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#the federation files au

thefederationfiles · 7 months

Text

Uh? Hello?

/click/

Cellbit

Uh, hello? I’m not really sure how to start this... suppose I should introduce myself first, I am Cellbit, the new head archivist of the Federation Census Bureau. Still not entirely sure how I landed this position, but I’m not going to refuse it, a promotions a promotion in my eyes.

I was allowed to pick some assistants to help me out, they didn’t really give me a limit on how many I could pick (that they told me about) but I’ve decide to pick three, from various departments within the federation itself. Roier, from exploration, Fit from the clean-up crew and, Etoiles from security, all pretty chill guys, though sometimes ONE of them can get on my nerves…

But I digress.

My predecessor, Bagi, was a very organised woman, and everything, though weirdly done, is actually rather ordered when you think about it for more than five seconds. However, I personally enjoy audio recordings, if find them easier to listen back to if research is needed. For some strange reason however my usual recording equipment wont work, so here we are! With an old tape recorder I found in the desk here.

Anyways, suppose I should start the recording of the actual statement…

On then!

Statement of Phil… no last name given, regarding how he met his wife. Original statement given 23rd of February, 1934. Audio recording by Cellbit, Head archivist of the Federation, Census Bureau, recorded 27th of October 2023, recording begins.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, why the fuck is HE of ALL people giving a statement, well, consider it a gift! Don’t get so annoyed mate, I only want to repair the relations between us, trust me, just let me tell you my story! It’s a good one.

I first met her when I had supposedly died, I know, very typical of her, but I was just another guy back then! Well, like any self-respecting gentleman, I introduced myself. To say she was confused was an understatement, turns out you’re not meant to be able to speak after death, you’re not even meant to be able to move! Personally, I like to say it was love at first sight, she says, she despised me at first sight. To be fair to her, I was a man who couldn’t die, and her a woman who fed on the dying wishes of men, but plenty of couples have WAY bigger fights when they first meet!

Well, she let me go, I mean she couldn’t really take me, I wasn’t dead. For some reason though, we kept on bumping into each other, always when we were working as well so we could never have a proper conversation. Annoying right? She had to properly prepare the person for consumption, and I always had to get rid of the body! Really hard to flirt when you’re picking up organs that have been thrown against the walls (very messy as well, had to burn that shirt, I liked that shirt…).

To be honest, I always knew that I wasn’t normal, I mean there’s plenty of circumstances I’ve been in where I should’ve died, plenty! I just thought I was a lucky guy, but well, when one survives a hanging, people start to question a bit too much, and well, to put it simply I had to go into hiding! It was rather lonely; I mean don’t get me! It was nice, I made friends with the local crows, they turned into my first murder actually!

Anyways, it was about 25 years or so into this when she visited me, turns out she’d been getting pretty lonely herself! And, well, apparently the other immortal people she knows kept on trying to either fight her or get her to join their own groups, which, just rude! That is not how you get a lady’s attention! So she came to visit since were both so connected with death!

Well, she kept on visiting and eventually I realised everyone who wanted me dead would’ve been dead, so I came out of hiding! That was about 45 years ago, we got married a couple years after and well, you guys know the rest! We started our own group, made a pact with one of the hunts avatars, gotten pretty powerful!

Also I’ve learnt about all the guys and all that, kinda hard not too when you have my job!

Come on now, that’s what you wanted right? A story? A peace offering? Well there you have it! Enjoy, I have a meeting to get too.

/click/

Well. That was certainly something, I found that statement in the drawers of this desk when I was looking for stationery and thought it a good place to start.

I guess you could say I’m in shock? I mean it really just reassured what I’d already known, I knew stuff existed, I kinda needed too…

Either way, kinda hard to get information on a statement that’s nearly 100 years old, Fit was able to get some information on some serial killings from the 1800’s that he reckons might be related, but I say it’s a bit of a stretch.

/sigh/

Well, better than nothing for the first one! I swear I also heard him talking about an old war buddy…

/click/

#qsmp #au #the federation files au #the magnus archives #tma #tma au #cellbit #fanfic #fanfiction #roier #fitmc #philza #ffau #long post

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sunboki · 7 months

Text

KOREA'S MOST WANTED (DEAD OR ALIVE) : SUNBOKI

🎥 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader ( with hints of other attraction ((mainly 3racha cause im a whore)) no poly )

TROPE. non-idol au, criminal! au, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut

WORD COUNT. 6.8k & 33 minute read

WARNINGS. smut, blood, guns/weapons, shoot-out, murder, mentions of drugs and poison, descriptive violence, suggestiveness, manipulation, death(not major characters), cursing

PLAYLIST

AUG'S NOTES. a weird spin to a not-quite mafia au but i love the lore.. enjoy. if you decide to read, feedback is always appreciated!!

SYNOPSIS. Eight notoriously wanted criminals work solo. They always have. Except when their dark work and concealed identities are put at risk, they find themselves with no other choice but to work together—and what better place to do so than the back fields of a house in the middle of nowhere? The location was ideal, until you open the doors of your grandparents barn and accidentally meet Korea’s most wanted.

or alternatively

In which stumbling in the wrong place at the wrong time leaves you face to face with some of the most-wanted criminals in all of South Korea.

CRIMINAL #0001 — BAHNG, CHRISTOPHER.

CRIMINAL RECORD

Christopher has been convicted of illegal weapon trafficking on eighteen counts of federal offenses. He is notoriously dangerous. Please proceed with caution.

⭑ REWARD

⎯ CRIMINAL FILES (additional cases)

The only thing illuminating your walk to the barn is your phone light and the hardly helpful moon peeking between heavy clouds.

You’ve done this a billion times, but tonight there’s just something ..unsettling. You can’t put your finger on it.

Shaking the thought from mind, you fiddle with the small lock hitched onto wide, dark red barn doors, untangling rusted chains like routine. That is, until you hear a sound. An unusual sound, an unnerving sound.

By that time you’d already pushed open the doors, and the weight of what sat in front of you—the weight of what was responsible for the sound—made you feel faint.

“Who.. Who are you people?”

Every October you visit your grandparents (or whenever your schedule isn’t jam-packed, but most often in October) when the leaves are deep orange and red, dappling gravel driveways and leaving the once abundant trees bare of their spring greenery.

The weather, though overcast in the autumn season, never stays gray for too long if you wake up early enough. Your grandpa taught you that, how to witness the early morning view before being covered by clouds.

On this occasion, however, you certainly didn’t plan on waking up early, especially not while rooming in your comfortable old bedroom.

Your grandparents house, despite being in the middle of nowhere, was so homey, so familiar. You’d be sure to soak up as much of this easiness as you could before returning back to life, savor the moments the best you could.

“Have you heard?” Your grandmother utters, fingers expertly dicing fruits, gaze glued to the TV.

“Grandma, I just got here, so no I haven’t heard anything,” You laugh, dragging your luggage through the hallway while the drone of the latest news feature serves as background noise. Probably another celebrity split-up, you assume.

Surely, considering the stubborn woman’s frantic waving once you come back into the living room, beckoning you to watch with her.

“Look! They’re wrecking havoc everywhere recently. Folks are calling them ‘Korea’s most wanted.’” Shaking her head repeatedly, she points at the screen displaying a churned building left to nothing but ash.

You hum absentmindedly, listening to the reporter talk.

“Using the title the media has given, this building, once a printing firm, has been dissolved into ashes overnight. The attack is said to have been the doing of ‘The Arsonist’, a member of one of the most wanted people on the radar…”

“If you run into one of them,” Having completely forgotten about the other presence in the room, you flinch. “Call your Grandma, I’ll swat ‘em over the head with my shovel.”

Gesturing with an imaginary shovel in hand, you can’t help but laugh at her silliness, quickly shaking the lingering thought away.

Korea’s most wanted here? Here’s probably the last place they’d show up, too busy massacring the big cities to care about this old house.

Resorting to scurrying onto a kitchen stool, you fill in the nosy old lady on what life has been like, how work has been treating you, and all the other nosy questions your grandmother thinks up slicing apples.

By the time you look out the window, the sky is almost fully dark, until a sudden flash of headlights tells the household grandpa’s back from work, hopping from his rickety blue pickup truck to greet you.

There’s a smile gracing his wrinkled features, regarding you like you were still eight years old. He’s a man of few words, but when he speaks, everyone listens. Similarly, when he tells you he loves you—something he barely does—the moment, whatever it may be, is special.

Settling in for the night, you help wash dishes and insist the stoic woman takes a seat before she breaks her back leaning over the sink, which she rolls her eyes and ignores no less.

Not like you expected anything else, she’d wash these dishes till the end of time knowing her.

“Y/n, dear, would you mind making sure the barn lamp is shut off? I’m worried it’ll catch fire if I forget.”

Speaking of the end of time, you hadn’t stepped foot in the barn in what felt to be decades, too occupied with the house and town to remember that ramshackle building outside.

Of course you said yes, deciding this was a prime opportunity to not forget in the process of slipping on a sweater to help battle the cold, approaching the barely visible building.

You think you hear someone talking but choose to ignore it, pretending it was the wind or something along those lines. It’s autumn and you’re plenty far away from suburban areas, so most likely an animal lie responsible.

That was, until you pry open the barn doors.

Immediately, a stranger with cat-like features has a serrated dagger held to your throat.

Closing your eyes instinctively, you wait to feel the cold metal breaking skin, hesitantly cracking open an eye to meet the attacker’s chilling stare boring into the side of your face.

He takes a few seconds to exchanges glances with another in the dimly lit space then back to your stock-still frame. Briefly, you feel your phone get pulled from your pocket but don’t budge, worried one wrong movement would automatically have the cold metal slitting your throat.

