, to stay put.

It's a few long moments before he comes back. But in the silence and darkness of your car, growing colder by the moment, you start to ground yourself. You aren't calm by any means and you're still very unfocused. But you aren't crying as the numbness overtakes you, you don't even jump when the door beside you opens. With a snap Connor is out of the car and soon you're being pulled from the car, that same weightless touch gripping your forearm. Toby guides you into your own home, and walks towards the hallway looking into the bathroom, the only other door, before finding your room.

Seemingly understanding your catatonic state he sits you on the bed and gives some order to Connor before he leaves the room. And you just sit on the bed staring into dead air as a silent guard sits in wait. You aren't sure what he's waiting for or why he's still there but the numbness has taken over too much and you can't find it in you to give a single fuck.

#ticci tobyx reader #ticci toby #ticcitoby #reader insert #readerinsert #creepypasta fanfic #masky #masky x hoodie #masky x reader #hoodie #hoodie x reader #timothy wright #timothy wright x reader #brian thomas #brian thomas x reader #timothy wright x brian thomas #A cure for insomnia

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notmrskennedy · 3 years

Text

Professor, pt2

A/N - here’s part two to my little prequels - it’s the last one I’ve got written, but just know that they definitely fall in love later in my head. It’s just that the ‘in love’ part turned into Friendliness so there’s that. Thanks for sticking around bc y’all make my days

Summary - A certain professor makes another unexpected appearance and friend?

W/C - 2.6k

Warnings - there’s a brief stint of depression and a bit of swearing i’m sure (but what’s new)

----

Nearly 50 hours of no sleep later and Spencer Reid is sure he’s hallucinating. He knows that the hallucinations come later, that it takes more like seven or eight days to get that bad. But he’s tired and hadn’t slept on the plane and there’s no amount of coffee that’ll convince him he’s awake enough to think the scene in front of him is real.

Because there you are, arguing with an FBI agent. While in handcuffs. He notes the darker hair and the new style and the impossible amount of dirt you’re covered in. What a weird thing to hallucinate after a bone chilling case. He hasn’t seen you in three years—by all accounts, he should’ve forgotten your face already.

“I heard she got caught shipping body parts,” Emily says, appearing next to Spencer. She’s more put together, having passed out for the four hour flight. Her hair’s tied up and she’s got airplane coffee in her hands. He wonders if this is any more real before he hears you shouting from him.

“Thank God,” you call, trying to wiggle out of the man’s hold, “Dr. Reid! Tell them I’m not crazy.”

He hesitantly leans over to Emily. “This is real, right?”

“Yep.”

“I’m not going to sleep tonight, am I?”

“Nope.”

“See you on Monday, Emily.”

“See you then, Reid.”

And he’s trudging forward, waving at the other agent while stifling a yawn. He forces his eyes open and checks his watch. 2:37 AM. Is he going to catch the Metro? Or is he sleeping on Hotch’s couch again?

The pleading in your eyes says Hotch’s couch and he doesn’t argue.

“Hey, Kazinsky,” he yawns, stopping a full two feet from you and your inhumanly large captor. “What’s the—what’s the charge?”

Kazinsky shakes his head, not daring to let you any slack. You’re bouncing on your toes, trying to contain yourself. He gets it. It’s not everyday you get arrested. He hopes. But ever forgetful of the whole being arrested bit, you keep jerking to move the hair out of your face. Kazinsky takes it as trying to escape and jerks back harder.

“We picked this one up for transporting illegal…stuff, Doc,” Kazinsky mutters with half a shiver. “Thought I signed up for white collar, mail fraud type stuff. Not unpacking human remains type stuff.”

Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose. Scrubs his hands over his face. Takes one more long look at you, obviously losing your mind. He knows a lot can change over three years, but you never seemed the ‘illegally transporting dead people’ type. Until he remembers your fun fact from that lecture all those years ago.

“What happened?” he sighs.

All too tired for this bullshit, he wishes he could force the story out faster, but your face just keeps contorting with the story you’re so obviously trying to spin for both of them. You try to pull out of Kazinsky’s gorilla grip again, and Spencer notices the way Kazinsky winces every time you pull. Something wrong with his wrist?

“Dr. Reid,” you finally begin, “I was in Guatemala, studying these mummies we found in a cave. One of the bodies just needed further examining and so I was just shipping it back because it’s not like I can stuff a two thousand year old body in my carryon.”

All Spencer can do is raise half an exhausted eyebrow that prompts you further, red tinting your cheeks.

“Look, I’ve been trying to tell Mr. Man Hands over here that I’ve got the paperwork in my bag, but after our little disagreement, I’ve been arrested.”

“Disagreement?” Kazinsky snorts. “You tried to dislocate my wrist!”

“Well, I can’t help it if you don’t announce yourself before grabbing me.”

Whatever desperation and pleading you’ve had, you’ve thrown out the window to stare down Kazinsky. Spencer has a new appreciation for the fact that he’d been wrong all those years ago. You aren’t fragile. You’re as strong as a femur bone with all of the—probably justified—anger of a bull towards a matador.

But you turn back to Spencer and your gaze softens. Melts into the young professor he met all those years ago. He’s gotten over his crush—he’s definitely in love with Maeve—but you’re objectively beautiful. Despite the self-cut, terribly choppy bangs, or the light dusting of brown dirt that you’ve covered in. You’re pleading for his help, he knows it, but he just wants to go home.

He’s reminded he’s better than walking away and ends up giving Kazinsky a tired sigh. “I’ll take her off your hands for you, Kazinsky.”

He wonders vaguely what Maeve will think of this when he calls her in 24 hours. He wonders if she’ll appreciate the gesture he’s made for an old acquaintance. No matter what though, he knows she’ll gasp and giggle and say something like ‘oh those anthropologists! Such a funny sort. At least it’s a better science than geology!’ and they’ll laugh together like old lovers.

Kazinsky drops you in Spencer’s lap and runs. Human remains could be the BAU’s problem for all he cared. He liked mail fraud.

Once Kazinsky’s out of sight, Spencer pulls the handcuff keys from his pockets and pulls the cuffs off of you. You breathe out a thankful sigh, trying to rub the future bruises away. You turn back to face him, tucking your hair back behind your ear, studying him through your lashes. He can’t be bothered to notice anything much more about you. He’s dead on his feet.

The hand you place on his elbow jolts him away. Your eyebrows scrunch and he swallows at the concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’m just—we’ve been working an abduction case. 48 hours non-stop—“

He yawns again and you can’t help but mirror. “Did you know that chimpanzees and dogs are also empathetic yawners?”

He smirks. “I did know that. Seriously though y/n, what’s up with the body?”

“I promise it isn’t illegal,” you rush out, just to receive a raised eyebrow. “The Institute I’m working for made some kind of deal with the Guatemalan government that I’m not really privy to, but I’m the only one qualified to handle the remains. Plus, I’ve got a reputation for being found with body parts so its—it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

He sighs again. He wants to tell you it sounds worse. That it sounds like you’re stealing on behalf of the Institute. That they’re doing what museums always do—pilfer and loot. But you sigh and hang your head and don’t exhibit one sign that you’re trying to trick him. Sure, you might’ve lied a bit about manhandling Kazinsky, but you sure as hell seem like a doctor just trying to do her job.

“Look, call my boss. He’s waiting for me anyway. I’m sure the paperwork just got lost or customs is just as stupid as I think they are.”

Spencer nods. He pulls his phone out and punches in the number you rattle off. In ten seconds he’s speaking with Dr. Russel Bailey, head of the anthropology department at the Institute. There’s a quick relay of ‘yes, she’s authorised to have the body’ and ‘no, please don’t arrest her’ and ‘we’ll sort this out in the morning’.

And once he’s hung up, you’ve already got your car keys out. “Do you need a ride home or anything?” you ask and quickly tack on, “I’m just trying to say thank you. Promise I’m not creepy.”

Spencer laughs and nods and drags his feet after you. He does need a ride home because he knows he’ll fall asleep on the metro. You talk incessantly about your trip to Guatemala on the walk down to your car, and he knows he should be listening. But he can’t. He’s too busy moving one foot in front of the other.

And by the time you’ve punched his address into the GPS, he’s fast asleep, softly snoring.

Maeve was dead. Maeve was dead. Maeve was dead.

Nothing else really matters now, Spencer thinks on repeat. She was the only good thing I had and now she’s gone. Maybe I don’t even matter.

There’s brief moments between this line of thinking where he can listen to the three dozen voicemails he gets left everyday. Telling him that they’re there for him. Telling him it’ll be okay. Telling him it was okay to grieve.

Was it grieving if he just wants to melt into nothingness? To die without actually killing himself?

It’s during one of these brief moments that he gets the voicemail he’s accidentally been craving. He doesn’t want to want it. He doesn’t want to want anything. He wants to melt and starve and wither until no one thinks about him ever again. Because she’s not here and he can’t for the life of him figure out why he wants you.

You’ve been gone. Researching your way through the Sacred Valley in Peru, making nice with the locals and scavenging bones like an angelic vulture. You’ve been there for the last month and can’t possibly know about Maeve’s death—it takes him another hour to get back to thinking about you. It’s still September, he thinks, and you’re supposed to come back around now. At the end of the month, he’s supposed to pick you up from the airport.

Because after saving you from an arrest, you’ve been exchanging noncommittal letters and phone calls. He’s got a thin stack of photos that you’ve sent from your trip. But you aren’t Maeve. You never were. You never will be.

He doesn’t know why he wants you to call him, but he does.

Maybe it’s because you’re new, you aren’t tarnished by the history of Spencer Reid. Maybe it’s because you’re the only one who doesn’t treat him like he’s labelled: fragile, handle with care!

He listens and your voicemail is a sort of sing song. “Hola Spencer! I’m calling from some Peruvian payphone. I should be in the states in a little over 24 hours. I’ll call when I land. Hasta mañana.”

The next voicemail comes with: “Finally got back to the apartment. I didn’t think I’d miss the sound of guinea pigs running around. Weird. Anyway, call me when you can.”

And the third: “Spencer, seriously, why aren’t you picking up? I’m not going to have to break in, am I? Call me back.”

Culminating with: “Reid, I swear to fucking god. If I find you dead in that goddamn apartment, I’ll beat your body so bad you won’t make it the fucking afterlife.”

There’s a knock. One he won’t answer. One he doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t want the pity or the advice or the dejectedness. He wants to float down a river and drown.

The knock becomes a little more insistent. And now there’s voices attached. He can make out JJ’s voice, “He’s—he’s going to be okay. He’ll come back out when he’s ready.” Following is who he thinks is Penelope, though if it is, she’s far too quiet. One set of feet retreat. He can see the shadow from a pair of shoes and he wonders why Penelope is staying so long. Maybe she’s brought another basket.

There’s one more knock—probably to ensure he’s not coming to the door—before a jiggle to the knob. And swearing. And jostling. And squirming. And pop. There’s a distinct swinging open of the door and a pair of boots tapping over his hardwood.

Maybe this is how he dies. Miserable. Covered in snot and tears. Slippers half on. Depressed on the couch.

“God, you idiot,” a voice breathes, pausing to take in the disarray. He vaguely remembers redecorating—throwing everything everywhere. The feet become more impatient and frantic and heavier. His doors all open and close and he can’t bother to correct the burglar. He’s right here, waiting, patiently waiting, for this intruder to kill him.

A fantastic way to die. He wonders if you’ll want to look at his bones. You’ve mentioned wanting to.

“Sound off, Reid,” you command. He knows its you. No one else could replicate that tremble in your lips, the break rolling off your tongue.

“Y/n,” he croaks and he wonders how long ago was the last time he spoke.

Light streams in as you flick open the curtains, bites into his skin with a hiss. You take in his disheveled state with no apprehension. Like you’ve expected this. Like you have no pity to give him. Maybe this is why he wanted you to call.

“You broke in,” he mumbles and you shake your head.

“I wouldn’t have to,” you begin to yell, just to lower your voice and grit your teeth, “if you would’ve fucking answered the door.”

You always say there’s a time and place for everything. There’s nothing to top the word ‘fuck’ and he knows that you’re beyond angry. Beyond concerned. Beyond terrified for him.

“What happened, Spencer?” you whisper, moving to sit down on the floor in front of him. You’re close enough he can smell your perfume, see the pleading look in your eyes. There’s no pity. If he could find the words, he couldn’t thank you enough.

He could reach out and hold your hand, but that seems too far. Too much. So he swallows down the tears and whispers back, “Maeve died, y/n. She died because I let her.”

“Stop it,” you order. You’ve got a hard set in your eyes, the kind that he last saw when you stared down Kazinsky. “Stop that right now. You can’t stop the world from spinning, Spencer. You can’t stop the sun from coming up. You can’t stop what you don’t know to. I might not know all the details, but I know you. You’re a diligent man and I wouldn’t expect you to do anything less than everything for the woman you love.”

You place a delicate hand on the couch next to his and you sum everything up very gracefully. “Hindsight is a bitch, don’t let it make you hers.”

He can’t stop the twitch of a smile. Can’t stop the crack of happiness that bleeds out because you’ve decided to be so ridiculously you. No one’s ever called him diligent before and seems more fitting than fragile.

“She’s still dead,” he settles on and makes the bold move to slide his fingers under yours. It feels like such a betrayal to Maeve—is he supposed to touch another woman when he couldn’t even touch the love of his life?

You just squeeze his fingers, warm and present and decidedly alive. “Yeah. She is. You’re welcome to wallow for as long as you want, but you need to eat. We’ll see if I can remember how to cook with modern appliances.”

Your smile is contagious enough that a fleeting smile reaches his eyes. You pat his hand and stand. “I’m going to the store, and taking a key this time. I promise I’ll be back. I’m stickier than a public indecency charge.”

