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hollyhomburg · 7 months

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Before I Leave You (Pt.64)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: “Take your time, it’s not like I’m dying over here or anything.” “Shut up Jimin you are not going to die.”

Tags: Angst, Blood, graphic depictions of violence, dead bodies, Gore, Maiming, violent acts described perpetrated by loved ones, near death experiences, near death experiences, No one dies, Jimin does not die, Hurt with just a little comfort, implied sexual content,

W/c: 8.6k

A/N: I'm sorry that this chapter is a little shorter than usual after such a long wait. i've been going through a rough patch™ which is why recently the updates have been 3 weeks apart instead of just 2 like usual. When i tell you the end of this chapter has a fucking twist to it that i love, you're not prepared!

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

“I shot Minnie.”

It takes you a breath for the words to sink in. Standing in the bathroom in the half-grey darkness golden hallway light streaming in through the open door. It’s strange how inside of your body you feel at that moment.

That frantic fever urgency of your pulse, your breath, your everything when traumatic things are about to happen and when they’re happening.

For a moment you’re keenly aware of every molecule of your body. The tacky-sweet feeling of slick drying between your thighs, the cold smoothness of the slate tile beneath your feet, the too-long press of your fingernails as you grip the bathroom countertop to keep from falling to the tile floor. Everything in feverish detail.

you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, the light from Yoongi’s phone screen illuminates your face in blue. You look at the mirror, then down at your hands.

Minnie, a gun.

A bullet, Jin.

Your brain is whirling. Putting two and two together is like putting together a recipe. Only now you have the result and have to backtrack. How did you get here? Jin keeps talking, word vomiting down the line, and you miss a few sentences while you’re trying to put it together.

Butter, cream, sugar.

You, Jin, Jimin.

Jimin.

You think you might vomit tiramisu all over the bathroom floor.

You close your eyes, thinking hard while Jin talks. His words run over themselves with worry. “I discharged my weapon if we go to the hospital- they’ll- they’ll know and I don’t know if I can cover this up with just lies-”

“Is he dead?” Your voice is lethal in its quiet, so quiet that you think it might not go through the phone. Jin doesn’t hear it- too preoccupied with his own terror.

You close your eyes, quietly begging anything or anyone who might be listening. If god is going to take so much from him- the least she can do is give jimin this. One simple measly miracle is all you're asking for.

“Jin- tell me right the fuck now- Is Jimin dead?”

“Pup.” Jin sounds like he’s just been strangled. Like all the wind has just been knocked out of him. “Put Yoongi on the line.”

“No.” You're shaking, your heartbeat in your ears louder than your lofty hopes. Hand digging into the counter so hard that you feel it in your bones. “No, not until you tell me right now- is Minnie-”

“Hey pup.” Jimin’s voice is a quiet croak. You sag against the countertop and slide to the floor. It’s barely a weak whisper on the other side of the line. You’re glad it’s not a video call. You’re not sure you could handle seeing him if he sounds so raw. “Minnie- Minnie are you? does Jin?”

Does Jin know?

Jin must have taken back the phone because- “I need you to go get Yoongi. Now. We can’t be here any longer than necessary.” there's the muffled sound of shuffling, of hair grating against the speaker. "We're vulnerable here, I don't know if more people will come."

You move, leaving the bathroom and thundering up the steep stairs to the bedroom. There's the distant sound of Hoseok in the kitchen probably putting away the tiramisu. You head for the nest, rushing, falling to your knees in front of it, phone pinned between your shoulder and your ear.

“Yoongi isn’t here. He’s with Jungkook and Tae and Namjoon.”

“Hang up then and I’ll call Namjoon.” You peel back the nest skirt to get under it, where Jimin keeps his gun cases. They're there in the shadows, three of them black and plastic. A photocopy of his concealed carry license is taped to each on top. No one had been particularly happy about him storing them there (Namjoon especially) But now you’re glad to have them close on hand.

“No, not until you tell me where you are.”

“Pup this isn’t- you can’t-”

“Jin, please.”

You try the same code that Jimin has for his cellphone. You know it because you have a habit of going through his after your dates for some of the photos that he takes of you and Tae.

8-7-5-8.

The box clicks open and you roll your eyes. Alphas.

“Pup” you wait for him to say that he needs more help than you can offer, that carrying Minnie and keeping him alive is more than you can help with. You wait for him to say that you’re neither strong enough mentally nor physically to handle this.

But it doesn’t come. Jin’s tiny fraught sigh is there, but then-

“Alright.”

There are spots for five different handguns inside. Two missing vacant cuts into the foam. You take the smallest one, checking stock to make sure it's got bullets in it. You fumble with it, unsure and unused to this. You make sure the safety is on before you tuck it into your waistband.

“Send me your address. And if you need to- get rid of Jimin's gun- god only knows whats on that.” To Jin’s credit, he hardly splutters, hardly takes in another shaky breath.

“How do you know-” You descend the stairs slower. Screwing your eyes shut tight to keep from crying, leashing your voice into something gentle.

“Jin, Minnie is bleeding. You have more important things to worry about right now. We need to figure out how to keep Jimin alive and undiscovered.”

“You know-”

“Yes, I fucking know about Jimin, okay? We’re wasting time. Bye.”

You hang up on him. Your hands are still shaking and you spend a breath looking at them. You want to call Yoongi. Your body aching for your mate's touch, for how steady he makes you feel just by being there. the way he tucks your hair behind your ears, the way his hand is always hovering near the small of your back to guide you- to options that won't hurt and secrets that won't damage things.

You need your mate for this, already your pulse is hammering. The haze of a panic attack on the edge of your vision. One second foggy fear, the next heartbreaking clarity.

Maybe you know how this ends, you know why this is happening even if you try and ignore it. Maybe you realize just then what's going to happen. Not today but eventually, it turns you cold from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

You might not lie to the pack (lying by omission doesn't carry the same weight) but you lie to yourself often.

You will call Yoongi, you decide. You pick the phone back up and navigate towards Tae’s contact. Your thumb hovers between her name and Jungkook’s. You don’t know if you’ll be able to keep your voice steady calling her but Jungkook will almost certainly be able to tell something's wrong just from your tone alone. He's perceptive like that.

Before you can make the call something moves in your peripheries.

There is a dark figure in the doorway, silhouetted by the light coming from the front door and the bay window. It makes you startle but at second glance it’s just Hobi. You look down at him 3 steps up the stairs. Yoongi's phone in your hand and a gun at the small of your back, covered by the fluff of his sweatshirt.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask who you were talking on the phone with. He just tilts his in question, eyes teaming with that warm sort of playfulness.

You have a decision to make; let his opinion of the pack remain what it is or change it for good. In an irrevocable way that you won't be able to take back. It feels like too much change too quickly. Barely an hour ago he was telling you he loves you and now-

The thing about secrets is that they’re terribly hard to keep.

Hobi notices, because Hobi always notices when there’s some sort of change in you or a shift in your mood- call it a survival instinct if you won't call it love.

The set of your jaw is less pouty neediness and more leashed discomfort. Your expression is the same one you had when tae came out and you sat with them at the table and told them for you. You'd think that telling other people's secrets would be easier but it isn't.

Hobi knows your tells. What it looks like when you're about to play your hand. Ace's and all.

You descend the last few steps, each one thudding, making sure you're on the same level before you slowly wrap your arms around his waist. You do it slow even though you feel every second like a gunshot wound. Like every second could be Jimin’s last heartbeat.

(thump thump thump)

Pulling yourself in tight. His hands smooth up and down your back. You could call Yoongi but-

Hobi looks down at you, pecking your forehead. He smiles softly, his lips twisting into something like a grimace because you smell a little bit sour. Doesn't mean he's not going to kiss you but-

You wonder how many times he’s kissed you already, it's only been a day but you’re already losing track of how many, maybe 2 dozen now. His eyes flicker from your mouth to your eyes then back again.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s wrong? Or are you just going to pout at me until I go get Yoongi?”

You shake your head and close your eyes hard. "Don't get Yoongi."

Stealing yourself just a little and hold Hobi a little closer, a little harder. But there’s nothing you can say, no lie that you can tell that will make this better. No secret that you could confess either.

“Jin called and something bad has happened.”

You feel more than see the goosebumps on Hobi’s arms as you pull away, the visceral hard swallow as he looks at your face again, waits, expecting you to pull back say-“It’s a joke it’s nothing-“ But it doesn't come.

“You have two choices Hobi, you can go to the pizza shop, and hang out with Tae and Jungkook and Namjoon and Yoongi or-” Hobi searches your face for something he knows; the darkness in your eyes, the vague tremble in your arms around his waist. “Or you can help me and be scared. I kind of-”

I kind of need you

But Hobi should have agency in this and shouldn't just take this path because of you. After Yoongi, you've learned when and where to give people the choice to be dragged into things they'd be better off sidestepping. You don't say it but Hobi hears it all the same.

Hobi looks so earnest but asking this of him is no easy thing. It would be easier if you weren’t so keenly aware that you’re taking away something from him. You’re giving Hobi the choice you never got that Yoongi never got, and he'll choose the same path anyway.

He cups your face, skimming his thumb up and down your cheek.“I’m okay with being scared.” I'm okay with being scared so long as it's for you.

“This is serious, this is- you can’t ask questions until I have time to answer them, you just have to listen, understand?”

“Okay.” He nods, tousled hair fluffing, looking so innocent and eager to please that you almost tell him to just stay home.

But as much as you hate to admit it. If Jimin is injured, there’s a chance you and Jin might need a second pair of hands.

It’s a blur. Tugging on your shoes- the same ones Yoongi got you ages ago for your first date with Jimin and Tae. And when you stand, he’s holding out your jacket for you to step into. When you nuzzle into the collar there's the scent of vanilla there from where Jimin rubbed his nose to your throat when you were at the hospital. It doesn't seem possible that it was only yesterday. Everything is Jimin Jimin Jimin.

“Thank you,” you say, sounding vaguely hollow. He kisses the nape of your neck and you put your hand over it.

You point your feet in the direction of Hobi’s car and get in the driver's seat. Taking his keys from him because you need them, need to be the one who drives right now. Holding the steering wheel and controlling the acceleration. Pressing down as fast as a heartbeat.

Thumpthumpthump.

You pull away from the house with a screech hitting the curb with a bit of flying sparks. you don't even wait for it to warm up. Hobi’s hands are on the plastic console of the driver’s side, holding it to keep himself from bobbing before he's belted in. He looks over at you startled. But he doesn't ask you to slow down.

You keep your eyes on the road, blinking back tears. Controlling your emotions because you can’t drive through blurry eyes. Every inch, every tick of the needle, every second of pavement screeching tire means you're a second closer to jimin.

"Jin’s going to send you an address in a few seconds, and I need you to tell me which way to turn.”

Hobi looks at you and then looks at the phone. He doesn’t try to put on a playlist, he doesn’t try to do anything just stares at you and bobbs in his seat when you take a corner too fast.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

“Nothing; you’re just driving like if we don’t get there in time, someone is going to die.”

~-~

Hoseok remains remarkably calm for the drive, barely saying anything except for the winces he lets out every time you do something risky with the car like take turns at 30 miles an hour or evade a break check by driving along the shoulder.

You start to pass by empty factory buildings. The wheels of his car thudding over cracks and dips in the road until it becomes dust and gravel and the smell of gasoline permeates the interior of the car. Questions building like the heat pumping from the vents.

But he did promise not to ask until later.

The fog covers everything like a balmy damp shadow, the snow going straight to sublimation. Pockets of old street lamp lights punctuate the darkness. Husks of metal rise like soldiers from the shadows. The sky burning rust orange from the distant lights of the city. Not a single star in sight.

Jin’s car is there; Hobi spots it. Its blue paint stands out through the overlap of grey brush as the car's lights roll over it. Jimin's car is another 50 feet away and buried in the darkness. Shiny and black like the husk of an insect.

You're about a mile away from where they must be doing demolition. A singular crane and floodlights shine across a narrow tributary casting everything; the river and the buildings, into a grey-slanted light.

You pull around in the yard in front of the largest and most intact building. You leave the keys in car tumbling out the second it glides to a stop.

“Stay here.” You say, but Hobi gets out anyway. He hasn’t noticed the gun tucked into your waistband until now. It makes his pulse tick higher when you take it out.

"Hobi, sink or swim?"

He looks down at the gun in your hand, "Swim." You shake your head like you're angry with yourself, not him but you don’t waste another second arguing. You head off following the disturbed dust and Hobi trails behind. Ducking from pocket of light to pocket of light.

He always wondered what happened to the gun you’d pointed at him that night you’d run away. That train ticket that still burns a hole in his pocket, a distraction maybe from larger questions he should have been asking.

The way you hold the gun is not practiced; and why should it be? The only one who knows how to handle guns in the pack is Jimin. But the way you walk; completely silent is heartbreakingly familiar. Hobi knows how and why you've learned to move quietly. It's almost a dance; the way you glide across the floor. The gun is an extension of your arms. Spreading and flaying like a wing. Pinky to trigger, your index finger balanced along the barrel.

Hobi had always assumed that it belonged to Yoongi. It was almost 6 months ago now, wasn’t it? Hobi had almost forgotten about it.

There are some things that you never forget. Trauma makes his bones quiet. He's not as good at walking silently as you are but if the crunch of his red Converse against the gravel bothers you; you say nothing.

Hobi feels like he should have asked more questions about it at the time, but now he just bites his lip and stays quiet. You'd promised. You'll tell him in time. Hobi trusts you.

That's the worst thing, isn't it? That Hobi trusts you.

Jimin is sitting in one of the puddles of light, leaning up against one of the containers on the ground floor. Alone. You let out a quiet bereft when you see him. You and Hobi pause in the doorway. Your hand on the gun goes slack

“Minnie!”

you run to him, tucking the gun back into your waistband and falling to your knees at his side. Fingers finding wet-dark fabric. Not water but blood.

Hobi stays there in the doorway, his pulse thudding through his ears, an odd sort of peace to him as he takes in the details. The blood that pools dark on the dusty floor.

Jimin’s half covered with dust himself. Something wooden and red in his lap. The blood that’s dripped down his shoulder gathering there. There is a dragged-through patch of dirt a few feet away, more blood, and Jin is nowhere to be found.

Minnie’s eyelashes flutter. “Alpha-” you say. Almost sobbing in relief that he's alive. Alive you can handle. Alive you can work with. You bend down, getting your hand on his cheek. "Hey- wake up for me a sec okay? We're gonna get you out of here-"

“Hey pup” he laughs half delirious with pain, wincing like making the sound hurts him. “You came to the party" he coughs. "Did you bring Tae?”

You pull back to look at him. “Tae?”

Jimin grins, eyes fluttering closed and his pretty face tipped up against the light. His lips have blood on him- and it looks like a disturbing imitation of Tae’s lipstick. The shadows she leaves on your mouth, on his.

“Yeah- wanna tell her I love her. Wanna tell her I’m sorry. Could you tell her for me?”

This is something Tied tourniquet tight around Jimin’s shoulder to keep him from bleeding out. something you didn't immediately notice. You stare down at the vest now- at the yellow patch letters slowly darkening with blood.

FBI, and then in smaller letters; Organized crime division, Dir. Kim.

Jin appears from around the corner, covered in dust and blood across his thighs, and his throat. So quick you barely have time to raise the gun and then put it down when you see it's not some stranger- someone sent from Yoongi's family to tie up loose ends.

Your hand tightens on the gun as you stare at Jin.

The sleeves of his button-down shirt are rolled up to his forearms and black nitrile gloves cover his hands; same as Jimin's- although one is ripped. His eyes flick from you to Hobi and he almost flinches.

“Jesus fucking Christ-” Jin looks back at you. “Did you have to tell Hobi?”

You bristle “I didn’t tell him anything yet. That’s how you properly protect people. Instead of you know-” The insult doesn’t make sense and neither does your anger. Jin is your pack omega but it doesn’t feel like it when you grab his lapel and shake him a little. He doesn’t move, You’re too slight to alter his course.

Hobi stumbles to your side, hand on your shoulder and Jin's. The pack omega almost flinches at the touch.

“Will both of you swallow your god damn pride and-”

The three of you fall silent when Jimin reaches up to grab your thigh.

Jimin's hand on your wrist goes vice-tight, and when you look down at him, he's more lucid. More there through the haze of pain and blood. "If anyone has any right to be mad at Jinnie- it's me."

You stare Jin down, and after a breath, he's the one who looks away from your glare, taking your hands from his coat and gently detangling them.

"Let's just get him to the fucking car." You bite out. And you get back on your knees to gently guide Jimin away from leaning up against the metal. Get your hand around Jimin’s good arm and start to try and tug him to his feet. His eyes follow you fever bright. “Tell Tae that yourself when we get you out of here.”

the three of you get jimin on his feet. Jin under his good shoulder and Hobi by his hip you there, grabbing Jimin's gun and the mask from the ground. Hobi almost trips on a piece of metal.

He’s being so good with this so- so normal. Making pregnant and stressed eye contact with you when you look at him but stay mostly silent.

Jimin’s car keys fall onto the dusty earth just as you get to Hobi’s. placing jimin gently into the backseat before you stop to pick them up.

“My car; they can’t find it here.” You glance at Jin, then Hobi, looking grey.

“Someone needs to be in the back of the car to stabilize you. you can’t just be flopping around when we drive to the-” You break off because oh this just got so much worse; there’s no way that Jimin’s going to be able to go to the hospital. Even with injuries like this.

You make eye contact with Jin again, and both of you realize at the same time, the mountain of evidence that must be inside it, but you're only the three of you- if you take Jimin's car and Hobi takes his and Jin takes his own- no one will be there to hold Minnie and keep him stable. But who knows when you'll have a chance to come back and get Jimin's car.

If the authorities find his car and the body still inside that building. There's no shortage of what they might be able to convict Jimin for. If there was ever a time that you needed another person it would be right now. You should have called Yoongi.

You look up at Jin, “Get rid of it, we just have to-”

“The river-” You stand there, two opposite sides of the same coin both grinning because it's a good plan.

“If we sink it, they’ll never find it.”

A couple of miles away where the floodlights shine, they must knock over something large because you hear the boom and feel the tremble in the earth.

You take everything out of the car first, throwing it into the front seat of Hobi's car. Hobi tries not to think about the items too hard. The sniper rifle, the 3 bulletproof vests, or the ski mask. There's a variety of other equipment underneath the false bottom, arranged perfectly, everything has its spot. An empty tranquilizer gun. Ropes and black trash bags.

The three of you work like a polished team. Moving the car as close as you can to the water Near an old dry dock that flooded, where the soil turns soft and spongy.

It’s hard to push even though you put the car in neutral. the three of you still have to put all your weight into it. Jimin waits in Hobi’s car, parked on the edge. Watching your sluggish procession.

“Take your time, it’s not like I’m dying over here or anything.”

“Shut up you are not going to die” You snap. The line of the doorframe digs into your shoulder as you push with all your might, putting all of your anger and betrayal behind it because it has nowhere to go otherwise.

Jimin really isn’t helping. Hand pressed over his bullet wound, blood slowly dripping from between his fingers.

Your feet fight against the muck, sliding through it, cold and gross around your ankles. Water soaks your socks.

“Seriously I’m bleeding all over the interior. gonna have to get it detailed after i'm gone.” Hobi picks his head up from the other side, grinning at you. You think it’s the first time you’ve even felt a ghost of a smile grace your face since you got the call. He has no idea how much you need that smile.

“It’s red, won’t stain. Don't worry minnie.”

“Your concern for me is glowing.” He's smiling but Jimin’s hand is knuckle-tight over his shoulder.

“Shut up.” you grind out.

Once you get going downhill it’s easy to push the car, down down down until you hit the muck, knee-deep in the fowl-smelling stuff. You walk with it into the icy water. Hobi’s sweatshirt is so big on you and it billows around you in the brackish water. Weighing you down like an anchor in a storm. You guide the car and the cold water is up to your waist. The car thuds and then shudders, bubbling as you get it deeper and deeper.

"That should be good. Come on."

You think you’re fine until you try to pull away from the side of the car and can’t.

Hobi is already cutting through the water back towards the shore, his back to you. You can’t move, and the car is sinking inch by inch. Slowly dragging you along with it. Some corner of your sweatshirt snagged on the doorframe or hooked.

Your hands move scrabbling. Trying to find the spot at your hip where you’re caught. But you can’t see, the water is so dark you can't even see your hands below the surface. Is it terror or just the cold that makes your hands so uncooperative?

You haven’t even had time to cry out before there is a body behind you, hand closing around the spot where you’re snagged under the water, ripping the fabric with strong hands.

Jin’s hands don’t leave you once he’s untangled you, grabbing your hips and dragging you back, back through the mud and up to the embankment. His hand on the back of your neck, “I’ve got you pup, you’re okay, you’re fine.”

Hobi’s already standing up there, soaking wet too. The dust pills on your pant legs and behind you, the car gives one last gurgle. Disappearing for good.

In the dusty darkness, you look at Jin. His gaunt face, soaked with muck like you are. The ends of his hair clumped together, muddy. You blink up at him and he blinks down at you, water in his eyes.

Jimin and Hobi wait, watching you both stand there. Suddenly the gun in your waistband feels too heavy to carry any longer.

Jin closes his eyes, screwing them shut tight like he's waiting for you to shove him again. “Before you yell at me, you should know that Yoongi already knows, about me being an FBI agent. He's known since the beginning."

there is a moment of silence where hobi looks from you to jin. But then You collide with Jin burying your face in the front of his shirt. He swallows past the lump in his throat. One bloody hand comes up to touch your hair and cradle the back of your head.

“Pup- we don’t have time, we have to go. Minnie-” You pull back, eyes wet.

“Alright- alright- just- we’ll meet you at home?”

Jin turns to Hobi, nodding. Hoseok stoops, putting Jimin's legs in the back of the car, they're shaking. All of Jimin is shaking. His body is in shock from losing so much blood and from the cold.

“Don’t speed, I’ll be right behind you. Don’t give anyone a reason to pull you over.”

~-~

(Namjoon.)

The inside of the pizza parlor is balmy with the smell of cooking dough, garlic, parmesan cheese, and Jungkook's happy sunny scent. So at odds with the cold outside.

Namjoon watches Tae and Jungkook giggle and act like pups. Heart clenching the way it always does when he looks at the pack. They smell like roses and honey, like spring days far away now in winter but Namjoon can already feel the spring warmth thawing his tiredness left over from work. A haze to the edge of his vision like he's feeling bumble-bee fluff and sucking honey from the air.

Hope is hot and necessary like sunlight, and Namjoon has a whole lot of it for the future right now. and good for him honestly- it's the last easy breathes he's going to have for a good long while.

He can't believe it. You and Hobi. His body gives an involuntary happy shiver.

Yoongi catches it and raises a knowing eyebrow.

The pack is willing to wait here and give you and Hobi a little more time to sort things out. They've given you hours, they'll give maybe one more. They've already taken Tae and Jungkook out for ice cream. Dessert before dinner has both of them sugar high and hyper.

The pizza parlor is mostly empty- there are no glares or looks as they laugh loud and try to imitate a dance, jungkook's phone propped up on a napkin holder.

Namjoon and yoongi don't join in, they just stare at each other. Yoongi looks like he might be a little bit in shock, the scent blooming every few seconds, sweet chocolate cocoa when he thinks of it, and salty worry when he reaches over to check Tae's phone- just to see if you've texted.

Namjoon knows, and so does Jungkook because Jungkook knows everything.

“I can’t believe they actually-” Jungkook snorts, this isn’t the first time Yoongi’s repeated those words, he’s been muttering it under his breath every few minutes for the last few hours, mostly to himself. Jungkook indulges him this time.

“I know- I thought they’d be emotionally constipated for at least another month.”

Jungkook’s hand is nearly permanently glued to the back of Yoongi’s neck, squeezing reassuringly every few seconds. Even as he and Tae giggle and fall into each other, watching back their video on Tae’s phone. Her sparkly phone case catches the light, and little bits of glitter fall and trickle slowly just like the snow falling outside.