“Walk. Make the slightest move and nobody finds your body, understood?”

Shakily, you nod, feebly inching forward before getting shoved onto the container your grandpa kept extra tools in, splinters piercing the back of your thighs.

Wonderingly, your eyes flicker to each stranger surrounding you. Counting eight in total, some taller, some shorter, you gulp, outnumbered by a large margin you’re sure would be nearly impossible trying to escape from.

Without exchanging a word, one of the shorter, more muscular men steps forward, seeming to inspect you. His rough grip finds your chin, jerking your head from side to side then up to meet his honeyed brown eyes. They’re surprisingly kind compared to his demeanor.

“She’s pretty. Might earn us a good penny if you want, Bahng. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?” Cocking his brows, you swiftly rip your head out of his hand, wrinkling your nose with disgust.

A frothing dread fills your gut, and you think for a moment letting that man with the dagger kill you off would’ve been a better doom.

“Hands off, Bin. If we wanted to get a price we need her to be in good condition.” A voice from behind this so-called “Bin” responds, and you feel the overwhelming urge to hurl.

They’re talking about selling you, like you’re not even human. A pretty porcelain object available at their disposal.

Good condition? You feel sick. You can’t see the man who replied, but you doubt it’d make your gut feel any more uncomfortable.

“Aw c’mon guys,” Another voice you finally spot to your right interjects, sporting chubbier cheeks and appearing quite out of place in this group. “You’re scaring her, go easy.”

Bin scoffs. “Should she be comfortable? We’re gonna kill her anyway, Jisung. Right, Bahng?”

God. Who is this Bahng guy that’s apparently in charge and why does “Bin” want you dead so badly? Didn’t he just call you pretty, or were you blacking out?

“..Right, Bahng?”

Bin falters, backing up as the face belonging to “Bahng” ushers him to the side.

Bahng, at least in the scarce lighting, is scarily handsome. Dyed hair nearly an auburn shade, a strong jaw, and calculating, dusky brown eyes that appear equally as kind as Bin’s.

You’ve learned to not trust the deceit.

Suddenly, a thought strikes.

Any minute now your grandparents will realize how long you’ve been gone and start to worry.

Your heart drops.

No. Don’t come here, stay in the house. No no no no.

Automatically, words stumble out of your mouth.

“Please- kill me, sell me, I don’t care. My grandparents- they’re gonna come here, I can’t have them here. If they find me here I... Please.” Chest rising and falling unevenly, you continuously glance at the door.

Waiting, waiting.

“Please spare them. I don’t want them to get hurt.”

He doesn’t blink, doesn’t make any expression apparent on that handsome face of his. Observing.

You’re a spectacle, an interesting one at that.

“And if I spare you, what do I get in return, hm?”

You’re caught off guard.

In return? What does he mean in return?

Think. Think. What the hell could someone like him want? He has enough money, you’re sure.

Fine. Make it broad.

“Anything. Anything, I promise.” Pleading, you anxiously shuffling atop the box, swearing to have heard the sound of moving outside. Somewhere behind the two of you someone chokes a laugh. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Poking his tongue into his cheek thoughtfully, he eventually signals to the others before you’re being escorted through the back door by a not-so gentle Bin and a very much apologetic Jisung, sparing a glance back to the home you’d only seen for one day.

And if what Bin said about killing you was true, you wonder if you’ll ever see it again.

.. .

Ducking into one of the two cars parked directly behind the barn, you’re assigned the passenger seat, accompanied by Bahng who’s driving, Jisung, and a long-haired boy sitting beside him in the backseat.

They’re all strikingly beautiful opposed to the blood you’re sure has stained their hands, especially the one next to Jisung with features resembling that of a prince. Everything about him seems too elegant to do any harm. You know that’s a lie.

Mapping out your surroundings, you shuffle in the leather seat, waiting until all three men get situated to slam the door ajar and run. Second instinct, no thoughts, just survival.

You run, run and run as fast as you can while the thump of shoes echo behind you. Far away, you have to get away. Get away get away get aw— a force slams into you from behind and you go toppling down.

Gasping as the air mercilessly ripped from your lungs returns, your vision adjusts, squirming thanks to the identity keeping you still. Bahng has you trapped below him, breath labored, effortlessly intimidating.

“Let— go of me!” You yell, voice betraying the utter desperation overtaking every fiber of your being.

He holds you down, meeting your eyes without fail as you struggle and shout. Shouting and screaming so loud into the darkness in fact, that the man finally covers your mouth with a hand as you tremble, watery gaze fixated on his. Burning, venomous hatred.

“I’m afraid that isn’t an option, sweetness. So you either walk back to the car or I go through things the hard way. What will it be?”

He thumbs the sweaty strands of hair stuck to your forehead, hand finally pulling off your mouth.

Hypocrite.

“Fuck you.” You spit, and the man’s brows lift, lips pulled into an amused smile as he wipes his cheek.

“Hard way it is.”

Instantaneously, you’re hauled over his shoulder, not straining a bit despite the incessant kicking and pounding of your fists against his shoulder.

And just to prove how much he wholeheartedly deserved that fuck you, he made sure to lock the vehicle twice right in front of your face, receiving an equally as distasteful glare through the windshield in return.

The car ride was quiet, only interrupted by him asking if the air was too cold which you responded to with the middle finger. Jisung giggled.

Wee hours of morning peer through thick clouds, the road briefly illuminated by your headlights, corn stalks for miles lining either side. A barely palpable trace of life noticeable in a church’s steeple in the distance—once stark white, now stained and evidently aged.

Looking in the mirror, you locate the other vehicle tailing, assumed to be carrying the additional boys. Considering where your lone source of communication may be hidden (a.k.a your phone), you strain trying to spot it in your peripheral.

No use. Just you and this shit-hole of a situation.

Either way, what would you even say? “Please help me I’ve been kidnapped by eight of Korea’s most wanted criminals”? Yeah, they’ll definitely believe that.

There’s a hum from the prince-like man.

“This is the perfect place for a murder,” He speaks so nonchalantly, as if he referred to the weather and not killing someone.

Chills spread along your arms.

Jisung chuckles. “You’re right, no traces at all. Either way, even if someone did find them they’d likely already be rotten.”

You’re nauseous.

“Say, do you know how long it takes for a body to rot out here?” He asks, and your dizziness keeps you from realizing he’s referring to you, stomach threatening to spill all of its contents any second now.

And they expect you to know that?

Your silence leads to Jisung earning a smack from his backseat companion, scolding him hushedly.

Bahng stays quiet, one hand holding the wheel and the other splayed on the center console. Occasionally though you’ll see his eyes flit elsewhere, or maybe it’s your imagination.

Car eventually falling mute with a few passengers sleeping, you get close to doing the same before the harsh jerk of the car stirs everyone wide awake, clutching onto their seats.

You’d swerved into a small expanse of corn, wheels crushing the crops beneath them. Instantly the three reach under their seats, instinctively grabbing out pistols and pushing open the doors slowly, bodies crouched low.

Preparing to hide to the best of your ability, a hand on your arm keeps your movement at bay, discovered to belong to Bahng.

“Just keep in mind what Jisung said, by the time anyone finds you you’ll be rotted, pretty thing.” He sends you a sickeningly sweet smile, cocking the hammer of his gun and disappearing out the door where you hear someone shout: “I fucking knew we were being followed!” Prior to the loud ricochet of bullets being fired.

You duck down in the passenger seat, attempting to be as small and forgettable as possible out of sight. That is until a gunshot strikes the side of the car, narrowly bypassing where you’re curled up on the floorboard.

An involuntary scream escapes you, and your palm clamps over your mouth, shuddering and shaking like a leaf.

It’s a natural reaction, shrinking away, too horrified to act. So when your door is violently swung open, you prepare for the worst before recognizing Bin’s face, who legitimately rips you from the seat and drags you away.

Stopping beside a minimal clearing, you observe he isn’t carrying a weapon of any kind, a factor that makes your hopes slightly plummet. Granted, it’s not that you don’t think he’d be capable of defending himself (and you), but his fists against a gun didn’t sound too promising.

Swiftly instructed to not move, he races off, effectively tackling a man to the ground and leaving a pool of blood seeping where he lay.

Except, Bin abruptly evades your vision, leaving you to notice the prince-like boy in his stead, waving his arms and yelling something you strain to recognize.

“Behind you!” He had been shouting.

Your soul fills with dread.

In an instant you brace for impact, ears picking up the whirring of an object against the wind before the crack of a bat makes contact with your attackers head. The man goes down like a sack of bricks.

Bin, holding a nail embedded baseball bat propped on his shoulder, appeared just on time.

He had a streak of blood smeared across his cheek which you guessed belonged to someone else, and his knuckles lay bruised and torn despite the massive shit-eating grin slapped on his face.

“You alright, sweetheart?” He asks, voice hoarse and rough despite never looking more alive. It’s terrifying.

Shaken, you give yourself a once over, hurriedly shaking your head. He barks a laugh.

Gunshots eventually dying off, the nine of you regroup, some suffering minor injuries and others standing untouched.

Among them, the dagger-wielding criminal is one of the untouched. You’re not surprised.

Jisung is cussing wildly, leg ripped up pretty bad while leant against said dagger-wielding criminal, sending his counterpart a sour glare.

“Those motherfuckin’ assholes need ‘ta learn some fuckin’ manners..” Jisung spews curses, lips pulled up in a sneer as the others help him into the bullet-embedded car.

Reversing out of the densely packed foliage, no one dares say a word the entire rest of the drive, preoccupied with going back to their interrupted sleep or blankly gazing into the night.