You chuckle for the both of them and carefully make your way out of the apartment. He listens as you take a key and tries his best to psych himself into a fit of hunger. It isn’t until you’re singing in Spanish, something sizzling on the stove, that he realises that the pain in his gut is the hunger, and not just misery. That he should probably get up for at least a minute. Just to satisfy the curiosity of what that smell is.

Maeve would’ve liked you, he decides. Maeve would’ve really liked you.

And it’s the first peaceful thought he’s had in weeks.

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #reid x reader #reid x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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sebthesnipe · 3 years

Text

Together (My First Anxceit Fic)

Anxceit Fluff was requested... I attempted and failed. Well, kinda. It's a bit fluffy...

They really didn't want to cooperate.

Ship: Anxiety

For Mage_Ofthe_East on AO3 who is vastly supportive of my writing <3 I did my best. I'm sorry if its not as fluffy as it should be. <3 I think you'll still like it though.

Master List

AO3

TW: Alternate Ending has Major Character Death, Old Age, Children

“No! I don’t wanna go!” Virgil cried, pulling hard on his father’s hand, desperate to get away.

“Virgil! That is enough!” his father grumbled in frustration as he dragged him along towards the school’s double doors. “You have to go to school. All big boys do.”

“I don’t want to be a big-“

“What happened to your eye?” a small voice asked, cutting Virgil off and pulling his attention to the young boy waiting at the top of the steps.

Virgil sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve as his father pulled to a stop in front of the open doors.

A tall man in a dark blue polo and tie stood holding open the door and eyeing Virgil and his father evenly. Next to him stood the boy, only a few inches taller than Virgil, and certainly not that much older.

The side of the boy’s face was discolored with something that looked like an ‘angel kiss’, at least that was what Virgil’s father called it.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Virgil asked in return, the tears that had been running down his cheeks starting to dry up at the question.

“Virgil!” his father gasped.

“It’s quite alright,” the blue polo man reassured before turning back to the boy next to him. “Janus, why don’t you answer him? You did ask him a question first. It is only fair.”

The discolored boy eyed Virgil with a look far too similar to the blue polo man’s.

“It’s called Vitiligo,” he stated in a pompous tone. “It is a skin condition that causes its host to lose pig-eh-men-tation on certain parts of their bodies.”

“Very good,” the blue polo man praised.

“Thank you, Papa!” Janus chirped with a grin, glancing up at the man in question before sticking his tongue out at Virgil.

Virgil rolled his mismatched eyes. “Yeah, well, mine is… is… Heta… Heta-cha-o-nia-“

“Heterochromia, kiddo,” Virgil’s father offered affectionately.

“YEAH! That thing!” Virgil nodded.

“Pft,” Janus scoffed. “Whatever, I’m going to go play in the art room,” he informed his papa, striding into the school with his nose upturned.

Virgil stared after him. Virgil really liked art… And he supposed the other kid was interesting.

“You’re more than welcome to join him, Virgil,” Janus’ papa informed him.

Virgil looked up at his own father for reassurance, earning a slight nod before Virgil rushed after him.

“Wait for me!!!”

……………………………………………………………….

“What a nerd!” Janus' deep voice scoffed as he peered out the window.

Virgil glanced up from the magazine he had been flipping through, not that he was actually paying attention to it. His blue and green gaze landed on the two possible culprits of Janus’ current insult.

“Which one?” Virgil asked, with very little interest as he took in the Prince brothers.

Roman’s broad shoulders filled out his letterman jacket quite well, while Remus’ seemed a few sizes too big as he hung from a branch above his brother’s head. They seemed to be arguing about something.

“Does it matter?” Janus asked lazily, giving a shrug, his own letterman lifting and falling with the motion.

“Just curious as to whose heart you’re breaking next,” Virgil teased playfully.

“Shut it,” Janus laughed, shoving his friend out of his chair. “You’re just jealous! It’s not my fault no one wants to date a racoon!”

“Ouch, you hurt my feelings,” Virgil teased back, rubbing his newly bruised. “I’m serious though, I rather not have to avoid them both for the rest of our lives. They live next door to me you know?”

“The rest of our lives?” Janus asked with an arched brow.

“Well, yeah,” Virgil shrugged, climbing back into his seat. “Let’s face it, we’ve been friends this long… You’re kind of stuck with me for good now.” He tried not to flush as he spoke the sentimental words.

Janus stared at him for a long moment, making Virgil shift uncomfortably.

“Gross,” he hissed, though his Vitiligo stretched as he smiled affectionately.

“Your face!” Virgil retorted with a laugh.

“Yeah, well, your mom!” Janus spat back.

…………………………………………………

“You don’t get a say in it!” Janus spat at him angrily, throwing another perfectly folded shirt into his suitcase.

“I think I should!” Virgil snapped back. “I’m only your best friend !”

“You were my best friend!” Janus growled, moving to back another article of clothing.

“Don’t give me that crap, Janus! You’re just mad because you don’t want to hear reason!” Virgil argued, ignoring the sting of his words.

“Reason?! Ha!” Janus laughed mirthlessly. “The only reason I’m hearing from you is jealousy!”

“Me?! Jealous?! Of what?!”

Janus tossed in one more pair of slacks before slamming the case close and rounding on his friend.

“Would you like the list alphabetically or chronologically?” Janus offered sarcastically.

“Chronologically,” Virgil replied, calling him out.

Janus hesitated before giving a grimace. “How about that I’ve always been smarter than you! It’s not my fault you didn’t get accepted into a good college-“

“I didn’t apply!” Virgil argued, not willing to admit that he had been waiting to find out which college Janus was getting accepted to before following him.

“Or how about the fact that all your relationships end in disaster?” Janus added, turning to zip the case.

“I broke up with them!” Virgil reminded, ignoring the way his heart was pounding painfully.

“How about the fact that I am not content to stay in this tiny ass town, following tiny ass dead-end jobs and spend all my time wasting away with you !”

Silence fell between them.

Virgil’s gaze widened at that, chest feeling as if it had just been cracked open.

“I… See,” he mumbled, feeling his ribs heaving.

“Listen,” Janus sighed, realizing what he had said, his expression softening. “Remus is a good guy. We’ve been together a long time. I mean… he’s the reason I stayed as long as I have but… With Roman gone he’s willing to move and… I can’t miss this opportunity Virg… I’m sorry.” With that, Janus pulled his suitcase off the bed and headed for the door without a backwards glance, leaving Virgil to sink slowly to the floor, tears staining his cheeks as he watched his friend’s silhouette disappear around the corner.

………………………

“I know, right?” Virgil laughed, taking another long sip of his drink as he glanced over at his date.

It was a clear crisp night. Perfect for their walk back to his place. How long had they been dating now? Two months? Three?

“I thought he was going to choke! If you saw his face-“ Virgil’s voice cut off.

The silhouette of a man, dimly lit by the porch light, standing on Virgil’s doorstep caught his attention.

“Who is that?” his date’s voice echoed in his ear.

Virgil didn’t register the words.

His cup slid from his hand, hitting pavement and splattering his jeans.

“Virgil?” his date asked, still not receiving an answer.

Virgil paid them no mind, body seeming to turn on autopilot as he strode up the walkway, eyes glued to the outline of the man as if worried he might be a figment of his imagination.

It wouldn’t be the first time…

Virgil needed to know he was real…

Needed to know he was actually there...

“Hey-” Janus whispered, voice dripping with sadness, cut off as the breath was knocked out of him.

Virgil’s arms wrapped around Janus’ slender form, squeezing him so tight Janus felt as if he would break.

A moment later, Virgil pulled back, his multicolored gaze taking in the streaks that split the dirty smudges on his old friend’s cheeks, and the way his pleading eyes met his.

He had been crying? Janus? That certainly wasn’t the prideful image-driven man, Virgil remembered.

Years had passed since their falling out, neither willing to reach out to the other. Virgil had, of course, checked in other man from time to time through social media and family, but he was sure Janus had never known that.

“I assume this is a bad time?” Janus asked, peering past Virgil towards his date.

Virgil paid it no mind.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Janus tensed at the question, studying Virgil’s expression in turn before tears began to well up again.

Virgil didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around the taller man once more, pulling him close as Janus’ fingers curled into his hoodie, sobs raking his body.

…………………………………………………..

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Virgil asked, watching Janus examine himself in the mirror.

“It’s just one date, Virg,” Janus reminded with a smirk.

“Your first date,” Virgil countered. “First since-“

“It’s just one date, Virgil,” Janus insisted, cutting him off. “Now, how do I look?”

He turned to face the shorter man, straightening his tie as he did so.

“Like someone vomited yellow on your funeral suit,” Virgil grumbled, grimacing as he sat cross legged on the bed.

“Perfect,” Janus grinned in return. “I’ll be perfectly dressed for when I knock him dead.”

“Just don’t expect me to give the eulogy,” Virgil groaned.

“Like I’d trust you with anything more than handing out pamphlets,” Janus chuckled, picking up a pillow from the floor and tossing it at him.

“For the record, at your funeral, I’m bringing cake and icecream!” Virgil called after him as Janus headed for the door. “Throwing a block party!”

“Oh please! You need friends for that!” Janus called over his shoulder.

…………………………………………

Janus was exhausted.

A double shift with no lunch break. He was fairly certain that was illegal…

He stumbled into the house, tossing the keys onto the side table before calling out for his roommate.

“Virgil? I hope you left me some-“ He paused at the sight of the small to-go container sitting on the bar with his name scrawled on it in thick black messy lettering.

A smile played on his lips as he took the box and headed for the living room. Crappy food and some dull documentary sounded like the perfect end to such a long day.

He paused, Virgil’s snores drifting to him from the study.

Shifting directions, Janus peered into the room, catching sight of the cheap ‘Happy Birthday’ decorations strung across the bookcases and the small cake (which Virgil had obviously already began to enjoy) sitting on the table that read ‘Ha- Bir- Janus!’ in bright yellow, the words cut off by the large chunk missing from the sweet.

His eyes fell on Virgil’s sleeping form draped across the large arm chair, party hat covering one eye as he mouth hung open, crumb covered plate still resting atop his chest as it rose and fell.

Janus’ heart clenched and realization struck him as the walls seemed to shake with the sheer volume of Virgil’s breathing.

He was in love with Virgil Sanders!

…………………………………………………………………………….

“That’s not funny, Janus!” Virgil snapped, glaring at his friend.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Janus agreed simply.

“You’re fucking insane!” Virgil accused.

“I completely agree,” he nodded.

“Stop being so agreeable, damn it!” Virgil snapped.

“Only when you state something I can disagree with,” Janus countered.

“What will your dad say?!” Virgil asked.

“Papa will probably agree with me,” Janus offered calmly.

“But I never said that I-“ Virgil cut himself off, flabbergasted by the entire situation, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“You never had to Virgil,” Janus offered, sitting with his legs crossed in front of him as he watched his room mate frantically pace across the room. “I’ve always known.”

Virgil pinned him with a testy glare, his frustration only intensifying at the knowing smirk Janus offered.

“Then you are the one that’s lost their mind!” Virgil accused.

“Or found it, depending on your perspective,” Janus offered.

“No! Absolutely not!” Virgil answered, shaking his head.

“Why?” Janus asked simply.

“Well… Well… Because…” Virgil stammered.

“Because it wasn’t your idea?” Janus asked.

“What?! No! It was my idea!” Virgil paused as he realized what he had said and backtracked. “Well, originally… before… you know…”

“Good, then we’re in agreement.” Janus gave a curt nod, standing and straightening his coat.

“What?! But I never-“

“You did say it was your idea to get married originally,” Janus pointed out, “and I am agreeing with you now. Therefore it is set. October is a nice month to have a wedding, don’t you think?” he asked, already heading out of the room.

Virgil sank into the chair Janus had just vacated, utterly and completely confused… and yet happy beyond belief.

……………………………………………

“Are you sure?” Virgil whispered softly, peering over his husband’s shoulder.

“More than I have ever been in my life,” Janus nodded, bouncing the small child currently wrapped snugly in his arms.

Virgil didn’t need telling twice. “Alright then,” he nodded, turning to the desk next to them and signing his name.

“Logan Patton Dee, Fathers: Janus Alexander Dee and Virgil Edward Dee,” he whispered softly.

He slid the paper across the polished wood with a grin.

“It’s official,” the woman nodded with a kind smile, stamping the paper and moving to make copies. “Congratulations, to the three of you. There will be monthly check ins but I am certain everything will be as it should be.”

“Just as it should be,” Janus agreed with a nod, still peering dreamily down at their son’s face.

……………………………………………………

“I'm a serious Dad! You should have seen her!” Logan laughed, waving his hands in the air. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen!”

Virgil couldn’t help but smile at that, gray hair falling loosely into his face.

“You think Papa will like her?” Logan asked, finally glancing up at his father, brows furrowing in worry.

“She sounds like a very smart girl,” Virgil offered.

“Oh, she’s a genius Dad! Way smarter than me! Fiery too!” He went on. “She makes me the happiest man in the world.”

“Then I think he’ll adore her,” he reassured. “Is that right, love?” he asked, glancing over Logan’s shoulder at Janus as the man approached, his own salt and pepper locks groomed neatly down.

Logan started, turning quickly in his seat to stare up in surprise at the man in question.

“Hmph,” Janus huffed, with an upturn of his nose. “We’ll see.”

……………………………….

“Grandpa!” Valerie cried, climbing onto Virgil’s lap, his wheelchair rocking slightly with the force.

“Oof! Easy Val, if your Pawpaw sees you in my lap, he’ll have my head,” Virgil teased, tickling the little girls' sides playfully.

“That I will!” Janus teased, appearing at Virgil’s side and resting a hand on his shoulder. He looked happy to see the young girl, despite his threat.