Namjoon's thoughts slush slowly.

Namjoon feels settled down to his bones, in that deep-seated alpha way that he’s not sure he’d be able to articulate even if he tried. Nesting tonight is gonna hit so fucking well. Namjoon is going to scent both you and Hobi until he can feel the sex and pleasure on his teeth and tongue, might just need to taste your arousal for himself. He'll be sweet about it and give you a little wiggle room just to put you back in your places. He feels half feral wanting it already. If he's not careful a scenting like that might send Hobi into rut or you into heat.

Namjoon's almost trembling at the idea of it.

God fucking damn it, he's so in love it hurts a little. He’s sure that Yoongi feels the same deep calmness, the sense of rightness, thinking about you and Hobi.

Yoongi’s lopsided grin says It finally fucking happened. Namjoon’s dimpled smile says, I know, I’m surprised we didn’t have to orchestrate it. They don’t have to say it, the soft words would be swallowed up under the music playing over the loudspeaker (the idol group that Jimin guards- their newest hit).

Their knees are nested between each other’s on the too-small table and too-small seats. Namjoon’s big palm on Yoongi’s knee all tight. His hand over the pack alphas, tangling and playing together in a way that Jin would call flirting without words and Tae might call poetic.

The pack took one car to the pizza place, Namjoon's, gathering snow outside. Probably a bad move honestly because Namjoon is on call. The surgery this morning went off without a hitch, clipping aneurysms on a middle-aged alpha usually goes off without a hitch because Namjoon is quite good at his job. If anything happens post-op Namjoon will have to leave them stranded here.

As Namjoon watches something crosses Yoongi’s face that looks a bit like confusion, his hand leaves Namjoon’s to settle on his hip. Eyebrows pulling together.

Huh? Is it the mating mark?

Their food has just arrived, cauliflower pizza for Jungkook, a messy calzone for Yoongi, and his own meat-filled slice when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Namjoon smiles seeing Hobi’s contact, and answers it. It’s you on the line when he picks up.

“Whatever you do, don’t put me on speaker. Don’t react. Just go somewhere where you won’t be overheard by anyone.” Namjoon's smile falls instantly.

Something about your tone has goosebumps rising on his arms. inexplicable, whether it's instincts or just the fact that Namjoon knows your voice and has never heard you sound like this that tips him off he's not sure.

You’re in the back of Hobi’s car, Jimin sprawled across your lap, your fingers stroking down his cheek, your other hand putting pressure on his bullet wound. Jimin lets out these little hiccupping breaths and in the front seat, Hobi’s eyes flick to the two of you. Your pause your call to soothe him, letting him inhale big settling breaths of your scent. Nose and mouth pressed hard to your wrist. Teeth biting down because Jimin needs something to muffle his pained growl.

"Just hold on Minnie, I know it hurts. We’re almost back to the house."

Namjoon hears it, and his whole body goes cold.

You can say many things about the pack, about pack alphas and pack omegas, but listening goes both ways. Namjoon would never dream of disobeying you when you talk like this. Namjoon stands and walks to the door mechanically. Only when he’s outside, cold air swirling around him, does he speak.

“What’s wrong?”

“Something’s happened," Namjoon closes his eyes "-and I need you not to tell the others. I need you to come home and leave Jungkook and Tae. Jimin's hurt and we need you.”

Namjoon feels the moment the tense breath in his chest sticks there and he realizes you’re not joking. Jungkook looks up, furrowing his eyebrows at Namjoon in the dark window. The snowflakes falling catch the lamplight around him, dotting his red sweatshirt like the reverse of blood on snow.

There’s a pause and then, “There’s a lot you don’t know, but I need you to hurry.”

Namjoon nods then pauses when he realizes you can’t see. He’s not sure he’s ever heard you sound so serious.

“Do you understand why I’m asking you this Namjoon?”

Namjoon has always been an honest alpha, even when it doesn’t stroke his ego. “No.”

“Because if Tae sees what’s happening, she’s going to need someone to comfort her, and everyone needs to be focused on mini right now.” Your voice trembles, breaking. Below you, Jimin smiles, leaning into your arm. Babbling little and delirious from pain and blood loss.

“Love you so much Tae- wanna be your mate- wanna marry you too if y/n lets me- wanna have your pups."

"Jimin. You are an alpha. You can't get pregnant." Hobi says dryly from the driver's seat, making a very careful left turn that's so slow that it garners a honk from the people behind him.

"But Tae could at least try-"

You close your eyes against the lights of the highway, and across your lap you feel wet soaking into your pant legs. You don't look down, You know it’s blood. It’s so warm, spilling across your knees like sunshine. Bubbling up with every heartbeat.

You don’t know how much more blood Jimin can lose before it’s critical, which is why you need Namjoon.

“-And if Jungkook finds out the stress could make him have a seizure.”

Namjoon is silent on the other end of the line. Completely quiet. Frozen on the sidewalk outside of the pizza place. Above him, the pastel blue pizzeria sign buzzes and flickers. Namjoon inhales the cold air, his exhale coming out warm and steamy visible. When he turns to look inside Yoongi is already staring.

Namjoon must look devastated because Yoongi shoots to his feet. Saying something to the others before he heads out after Namjoon. The bell clinging until he's right there reaching for the phone.

“I’ll see you at home.” You shut your eyes tight. “Bring Yoongi too. I need him.”

The phone in Namjoon’s hands buzzes and when he looks the call has disconnected.

~-~

It's a good thing that most of the snow has melted off or else you’d have a harder time concealing Jimin’s bleeding form as you pull into the driveway. You’re barely outside for a handful of seconds. No curtains move in the shuttered windows of your neighbors. No one is in the cul-de-sac, not even Noodle is waiting for you on the rock wall.

There is no red trail in the snow, just a few drops that land on the dark slate walkway that you’ll clean up before morning. The porch light is off and Your hand leaves a dark imprint on the railing as you rush to open the door for Jin and Hobi, supporting Jimin between the two of them.

But the door opens before you can get to it.

"Joonie!” Jimin's tone drips with false cheer, grinning at the pack alpha and your mate standing just inside the house. As Jin and hobi half drag and half carry Jimin inside and out of sight. Blood dripps down the side of his face from his temple to his chin.

“Holy fuck” your mate mutters. Out of Jin and Hobi and you- you easily have the most blood on yourself. Your pants are soaked through with it and muck from the river, even your hair feels wet and sticky. You must certainly look like a sight, like something out of a nightmare or a bad memory- yoongi can take his pick.

(In truth, the sight of you blood soaked brings up only one other night in yoongi's memory; a night just as tense and pain filled as this. the night you killed Geumjae. This won't be the last time Yoongi sees you soaked in blood either. But at least next time the blood you'll wear won't be the packs and you'll be wearing it as a king and not a pawn).

The drive must have truly taken a toll on him because the second the door closes behind you Jimin’s knees give out and his eyes roll back, passing out as the last bit of energy vanishes from his body. Hobi almost falls with him, but Namjoon and Yoongi are quick to come to his aid.

“Quick- the table.”

Yoongi clears the dining room table with a simple swipe of his hands, sending the bowl of tangerines scattering, rolling like many mini suns across the hardwood floor. They put him down as gently as they can, but Jimin's a puppet with his strings cut. Namjoon swoops in, more trained than any of you, grabbing Jimin’s ankles and holding them up above his heart.

"Come on- Minnie- come on " Namjoon reaches over to tap Jimin’s cheek, gentle once and harder the second time, more of a true slap. Jimin gasps awake, but he’s only half conscious. It’s twilight, his eyelashes fluttering face pale. Mumbling Tae's name over and over again.

"Jin, hold his legs up for me- here"

You’ve never seen Namjoon move so mechanically, so professionally. He's already wearing sterile gloves. His black doctor’s bag cracked open and full of gauze and other medical paraphernalia. The skin around the bullet wound is pinched with blood. Gushing fresh as Namjoon cuts away as much of the tourniquet as he dares with a pair of kitchen shears.

Jimin’s head lolls to the side.

Namjoon lets out a single wet noise. You haven’t heard him cry in so long, you don’t realize that’s what it is until you look at his face.

Your mate’s face is pale and gaunt as he looks at you over the dining room table. “Didn’t you tell him anything?”

“No- I wasn’t sure what to say, I-” Yoongi’s eyes flicker down to Minnie, then up at Jin who looks like he might be about to pass out himself. Holding himself away.

“Who shot him? Did someone corner you? Jin-”

Jin lifts his chin about to confess but before he can Namjoon snaps “Everyone needs to be quiet- please.”

Namjoon places his stethoscope oh so gently to jimin's skin Even the slight action makes Jimin’s face twist in pain. The whole pack is quiet and still, like statues.

The moment passes syrup slow, And Namjoon moves his stethoscope an inch to the left, then the right. Only then does he toss it down onto the floor. Grabbing a sterile towel from his medicine bag and presses it hard over the bullet wound. Closing his eyes and grimacing before he stuffs it, fingers and all into the bullet wound.

Jimin jerks violently, howling, nearly thrashing in pain if it weren’t for Namjoon and Yoongi and you holding him down. He flails, hitting you in the face knocking you back.

Hobi catches you before you fall. “I’m fine, it’s okay just- help them hold Minnie" your hand over your hot cheek. It will probably bruise- but you don't even care as you watch as Namjoon pulls himself onto the kitchen table, putting his full body weight over the bullet wound to try and stem the bleeding.

“He needs a hospital. We need to pack it and then take him there. He’s lost too much blood.”

"We can’t- all bullet wounds need to be mandated reported.”

It’s not all that large of a hole to be honest. Maybe a finger with on the back side and a little smaller at Jimin's front because Jin shot Jimin at such close range. It’s a threw and threw. Even though Namjoon packed the front his back still leaks steadily.

“But Jimin will live, whatever’s going on-” Namjoon shares a glace with Yoongi Jin, then you- and you watch as it dawns on him. “wait- You do know what’s going on, theres something you're not telling me.”

It's accusatory but you nod while Jin and Yoongi stay placid. Namjoon looks once at Jin again then at you, deciding who he trusts more to correctly gauge the odds.

Namjoon looks at you, waiting.

“If the wrong people find out Jiminie is- that he’s-” you pause, and Jimin grimaces, there is blood on his teeth, in his mouth. “It might not just be him hurt by the end of it.”

“But we can’t just let him die.”

Hobi just stands by the couch, your nest just tousled as you’d left it what feels like a lifetime ago. for the first time that night- hobi breaks.

"Oh my god Jimin's going to die-"

Jin's hands are in his hair, yanking, "Tae is going to kill me-"

“Shut up, no one is dying yet. If he dies on us I’ll kill him myself.” you scoff, holding Jimin’s wrist, his hand. “I won’t even bother with a gun I’ll just..."

You fall silent with a sudden intake of breath. Yoongi's head whips in your direction. Jin too looks up from where he was just bowed, realization lighting his eyes up bright.

The three of you share a look and for a second, the only sound is Jimin's blood dripping. A little faster with every heartbeat. Down the leg of the kitchen table onto the floor in red rivulets.

Drip drip drip.

(What you don’t know about Jin and Yoongi’s tentative agreement is that even though they know about each other- they've still been on either side of this. They’ve never worked with each other, never shared querying glances like this. It's a special secret language that thieves and secret killers share.)

Yoongi follows your line of sight to the kitchen. The knives sit sheathed in the knife block. The same ones that he bought Jin as a fancy courting present years ago. The same one's Yoongi sharpens before he cuts the meat that the pack eats for samgyeopsal and bulgogi and shabushabu.

A sharp cut is an easy cut to fix, unlike a blown-apart cavernous bullet wound.

“No.” Is your first reaction. Even though it was your idea. “It’s too dangerous.”

"It won't work." is Jin's response. Namjoon glances from you to him. He hasn't yet realized what you're talking about. doesn't posess the same finess for bloodshed that the three of you do (the three of you could conquer the world, you just haven't' realized it yet)

"It will work." Yoongi straightens. there are whispers of darkness on yoongi's face. a childhood he doesn't talk about in his eyes. a childhood filled of blood and less kindness than you'd think; for it to have made a man like yoongi; who knows how to be gentle because he's felt every kind of unplesantness there is.

"I've seen it done before. A long time ago but still- it works."

“What,” Namjoon snaps. "Are you guys fucking talking about?"

“There’s another option.” Yoongi’s hands are on Jimin, holding his wrists down. his other hand tucking his hair behind his ears and kissing his bloody cheek. His hands are getting colder and there isn’t much time. He’s quiet for a moment, lips pressed to jimin's skin, before he looks up. None of you want to say what you’re thinking.

“A good stab wound with a larger knife, through and through will disguise the bullet wound. It will stop him from bleeding any more. No one will know that Jimin was shot and we can take him to the hospital."

Namjoon’s scent is sour, sour, and acrid and it makes Jimin arch in pain, face twisted. He still doesn't understand why no one must know that Jimin was shot. Still doesn't understand that it was Jin who shot him. He'll learn later over hospital coffee but for now, he misses the blood-soaked and cut up FBI vest laying in a heap on your dining room floor. No yellow left on it- just red.

“Oh, absolutely not. I’m not letting anyone stab anybody."

Jimin’s head lolls on the table. His mumbled words fall on deaf ears. “Stab away….might as well…already stabbed through the fucking heart from Tae" (how could Cupid be so cruel?)

"Joonie look at me." Your hand is on Namjoon’s arm, his shoulder, the back of his neck and he rounds on you. Alpha aggression striking before Namjoon can reign in his instincts. He almost snaps his teeth at you. You don't react at the alpha baring his teeth in your face because underneath it all is the panic of a child, a pup who's terrified he's about to lose his family (a sinking feeling in his gut that says maybe, he already has.)

You understand, you know what it's like to feel that way.

Your voice is so calm and gentle. “Namjoon- you just have to trust me. If we take Jimin to the hospital and if they have a reason to take his fingerprints. There is a very good chance Minnie will go to prison. That I will go to prison- that Yoongi will too.”

Jin blinks, eyelashes fluttering. And Namjoon is silent, Hobi's silent too. All of them watching you. Your hands are steady, and your eyes are clear. The clearest they've ever seen.

“There is a lot we haven’t told you. But you need to trust me.”

It’s then that he spots it. Yoongi’s tone is dark as he yanks the wooden mask out of Hoseok's hands. Yoongi would know those masks anywhere; the one that the family gives its employees. This specific type is to delineate a non-relative. The specific kind is the mask that killers wear.

“Where the fuck did you get this?”

You look up at him, “it’s Minnie’s.”

Yoongi’s chest heaves, breath coming quick and fast. “No, it’s not- it can’t be.”

Namjoon’s teeth look particularly sharp when he snaps. “Does anyone but me give a fuck about Jimin right now? Or do you guys only want to pretend that you do?” The rest of the pack watches Namjoon as he ties a new tourniquet. A better one. he can't meet your eyes. quiet and furious as he pulls the knot tight.

“There are too many ligaments in Jimin’s arm, you could cripple him.”

“What other choice do we have?"

“So thats it?” your voice is a shred past hysterical, “we just take him to the hospital and let him go to jail, or let him bleed out and die here?”

The four of you stand over Jimin, on the kitchen table, the spot where you’ve eaten dinner and broken bread and loved each other for the last year. A place of nourishment and love now a place of pain and terror.

You walk three strides to the kitchen and grab the largest steak knife from the kitchen block. Your eyes dark and determined as you stare them down.

"I'll do it if you won't! I'm not letting Jimin go to prison!" you blink tears out of your eyes and there is a moment of silence, a moment where everyone just looks at you.

There is a warm body at your back, a strong chest and long arms that you know circling your waist to pull you back against them. Rubbing soft down your stomach as another comes up to guide your hand. long fingers that curl around your small fist. Grabbing the knife and guiding it, syrup slow out of your grasp.

"There we go" hobi says, words whisper soft.

It's like his words break the spell. “Give me that thing before you hurt yourself.” namjoon snaps.

Namjoon holds the knife and everyone watches as he walks to the pack's liquor cabinet. grabbing the nearest highest proof bottle that he can find and pouring it over the kitchen blade.

“If anyone’s going to do it, it should be me, because I know where Jimin’s joint is.” The pack nods, agreeing. Scattering.

You toss a rag to Jin. “Wipe the gunshot residue from your hands before we get to the hospital. Wipe Jimin’s too while you’re at it. Just in case.”

Namjoon holds the knife in the kitchen. You all have some amount of Jimin’s blood on you and he blinks from the table lucid.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon asks, staring down at Jimin, knife in his hand. “Go outside and warm up the car. You’ll drive because you have the steadiest hands besides me.”

You and Jin and Hobi are silent, everyone just watches namjoon for a second. Yoongi hesitates, turning back in the doorway. "Do it from behind that way Jimin can say he didn't see who stabbed him."

Namjoon nods, looking down.

There is Jimin’s blood on the doorknob and the floor. You wonder who’s going to clean it up.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon asks, and your mate starts, running out the door, leaving it open so that the cold can slip in. Namjoon’s hand tightens on the knife.

Jimin grins up at him from the table, eyelashes fluttering.

"Do it."

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 Every little bit of encouragement helps <3

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

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~-~

Notes:

the line "A faceless god, if you’re going to take so much from him- the least you can do is give me this." is a call back to a line all the way in the beginning of the series where tae writes "the least you could have done was leave me whole" about yoongi.

the beginning feels a little drawn out but honestly i feel like it's such a traumatizing moment that it makes sense. the beginning was one of those cases that i read it so many times i can't tell if its ass or gas- so it's up for you to decide. i like the later parts of the chapter a lot better.

All things said, hobi is taking this incredibly well.

I was such a sleepy bunny editing this this morning! i'm sorry if there are more errors than usual.

ooh they fighting~ this might be a little bit of a /oh shit/ confession- but i greatly belived that the m/c would have killed jin had she thought that he was actually trying to kill jimin for being involved with the mafia like- one wrong move on his part and she might have shot him. they're gonna forget about it and nothing will change between them but god- that moment where he comes around the corner could have gone so bad if she was a little more trigger happy.

honestly i started to hate this chapter halfway through editing it, if there was ever one that i needed you to show love to its this one god 😮‍💨 i never thought i'd feel out of practice writing this sort of thing.

are the funny parts out of place? do they break up the terror too much or just the right amount?

I cannot take credit for the methodology behind how they hide jimin's bullet wound. i will confess this is copied from an episode of Elementary- ie the american version of sherlock. i tried to look it up if you could possibly conceal bullet wounds this way and didn't find anything so you're just gonna have to trust me.

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writing-with-olive · 3 years

Text

The Stonewall Riots of 1969

1) Current State of Being (it was not good, fam, not good)

To set the scene, we’re in the late sixties. We’ve won the second World War, and suddenly everyone’s dealing with the fact that the patriotic frenzy America has been whipped into isn’t really having the same purpose it used to. Thing is, everyone’s still really heated along the basic lines of DEATH TO COMMUNISM AND ALSO COMMUNISTS. During the war, this was helpful. It created a sense of unity. But once the war was over, attention turned inward.

At this time, there was also research that queer people were "sex perverts" and a government report even came out saying

"The lack of emotional stability which is found in most sex perverts and the weakness of their moral fiber, makes them susceptible to the blandishments of the foreign espionage agent [...] the pervert is easy prey to the blackmailer.

This same report also cited a case of a gay man "who's homosexuality was used by the Russians [who were communist] to recruit him as a double agent before world war 1." Basically, the overall gist was that gay people were believed to either be communists now, or they would become communists because their brains were weaker.

Alrighty, but why were they easy prey? First, when it came to communism, they were just as susceptible as anyone else, but after steep laws against queer people were passed, blackmail became pretty real.

So... yeah, let's talk about a couple laws that were in place in the late sixties, shall we?

For the crime of sleeping with a consenting partner in the privacy of your own home you could face anything from:

A light fine

Five, ten or twenty years in prison

A life sentence

Electrical shock therapy

Castration

In addition, to target trans people, police had also dug out a law from the nineteenth century that was originally passed to supress angry tenant farmers who would don disguises and demonstrate against their landlords (law found in subsection 4 of section 240.35 of the New York Penal Code). The law stated that individuals could not wear more than three items of clothing that did not match their assigned gender at birth.If an officer thought you were breaking this law, they could arrest you and take you to a bathroom or similarly private location and have an officer who matched your presented gender either do a strip search or pat you down there to see if things matched.

Things got especially bad when New York realized they’d have to “clean up the place” in preperation for hosting the World Fair. In part, this meant a heavy crackdown on the gay community, and by extention, gay bars.

2) The Genovese Crime Family and Stonewall

At around this time, the Mob was starting to notice that gay bars were an excelent source of profit - since the prohibition era (1920-1933), limited access bars and speakeasies had popped up everywhere and since the gay community already couldn’t be themselves on the streets, they retreated to these more sheltered locations.

Three mafia members decided to open a gay bar because ohhh boy could you rake in some serious profit. Combined, the three of them put up $3500 to “renovate” the Stonewall Inn (which had gone through itterations of being a straight nightclub, straight bar, and gay restaurant in a sort of irregular cycle).

Renovations included building a stage to dance on, painting the walls black, and getting a jukebox. No running water, no fire exit, just the bare minimum. It certainly wasn’t legal.

When they opened (as a bottle club to get around pesky liquor laws), the bouncer would look through a little slat in the door and if you had a codeword or looked sufficiently gay, he’d let you in. You then had to sign up to be a part of the club (about a dollar) and write your name down on a sheet of paper. Of course, no one wrote down their real names.

The liquor in question was stolen, to begin with, and then heavily watered down with... questionably clean water, and then sold at about three times the original price in half-cleaned glasses (glasses were dunked in a bucket and then reused). Since none of the patrons really had high expectations anyway, they went with it. Needless to say, however, Stonewall was not a particularly nice place to be.

With all the money the trio raked in, a cut had to go to the Mafia man who controlled the district, and another cut went to paying of the notoriously corrupt 6th Precinct, to avoid getting the whole place shut down.

Because they were payed off, the police would only conduct their mandated raids early in the night before things got going, and on weekdays - this was when there weren’t a ton of people there, and it was easy to make it look like nothing was amiss.

3) The Raid (this is where shit gets real)

First of all, the thing is - no one knows why it happened. It just.... did.

On June 28th, 1969, at about 2am, the night was in full swing. The bar was crammed full of people dancing and drinking. The air was stuffy as usual and quite dark.

Then the bright flourescent lights come on - the signal that there was a raid and to seperate and to look less gay. The police came through, and called that they were making arrests. Everyone needed to line up against the wall and have their ID’s ready. Of course this was an issue, because just about everyone was legally not supposed to be at stonewall.

As the police began taking people outside, a crowd was going - raids at this time were... unusual to say the least. Some of the queens went into the back of the police cars without much of a fight - obviously they were terrified, but it didn’t look like there was much they could do.

One of them, however, and no one knows who for sure, was having none of this. Though Marsha Johnson and Sylvia Rivera have both been suggested as the starter of the riot, both have denied it, saying it was someone else. Storme DeLarverie, however, has both accepted and denied it was her. In an interview where she confirmed herself as the starter, she described her reaction, saying:

“The cop said ‘Move f****t’, thinking that I was a gay guy. I said, ‘I will not! And, don’t you dare touch me.’ With that, the cop shoved me and I instinctively punched him right in the face. He bled! He was then dropping to the ground - not me!”

She then turned to the crowd and yelled “why don’t you all do something?”

This was when things transformed. Objects started to fly. It was like someone had just punched a hole through the dam holding back the collective anger of the queer community.

A lot of the queer street kids, homeless, desperate, and with nothing to lose, were at the forefront of the fight, throwing anything from stones to pennies to bottles. Here’s the thing: no one really liked Stonewall - it wasn’t particularly nice or inviting or anything like that, but it was THEIRS and they were going to fight like hell for it.