The destination, appearing to be a company building by its exterior (and the lack of daylight), easily averages the size of an extreme warehouse. You curve into an enormous parking garage, every other space occupied by some multimillion dollar sports car.

Upon walking inside though, you’re left in the main entrance with Jisung while the remainder slip into a separate room.

His leg is bandaged thanks to “Jeongin”, whom, after briefly seeing them in brighter lighting, you guess is the youngest-looking one. Light hair and a smile you’re certain breaks all law-breaking guidelines.

Arrangement of chairs mimicking that of a doctor’s office, you guess the decorum is used to disguise what actually goes on here.

Clearing your throat, you debate on speaking about the question burning a hole through your skull.

“Why do you want me to live?”

Managing to haul himself backwards on a chair, Jisung shrugs.

“Why not? It’d be fun having someone other than those boneheads around.”

Typical Jisung reaction, you assume. This is the same dude bringing up murder like it’s a daily occurrence after all.

“Plus, we’re normally workin’ solo. Some circumstances forced us to work together.” He absentmindedly waved, and you bite the urge to ask about these so-called “circumstances”.

With Jisung, you can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or serious. You have a feeling asking him about it though would only lead to a response along the lines of: “Hey, it adds to the fun, right?” as if murder was a leisurely hobby.

You can’t help but feel baffled with how casually he talks about the additional men. Friends, as if they’re friends. Not like they would be, Jisung said it himself, “circumstances” pulled them together.

However, the danger they’d pose working as a team would be unreal. You didn’t even want to consider the possibility.

Goosebumps crawl upon your forearms.

"Y’know, I used to protect people like you." Han Jisung, whom you now recognized as The Arsonist, tilted his head to the side when he said that.

Strikingly beautiful, just like the others. Soft, round cheeks. Dark, soulful eyes and pursed, puffy lips.

You recall your grandmother telling you some of the prettiest flowers carry the most poison. Now it makes sense.

Blinking, you choose your words rather carefully.

This man, the one who upon first glance looks like he couldn’t harm a fly, burned down a printing firm yesterday. The same man alongside seven other notorious criminals discussing your fate.

Korea’s most wanted.

“Why’d you stop? Protecting people, I mean.” Coming out mumbled, you watch him click his tongue and change posture, not phased whatsoever.

It was a genuine question, considering whatever job he had before —if it came down to protecting— seemed to be something linked to the law. Unusual, for a criminal or his level.

“I got bored,” He yawned, lower lip jutting out.

Talk about a juxtaposition to his psychotic tendencies.

Bored. Han Jisung, The Arsonist, got bored of being a good guy.

It gave you a whole new perspective to insane.

“..You ask a bunch of questions, huh. I guess that makes sense since you might die- no! Not die- well, I’m not sure but- you’ll be fine!”

Wow Jisung. You seriously suck at convincing.

Oh how you wish your grandma would appear with her shovel right about now. Scratch that, you wish she would’ve swatted them over the head much earlier than now.

“Alright, but where will we keep her while Bahng decides on the cover up?” The seven go quiet, and if it wasn’t for the whirring of a fan overhead you would’ve guessed they were telepathically communicating, few sparing hasty glances at each other, waiting for someone to speak up.

Changbin was the one who asked, but he didn’t continue, nor even meet Bahng’s eyes despite his normal, boisterous behavior.

If there was one person they all had a running respect (and fear) of, it would be Bahng. He’d brought up the idea of working together, and he’d be the one leading in result.

Freckle Boy (the name The Hitman had came up with before learning Felix’s’ name) opens his mouth.

“I can—“

“She’ll stay with me.” Bahng interjects, and no one lifts a finger.

Changbin sees the blond’s pinched expression through his peripheral.

“But I have an extra—“

“You heard me, Felix. She stays with me,” He sternly repeats, and the younger deflates, mumbling something to himself after Hyunjin sends him a reassuring nod.

The atmosphere eased up slightly opposed to how suffocating it had been earlier, enough to where the men occupying their individual chairs took deep breaths of air they hadn’t know they’d been holding.

The door opens and they disperse in different directions while Bahng lags behind, speaking to Jeongin about something hushed.

You, on the other hand, are greeted with a rather sympathetic smile from the blond, telling you whatever they talked about wasn’t good.

From your right, Bin clears his throat, effectively giving you an unprecedented heart-attack.

“For the record, we weren’t planning to sell you.”

A grin grows on your face, taking this sweeter opportunity to pick some fun. You’re stuck here anyway, right?

“We weren’t? I think you were.”

He huffs, crossing muscular arms over his chest stubbornly. Behind him, a neighboring coffee-haired man snickers, earning Bin’s slap on the shoulder and a quiet “Yah.. Seungmin..” That completely sabotage any chance of taking him seriously.

“..I wasn’t.”

Mhm, definitely. Like the tips of his ears weren’t blood red.

The whiplash you’re getting from being treated you like a rag doll earlier becomes quite ironic.

Wasting time incessantly teasing the man, it’s not until he’s lead off by Bahng that you quiet down, awkwardly shifting your weight to either heel.

“..So?” You interrupt the silence, only given a jerk of Bahng’s head as a signal to follow. Talk about vague.

Overflowing with endless questions, he finally stops and turns to you, brows furrowed.

Attractive. My god he’s attractive.

“Would you just tell me where we’re-“You’re staying in my room for the time being.”

To say you felt shocked barely brushed the surface of your internal wasp nest, endlessly buzzing and swarming. His room? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“I mean,” He notes, looking amused now. “Unless you plan on staying in the other rooms with cameras and giving security a show then—“

“Fine.”

Sending you a smug grin, it’s hard not feeling bewildered as he rounds a corner, revealing one, the fact that he has literal guards standing on either side of the double doors, and two, that his “room” is the short story of a penthouse.

Wow.

.. .

Turning off the ignition, Changbin stuffs the keys in his pocket upon slipping inside, scrunching his nose at the sight before him.

“Fuck dude, you’re a tank.” The man groans, eyeing Chris who’s currently doing handstand push-ups on wooden parallettes.

When Chris is nowhere to be found, he’s here, hidden away in this partially abandoned gymnastics studio on the outskirts of Incheon. Small, though with all materials intact.

Occasionally teenagers would come roaming around, having heard of hauntings and gruesome murders they want to stick their noses in. It’s plausible, sure, the murder part at least.

Changbin didn’t believe in hauntings, because no horrific spirit ever dared deter him from enjoying his job, over and over. He didn’t have remorse, he didn’t feel.

Life was easier that way, without emotion driving your decisions.

In fact, he can’t recall the last time being a hitman scared him. Call it crazy, but if you think about it in terms of “eliminating those that shouldn’t be there”, he’s doing the world a favor.

He wouldn’t tell Bahng that for many reasons.

“And your mouth is still as bad as usual.” The older says through gritted teeth, slowly lowering his legs, coated in a sheen of sweat that greasily muss strands of hair.

He barks a laugh. “‘Can’t fix it.”

“That’s for sure,” Chris responds, grabbing the towel The Hitman held out with a thankful pat on the back.

Arranging the equipment back into its designated places, Changbin leans against the doorframe, brows lifted curiously.

“She’s sleeping, if you’re wondering.”

Telepathically, the man answers his unspoken question, referring to you who he imagines is prettily slumped in Chris’ bed.

Prettily. Did he say prettily?

Forget it.

Unknown to both your name and whereabouts, you begrudgingly pull the comforter closer over your head, successfully blocking the sunlight for a few more minutes of sleep. Your entire body is sore, and a numbing buzz has settled in your head, drowning out any cognitive ability to think.

Well, the extra time is amazing until your bladder decides to sabotage you.

Blindly blundering off the mattress, you idly navigate around, blinking a foggy haze from your vision.

Step, step, and then thump! You slam right into something—someone.

Finally granted a clear view, you swear your brain short-circuited.

It’s Bahng, staring down at you with a towel wrapped around his neck while water droplets cling to his skin—to his chest—that you notice is quite bare at the moment.

“Christ— Jesus—“ Slapping a hand over your eyes, you take multiple strides backwards, feet stumbling prior to hands grasping your wrists.

Easing you up right, he kindly leads your sleep-consumed form into the bathroom, big hands momentarily maneuvering your hips to the side on his way out.

Effectively stalling his movements, you silently drag him back closer to you, thumbs reaching up to smoothing his deep eye-bags.

He freezes, words he planned to say cut off.

His eyelids flutter shut in contentment, and in those tender seconds, you stand there, palms delicately cupping his cheeks, relaxing the hard lines of his face whilst steam gives the mirror a bleary cast.

Any other situation and you would’ve admitted yourself into a psych ward, but the alarm clock on his nightstand reading 7:18AM told you whatever you did next was all a lucid dream.

“You don’t sleep much.. do you?” Softly mumbling, he hums against your touch, own hand holding yours against his face.

Bahng cracks a barely there smile.

“Hard sleeping when the world’s after you,” He comments, remark laced with humorless hilarity. You can’t say you disagree.

Although, most good things—all good things—end far too quickly. Because when Changbin bursts through the door, voice choked in his throat, you hesitate your movements.

“.. Just uh, wanted to say the car’s waiting- I mean, the car’s ready for you. Yeah. Bye.” Awkwardly shuffling, he made a direct beeline for the door.

Never in your life did you expect a Hitman to be so awkward. And not just a Hitman, thee Hitman, Bin. Who, although you’d never say it to his face, definitely stuttered.

Unfortunately forced to separate, you’re handed one of his jackets once you managed to convince Bahng to let you come along.

Taking the elevator to the parking garage, an assistant who (you assume) routinely fetches the keys to an otherworldly expensive Lamborghini bows low, greeting either of you with a mandatory please-don’t-hurt-me smile.