“Pawpaw! Will you come watch me and Leo swim?” she asked excitedly, peering up pleadingly at Janus and causing his features to soften even more.

“In a bit, dear. I need to take Grandpa here back upstairs for a nap.”

“Who are you calling grandpa, old man?” Virgil growled at his husband playfully, helping Valerie climb off his lap. She gave him a big hug before hurrying off to play with her brother.

“You, grandpa,” Janus teased with a chuckle, “Come on, I’ll even lay down with you if you promise no to snore so loudly.”

“Ha!” Virgil barked. “Good luck with that. A forty year steak isn’t going to stop now!”

The End (of the fluff anyways)...

[[[This is the end of the fluff.

Continue at your own risk. Alternate NON-FLUFF ending in next chapter.

YOU WILL CRY!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]]]

Alternate Ending:

Janus brushed away the loose grass and dirt the marred the headstone, clearing the words

‘Virgil Edward Dee Loving husband, father, and grandfather’ etched in marble.

The dark stone of the plot next to him lay empty, waiting for Janus to join him in his eternal slumber, but the man paid it no mind as he emptied the vase of dead flowers and replaced them with the new ones he had brought.

“There,” Janus hummed proudly. “Much better. You always were a slob, you know,” he teased. “Though I suppose it comes with being part racoon.”

He laughed, the sound falling a bit flat as tears welled in his eyes.

“I miss you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “The kids do too. Logan promises he’ll visit but you know how those things go…”

…………………………………

“I miss you,” Logan mumbled, pulling out the dead flowers from the vase and replacing them with fresh ones. “Both of you…”

He peered down at the double plot.

‘Virgil Edward Dee Loving husband, father, and grandfather’

‘Janus Alexander Dee Loving husband, father, and grandfather’.

“The kids do too. Though, they’re still a bit young to really understand. You know how those things go…”

39 notes · View notes

dindooku · 3 years

Text

ao3 - loulou1810

you hesitated, knowing there was no other way around this. he could just look you up on the holocomputer. your name would be top of the list. and he’ll, you were in a max prison security unit, so using petty crime wouldn’t cut it either.

you’d have to tell him, be honest. that’s the honourable thing to do, right?

tw - contains violence, suggestive themes and flashbacks of sexual assault/rape

word count: 5,040

____

His chair slowly turned to face you. The child was sat comfortably in his lap playing with a small silver ball, completely entranced by its chrome.

“Is that it?” He scoffed back with a slight hiccup of a laugh. “Me too, why’d they lock you up there? Bit overkill?”

“Yeah…” You drifted, wondering whether you should tell the truth. “I was captured about 2 years ago…” You start, gauging his reaction to see whether he actually wanted to know. He sat up and fixed his gaze to you, signalling that he was listening and for you to continue. You dropped your head, eyes now transfixed on the loose piece of thread you were wrapping around your fingers,

“Well, I was captured. I was originally what you could call a hit-man for the Republic. I’d worked for them consistently for around 8 years. They used me to hunt down and dispose of Ex-Empire politicians and War Lords, but one mission went south and I was drugged. I was then sold to a high-class underground fighting ring, they’d implanted some sort of control chip which meant they could stop me from lashing out or protesting. They could make me do whatever they wanted…” you paused.

This part of the memory was particularly painful. “They didn’t just use me for fighting,” There were so many hidden meanings and stories hidden there, stories you’ve hidden away and not even bared to think about yourself. They’re too painful, just thinking about it felt like daggers were being slowly pushed into your skull, “One customer had let their name loose during…” Your breath hitched, tears now pricking your eyes as the trauma replayed vividly in-front of your eyes, again and again. You close your eyes so that Mando can’t see how much this has affected you. “I committed the name to memory. During one fight I heard that name again. I saw them in the crowd and something in me just snapped, I couldn’t take the pressure anymore. As soon as I’d dealt with my opponent I sent a knife straight through his skull.” The memory was clear as day now and just as callous.

The extravagant curtains draped the room. Rows of black leather chairs lined the arena, circling around the central ring. The lights were dim, a subtle red stained the multicultural onlookers in a bloodied mood lighting. This was a highly prestigious place, only the highest-ranking officials and galactic influencers could witness this fight… this was obvious from the lavish guest attire. Some coated greedily in gold, others jewels and crystals. Normally you’d be dismayed by the lavish beauty of it all, but not today. You were fighting for your life against one of your more difficult opponents. They were at least 3 times your size, chiselled from pure warrior muscle, wielding a heavy battle-axe which was decorated with the bones of their previous wins. You’d given them a run for your money the whole fight, slowly chipping away at their ego with your double-edged Phrik knives. These were the only weapons you needed. Despite this, you weren’t yourself in this moment. Your targets unbeknownst to you were sat peacefully in the viewing box. Your thoughts were painful, the weight of the constant torture and manipulation had worn you thin, you were on your last tether. Despite the chip stopping you from resisting, your soul was ripping that connection from you with every punch, kick and slice. ‘This is your purpose, do it’ swirled your mind in a violent tempest. The words tortured you, controlling every cell in your body.

And then you heard it, their name. You glanced towards its direction. They were right there, in front of you, taunting you with their presence. ‘Complete the mission. Do what you have trained to do. Feed that temptation ’. You’d had enough. As if timed moved slower now, you slid under the belly of your opponent, grabbing their ankle you kicked yourself up, swinging onto their back. You planted a knife into the nape of their neck, twisting it to make sure. As they fell forwards you used the momentum to jump, launching your other knife over the barrier and into the viewing box. It left your fingers before you could control it, before you could stop yourself. The next few seconds felt like a lifetime that day. The confused agony not leaving their face until you’d dropped to of view. You’d watched their face as they realised what had happened. The synthetic mind that had been forced into you left the moment the knife did, and the weight of that kill latched onto your soul.

“The synthetic consciousness left with the knife. What I didn’t know is that they were a high ranking Republican political official, and you can piece the puzzle from there. That was that. It was over for me”

You could feel his rage. This had angered him more than you. You didn’t dare say a thing. You fiddled harder with the fabric in your fingers now, the anxiety was suffocating you and you didn’t know what to do. You knew that what the officer did to you was wrong, illegal. But the way you’d been treated afterwards was what stung. You were the dirty criminal, they were a war hero. It didn’t take long for them to convince you that you were crazy, that you were a psychopath.

This guilt would carry you to the grave, maybe even push you in.

“If it wasn’t your choi-… if it was synthetic, why’d they lock you up? You were kidnapped and manipulated.” The question fair, and exactly the same question that had eaten away at you ever since they sentenced you. You were taken, held hostage, abused and tortured. Your body became a toy, something for them to release their anger and lustful cravings on. The pain they slowly incited within you only made things easier for them, more enjoyable, they fed off your hate. You tried to cut your emotions, but what they did to you was unforgivable, sadistic. They used your emotions against you, like Lori said would happen. By the time their use for you came around you were an empty shell, stripped bare. They implanted you, and with the flip of a switch, you were their puppet.

“My kidnappers implanted a chip into my brain. They could control me when they wanted, on and off like a droid. It was an old hijacked Clone Wars tech. They only had one use for me, making money. Once I’d done their bidding for them, they’d turn it off. After the incident though, they destroyed the switch along with the evidence. I was classed as insane. The Republic arrested me and took me in. That's how I ended up in the transporter. I was Disposable”

The last word rang your ears, it was driven into you from the start. No one had any attachments to you, no one. You were nothing. A credit without currency. An object.

The sigh that left your body felt like it took the last remaining pieces of your soul. Your tears relenting now, a nervous response to the rehashed trauma. You’d thought about it until your mind was raw. No matter how hard you reasoned with your conscience, you couldn’t shake the guilt. It was your fault, you knew it. You wished that you hadn’t thrown that knife, that you’d had more self-control and restraint. Deep down though, there was no other reason, you killed them, no one else. You, you’re the sick psycho.

“So they can’t control you anymore?” It was low, quiet. You knew he was trying to understand how it all worked, it was confusing even to you, and you weren’t the best at explaining things either.

“I don’t think so, they said they’d destroyed the controller,” You told yourself that they couldn’t control you like they did then, not anymore. But you couldn’t deny the power they still held over you. The way they’d manipulated, engraved their domination into you meant that you’d do anything they’d say out of fear. They were the only people you feared. You couldn’t face that pain again, and you knew resisting would only lead to torture. Out here in this ship, flying through hyperspace… they had no grip here, you were away from them, free.

He seemed uneasy, and you thought it was because he suspected that you could just turn on him at the flick of a switch. You were sure that they’d destroyed it. They’d not used it since…

“Would you like a job?” Out of everything you thought that he was going to say, you really could not have ever thought he’d be asking to employ you. You darted your eyes up, the confusion on your face was almost painful. Completely speechless. He elaborated, “I need someone to look after the Kid” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You’d just told this guy that you were a top-ranking assassin and now he wants to employ you as his babysitter?

“Are you having a laugh?” Is all you could say, chuckling as the words left your mouth. You’d never dealt with kids. You had no idea what you were doing. Mando seemed to be doing fine, why did he need you?

“Why, what makes you think that?” He sounds confused now. He shifts his head back a bit, his back straightening. He really did not know why this was all so confusing…

“You want me…me?” you point to your chest, emphasising your concern “of all people, you want me to look after the Child? Did you listen to a word I just said?”

“Yeah. You’re overqualified. Exactly what I’m looking for.” Right, this is odd. You pinch yourself, are you really awake. Have you somehow died or is this some messed up dream?

“I don’t understand?” You curt back, arms now folded in an aggressive manner. You weren’t up for being played around.

“I need someone who can protect the Child, you said you were trained and that’s obvious, I saw the way you moved from me in the cell, how you came away unscathed from Xian” He was right. You started to see what he was getting at, and despite agreeing that you could quite comfortably be the Childs personal bodyguard, you couldn’t deny the fact you had no idea how to look after a Child in the first place.

“I have no idea how to look after a Child…”

“Neither do I, we can figure it out together” He looked down to check on the kid. He was in a whole other galaxy, completely amiss to the tense situation happening just in front of him, the chrome ball his only concern. Mando’s gaze held for a moment, you assumed to weigh up all the possibilities of what he was offering. He turned back to you.

“You can call me Mando” And with that, he left the cockpit to put his weapons away in the main hull. You glanced at the child’s beaming toothy grin as he was carried away. You were frozen. That was it. You’d just bagged yourself a job.

___

He watched you, eyes bearing into your back as you assessed what was now going to be your new home…if you could even call it that. He handed you a small bag of clothes, some black long sleeve t-shirt’s that were way too big for you, some trousers and toiletries. The gesture was appreciated. You placed it down next to the metal slab of a pull-out bed… Damn, it is what is. You scold yourself, you’ve never had luxury, why do you expect it now? Maybe the promise of freedom was sweeter than it actually was. He nods for you to follow him out of the room.

He shows you the fresher, which is small but practical. Next, the carbonite freezer, explaining briefly that this is where his bounties go. Then, he pointed to his cabin, making it explicitly clear not to enter or open it unless he says so, even in emergencies. You thought it was odd but then it clicked as to why, and so you let the question die before it surfaced.

You’ve heard the stories of Mandalorian’s, how they’re the fiercest warriors in the galaxy. You’d read books about the battles, the power that ran through their blood. Through your job, you’d come across a few who posed as Mandalorian's but were never real. They wore the armour for protection and style, never out of honour. But with the way this guy acted, spoke and had some sort of attachment issues to his armour… you sussed he was the real deal. Xian even said the doesn’t take it off during…stop.

_____

A few days had passed now and Mando was getting more and more agitated. You’d stopped off at a small spaceport on a remote planet to gather more supplies and fuel.

You walked together through the market. He’d given you a small bag of credits so that you could get some spare clothes, toiletries and anything else you’d need for your stay on the Razor Crest. It wasn’t much but was enough to tide you over. You couldn’t complain, you had no money so it was better than nothing. You made sure to say thanks as you walked out the ship, following just behind him.

The market was a bit overwhelming at first, but once you’d realised that no one was out to get you you settled down. Mando walked in front, the Kid sat up in his pod, watching the people go about their lives. You noticed that people were making extra effort to stay out of his way, turning to whisper to others as you passed. He stuck out like a sore thumb wearing all that armour, but he didn’t seem to care. It certainly made traversing the busy streets a lot easier. You also found that you got things for a lot cheaper too, he’d stand just over your shoulder each time you went to a stall. The owner would give you the biggest smile whilst simultaneously trying not to anger the armoured chrome bucket behind you.

You found one stall that sold a bazaar range of things, from cutlery to footwear. But what caught your eye was the small Orback toy sat over in the far corner. It was perfect for the kid, it’d keep him distracted and it meant that Mando might get the silver chrome ball back. You asked for the price, not bothering to haggle the shopkeeper. Once you’d paid for it he handed it over and you placed it straight into the Childs hands. He looked it over for a second, confused at what you were giving him. He soon realised and the noise he made melted your heart, he was ecstatic. Waving it around in the air you grabbed the silver ball and handed it to Mando. He nodded at you, then glanced at the now screaming child who was what looked like laying down the law to his new friend.

After a while, the distance between you and Mando got closer and closer until there came a point where your arms were practically nudging one-another with each stride. You didn’t mind the contact, it was nice actually. Even in the busy streets, you felt like the only one there, his presence looming and protective. As the streets got busier you started to get antsy, you’re now scanning for possible threats. You didn’t want to slip up on your first day on the job, first impressions count. Mando could sense your tension and tried to soothe you by resting a hand onto the small of your back as you were walking. It brought your attention away from the dark alleyway and the rooftops and right into his touch. It paid off and you were instantly calmer. You said thanks through a small smile, which still hadn’t left your face whilst you were packing your stuff away back on the ship.