Those being pulled out of the Inn started fighting back too - throwing what they could, kicking, punching, pushing back against the police. Marsha Johnson, a woman some have referred to as “basically a lesbian superhero” even climbed a telephone pole and threw an unidentified heavy object at a police car, shattering the window.

It was chaos and the crowd was still building. The flying objects didn’t stop, and it wasn’t like anyone had great aim - they were just as likely to hit a fellow protester - but there was a sense of comraderie and it made the police nervous. They were calling for reinforcements, but none were coming.

Finally, one of the police chiefs decided they had to retreat into Stonewall. They grabbed a few people as hostages and dissapeared inside, and barricaded the door. The inside of the Stonewall Inn was a wreck. The jukebox had been smashed. Same with the stage, the bathroom mirrors, and the cash register. Broken furniture was strewn on the floor.

Outside, the rioters had yanked a parking meter out of the ground and were trying to bash their way through the door, using it like a battering ram. Each thud made the officers even more nervous, and the captain, realizing things could turn from bad to horrific and deadly commanded his officers not to shoot unless he shot first. He went up to each one, commanding them individually by name, saying that if they shot without his direct sayso, they would be spend the rest of their police careers with only the worst possible jobs. To their credit, no one shot.

Outside, reinforcements finally arrived, armed in full riot gear - helmets, plastic shields, those club/baton things. They came forward in a full on phalanx. Then it started getting really ugly. People ended up lying on the sidewalk with blood coming from their heads or injured in other ways. The crowd started falling back, step by step. Finally, many of them ran.

But not to flee. Instead, they went all the way around the block and came up behind the reinforcement officers. Surprised that there was a new attack coming from behind, it was the police that began to loose the ground, and were forced to retreat back, back, back.

It was into the late, late hours of the night when the riots finally died down to nothing, the last of the crowd finally dispersed, exhausted.

4) The Next Day (aka a giant middle finger to the cops)

The shattered glass sparkled in the morning light the next day - a tribute to what had gone down the night before.

That night, the crowds around stonewall were huge. And it wasn’t just the queer community - the anti-war protesters and Black Panthers had joined in, standing against the even larger ranks of officers. The night before was a tipping point, but if momentum was to keep going, there needed to be sustained effort.

Inside, the Inn was back to normal. The Mafia had repaired the stage, gotten a new cash register, and even replaced the jukebox. It was if the efforts of the police had never even happened. Throughout the night, the queer community went in and out as though everything were totally normal - as if the police didn’t matter.

The riots were even worse than the night before, but the police couldn’t gain any ground.

Despite what was happening and the triumphs of the queer community, the press was a little less enthusiastic, aiming to diminish what had happened, taking the viewpoint of the police, or claiming the riots happened because of a celebrity’s death, and not the decades upon decades of oppression.

5) The Impact (how we got to today)

A year later, a lot of the Stonewall participants gathered to commemorate the movement. There were now several activism groups that had grown since the riots, but there needed a way to keep it growing - keep the flame from dying out.

One woman proposed that they have a march like the Civil Rights movement and Anti-war protesters were having. As soon as the question filled the space, there was unanimous consensus. Yes - they were to march.

It was terrifying. One member remembered fearing that only ten or so people would show up - that it was only going to make them into a laughingstock and nothing more. Indeed, many people had shown up with popcorn to “watch the f*gs” - it was seen almost as a show or performance.

But the moment was anything but. When the member looked back, in apprehension, what he saw wasn’t ten or the anticipated couple hundred people. No more than two thousand people had joined the parade. And not just the queer community - straight New Yorkers were there too. It was a moment of solidarity, and a demand for justice.

Every year since, there have been pride marches around the country, memorium to the community, and to the fight we’ve been fighting for a very long time, and to the patrons of Stonewall Inn who finally decided enough was enough.

6) Sources (because apparently trusting an unsourced tumblr posts is seen as an academic no-no)

(all in MLA because I just copy/pasted them from my research notes and also MLA feels official and all that)

Yardley, William. "Stormy DeLarverie, Early Leader in the Gay Rights Movement, Dies at 93." The New York Times, 29 May 2014, www.nytimes.com/2014/05/30/nyregion/storme-delarverie-early-leader-in-the-gay-rights-movement-dies-at-93.html?_r=0. Accessed 12 Apr. 2021.

Brown, Dalvin. "Marsha P. Johnson: Transgender Hero of Stonewall Riots Finally Gets Her Due." USA Today, 27 Mar. 2019, www.usatoday.com/story/news/investigations/2019/03/27/black-history-marsha-johnson-and-stonewall-riots/2353538002/. Accessed 12 Apr. 2021.

Burey, Jodi-Ann. "'It Wasn't No Damn Riot': Celebrating Stonewall Uprising Activist Storme DeLarverie." The Riveter, Feb. 2017, theriveter.co/voice/it-wasnt-no-damn-riot-celebrating-stonewall-uprising-activist-storme-delarverie/. Accessed 12 Apr. 2021.

Carter, David. Stonewall: The Riots That Sparked the Gay Revolution. 2nd ed., New York, St. Martin's Griffin, 2010.

Duberman, Martin B. Stonewall. New York, Plume, 1993.

Edsall, Nicholas C. Toward Stonewall: Homosexuality and Society in the Modern Western World. Charlottesville [Va.], U of Virginia P, 2003.

Kristi K. "Something like a Super Lesbian: Storme DeLarverie (In Memoriam)." The K Word, edited by Kristi K, 28 May 2014, thekword.com/2014/05/28/something-like-a-super-lesbian-storme-delarverie-in-memoriam/. Accessed 12 Apr. 2021.

---. "Something like a Super Lesbian: Storme DeLarverie (In Memoriam)." The K Word, edited by Kristi K, 28 May 2014, thekword.com/2014/05/28/something-like-a-super-lesbian-storme-delarverie-in-memoriam/. Accessed 12 Apr. 2021.

"The Stonewall You Know Is a Myth. And That's O.K. | NYT Celebrating Pride." YouTube, uploaded by The New York Times, 31 May 2019, www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7jnzOMxb14. Accessed 12 Apr. 2021.

(not in mla sorry) - PBS’s Stonewall Uprising (documentary)

++++

tagging: @veryunoriginal and @doggo038 because yall seemed pretty interested. Also my usual taglist: @candlemouse @bookdragonfanish @book-limerence

If you want to be added/removed from any of my taglists, let me know! taglists found pinned to the top of my blog :D

#queer history #lgbtq #stonewall riots #greenwich #pride parades #sources are at the bottom :D #sixth precinct #storme delarverie #marsha johnson #sylvia rivera #black panthers #anti-war protesters #american history #gay history #olive's writing vibes #guys if you could reblog this that would be awesome more people need to know queer history #yall are the best!

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spikemelikeavolleyball · 4 years

Text

iii : rules ( part two ) ( high low )

high low ; miya atsumu x fem! reader

i. ii. iii. iv. v. [masterlist.]

───── ❝ high low ❞ ─────

[name] [surname] was off limits--

except miya atsumu finds himself

flirting with danger and becoming

rapidly addicted to the sparks between

them.

what osamu doesn’t know won’t

kill him. will it?

───── ❝ high low ❞ ─────

tags; mafia au, sexual content,

violence, strong language, blood,

gore.

this chapter: alcohol,

miya atsumu (because he needs his

own warning label), suggestive content,

some violence.

───── ❝ high low ❞ ─────

three ; rules ( part two )

Your arrival in Japan, unfortunately, did not go unnoticed. While your guard detail--see “glorified babysitters”--had reassured you that the press wouldn’t have a chance to corner you into an interview, there was still some concern over people seeing you and hurting people in order to get close to you. It had happened once, before, the hour predating your first official collaboration with Wisteria. Your guard had gotten a black eye so awful that it had lasted for weeks. He had gotten a very hefty bonus for the trouble, though.

“I should have worn something more incognito,” you mumbled to yourself. The private jet’s bathroom mirror was floor length, so you had a good idea of how your outfit looked and what kind of presence it would give off. Most of the time, you would wear something cute or flashy to fuel your fan club’s activity--you were a sucker and liked browsing through their twitter feed on a private account--but today you weren’t feeling the energy for it. “I forgot I even had these.”

After rummaging around in your bags for something that was comfortable, and not sky high heels or chiffon or silk or outrageously expensive t-shirts and jeans, you had come across a pair of Osamu’s old Inarizaki High volleyball sweatpants. You hadn’t even thought twice about throwing them on and rolling the ankles up to suit your height, even though the name printed on one leg and the jersey number on the other would have your fans tracking him down like the bloodhounds they were. You matched them with a black hoodie, socks, and a mask to hide the irritation underneath your nose, but even then you still stood out like a sore thumb.

It had to be the way you stood, you thought, adjusting your stance to seem more lazy and laid back.

It didn’t work.

With a sigh, you exited the bathroom and found that your things had already been unloaded for you by your glorified babysitters. All that was left was your purse, which you snatched up and hooked over your shoulder, and your phone, which you glanced at and shoved into your pocket. It sunk down so far in the sweatpants pocket that you felt it bounce against the side of your thigh as you walked.

“Nice pants,” one of your guards teased, poking fun at the name printed on the leg. “You sure you don’t want to change them and avoid the media scrutiny?”

“I’m too tired to go back and find something else,” you hummed. One of the guards--there were three in total, at the request of Ushijima-san herself--held out a hand and helped you down the flight of stairs that were a bit too steep for your jetlagged brain to walk down in confidence. “What are we driving in today, my good men?”

“Might I suggest the classic Phantom?” one of them joked, falling into formation when you began walking down the flight portal. “Just kidding. We’re taking the Audi today, since you want to be low profile this afternoon.”

“Good.” You had missed riding around in your trusty Audi; not that a Ferrari or Lamborghini was something to scoff at, but you missed the frugal lifestyle you had when you were in highschool. Once your career took off, you rarely struggled for anything and college had been a breeze. Though, you had no clue what you were going to do with a nuclear engineering degree now that your modeling gig paid more than that ever would. “Make a stop for some cheap drug store coffee and we’re all set.”

“I’ll add it to the memo.”

Before you could open your mouth once more and ask if you could stop by a nearby pastry shop and stuff yourself full of crepes and cake, you entered the main terminal and were immediately bombarded by cameras flashing and people yelling.

“[Name]-sama! We love you!”

“I LOVE YOU!”

“What do you have to say about Wisteria’s latest lingerie line? Do you think these styles should be changed to reflect Japanese standards?”

“[Name]! What are your thoughts on the funding cuts to the women’s centers all around the world?”

That last one caught your attention. You continued to smile behind your mask and wave, shoving a pair of sunglasses over your eyes, and mimed blowing kisses to the adorable teenage girls holding posters that had ‘you’re my idol’ scrawled over the front. You spotted Kuroo and Sayaka standing somewhere near the back, mostly due to Kuroo’s giant rooster hair, and blew double handed kisses to them as well, although the fanboys in the front thought it was for them and nearly fainted on the spot.

You watched them sway with a chuckle, then watched Sayaka grab the kisses and press them to her heart with a goofy wink.

“Hey, Julio?” You didn’t look at the guard as you made your way to the revolving doors in front, watching Kuroo and Sayaka make their way outside to where your car had been parked out of view. “Remind me to send a donation to that women's wayhouse charity by the end of today.”

“Isn’t that a job for your assistant?”

“Nope. I fired her.” You shrugged when the guard fixed you with a bewildered look. “What? She stole my nice Louboutins. And had a gangbang in my house in Calabasas, but we don’t talk about that incident.”

The cleaning crew you had send to bleach down that place had cost you a pretty penny--but Daishou had been kind enough to text you the number of his go-to cleaners (you didn’t ask why, nor did you want to know, but you had an inkling) and had requested that you send him the number of one of your cute co-workers as payment. Needless to say, you had, and that girl had come to work brighter than a lightbulb on Christmas, unusually chirpy and walking just a little bit funny. Your text to Daishou later that day had been along the lines of,’Dear God, Daishou, what did you do, break the poor girl’s hips?’

His reply had been typical of him. ‘It wasn’t anything she didn’t ask for ;)’

Your face of disgust had been timed perfectly. You had been sitting outside, eating a parfait--vegan, of course, due to your diet that you planned to ignore in favor of eating all of the meat you could get your hands on (pun might not be intended)--right in front of someone taking candid shots of you for a drama magazine. Your face had been plastered all over Twitter, with some people going as far as to send hate to the nice place you had gotten your dessert from. You had nipped that little situation in the bud, clarifying it was a text that made you make that face and not the dessert, although you didn’t help things when you had been forced to eat a green tea flavored one to prove that you weren’t lying.

The forced smile you had made to the starstruck owners had been enough to sear it into your memory for eternity.

“[Name]!” Sayaka’s high pitched exclamation knocked you out of your fantasies of parfaits and coffee. She nearly knocked you down with a hug strong enough to make your spine pop. “I missed you so much! You have to tell me how Moscow was! Did you have a good time? And oh my gosh, you just have to see Osamu’s shop, it looks amazing!”

You smiled guiltily at her at that last part, but didn’t say a word. Osamu had asked you to pick out the tiling and countertops, unwilling to trust his own sense of color theory--it was really just awful--and even the tables, which you discreetly paid for and blew off as an anonymous donation. He knew it was you, of course, because who had enough money to pay for genuine marble tables, but he had been kind enough not to say it to your face. Yet.

“One thing at a time, Sayaka,” you laughed, returning her hug with gusto. You then moved on to Kuroo, who wrapped an arm around your neck and scrubbed his knuckles into your once perfectly curled hair. “Damn it, Kuroo! What was that for? I just wanted a hug!”

The former Nekoma captain fixed you with a mischievous grin. “That was for dropping twenty thousand dollars into our account without asking for permission.”

Ah--another one of your random acts of generosity at three in the morning while slightly tipsy. You had Kuroo and Sayaka’s banking passwords and they had yours in case anything happened to them or you, especially with the connections the former Yakuza member had and still kept to this day. You had written them into your will, as well as Osamu, and your fortune would be split between the three of them if you died or wound up missing. Even the contract all of you signed was legally binding.

“What can I say?” You shrugged when Sayaka looped an arm around your waist, tugging you to your Audi. “I saw that you’d been getting a little low and your college bills were running high. I decided to chip in, like the good friend I am. And no, you can’t give it back.”

“You know I don’t like taking your money,” Sayaka whined. “I can make my own just fine.”

You sent an accusing glance her way, followed by a glance to her stomach when Kuroo shook hands with one of your guards. She had the sense to look ashamed at not telling you, at least. “A waitress gig won’t take care of that. And while I’m sure Kuroo makes enough for both of you, I’d like to be a responsible woman and at least pay for your wedding.”

From behind you, Kuroo laughed. “Who said we’re getting married?”

“Yeah,” Sayaka said, her tone slightly dimmer than before. You patted her back in comfort and turned your head around to glare at Kuroo, who was only mildly taken aback by the ferocity--he only realized what he had said as you were collapsing into the backseat of your car, squeezing into the opposite window seat as your two friends followed.

When neither of them opted to break the silence that had developed, you unlocked your phone and shot Osamu a quick text.

'Osamuuuu, what are you doing?'

When he showed no sign of replying, you sighed and locked your phone again, turning your gaze to the couple sitting awkwardly beside you.

“Hey, driver, can we stop by McDonalds?” You waved your hand towards the giant yellow ‘M’ down the street--which was also, coincidentally, packed with people. “I want something to eat.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, switching lanes and jerking Sayaka into Kuroo. You grinned at him through the mirror and he did it again; you loved it when your guards pitched in on your plans. “Drive-thru?”

“No, I think I’ll eat inside,” you winked, and his turn into the parking lot was rough enough to jostle all three of you. “Coffee and hot fudge sundaes, here I come!”

By the time the guards signaled you that they were done arguing maybe an hour and a half later, you had--admittedly--stuffed yourself far too much on ice cream and piping hot syrup. It would require a harsh workout to get all of the calories off, which you knew Wakkun wouldn’t mind helping you out with since he had a game soon, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it as you popped a french fry into your mouth on the way out.

“Are we done?” You asked, grinning at Kuroo and Sakura from between your guards. You could practically feel the stares from two men sitting at the outside tables, one of them on your legs and the other right on your face. “Then let’s get going. I need a nap before I can do anything else.”

As you gave Sayaka and Kuroo their food--both of them grinning at you and nudging you playfully--you locked eyes with one of the men sitting at the table.

And, unknowingly, you had just broken one of Osamu’s most important rules.

You just didn’t know it yet.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#mafia au #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x y/n #one sided #miya osamu x reader

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luminara · 5 years

Text

Soukoku

A Love Like War by psychncislover (37,883 - ongoing)

The city of Yokohama was maintained by two Mafia Families. When an enemy targets the Nakahara Family, they find their only hopes lies in an alliance... with their greatest enemy, the Tsushima Family. But their help comes with a price - a marriage between the two heirs! Will both sides survive not only this enemy, but each other?

Only Human by TheGeatCatsby (62,143 - complete)

Shortly after the defeat of Mimic, Dazai Osamu leaves the Port Mafia. Wanting to take advantage of the situation, the government sends Nakahara Chuuya to gain his trust.

carve your love into my skin by Dont_Wake_The_Writer (64,820 - ongoing)

Chuuya looks underneath Dazai's bandages without his permission. What he finds underneath changes everything.

can the city forgive by erytheia (27,658 - ongoing)

Chuuya knows he’s so so close, fingertips just barely brushing the possibilities between them. But Dazai’s the one calling the shots again, and he’s yanking it away, out of Chuuya’s grasp, taking absolute control before Chuuya even knows he’s given it up. Every single facet of their relationship is one-sided, both of them too blind and too stubborn to stop for a second and consider what’s on the other side of the wall between them before they try to tear their way through it.

A Dandy In The Underworld by idontevenlogic (72,606 - ongoing)

Dazai presented the white candle with one hand and stretched his other hand out towards Chuuya. “My life to defend until your bitter end! Through the fire and iron of Hell, I order you to walk with me! I name you—”

Dazai’s eyes fluttered open as a tired smile spread across his lips at the sight of Chuuya’s impossibly stormy eyes widening with the realization of what specific spell the executive was performing. Nearly falling, the Wellspring altered his course in an attempt to flee from the range of the spell, but the power of the sigil’s pull had already latched onto him like a noose and began to pull him back towards Dazai, despite his wounded hollering and ceaseless writhing.

“—I name you, Nakahara Chuuya, my familiar!”

* * *

Or: Nakahara Chuuya returns to Yokohama and is forced into aiding the Port Mafia in helping them capture a mysterious, dangerous hacker from a checkered past. Along the way, he has to adjust to his new life as the familiar to the most infamous warlock in all of Yokohama: the one and only Dazai Osamu.

of bells, coffees, and love in between by KyuBaisu (40,398 - complete)

Chuuya just wants to eat with his sister, but he ends up wearing a gown, make-up, and high-heels in a fake wedding.

Dazai just wants to see the girl from the advertisement he did years ago, the girl with the ginger hair, blue eyes, and a never disappearing annoyed expression.

A Collision of Fates by dgalerab (83,603 - complete)

Dazai Osamu has always known his fate - to become the vessel of the Hollow God, a god hellbent on reuniting with Its lover, the Tainted God, and wreaking havoc on the world.

But that doesn't mean he can't try going on a last ditch effort of a quest trying to stop it from happening.

hide the truth by writingfromtheshadows (24,611 - complete)

When Chuuya wakes up in the middle of an ongoing fight without any memory of how he got there or what happened to him, he ends up turning to someone saved as 'bandage-waster' in his phone. Somehow, it just feels like the right decision.

Gifted by TheGreatCatsby (28,863 - ongoing)

The government's experiments with genetics to induce "gifts" in children is a well-kept secret. Dazai is sent to infiltrate one of the facilities and gather information. He is assigned to be the nurse of one of the facility's oldest and most successful experiments.

Message Received by hellosweetie17 (26,579 - ongoing)

Late for work, Chuuya collides with a stranger on the sidewalk. A stranger who happens to be annoying, frustrating, flirtatious, and even worse—gorgeous. Thanks to a tricky sleight of hand, their encounter leads to Chuuya texting the wrong number.

Dazai Osamu begrudgingly finds happiness (It's a long road) by BlueFlameSakura (34,810 - ongoing)

Dazai Osamu had never even dreamt about this happening to him, not even his worst nightmares could compare to this. To being married off to some stupid alpha prince as a mockery of a peace offering.

North- and South-Yokohama had been at war for several centuries now, and as much as the brunette would like a bit more of the tranquility peace between their nations would provide, couldn't it have been done with someone else? Or in another few decades?

Well, apparently not.

How to Hornswoggle Death by SecretlyACatLady (20,544 - ongoing)

This wasn't what Chuuya had in mind when he hoped for a big haul. ----- In which Chuuya is a fisherman with an adventurous past and Dazai is a merman who tries to bully Chuuya into killing him.

keep you alive, set you on fire by flyby (23,574 - complete)

Dazai steps out in a dress and heels for a mission, since the gown won't fit Yosano. He's only supposed to spend an hour or so leading their targets on a dance around a charity gala, but the unexpected arrival of a certain Port Mafia Executive threatens to disrupt all his plans. And when he and Chuuya find themselves finally face to face, they end up entwined in a tense game of mutual provocation...

bad enough for you by Maristella (28,555 - complete)

There are two reasons why Chuuya tolerates Dazai: 1.) The god inside Chuuya hates him; 2.) Chuuya definitely hates the god more than the stinking demon mackerel.

Or, alternatively, that one time Dazai and Chuuya swaps abilities, and Arahabaki was never the same.

360 degrees by setosdarkness (11,060 - complete)

Chuuya gets cursed by an Ability that forces him to eternally live out his biggest regret. Unlike the other victims who end up killing themselves or hurting others, Chuuya goes into a coma.

For his biggest regret is—

[groundhog day AU with a twist, where Chuuya relives the day Dazai leaves the Port Mafia over and over and over and over]

black /// reciprocity set by setosdarkness (3,363 - complete)

Soulmate AU where your soulmate mark will only appear on your skin once you’ve fallen in love with your soulmate.

Chuuya has Dazai’s name on his neck while Dazai’s skin is bare of any names.

partners by setosdarkness (27,746 - ongoing)

Chuuya realizes that he’s been married to Dazai since they’re 15: The Fic.

Featuring: wedding fairs, faked marriage registries, angry calls to newspaper agencies for unsolvable crosswords, fake leather couches, love epiphanies and falling in love, not necessarily in that order.

This Way Lies Madness by setosdarkness (41,338 - ongoing)

It’s supposed to be simple. Go in, hand over the questionnaires, wait a few minutes, take the answered questionnaires, get the fuck out. Chuuya should have known, with his shitty luck, that nothing’s ever going to be simple for him.

(—the one where Chuuya inadvertently catches the attention of quite possibly the worst serial killer in history, Dazai) (—police-trainee!Chuuya, inmate!Dazai)

our hearts steeped in hate by setosdarkness (10,202 - ongoing)

Needing to kiss your soulmate to stay alive sounds romantic in context, but absolutely shitty in reality if you’re bound to someone you despise with all your heart and soul.

The act of being human by purplesan (31,457 - complete)

‘This is Chuuya Nakahara, your new caretaker.’ his mother stated. Dazai’s eyes only widened in shock.

‘A robot?’

‘Kind of a degrading term, but yes; a robot.’

Dazai’s glaring only intensified. ‘I don’t need some pathetic excuse of a toy as a caretaker. No one can replace Odasaku anyway. Couldn't you have gotten me a pet instead?’

Chuuya didn’t seem to be affected by Dazai’s insults, which only showed how very non-human he actually was.

‘Stop behaving like a spoiled brat! We could have sent you to a clinic the moment you decided to behave like this, but instead we spent a lot of money on getting you this expensive solution.’

‘You could have spent more money on getting protection for Odasaku.’