You don’t ask where you’re headed, knowing the answer would only lead to more questions instead.

Bahng’s like that, you’ve discovered. Unpredictable to everyone but himself. Private.

Alternatively, compared to what you had imagined (something like a shed or a slaughter-house), he pulled into the gravel driveway of an old home, wooden docks on the roof sticking in strange directions, evidently battered from years of storm turmoil.

Sporting a confused expression yourself, he steps from the scissor doors, ushering you to follow suit.

A bit out of place, you decided. It’s not every day you witness a Lamborghini parked in front of a house like this.

“We’re visiting my grandmother, I visit every week.” He announces, and you could’ve seriously bet money on how uncharacteristic that move was.

This man, the man who ran disappeared at ungodly hours of night with unknown intentions, the man who killed with no remorse, was visiting his grandmother.

First Bin and now Bahng. What a wild card.

Living up to the title, Bahng couldn’t have been more opposing to his usual demeanor, shrugging off his coat and shoes at the doorway and fixing Barley tea for the short woman residing in her rocking chair.

Struggling to unzip his jacket that’s massive size engulfs your frame, you curiously explore, noting the sheer normality.

No weapons, no apparent knowledge of Bahng’s illegal activity patterning the household.

In this house, it’s just a grandmother and her grandson. Not Bahng, but Chris.

The name sounds strange on your tongue.

She wholeheartedly welcomed you in, scolding him for his prominent scars and holding hands that had unforgivable violence wedged between fingernails.

Somehow, watching him felt like betrayal. And although you doubt his grandmother would love him any less despite the gruesome reality, to know so much occurred behind the scenes made things, well, uncomfortable.

You be sure to introduce yourself, spending a good hour and a half entertaining the wrinkled woman before bidding your farewells and returning to familiar stifling tension on the drive home.

Your piling conscious suggests you say something, but you second guess yourself, ultimately garnering the courage after many failed attempts of making small talk once you both returned back to his room.

He’s wearing glasses now, and you swear you’ve never seen someone so unbearably beautiful in your life. Hell, him merely breathing has any comprehensible phrase disappearing instantaneously.

“Have you told anyone about what you do?” You start, causing him to lean over from his place on the side of the mattress, fiddling with something on the nightstand.

You crane to hear his response.

“Sometimes it’s best to lie to keep both parties happy.”

…That’s a no.

“Then, Chris, would you rather be happy living a lie or sad knowing someone’s honest truth?”

Chris.

Though his real name, the words still sound foreign, especially aloud.

He seems to have felt the same, head snapping your direction.

Grinning.

“And what do you know about lying, sweetness?”

“It’s not what I know, it’s what you want to know.” You scoot closer to him, mimicking his cocky smile. “Here’s an example, would you be happy not knowing I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time, or sad hearing that I didn’t plan to tell you?”

A low chuckle.

“Did you learn the manipulation part from Minho?”

“Is it working?”

Eyes flickering back and forth from his lips to his eyes, you find yourself lingering centimeters apart, both intoxicated on each bated breath.

“A little bit,” He whispers, unwavering stare flickering to your parted lips before he pulls the glasses off his face and tilts his head to capture your lips.

You hastily climb onto the bed, fingers tangled in his tousled curls that peer from straight hair.

New, but not. As if you’ve kissed him all your life.

Working down your neck, his warm grip eases your legs apart, transitioning from kneading the flesh of your inner thighs to your ass.

“Oh— fuck.” You sigh out, delicious pressure applied right where you needed him most, stirring a deep wave of pleasure radiating throughout your entire body.

The Gunsman has you wrapped around his finger. A man whose power owns guards that stand in front of his seemingly normal door, a man whose power leaves you helplessly entangled in his every move, neck accessorized in his love bites.

Its wrong. Everything is hopelessly wrong.

You can’t get enough.

.. .

Index dragging across the fabric of sheets, your attention bursts alive, body jarring in a hold, someone else’s hold.

Bahng’s hold.

His head is tucked into your neck, arms hugging your bare back against his equally bare body. Bahng feels like comfort, home.

You never thought you’d be referring to a criminal when you said that.

Adjusting, you manage to roll over, admiring his ever kissable lips puckered in a pout, bed-hair forming strange shapes in the side of his pillow before mesmerizing brown eyes begin fluttering open.

Quickly rolling back around, you attempt at pretending to be asleep to no avail, because Bahng buries his face closer to the nape of your neck, sighing a lengthy groan.

Hands exploring you absentmindedly, he ensures to squeeze your chest at least once, otherwise keeping a tender touch settled on your tummy.

“G’morning…” He grumbles hoarsely, barely awake prior to his phone buzzing on the nightstand and his hushed “fuck” earning a giggle from you.

Caller ID: Hwang Hyunjin, the screen reads.

Without even a proper warning, he’s simultaneously thrown into a shark tank the moment the call’s accepted.

So long for the morning afterglow.

“It’s ready,” The Physic utters, and the soft fizzing of chemicals in the background do nothing to cease his foaming pit of guilt.

Grateful you couldn’t see the tight-lipped expression he burns the wall with, he grimaces, sparing you a longing glance.

So peaceful, so beautiful.

This world truly is cruel.

Rising to his feet, he throws on a white button-up, adorned by one of the many black trench coats lining his closet. Discreet, convenient.

Reminding you to stay in bed till he gets back, he finds his footsteps faltering on the way down to the lab.

Bahng, Christopher Bahng, The Gunsman, is nervous.

You’ve really done something to him.

Although, before he can make a move Felix pries the door ajar, and from how he furiously chews his bottom lip immediately answers Chris’ question.

The final part of their cover-up? Getting you back.

Because everyone, including himself, knew he’d fall in love. And he couldn’t. He couldn’t, wouldn’t dare put you through that.

Wafting fumes invade his nostrils entering (essentially) Hyunjin’s lair, multiple cloths layered in a clear box.

“Chloroform, I messed with it a bit. It’s not concentrated enough to be lethal. It’ll just put her out for a little bit.” He pats the top of the box, tugging medical gloves off ringed fingers.

From across the room, Chris can feel eyes on him.

“And how do you know if it won’t kill her?” The person asks, Changbin asks, critiquing gaze fixated on Chris despite regarding Hyunjin.

“Because I tested it? Since when did you care?” Moodily, The Physic cross his arms.

“Since now.”

“Why? Weren’t you the one who wanted to sell her?”

Chris can smell the uprising tension from a mile away.

“Because I’m allowed to care about someone! Am I not, your fucking highness?” Changbin shouts, but hidden by Hyunjin’s irked facade, Chris notices the slight tug of his lips, the peeking amusement.

Turns out Chris wasn’t the only one falling.

What a twist of events.

Interrupting their face-off, he hoists the moderately heavy box up, curtly nodding to Hyunjin.

Maneuvering around the warehouse back toward your room, he fastens a mask onto his face, spreading a few separate cloths into a smaller container.

Felix and Hyunjin’s doing, Chloroform cloths.

There were a few recommendations. Minho suggested knocking you out and going about, Seungmin with the grand idea of blackmailing you into leaving, and Jisung who wanted to keep you here.

Chloroform it was.

Returning to his bedroom, he finds himself understanding Changbin’s anger the longer he watches you, drifted back asleep, angel-like.

Fuck.

This hurts.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he delicately caresses the skin of your cheek, squinting to marvel, to study. The way your eyebrows furrow, exhaling a big breath. Infatuating.

“Can I take you to my favorite place?” He inquires, and you dazedly roll around, small frown gracing oh so tempting lips, swollen from the night before.

“Your favorite place..?”

Even your voice is infatuating. Dreamy.

Chris hums his reply.

Lifting yourself up, you agree, letting him take care of you, brush your teeth for you, undress you. Things oddly mundane for a person like him to want to do, but oddly sweet all the same.

Not sexual, but intimate. Dearly, dearly intimate.

The drive winds along backroads, slowing to take a right down a barren, rocky road situated between countless trees. In the distance you make out the faint glow of light, a clearing.

Upon breaching the forest, your expectations are instantly blown away.

Sundown, evidence of how long you’d slept (and how long Chris had kept you up), gloriously paints the sky dazzling hues.

No picture could encompass this view.

Putting the car into park, you perch on the hood, legs aimlessly swinging, breeze idly passing by.

Admire.

“I asked Jisung, but now I wanna hear it from you.”

He stays quiet.

“Why did you want me to live?” You mischievously pique, fingers drumming.

Bahng approaches nearer, turning to stand between your legs where you sit.

“I like you,” He nonchalantly responds, and the overwhelming need to push him further, dance over that thin line becomes irresistible.

“Only ‘like’ me?”

Licking his lips, he unexpectedly tilts your head to meet him. Tender, gentle.

Your heart hurts. Because unlike previously, this kiss feels regretful, feels sad.

Your arms, once clutching onto that trademark trenchcoat, wrap around his neck, his finding purchase upon your hips.

Yet, you could tell it wasn’t greed driving him. Your earlier ravenous desire, your lust, was gone.

Instead, he was carving you into his memories, starting with his lips. He’d already done so with his hands, with his body the night before.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, and before you could ask any questions he forces your attention back to his eyes, swimming with an emotion you didn’t know Chris could exhibit.

Hurt.

Inexplicable hurt overwhelm that stare. Creases his always-taut brows.

“Just trust me, please.”

Please.

“Chris,” You hesitate.

There’s been that gnawing sensation ever since getting roped into this circus. Because this was only temporary, undoubtedly headed to an inexplicable conclusion.

You wonder if perhaps this is your end, your end with Bahng, with Chris.