“We have to go somewhere, to pick up someone. I know you’re skilled in fighting, more than many I’ve seen” The compliment lands short as he continues, “The Child has a bounty and he isn’t safe until we take out the root cause. I'm going to need your help with this, is that ok?”

“Yes… for the Child, anything” He stared at you for a second. You guessed it was so he could read your face, ensure that you were ok with what he was asking of you. If it meant that the Child would be safe, then you’d do it. You know it was now your job, but over the few days you’ve been part of his crew, the Child has grown on you, incredibly. He’s already taught you so much, things you never thought you’d learn, and you’re grateful to the Child for that. Even though he can’t talk, he still finds ways to communicate warmth and hope. You don’t like to admit it but he is growing on you…a lot. He nodded and then left for the cockpit, firing up the engines and directing the ship out of the port. You turned away, walking back to your room.

__________

You wake screaming, the torture of your nightmare gripping your neck vindictively, suffocating you, dragging you into the depths of your mind that you never want to re-visit. You’re screaming but its broken, bloodied, hurt. You’re sat upright now, gripping your neck as you find release, the door to your cabin swinging open. He rushes in, quickly scanning the room for the cause, only to set his eyes on you and realise the root of the problem. He slows, just a small space between the both of you now, his helm still checking to ensure there’s no physical harm causing your pain.

You struggle to catch your breath, still clutching at your throat. The dried tears coating your cheeks, your eyes glint off of the ships dimmed lights. The extend of your struggle was shown in the reflection of his Beskar suit, the physical strain pertinent around your neck, the grip you’d been holding was enough to kill.

You were still struggling to breathe but were completely conscious now. Mando reached out a hand to your shoulder, trying to soothe you, “Breathe” He looks again to triple check the child isn’t doing any crazy magic as he had woken in a fit of tears too.

You quickly turn to look at him, your breathing still hoarse. The physical contact cutting through your mind and bringing you to now. Your eyes search for his. The black visor stared back. It’s probably good that you can’t see his face, as its currently slightly torn at the physical wound you’d inflicted to yourself in your sleep. His eyes scan the rest of your body, gazing at your arms which are now bare, the sleeves of the black-top he had given you were now rolled up. They’re riddled with scars of different shapes and sizes, but obvious. He glanced to your neck again, the edges of some pointed out from under the neck of the tee, some raised, some etched, some burned.

“Sorry for startling you…I…” The embarrassment starting to set in now you’ve absorbed the situation.

“The Child woke in tears too, and then I heard you screaming. Cara’s looking after him now”.

You furrow your brows at the new information. The Child too? Was he connected to your dream somehow? Or did the feeling transfer… you wouldn’t know, just acknowledging the connection and leaving it at that.

“Yeah… I was confused too…” he’d noticed the coincidence too, “We’ve got a busy day ahead of us. You should start getting ready soon.”

All this information was starting to rack your brain, the sleepy haze in your mind making it difficult to focus. Then you remembered.

The last week had been a blur. You’d picked up some reinforcements for the mission. First, an ex-shock trooper who went by the name Cara, the tattoo was one of the first things you noticed. She wore it proudly. Cara seemed nice enough even though Mando had told her your backstory, she understood. Her eyes had seen the horror of manipulation too. She knew pain, death. You doubt she’d excuse what you did, but it seemed as though she’d done her fair share and maybe call it even. You’d made small conversation with her and it seemed that you could trust her, you hoped that she’d trust you too.

And then Kuill, now he was sweet. A kind, older Ugnuaght who had served the Empire. He’d done his time. Like you, he was forced to do something he didn’t want to do. The similarity between you two was silently acknowledged, he knew your pain, wanting to fight back but not being able to. He always spoke to you with soft words. You remember his admission with clarity. A day or so after picking him and his Bluurgs up, Mando and Cara were discussing the plan in the cockpit. You were sat in the corner of the hull, entertaining the Child, rolling the chrome ball back and forth along the floor. Kuill strolled up to you, holding your shoulder, bringing your attention from the Child to him.

“I too know the pain of Capitulation. I served my time, and now I work for no one. My soul is free. You are changed now, your punishment dealt. Make good of your life now it is yours. I have spoken.”

You didn’t know what to say but you knew that was exactly what you needed to hear. You’d never had kinder words spoken. It was bittersweet, but a lifeline nonetheless.

“I don’t know exactly how things will turn out so it’s probably best we prepare for anything” he admits, fear hidden in the admission somewhere. “I have asked Kuill to look after the Child along with IG. You’ll come with me and Cara to sort the problem. To finish this.”

Your head turns to the small Ugnaught now standing in the doorway, Cara to his side holding the Child. You nod politely to them, slightly embarrassed at how they were seeing you. The Child coos, his arms outstretched to his Dad. Cara walks into your room to give Mando the child, he coos again, this time more assertive. Cara tries to hand him over to Mando but he’s blubbering louder now, his arms are now outstretched to you. You sit up properly at the realisation. Mando nods to Cara, giving her silent permission to hand the Child to you. They both watch as you and the Child babble, his hand grabbing around your finger.

The connection warms you. He’s telling you through the only way he knows how that he’s ok, and that you should be too. He exudes calmness, soothing your mind to level with his. You smile at him, silently thanking him for his unique comfort. He nods back with a coo, head-turning towards Mando. He looks back at you with a toothy grin, releasing your finger then making grabby gestures to Mando. You smile to yourself as you watch Mando pick up the Child and leave, resting him in his right arm. Mando’s head was tilted towards the Child as if to ask what all the fuss was about. Cara watches them leave then turns to you.

“Hey,” She says calmly, sitting to perch on the side of your bed.

“Hey, I'm sorry if I interrupted you, I didn’t mean to-” She cuts you off.

“Don't apologise, it’s ok, we all have bad dreams sometimes” She sports a small smile, letting you know she understands. You smile back. It’s nice to have another girl on the ship, you feel like you can open up to Cara a bit more than you can with Mando. You maintain the small smile, showing your sincerity. “The kid seems to really like you” She chuckles, showing a couple of teeth. She’s right, you both got along really well. You’d not known the Child for long but you were already smitten, the toothy grin got you every time.

“Thank you, Cara.” You don’t know what else to say. The simple reply is soft, thanking. You really did appreciate her care.

“Don’t thank me, you’re the one that can make that little womp-rat smile. I’ve tried and he just… anyway. We’re not far out now. You should get ready”

You both exchange a small smile, it's sweet. You know you can trust Cara now.

___

The doors to the weapons locker opened and you couldn’t stop your jaw from dropping in awe. There was enough to form a small army! Does this guy have a thing for weapons or what? He reaches out and grabs a blaster. It’s exquisitely crafted, the mahogany wood polished to within an inch of its life. Once securing it in his belt, he reaches out again, grabbing two leather sheaths. Turning, he hands them to you. You put them on, one of them sits on your right thigh, the other sits just under your binder and rests under your shirt. You look up at him, his visor pinning you in place.

“I took you as a knives person” He deadpans, handing you two combat knives. Yeah, true, he’d read you like a book. You loved close combat, the thrill of it was always your favourite. You hated your past but you did have to admit, you enjoyed the hunt, it felt like fighting was what you were made to do. You drop your gaze to the knives. They’re pleasing to the eye. You’d not seen anything like it, the metal had waves to it, like an ocean. You traced a finger up one end of the blade, the sharpness of them tantalising, “Beskar” he chimes. Goosebumps riddled you like a rash, you couldn’t hide the grin that found your face. You’d not had a nice pair of knives since you were taken, hostage. Looking back up to him you thank him, placing one in the thigh holster and the other in the holster on your chest. You felt more confident now, adrenaline starting to prickle your senses; your body was starting to prepare itself for what was to come.

He reaches in again, grabbing a small belt. It was rough and tatty, this must be an older belt he’d once used, the one he wore now was a lot sturdier and more practical. Turning back to you he hands it over. You hear a slight scraping sound, like metal on metal. Inspecting one of the two pouches attached to it you found it was full of little throwing knives. They weren’t the same material as the daggers he’d just given you, but still sharp nonetheless. The grin feverish once you’d placed the belt around your waist, it hung lower than you’d like but it was still practical. You tested the buckle to see if it’d release quickly, and to your amusement, it did. You look back up at Mando, grin now toothy like the kids. “Thanks, hopefully, I won’t have to use them”

“Don’t lie, we all know you want to,” he said jokingly. So he finds it funny now? His comment makes you glance down. He was right, you were looking forward to it. Guilt floods your cheeks and you blush, now coming to terms with how you’d been acting. You didn’t want them to think you wanted to fight. This mission needed to go as smoothly as possible, for the Kids sake. Now they just think you’re in it for the blood, great.

“I didn’t mean it like that…I…” He stutters on his words, now realising the meaning behind what he said.

“It’s ok, I get it” you mumble back, turning away to get your boots from your room. You don’t notice him turning his head back around, watching as you walk back into your cabin.

___

Trust Cara to be carrying the biggest blaster from the locker. She’s all muscle that girl, and she knew it too. A blaster that size would look stupid if you tried to use it, you’re not even sure you could even lift it. Cara made it look like it was second nature, each to their own.

“Let me do the talking,” says Mando. Him? Do the talking? Is he having a laugh? The guy can barely hold a conversation, and now he thinks he’s some negotiating mastermind. You let it slide though, he is a Mandalorian at the end of the day, the armour does most of the talking for him. “Kuill, are the Bluurgs ready?”

“Yes. Someone will have to walk, I only have three” he says back to Mando, back turned as he’s fixing the final bits of equipment to the Bluurgs.

“I’ll walk,” you say, you’re the odd one out at the end of the day. You want to make a good impression, and you thought that a decent walk wouldn’t do you harm. You’ve not had a chance to properly stretch your legs in too long.

“You sure? It’s a fair way?” Cara asks back, she’s genuine.

“Yeah, I need to stretch my legs, let me lend a favour” you smile back. You really did want them to trust you, and you thought this is the least you can do to show your appreciation for their kindness over the last few days.

“If you get tired then you tell me,” Mando commands. There's no room for if’s or but’s, he means it.

You pull a sneaky grin, the temptation to say it was just too much, you can give in this once, right? You pick your next words very carefully but use the most seductive tone you could. It's just a bit of fun…

“Yes, Sir”

Cara chokes out a shocked laugh. You turn to her, she’s pulling her eyebrows up and down in a suggestive manner. I'm glad that landed well… You laugh back as you both follow Kuill out of the ship to the Bluurgs, her elbow nudging your arm in a jokey way. You both continue giggling, not noticing the now slightly flustered Mandalorian.

Notes:

Hope u guys enjoy this chapter! the next couple chapters are quite action-driven as they follow the original arc, but I'm a few chapters ahead and let me tell you... is it getting hot in here?;)

#the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #mando x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din needs a hug #angry din #fanfic series #mando x reader #mando.exe has stopped working

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ohnobjyx · 4 years

Note

Would it be that impossible for dd and gg to come out as a couple (provided they respected censorship and didn't talk about it with the media)? I read the other day that homosexuality is not illegal in China, just talking about it and showing in the media, so could not someone as brave and crazy as dd attempt to come out outside of the media? after all they are the first 3 shipped real couples in china, they do have support. Coming out willingly would also save them from being eventually outed..

Hi, anon! (*this blogger cracks her neck and gets ready*) Let’s get into it!

Disclaimer: fake fake fake. Why would you think that we believe in bjyx?

Preface: this post might not be exactly a controversial opinion, since I think many will have the same one. However, it’s alright to disagree: we all have our own perception of the matter, which is coloured by our own experiences (let’s just say that an absolute objective view is difficult). I present here with the most objective post (at least in terms of data and facts) I could write.

Oh, and you all might have noticed, but being concise is not my forte. I tend to digress.

First of all, I assume that the concept of “coming out outside of the media” means that they could have told just close friends and family, without announcing it to the media.

But how would we know that they have done it? (and I don’t mean we should know for sure, ofc). For all we know, they may have already done this, and, from my pov, they probably have. Without entering in “fake” rumours:

TTXS bros know something (repeating myself for the nth time). From the way DZW jumps in whenever it remotely looks like dd is slipping up, how WH poses his questions, how QF teases him. It all seems references to a real, tangible thing, instead of baseless friendly teasing. It’s also very interesting that they have stopped their matchmaking mission and have instead started to defend why dd is “single”.

Their parents are their cover. Even if dd parents didn’t watch TTXS, wouldn’t someone else watch it and ask them about it? Wouldn’t they wonder about the supposed clothes that dd sends home, the medicine, the market stroll? Maybe I’m just projecting, but I wouldn’t use my parents as a shield if they weren’t aware of the situation behind it, because I’d be subjected to their questioning later. That’s why, unless I wanted to tell them or I had already told them, I wouldn’t use my parents as an excuse. So, once is alright, but dd has done it several times, and that, for me, means that his parents know.

That’s what I would consider “coming outside the media”. Of course, this doesn’t involve us fans, and it’s their decision, of which we probably will never hear about (or, at least, not soon, and that’s fine!).

In my opinion, it’s also the best course of action, especially with all the rumours that are always circulating about them. It wouldn’t be a “brave and crazy” course of action, but rather the most sensible and rational, since it’s the best way to avoid misunderstandings with your friends and family. It’s also considerate for his friends at work, just so they know what to expect when they are on stage and it allows them to understand dd’s reactions.

(Again, we are talking about dd because that’s who anon asked about. I think gg’s circle is less close to him, so it may not be the case with him, but I don’t know enough to say what would happen).

Just let’s suppose his TTXS bros didn’t know anything and just kept trying to act as matchmakers for dd. That’s the kind of situation that’s bound to be uncomfortable for everyone because dd isn’t the kind of person who’d lie (and he doesn’t fast enough to improptu questions).