(In which all 7 year-old Dazai really wants is to get back Odasaku, but gets Chuuya instead. Though in the end, perhaps the hatrack isn't all that terrible)

chuuya is red hot and dazai is so not by toriosaurus (12,040 - complete)

Dazai couldn't wrap his brain around it. How could the student population think that Chuuya Nakahara was more attractive than him? And, alright, sure, maybe professors shouldn't get caught up in petty drama. But to Dazai, this wasn't just drama. This was war. A war in which he was not going to lose.

The wooing art by holdinglucy (20,940 - complete)

The one where Dazai ended up with more tattoos than he intended to. Or:

Dazai's attempts at wooing the very hot, very dangerous tattoo artist he's just met.

Wrapped up in You by quinnlocke (100,935 - complete)

Chuuya just wants to get through his day as a reptile expert, but there's a bandaged lunatic in his reptile house trying to get murdered by his snakes.

Saving the man's life is a courtesy, taking him home is just asking for trouble.

still still still by toriosaurus (112,578 - complete)

Finally, Chuuya eloquently said, “I don’t want to date you.” Dazai huffed. “Yeah, well, I’m not too thrilled at the idea of having a crazy rockstar boyfriend. But you got us into this mess, you need to help us get out of it.” Had Dazai gone insane? Nakahara Chuuya and Dazai Osamu, dating? Had Chuuya not made it clear through the dozens of direct and indirect meetings that he despised Dazai with every fiber in his body.

Featuring: drunk tweets, falling in love, horrendous song writing, cheesy interviews, learning how to "fake it," and Chuuya getting over the headache that is Dazai. Not necessarily in that order.

where your loyalties lie by writingfromtheshadows (163,126 - complete)

Loyalty is the foundation of the yakuza code, something that was drilled into Chuuya at an early age. However, his lessons did not cover how to manage a political marriage with his organization's oldest rival.

color theory by setosdarkness (2,469 - complete)

Soulmate AU where your heart glows whenever you’re with your soulmate. The color of the glow depends on your feelings for them.

(the one where Chuuya and Dazai make sure to wear layers and layers of clothes and/or bandages just so they can hide their feelings.)

A Heat of Convenience /// A Mark of Inconvenience by dgalerab (19,902 - complete)

PART 1: Yosano won't give Dazai suppressants unless he can prove he's having a healthy amount of heats. Dazai tries to outsmart her. He fails. Chuuya picks up the slack.

PART 2: Dazai gets used to his new arrangement with Chuuya as his heat partner by forcing Chuuya to claim him. It works both better and worse than he expected.

centrifugal/centripetal by TopHat69 (154,138 - ongoing)

[No Summary Available] A/B/O Dynamics

A Catspaw in the Wolf Court by dgalerab (58,357 - complete)

Prince Dazai, a single werecat in a court of wolves, is to be married off to Prince Chuuya, a fox in the kingdom that accepts everyone. He's given one instruction: bring back a defector to the wolves and topple Chuuya's kingdom from the inside.

Things, of course, get more complicated than that.

Counting the Days by Neiro Gin (Neiroa) (23,575 - complete)

How will a certain bandage-wearing ex-Mafioso detective react to hearing that his former partner-who-is-definitely-not-more-than-that has…

…a girlfriend?

“He has been all lovey-dovey with her ever since they came back together!”

“No way! How could any girl fall for that short hat rack?”

“I heard she’s glued to him every single minute of the day. He seems to really like her as well! I’ve never seen him so sweet to anybody!”

“Even if—and that’s a BIG if—she loves him, he’s not the type to just fall in love after only knowing someone for a short amount of time.”

“She’s French.”

“…”

“D-Dazai-san? Dazai-san?!”

Countdown by setosdarkness (31,175 - ongoing)

Eternally-single Chuuya is dared by his friends to date someone. Chuuya eventually agrees, but adds a condition: if the guy he chooses breaks up with him within 10 days, it will suffice as proof that Chuuya’s not meant for dating and therefore his friends will stop nagging at him about his non-existent lovelife.

Thinking that it’s an easy win, Chuuya chooses to date Dazai, his asshole childhood friend who’s known to be a serial womanizer.

Chuuya... is very wrong.

don't you ever tame your demons by writingfromtheshadows (108,592 - complete)

Every year, a handful of children are born with the ability to command supernatural powers. Thousands of dollars and dozens of trained specialists are tasked with identifying, tracking down, and labeling each one as Deviant. Once identified, they have no rights other than those that are permitted to them, and disobedience is a crime punishable by death.

Chuuya has never known a life outside of the routine he's forced to follow, but when the boss of Yokohama's Port Mafia offers him a chance of freedom, Chuuya is not prepared for the rebellion he's stumbling into.

Chuuya Nakahara and the Falling Camelia by Anonymous (12,628 - ongoing)

A new year begins at Hogwarts, and between a nervous wreck of a first year Chuuya met over the summer managing to become Akutagawa's arch enemy upon their first meeting, a pair of second year's younger sisters' complicating things, and leftover tension with Tachihara, Chuuya is in for a hectic term.

Things take a turn for the worse, however when there are rumors about a man eating were tiger, Dementors -- unspeakable creatures who bring back horrible memories and can steal your very soul -- surrounding Hogwarts as wardens and watchmen, and a murderer breaks out of Azkaban, a high security prison in the wizarding world.

Especially when that murderer is dead set on getting his hands on Dazai.

Chuuya Nakahara and the Chambers of Draconia by Anonymous (51,820 - complete)

After a first year full of questions, Chuuya barely gets a moment to breathe before his second year proves the last to be gentle in comparison. With tension among friends and the looming threat of an unknown danger, he'll need all of the clues he can get -- not just for the safety of the school, but for the strength of his friendships.

Madder Aubrieta by hypermoyashi (21,790 - ongoing)

Flowers bloomed, rain fell, and the whims of nature dictated all. This was the status quo that Chuuya knew, and it was a surprisingly delicate order. Change came in the form of a mysterious man he found, woken from an ageless sleep by none other than Chuuya himself.

Margin of Error /// Scale of Success by izanyas (31,416 - complete)

PART 1: After a failed assassination attempt on his person, Dazai finds himself recovering in an unfamiliar place: a hospital where criminals abound, staff and patients alike, and Dazai's own doctor is a little too attractive.

PART 2: Dazai makes due on his promise. Chuuya has to revise his.

#lumi's archive #bungou stray dogs #bsd #soukoku #dazai osamu x nakahara chuuya

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tia-dreamer · 5 years

Text

SoukokuWeek2019 Day 4

Prompts:

Price - Debt and Payment - “Take a good swing at me and everything is even.”

Nice, normal mornings weren’t really something that was familiar to the people working at the Armed Detective Agency in Yokohama. So when one such morning rolled around quietly, when suddenly there were no emergencies or extra chores to do and even Dazai was only lazing around on the couch, everyone distrusted it. Immensely. These sort of morning’s always came with too steep a price. In the two hours since the work day started Dazai had caught six people sending prayers to various deities, seen Ranpo case the room, twice, and had been enduring looks from every single person in the office. Even from the Chief! It really wasn’t fair. Dazai had nothing to do with this, and he had, for once, little inclination to stir up trouble.

Though that was suspicious in it’s own right, maybe, so even he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And drop it did, about fifteen minutes later, when the door to the office was flung open violently, in a way that hinted at a kick more than an enthusiastic push. Dazai saw a good amount of people relax, from his vantage point, and then blanch.

He heard the croaked sounds of breaking floor panels and familiar footsteps before he ever caught a glimpse of their surprise visitor. He buried his head more in the couch cushions. No, Chuuya was annoying on the best of days and he didn’t want to get kicked around again for some tiny issue that the Chibi blew out of proportion to compensate his stature.

“Ah, Nakahara-san?”

Weird, Kunikida sounded perplexed.

“Heh?! So you all do know me. Wonderful. So where is the Spoiled Brat?”

Dazai hadn’t heard that nickname in years- what-

“Aaaah- What happened, Nakaha-”

“What do you think, de-tec-tives?”

Dazai had a bad feeling about this. But the conclusion his brain was shoving at him sounded disastrous and he really needed to check it, before he started believing it. So he sat up, made his way over to the opening of the visitor booth and turned to look out into the office.

“Chib-eh?”

Well. Fuck.

Staring back at him was a tiny - and for once he didn't mean his height, though that of course was a fact as well - version of Nakahara Chuuya. A fifteen year old version, to be exact. Same clothes, but short haired once again, and he couldn't see that one scar on his jaw that Chuuya had gotten at 17.

“Fuck me, did you let someone stretch out your skeleton, asshole?”

That pulled Dazai out of his stupor. His response was reflexive as always.

“No, I just think Chibi shrank overnight. I didn't know you wanted to compete for the ‘tiniest microbe’ competition so badly you’d get yourself de-aged Chuuya.”

“I just woke up to a stranger poking me with needles and an older version of your little shackle freaking out. I don’t know what happened, okay?”

A huff, but less aggravated and much more indulging than he had heard it in years. Dazai let a smile slip onto his face.

“Well, Chuuya most probably ran afoul of an ability and now I get a flashback to Mini-Chuuya. Maybe I should send them some flowers? Chuuya gets a lot less cute when he grows… or rather, when he ages. You don't really grow, Chibi, even though I tried watering you.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Wait what?”

Dazai decided to ignore his coworkers in favour of interacting with a much less jaded version of his ex-partner. Not to mention that Chuuya was actually scared, considering he hadn't risen to half the bait Dazai had slipped into their conversation. It had always been the easiest gauge for his mental state.

And Chuuya must be wondering what the deal was with Dazai at the ADA of all places. Maybe he didn't want to see it right that moment, but he would get the picture soon enough. Dazai didn't want anyone else to see that confrontation.

So he went and slung an arm around his ex-partner-turned-child-present-partner, ignoring how Chuuya didn't even try to shrug off the contact, and tried to grin at the whole office, all of whom were staring in shock or horror at the scene. Ah, silver linings, those were a thing people prattled on about sometimes, didn't they?

“Well, I guess Chuuya and I will see if I can’t find a rogue de-aging gifted, so we’ll be going-”

“Dazai-kun.”

Dazai stiffened as Fukuzawa-san stepped into the office proper, looking somewhat more severe that usual.

“Ah, yes, Chief?”

“Mori-sensei just informed me that their Executive went missing after a run in with a very curious ability user. It seems he is no longer missing, though.”

Dazai felt the startling and unfamiliar urge to shove Chuuya behind him and hide him from view, even as the 15-year-old stepped forward instead, straightening out and jaw stubbornly set as he stared at the man who fought with Mori on even footing. Not that Chuuya actually knew that.

“I didn’t go fucking missing. And who wants to know that anyway, I don’t answer to you.”

Dazai wasn't aware of whatever face he was making, but it was probably a pained one. A cornered Chuuya was never a good thing. Even now, Dazai could hear the floor creak ominously, and Chuuya was tensing like he was readying himself for a fight. This was… less than ideal.

After a quick moment of contemplation Dazai reached out to pull Chuuya back towards him, hand mostly on his left shoulder, but very deliberately also touching the side of his neck.

“Down boy.”

“Not a dog, Dazai. Two weeks of no names, remember?”

Oh. That made the age Chuuya had been… well, de-aged to much easier to pinpoint.

“Ah, it has been seven years for me, Chuuya. But I’ll be nice and refrain anyways, how’s that?”

A kick against his shin, and then Dazai’s face was pulled down a good foot until it was almost level with Chuuya’s.

“Don’t fucking patronize me, shitty mummy. I’ve been in worse situations and you don’t need to fucking coddle me. You never did before.”

He didn’t so much as blink at the rapid change in perspective.

“Ah, but last time we were both irresponsible teenagers. I’m an adult now and you're still tiny.”

Another kick, hitting the exact same spot with pinpoint accuracy, before Chuuya stepped away and to the side, eyes never leaving the people around them. He smirked.

“I call bullshit. That one over there is younger than me, and considering she has her own desk and a knife that she’s been grasping at for the last five minutes, I doubt this place is any less of one that employs children.”

The grin turned wolfish as he met Kyoka’s gaze head on. “And I’ve definitely killed more people than her. You're not coddling her. So you can shove your adult responsibilities up your ass.”

Again, both of them ignored the offended gasps and exclamations from their audience. Dazai had to admit they weren’t used to that. He didn’t call them out either, and didn't want to be called out for his own hypocrisy any more than them. But Chuuya had always been blunt and sharp-edged at the same time.

So a rueful sigh was the only reaction Dazai allowed himself.

“Very well, Chuuya. But fighting’s still not in the plan right now.”

“Quite right.” Fukuzawa interrupted whatever Chuuya had had to say to that, and gave them both a quelling look. Thankfully Chuuya only glared, uttering a “Tch,” before falling silent and focussing on Fukuzawa-san as well.

“Nakahara-kun. I will inform Mori-sensei of your whereabouts. Considering your temporal displacement, you might be under considerable stress, so I will negotiate terms with him to have Dazai and you stay together and for the ADA to take on your case to reverse whatever happened to you.” His gaze shifted to Dazai, who felt himself straighten, relief coursing through him. “Dazai-kun, please show Nakahara-kun to our infirmary. We should at least make sure that there is no unexpected strain on him.”

And then the white-haired man turned on his heel to step back into the hallway.

“Eeeh?” Chuuya fixed another glare at Dazai. “What is he-”

“Chuuya.”

The redhead narrowed his eyes at the taller man. “Urgh. Fine. I don’t want to stay near an audience anyway.”

That was as much of a concession as Dazai could hope for, not that it meant that Chuuya had surrendered to whatever plan the people around him were making. Dazai knew that with a surety that came from years of being stuck next to Chuuya in these sorts of situations. So he led the way towards the infirmary and Yosano-san, and hoped against hope that it wouldn't blow up in everyone’s faces. After a few steps, a third set of those made themselves known, and both of them turned around, almost simultaneously. The little out-of-synch movements were a stark reminder that this wasn’t his Chuuya- his time’s Chuuya. They came face-to-face with Kunikida, glaring and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“I do not believe leaving you alone with a Mafia execute is a good idea, Dazai-kun. For your safety and ou-”

Dazai threw a quelling look at his partner. He really didn’t need Kunikida to give Chuuya more information on what the situation was like. It would complicate things immensely and-

“Oh come off it.” Chuuya swatted at Dazai with a hand and shook his head.

“I don't have the full picture but you've obviously left m- the mafia. I’m an executive and that guy is your new partner. And we’ve had run-ins that were less than friendly. I won't be here that long, so I don't much care because for now you’re a somewhat more annoying version of my partner as far as i'm concerned, so don't sweat it, okay?”

Abort. Deflect.

“Chuuya is really giving his brain a workout today, are you sure you won't drop dead from exertion?”

A quicksilver grin as Chuuya gave him the finger. “You’re the one with no stamina to speak of, spoiled brat. That's the whole reason why you can't call me names, remember? OR are you getting amnesiac in your old age?”

The grin that took over Dazai’s face then was completely involuntary, for the record. And he got a pleased little grin in return as Chuuya noted that yes, Dazai remembered quite well. But then Chuuya’s expression hardened as he looked back to Kunikida.

“You wanna come, you walk in front of us. You obviously trust Dazai, but I don't trust you at my back, mullet-man. Not even if shitty Dazai does.”

In the face of one person already on the verge of a conniption, and the looming threat of Yosano-sensei, Dazai was actually loath to poke Chuuya by admitting that he had grown his hair out to at least resemble a mullet in the furthest sense as well.

Instead, he took a few steps, laid a hand on Kunikida’s shoulder and then dragged and pushed him towards the infirmary in front of Chuuya.

Yosano caught one glimpse of the Chi- of Chuuya and slammed the door in Kunikida’s face. Dazai genuinely didn't know who had the funnier reaction: Kunikida, who was squawking something about decorum and basic curtesy, or Chuuya, who stared and then started laughing. Dazai was probably the only human in existence who could see the flash of calculation that made Chuuya’s eyes glow before the redhead, seemingly impulsively, started cackling and jeering about scared old ladies.

And it was effective. Chuuya knew as well as Dazai did how to coax people into certain reactions. For Dazai, it was a learned skill he used in accord with his observational abilities - he was brilliant at figuring out exactly what to say, but Chuuya got people. And an impertinent teenager calling her old? Yosano-san hauled them all into the room after less than ten seconds of loud taunting.

What followed was a rapid fire check-up that went over surprisingly smoothly, considering that Chuuya didn’t know her and had never taken well to strangers prodding him, and that Yosano-san only ever interacted with him the time he had attacked their hide-out. It was a less than ideal situation for a cordial visit. But the two of them spoke little, and interacted mostly through gestures and nods and really, it almost seemed like they had come to an understanding right under Dazai’s nose without making it apparent in any way. How had they done that?

But then they were done, and Yosano swept out of the room, “to update Fukuzawa-san on the situation”, and Kunikida and Dazai both stared after her. Chuuya apparently hadn’t felt the need to do the same, because he was flopped down on the bed and had pulled out a phone he was holding above his head and by all appearances engrossed in.

Kunikida fell for it like the utter fool he was. Dazai almost wanted to shake his head, but then again, most people didn't expect a 16 year old to deliberately thump his nose at them or try to aggravate him. And Kunikida would see the child before the 16 year old mafia member and mass-murder weapon just because he was lounging around, playing on a phone and affecting a careless attitude. Chuuya had learned exactly how to take advantage of people’s misconceptions. He’d routinely seen Dazai pull the same move, after all.

“Are you not the least bit cornered about your situation, young man?”

Moments like these, Dazai could see exactly what the math teacher had been like once upon a time. He had a certain “adult-to-child” demeanour that was, if Dazai was being honest, and he always tried to be so as little as possible, very aggravating.

“‘Course not. The boss can’t stand missing an executive and the mummy misses the older me- I’ll essentially cease to exist as soon as they find whoever did this. And that won’t take long with the port mafia on the job.”

“Do not talk so casually about death!”

Chuuya turned his face towards the blonde man. “Your partner was literally humming that bloody suicide song of his when I arrived.”

“Dazai should never be a standard to which to hold yourself-”

“I fucking know. Get off your high horse, mullet-man. I’m not suicidal, I’m realistic. And I haven’t ever seen that waste of bandages as someone I wanted to be like in any capacity.”

“Aww, Chuuya, you’re hurting my feelings!”

“Fuck off, Dazai, you don’t have feelings that can get hurt.”

It was telling how complacent Dazai had gotten within the ADA when it took honest effort to suppress the minute twitch at that. Kunikida seemed too just get more aggravated.

“Now-”

“Oh please. You may know this version but Dazai is still the same shithead who manipulated my friends into stabbing me in the back and also literally stabbing me just so he could get a minion of his own.”

Blue eyes glared into Dazai’s direction. “Not to mention that he also decided that clumsily flirting with me would be a good idea afterwards because he had no people skills and wanted an obedient little housewife and attack dog in one.”

Kunikida sputtered. Dazai just wasn’t sure what to think of Chuuya airing out their past in front of his current partner. Especially because the blonde started muttering something mostly unintelligible, and the only words Dazai caught were something to do with “straight” and “terrible” and Dazai really didn’t care to know exactly what made Chuuya chuckle at that. He could extrapolate it anyways, thank you very much, especially when Chuuya calmed down and shook his head at the former math teacher.

“You guys completely fell for his shitty obfuscation didn't you. Figures.” And then a mean little grin spread over his face.

“I was his first kiss.”

And when Kunikida, predictably (really, Dazai needed to teach his partner something about composure in the face of obvious distractions. Then again, he had never needed to teach that before) lost his calm once more, Dazai was all to aware that Chuuya’s grin was a mirror image to his own.

Chuuya had picked up a lot just by watching him. And Kunikida’s denials continued, much too Chuuya’s obvious amusement. “Ya’think the guy knew other people he’d get into a five foot radius off? Fuck no.”

And that, apparently, was too much for the blonde’s brain, because it evidently gave up on processing anything it had been occupied with for the last minutes, to instead fixate on Chuuya’s vocabulary.

“Language.”

“Fuck you I lived on the streets for 7 years.”

Dazai now really wanted to laugh at the way Kunikida turned purple, but Kunikida might implode if he did that, so instead he raised an eyebrow at the sixteen-year-old and raised an eyebrow. He was met with a sharp grin.

“I don’t think most girls will appreciate that sort of language.”

Chuuya’s head turned so quickly towards the blonde again that Dazai almost got whiplash, and the face Chuuya wore was one of utter bewilderment.

“I literally just told you that I own Dazai’s first kiss. I’m fucking gay, what the fuck would I care what some civilian chick thinks about me?”

Dazai still tried, but now he really couldn't hold back his laughter. Oh, that was precious.

And that was the scene that Yosano arrived back to: Chuuya glaring incredulously as Kunikida squawked and Dazai laughed at the whole situation.

Chuuya was remarkably quiet and almost… well, not exactly docile but definitely more agreeable than expected as they made their way out of the ADA and as Dazai started herding him towards Dazai’s own flat. He was not going to leave him out of his sight, and he had sensibly decided not to think about the reasons for that.

The calm lasted until they had turned three corners and Chuuya dragged Dazai along in two consecutive loops, executed to catch any possible tails and really, Dazai fell into step with Chuuya way too easily. It had been a habit before they both turned 18, to shake any tails and trip up Hirotsu when they wanted less supervision.

It was plain discomfiting. Everything was nostalgic in ways that bothered Dazai. The Mafia had been horrible, and still was. But these weren’t bad memories. Ambivalent mostly, though he couldn't help a certain fondness when it came to the pure life that Chuuya exuded as 16, arrogant and confident and settled into a space that he could fit himself into.

Seeing him like this, Dazai only just realised how much the PM had broken his partner in the later years. He knew how it had broken himself, but he hadn't been watching closely enough to see the same thing happen to Chuuya.

Evidently though, it had.

Just for a moment he wondered how much he himself had contributed to that. But that almost made him want to throw up, so he turned towards the currently 16 year-old to start some other nonsensical discussion and met Chuuya’s own narrow-eyed stare.

“What is she going to want?”

“Huh?”

Chuuya levelled a glare at Dazai. “The Doc Lady. You said you trust her with your life, but you also said she is an acquaintance,” Chuuya affected air quotes, “of the boss’s.”

“Chuuya, Yosano-san’s not like that.”

That had come out more placating than Dazai had intended. And Chuuya, understandably, growled at that.

“Bull. Ane-san said it's... like, Debt and Payment. It's a ‘principle of human interaction.’ And seriously, you know as well as I do that His acquaintances never do shit for free.”

Dazai hummed noncommittally as he steered them around another corner, smoothly avoiding the police outpost on that street.

“Yosano-Sensei is possibly the person least likely to ever become one of Mori’s typical acquaintances, Chuuya. There is quite a bit of bad blood there, from what I have gathered.”

And incredulous look.

“What, you haven’t gone snooping and gotten your hands on the whole story? When did you grow a sense of respect for other people’s privacy?”

“Imagine trying to spy on Ane-san, Chuuya.”

That single sentence made both of them wince as they looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes. If he had been a lesser man, Dazai would have shuddered. Spying on Ozaki Kouyou was as good as signing a warrant for eternal torture- not death, but unending, eternal torture. Dazai was not a fan.

“Fact is, Yosano-Sensei may know Mori, but she is not the type to ask for payment from a 16 year old. Maybe it will be different once you are back… to an older age, but I doubt you will care all that much.”

There was a huff.

“Alright, we’ll see.”

“Aww, doesn’t Chuuya trust me?”

The bristling came as no surprise, even as Dazai made sure to smile extra-irritatingly.

“Not as far as I can throw you, shitty mummy. You know that.”

Dazai shrugged. “Well, you are here.”

“Because there is nowhere else to go! At least you’re honest with your fucking shady shit.”

The brunette stopped and rolled his eyes. “Of course, Chuuya, but I did mean that you are here- this is my apartment building.”