Someone you’ve fallen in love with. So, so fucking hard.

And from the way he’s looking at you, it looks like he has too.

But you trust him. You trust him more than you had ever trusted anyone before, and so you nod.

“Chris, I love..”

Your volume dissolves upon the cloth being held to your face, eyes rolling back into your head as you fall limp into his arms, fingertips still touching his skin.

“..Love ….you.”

He kisses you once more, slower this time, cradling you in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, I love you.”

Speaking softly to avoid his pain betraying him, Bahng carefully situates you into the passenger seat, ignoring the drone of the engine from how rapidly the speedometer climbs. Numb to anything, everything.

The Aventador’s screen alights with a call.

“What,” He rasps, gleaming traffic lights casting red and green shadows across the car’s black interior.

“Is she...?” Felix asks, and Chris eases slightly. Subtle shuffling in the background reveals the others presence, awaiting the bottom line.

“Yeah.”

The freckled boy hums in response, dejection apparent.

Nevertheless, not a peep sounds, unusual for the usually rowdy crowd. Chris can tell some of them walk away, some staying.

Corn stalks ghosting past signify his location.

He hangs up.

He’ll apologize later.

.. .

Waking up inside your grandparents house feels like a fever dream, like your body isn’t your own and when you open your eyes you’ll still be snuggled into Chris’s arms.

But you aren’t, and you’re also violently kicked out of that fantastical daydream when your grandmother shows up, all smiles, no “I’m so relieved to see you’re safe” or “where did you go?” apparent on any of her features.

“Why, you never told me you had a boyfriend!” She smacks your arm and you flinch back, wearing an expression only comprehensible as puzzlement.

Perhaps Chris payed them? Bought their silence and hid from the law in return?

But that’s not your grandparents. They wouldn’t keep their mouths shut about something like this.

So what the hell did he do?

“The handsome young man who drove you here from the airport!” Waddling over to point an accusing finger at the doorway, your head frantically snaps in every direction.

Your suitcases are zipped up, and no evidence of you ever even arriving here shows around the room.

That is until you notice your phone has miraculously returned on your nightstand.

Immediately swiping to scroll through messages, your thumb stops, lingering over a message from an unknown number.

Pausing, you click.

Don’t come looking for me, but if you need me, text this number.

You would’ve found the text eerily creepy if you didn’t have an idea of who sent it.

You do.

Because there’s no one else that says ‘don’t come looking for me’ and ‘if you need me’ in the same sentence other than him.

Bahng.

FIC TAGLIST. @lizzetmv @skzhoes @fylithia @sunshineshouyo @stayconnecteed @starlost-andfound @seo--changbin @lynlyndoll @browniesandsunshine @stay278 @surefornext @pororolifeblog @httpsjuno @d7n3

sunboki, may 2022 ©

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seokgyuu · 8 months

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TEASER part of the @svthub 70's collab

Lee Seokmin is a very successful and admired Detective in the NYPD. Up until now he has had no trouble catching the bad guys. But when an especially horrific serial killer starts roaming the streets of New York City and he faces perplexity for the first time in his career - his superiors send a unit from the FBI trained to profile Serial Killers, which contains none other than you - Seokmin’s High School Sweetheart.

Pairing: Detective!Seokmin x FBI Agent!Reader

Genre: Criminal Minds/Detective AU, exes to enemies to lovers, Serial Killer AU, angst, Smut (MDNI!)

Warnings: Serial Killer theme, description of violence, description of dead bodies, cult themes, mentions of suicide, mentions of blood; smut warnings: will be added

Wordcount: teaser: 1045

Seokmin looks up from the file.

“Why is this different from the other four victims? Because she has an important dad, suddenly the tables turn?”

Bream sighs, pulling a hand over his red face.

“It’s not fair, I know that, Lee. But this changes everything. The judge is furious. He wants the slasher to be caught yesterday.”

“Oh, and we don’t? Captain, please, this is bullshit!” Seokmin scoffs, throwing the file back on the table and glaring at his superior, who looks straight back at him.

“I know. We all know Seokmin. It’s a bad situation. But, some might say, it did bring something good.”

“And what’s that?” Stolper speaks up, crossing his arms. Bream clicks his tongue.

“We got sent help. From the FBI.”

Silence is what follows. Seokmin feels the ice inside his veins melt and instead get replaced by fire. He knows Stolper feels the same. Everyone here feels the same. The fucking feds.

“They can’t take this from us. We’ve been on this for months,” Seokmin hisses, and Bream nods again, licking his dry lips.

“They won’t take it from us, Lee. They are only here to help. In fact, they aren’t… our usual feds.”

“What does that mean?” Seokmin raises his brows, leaning forward, hands on top of the table.

“They are a completely new department. Focused on the behavior of criminals, analyzing them, trying to figure out what is wrong with them.”

“They are killing people. That’s what's wrong with them!” Stolper shouts, and Bream holds up his hand.

“I understand that you’re upset. God knows I am, too. But there is nothing I can do. Go talk to them. They just arrived.”

The ice is back, and this time it hits Seokmin right in the face. They are here already? Waiting for them? Embarrassment flows through his veins, mixed with an emotion he has never felt before at this job: failure. His legs are shaking as he gets up, but he tries to play it off, his body tensing when Bream leads them to the door and opens it.

The hallway to the main hall suddenly feels longer than it is. The walls are closing in on Seokmin, the gray concrete threatening to suffocate him as he walks over the horrendous blue tiles he never understood were placed in the first place. Nothing really seems to be matching in this precinct. Most especially Seokmin and the federal agents waiting for them downstairs. He doesn’t know how his legs lead him to the glass front that shows the inside of the busy precinct downstairs. Everything is the same gray color. Everything is the same horrible blue. The only difference is the people standing in the right corner of the room all gathered around the whiteboard Seokmin has so carefully put together these past few months.

His hands are sweating. This isn’t fair. This is his case. They aren’t supposed to be here and take credit for what he has done so far. What exactly have you done, Lee Seokmin? The voice in his head reminds him, and he balls his hands into fists as Bream opens the door leading to the stairs that will finally bring him to the federal agents he knows he’ll hate already.

The atmosphere in the room is tense. More tense than usual because everyone in it is unhappy with the current situation. As if it isn't hard enough that there is a killer on the loose, now there are FBI agents trying to take this away from the NYPD? This is his town, Seokmin’s town! No one knows it as well as him. He knows every corner, every store. Every good place to eat, every bar to avoid. The people know him; they trust him with this, and now he is just supposed to accept that he can’t continue what he started?

He doesn’t know how, but somehow, he does end up right behind all the agents and one of the other detectives, Jeanne, and doesn’t even try to hide the fact he is bitter. His arms are crossed as he listens to Jeanne explaining what is on the board. She had been a part of this - all of the higher detectives have been whenever they could. It’s not like crime suddenly stopped in New York City just because a serial killer was roaming around. If anything, it just got worse.

“That’s about all we’ve gathered. I know it’s not much, but it’s all we got.” Jeanne closes her explanation, and Seokmin watches the backs of the agent's head nodding. Bream then clears his throat, making the others aware that they have joined and once the team of strangers turns around, Seokmin thinks someone has yet again taken a bucket of ice and dumped it all over his head. Because why on earth are you here?

You see him the second he sees you. It’s almost funny how your professionalism slowly slips out of your control, how seeing him makes memories flood your brain and almost drowns you. Why is he here? He, who had left you with a sour taste seven years prior to this moment? Why is he standing there in a well-fitted suit, looking the best he ever had in a precinct that shouldn’t have anything pretty inside it?

“Detectives, may I introduce you to agents Son, Song, Kim, Seok and Y/L/N. They were sent here by the FBI to help us with the investigations.” Jeanne smiles, but Seokmin knows it’s not an honest smile. You see it, too. When you had gotten the memo to go to New York City and help with the slasher murders, you had already known the detectives wouldn’t be too happy to see you and your team.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m the team leader, Hyunwoo Son.” You hear your boss speak, and you want to look at him, but your eyes are back to being glued to Seokmin. Lee Seokmin. The one who had taken everything from you when you were 19.

“You too. I’m Detective Stolper. This is Detective Lee.” Bream doesn’t sound sincere. For once, Seokmin is relieved his older colleague likes to speak over him. He doesn’t know if he would have been able to say a word.

header credit @playmetheclassics

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anonymous-dentist · 10 months

Text

AU where:

Roier is the Federation’s newest agent, recently drafted out of Quesadilla Island’s police academy. He’s young and inexperienced and kinda super new to being a government agent.

He’s also the guy sent downstairs to work with the Federation’s least favorite employee, former genius and current crackpot conspiracy theorist Cellbit, who has spent the past six months of his employment holed up in the basement looking into things the Federation just really doesn’t need to be bothering with.

See, Cellbit believes in aliens. And the supernatural. And the existence of shady government agencies working from the shadows. He believes in them to much that he quit his old job working as a detective and joined forces with the Federation so he could prove the existence of the unexplained, so-called ‘enigmas’. Or, as the Federation labels them, ‘X-Files’.

But, recently, he’s kinda stopped going on missions. Instead, he’s been in his office, and he won’t leave his office.

But, well. Now he has Roier, doesn’t he? A plucky younger agent ready to go on his first field missions, what else could a crazy researcher ask for? So what if they’re going out investigating the impossible? It’s getting Cellbit out of the office, isn’t it?

(And perhaps Roier isn’t as inexperienced as he seems. Maybe he’s actually a psychologist brought in undercover and finding his morals very compromised because… well. Cellbit is very nice to look at. And he isn’t even crazy, he’s just sad and lonely, and if that makes someone insane, then Roier needs to be investigating himself, too.)