The second thing I wanted to talk about is their fans’ support. I want to talk about numbers.

I’m going to explain why I only take the c-fans data as reference. We int fans don’t really count, because we don’t affect their careers directly, as c-fans do. Of course, our support is very useful in showing how many people are rooting for them, like what happened when Roseonly’s livestream with gg was live. And I like to think that they would feel better knowing that there are a lot of people in Chn and overseas that support them and whatever there is between them.

So int-fans do contribute to give more views and likes to their Roseonly livestream (if they can access it, which isn’t always the case), but they won’t buy the roses and impact with real money, so to say.

We don’t really participate in their endorsements, many won’t stay long enough to watch more dramas from them (and I do understand that the lack of eng subs is the main problem), and many don’t/can’t/don’t know how to push them up in the charts. We’ve talked before about how the c-ent industry doesn’t really need the int audience to make a lot of money, and to be highly profitable, and it still applies in a smaller case, like a single idol.

That’s why I think that in matters of real, tangible fan support, c-fans still make a bigger percentage (around 80-90%) of their support.

So, as of now, there are 3 supertopics in w/ibo that features gg/dd (let’s leave the difference in supertopics for another day, but I don’t support the discussion about people’s sex life, thanks for your understanding):

BJYX. The largest supertopic (top 1) with a wide margin from the others. It has 2.570.000 fans.

ZSWW. It’s the number 5 in the CP supertopics, with 910.000 fans.

LXFY. The number 23 in the CP supertopics with 590.000 fans.

All of them added make 4.070.000 fans. But we have to take into account the overlapping in these three supertopics: many people (like me) are following the three supertopics at the same time. That’s why, in a not scientific way, I’m guessing that those 4.070.000 come to around 4.000.000 once you take out the people that are following the three at the same time.

Even 4 million people is still a huge number of people: that’s more people than the population of the capital of my country, and one tenth of the total census here.

Yet, in China, it means 4 out of every 1400, which translates into 0′003%. It’s also from a very specific demographic (mainly female and young). Of course, it doesn’t mean that they won’t get support from other people if it ever got out, but they can’t know what would happen then for sure.

It means that, in actual 3D world, there are a lot of people who don’t know about their CP. I read the other day some tumblr blogger saying that “we bxg are in our own little bubble, not that many people know about their cp” (was that you, @jcisthebestfightme?) which I agree a lot with. I mean, my w/ibo account and tumblr is filled with bjyx/yizhan, so much that it’s easy to forget that I arranged it to be like this, but that the majority of the people don’t receive so much info about them, nor they analyze their every move like we do.

The only thing they can know for sure is what general population thinks about same sex relationships.

In a recent poll I saw, with thousands of answers about what netizens thought of the legalization of same sex marriage in Taiwan, the supporting votes didn’t get to 50%. In Taiwan, public opinion was like this around the time same sex marriage was legalized:

An opinion poll conducted in November 2016 by the Kuomintang found that 52% of the Taiwanese population supported same-sex marriage, while 43% were opposed. Another poll commissioned that same month found similar numbers: 55% in support, and 45% in opposition. Support was higher among 20–29-year-olds (80%), but decreased significantly with age. (Wikipedia)

(I just want to say, I can’t wait for the younger generations to take over).

More data: the public stance in China could be described as: “no approval, no disapproval, no promotion”, and the public opinion is becoming more and more tolerant, but there’s still a deep-set homophobia, as in only 5% of the lgbt people comes out completely (around 20% comes out to their family), and around 80% of gay men are married to women due to social and family pressure (ofc, these data is from a few years ago, and new polls and surveys are needed, but don’t expect them to carry out a wide-range survey about this nor I think the situation has changed drastically).

In my opinion, society is slowly taking more steps towards tolerance first and acceptance second. One of their best achievement was the lgbt community and many netizens’ refusal to allow w/ibo to instate a ban on content related to homosexuality, which led to w/ibo actually reversing its decision and stop banning that content in less than 3 days.

However, the fact that a lot of people express their support doesn’t take away the truth of a lot of people openly opposing it (let’s remember that there weren’t so many antis to start with in 2/27, but its effects were undeniably large and unjust).

(If any of you read more data about lgbt rights in China, please remember that Hong Kong receives a lot more Western influence, and that public opinion in HK does not represent the actual situation in mainland Chn. Ofc, because they’re more open to lgbt, there are also more data and polls carried out in HK, so a lot of info is HK based).

Leaving this kind of data aside, let’s take another matter of numbers. While they have in total 4 million fans in the supertopics, dd has as of now 35,400,000 fans following him on w/ibo and gg has 26,690,000 fans.

One thing I’m sure they are aware of is the discussion that arises from time to time between the solo fans and the bxg. Another thing they must be aware of, specially dd, is that their fanbase has a lot of females who are their fans, not just because of their talent, but also because they’re single and therefore they can fantasize about being with them.

All in all, even though a lot of people support them, there would be also quite a number of “disappointed” people, with the danger of them becoming antis.

So while I do think they appreciate it, and leave clues specifically for us, and dd goes as far as interacting with bxg, I also feel that gg and dd might not see widespread support, enough so they’d feel comfortable coming out completely with the current public stance on homosexual relationships in Chn.

(And again, from my pov, they aren’t in the closet with their family and friends).

And last, but not least, does “coming out respecting the censorship and not talking about it with the media” mean that it would be known by the general public, or, at least, their fans (in a very hypothetic case, since I don’t know how this could be achieved)? Because then, even if they didn’t talk about it with the media, it would be as good as coming out publicly.

In an idol’s life there’s no “private” and “public”. There’s only “public” and “secret” (and by secret I mean things they “hide” in public/don’t talk about, even though people next to them might know about it). The line between public and private is very very blurred in the c-ent industry.

I always remember the case of an actor who had an affair. Because of his affair (he was married and had a son), he lost endorsements, he was taken out of tv programs and literally erased from filmed episodes. The things he did in private affected very directly his job (I don’t approve of the affair, but the consequences it had surprised me a lot).

So, while I do think that gg and dd are getting bolder with time, when they were both very startled by the “you’d lose your job if you were in a relationship” phrase, the fear was real and palpable. However, I’m aware that that was their stance a year ago, and that a lot of things have changed (heck, we’ve gone through a pandemic, something I couldn’t have imagined a year ago), so I’m going to observe how they act from now.

That’s why, “coming out willingly would also save them from being eventually outed..” is true, but it’s also true that it would push them into a storm I’m not sure they’d come out completely unscathed. And it may be selfish, but I don’t want them to be the ones who test the public’s tolerance to gay idols.

I think I’m missing my point, so I’ll spell it out: if they want to come out, I’ll support them with everything I have, as I think many fans will do. If they ever prove us wrong dating another person, be it male or female, I’ll support them as a fan too. But I would like any action they take to be decided by them, instead of pressed by fans who just want a confirmation at any cost.

I’ve seen people saying that if they were really together, they should be “honest” with themselves and the audience and come out publicly. In my opinion, it’s easy to judge when you’re not the one who might lose something if you take a step in the wrong direction, and it’s not your income and your job in the line.

I’m sure (reminding you all that I believe that bjyxszd) that they’d come out completely if possible. I’m also sure that they have consulted with managers and public relations experts (and their team would have talked with them about it even if gg and dd didn’t bring it up). Therefore, I strongly believe they are doing what they think is better at the time being.

To sum up: I’ll support whatever they do, but I don’t want others to push them to do things they don’t want/aren’t prepared to do. They are already between a rock and a hard place, so whatever they do with their relationship is absolutely their call.

So, anon, I hope I have answered you, but I leave here a short summary for you in the case the info was too scattered for you:

They might have come out to friends and family, and, based on dd’s interactions with the people around him and the words he has said, I do believe he has. Because gg is also an honest, sensible person, I think he might have done the same.

after all they are the first 3 shipped real couples in china, they do have support

Chn is a big country. That means that in terms of public support, sometimes numbers that would be astronomically high in other countries, is not so much in Chn. Translating numbers into percentage, a 1% means 14 million people.

So it’s true that they have a lot of people supporting them, of course. 2 million people is a lot of people, especially considering that many don’t know about them. But when you have to take into account the general public (because it’d be a scandal), since their fans aren’t the only ones interacting with them, it’s still a low number.

Coming out willingly would also save them from being eventually outed..

That’s true in the case of family and friends. But if you’re talking about being outed in the media, that’s not possible. Known by the fans = Public.

And remember that in this case, the media wouldn’t talk about them, since talking about homosexuality in the media is prohibited. The problem would come from within the industry and the antis.

#yizhan #bjyx #ask #my post #coming out

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papercinders · 4 years

Text

wanderer

PART I OF ENIGMA

PAIRING: obi-wan/reader RATING: PG WORD COUNT: 2.8k SUMMARY: the stranger comes to tatooine with an orphaned child. you are certain that he belongs in the stars. not here. or: the first time you ask obi-wan who he is. A/N: this is the first fic i’m brave enough to post online. no warnings unless you count angst. this is the first chapter of enigma, a six-part series.

next part | ao3 | masterlist

The first time you meet him is in a musty cantina on Tatooine, hung with the scent of dried sweat and watered-down alcohol. The air is still. Lazy. Particles of dust spin in the sunlight that streams through the angled blinds of the only window.

A cup of something foul is set before you, but only because the owner will kick you out of the establishment if you don’t buy something. The drink goes untouched. It’s an excuse to sit in a dim corner of the cantina and spend the afternoon inside, away from the thick heat of Tatooine’s binary suns. If only for a little while, you’re content to drift into a glassy-eyed, passive mode of pure observation.

When he steps through the doors of the cantina, stopping just past the threshold as the doors close behind him, the first thing you notice is his boots. They’re clean. Then you take in the surety of his posture, even if he is unmoving at the front of the cantina. A beard, but trimmed; coarse clothing, but neat; guarded eyes, but not cruel. Bounty hunter, you decide, but then again, the galaxy is brimming with so many people it’s impossible to pinpoint whether the newcomer is a trader passing through Mos Eisley or a smuggler collecting a shipment of spice or simply another face in a crowd of people who somehow wash up on Tatooine and end up stuck.

It doesn’t matter where he’s from. Everyone gets used to the sand and the sweat and the sunburn. Eventually, at least.

A cloak trails behind him as he strides through the cantina, boots barely scuffing against the floor. His hands are not hidden nor gloved, you notice, and you decide that he is not a bounty hunter, a smuggler, or a mechanic. He is the kind of riddle that you would like to solve, but your interest is passive.

The stranger disappears from your line of sight, and you lean back against the corner of the wall. It’s getting late, judging by the gold-tinted line of light on the ground, from where sunlight seeps through the sliver of space between the door and the wall.

There’s the slight murmur of voices, and then the cloaked, empty-handed stranger emerges again, escorted by the owner of the bar. You catch him say Jundland wastes and guide, and then your interest is piqued. The newcomer’s clean boots and clothing must have caught the eye of the cantina owner, partly because a newcomer means an easy scam and partly because nice clothing means good coin. Even if the stranger doesn’t know it, whoever the cantina owner presents as a guide to the Jundland wastes will surely charge an exorbitant fee. It’s common practice. Mos Eisley isn’t known for being nice.

But some part of you doesn’t want to let the stranger get abandoned in the middle of the desert, all his earnings stolen, scammed and left for dead. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t fit in with the sand and the scum of Tatooine, even if his clothing is woven of coarse cloth and doesn’t look like it belongs on Coruscant or Alderaan, either. Maybe it’s because he walks without hiding his hands or his face, or simply because he doesn’t seem to harbor much fear. He might be an honest fool. He might not be.

You don’t really know why you do it ― later, a collection of words can quantify your reasons, but for now, you aren’t entirely sure why you stand and cross the short distance to the stranger and the cantina owner.

“The Wastes are crawling with Tusken Raiders,” the owner is saying, in a gravelly rasp, as you draw near. “Five hundred credits is cheap. No one’ll do that work for less.”

“I’ll do it for free,” you cut in, and you’re still not sure why you’ve taken such an interest in this stranger. Are you so far gone that decent hygiene will compel you to stick out your neck for someone you haven’t even met? Still, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something different about him.

The stranger and the owner have gone silent, both pairs of eyes sliding over to look at you. There’s something murderous in the narrowed eyes of the surly cantina owner, but that’s to be expected. You just foiled his scam. Slowly, you turn to the stranger, as if finally making eye contact with him is like spoiling the end of a story.

His eyes are blue, you notice, and his brow is furrowed in slight confusion. He holds your gaze for a moment longer, as if you are the riddle and not him, and then turns back to the cantina owner.

The owner is indignant, looking you over as if to reconcile your words with the unobtrusive nature of your appearance. “And who’re you?”

You glance at the newcomer, and his eyes pin you there for a moment. You smile. “A friend. Or at least, I’m friendly enough to stop an innocent traveler from being scammed.”

The owner arranges his face into something slightly less murderous. He fumbles for words. Finds them, after a few moments. “Scammed?” He pauses to huff. “It’s dangerous out there. This ― this girl can’t protect you from Tusken Raiders.”

You open your mouth to defend yourself, but the stranger speaks before you can.

“Oh, I’m not concerned about raiders,” he says, and his voice is carried by a lovely accent that sounds so...un-Tatooine. There’s some kind of playful music in the tones of his voice, though subtle. Coruscanti, you speculate, but you’ve never even been to Coruscant.

“If you wanna risk it,” the cantina owner says, when he has no response. “I warned you.” He’s met with silence, and his eyes shift to you and the stranger, almost accusatory. “If you’re not gonna buy anything, stop loitering.”

“I bought a drink,” you point out, more out of spite than anything, motioning to your booth in the corner of the cantina, abandoned drink still untouched.