Chuuya stared up the clean, if somewhat old high rise and raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve really moved up in the world, now, haven’t you,” he quipped, voice laced heavily with sarcasm. Dazai very obviously bend down a little to smile at him. “Well, since Chuuya never went up all that much I did have an advantage, didn’t I?”

He got a rude gesture for his trouble and a quick hand snatched the keys and stomped inside.

“Fuck off!”

Dazai trailed after the teenager, smug grin firmly settled on his face until they both were in the elevator and Dazai pressed the button to his floor. It was a quick ride, and then Dazai made a beeline for his door and was overtaken by Chuuya as soon as he had discerned which door Dazai was heading towards. He let them both in.

The apartment Dazai lived in was the complete opposite of his staff-cleaned room in the Port Mafia. After two years in hiding that had been intentional. Possibly the most deliberate decision he had made during those years. It wasn’t vast or clean-cut, it wasn’t a stylish combo of monotone colours and the lights and window blinds weren’t automated.

Not to mention that he had to take out his own trash which… he should have done two days ago, judging by the state of his overflowing bin.

And he knew he had a spare futon somewhere because Yosano had gotten a new one for her place and the old one hadn’t been threadbare yet… he just wasn’t sure where exactly it was.

Chuuya, evidently completely unbothered by the state of Dazai’s flat, had slipped off his shoes and made his way down the hallway meanwhile to peer into every room until he found the kitchen. And he’d already found the Onigiri Dazai had planned on having for dinner, as well as two cans of canned crab from his emergency stash.

When Dazai entered the room, Chuuya wordlessly shoved the cans at him and proceeded to dog into his Onigiri and Dazai very belatedly remembered that Chuuya had been a bottomless pit during his teenage years. He didn't even know if that had changed. He made a face at the redhead.

“Were you not planning on eating me out of house and home, Chuuya?”

“Fuck off, I’m hungry, and tired and its not even 6. You don't have shit to cook and I’m not going outside again. You’ll just drag me along into another disaster.”

“I think Chuuya is the disaster out of the two of us.”

Chuuya snorted.

“Yeah right. That little assassin girl was great at detailing exactly how much shit you get up to while you were talking to that boss of yours.” A click of his tongue and a bite as he watched Dazai sit down opposite him. “Seems to me like you just walk from one shitshow into the next ever since you left the PM.”

Dazai took a very deliberate bite of his crab.

“Shitshows are universal when you’re around ability users, Chuuya.”

The redhead rolled his eyes at him.

“Oh fuck off with your evasive bullshit. I already said I don’t care, didn't I? I know exactly what the Port Mafia is like.”

Dazai stared at him for a moment. Maybe this version didn't care, but his partner did.

It had been overly blatant during both their reunion in the basement and during the Lovecraft debacle. Dazai just hadn’t noticed that he had been stepping on someone’s trust at the same time. Words didn’t matter. And neither did words spoken as Chuuya slumped over in exhaustion. Those were negligible. But that his partner, a version of his partner that didn’t know him half as well too, had chosen to come to him when faced with a situation that could have had multiple available solutions?

It drove home what Chuuya had already said a few times. He did trust Dazai. Not just in the “we have to work together and you’re my ball and chain and you won’t let me level the city” kind of way, but genuinely trusted him to search him out in a vulnerable situation.

Dazai swallowed another bite and got up, making a deliberately stupid little wave at Chuuya and made his way out of the room to find the second futon.

This wasn’t something to think about now, when Chuuya watched him closely enough that he might even be able to decipher Dazai’s thoughts.

Older Chuuya and his preconceived notions was much easier to lead around the nose.

He ignored the catty “coward” comment that drifted after him.

Dazai’s phone rang at 3 a.m. that night.

Chuuya had sat up straight on his futon before Dazai even turned to the side to reach for it, a dark, lanky silhouette in the room that was only illuminated by the sliver of a waxing moon.

He picked up the phone and accepted the call from a blocked number. And really, at this time, there were very few people that would call him.

“Dazai-kun.”

“Mori-san!” Dazai chirped, deliberately chipper, as he watched Chuuya tense and straighten. “What seems to be the problem at this hour?”

“I do fear for your intellect, if you cannot deduce it from the situation, Dazai-kun. But very well. We have found the hiding place of the ability user that affected Chuuya-kun, so we would be very happy if you could make your way there post haste.”

“Ah, but it is very early, Mori-san, don’t you think?”

“Fukuzawa-dont has assured me that you will be happy to help and resolve this issue as soon as possible, Dazai-kun.“

Dazai sighed. There was little he could do to stall for time in this. And with the way Chuuya was up and grabbing the day clothes at his side, he knew so as well.

He suppressed another sigh. “Very well, Mori-san, send me the address and we will make our way there.”

He almost grinned the pause that followed.

“You might remember Chuuya at 16, Mori-san, I won’t be able to keep him from going without grievous harm to myself and we both know I would rather avoid that.”

“Very well. See that you don’t dawdle,” came the terse reply, and then the call broke off. Dazai pouted slightly at his phone. Mori could really bet indescribably rude.

And still, he rolled out of bed and made his way towards his wardrobe, pulling out a somewhat darker attire than he regularly wore nowadays.

When going into an area undoubtedly swarming with Port Mafia goons though, he was very much conscious that this would make it just a little easier for him to blend in and keep the tension at a minimum. Not really necessary normally, but he was walking in there without any sort of back-up this time.

Dazai went into the bathroom after Chuuya came out, completely dressed and hair still wet, but not dripping all over the place like Dazai sometimes left his own.

And fifteen minutes later they were stepping outside again, heading towards the nearest subway station as some other blocked number send him coordinates. The train ride was filled with a mostly tense silence, with Chuuya obviously caught up in his own thoughts and Dazai trying to puzzle out whom he would have to deal with in the next half hour. Hirotsu was almost a given, but he didn’t know whether Mori would send Akutagawa and Gin-chan just to complicate matters or if he would not, to facilitate a quick and successful mission.

It was a bit of a toss-up, and as such not something Dazai was particularly happy about.

When they did get out at their final station, they both noticed the suited men waiting for them at the street corner. Dazai only just caught the undecipherable look that Chuuya send in his direction before they met up with the men and were lead down a few alleyways, only to stop in front of what looked like a shop in the middle of renovations, and one that was awfully quiet.

“Huh, is the show over already?”

A familiar voice reached them from the door. “Dazai-kun, Nakahara-kun. You’ve missed the exciting part.”

Hirotsu-san stepped out a minute later, looking as unruffled as always, even in the face of a way-too-often-seen traitor and a de-aged superior.

The older man gestured for them to step inside.

“We’ve already captured the ability user, and Mori-sama was asking for a quick resolution of the matter, so if you would, Dazai-kun?”

Dazai hummed and turned to look at his de-aged partner, feeling his smile turn... weird on his face.

“Well, Chuuya, that was a very short-term solution to your fear of aging, don’t you think?”

“At least I don’t dress like a grandpa, half the time, you fucking waste of bandages.”

A sharp grin and a shove that did make Dazai stumble, even though he had seen it coming.

“Now go and resolve this fucking mess, you procatinating disaster.”

“Stop trying to order me around brat, you’Re to tiny to look down on me.”

But Dazai went and turned around, walking past the row of grunts and Hirotsu to stand in front of the obviously unconscious man. It was a male, most probably over 40, lying in the dirt and obviously at least somewhat post-torture. Dazai couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad for him. He’d attacked Chuuya after all. And speaking of Chuuya-

“Just a minute.“

“Chuuya-kun?”

Hirotsu’s face looked vaguely disapproving as the teenager ran past the goons and right at Dazai, who, really, had expected this. Chuuya would want to get in at least one hit, he’d known that.

But then, suddenly, Chuuya was right in his face, and Dazai knew that look. It was stubborn and fixated on him and really, it felt nice to be looked at like that. Like someone wanted him. Like someone cared.

It felt a lot less nice when he considered that this was an out-of-his-depth sixteen-year-old who had latched onto him for all the wrong reasons.

Dazai didn‘t want this Chuuya. He had outgrown this Chuuya when Chuuya himself had outgrown that age. He still liked the boy, loved him, maybe, but in a distant sort of way. Like a memory, perhaps, and definitely not in a way that would make him comfortable kissing a teenager. Especially with all these people around him.

So he stepped back. And, really, the look the boy gave him was… it hurt Dazai possibly almost as much as it seemed to hurt Chuuya. But this was the right thing to do. The thing Oda would have nodded his head and smiled at him for.

But Chuuya’s face… Dazai crossed the distance he had put between them himself and hugged the redhead.

There were… so many things he could have said, but none felt adequate because, in the end, Chuuya had been right. This version of him would cease to exist- would, for lack of a better word, die. And though they both had always been more than familiar with the harsh reality of their own mortality, it still had to be scary.

So he hugged his younger partner and felt gratified, maybe and slightly humbled, as he felt the smaller male hug him back and bury his pale face in Dazai’s vest. And then Dazai reached back with the other arm to blindly grasp the forearm of Chuuya’s attacker.

There was a shocked gasp, and a cut-off yell, and something pulsed in Dazai’s arms before the rapidly aging body crumpled to the floor, heavier than Dazai could manage to hold up with one arm. Instead he went down with him, kneeling as he tried to lay Chuuya down gently, head cushioned on his lap.

Just from the way his jaw was clenched Chuuya was almost certain that Chuuya was living through a condensed amount of growing pains. Of course he wouldn’t scream. Both Dazai and Chuuya had learned very, very early on in their mafia careers that screaming often only made things worse.

And then Chuuya‘s hair was back at normal length, slightly wet looking and Dazai would bet that Chuuya would take a 30 minute shower the moment he got back to his own home.

Most people would have stayed unconscious after something like this. Chuuya woke up half a minute later, scowl on his face and eyes narrowed.

“Fuck that was a fucked up trip.”

“Well, if Chuuya hadn’t decided he wanted to try out the newest de-aging treatment this could have all been avoided, but Chuuya’s brain is possibly too small to think of the consequences.”

Dazai knew that it wasn’t his best work. Really, he did, but the actually amused snort his partner made was just about worth it.

He didn’t stop the Chibi from sitting up, didn’t try to help because that would have just resulted in a fist in his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet either.

He should have. Dazai knew he should have, but it just wasn’t something he was willing to do right this second. With a certain amount of absentmindedness he noted that Chuuya didn’t seem to want to stand up just yet either, was resting back on his hands and staring up at the ceiling.

Dazai managed to do the same thing for one, strangely peaceful moment as well, and then he was caught off guard the second time in the last fifteen minutes as Chuuya, once again, decided to get right into his personal space.

He was clutching at Dazai’s collar again, the brunette noticed vaguely, as he stared into still narrowed blue eyes.

It wasn’t the same soft look the sixteen-year-old version had levelled at him. It was harder, more bitter and held a wealth of history but at least it was really Chuuya’s. And so were the words.

“You don’t get to pull away and deny me after you coddled me this whole day, bastard.”

Chuuya kissed him before he had really processed the words.

All things considered, it was one of the chaster kisses between them, but Dazai could feel his blood rushing towards his face anyway. They were in public. Hirotsu of all people was standing not 10 meters behind them and the first thing Chuuya did after a day under the influence of a quirk was kiss him? When had he stopped being capable of predicting the Chibi?

Dazai kept sitting on the floor when Chuuya stopped pressing their lips together and stood, barking orders at the Port Mafia members surrounding them. And then he swivelled around to glare at Dazai and point a finger at him as Dazai finally started to stand up.

“And don’t you fucking vanish! We need to talk about some things. I’ll come by tonight, and don't you try avoiding me. I need to go do fucking paperwork now.“

Dazai stared at the tiny whirlwind that was his partner and sighed. Really, today was already not his day. He had just been planning to hide on the Agency’s sofa for a while. So, really, he didn't feel like having a talk with Chuuya. Those always ended with a bloody nose, even if you could talk and blackmail himself out of everything. The grin he affected was, Dazai admitted to himself, deliberately shady.

“Ahh, Chibi, how about this: You take a good swing at me and everything is even right now, so you don’t have to come and search me out later.”

To be honest, it was kind of impressive that Chuuya had even heard him over the ruckus the Mafia Goons were making around them. But he evidently did? Because he sent an exasperated glare into Dazai’s direction.

“Are you fucking… Urgh.” Then he took Dazai’s wrist and dragged him out of the room and down the hall, ignoring Dazai’s questions in favour of looking at doors and finally pulling both of them into something that looked like an office. The door was shut with a kick, and then Chuuya was in Dazai’s personal space, hands coming up to grip at his shirt collar and pulling Dazai down until their foreheads were almost touching.

“Listen to me for once in your goddamn life, Mackerel. What you did was decent. Really, fucking decent, ok? I know, you're on the side of the light and all that blah blah blah. But I didn't expect shit as a 16 year-old. You would have had an easier time not trying to coddle and protect me from your own friends. No one would have blamed you. You wouldn't have done so at any other time. So there's something that actually changed. I didn't think so before, and somehow I think you didn't either. So take this situation as proof, got it?”

Dazai thought back to leaving Chuuya, exhausted from corruption, lying on a battlefield. Thought of a sixteen year old version not even shrugging off his arm, as Chuuya let go of him and stepped back a tiny bit.

Then Dazai felt a punch on his shoulder, much less painful that it could have been and shifted his focus to stare into Chuuya’s eyes.

“We have more to talk about. I mean what I said. Be home tonight. I’ll hunt you down if you’re not, but you wont like it.” Dazai made a show of pouting.

“Ah, but who says I like Chuuya near me at any time? You’re annoying, Chibi.”

A snort, utterly amused. Oh. That was… not the intended reaction.

“Yeah, try selling that to someone who didn’t see you light up when I was talking about our little bets and who didn’t see you shuffle around your whole living space just to keep me near you. You know as well as I do that there are more than enough places that you could have shipped me off to, but you didn’t.”

“That’s because no one knew whether the ability would have adverse effects on your control, so of course it was safer to keep you supervised, Chuuya.”

Dazai was trying - really, really, trying - to extricate himself out of whatever this situation was starting to devolve into. But Chuuya wasn’t rising to his bait, wasn’t even huffing or stomping off, and all of that made Dazai decidedly less certain what he was dealing with now.

Not that he got another chance to try and get back into familiar waters when Chuuya just grinned at him, and then turned to strut out of the door.

Dazai let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling once more. He needed to get a grip. And then he needed to figure out exactly what had happened in the last two days and what had changed.

This was important. But for now he would make his way home and bury himself in his futon. It was too early to deal with such a weird day.

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lansizhuis · 5 years

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WEILAN FIC REC

It's as the title says - the five times Shen Wei did a horny grip™ because let it be known that while Zhao Yunlan is explicitly shamelessly thirsty, Shen Wei is equally as thirsty but in a more lowkey manner. Oh, and of course, WeiLan as lesbians can't be passed up for this.(gift fic for taki who introduced the weilan lesbian agenda to me!)Hello! I finally had some time (spoiler: I actually didn’t but I can always have time for my dads) to properly make a compilation of WeiLan fanfic recommendations. I included some CN ones bc I absolutely love them to bits and pieces and some WeiLan derivatives bc why not.

Please click the kudos and leave a comment on the authors’ works to thank them and show your appreciation! <3 This will be updated periodically.

bc I’m shameless - imma shove my own weilan fics here

Title: Uhaw Summary: Shen Wei felt a smile on his face despite the seriousness of the situation. “Your loyalty will forever remain divided.” // “My loyalty is with you.” Zhao Yunlan declared. “Always has been, always will be.” [WEILAN MAFIA/GANGSTER AU 1/1] Notes: i was horny for weilan being horny for each other and being a power couple with some plot thrown in the mix im not sorry

Title: Devour Your God Summary: "The beast inside him howls and the inhumane thunderous chanting resounds in the beautiful ghost king. You remember don’t you? The more beautiful the ghost...the more terrifying."

[a look through shen wei's eyes as he goes through kunlun's multiple reincarnations until zhao yunlan; novel-compliant and shen san extra hints but should be spoiler free 1/1] Notes: sometimes we’re also sad in our weilan lives but do know they get their happy ending anyway

Title: Earlier On Summary: Zhao Yunlan starts remembering his life as Kunlun months after he first entered the world and his only clue resides on that creature (because his adult brain is now telling his baby brain that that wasn't a human) robed in white with a golden mask peering down on his crib. Notes: [novel-verse gift fic for orro AKA babey zhao yunlan having adult brain/memories who’s everyone’s source of headache]

Title: Five Times Shen Wei Did A Horny Grip Summary: It's as the title says - the five times Shen Wei did a horny grip™ because let it be known that while Zhao Yunlan is explicitly shamelessly thirsty, Shen Wei is equally as thirsty but in a more lowkey manner. Oh, and of course, WeiLan as lesbians can't be passed up for this. Notes: (gift fic for taki who introduced the weilan lesbian agenda to me!)

Title: Some Things Stay The Same and Some Don't Summary: “Xiao Wei,” Zhao Yunlan called in a serious voice making Shen Wei stiffen in attention, “Your boobs are actually big, aren’t they?” Shen Wei almost slipped from her position at the unexpected - or well, this is Zhao Yunlan so perhaps ‘expected’ should be the term - comment. “Yunlan, honestly!” “No really, it’s bigger than mine.” “Everyone’s bigger than your tiny mangoes, stupid owner.” Da Qing laughed from the kitchen. “I think even Lin Jing and Lao Chu have bigger ones compared to you.” Notes: lesbian!weilans part 2 for emmy featuring the primordial gods, shen wei + mama zhao interaction, and kunlun taking in 2 ghost queens instead of just one

Title: Repercussions of Meddling Summary: “You know what the diviner’s instructions were, right? Gather the hallows and let fate run its course or else there can be dire consequences.” Zhao Yunlan clenched his fist as he recalls Shen Wei’s hardships paralleled with Ye Zun’s loss of sanity, the ghost lovers’ fate in an effort to protect him, the brewing war as the vision the hallows have given him on their deaths, and an ever burning flame on his soul as he watched Shen Wei disappear stay clear.“There can’t be anything more dire than that future.” The two leaders looked at each other meaningfully. “And if the bulk of the repercussions on you twisting the timeline falls on you?” Zhao Yunlan huffed in amusement and flipped his long hair to his back. “If I'm the one who has to pay then so be it.” Notes: aka ye zun is a bad influence to shen wei and add that in for 10,000 years where they're both awake, alive, and together waiting for a certain someone's reappearance in their lives --- THIS CAN GET DARK; drama canon divergence au where zhao yunlan as kunlun ends up saving ye zun in the past and meddling with time

Title: A Path Back Home Summary: The Dixing kingdom's delegation set off for a peace treaty with the kingdom of Haixing as new tides of the world was coming. For some, this was a turning point for the three kingdoms. For Ye Zun and his father, this was a chance to bring back their two other family members home with them. The past retains its stories and secrets, the present shakes the foundations of everyone's belief, and the future is a path back home. (read a/n before reading!) Notes: weilan royalty a/b/o au aka the most self-indulgent fic (it wasn’t supposed to be multi-chap but brain said ‘world building’ and now i suffer)

Title: where everything converges Summary: collection for weilan week prompts - day 1: beginnings (SID+SW meets the youngest primordial god) day 3: au (tgcf au of god!ZYL and ghost king!SW) day 7: anniversary (there will come a day where SW wakes up to the 5,000 years and 1 day of being with ZYL)

Title: in all worlds and in all timelines Summary: collection of weilan prompts (do send some and i’ll see if i can write it!)

Title: The Power of Words Summary: “You have lived for as long as I have and so you must know that words have power. The likes of old sayings and proverbs hold a decree to them the longer it’s passed around from one breathing soul to another. They become entities and binding spells on their own through time.”

“What has that got to do with anything right now? Ghost Slayer, you are already treading a dangerous path with the choices you have made the past months. Do I still need to remind you of this?” the spirit asked.

The black robed creature acted as if he didn’t hear his companion and spoke once more. “I suppose it doesn’t matter right as of this moment,” he crossed his legs and continued, “Let me tell you a story; a secret.” Notes: it was supposed to be a oneshot but my need for novel shen wei characterization bled through so now it’s a 3shot *sigh*

***

Title: 狗在江湖 Notes: this is a mix of novel and drama elements AND it’s a/b/o AND it has 30 chapters so obv i cried

Title: Sweet Dreams Summary: 朱白ABO，架空末世微悬疑。 Notes: okay so it was weird for me at first bc they were using zhubai’s names until i realized they were pertaining to weilan derivative in general AND OKAY LISTEN - the plot??? THE PLOT??? GLORIOUS

Title: 我说所有的酒都不如你 Summary: 这大概是一个东江二哈狼和东江气死猫你追我跑你继续追我假装跑你拼命追我跑不动了的爱情故事（。 Notes: 2Luo aka Luo Fusheng x Luo Fei weilan derivative and this is legit my favorite derivative fic!!! they mixed both dramas and fed me sentinel + guide trope AND THEN WOW PLOT

***

Title: Black Cloak Reversed Summary: Chief Zhao is a little too friendly with the Black-Cloaked Envoy. The members of the SID worry that he's being emotionally disloyal to Professor Shen. Notes: drama; zhao yunlan is a filthy, thirsty man and SID mourns over this fact

Title: my heart broke loose on the wind Summary: If Yunlan is going to learn how to make actual food that requires more effort than just boiling water and putting hot water into stuff, he’s going to have to take all the notes. “Right,” he says to himself. “How hard can it be?” He watches all twenty-two minutes and fourteen seconds of Chef Shen's video without fast-forwarding. When it comes to an end, he clicks on the replay button. He ends up taking zero notes, and the only thing he manages to learn from the whole exercise is that Chef Shen -Shen Wei- is really fucking beautiful when he smiles. Notes: au; alternative summary - ye zun: how thirsty are you for my bro zhao yunlan: thirsty? pls im a paragon of all things holy, i am a kind and generous citizen of the world, i am - ye zun: i can help you get in his pants zhao yunlan: - thirsty af; i am very thirsty

Title: when we reunite, the world will tilt on its axis Summary: Zhao Yunlan tries to figure out how he should approach the matter of young Shen Wei. Notes: drama; babey!shen wei who's so earnest and genuinely in-love ahhh im soft

Title: Wild Thing, Stop Your Teasing Summary: Shen Wei’s eyelid twitch as Yunlan unwraps another lollipop, closes his spit-shiny lips around the spherical head while looking at Shen Wei under dark eyes and thick lashes. Fists clenched on his pant leg, Shen Wei swallows and tamps down the urge to grab Yunlan across the table. Notes: drama; when you think zhao yunlan's thirst has a limit - he goes an open his mouth but hey shen wei's head over heels thousands of years ago already anyway

Title: Tease the Wild Thing Summary: Yunlan's POV from shaenanigans' awesome fic ''Wild Thing, Stop your Teasing''. Yeah, it's the one with the lollipops, and the porn with feels. You know. The Good Stuff. Notes: more weilan smut after the one above?? SIGN ME TF UP

Title: without complexities or pride Summary: “Kunlun Hall’s rules do not apply to you,” Yunlan says simply, moving to steep some tea for Shen Wei. “You are the Black Cloak Envoy. Lord Kunlun holds you in high regard.” “And you hold him in high regard,” Shen Wei adds before he’s able to stop himself. Shen Wei can hear the wretched jealousy in his own voice, and no doubt Yunlan can as well, because Yunlan’s smile turns sly, and his eyes are very knowing when he says, “In a way, I suppose I do.” Notes: (Or, the Not-Exactly-A-Courtesan!Yunlan fic.) >> im crying bc YES

Title: Every ridge hand-picked by the late sun’s slant light Summary: Zhao Yunlan gets up to greet this man, his destiny – who is currently scowling behind his fancy embroidered mask – and smiles as filthily as he can make it. Whatever else they might be to each other, Shen Wei has been taunting him for weeks. Zhao Yunlan is going to take him home and fuck him until he cries and he wants Shen Wei to know that. “Long time, no see,” he says. The Black Cloaked Envoy blanches. Notes: when i say i thirst for weilan papapa where shen wei loses his self control - I MEAN IT

Title: that's where you belong Summary: First of all, how dare Shen Wei. Second of all, Zhao Yunlan has been looking forward to this for like, as long as he's been aware that Shen Wei is an alpha. Third of all -- Notes: im crying bc all i ever wanted was for novel weilan's characterization bc i know their papapa would be the hottest with that and i have been fed with this need and even partnered w/ a/b/o trope /SOBS

Title: Just Cared Too Much Summary: Zhao Yun Lan found out his father was dead while he was pouring concrete down the throat of a backstabbing dickbag. “Chief, I'm sorry, the Boss is gone. Shot to the head, on his way to meet the Russians.” Notes: i was dying to have a mafia au and this appeared THANK YOU; and def one of the other things that pushed me to finish my own mafia au for weilan lol

Title: 家教 - or - Domestic Education Summary: Shen Wei is the Ghost King, born out of the unyielding chaos of entropy that had consumed the underworld before the creation of the wheel of reincarnation. He's the cosmic guardian of death and all her darlings, and the universe through the lens of his eye is rife with demons, hungry ghosts, and shadows creeping out of their places. So there is absolutely no way he is getting sick. Notes: im novel verse trash and we get that PLUS mama!zhao uhh hell yes???