Or: the q!Cellbit Federation Arc/Project Bluebird X-Files au I’ll never end up writing

#guapoduo #spiderbit #alien 🕷️🐱#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#source: I’ve seen the show like eight times #I’m literally an expert in it like basically fr

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kickingitwithkirk · 2 months

Text

Winchester’s Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Word Count: 984

*Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Warnings: A/B/O, dystopian au, non/con, dub/con, incest, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, physical/mental abuse, mention of collaring/leashed, sexual/slavery, rut/heat, physical altercation, death/murder conviction, show level violence, parental dominance, trafficking, branding

*Additional warnings will be added

Square filled: @spnaubingo true mates

A/N: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N II: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

PART V

Dean angrily stomped down the hallway and burst into the exam room, yelling, “Do you have any idea how fucking backasswards this state is, Dad!”

John blinked in surprise. Dean rarely spoke like this towards him as a Subordinate Alpha, which meant something was very off. Sam's ignored inquiry was another red flag. “Dean, what happened?”

“Do you know what they mandate done to prove ownership of O’s?” John was about to respond when the doctor reappeared, clearly unnerved by the angry scent rolling off Dean. “I need to speak to you privately, Mr. Winchester.” John doesn’t answer them back. “Dean, you got all the paperwork squared away?”

Dean acknowledged it was complicated, shifted his focus to the doctor, staring oddly at Sam, and barked, “You’re not his type, Doc!” John ignored Dean's outburst and ordered them to wait outside the O’s room. They walked to another exam room, shutting the door. The doctor handed him a file. “This is the reason I asked to speak privately. It concerns your sons and the O.”

John read the first page. “The O’s file is flagged in the database? It was part of a lot taken during the bust of an illegal Pack distributor, and federal law requires spaying before resale?” The doctor interrupted, “Since I just examined it, I can attest this O is still fully intact. Heaven knows how Helms got hold of it.”

Anger crossed John’s handsome features, and snarled, “That son of a bitch! Her original purchaser accused Helms of selling them misrepresented goods. No wonder that Alpha sold her so cheaply.” He flipped to the next page and continued reading.

The next thing John was aware of was that he was seated on the floor. He knew most people would find this situation impossible, but he had had too much personal experience with the unbelievable to doubt it. “Mary’s obstetrician never said anything about us having twins!”

The doctor rolled a stool over and sat down before the big Alpha. “Was her physician at a government clinic?” John affirms the question, which makes the doctor sigh. “I bet she had an amniocentesis performed.” At John's expression, they said, “Some of their OBs order testing even if the ultrasound or blood work doesn’t show anything concerning.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Money. They use it to determine the sub-gender and designation because there are those among the elite wanting specific types of newborns. And twins with designations of Pack Omega and Breeder Alpha? It would’ve created a bidding war.”

John felt his lips moving, unable to vocalize the questions spinning in his mind. He did not want to believe the information when the doctor gestured to the results in his hands.

“I’m not lying about Sam and the Omega being twins.” John shook his head. “But I saw the ultrasounds. I would have known if I had a daughter!”

“With the older equipment, they could have already loaded someone else’s tape in the machine to fool you. And were you present during delivery?” John responded negatively.

“They drugged your mate, so she won’t remember the birth to smuggle the newborns out of the hospital directly. Something must have gone wrong since they only got your daughter, but it doesn’t explain how she ended up with that illegal distributor.”

John flashes back to seeing Mary and remembers how out of it she seemed after having Sam. Later, a shorter man appeared out of nowhere when he took Dean to the nursery, holding him up to see his new brother through its large window. He doesn’t remember their conversation, but Dean’s comment about not letting the man with the spooky eyes get Sammy stuck with him.

John's voice is hoarse. “How can she be a Pack Omega? And Sam a Breeder? They don’t exist anymore!”

“We might have evolved into civilized beings but still carry our ancestors' genetic makeup.” The doctor tapped a finger against their lips, “There was a theory that the reintroduction of Wild Pack DNA could reactivate Breeder genes within certain bloodlines, which would explain why the twin turned out a Pack Omega. She is your son's true mate.”

The doctor's words, certain bloodlines-true mate, pounded like a drumbeat, repeating in his keen mind and boarding on deafening when it hit him.

All this has something to do with Mary's death too.

“As that character in Jurassic Park said, life finds a way.” The doctor looked pained. “I must report all these results to the federal authorities by law. They will request a local retainer immediately and take them into custody. But since you have a court date,” the doctor calculated by wall clock, “In roughly thirty hours. I won’t send the results until then.”

John grew suspicious. “Why delay it?”

“I may participate in this system, but I’m not heartless. I have pups myself, and I’ve just dropped a metaphorical bomb on you. If these weren’t extenuating circumstances, you’d have legal recourse against Helms.”

John nodded in acknowledgment. “Thank you. Are you obligated to tell all my pups about these findings?” The doctor replied yes but gave a pointed look, “Your party has left before I could notify them.” They paused to ponder a moment.

“Perhaps this is an unexpected blessing. The judge must accept these test results, negating your son’s conviction because now they’ve been brought together, their wolves won’t allow them to be separated easily.”

John left the office but slipped out of the clinic's rear entrance instead of returning to the exam room. He walked out of the security cameras' range and pulled out his phone, dialing a number he swore never to use again. It rang twice before answering.

“I told you to lose this number, you son of a bitch!”

“It’s about my pups.” There was silence, then, “I’m listening.” John released his held breath, “Bobby, I need your help, or I’m gonna lose them all.”

Part VI

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm @strawblueberrys @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

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jay-lied · 7 months

Text

hear me out.. an au where cellbit is set on finding out why dan mysteriously disappeared. everyone says he's dead, yes, but cellbit still heavily doubts it.

he works closely with roier, the only person willing to listen to him.

they end up finding documents of dan, files and old belongings. such as letters, bones, or papers. they are signed off by federation, making cellbit believe further that dan is alive.

dan was a scientists, but all his documents have blacked out any information on his work, and why he was with the federation.

also fun little thing, when cellbit decides to do tests on the bones they turn out to be wolf bones. (grim the wolf)

#qsmp #quackity smp #qsmp au #cellbit #roier #dantdm #qsmp dantdm #q!dan #q!dantdm #q!cellbit #qsmp cellbit #q!roier #qsmp roier #qsmp federation

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isa-ghost · 4 months

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No One:

Literally No One:

My brain understimulated at work: QSMP AU where there was indeed a previous iteration of islanders who all died or were killed by the Federation or otherwise, and the only clues the new islanders have about it are the old buildings that were at original Spawn, items in the new Spawn's shop that were iconic parts of previous islanders (ie the elytra being wings), files hidden within the Fed offices, etc. They might've turned into codes via experiments or other causes, hence why Charlie, Maxo, and Etoiles eventually end up also corrupted.

#qsmp #Isa's QSMP Shitposts #idk im Thinking abt it but im staring at AMFMN like ONE PROJECT AT A TIME

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shitty-check-please-aus · 2 months

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this is unrelated to a check please au. but i keep mentally comparing the new watcher subscription thing to dropout tv, the formerly-collegehumor subscription-based platform, and its like…. i GUESS i get why watcher would think this was a good idea but dropout has a large selection of content and a wide base of performers to make it, unlike watcher which seems to have, like, three main guys

Yeah, that's the thing- I think they view it as "well we have several shows, so that means we have enough to be a full network and be a full streaming service" but that's just not how consumers view things.

Consumers see "this is one youtube channel- I might like Ghost Files and Mystery Files and Puppet History, and maybe even some of their other lower-performing shows, but this is still just one channel, this isn't worth paying for a whole new streaming service, I'm so sick of subscriptions for absolutely everything"

and people in these kinds of companies love to be like "this is like buying one cup of coffee every month, everyone can afford this" but the thing is that one cup of coffee multiplies really quickly when every company in the world wants you to pay for that one cup of coffee. Not to mention that $6 is a lot if you're working for the US federal minimum wage of $7.25 an hour, or if you live in a country where $6USD is objectively a lot of money. I mean even here in Chicago, with a relatively high cost of living, $6 isn't trivial to me

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bonesandthebees · 1 year

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new file added to au’s I will probably never write but are fun to rotate in the brain microwave:

qsmp pacific rim au

instead of kaiju, you have alien creatures that shift and warp their giant forms and sometimes look like literal binary code to people although no one can agree quite on what one looks like. they just know it when they see it. and you also have the federation running the jaeger program with our good ol friend cucurucho overseeing it all

ft. pilot pairings like

Jaiden and Roier who have always been a great duo until the son they've been coparenting was critically injured in a recent attack

Forever struggling to find someone he’s drift compatible with until a French pilot named Baghera gets transferred to the base

Charlie and Mariana who were a great pilot team until their daughter Juanaflippa was killed in a binary entity attack on the base itself, and the two both went off the rails the next time they tried piloting. long story short they both freaked out and accidentally took out a support beam, killing Tilin and a few other workers. it was deemed to be partly a glitch through the drift system and not entirely their fault, but they were both banned from piloting for the forseeable future

Quackity and Luzu were supposed to be a pilot duo, but Luzu went missing before they could ever get in the jaeger and hasn't been seen in months. Then Quackity's child Tílin was killed unintentionally by Charlie and Mariana's breakdown, and since then he's been deemed too unstable to pilot. Somehow Wilbur, a random computer tech who isn't trained to be a pilot, is the only person they've found that's also drift compatible with Quackity. But again, Quackity isn't allowed to pilot atm, and Wilbur has no interest in getting in the giant robot death machine. He has a daughter to take care of after all.