“He hasn’t,” the owner replies, and levels a look at you. It’s not like you threatened his family or tried to steal from him, but then again, in Mos Eisley, hindering business is considered its equivalent anyway.

“Fair enough.” You meet the eyes of the stranger and then nod to the doors, and he follows close behind as you exit the establishment. You won’t be returning to this cantina, but it’s not like you were ever thrilled by the dim interior or the simultaneously tasteless and foul alcohol.

As soon as the doors slide shut and the stranger pulls up next to you, passing a glance over, you speak. “Who are you?”

His eyebrows pull together almost imperceptibly, eyes dropping to the ground and then back to your face. “Who am I?” he repeats, and something resembling a smile tugs at the corners of his lips; but it fades as soon as it appears, along with the look in his eyes that makes you wonder all the more. He finds the words he’s looking for. “Just a wanderer. Now, you can lead me through the Jundland Wastes?”

You nod, still trying to place what his occupation is. Wanderers don’t wash up on Tatooine with Inner Rim accents and clean boots. Wanderers don’t look for guides to lead them to specific places, even if the Wastes are vast and empty.

“There’s something I have to get from my ship,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind.”

You pause for a moment as his eyes search yours. “I don’t,” you say, “as long as you tell me your name.”

His lips curve into a slight smile, and this time it doesn’t fade nearly as soon. And perhaps it reaches his eyes, too. He’s silent for a few seconds before he tells you his name, voice low against the soft hum of Mos Eisley. A single syllable: “Ben.”

You repeat his name aloud, and though it’s just a name ― unobtrusive, uncomplicated ― it somehow feels significant. He smiles again when you say it, eyes crinkling up in the slightest, but he doesn’t ask for your name in return. It could be because you’re just his guide, but you’d like to think it’s because he’s noticed you haven’t offered it and doesn’t want to inquire.

Ben. It’s not the answer to the riddle, but it’s something. For a moment longer, his gaze is warm ― not hot, like Tatooine at midday, but warm. Then he turns back to the road, glances back to confirm you’ll follow, and sets off toward his ship.

You follow close behind, wondering what business he has with Tatooine; what he wants from this world of dust and deserted dreams.

The ship is situated past the outskirts of Mos Eisley, and sand whips past your face as you make the short trek to the starfighter that lies on the crest of a sand dune. In the warm light of late afternoon, the ship’s metal ridges glint gold.

He ― Ben ― tells you to stop before you draw near to the ship, and you comply silently, watching as he goes the remainder of the way to his ship, the edge of his cloak dragging in the sand. He’s been quiet for your short journey here, hardly saying more than necessary, but you get the feeling that he’s usually more talkative.

You’re not close enough to the starfighter to decide what kind of model it is, but it doesn’t look like the kind of makeshift, ill-repaired vessel that bounty hunters and smugglers travel by. Perhaps he’s involved in something equally as lucrative but still legal ― at this point, you’ve decided that he’s not a fugitive and not involved in semi-illegal operations. But even though legal and wealthy aren’t usually synonymous on Tatooine, you suppose it’s possible. He isn’t from here, anyway.

Ben returns, arms cradling a bundle of something wrapped in cloth. He holds it close to his chest as he climbs the rest of the way back to you, and then merely nods once. Let’s go, he seems to say, and whatever he’s holding must be important, because the tentative friendliness you built up before is set aside in lieu of some odd mix of caution and haste.

You turn to lead the way back to Mos Eisley ― there, you can buy better transportation ― but a soft cry breaks the silence. It’s simultaneously unfamiliar and universally recognizable.

“Is that a baby?” you say carefully, turning back around to face Ben.

He hugs the bundle to himself, as if you pose some kind of threat. Ben’s eyes search yours, and it’s the first time you’ve seen any kind of uncertainty in him. Even if you’ve only known him for a few hours at most. He clears his throat. “It is.”

A litany of questions threaten to spill from your lips, but you notice that he doesn’t offer any more information. You can’t help it, though. You have to know. The question is blunt, and it even makes you cringe, but you ask it anyway: “Are you a slaver?”

Ben recoils almost instantly, looking from you to the baby, still hidden from your view by layers of cloth and the extra fabric of his cloak. “No,” he says, and the word is forceful but not forced. “Why...why would you think that?”

You shrug, shift nervously for a moment, and then decide that you might as well tell the truth. You motion to him with a vague hand. “You’re not poor, obviously, and you have a nice ship. You’re not from Tatooine, but you’re passing through, looking for a single location. And you carry a baby, though something about it makes you uncomfortable.”

The last part was a guess, but you didn’t anticipate that he would react with a visible flinch, features twisting for barely a moment. It’s brief, but you suppose there is something important about this infant that he carries so protectively and yet so wearily.

You’re met with silence, if you don’t count the constant blowing of wind over the sand dunes or the soft noise of Mos Eisley nearby.

“I apologize,” you say, when the pause extends a beat too long. “I overstepped my bounds. Come on. We should leave now to get to Anchorhead before dark.”

He nods, almost imperceptibly, and you lead the way back to Mos Eisley, silently berating yourself. There could be a number of reasons why he has a baby, and an even longer list of reasons why there might be complicated feelings surrounding the baby. It’s not your place to pry. You offered to take Ben through the Jundland Wastes free of charge just because he intrigued you, but now you wonder if it would have been better had you stayed silent.

A few minutes later, you’re surprised to hear his voice. “He’s not my son,” Ben says, and you turn to look at him, faltering in your steps for a moment, though his gaze is fixed ahead firmly. “His father was killed. In the war.”

Oh. You know people who were affected by the war, of course, but there are some things that are too tragic to reconcile with words alone, some things that go beyond your capacity for comfort. What’s left is a void of numbness and dumb silence, and you scramble for something to say. How do you give your condolences for a son who will never know his father?

“I…” you start uncertainly, because you know that you have to start somewhere, but words still fail you. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” Ben’s voice is soft and low, and he looks at the face of the baby in his arms. “So am I.”

You wonder if this is the end of the story, the answer to the riddle; if this sorrow is what marks him apart from the rest, if this burden is what renders him alone. Perhaps there’s more ― he hasn’t told you his occupation, or where he comes from, or the model of his ship ― or perhaps there isn’t.

“What’s his name?” The question tumbles from your mouth, clumsily, and you immediately wonder when you’ll finally learn your lesson to stop prying.

But just as surprising as before, Ben answers. “Luke,” he says, and like his own, the name is simple, a single syllable, a lone note on a sheet of music.

You don’t know what lies behind either of their names, but there is a brand of steadfastness in the quiet solitude of the wanderer and his ward and the names he has given to you. It’s more of who he is ― his voice, his eyes, his disposition ― that intrigues you than the names themselves. He could have given you any name, you realize, and his voice would have made it sound like the first note of a song. You would have wanted to hear more, either way.

Before, when he told you his name, there had been some kind of wistful nostalgia associated with it ― he had smiled, even ― but his eyes are more sorrow than memory. The Clone Wars are over, now, but only within the last week. You wonder where Ben comes from, how he knew Luke’s father, whether it was Separatist or Republic forces who orphaned a child in the last days of the war.

“Come on,” you say softly, picking your feet up off the sand and angling yourself toward Mos Eisley. The sun hangs between the horizon and the sky overhead. “We should get going.”

“Alright,” Ben says, even if you have the inkling of an idea that things aren’t.

But you remind yourself that it’s not your place to pry, so you tear your eyes away from his, trying to ignore the contrast between the clear blue of his eyes and the endless expanse of sand and sun. You forge ahead toward Mos Eisley, but you can’t forget the still image of Ben framed in the glow of two stars, the edge of his face traced in waning gold sunlight.

You also can’t shake the feeling that he is meant for far more than still deserts and oppressive suns and seas of sand. You try to picture him somewhere else and you can’t place an exact location. But you’re almost certain that in some other life ― some parallel universe, perhaps ― he is more than just a wanderer.

#star wars fanfic #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #star wars fanfiction #star wars reader insert #avii writes #fic: enigma #userkarina #im scared to post mom come get me

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saturniandragon · 3 years

Text

“Fifty.”

Zanri says to himself as he counts the last piece of gold coin in his satchel. The sun is just preparing to send off its last ray of light, on the small island of Khenarthi’s Roost, just south of Elsweyr.

A month he has settled here in the small town of Mistral, although his definition of “settled” is very loose. Multiple times he had to come and go from the inn as he’s not able to continuously pay for rent, what with his inconsistent income not making things easy. And returning to Elsweyr mainland isn’t an option.

A month ago he arrived here, on his attempt to flee from his abusive, drug-addict parents who kept leeching off his earnings. It wasn’t a decision that he made lightly, as it hasn’t always been that way.

For the first 15 years of his life, Zanri al-Anaqi had a decent childhood, born in a humble Khajiit family who made living as traders. It wasn’t too small or too big of a business, just enough to feed the married couple and their only child. Young Zanri inherited his father’s archery skills and his mother’s caring and generous heart, and he proved it when he killed his first deer at age 13 from one ricefield length away, and grew love of working and giving to the local community.

It didn’t last, and the family’s luck ran out.

Their trading business suddenly started to lose clients, for whatever reason still unclear to this very day. Zanri’s father made all possible efforts of reviving their only source of income, but to no avail. At this point young Zanri was already making his own earnings, whatever small it might be, from doing community work and hunting animals. Most of the coins he kept for himself, but seeing his family work starting to decline he decided to help out both of his parents financially.

2 years later Zanri found himself as the sole financial support of his family. Whatever efforts his parents had committed to get their previous business back on its feet ultimately ended as they’d completely run out of savings. The 17-year-old Khajiit had to triple or even quadrupled his work just to make sure they all had enough food each day to survive. And not rarely he had to give up his portion of daily consumption just so his parents could have something to eat.

Fell into depression, Zanri’s parents opted for “less desirable” sources of income, even if it included thievery, robbery, skooma and gambling. None of them wanted to choose that path, but it was not like they had choices. With heavy heart Zanri let his parents do whatever they wanted.

But it took a turn for the worst.

What was once a healthy family in Elsweyr turned into a growing center of criminal activities. Zanri’s father became addicted to drugs, alcohol and gambling, especially seeing just how much coin he could farm from the first two. Zanri’s mother wasn’t much different.

But the real issue for Zanri was that they kept taking his earning from him even though they’d already made more than enough. Zanri hadn’t followed his parents trail of earning money from illegal ways, still holding true to his moral compass of being a lawful good citizen of Elsweyr, who enjoyed doing community work and earned honest gold out of it.

Numerous times he’d tried to reason with his father, reminding him of what they were in the past, that he wanted them to be a proper, law-abiding family again. But Zanri’s father had lost it, often not hesitating to throw punches when his son was trying to talk. And it got worse day by day as his father got even more addicted to liquors and substances.

After 8 years of living in a dangerous household, not even being able to survive on his own, what with his own parents constantly snatching 90% of his honest income and physically abusing him, Zanri packed up his belongings and snuck out at dead midnight. The decision wasn’t made on the spot; for weeks he contemplated if he should just stay and keep trying to turn things back to normal, if he just tried harder, but in the end he realized that his chances were minimal.

Zanri has just finished selling his hunting results; 3 small rabbits and one wolf hide for the local clothier in Mistral. He wishes his labor were paid a bit more, but it’s not his place to ask. His rent is due tomorrow and evidently fifty gold isn’t going to cover it, even if he gives up food. While the tavern owner provides food at affordable prices, it is offset by the high rent fees.

Zanri returns to his room, leather armor drenched in sweat and boots covered in dirt and sand. He sets his rusty bow by the nightstand and immediately throws his exhausted body on the bed. Not even bothering to have dinner first since he just wants to sleep after a long day outside.

Every night he wonders if shouldn’t have left. If he should just stay with his… family. And every night he has to remind himself that he should not turn back.

Morning comes and Zanri immediately starts packing, ready to spend the next few nights outside the city again. He meets with the tavern owner near the entrance and pays 40 gold, then apologizes for not being able to pay the rent in full before leaving the building. After spending the remaining 10 gold for morning breakfast at the market, he leaves the city through the gates.

Until an unknown voice greets him.

“You look capable.”

Zanri stops in his tracks and turns his head towards the source of the voice. A male Khajiit in black leather armor with gold eagle engravings, crossed arms while leaning on a stone wall near Mistral gates. His red mohawk hair shines bright under the morning sun.

“…excuse me?”

“Got stones in your ears? Of course this one was talking to you.”

The mysterious male Khajiit starts approaching Zanri, but Zanri takes precaution. He slowly moves his hands closer to his back where he hides his dagger, until…

“Now, now, there’s no need to go blade and blood this morning. This one simply wishes to ask for help, and looks like you’re a little low on coin. Perhaps we can help each other.”

“Perhaps, what do you need?”

Zanri slowly lowers his guard around the mysterious Khajiit, he maintains a keen eye on body language. Though overall the unfamiliar Khajiit doesn’t seem to be much of a danger to him. It is rather eerie how or where he finds out about his financial problems, however.

“This one is with the Aldmeri Dominion. One of our ships recently crashed on the west side of this island. We could use extra hands on helping the survivors.”

“Well I know one thing or two about being a field medic…”

Aldmeri Dominion isn’t an unfamiliar name in Zanri’s ear. The Elsweyr-Valenwood-Summerset alliance is pretty much known by almost any Khajiit by now, but Zanri hasn’t been one to meddle with political things or anything of its sorts. While he doesn’t have interest at all in actually joining the ranks, he’s pretty curious about their history and how they managed to unite three Tamrielic races under one banner.

And it’s a rare moment for him to be directly approached by one of them.

“Very good. We could use your skills. Do not worry, this one can make sure you are paid for your efforts.”

“But why me, of all the people here in Mistral?”

“This one knows a good individual when he sees one.”