Title: Sarva Summary: Or, 一切. At work, in public, Shen Wei is meticulously, seamlessly polite. In bed, he's something else. Notes: this was the first weilan smut i read AND ALL THE YES BC SHEN WEI LOSING IT FOR ZHAO YUNLAN IS MY KINK

Title: Future Forged Summary: Masquerading as Kunlun, Zhao Yunlan sets out on a mission to recover the stolen Hallows alongside the young Shen Wei. Along the way, he discovers new abilities, forges new bonds, unearths old histories, and learns that the universe goes beyond his wildest imagination. Notes: lol way better take on what happened during that time travel thing than what the drama had

Title: who you allow Summary: But then Zhao Yunlan goes and gets a haircut, and Shen Wei. Pouts. For like three days. Notes: for the record - i, too, believe shen wei will pout bc of this

Title: Significant Other Colour Summary: Collars are so old-fashioned and Zhao Yunlan can’t help but feel that there’s an ulterior motive hiding behind Shen Wei’s innocently widened eyes. Notes: tfw i've tried to bury my needs on acknowledging how shen wei canonically wants to lock up zhao yunlan and then this fic hits me - author pls let me love you (for y'all heed the warnings)

Title: Afterimage Summary: Zhu Yi Long is an awkward turtle. Now he has to deal with letting Shen Wei and Ye Zun go. Notes: okay so im not really into fics on real people but this was done so well? it explores the effects of zhu yilong's method acting and sets straight that zhubai and weilan are not one and the same at the end of the day

Title: Twill Seeker Summary: The young master has a thing for the butler. The butler is at the end of his rope. Notes: if anyone comes after me and my apparent need for butler shen wei and young master zhao yunlan, hide me

Title: When You're Old, You Want To Celebrate Birthdays At Home Summary: Shen Wei comes home to a surprise. Notes: me, wiping a tear: oh look, a ye zun characterization i actually like even if he's mentioned only

Title: do nothing day Summary: “The stress of work is exhausting me and my wife is scolding me now,” Zhao Yunlan pretends to whine, hiding his face in the blankets. “You’ve seen who I work with, those stubborn kids who cause me nothing but trouble. You’re supposed to be on my side, meant to pity me when the world turns against me. I deserve this day off and I reserve the right to do as I please. And if I want to be a slug in the bed then that’s what I’m going to do.” Notes: "It’s so gentle that Shen Wei almost can’t stand it, the way Zhao Yunlan lets him do as he likes, just receiving whatever Shen Wei wants to give him. And there’s so much that Shen Wei wants to lavish onto his Zhao Yunlan." -- dont bother for the ambulance i know im DOA

Title: Heat and Desire Summary: Five times Zhao Yunlan had an oral fixation and one time Shen Wei did something about it. Notes: "You tease me, Zhao Yunlan," Shen Wei whispers, his breath tickling against Zhao Yunlan’s ear. "You tease me and you tease me and you seem to think that I won't do anything about it." -- me, choking: IM FINE

Title: Just A Phone Call Away Summary: Chief Zhao gets hurt on a case and nobody wants to be the one to call Professor Shen and tell him.... Notes: SID family + shen wei's first reaction to the call??? sign me up

Title: Never Losing You Summary: Yunlan can't open his eyes, can't shut his mouth. Needy, keening noises pour out of his throat completely out of his control. Shen Wei's closed fist is around him, pumping fast and tight in rhythm to his fucking, making him see stars exploding behind closed eyelids, thoroughly engulfed by the incredible sensations racketing up and down his spine originating from where they're so deliciously joined. Shen Wei's other hand cradles his jaw, careful, reverent, but also serves to ground Yunlan to the bed so Shen Wei can fuck him harder, deeper. Notes: i can never have enough weilan papapa bc if canon doesn't give me the explicit juicy details then im turning to fic writers with metaphorical gold payment

Title: third time's the charm Summary: “I’m what Da Qing likes to describe as ‘especially tenacious’ when I’m in heat, even more so when I have a specific Alpha in mind,” Yunlan tells him, casual. (Or, three times Shen Wei helps Zhao Yunlan through his heat.) Notes: me, looking through the window with a faraway look: a/b/o universe makes me weak even if it's not even explicit

Title: this secret language that we speak Summary: "If you don't want to do this any more," says Shen Wei, "you get off the couch, and we'll do whatever you want. Do you understand?" Zhao Yunlan is so hot he thinks he's going to light the couch on fire. He swallows and nods."I didn't hear you," says Shen Wei, implacable as death. "Do you understand?" Zhao Yunlan has to clear his throat, and when he manages to speak, his voice is gravelled with arousal. "Yeah. I do." "Good," says Shen Wei. Notes: i cried 69 times bc my horny ass is fed and jfc domineering shen wei??? *cries for the 70th time*

Title: Shen Wei Summary: Shen Wei loves Zhao Yunlan, and there is only so long he can feign otherwise. Notes: [Zhao Yunlan gives a small shrug, uninvested in the argument. “All right. And where do you belong?” Shen Wei freezes, flashes of memory assaulting him, of Kunlun’s skin hot against his, of promises moaned against each other’s necks. Inside you is all he can think.] BINCH I DIED AT THIS PART

Title: Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This Summary: Zhao Yunlan jerks back to the waking world gasping and screaming and drowning in the anguish that comes with being lit on eternal consuming fire. The unmistakable rich copper taste of blood fills his mouth and he opens tear-filled bloodshot eyes that he was sure melted a long time ago with the rest of his physical body. He sees faces crowding around him in varying degrees of worry, but the pain blinds him from putting names to the faces. His throat feels raw, as if he'd been screaming for centuries and realizes on the next breath that he's been screaming a name. Shen Wei's name. Notes: drama-verse but a hopeful one TYL im here for the whole the last episode didn’t happen bc we can use the plot that the drama threw away lol

Title: Aftermath Summary: The fallout after the dust has settled. Notes: a look on what happened after the 4th extra in the novel; s o f t

Title: The world that we'll invent Summary: Shen Wei's self-control continues to be tested. Notes: [Nothing in Shen Wei's long existence has prepared him for the problem that is Zhao Yunlan.] >> honestly this is the summary of weilan in general

Title: Quiet Heart, Hollow Body Summary: It has been ten thousand years since Shen Wei met Kunlun, but he could never forget the one who first saw beyond the mask of the Black Cloaked Envoy to the person beneath. Notes: im novel bias for so many reasons but this was absolutely amazing as a drama setting bc it /is/ closer to the novel setting bc shen wei was actually awake those 10,000 years so that desperation and intensity of novel!sw is closer here - really great read

last updated: March 2, 2020

#weilan #shen wei #zhao yunlan #zhenhun #镇魂 #guardian #zhinfo

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im-a-special-bebe · 5 years

Text

Beautiful Liar

Warnings: Violence, language, Drug Lord AU

(Reposted from my AFF account)

Molly’s his adopted sister, Mary Jane’s his best friend, and HeroinE’s the pseudonym his favorite author goes by – at least that’s what he tells the outsiders. Drug Lord Chae Hyungwon has the right friends in the right places, because the ones in the wrong place at the wrong time don’t make it out. He’s got the keys to the castle and his eyes on the gold coffers. He just doesn’t expect to find a different kind of treasure.

When Hyungwon walked into his biggest rival’s grandest casino, he didn’t expect the night to include broken bottles and scraped knuckles – and he hadn’t even been kicked out yet.

When Yoon Mi Cha decided to head to her father’s main business for a drink after a rough day, she didn’t expect a hailstorm of bullets.

But as they were both about to find out, C’est La Vie.

Part 1 | Part 2 (Coming soon)

Chapter – 1: Fake People Showing Fake Love to Me

‘Another water for you, Sir?’ the smartly-dressed bartender asked politely as he wiped a glass down, though Hyungwon could feel the judgement in the man’s stare.

‘Yes. Don’t like to start the party too early.’ Or at all in this case, he thought as he managed a wry smile that turned out to be more of a grimace.

How the kingpin of an entire country’s illegal drug business had been the one to end up on a recon mission to scope out an enemy was anyone’s guess (especially since he had no clue what to look for in the first place), but Hyungwon grudgingly put that thought away for now.

He looked around the large room, a slightly disdainful expression taking over his handsome features. Yoon Moon Jae, esteemed owner of this establishment – and his primary business rival – had taken being part of the underground much too literally. Not only was the huge casino three floors below the first level, but the cavernous space was exactly that – a man-made cave, complete with exposed fake, jagged rock walls. The heavily mountainous appearance was lit up by scones of actual fire that cast flickering shadows around the hundred odd playing tables and seating areas and created an ominous aura along with contrasting chrome pendant lights. The overall effect was like stepping into a sci-fi movie.

Nonetheless, the actual centerpiece was what Hyungwon was seated beneath. A large amount of funds – gained by encroaching on his territory, no doubt – had gone to the massive chandelier that hung above. The behemoth glass giant was made up of a beehive of thousands of little shelves that contained countless colorful bottles of liquor, and it was these shelves that were lined with LED-lights, hideously incongruous to the nature of a chandelier itself. The glass converged to a steep point that coincided with the center of the bar he was at.

Lovely, let’s just wait for that to fall on our heads.

As a rule, the young, twenty-six-year-old drug lord (and prominent mafia affiliate) absolutely detested bar stools. Per the usual pattern, his tall stature ensured that he was hunched over the tiny seat, his head resting in one of his long-fingered hands, and he was sorely tempted to just slump down on the bar instead. His body started to settle into an uncaring slouch, and he winced as he heard the distinct crack of his phone hitting the floor after falling out of his pocket as a result.

‘Goddammit.’ He cursed, impatiently brushing his ash blond hair out of his eyes as he bent to pick up the broken device. Through the corner of his beautifully-shaped and well-trained eye, he noted that someone had taken up the seat beside him.

- - - _ _ _- - - _ _ _ - - -

‘Oh Gosh, you scared me!’ Mi Cha exclaimed as the man next to her straightened up.

For a moment she forgot how to speak.

Her first thought was that it was unfair for a man to have lips like that – puffy, plump, a delicate natural shade of petal pink that women would kill for. Mi Cha couldn’t help but stare at how beautifully his perfect cupid’s bow aligned with his long, straight nose. She’d seen her share of pretty faces – she was a model after all, and about fifty fashion shoots later, all the features seemed to blend together, each prettier than the next, and yet none compared to his ethereal exquisiteness. Her curious eyes wandered over his high cheekbones, sharp jawline, and his hooded eyes, colored a deep aquamarine by obvious lenses, but so eerily electric all the same.

A flat eyebrow, dark against his flawless skin arched at her questioningly, and Mi Cha realized that maybe her perusal had become a little too obvious.

‘Didn’t see you there.’ He said at length, his voice a lazy, gravelly drawl as she cleared her throat.

‘Yeah, me neither.’ She replied as the bartender turned away, having noted her order of a Tequila Sunrise. She was starting off strong with the purpose of being drunk enough to forget her own name. One cranky director, two rather handsy co-models, and three different bouts of not-her-fault dressing downs later, she figured she had enough justification.

Too bad all she got was half a sip.

When the first bottle shattered, Mi Cha assumed that someone had probably just been clumsy. When the second one broke, she thought that maybe an argument had broken out. It wasn’t until the third one burst right in front of her that she heard the distinct pew, pew, pew, and falling bodies.

That’s when the screams began.

In the resulting mayhem that caused a maelstrom of people moving in all directions, there was nowhere to run. The chrome lights overhead exploded as they were struck by stray (or purposeful, there was no way to tell) bullets, further reducing the visibility until only the haunting illumination from the wall scones remained. Her blood froze in her veins as she uncomprehendingly lowered herself to the floor, crouching under the bar for shelter, her father’s gruff voice ringing in her ears.

‘You here that sound, my girl?’

Seven-year-old Mi Cha had nodded hesitantly as they stood in the vast garden which could be considered the backyard of her house, both unsure of everything and a little scared of why the man she trusted most suddenly had a weird gun in his hand.

‘Daddy, what is that?’ she’d asked, pointing to the strange attachment.

‘A silencer,’ he’d replied as he’d shot a tree again, ‘If you ever hear this, you run as far as you can, understood? Promise me.’

Her tiny pinky finger had quietly wrapped around his.

The forgotten memories swirled in her head, everything too fast for coherent thought, and as she snapped her head around, searching for a way out of this hellhole, for the second time that night, her eyes met startlingly bright sea-green.

The stranger from before blinked slowly. Before her overwhelmed mind could register that although he shared her uncertain position, his gaze exposed an unnerving calmness, unyielding hands gripped her in a punishing grasp and she was roughly dragged to her feet.

She stumbled on her tall heels, cursing the fact that she chose to come here straight after the shoot ended, and right after she was jerked upright, a harsh blow struck the side of her face.

And that was the first time she’d known what that felt like.

Tears reflexively streamed down her cheeks as she tried to get past the pounding in her brain. She fell into someone, and a now-familiar voice said to her lowly, ‘Hey, snap out of it.’

She looked up to see ash blond hair and full lips pressed together in a disapproving grimace.

‘So nice to finally meet you, Yoon Mi Cha.’

The woman turned and met the shallow, bloodshot eyes of a man she didn’t know.

‘What do you want from me?’

‘Why don’t you ask your father?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She said truthfully.

‘All in good time.’ was the chilling reply.

Who’s this?’ his sleazy voice crowed as he gave the blond man behind her a once-over. Mi Cha felt a shiver run through her as she saw that they’d been surrounded by at least ten men, all clad in disheveled black suits in varying stages of disrepair, and each man a worrying degree of being more brutal-looking and ham-handed than the last.

‘N-No one.’ She managed shakily, and the middle-aged thug in front of her grinned, his beady black eyes flicking from her to their other captive.

The handsome stranger who now had a gun painfully shoved to his temple. Although he somehow looked more annoyed than appalled at the situation.

‘Nobodies don’t make the guest list~’ the thug said, his sing-song voice rousing laughter from his accomplices.

Mi Cha met the man’s eyes, his gaze steely and boring into her, and she knew that she couldn’t just let him die.

‘Boyfriend.’ She choked out, ‘he’s my boyfriend.’

- - - _ _ _- - - _ _ _ - - -

Not that Hyungwon fancied death-by-degenerate all that much, but he couldn’t help but feel a little miffed at being dragged into a mess that he hadn’t help create in the first place.

‘Let me do you guys a favor and make sure you stay together until death do you part.’ The apparent leader of this sorry band of miscreants cackled.

The only indication that he’d winced was given by the slight pursing of his lips as the man backhanded the young woman. This time, the force of it brought her to the glass-littered floor. This time, she didn’t get up.

He watched as a lackey carelessly gathered her slim body. With a thin strap of her deep-cut floor-length red dress slipping down one shoulder and one long, pale leg exposed by the slit that ran up to a few inches below her hip, she seemed rather fragile.

‘Let’s take a hike, pretty boy.’ The man holding him jeered, distracting him from his observation.

Dear God, they need more work on their dialogues.

- - - _ _ _- - - _ _ _ - - -

Hyungwon had ended up in the empty back of a nondescript black van with his wrists cuffed to a handhold above his head. Apparently, his sardonic look hadn’t gone over well with the brutes for hire. His lovely companion had ended up tossed onto the dirty, thinly-carpeted floor of the vehicle, her hands restrained behind her back and pulling her body in what was sure to be a very uncomfortable position. However, she was still out cold, which was good, because she hadn’t been mentally present to experience the gangsters disgustingly grope her legs to remove her phone from her thigh holster strap. Unlike the rather daunting name and purpose, the thin material had only contained an ID, a credit card, a couple 50,000 won notes, and her flashy new iPhone. All the men had cared about was her communication device, and after apprehensively witnessing what had happened to her, he had wisely tossed his own cracked phone over.

He watched the lights zoom past outside the darkly tinted windows, and as they became scarcer, he noted that they were moving into the shadier parts of town. Where people like him roamed carelessly. A line from the conversation earlier kept spinning through his mind.

‘Why don’t you ask your father?’

She’d looked like she genuinely hadn’t known what was going on, or why she was being practically hunted.

A glance at the fallen ID by his Italian leather-clad left foot gave away the barest of details – Yoon Mi Cha, 25 years old, Resident of Seoul.

Still, a name was a start.

In the rush to get the victims away, their driver had ignored too many speed bumps to count, and as the car jumped from the impact from another one, the woman on the floor was jerked back into consciousness.

She struggled like a frenzied animal, trying to get free of her bindings, and panicked dry sobs fell from her mouth as she took in her surroundings. Her terrified dark eyes wandered rapidly before they settled on him as heaving breaths fell from her mouth in stuttered gasps.

‘Where are we?’

‘On the highway to hell, if you will.’

Despite her alarm, she scowled at him in irritation.

‘We have to get out of here.’ She said.

‘My necklace. There’s a bobby pin.’

The traffic lights they swept past painted her pale face with soft red and green through the dirty dimmed windows as multiple queries warred in her stunned gaze.

The clear winner was of course, “Who the hell are you?”, but she didn’t ask.

‘You’re not law enforcement.’ She said. It wasn’t a question.

‘Never said I was.’

With an almost bursting silence, she shuffled onto her knees and drew near before pausing apprehensively between his long, outstretched legs.

She had obviously come to the realization that since she was still hindered by her bound hands, there was only one way to get to the tiny object they needed – and she didn’t like it.

‘Yes, this was all my master plan to get you to breathe on me.’ Hyungwon deadpanned, impatient at her hesitation.

Her timidity gave way to a firm resolve as she moved closer.

And yet, for all his earlier speech, it was him who held unnaturally still when he felt her shallow exhales brush against his collarbone, her eyes never wavering from his.

The feared drug lord not-so-discreetly swallowed as her soft lips traced the impossibly thin polished platinum chain. Her teeth delicately scraped the skin between the toned planes of his chest to take the pin into her mouth and he finally let go of the air that had frozen in his lungs.

Hyungwon was utterly glad that their activities were hidden from the goons by a partition, even though something like that was of course most useful to keep away unnecessary distractions like noises – not to mention that it was the best way to contain blood splatter. He tried not to dwell on that for now since they’d been left alone, which was a great chance to escape.

Absolute amateurs. He’d never make the rookie mistake of letting captives be by themselves – much less do this kind of grunt work himself – but then again, this whole thing was not his style to begin with.

Silky strands of the woman’s long, dark hair tickled his cheek, drawing back his attention as she stretched to her limit, trying to somehow get the bobby pin into his hands. The awkward position also put her perky breasts, tantalizingly exposed by the low bodice of her gown right in his face, and for a second all he could think about was how perfectly they’d fit in the palm of his hand.

Not good.

- - - _ _ _- - - _ _ _ - - -

His aquamarine eyes had settled on her and every moment had felt like years as she’d burned with the icy fire of his steady gaze. Mi Cha had given out a shaky sigh of relief when his heavy lids had finally shut, allowing his lashes to brush the tops of his high cheekbones.

She pushed the pin from between her lips and into his hands.

Then his long fingers fumbled, and the blasted object would have been lost on the disgusting shag beneath them had it not been for her quick mouth catching it and settling it back into his grip again.

His startling irises sported a trace of sheepishness before he looked up to silently focus on tinkering with the cuffs.

‘Who are you, anyway?’ he asked her conversationally, as if they weren’t in the back of a dingy van speeding off to God knows where. As if she wasn’t the one who should have been questioning him instead.

‘You first.’

‘Hyungwon.’

She waited – with all of two syllables, that was barely an answer, let alone an introduction – but all he gave her was a sidelong glance and a raised eyebrow until she dropped it.

‘Mi Cha.’ She replied stubbornly.

‘Any idea why our lovely tour guides would come after you, Mi Cha?’ Hyungwon drawled.

Her temper flared, but was tamped down by the thought of the very real danger they were in.

‘I don’t know. I’m a model,’ – he briefly paused at that – ‘but I don’t have any connections that would get me in trouble like this.’

‘Well, it has to be something. They mentioned your father earlier.’

‘He doesn’t have anything to do with this either, he’s just a casino owner.’

‘The one we were at?’

‘Yeah, that’s the one. Someone must have pissed off someone else and now they’re after my father. Great.’

Mi Cha sighed in frustration, every passing minute making her more antsy as she rested her head on the partition that separated the back of the van from the driver’s area. If she’d been paying attention, she’d have noticed the way his hands stilled infinitesimally, right before the cuff’s hinge gave way with a too-easy click under his practiced fingers.

But as it was, the large vehicle chose that moment to swerve, threateningly close to tipping over, and she’d have flown into the back hatch door had it not been for the strong arms that pulled her to safety. The van righted itself as she was yanked back, and as a result, Mi Cha found herself pressed face-first into Hyungwon’s collarbone, the light magnolia and mint scent of his expensive cologne filling her nostrils.

She tried to disentangle herself, but he held her there – kneeling between his legs and pressed to his chest – with a slightly hoarse ‘Stay still, the lighting’s better this way.’

Mi Cha could barely breathe as his delicate touch brushed over her wrists and he released her raw and aching hands.

‘Now what?’

‘How good is your speed on the treadmill?’

She pulled off her heels as the lanky man moved towards one of the side doors.

It seemed that they had reached the intended destination, since the van started to slow down from its breakneck pace, but Hyungwon didn’t wait for a stopping point as he yanked the handle back and pulled the door open.

The cold night air was a blast of harsh trepidation in her face. They were surrounded by narrow, dingy streets, littered with broken trash and filth, and towering, empty warehouses and shuttered stores. Busted streetlights flickered eerily. The hushed whispers from the polished company she kept had been little more than cheap gossip in describing how daunting the shady part of town was in person.

‘Jump.’ He commanded, and Mi Cha didn’t have to be told twice as she launched herself out of the damned vehicle, staggering heavily as she regained her footing.

Her companion was much more agile, and she didn’t even have a second to think of anything before his long fingers were wrapping around hers as he promptly broke into a run, dragging her along with him down a dark alley.

Loud, aggravated shouts broke out behind them, and she tried to ignore everything, which was hard to do when the number of footsteps giving chase increased. No doubt, backup had arrived.

The blood rushing to her brain dulled the pain from the debris on the ground slicing into her bare feet. The only thing in her vision was the back of Hyungwon’s ash blond head and his leather-jacket clad back as he led her through one grimy path after another, the buildings so close together that a bike would have had a hard time passing through. The yells and curses behind them grew louder and closer, and chills shot down her spine.

A striking crack sounded as Hyunwon kicked open a thin door, and then pushed her through into an unlit warehouse. Rows after rows of two-story high columns of crates and boxes made the place a maze. They hurried through the gaps and the she was being pushed to the floor behind a large container.