Phil has been a pilot longer than most and at the moment is piloting with Missa, who is much newer to piloting

Tazercraft are a very well-renowned pilot duo worldwide largely because of how high their drift compatibility is

but there's not just pilots! (also this is getting long so gonna put this under the cut)

cellbit is a biologist that studies the entities, but after he gets transferred to the base he starts getting suspicious of what's going on 'upstairs' with the federation itself

baghera is the only pilot in the french group. the rest of the guys are the engineers for her jaeger

felps, who was a biologist alongside cellbit, also went missing shortly after arriving on the base. people think both he and luzu are deserters but cellbit keeps insisting felps wouldn't just leave like that

maxo is a software engineer who is supposed to focus on the jaeger drift system but he also keeps dabbling with an AI he built himself in secret

bad is kind of like HR/social services for the base, and therefore it's kind of his job to babysit everyone's kids if they're busy with other stuff and will also usher them to a safe room during any attacks

foolish and vegetta are both jaeger engineers who met on the base and very quickly fell for each other. they're like the romcom portion of the whole thing

fit is a geologist trying to figure out where the fuck the entities are coming from

and of course there's the kids

there were a lot of kids made orphans by the initial attacks on major cities. there's an 'educational' program the federation has set up to allow a few kids orphaned through these attacks to live at the shatterdome and learn the ins and outs of jaegers when they're young as unofficial prep for the jaeger academy

because of this many people on the base did not intend to adopt kids they just kind of. bonded and eventually took them in.

for bobby, jaiden and roier were already copilots so when jaiden started bonding with this kid she met in the shatterdome roier soon followed thanks to the drift sharing

juanaflippa thought charlie and mariana were the coolest pilot team around and she just kept following them until charlie was like "is it unethical to teach a child how to shoot a gun? Idc I'm gonna do it anyway" and that sealed the bond

juanaflippa and trump both died in the same entity attack on the shatterdome

phil had wilbur long before the first entity attacks ever started, but during his time at the shatterdome phil quickly took a liking to chayanne and put in a request to adopt him. once he and missa start piloting together, missa gets parental feelings for chayanne seeing him through phil's memories and the two just unintentionally become coparents

part of why wilbur refuses to be a pilot is because he grew up with his dad as a pilot and knows how terrifying it is as a kid. he also never intended on having a kid at least until the entities were defeated because who would want to bring a kid into a world like that, but then he met a shy orphan girl at the shatterdome named tallulah and he was a goner.

people are very surprised when they learn bad and dapper are not biologically related. the two act exactly alike but no, dapper was an orphan bad ended up getting really really close to

when the shatterdome was still trying to find luzu quackity felt very listless since he didn't have a copilot and couldn't do anything. he ended up spending time with tilin, although he was always hesitant to label himself as a father. when tilin died though he was heartbroken

baghera is a more recent transfer to the shatterdome and stumbles across pomme on her first day. the little girl says one thing in french and baghera is like "oh my god she's mine" while the rest of her engineering crew are like "who is this random child why are you carrying her" (but they all end up warming up to her pretty quickly)

okay this ended up being way longer than I meant it to be god why is pacific rim so fun to rotate in the brain microwave

#au ramblings #qsmp #qsmp pacific rim au

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thefederationfiles · 7 months

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Uh, hello?

I’m not really sure how to start this... suppose I should introduce myself first, I am Cellbit, the new head archivist of the Federation Census Bureau. Still not entirely sure how I landed this position, but I’m not going to refuse it, a promotions a promotion in my eyes.

But I digress.

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factorialsotherfandoms · 7 months

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... TW: cannibalism, corpse, Philza being far more chill with the situation than I think he actually would be.

Yeah, no, this isn't getting where I need it to, so just have this as it is instead while I try hammer out something else for the scene/s I need for the Happy Ending AU. I even have the main dialogue for Philza and Cellbit, just not how to lead into it or what would cause Phil to bring it up to him >.<

"You doing alright, mate?"

The answer is, objectively, no. Bagi had said Philza should talk to Cellbit, yes, but he hadn't quite realised it had gotten this bad; he's seen his friend about a few times since then, exhausted and worn down and his jacket gone despite the coming winter, but not had a chance to talk, what with everything on the island.

Maybe he should have done more than wave hello and carried on to bed.

Maybe then he wouldn't be watching someone he trusted more than his limbs carve chunks from a corpse with his teeth and a knife.

Cellbit seems to have decided to ignore him, and Philza could swear about it, or make it somebody else's problem, but frankly he's not sure who else's problem he /can/ make it.

He wants to wash his hands of this, to turn around and pretend he didn't see, but what sort of fucking friend is he if he doesn't at least try? He knows Cellbit - or at least, he thinks he does - and, yeah, the man has the capacity to be terrible, and has been terrible, but so has Philza.

He's not going to support this mess but, at the same time, he knows what a trauma-induced relapse looks like.

Even if his own were never quite as messy.

"Are you sure you should be eating that?" he asks instead, trying to bribe Cellbit to look at him. "The whole faceless thing might be infectious."

That does at least get Cellbit to look at him, the man giggling a little, "what? Are you worried about me?"

"Well, yeah mate," Philza gestures. "You're kinda eating a corpse."

"Aren't you scared?"

Philza looks him up and down. "For you? Sure. Of you? I've known you for months, Cellbit, if you wanted to hurt me I'd know by now. And even if I messed that up, pretty sure I could take you."

"So you're here to give me the lecture, then? Tell me to stop? I'm not going to, Philza, so just... spare us both the time," Cellbit seems exhausted as he wipes blood from his mouth, sitting back with a sigh.

"Depends why you're doing it," he replies. "If you need the food that badly, I've toast in my bag."

"Heh," Cellbit's smile is not actually at all pleased. "I just... I need them to be scared."

"Hm?"

"I've tried everything, Philza, and it doesn't work. I've tried to investigate, I've tried to infiltrate, I've played their games and I've tried to host my own, only to find them twisted back on me. Every day we're here another person suffers - first it was Felps, who will it be next? I can't just leave them - I'm good at this, Philza, this is who I am, who I always was. I hunt, I kill, and people /fear me/. We have to bring the Federation down, if I have to be bloody again, I will - and now? Now? I feel happy again, the adrenaline, the chase... I'm going to kill them, Philza, and you're not going to stop me. And anyone... Anyone who gets in my way will join them." Cellbit pauses a second. "But they don't get it, they don't understand, I thought /he'd/ be proud of me, at least. Don't they see why I'm doing this? It's for them, it's always for them, I don't care if I'm the monster!"

"... Just so long as they're safe," Philza finishes for him, with a sigh.

He leans back against the wall, and looks at the cooling corpse.

There's a choice here, he supposes. He cannot condone the violence, not against the rank and file employees, but he understand the frustration. He sees what Bagi and Bad mean, but he doesn't know if they understand - has Bagi ever actually killed someone? Has Bad ever had a human morality? Philza's own is skewed, he knows that, and yet...

In a moment of revulsion his mind begs him to turn away, to cut Cellbit loose and call it a day.

The other part, the part that loves, the part he tried to kill so many years ago, says that Cellbit is his and that means with the good and the bad.

"I'm not going to help you kill random workers," Philza says, trying to pace himself. "But if you have a specific target you can explain a tactical purpose to beyond generic weakening the enemy? Then you have my support. And whatever way? If you get yourself into shit you can't get yourself out of, just comm me mate. I'll come by and bail you out, and I'm not going to ask shit. Just so long as you're safe."

It's a pittance, it's repulsive, but Philza knows what its like to be scum, the lowest of the low, and if it takes comprimising himself a bit to get Cellbit a safety net then, fuck it, he'll leave moral complications to Bagi.

Cellbit looks almost suspiciously at him, "you aren't going to tell me to stop?"

"Would it help?" Philza retorts.

"So you disprove?"

"I mean yeah, I don't think killing the maintenance workers is a good fucking plan. But I'm not the plan guy, either, so I've just got to trust you there, don't I? And I trusted you before."

"You hadn't seen me eat a dead body yet."

"Do you want me to fight you? Because I can fight you," Philza gestures a bit. "But there's no fucking point, and I'm too old for this shit these days. Just be careful, okay? Because the Federation knows us, and they know you don't give a shit about being punished - so they will go after your loved ones instead."

"I'll protect them," Cellbit replies. "Roier will protect them, too; we've agreed."

Philza doesn't believe for a moment that they'll succeed, and starts making plans to have Fit keep a better eye on Tazercraft. He can watch Forever, if Fit's gossip tree is right Tina will look after Bagi. As for Felps... He isn't sure, but the other Brazilians will come up with something. Richarlyson... When they find the eggs, Bad will be more than willing there - and all his other dads.

Roier, if Cellbit is to be believed, is already in on it. Philza makes a note to talk to him about what to do if he needs bailing out, too. Also Foolish, perhaps - he's not quite sure what's up there, but it's something.

The rest of the islanders, at least, are already on high alert, expecting to be blamed for the murders and kidnapped at any moment. He'd suggest a check in and buddy system, but that would mean complying with a buddy system.

"I'll keep an eye out too," he replies. "Just promise you'll call if you need me, okay?"

Cellbit shrugs, and it might be the closest to a promise he can get.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp cellbit #qsmp philza #am I happy with this?#eh #its not what I wanted and the characters feel a bit off but I'm happy enough with it #but my hand hurts now so I'll try what I was actually going for later #by later at earliest tomorrow #actually going for being getting cellbit in on the escape plan and actually hashing out some details for it #proooobably I'll put cellbit while missa is away #maybe also forever #then missa gets told as soon as he's there to tell #but we'll see how fancy takes me

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sunboki · 8 months

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KOREA'S MOST WANTED (DEAD OR ALIVE) : TEASER

🎥 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader (with hints of other attraction ((mainly 3racha cause im a whore)) no poly)

TROPE. non-idol! au, criminal! au, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut

WORD COUNT. estimated to be around 5k-10k

WARNINGS. non-descriptive smut, blood, guns/weapons, shoot-out, murder, mentions of drugs and poison, descriptive violence, suggestiveness, manipulation, death(not major characters), cursing

PLAYLIST.