“Hmph.” Zanri scoffs at his wordplay. While not fully trusting him, the Dominion Khajiit seem like a generally good individual, and Zanri is in need of some coin to provide him with basic necessities. “Fine, I’ll play along for now.”

Zanri and the Dominion Khajiit sets off from Mistral, heading straight to the west side of the island.

“By the way, this one hasn’t caught your name.”

“Zanri. Zanri al-Anaqi. What about you?”

“Razum-Dar, but you may call him Raz.”

Zanri al-Anaqi

#tes #eso #the elder scrolls online #oc: zanri al anaqi

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ckret2 · 4 years

Note

Ok, but Alastor being an old man that doesn’t know technology being boyfriend’s with a Victorian man that taught himself how to craft lasers and code *his own damn ship computer/pocket watch phone* is so damn hilarious. Pentious tries to teach him how to use a mobile phone and he either locks himself out of the damn thing or he presses too hard on the screen and ends up skewering the damn thing with his talons.

HONESTLY. HONESTLY in the sequel to CDIH I plan on doing so much with the fact that Sir Pent is keeping up and Alastor ain’t.

Like. Like just picture. Alastor gets dragged kicking and screaming into using ~modern technology~. Once he has been dragged into using ~modern technology~, by golly, he’s going to use it to have some fun! He’s going to decide he wants to watch music videos on YouTube, which is a web site that he has heard exists. He is going to go to the URL bar. He’s going to type in “http:\\www.google.com”, he’s going to look at it thoughtfully, he’s going to squint at the two different slash keys on the keyboard, he’s going to leave the room to ask somebody which direction the slash is supposed to tilt if you are trying to go to Google Dot Com—

“you’re sure that’s the direction the slash mark is supposed to tilt SPECIFICALLY to go to GOOGLE DOT COM?” “yes, I know what I’m doing,” “no, you don’t need to come help me,” “no, I am PERFECTLY capable of going to Google Dot Com without you holding my hand, I was the king of the airwaves back before most Americans HAD radios, if I could handle the radio I can CERTAINLY handle an overpromoted typewriter, THANK you”

—and then he’s going to go back to the computer and delete the entire URL by clicking “delete” 21 separate times, he’s going to retype it as “http://www.google.com”, and then he is going to click enter.

(And please… if this is how slow and difficult it is for him to navigate to google, imagine how much time and effort someone must have spent to slowly teach him how to turn on a computer, how to open a web browser, what a web browser is for, how to highlight the address bar in order to type in a URL, what an address bar IS…)

And then he is going to click in the search bar on Google Dot Com, and he is going to type in “Hello! How do I reach You Tube?” and he is going to puzzle over the little square that says “I’m Feeling Lucky” for a moment before deciding, no, perhaps he doesn’t feel lucky today, and he’ll click on the little square that says “Google Search,” and google is going to be like,

An actual link to YouTube does not appear anywhere on the first page of results. Alastor is lost. He’s adrift at sea with no sign of shore. He will never find his way to YouTube.

He looks at the little list of tabs up top like,

and he dubiously clicks on Videos, because yes, the You-Tube he has been shown had videos, that’s kind of its thing. And the results are like,

And he very dubiously clicks on the first one.

First it plays an ad—oh, he succeeded, he found a video!—and then it plays another ad, Alastor has no ad block, the concept of “ad block” does not exist anywhere within his understanding of the universe, and then it starts playing what looks like an old black and white movie like,

Oh it’s a picture show! He found a picture show on the Internet! How wonderful! He doesn’t recognize the movie but it’s in black and white, it must have been made in his time—

And then a minute and twenty seconds into the video it FINALLY starts playing music and he’s like I DID IT I FOUND THE MUSIC VIDEOS I WAS PROMISED. He pats himself on the back, he’s great at using modern technology, he’s got this all figured out.

He’s got a little yellow pad and pencil he keeps next to the computer to jot down the “Internet addresses” of songs he likes so that he can type them into the “Internet address bar” when he wants to watch them or listen to them again later. He’s found that you have to write them down fast, even though they’re very long, because when the song ends it will move right on to the next one—just like the radio when a song ends—so if you dawdle it will vanish and you’ll never find the song again!

Guess what feature Alastor hasn’t noticed exists and doesn’t know he can turn off.

Guess what other features Alastor doesn’t know about.

Making an account so he can save videos.

Back buttons to go back to a song if he missed the URL.

The controls on a video.

If Alastor likes a song and wants to hear it twice, he clicks on the search bar and types in the whole URL one letter at a time and clicks enter to get it to re-load and play again.

And he’s got no control over this mad unhinged machine that is the YouTube algorithm system, its autoplay is like a car with a brick held down on the gas and nobody holding the steering wheel, it’s just taking Alastor wherever the fuck it wants and if it starts ducking into weird fucking videos Alastor is just going to assume that that’s how YouTube works, it’s no different from the radio, sometimes you’re scheduled for music and sometimes you’re scheduled for ads and sometimes you’re scheduled for interviews or a talk show or news or whatever.

Which means eventually if he lets this untamed shambling A.I. behemoth keep careening around wherever it wants to go, it’s going to start meandering into the niche/weird stuff. EVENTUALLY it’s going to stumble onto something off of Sir Pentious’s channel, and he’s going to open up the video sounding like a Boomer trying to sound cool, like,

youtube

(I told the link to load at 5:33 but I think it’s not going to do that on tumblr, I know you all are capable of going to 5:33 yourself because y’all are five million times more competent with computers than Alastor is, just skip to that time ok cool thanks good job)

Video opens up on Sir Pent like that and Alastor is absolutely flabbergasted that Sir Pentious is on the You Tube and then Sir Pent’s like “so I broke into another church to take a joy ride on their pipe organ, per my last video this is the song all four of my followers requested for me to play!” and he takes off like,

youtube

and Sir Pent’s trying to sound cool, ends like “Sssmasssh those like and subscribe buttons if you’d like to sssee me illegally play someone else’s pipe organ! :>” and Alastor is sitting there going I HAVE NEVER WANTED TO SMASH ANYTHING SO MUCH IN MY LIFE BUT I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO DO THAT.

He’s so completely shocked and awed to see a video with Sir Pentious in it that he doesn’t even remember to write down the URL, which means he will never ever find the video again.

So: Sir Pent is extremely embarrassingly trying to sound Hip & Modern while playing a 22-year-old out-of-date meme song and he’s only got four followers… but like, but like, he KNOWS the Hip & Modern lingo; AND he knows how to make, edit, and upload YouTube videos and curate a YouTube channel; and he knows how to read the comments on his videos, at least minimally engage with viewers, and keep up with who’s following him…

And meanwhile Alastor doesn’t even know the comment section exists.

Sir Pentious only looks behind the times and out of date until he is compared with the alternative.

#alastor #sir pentious #hazbin hotel #headcanons #about my writing #anonymous #ask #(i opened an incognito browser for that 'how do i reach youtube' search)#(because i was embarrassed at the thought of letting google think i didn't know how to find youtube)

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things-we-used-tc-share · 3 years

Text

The Town That Never Was

[Image Description: a long road with decaying plants on either side, with text overlayed that reads ‘the town that never was’ in white. A white icon of a clock is placed underneath the text /end ID]

I’m re-releasing the first four chapters as I’ve edited them!

Ships: DLAMP/CALMD, Remile.

Warnings: Cheating is mentioned at some point during this fic in the past, some slight horror themes but in a comedic sort of way, kidnapping is mentioned but again this is like a comedy-horror so there’s not a lot of suspense.

Plot: In Hell, a town of roughly 1,000 people, nothing that is supposed to happen ever happens and everything that physically should happen, does. Logan, a scientist, goes there in hopes of studying the world’s most unfortunate, and miraculous, town. But no one who ever enters ever finds the will to leave again.

Chapter One

Chapter Two: Hooded Figures and Kidnapping

“Good evening listeners,” Logan listens to Deceit talk over the radio as he taps away at his laptop, enjoying the filled silence of the smooth baritone voice as he works. “As you may or may not have heard, the hooded, cult-like figures have finally left the outskirts of the town, now before you let out a relieved sigh I have to warn that they are now roaming the streets,”

The scientist looks up at the crackling radio as he takes his laptop off of his lap, instead wandering over to the window to pull the heavy curtains to the side just a crack. His cobalt eyes scan the dark streets and true to Deceit’s word, there are hooded figures roaming the streets. “I understand this may be unnerving so please remember the protocol for mysterious cult-like figures roaming the streets, lock your door and windows, stay away from their line of sight, and Patton? Try not to get kidnapped again, if anyone sees Patton trying to offer the mysterious hooded figures cake, please stop him.”

Logan snorts to himself, before locking the door to his room. He resumes his work, sitting back down on the bed so that only the creak of bedsprings, the sound of the radio, and the tapping of keys fill the quiet air.

The scientist wakes up the next morning with his laptop on standby, half-tucked up against his arm, and his glasses pressed against his face. He sighs and straightens himself up with a crack of his back, wincing once he realises the awkward position he’d slept in had left much of his body in stiff pain. Logan’s feet hit the carpeted floor and a yawn ghosts his lips as he rummages through his wardrobe for some clothes.

The usual morning routine ensues and is far too boring to record but you understand; shower, brushing teeth, getting clothes on, leaving. The normal human and humanoid things.

Logan is holding a device in one hand that whirs ever so slightly as two discs spin on its surface. Nobody gives him a weird look for this device and for the most part people don’t really notice. There are simply much weirder things currently happening, or previously had happened, than a man in his late twenties wearing a casual lab coat whilst wandering the streets with a device that makes strange noises.

It pings loudly, causing him to fiddle with the device and then stare up at a large building beside him that looks ever so slightly ominous; the windows aren't there, for starters, there are lines where windows should have been and the brickwork looks like it’s rotting...if brick could rot in the same fashion that food does. The scientist pauses to grab his notebook and scribbles something down. “What are you doing?” He hears a slight hiss behind him.

Whirling around he sees Deceit, whose eyes are wide in shock as he grabs the notebook and pushes it back into Logan’s pocket “Are you trying to get arrested on your second day?”

“Arrested?”

“Writing,” Deceit continues “Is writing not illegal on the outside?” Logan stares at him as though he’d grown an extra head to accommodate the hypnotic eyes. Deceit sighs “Look, for the most part, you can get away with it in your home, just checked it isn’t bugged, you never know when you’re being watched here.” He glances around but there are no eyes on them. “Come and grab a coffee with me, and I’ll tell you more.”

“Okay,” Logan’s expression is an amusing mix of blank and on the brink of a mental breakdown as he digests the fact you can’t write here. “Wait, so hooded cult-like figures are normal and writing is...illegal?” He hurries to keep up with the tall man as he walks in long strides, his baggy mustard-coloured silk shirt blowing in the breeze as he does so. Mentally, Logan thinks that Deceit may be the only person who can wear mustard anything and still look ridiculously attractive.

“Yes,” Deceit replies plainly as if stating that water is wet.

“Right.’ It isn’t the first time he’s sighed in disbelief since he’s gotten here, but Logan gets the feeling it won’t be the last either. The two walk in silence beside each other, or rather Logan speed walks to keep up with the other man, whose legs alone should be illegal (and not because they look amazing in the leather pants he’s currently wearing, more because they’re so long and he walks so fast).

When they get to the cafe, however, there is an astounding lack of Patton there and by the way Virgil and Roman are arguing, one can assume something had gone horribly wrong. Deceit’s presence definitely seemed to make things worse, as Roman’s eyes flash with fury the moment the two walk through the door. “You.” He points with a voice that sounds like thunder.

“Me?” Is the snake-like man’s reply, holding a hand up to his chest in mock surprise “What could I have possibly done now?” Roman’s mouth opens and closes in response, as if too furious to articulate how he’s feeling at all. Virgil rolls his eyes.

“Can you do that thing you do?” The demon cuts in, being remarkably calm considering his species are quite literally infamous for being the definition of ‘fury’. Like you’d open a dictionary and instead of a definition of fury, it’ll be a badly drawn demon. “Patton’s gone missing again.” Yes, evidently. Patton certainly seems naive enough to land himself in an egregious amount of trouble on any given occasion. Or perhaps he is simply willing enough to get into trouble. “Can you see him?”

Logan looks up at Deceit, who sighs heavily and closes his eyes; there's a long moment before he opens them again, the gradient of golds glowing as the snake-slits seem to stare but in a way that is utterly unseeing. The man's eyebrows furrow, a slight frown on his lips. Whatever it is that he is seeing, Logan doesn't think it's the world currently around them at all. More like something beyond sight of the present and here.

“He’s been kidnapped...” Deceit mutters “...by the hooded figures.” He blinks and the golden glow sinks back, receding and evaporating. “I can’t see where they’ve taken him, they must be using some form of mental block, if I were you I’d work on seeing what these people are.” The tallest runs a hand through his hair; which seems to have changed colour from golden to a more caramel-ish colour, Logan is somehow only just noticing now. “Anything else you need me to do or can I have a coffee now?” Roman makes a noise at the back of his throat that could be anger or it could be fear, either way, he moves away from the three so Virgil can take their order.

“You’re a science person right?” Virgil leans against the counter, purple eyes blinking absently as he directs his words to Logan, who really doesn’t know how to react when talking to a demon. “Have you found out why this place is the way it is?”

“No...” Logan mutters “...have you?”

“Of course,” Virgil snorts “...now what can I get you?”

“Just a latte please.” Logan watches the man, or whatever the correct term is for a demon (do demons have genders? That might be a question for another day), as he makes the drink, mulling over his words in his head. “Would you tell me if I asked?” The purple eyes look up and squint before a deep laugh rumbles through the shop.