‘Stay here.’

‘Wh-where are you going?’ she managed, her voice shaking.

‘To find a way out.’

‘I’ll come with – ‘

‘No. I’ll come find you. Stay here.’

There was no room for argument with the finality in his low voice, and he gave her what she supposed was meant to be a reassuring nod before he left.

Mi Cha crouched on the dust-covered linoleum, her senses on high alert. A rather ironic Son and Sons stamp stared at her as she stared at its imprint on the crate in front of her.

Then came the echoing voices and footfalls.

Worn out shoes squeaked against the floor as their presence came nearer.

‘Find them! I’m not losing my balls for a high society bitch and her boy toy.’

‘They can’t have gone far, boss.’

‘You can give me that bullshit after you fucking find them, Jang.’

They were closer now, and fear had her mind whirring and her heart racing.

Stay or run?

Run or fight?

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew that there was no way she could take on two of them and make it out alive.

Terror fused ice in her veins, and she was about to gather the remnants of her courage and make a run for it when the dull thud of something accidentally falling over had a sudden silence covering the area.

‘That way.’ One of the men decided, and she heard them move away in the direction of the sound.

Mi Cha barely had a moment to let out a small sigh of relief before a smooth palm clamped over her mouth and an arm locked around her, pinning her hands to her sides.

And then she was fighting, twisting, turning, struggling to free herself from the constricted, ungiving grasp.

‘Shh. It’s me.’

Hyungwon.

Her breaths slowly calmed from fraught pants to deeper exhales as he released her.

‘This way.’ He said, and she mindlessly followed him, eager to be out of there.

Once he was sure they weren’t being followed, the tall man quickly moved through tight passageways to get them both outside, but he didn’t stop there. They walked past one dilapidated building after another, until one street was finally lit up by the dim light of a tiny convenience store. With old, blurry glass windows and peeling paint, it looked like you were likely to leave with much less money than planned based on the appearance of the current patrons of the shop.

Mi Cha watched as Hyungwon told her to wait, and nonchalantly strolled up to a man in his early thirties with a receding hairline and a loose black hoodie and jeans that probably needed a good wash. The man looked up from his motorcycle as Hyungwon spoke.

‘Here. I need your bike.’

She hadn’t even noticed him pull out the thin wad of 50,000 won notes.

‘No way dude. This is – ‘

The man stopped, his eyes widening to impossible limits as Hyungwon ever-so-casually adjusted his jacket, giving the man a subtle glimpse of the small revolver tucked into the inside pocket of the soft material.

Well, she definitely hadn’t noticed that either. And if she hadn’t been apprehensive before, she was now.

Just who the hell is he?

The other man practically ran for his life – but only after he’d snatched the money from her companion’s hand.

As the blond man turned towards her, she reflexively took a step back, and a stray sharp shard of glass cut into her foot.

‘Ow.’

Hearing her own voice broke the dam to let loose the flood that she had been holding at bay. In that moment of pause, the adrenaline that had been driving her drained away. Everything stormed into her brain at once – the flying bullets, the way she’d been hit, kidnapped, hurt, the men after her for no reason at all – and all of it hit her hard.

And then she was trembling, her thin arms wrapping around herself and her fingernails digging into her skin.

Her terrified eyes met his aquamarine irises, and something swirled and changed in their depths because then he was moving towards her, enveloping her into his arms. He ignored her initial squeak and as he rubbed a hand on her back, her composure returned bit by bit.

‘Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.’

His throaty voice reverberated through her, and his magnolia and mint scent was calming as she nodded into his chest.

At length, he pulled away, and for a moment, all he did was look into her dark eyes, an undecipherable expression on his face, like he was scrutinizing some idea in his head. She blinked, and the moment broke.

‘You’re good to go.’ He said.

Where would I go? Where do I go? I’m so lost.

‘They might come after me again.’ Mi Cha whispered.

‘They might.’

I’m scared, I’m so scared. I don’t want to die.

‘The street down there leads to the main road. I can give you enough for a taxi.’

Alone? At this hour? I don’t want to. I don’t want to be by myself. My God, I don’t even know this man, but he just saved my life. I … trust him.

‘Can I come with you?’

- - - _ _ _- - - _ _ _ - - -

Guilt wasn’t an emotion that Hyungwon was unfamiliar with, but he was able to brush it aside pretty easily for the most part. It was just a little harder that day, when he had this woman who was relieved to see him, who accepted being in his arms as a source of comfort after a harrowing experience, who trusted him.

She did, he could see it in those beautiful, dark eyes of hers.

And yet, he couldn’t just give up on Yoon Moon Jae’s only daughter when she was right in front of him, practically handed to him on a silver platter, all innocence and naivete because she sure as hell had no clue what her father actually did to make his money. The very daughter that Moon Jae had spent years’ worth of time and energy concealing so that no one knew her face and no one had ever heard her name. She was perfect in every way. A perfect beauty, she had an amazing resilience under trying circumstances – and she was the perfect weakness for his enemy.

He almost felt bad. Almost.

‘You’re good to go.’ He said.

Never. It’s too late for you.

‘They might come after me again.’

‘They might.’

They will. You’re a dead woman walking.

‘The street down there leads to the main road. I can give you enough for a taxi.’ Hyungwon forced himself to say.

I’ll never let you go. Just a little more, darling.

‘Can I come with you?’

Perfect.

(To be continued … )

#hyungwon #chae hyungwon #monsta x hyungwon #mx hyungwon #hyungwon fanfic #monsta x fanfic #drug lord au #monsta x scenarios #mx scenarios #hyungwon scenarios #hyungwon fic

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inkribbon796 · 5 years

Text

Egoton Origins: The Silver Shepherd

Chapter 1: When the Void Looks Back

~::~25 Years Ago~::~

Mark had been living in Egoton as far back as he could remember. He’d been born in Hawaii, but had lived his whole life here. Egoton, in the kindest regards was one of the worst places to live. It was under the heel of a creature that couldn’t die, and an equally crazy reporter who ran the news and seemed to keep everyone in line.

His life was spiraling out of control and even at 21, he felt like he was staring at the uncaring jaws of death. He’d just come out from a surgery to get rid of a tumor a couple months ago. So after a rather terrifying existential nightmare of realizing that he’d done nothing with his life, he was trying to figure out how to fix it.

He’d started going back to class again, probably shouldn’t be but he was so close to the end of the year and didn’t want his grades to tank.

So he was walking from the bus stop to his apartment he shared with four other guys. He just wanted to go home and take a nap. Maybe play some Quake mods after he finished up his homework.

“Fire!” Someone screamed.

As if set off by some primal urge, Mark ran towards the sound, his stomach hurt a bit but after controlling his speed and movement for a bit he made it into an alleyway where there wasn’t a fire. Someone was being attacked.

The guy looked like one of Dark’s mafia enforcers. He had some young woman that looked about Mark’s age backed up into the corner of the alleyway.

To Mark’s chagrin, he did hesitate, but as the woman kept begging to let her go and the guy was being a creep, he finally did move. Mark crept up as slowly as possible, and carefully grabbed a nearby pipe from a bunch of trash bags near the mouth of the alley.

He had one shot really, the guy had a knife in his hands, and Mark wasn’t in the best of shape since his surgery. The girl either didn’t realize he was there, or was doing her part to not sell him out.

“Let me go,” she tried to push him off.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he spat.

Mark quickly hit the guy on the head and he just went down. “Go,” he told the woman.

“Thank you so much,” she said, already starting to walk over the unconscious gangster’s body.

“Just go,” he urged, and tried to leave as quickly as possible, burying the pipe he’d taken back with the others and trying to escape as fast as his body would let him. Mark didn’t look behind him or stop fleeing until he was in his apartment, deadbolting it and finally catching his breath.

It was only then that Mark realized how much he was shaking. Carefully limping over to the couch and sitting down. He needed a nap, badly, and maybe when he woke up his body would stop shaking.

Mark didn’t tell anyone what had happened. He didn’t want the press, and he knew his friends weren’t involved with Dark or his network, but he didn’t want to chance someone overhearing something.

The bigger problem, at least for Mark, was that he found himself looking for trouble. It took a couple more weeks for him to figure out that he hadn’t been shaking just because of fear or because he was coming off a surgery.

It was the adrenaline.

Mark couldn’t quite put his finger on why beating a mafia guy was the thing that seemed to get his blood pumping. But the fact of the matter was that Mark found himself barely a month after saving the woman, who he hadn’t run into again, looking for more of Dark’s enforcers. It was dark, late at night. Honestly Mark shouldn’t be out here, but no one else was going to do anything else about Dark and his thugs. So Mark had to do something. Sometimes it felt like he was the only one who could.

So Mark and a friend were investigating one of the warehouses that Dark was known to almost never visit. Maybe once in a blue moon, but in Mark’s paltry research he knew that there was a warehouse Dark worked out of, but which? Mark had no idea. All he knew was that it wasn’t the one he was at right now.

“Hey, Mark,” Daniel whispered as he crept up, finally catching up to him. Daniel was one of Mark’s roommates, and so far the only of them that Mark had told what he was starting to do on the weekends. Both of them were in masks. Mark in a black and white outfit that looked more like an alien than he intended. Daniel was in a blue outfit with a cyan-colored mask and sash.

“Not my name, Iblis,” Mark hissed.

Even though the mask, Mark saw him roll his eyes. “Fine, Silver, whatever.”

The two guys Mark was watching finished loading the boxes into the back of a covered truck.

“This is a bad idea,” Daniel reminded him.

“Go home, then,” Mark whispered, and smiled as the two enforcers left the truck alone to go back inside. “I got this.”

Mark crept towards the truck, Daniel trying to call after him but Mark was already at the side of the covered truck and climb into the back. He was pretty sure he was alone until he heard the faint thud of Daniel climbing into the truck with him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Mark whispered, smiling.

“Shut up,” Daniel scoffed. “This is dumb. We shouldn’t be here.”

“We’ll be gone before they even know we’re here,” Mark promised, already starting to check the boxes. The first box he opened however was empty. So were the next five.

“Why are they all empty,” Mark realized.

Then the two heard voices as the doors locked. Plunging the two of them into darkness, but from the slightest sliver of light from the nearby street lights outside. Mark was thankful it was dark, because he could feel Daniel glaring at him.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got this,” Mark told him quietly. “As long as we don’t get taken to the main warehouse, we’re good.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Daniel spat. “You got us into this mess, so get us back out.”

“We wait for them to open the door and knock them out,” Mark made sure to still talk quietly, not waiting to tip off their presence to the drivers of the truck. It took forever, enough time for Daniel to stop being so furious with him, and the last part of the trip was a steep incline.

Finally, there was a creaking and metallic grinding sound. Then, the truck stopped.

Mark and Daniel braced, both of them creeping towards the door.

“Alright,” one of the enforcers groaned. “It’s late, I hate this place.”

“Can’t believe the bastard lives here,” the other enforcer chuckled nervously. “Place gives me the—”

The door opened and Mark smiled as he saw that the two enforcers were standing close enough. Mark and Daniel grabbed an enforcer each and pulled them into the truck, muting them and choking them out so they couldn’t raise an alarm. Mark struggled to close the door a bit to muffle the sound.

Once they were taken care of, Mark opened the door all the way, and they stepped out in what looked like a poorly constructed hangerbay. Like it had been meant to hold horses and carriages and instead now held cars. The ground was compacted dirt, two large windows at horse height that looked like they could be opened as doors to take horses through. The place felt like it should reek of mold and old money. But it didn’t smell like anything.

They didn’t get far before everything went south. Mark could barely take the triumphant smile from their entry off his face before the world began to turn into shades of gray. Mark froze, as a ringing echoed shrilly off every surface around him.

Daniel cursed, immediately turning to the closest door, which was the huge garage door the truck had entered through. He barely made it two steps, Mark trying to cover Daniel’s back, but it was much too late.

Mark would later come to his own conclusion that Dark probably knew they were there when they entered the Manor. The more they ran, the further the front door got from them. Mark finally grabbed Daniel, pinning him in place, “We’re just wearing ourselves out.”

“He’s going to,” Daniel spat back.

“I’d rather do this here, than half-dead in an endless corridor,” Mark looked around, trying to keep Daniel behind him.

After a full minute, Mark felt goosebumps all over his body, and Daniel startled. Mark looked behind them, and in between the two vigilantes and the door was Dark. The creature looked more like some Eldritch monster wearing a human skin suit. Its neck gave two deafening snaps as Dark’s neck snapped from side to side.

Mark almost jumped out of his own skin, trying to get Daniel away from the inhuman being. The realization of how human and mortal not only Mark was, but how vulnerable Daniel was hit him like a truck. Suddenly all the rumors about him seemed horrifyingly true as both vigilantes were grabbed by shadowy wispy tendrils. Both of them were painfully squeezed.

Dark smiled, looking at the two intruders up and down before he paced around them. “Well I’m used to masks,” Dark said, surprising Mark by the low human voice that came from such a clearly inhuman creature. “Have to say, the spandex is new.”

“What?” Mark said, Dark snapped his head to look at Mark.

Maybe it was the shock, or the fact that his brain had processed that he was going to die and didn’t bother telling him, but he opened his mouth and said the dumbest thing ever. “What are you?”

Even Mark was surprised by his own sudden fearlessness.

Daniel let out a scream, as Dark began to tighten his hold on Daniel. Dark, for his part, calmly stared at Mark. Even if vigilante could see the malice and bottomless pit inside the entity’s eyes, as if bubbling just under the surface.

“Who are you?” Dark asked. “Don’t make me kill your friend.”

Mark felt nauseous, unable to help or protect Daniel, “You’re going to kill us anyways.”

Dark grinned evilly, one of his fingers going to the bottom of Mark’s silver mask, “Oh, I can do far worse than kill you.”

Then, slowly he started to lift Mark’s mask, and Mark absolutely panicked. He reacted without thought, although even if Mark had thought of the situation for longer than a second, he didn’t really know what else he could have done. In an act of terrified stupidity, Mark bit his hand.

Two things happened. First, Mark had the sensation that he’d bitten into something akin to clay. Second, Dark looked honestly surprised for a second, before he looked absolutely furious.

Dark threw Mark into Daniel, knocking them both down onto the ground. “I was going to just kill you two,” Dark roared at them. “But it looks like mercy’s off the table boys. I’ll let the House have you instead!”

Mark used what little sense he had left to grab onto Daniel’s cape, the first part of him he could reach, and the whole world went black as Mark had the sensation he was falling. It felt like he was being ripped away from Daniel and Mark felt himself scream rather than hear it.

Time seemed to unfold, as if he had lived a whole lifetime he didn’t remember experiencing, but it only lasted a second. He fell through what looked like red mist that seemed to be trying to stick to his clothing. Then, he felt himself hit the ground and he blacked out.

NEXT => Chapter 2

________________________________________________________________

Hope you guys like it.

I want to say, this one took some time to make, but I decided that this was the origin I was going with because not including Iblis would have been a tragedy and a betrayal of the lore of Silver and I refused to commit either travestry.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Egoton Origins #Markiplier #Silver Shepherd #Daniel Kyre #Iblis #Darkiplier #playing hackysack with real people's history to make a cohesive fictional story #origin story #Void magic #being granted superpowers from a force of nature #vigilante justice #getting thrown into a mouth of madness

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timeskip · 5 years

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Ripples on the Water

For @bsd-rarepairweek day 3. Yosano/Kouyou (Open arms / “It was better to know the worst than to wonder.” - Margaret Mitchell)

Kouyou talks to Yosano about the past and the future.

“Trust me, Yosano, dear,” Kouyou says, after a minute, “it’s better to know the worst than to wonder.”

Yosano takes a breath, eyes dropping to her cup of tea. “Doctor Mori is dead.”

(Word count: 2327)

Kouyou wakes up with a slight headache, and for a second she thinks that she’s been drugged, due to the lack of pain stabbing through her body when she moves. The bed she’s on is surrounded by white curtains, and the air smells medical. It’s not a very hard conclusion to come to when she thinks about being on painkillers in a hospital.

But as she reaches to her side where she knows a wound should be, she finds nothing but smooth skin where a knife had previously been painfully inserted into her skin.

Yosano must be here, she thinks, fingers going up to rest lightly where her head still pains her.

The air in the hospital, or, more likely, the Agency’s infirmary, is still, which tells Kouyou that nobody’s there in the room. She pulls herself up, letting her feet find slippers left by the bed. It’s a courtesy Kouyou hadn’t been expecting, as she’d rather been thinking of treading lightly on bare feet.

Her breath sounds loud in the room and she gently grits her teeth as she sweeps aside the curtains to reveal the bright lights beating down on her. Standing, she walks cautiously towards the exit. She wants to see Yosano before she leaves, the woman that she’s become enamoured with but with whom she’s unable to create a relationship with because of their respective organizations. Seeing anyone else is a risk she has to take.

Surprisingly, the Agency’s office is empty from all visible people, and everything is tinged with violet from the almost-set sun. She listens for someone else’s breaths before she moves, and hears the soft clinking of a spoon on porcelain. Someone is on the couches, just a bit away, and they have tea with them.

When Kouyou peers past the divider, Yosano’s smile greets her. She looks unsurprised by Kouyou’s appearance, though it’s only natural that she would be. She was, after all, the one to treat Kouyou’s injuries, with her having been stabbed and thrown against the wall so many times by an ability user with a grudge against the mafia.

Soon, Kouyou would have to go after him again, and this time, Golden Demon wouldn’t fail her.

Kouyou runs her fingers through her hair, which is hanging loose after having fallen out of it’s neat bun. “Greetings,” she says, sitting lightly on the couch next to Yosano. “I’d thank you for healing me, but doctors really should do their jobs.”

“If the patient is an enemy,” Yosano’s lips quirk upwards, “I think the rules are bent a bit.” She takes another sip of tea.

“May I have some, darling?” The pet name rolls off Kouyou’s tongue easily, because that’s what their relationship amounts to now. Something between romance and friendly enemies. Yosano blushes but nods, getting up to bring her a cup and turning on the electric kettle on the side table.

“I don’t think that you thanking me is the issue,” Yosano says, when her back is turned to Kouyou. It’s as if she doesn’t want Kouyou to see her face. “But… being in the mafia is a dangerous job.”

“So it is,” Kouyou hums as Yosano sits next to her again.

“You took quite a few hits,” Yosano’s hand is near Kouyou’s thigh as she sits again, and a part of Kouyou aches knowing that as it is, they will never be able to be closer. There’s parts of Kouyou that wants to take Yosano to romantic candlelit dinners or simply sit beside her in comfortable silence, and there’s parts that want to talk to her more than they already do, on the rare times they meet up.

“I can’t heal brain damage, you know,” Yosano continues, “so count yourself lucky, won’t you?”

“Then allow me to grant you my deepest gratitude,” Kouyou smiles widely, glancing at Yosano out of the corner of her eye. The water is boiling. “Though to be honest, I’m surprised you let me stay here at all. And there must’ve been so much effort put in to get everyone else away. And it’s all for an executive of the Port Mafia.”

Yosano pours the tea gracefully, and her purple hair falls over her shoulders as she does. Kouyou watches her as her lips thin. “They all agreed that we wouldn’t keep you hostage again. You have no reason to hold back against us, but you also don’t have any need to harm us.”

“That’s not all, though, is it?” Kouyou keeps her eyes only on Yosano, bathed in picturesque lighting.

“No, it’s not.”

“What else made them leave?”

Yosano stays silent, handing Kouyou her cup of tea and letting her gloved fingers touch Kouyou’s bare ones briefly. Kouyou breathes in the smell of the tea, putting it down to let it steep.

“Trust me, Yosano, dear,” Kouyou says, after a minute, “it’s better to know the worst than to wonder.”

Yosano takes a breath, eyes dropping to her cup of tea. “Doctor Mori is dead.”

Kouyou doesn’t move, for a few seconds after that. She didn’t care about Mori, but he was a large reason for her staying in the mafia. Death is merely a means to an end, in their organization. Kouyou doesn’t meet Yosano’s eyes, instead keeping her face calm for a moment longer.

Then she laughs.

Yosano looks shocked when Kouyou looks back up, but Kouyou isn’t torn up about that.

“You think that I liked Mori?” she places her hand in front of her mouth to hide her smile. Inside, her emotions swirl in a way she can't quite comprehend, but it's not wrong to say that she isn't upset about the man’s death.

“I did,” Yosano glances at her from out of the corner of her eye. “But you’re saying I was wrong?”

“Yes.”

Yosano lets out a shaky breath, smiling at her hands, which are folded neatly on her lap. “That’s good. It wouldn’t be good for us if I was to tell you how much I truly loathed him.”

Kouyou lets out a sharp laugh. Mori’s death feels less real than this moment, with the purple light falling onto Yosano’s smooth face. “I stay in the mafia not because I like him, but because I’m loyal to his version of it. Do you know what the mafia was like before he came along? Of course you don’t.” Kouyou picks up her tea and sips it.

“What was it like?”

“Bloody. Bloodier than Mori’s ever was. And the boss, he was so hungry for power that he’d kill any traitors within a second.”

Yosano hums, one hand leaving her lap to place a piece of hair behind her ear. “So Doctor Mori was merciful, you mean? Funny. I never saw him as having mercy in the least. He only had cold hard logic and the ability to act harmless.” Yosano’s lips have quirked up.

“I know,” Kouyou takes her hands and puts one on Yosano’s. Kouyuou’s demeanor reads calmly, but her heart is beating fast. “He used his logic cruelly.” Yosano’s purple eyes rise to meet her’s. “I never did tell you that I saw you, when you were under the care of the mafia, but I did. And at that time, I didn’t care.”

“...You saw me and didn’t care,” Yosano repeats, fingers moving to fit between Kouyou’s, “but it’s different now, isn’t it? You came to this secluded area to talk with me. You could’ve left.”

“You’re so sweet to believe in me, dear,” Kouyou smiles, leaning one shoulder closer to Yosano’s. She remembers seeing Yosano, all those years ago, a small figure in a wheelchair. Kouyou had thought that she was like a corpse, sitting there with the brat Elise humming as she pushed her. Now, her proximity with Yosano feels anything but dead.

“I never saw you, in the mafia. I don’t understand,” Yosano tells her, letting their shoulders meet and staring into Kouyou’s eyes. “But I want to. Tell me why you stayed with Doctor Mori. Tell me why you didn’t care.”

Kouyou’s breath catches. What a powerful question to be asked, she thinks.

“Of course,” she breathes, and Yosano smiles sadly. “Mori killed the old mafia boss, as I’m sure you could believe. The old boss was someone I’d been planning on killing myself, if only I could get close to him. He’d been the one to kill my only friend; it was then that I figured out that I’m a person who can only exist as I am in the darkness. I hated the boss for what he did, and craved revenge. I’d been in the mafia even in the time that Mori killed that vile man; it was a time when Mori was seen with suspicion by all the other members, and was looking for allies. I remember realizing that he had murdered the older boss. It was,” her eyes drop to the ripples spreading in the tea in her cup, “a grounding realization.”

Yosano’s hand squeezes slightly tighter.

“Mori saw me and knew that I would be loyal to him, if only he showed how harmless he was. But he didn’t need to do that, because just knowing that the previous boss was dead by his hand brought me onto Mori’s side. It was a good revenge. I feel no regret.”

“I see,” Yosano says, and Kouyou looks over to find her staring at their joined hands. “I wouldn’t expect you to change, you know. But Doctor Mori controlled me so much that I could never respect your decision to follow him.”

“Is it different now?” Kouyou tilts her head lightly, seeking Yosano’s eyes. “I would want to be with you even if you sought to bring Mori back to life and kill him again.”

“I did save you, didn’t I?” Yosano says, and her shining eyes travel up to meet Kouyou’s. “It’s not just my job. I kept my distance from you before, romantically, because of our differences. Our friendship is dangerous because of your part in the mafia, but I never said I disliked danger.”