AUG'S NOTES. practically entirely self-indulgent.. please enjoy the teaser! tell me your thoughts!! :^)

or alternatively :

In which stumbling in the wrong place at the wrong time leaves you face to face with some of the most-wanted criminals in all of South Korea.

CRIMINAL #0001 — BAHNG, CHRISTOPHER.

CRIMINAL RECORD

Christopher has been convicted of illegal weapon trafficking on eighteen counts of federal offenses. He is notoriously dangerous. Please proceed with caution.

⭑ REWARD

⎯ CRIMINAL FILES (additional cases)

The only thing illuminating your walk to the barn is your phone light and the hardly helpful moon peeking between heavy clouds.

You’ve done this a billion times, but tonight there’s just something ..unsettling. You can’t put your finger on it.

By that time you’d already pushed open the doors, and the weight of what sat in front of you—the weight of what was responsible for the sound—made you feel faint.

“Who.. Who are you people?”

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 5 months

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Mellow

(Shapeshifter!au, but Ramon this time. He doesn't have trauma yet, he's just a sweetheart.)

He held his hand out for the notepad he was supposed to use to communicate with the islanders, and for a moment it looked like Cucurucho was going to give it to him and move on like they had with everyone else, but then they did a quick double-take.

They looked at him for a long moment in silence, and he could only shift awkwardly under their stare.

Despite how many federation workers he had met over his, admittedly rather short, life, he had never managed to get fully used to the way they looked. They were entirely featureless by design, it was one of the first things people give up when they come to work for the federation – their individuality. They weren’t people, they were workers, and their appearances reflected that. Their faces were blank white slates, their outfits were a painfully generic uniform, only a small ‘nametag’ (could it truly be called a nametag when they had no names?) to distinguish them from each other… it was unnatural.

Perhaps that was a little hypocritical to say, though, seeing as Ramon was… what he was.

At least he could shift and make himself look more normal, though. Which is what he had done. Now, he looked like any other kid. Slightly tan skin; a shock of slightly messy, dark brown hair; wide brown eyes; a handlebar mustache; a little bit of baby fat still sticking to his features to make sure he looked young.

You know, average kid things.

Cucurucho disagreed, apparently.

They slid a hand into their pocket and pulled out their communicator. Like everyone else who was either part of or created by the federation, Cucurucho couldn’t ‘speak’, not really. However, as a high-ranking worker, they had a slight exception in the form of a tiny speaker nestled in the bow tied around their neck. Now, they clicked on one of their preset voice lines:

“WHY?” said Cucurucho.

He reached for the notepad and marker and, after a few seconds, Cucurucho handed them over.

“what did i do”

Cucurucho looked at them blankly. Admittedly, they had no other options, but regardless. There was something particularly judgmental about this particular stare. Their shoulders heaved in a silent sigh and they shook their head to themself.

“I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE ISLAND.”

They moved as if to continue on. After all, the islanders would be finishing their orientation video soon and god knows they would need guidance…

He caught them by the hand.

Cucurucho stopped, their head turning to look at him once again.

“CURIOUS,” they said.

Hastily, before they could get impatient, he wrote down his question:

“do you think my parents will like me”

Cucurucho hesitated.

“YES,” they said, patting his head.

He smiled, his shoulders sagging in relief. If Cucurucho was confident enough to say ‘yes’ instead of ‘maybe’, his parents must be good people. He had been briefed on who they were, yes, given a couple of files that listed things such as their general personalities and histories, had been given pictures of them so he could mimic their appearances, but that was all theoretical. Cucurucho, though, had actually met and ‘talked to’ the islanders, and if they thought that his parents would like him, then surely they would know best, right?

He looked at Cucurucho for a few moments more, and then tugged on their hand, trying to drag them down. They glanced at their communicator, ensuring that the islanders were distracted – apparently, they were all messing with their new app, which allowed them to speak in their native languages and still be understood – so they had some free time. Regardless of this knowledge, they were still hesitant when they knelt in front of him.

After a few seconds’ thought, he picked up his marker again and lifted it towards their face.

They flinched back in surprise, almost falling over.

He huffed lightly. He waited for them to get over their surprise and come back, but they never did.

They didn’t have eyes to track, but from the slight, barely there movements of their head, he guessed that they were probably looking between the marker and himself, wary. He pouted.

“WHY.”

He pouted harder, making his eyes slightly wider just to make sure the puppy eyes could have their maximum effect. Maybe he should actually make them into literal puppy dog eyes?

No, Cucurucho didn’t seem the type to like dogs.

They probably liked cats. Or maybe something weirder, like birds.

They sighed again, snapping him out of his thoughts. Hesitantly, they leaned forward, toward the marker. They must have realized they could wash it off, anyway, so they might as well let him have his fun. He beamed and quickly scrawled a smiley face onto Cucurucho’s head to match his own bright expression.

“now youre less scary”

Cucurucho lifted a hand to touch their face, and maybe it was just the poorly-drawn smile that had been added there, but he thought they looked kind of happy. Touched, even.

They ruffled his hair.

“YES.”

“I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE ISLAND.”

Ramon hoped so, too.

#qsmp #qsmp fanfiction #qsmp ramon #qsmp ramón #qsmp cucurucho #done crossposting now #soz about being dramatic kings

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anonymous-dentist · 9 months

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yknow what i say my western au is my guilty pleasure au but my ACTUAL guilty pleasure is my x-files au in which cellbit is a legitimate federation employee trying to prove the existence of aliens and the supernatural (which is very silly of him) and roier is the "new agent" assigned to help him who is actually a psychologist sent down to the basement to see if Cellbit has finally cracked and/or if he's ready for full assimilation into the Federation's Workforce. but then they kiss and stuff and it's awesome

#so self indulgent

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rockofeye · 5 months

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At the End of the Year

Despite this being a very hot, very active part of the Vodou year, I have found myself feeling very contemplative and reflective as I head towards the change of the calendar. This is unsurprising; the older I get, the more I prefer to sit quietly and drink in my understanding of my own self.

And yet, the poto mitan is still on fire and the air is still filled with flames and the smoke and dust of pounded leaves. I feel like I am sitting in the middle of a fire tornado watch the lwa light the flames to burn away what does not serve us as we move into a new year.

It is not by chance or accident that Makaya season spans the last month of the old year and a piece of the New Year. It's the good kind of burning.

2023 was The Year for me. A lot of goals I had set quite awhile ago have come to fruition and all the groundwork I laid became the foundation for the rest of my life. I didn't do it on my own, of course...all the work (and accompanying blood, sweat, and tears) was done with the lwa, who held me up when I legitimately thought I was done.

After battling for my husband's visa for three years, I got it done. It took a federal court case that I filed (because who has lawyer money?) and lamp after lamp after iliminasyon. Every time something changed or didn't change and we found another speedbump, another lamp with the work doubled in Haiti. More prayers, more struggles...but I won the battle in the end and it is sealed. I have never felt the kind of satisfaction that I felt when we made it through the final hoop of customs to enter the US. The phone calls from the airport to family and friends back in Haiti and in the US were the best phone calls ever. The airport dinner was the best dinner ever.

And despite all the work that went into it...I know we were blessed in the process because it only took three years. While waiting for processing at the American embassy in Port-au-Prince, S met people who had been in process for years longer than us for the exact same visa. There were moments where we could have been turned back and yet with grace we were not. When you are in the fire, it is hard to see where the hands of the lwa might be, but when it was finished....I see how they both made the road, cleared the road, and accompanied me on the journey.

I did all that, and I am super proud of it.

There have also been many other wins and successes but that's the big one, and I am satisfied.

2024 doesn't look like it will be an easier year in this world bent on destruction, but I am hopeful. There is lots to look forward to; my husband is getting ready to launch his atelier that will showcase his talent in traditional drapo and boutey lwa making, as well as his painting and garment skills. There are a couple of book projects simmering away and maybe the formation of an artist collective based in Haiti, as well as other Haiti projects. I hope and plan for success as a foundation moving forward.

We are busy getting ready for this new year. The house has been cleaned and every bit of laundry done, the baths have been made, magic refreshed, and tomorrow's soup joumou will be a reward for all of the running around. May these preparations solidify my blueprints to success.

We not only witness the New Year arriving, but January 1 marks the 220th anniversary of Haitian independence from colonial rule and the liberation of all enslaved individuals in the territory of Haiti. It is a poignant new beginning within a new beginning, particularly at a time when worldwide we are faced with the spectre of colonialism, poisonous nationalism, and the reminder that the world has not yet quashed the reality of subjugation of those we deem lesser. Liberation is an ongoing active process, and the fire lit by our revolutionary spiritual ancestors still burns. The lessons of Dessalines, L'Ouverture, Ogè, Papillon, Pètion, Christophe, Capois, Makandal, Boukman, Fatiman, la Prophétesse, and all whose names were not written or were forgotten are still important.

I do not wish for peace, but for revolution that brings new life. In that revolution, may you find prosperity, health, a sense of purpose, the knowledge that that the world needs your presence and participation, and balance in deeply unbalanced times. May you be accompanied by your ancestors and spirits who love you, and may the hope for a new year burn bright!

#vodou #haitian vodou

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