“No, it’s much more fun to watch your little Human brain wrap around it,” Virgil hums “...and I do mean that in the politest way possible, however, if you’re not busy today I do believe Roman will need some assistance if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Oh, of course, I’d love to help,” Logan smiles, but once again it’s a nervous one because, well, he is talking to a demon. Deceit sighs.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” The DJ warns, accepting his usual off of Virgil and handing over some money. “I don’t even know how bird-shit-for-brains is still alive,”

“Dee, play nice, he’s already in a bad mood,” Virgil interjects, handing Logan his coffee “...he’s still alive because I keep dragging his ass out of unfortunate situations and not even demons want to upset Patton.”

“Yet he keeps getting kidnapped?” Logan presses, a curious look in his eyes. Virgil gives a fond smile, like one would at their partner consistently getting cake mixture on their clothes (Possibly and definitely something that Patton also does). “How come always him?”

“Patton is…kind, stupidly so.” Virgil leans against the counter, black nails tapping against the glazed marble top as he does so. “He can’t stand the idea of people being misjudged and keeps getting himself into a lot of danger because of it, literally never learns, if I weren’t so worried about him I’d almost be endeared, Satan knows how he managed to fall in love with us.” He gestures to himself and Roman. “Well, I suppose that is the reason alone,” the demon leans back up “...Roman, are you leaving now? Logan’s going with you,” He calls through a door that disappears to what Logan assumes is the stock cupboard but could probably be an entrance to another dimension.

Roman walks back out, his satchel over his shoulder as he wanders over to the three of them. “Is he joining us?” He glares pointedly at Deceit, who shakes his head and walks away with the sort of huff that a teenage boy gives when being told to clean his room. Logan would find it cute if their feud wasn’t already doing his head in.

“Apparently not,” Virgil fills the silence “...have fun boys, don’t get possessed, or die, especially you Roman I’m going to need you after this extremely long day finishes.” Roman’s dark cheeks flush slightly as he nods, leaning over the counter to exchange a quick kiss with the demon. Then, he gestures to Logan to follow him and wordlessly the scientist obeys, sipping his perfectly warm cup of coffee as he does so.

“So, what is the issue with you and Deceit?” The outside street seems quiet, the sort of quiet that it shouldn’t be at nearly eleven in the morning, most towns are quite busy at this time in fact. But Hell also isn’t ‘most towns’.

“He’s a snake-faced liar,” Roman muttered “...a danger to everyone he meets,” he taps away at his phone “...and an all-around asshole.”

“Usually when people talk about someone like that they’re very rarely those things, not as a person anyway...” Logan gestures to the house with no windows as they approach it “...also what is this place, it has a lot of energy for somewhere so run down.” Roman looks down at the scientist, before turning to face the house, he blinks a few times before shaking his head.

“I don’t know, it gives me a headache if I stare too long.” Logan stares at it to see if Roman is right, but his head doesn’t feel like he has a headache. “It’s not run-down, it’s just empty, well empty of Humans anyway,” Roman continues, as Logan pulls out his device from earlier; the same as previously, it pings.

“Do you know if it usually has such high energy signals?”

“Not usually no.” Logan isn’t sure if this response means it doesn’t usually have high-energy signals, or if Roman doesn’t usually know. He decides to assume both as he approaches the building and studies the mould. “Sometimes when I look at it, it feels like I shouldn’t be looking at it,” he pauses “...like accidentally seeing someone naked because they haven’t closed the curtains whilst getting changed.” Oddly specific, but Logan makes a mental note to close his curtains before he gets changed.

“Usually things like that make me want to look more,” Logan uttered “...not the naked part,” He adds quickly, cheeks flushing “...but…in general when you’re not supposed to do something I almost certainly always want to do it, especially when knowledge is at stake.” His fingers reach out to brush against the black and crumbling stone “No visible entrance or exit, it’s like a dolls house, just…lines marking where windows should be, it’d be a good place to hide someone if you were going to kidnap a person.”

Roman gives him a look that Logan can’t decipher, but it’s a fairly intense look that makes Logan’s heart skip a beat. “So I suppose we should find an entrance?”

“Most certainly,” Logan grins, pocketing the device “...I should add I have zero combat skills so if something goes wrong we’re both most certainly going to be in danger,”

“It’s fine I have a sword.” Roman pats his satchel, Logan blinks. “Dimensionally transcendental,”

“It’s bigger on the inside?” The shorter man asks in a hushed, excitable voice, eyes widening in a way Roman internally described as ‘adorable’.

“It’s bigger on the inside,” Roman confirms. Logan’s brain squeals and internally he is melting at such scientifically advanced technology “I found it by accident but it’s super helpful most days,” Outwardly, however, Logan just clears his throat, nods and says:

“Interesting.” He’s going to have a lot of notes to write down later, that’s for sure. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he finds it is notifying him that the radio is active again, he ignores the notification and starts to walk around the outside of the building, looking for any sort of door. “I get a distinct feeling,” Logan starts as he finds no visible entrance “...that someone doesn’t want us in here.”

“Me too,” Roman hums, bending over to pull at a large rope. A door opens up into what looks like an underground tunnel, or sewage system. “I also get the feeling I should not have done my nails today,” He sighs, staring down into the darkness and then to his finely painted blood-red nails, they’re too long to be natural, and just looking at them make Logan wince.

“Certainly,” Logan finally says, peering down the ladders that lead into darkness, he can’t tell how far down they go. “If I had to hazard a guess...I’d guess this is our entrance,” He looks up at Roman, who chews the inside of his cheek hesitantly. “Of all the strange things that have happened here, this is the one that scares you?” Logan teases lightly.

“Not exactly,” Roman sighs “...less a fear of the dark and more of a fear, the same fear every time, every time he goes missing I’m always worried, terrified of how I’ll find him.” the exorcist mutters softly. “He’s usually fine, once his kidnapper practically shoved him into my arms and told me to take him, Patton has that effect on evil.”

“Explains Virgil,” Logan mutters, sitting down at the edge and clasping hold of the metal, before swinging his legs down to start his descent. Roman snorts a little and follows after him as they clamber down. It’s actually not that deep, or dark. “Speaking of Virgil...” Logan adds as his feet hit damp concrete, causing a small splash as he does, like when it’s rained and there’s a thin layer of wetness on the ground “...do you know why this town is the way it is?”

Roman lands next to him with an amount of gracefulness that shouldn’t be given to someone who had just leapt from a metal ladder. “Sort of,” He hums “I know why but I don’t understand it, like how I know what nuclear fission is but I have no idea how it works,”

“I see, and why?”

“Well, look at the clocks,” Roman answers cryptically “Put the pieces together, none of the clocks work in Hell, not a watch, not a phone, not a network, and analogue clocks aren’t even real here all of them are fake,” Logan pauses from their walk, eyes blinking. “Time isn’t real, here it just…doesn’t exist, we’re a scientific fluke.” Logan’s lips part in surprise and he hopes he survives their adventure so he can investigate this further. “The sun doesn’t even set normally, it’s almost as if the moment you enter you leave reality.”

“I see,” Logan whispers, staring ahead into the darkness, a darkness that is dark enough to obscure the distance, but light enough to see. “Nothing makes sense here...” he mutters “...it’s wonderful,” Roman laughs beside him and nods in agreement. “So, what is it with you and Deceit?” The laughter dies.

“I told you.”

“No you didn’t, you just insulted him and called it an explanation.”

Roman splutters a little before sighing heavily. “Okay fine, considering the fact we have no idea how long we’ll be walking for or if we’ll die...” the tunnel bends a little “...I was an intern at his radio station for a few months...” Roman’s voice seems softer now, nostalgic “...what can I say? It was love at first sight, and at first, it was amazing.” The man scratches the back of his head, and the tunnel bends again, he takes a deep breath in before he begins to speak again. “We went on a few dates and it was nice, he was so sweet, until…” he trails off, his gaze going though the darkness absently “...if he’d just told me he wanted to be in an open or poly relationship I wouldn’t have been upset, of course, I wouldn’t have been upset, I’m polyamorous myself as you’ve probably realized,” Logan nods, signifying he understands. “But instead he cheated on me.”

“I see,” Logan mutters “That does seem uncomfortable.”

Roman nods in response. “And now he won’t stop insulting me all the time, and I guess I’m sort of guilty of that too...” He gives a sheepish smile “...And maybe the insulting was in retaliation to me insulting him all the time and maybe I am being over-reactive but he hurt me and that’s more important to me than playing nicely for everyone else’s sake.”

“Good,” Logan says firmly, pausing as another ladder comes into view. They stand at the base of it before Logan looks over at Roman with a look on his face that the taller man can only describe as tender. “That’s the way it should be, forgive him at your own pace, if ever, but never for someone else.” Then his gaze goes upward to where the ladder leads, placing a hand and foot on the metal with a sigh “Well if we survive that is.”

Roman laughs in response, but the darkness hides the flustered nature of his expression as they both start their ascent.

They stand in what appears to be a living room. A single light hangs from the ceiling and the carpet is black, the walls are also carpet and black, absorbing light like a black hole. Logan hates it, who carpets a wall? Out of everything he’s seen in this town this may be the worst, simply a result of disgusting interior decorating but someone purposefully carpeted a wall!

Abysmal.

They begin to explore the house, finding a wall that has grass growing out of it, another with moss, and most of them carpeted in the same disgusting fashion. Logan swears he can feel the carpet against his feet despite wearing his shoes, and he has decided he does not enjoy this at all. The entire house seems to feel like that feeling you get when you trip and you have a split second where your heart jumps and your eyes widen as you fear hitting the ground...but on repeat.

They search the house until there is only one room left, the door is shut and there doesn’t appear to be any light coming from it but they know well enough that this doesn’t mean there isn’t light. The two men exchange a look, take a deep breath and push the door open to reveal…a room.

Quite what you’d expect to be on the other side of a door, to be honest, a room. Oh, but that isn’t the interesting part. No the interesting part and probably the part that should’ve been led with is Patton. He smiles and gives a small wave as he’s apparently not restrained in any way and is in general being very bad at being kidnapped. He’s simply sat there with a flask of tea as the three hooded figures stand around him.

“Hey, guys!” The baker says brightly “I got kidnapped again.”

“So we can see,” Logan chuckles, mostly out of disbelief and the rest out of ‘of course he’s okay.’ He is unsure why his heart unclenches at the sight of the bright and very pretty baker unharmed, but he does know that he’s happy to see him happy.

“They were telling me about their plans for world domination, so I asked them if they were hungry and needed a snickers bar...” Patton sips his tea as he stands up “...they seemed to relax after the chocolate, and now they’re mostly figuring out how to get back to their dimension.”

“How’s that going?” Roman enquires curiously, forever astounded by Patton’s ability to talk bad guys out of world domination with kindness and chocolate, this is not the first time this had happened; he’s fairly certain it will also not be the last. The baker shakes his head in response and points over his shoulder at the mysterious figures with his thumb.

“Awfully, otherwise they wouldn’t still be here, they’re also not really sure how they got here or where here is, I explained America but they asked which dimension and I replied with ‘I’m not sure,’ I figured Virgil might know but I really like the tea here.” The more Patton talks the more Logan’s heart seems to soften, the freckled cheeks and joyful smile making his heart thud in his chest at a pleasant rhythm. Also, the tea Patton is holding is very green, like moss green, and also lumpy.

“Well, let’s get you back to Virgil then,” Roman laughs shortly. “Is there a way out that isn’t through a sewer?”

“So, as it turns out the hooded figures are actually of another dimension,” Deceit purrs through the microphone, an hour later “...and if not for the bravery of the absolutely stunningly handsome Logan, and Roman, you know, the town’s exorcist, then perhaps sweet Patton would never have been returned to us...” there’s a beat “...and probably of his own free will for that matter.”

Halfway across town, Patton, Logan, Roman and Virgil sat listening to the radio as the café closed for the day. Roman snorts at Deceit’s commentary, a fond smile on his lips just for a moment before he remembers to wipe it off. “It’ll never settle with me that he can just see things,” Patton sighs as the voice continues to talk through the speaker.

“So he can see everything that is happening?” Logan asks tentatively, the way someone asks a question that they really don’t want the truthful answer too.

“He can see everything that has happened, that will happen and is happening,” Virgil sits down next to Logan and sips on his coffee as he speaks. “It was a gift of sorts, from birth, he was a wishing child,”

“A what?” The scientist looks dumbfounded and most people who aren’t from Hell, or Ireland, would be. After all fairy godmothers are a thing of stories in most places in the world.

“A wishing child...” the demon continues “...when two people cannot conceive a child here they ask or…pray for one, they leave an offering in the woods about seven miles south of here, and if their wish is granted they’re given a child.” Logan looks ready to tear his hair out at the absurdity of that, but patiently, he listens. “But often wishing children come out…wrong, cursed or gifted in some way, like Remy, he turns into a cat, imagine being his mother she must’ve had a field day when her baby turned into a kitten,”

“That is deeply disturbing, also do you not have surrogacy here?” The stranger to these stories asks in disbelief because honestly some of the problems these people make for themselves would be so easy to fix.

“It’s illegal, mostly because the police think wishing children are funnier to have around.” Jesus Christ. “Anyway, that’s what Deceit is, snakeskin and the ability to see all of time at once, it must be so busy inside his head.”

“Also he has six arms,” Roman adds “but they only come out when needed.” By the wicked grin on his face, Logan reminds himself to never ask what he means by that.

“I wonder why he was keeping tabs on you in the first place,” Patton interjects. He is, of course, referring to the fact that Deceit had reported the story the moment they were all safely back inside the café, and Virgil and Roman had returned the cloaked figures to their own dimension.

“He probably just wanted an inside scoop,” Roman shrugs.

Deceit, on the other side of the town in his radio station, watching the conversation through clouded eyes, feels his heart twinge a little. No, he thinks to himself, I just wanted to know you were all okay.

#ts sides #ts sides fic

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