Kouyou breathes in, well aware of her heartbeat. “And what differences did we have?”

“Other than being in different organizations and you following Doctor Mori, you mean? None significant to keep me from seeking out your company, whenever we would meet.”

Kouyou remembers it clearly. The two of them have met outside of their organizations only a few times, to strengthen their friendship outside the bounds of the banter they share when their organizations fight. When Kouyou had first proposed a romantic relationship between them, being rejected wasn’t the end of it. She can still remember Yosano’s flushed cheeks.

“Doctor Mori was,” Yosano speaks, “the worst thing that ever happened to me. Even if he helped you in some way, I couldn’t tell you about that until after he died.” Yosano laughs softly.

Kouyou picks up her tea with her free hand, bringing it to her lips. It’s cooled down considerably.

“I can understand that. You never had to be with me in the first place.” Kouyou reaches up to smooth out her bangs after she places her cup down again.

“Of course not,” Yosano smiles, turning her head so that her warm breath blows on Kouyou’s cheek. “Though I do find it interesting that you knew of my past with Doctor Mori and never told me.”

“Hush,” Kouyou waves a hand idly, “I only knew that you were a sick girl who was around him a lot, and later disappeared. The rest I found out myself.”

Yosano lets out a laugh. “Clever.”

Kouyou smirks at the other woman, resisting the urge to tuck a strand of Yosano’s hair behind her ear. It’s still so new, whatever this closeness is, even though they’d gotten close to this before. But with all the talk of Mori, it brings a new weight to the way they interact with each other.

“What do you think would have happened if our situations had been switched?” Kouyou asks, looking away from Yosano as she does.

“If I was still working for the mafia and you were taken into the Agency, you mean?” Yosano’s eyes are on her as Kouyou takes another sip of her tea. “I don't know. Does it matter, now that we're here?”

“Maybe,” Kouyou says, imagining a world where she’s a flower that can bloom in the light, and not the darkness. “Maybe not.” Now, a vision of Yosano, perpetually used by Mori and without the vibrant life that drew Kouyou towards her so fast. “But if we’re considering our postions, then maybe we should think more seriously than we have been. It’s not every day that a member of the Armed Detective Agency empties her office for a woman belonging to the mafia.”

Yosano sighs, shifting so that her head is resting all the way on Kouyou’s shoulder. “I’ve thought enough on my life, and I’ve decided that I care about life itself. I can keep being a doctor whether you’re in the mafia or not.”

Kouyou feels something strange light up inside her. Inside the mafia or not, Yosano has found her path, a path that took her any anyone else in with open arms. If Kouyou stayed in the mafia for a man who doesn’t exist in this world anymore, then her entire world should be falling apart right now.

And yet, as she takes another long sip from her tea, her world has only grown brighter, somehow. A flower of light blooms in Kouyou’s heart, and she smiles. Thinking of her place in their vast world will come another day.

“Your tea is going to get cold,” she says, reaching behind Yosano to hold her lightly by the waist.

“I can always make more,” Yosano replies with a lazy smile in her voice, and Kouyou understands; Yosano is comfortable just as she is. Kouyou, it seems, can only hope to catch up to her someday.

#bsd rarepairweek #day3 #bsd #kousano #yosano akiko #ozaki kouyou #my writing

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inu-jiru · 6 years

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Undertale: Maria’s Story - Chapter One

(A/N: Wow am I ever gonna stop coming up with projects that I’ll never finish??? Lol anyway, I always wanted to make a legit Undertale sequel story, and now that dream is coming through thanks to my sexy friend @piixiecv, and her oc Maria. This is gonna be a juicy story I can tell :weary:)

It was a recurring fear of Maria’s that her bedroom walls would suddenly collapse and crush her. While this fear usually lay dormant in the back of her mind, it was always brought to the surface whenever there was a thunderstorm. Meridian Moon, the manor in which Maria lived, was an old building, and with each boom of thunder, the girl could swear she felt the walls shaking. Then again...perhaps having her life snuffed out in such a way wouldn’t be a bad thing. It’d mean she’d finally be free from her father...

Maria was curled up on her bed, her back to the corner, and her arms wrapped around her knees. Her small room was almost empty aside from a small trunk of clothes, a shelf of books she’d read at least 100 times, and some ratty, old stuffed animals she used to play with as a toddler. There was no life or color to the room, and it was positively dreadful. What Maria wouldn’t give for a television set. No longer would she have to settle for quick glimpses of the television in the drawing room. She wasn’t sure why her father wouldn’t allow her to watch it anyway. He’d already waste half of her days grooming her for her future as the leader of his Mafia. She snorted. Why would she ever be interested in a life of murder and drugs?

BOOM!

“Aah!” Maria cried out, diving under her blankets as the room shook again. She had to get out of here, lest the paranoia drive her to madness. As the echo of the thunder died away, Maria peeked out from beneath the blankets, gazing at her bedroom door. She had no idea who could’ve been out in the corridor at that moment. The best-case scenario would be a maid; she could make up some excuse to sneak away then. The worst-case scenario, however...a shiver ran down the girl’s spine at the thought. Still...would it hurt to try?

Delicately, Maria dismounted her bed and tip-toed towards her closet. She opened the door, wincing a bit at its soft groan. She paused, glancing over her shoulder at her bedroom door, and after a second, she reached into the closet and pulled out a pair of rain boots. She slipped them on, and walked towards her bedroom door. Again, she felt a wave of dread wash over her at the slightest sound she made, but eventually, she made her way out into the corridor. She looked to the left, then to the right, and once more to the left. Nothing. Nothing but an empty hallway. Maria took a deep breath, and walked to her right. Despite her efforts, her boots thudded against the smooth floor. Every couple of seconds, she would look around, terrified that someone would emerge from a door or appear around a corner. It seemed like an eternity that she wandered through the maze-like interior of the manor. Finally, Maria found herself in the foyer. The mansion’s front doors were right in front of her. All she had to do just just rush out and--

Creeeeeeeak...

Maria’s heart skipped a beat, her head immediately snapping in the direction of the noise. In the corridor she had just exited, a door was opening, and one of the maids was backing out of the room, clinging onto a large, round man in a suit. The maid was giggling madly as the man’s hand slid down her back, threatening to pull up the base of her dress. Maria’s cheeks began to burn at the sight. Despite her young age, she was far from innocent, and had a pretty good idea of what the two had been doing. She recognized the man one of her father’s captains, Big Smokey. Maria could certainly see why they called him “big”, and the cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth was filling the air with smoke. It wafted over towards the girl, and she couldn’t prevent herself from coughing. Big Smokey and the maid turned towards her in surprise, and in that moment, Maria knew that it was all over for her.

“Er…” Big Smokey began, his voice low and rough like sandpaper. He glanced at the maid, who was now blushing furiously and looking down at the floor. “We’ll talk later, eh, toots?”

“Y-Yes, sir,” replied the maid, before she turned on her heel and walked off. Big Smokey then adjusted his tie and walked towards the young girl. When he reached her, he towered over her, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Where do ya think you’re goin’?” he demanded. “Not thinkin’ out playin’ out in the rain, huh? Your fathah would flip ‘is shit if ya came down with somethin’.” Maria winced at the harsh language and swallowed hard. Her mind scrambled to think of something, anything, that would get her out of this situation.

“N-No,” she began meekly. “I...I just wanted t-to go to the k-kitchen and get some lunch…”

“Oh, yeah?” Big Smokey cocked a brow, looking thoroughly unconvinced. “And then what? Ya gonna go out for a picnic?”

“I-I was gonna s-sit on the porch. I knew F-Father wouldn’t like it i-if I got my dress shoes wet, s-so I got my rain boots instead.”

“Heh…” The man pulled out his cigar, blowing a thick cloud of smoke into Maria’s face. She shut her eyes, pulling the collar of her dress over her nose to block out as much of the foul, suffocating odor as she could. “Listen, kid. If your gonna be the “Godmother” or whatever of this Mafia one day, ya gotta get bettah at bullshittin’. Now, ya know ya fathah’s gonna get real pissed if he were t’hear ya tried sneakin’ off...right?”

“P-Please don’t tell him!” Maria begged, her eyes growing as wide as saucers. Big Smokey’s wicked grin stretched wider across his greasy, flabby face.

“Come back to your room like a good, little brat and I’ll consider it.” Maria sighed, her head hanging low.

“...Ok…” she said.

“Heh. Guess you do have a brain in that head o’ yours. C’mon.”

Big Smokey put the cigar back in his mouth and turned to escort Maria back to her bedroom. Maria took a step, preparing to follow him, when an idea suddenly formed in the back of her mind. As Big Smokey continued to walk further away, she began stomping on the floor to make it sound as if she was following him.

Come on, she thought. Come on already!

As if fate had heard her, the mansion shook with another deafening:

BOOM!

Maria wasted no time, dashing for the manor’s front door, and opening it. She slipped outside, shutting the door and bolting down the steps. The rain pelted her mercilessly, her dress clinging to her frail, little body in seconds. Her hair flattened and clung to her face, and her eyes fight with the drops of water that tried desperately to blind her. Behind her, she could hear the manor door opening, and Big Smokey was roaring after her.

“Get the FUCK back here, you brat!”

Like a gazelle fleeing the roar of a lion, Maria ran faster. The gates that sealed the manor from the outside world grew larger as she got closer to them, and when she reached them, she began squeezing herself through them. It was a struggle, but she popped out of the other side, falling onto the dirt road. For a moment, she laid there, unable to believe it. She had just ran away from home. She had just ran away from her father, the head of an organization of thugs who could easily track her down and murder her in a matter of hours. Maria scrambled to her feet, paying no mind to her now-stained dress. A thought had passed in her mind to go back. Perhaps turning herself in would make the punishment less severe; after all, her father needed an heir.

No, Maria then thought. If he’s going to hurt you, at least get hurt trying to fight back. Don’t stand and take it anymore…

Maria took a deep breath, and slowly turned, and made her way down the road. She needed to get as much of a head-start as she could. She turned, gazing over the steep drop on the other side of the road. She could make out the small town that lay in the base of a large valley. It was given the same name as the manor, Meridian. She had only been to the town on a few occasions. Sometimes her father would allow her to ride with the made as they went shopping for groceries. Other times, her father would hold meetings in some of the restaurants, and would force her to accompany him. The visits were short, too short, Maria had always thought. During the past year or so, she had seen Meridian Town less and less. That was due to the arrival of the monsters. Maria had heard talk of what had happened at Mount Ebott from her father’s men, that a child around her age had fallen into the caverns, and emerged with a forgotten kingdom of monsters behind them. The majority of them had settled in Meridian Town, a quiet little place that was far more accepting of them than the people of the city. Her father and his Mafia couldn’t stand them, not that she was surprised. Still, if the town was running peacefully even with monsters living in it, surely they couldn’t have been bad. Anyone was better than her father. Maria picked up her pace. The sooner she found a place to hide in the town, the better.

#undertale fanfiction #undertale sequel #undertale original character #the undertale characters will show up soon i promise #yo can this technically be mafiatale chapter 4??

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origami-goblin · 7 years

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Starfinder Theme Focus - Ace Pilots and Bounty Hunters

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This week I’m going back to the scene of the crime to revisit the themes in Starfinder and offer some possible avenues down which you can direct your creative character-building energies. In case you’re completely in the dark on this topic, Starfinder introduces the concept of themes that you can use as a small puzzle piece in sculpting your character. In addition to providing some RP definition, each theme will give your character a boost to a specific stat and bonuses at 1st, 6th, 12th, and 18th level. As an aside, Paizo’s choice to have the theme progression remain identical throughout the possible selections helps to limit the min-maxing a bit, by ensuring that players aren’t choosing themes based on whichever ones grant them bonuses the soonest. Of course, the bonuses that each theme provides inherently enable some level of power-gaming, but that is going to be the case with nearly any pen-and-paper PRG.

Last time, as a part of my deeper dive into themes, I specifically touched on the Icon and listed several examples of character concepts that a player could use when creating a Startfinder character kissed by the Icon theme. The point of the post was to show that themes aren’t meant to limit creativity; they foster it. Just as there’s no wrong way to eat a Reese’s, there are countless interpretations to each theme and the characters that can be molded into existence. Today, I’ll be firing up my brain engine to offer some different charger ideas for the Ace Pilot and Bounty Hunter themes. Buckle up, we’re making the jump!

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Ace Pilot Character Concepts

“You are most comfortable at the controls of a vehicle, whether it’s a starship racing through the inky void of space or a ground vehicle zooming between trees, around boulders, and across dusty badlands. You might be a member of an elite military force, the recipient of intense courses of training. Alternatively, you might be a total amateur with innate skills that make you a much-admired hotshot.” – Starfinder CRB

Cargo Transport Pilot – You’ve been on the open road…er…space your whole life. Maybe you enjoy the solitude that comes with transporting outrageous quantities of goods across planets or star systems. These goods could be anything – weapons, construction materials, medical devices. Or maybe it’s a grab bag and half of the excitement stems from wondering what the next shipment will contain. The many laws governing tariffs & import/export taxes come second-nature, and your expertise in maneuvering an unruly behemoth transport ship is unrivaled. I’m sure you have some fantastic stories about the characters that you’ve met at depots and docks along the way. Have you operated with a crew or are you more of a lone wolf? Are you ‘by the book’ or are you known to bend the rules when regulations aren’t being followed? And hey, I’m not going to judge if you smuggle something every now and again – that’s completely up to you.

Mining Rig Operator – A specialist when it comes to operating heavy machinery, and someone who’s not afraid to get their hands dirty. Whether it be a massive drill, asteroid borer, front-end loader, or excavator, you have the honed precision required of someone who could easily level a structure or cause a fatality with a minor slip of the controls. You might harbor a deep love of geology, wealth, or the smell of space-diesel. If you’ve seen Disney’s Atlantis, Gaetan ‘The Mole’ comes to mind here, in all his grimy glory. Has mining been in your family for generations, or were you trying to make some credits in whatever profession was available? Have you pocketed any of your unearthed materials and sold them on the sly? What sort of role would you have on a starship that isn’t a dedicated mining vessel?

Stunt Driver – Inhabitants of the Pact Worlds crave entertainment, and you know how to deliver. From hologram tapes to over-capacity arenas, the lengths you go to appease your audiences is unmatched. How do you prepare yourself mentally to be fearless? Is there any stunt that you won’t do? Huge flames, steep jumps, free-falling acrobatics – you’ve done it all! Have you become an adventurer to satisfy a new craving that’s suddenly emerged deep inside? Are you an adrenaline junky with no care for your personal safety? Or are you THAT confident in your abilities that you simply must show them off at every opportunity?

Military Training Pilot – You’ve risen through the ranks of a military sect, but you figured that you’re done with combat missions. Instead, you are now responsible for grooming the fresh batch of hot-heads in the Academy to ensure that engagements end favorably at the minimal loss of life and equipment. You could be highly decorated and revered by all, or maybe you’ve never actually seen combat but have a brilliant mind for tactics and strategy. Did you develop a sophisticated training module for recruits? Are you a master of physics and can perform complex equations regarding acceleration, drag, and gravity on the fly? Maybe you’re not pleased about being given a non-combative assignment and yearn to be back in the fight, wherever that might be.

Getaway Driver – You’ll ‘wait in the car.’ You know the best nooks and crannies to hide in after a successful operation, be it a heist or a GTA. Apart from having nerves of steel, your ability to handle any vehicle makes you highly coveted in the high-stakes game of evading the authorities. Perhaps you have a catchy pseudonym, like “Leadfoot” or “Afterburner” that adds an edge of mystery to your growing legend. Are you available for hire depending on the highest bidder, or are you loyal to a dedicated group of criminals? Or maybe you’re not a criminal at all, and you’re an undercover agent networking to root out the top dogs of the criminal world. What drives you (pun intended) and keeps your foot on the accelerator? I haven’t seen Baby Driver, but I imagine that he would make for a fun Starfinder character.

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Bounty Hunter Character Concepts

“You track people down for money. It is a dangerous profession, as most of your targets understandably don’t wish to be caught. You wouldn’t have it any other way. You might have a code of ethics, never taking jobs that, say, target children or members of your own race. You might hunt down only escaped criminals. Or you might be completely amoral, taking any job that comes along—for the right price.” – Starfinder CRB

Great Mouse Detective – Maybe I’m getting a little ahead of myself on this one, but a Ysoki Detective? Come on! Okay, we can drop the ‘mouse’ portion of this to generalize it a bit, but a detective makes for a great Bounty Hunter. Searching for clues? Check. Interrogating witnesses? Check. An independent free-lancer? Check, check, check. Now all we need is a mahogany pipe that functions while wearing an airtight, pressurized helmet. Are you a Private Investigator, helping people track down lost relatives? Do you offer your services on a contract basis, assisting the local authorities when your services are required? Maybe you’re exceptional at finding clues, or adept at making accurate deductions based on the information on-hand. Or perhaps your forte involves the canvassing of a crime scene to gather the word on the street, or you could be skilled at poring over historical documents and ancestry lineages.

Gung-Ho Repo-Man – It’s time to pay the piper. Whether it be collecting vehicles or ships that have defaulted loans, or shaking down debtors who are skipping town without paying back the credits owed, there are plenty of avenues to venture down as a repo-man (or woman). Are you employed by a roving band of outlaws or by a seedy brand of space mafia? Do you find honor in returning to others what is rightfully theirs? You can be cold and calculated, or a wild child with a smoking gun. Do you believe in using violence to get the job done, by obtaining the required items by whatever means necessary? Or do you have a strict code of conduct and will only resort to fighting if it is absolutely necessary and all other accessible routes have been exhausted? Either way, you get the job done and collect that paycheck, because if someone is going to get paid, it might as well be you.

Corporate Headhunter – Everybody’s looking for that perfect candidate to fill the shoes and help their company prosper. Sure, you’re a bounty hunter, but you aren’t collecting the reward on some beat-up Toyota Star-is or trying to bring in a fugitive; you are trying to find the right people and put them in the right seats. Corporations pay you top dollar (after six months) when you track down someone with the appropriate skillset and convince them to accept a position at their firms. You have an absurd eye for noticing talent, even when it isn’t a skill that people recognize themselves as having. These aren’t rush jobs; you know that the only way to scout ability is to dig in beyond the resume and get to know the person behind the paper. Whittling down long lists of candidates to a select few and engaging them in social situations is your true calling, and you truly want them to succeed. If they’re not a fit, it’s on to the next one until you find that diamond in the rough.

Pre-Gap Antiquarian – Not much is known about the Gap (that’s why it’s called ‘the Gap’), but you recognize that there is much to be learned about the past, and that the key to unlocking the secrets of what we’ve collectively forgotten lies in the relics that remain. You seek out machinery, trinkets, baubles, clothing – any odds and ends whose origins have long since been forgotten. Perhaps you scour through old histories and manuscripts, trying to locate legendary items of extraordinary power. Do you have magic at your disposal to aid you in your search, ala a dowsing rod? Do you gravitate towards items of a certain kind, like ancient weapons? What draws you to these items in the first place? Maybe there have been stories passed down through your family and you became attached to them, bringing nostalgia into the mix. Or maybe you believe that the way technology is progressing leaves people disconnected with nature or causes us to lack the stronger bond that comes in a slower-moving culture. You probably hoard some of your treasures and keep an exceptionally special item on your person. You could be a hoarder, or run a shop that deals in the sale and acquisition of oddities and antiques.

Zealous Proselytizer – Instead of being driven by the promise of gold or riches, you seek out the good fortune that comes from your deity looking favorably upon you. Whether it be Talavet, Weydan or any deity in between, you seek out others in attempt to show them the enlightenment that comes with becoming a follower. In a way, you are a bounty hunter of souls. Maybe you preach openly in front of large crowds and then try to personally recruit the ones who come up to your afterwards who show interest and promise. Or perhaps you spend more time watching and listening, following people whose dispositions align best with your deity’s tenets. You don’t necessarily have to be pushy, but you certainly could get aggressive if you become frustrated with your efforts. What if they don’t see the world as you see it? You might not be terribly high on the totem pole, either; you could be passing out leaflets in hopes that you ascend the ranks if you make your quota. Do you have a quota? If so, is it more of a personal goal or an appointed goal? What if you’re not aligned with a deity at all, but you hop between them depending on the one that grants the most benefits? After all, nobody’s perfect.

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And there you have it! Since I’ve already done the Icon in a previous post, our next stop will be the Mercenary and Outlaw themes. I’m really looking forward to these two, as they both have a negative connotation and I want to see if we can’t shrug off those predispositions and put a positive spin on them! The main problem I have with posts like these is that I want to start putting together a bunch of characters, most of which will never see the light of day. So, please - create! I shall live through your characters!

Until next time – the stars aren’t the limit; they’re only the beginning.

#Starfinder #PCs #Character Building #Character Creation #Themes #Paizo #Pathfinder #RPGs #Tabletop #Gaming #Concepts

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sugas-kookies · 7 years

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Cosa Nostra (Pt. 7)

Summary: You were just a girl who took some odd jobs from the Min Syndicate to make some extra cash. When Min Yoongi himself sends a request for you to come to his mansion, any semblance of your normal life gets thrown out the window. What sort of dangers will face you once you become associated with one of the biggest mob bosses?

Mafia!YoongixReader

Drama, Fluff

Word Count: 4.7k

Part [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

“(Y/n), (Y/n)…..” You heard a distant, undistinguishable voice call out to you in the unending darkness of wherever you currently were. Your heart was hammering in your chest, but there didn’t seem to be any particular reason why; you just felt dreadfully anxious at the calling of the voice.

“Is….Is anyone there?” You shouted into the darkness, but no response returned, not even an echo. You did happen to see a faint, dim light at the end of the dark abyss, so you began to make your way towards it.

As you drew closer you began to hear murmurs of conversations, most of the voices you didn’t recognize but there was one that was faintly familiar. You got to the light only to discover that it was just some sort of large peephole, opening onto a scene that was the last thing that you wanted to see. It was…you, dead on the pavement, with a group of police gathered around and setting up a crime scene. The one that stood out to you was Kim Taehyung, kneeling down and inspecting your dead body with a solemn look.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Taehyung suddenly turned to face you, glaring into your eyes through the hole you were watching the scene through. He looked absolutely disgusted when he said, “I warned you, (Y/n), I told you that Yoongi would kill you. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

Tears began to prick in your eyes, “No, no, I-I trust Yoongi, he wouldn’t…” You felt a pressure around your throat and began to thrash around, desperately trying to break free from the unseen attacker’s grip. Just when you thought you were going to pass out, the pressure released, and you fell to your knees gasping for breath.

“(Y/n), it’s okay, it’s alright,” You heard a voice whisper to your right. You turned to see Yoongi, wearing the outfit he had worn on your first date with him, but with a strange glow surrounding him that made him almost look angelic. You were speechless as he pulled you in closer for a warm embrace, immediately erasing all of your feelings of unease and anxiety.

He gently tilted your face so that you were looking deep into his dark irises and murmured, “Don’t worry, I’m going to protect you…” Yoongi’s face slowly inched toward yours to the point where your lips were almost touching, and you could feel the warmness of his breath caress your face. You let your eyes flutter closed and went to close the gap between your lips and Yoongi’s.

You awoke with a start when a sudden knocking on your door jerked you out of your dream. Your mind needed time wake up for a minute, but the knocking grew louder and more impatient. In a daze, you scrambled up to answer it, finding Jin on the other side smiling.

He blinked at you a few times before asking, “Hey, (Y/n), are you feeling alright? Your face is all red and you look a little out of it. You don’t have a fever, do you? Yoongi would be irritated that you got sick before he taught you how to shoot.”

You stared blankly for a few seconds before registering what he had just said. You vainly tried to cover up your flushed face as you replied, “N-No, I’m fine, really. What is it that you need, Jin?”

“Uh, Yoongi wants me to show you where the shooting room is in the mansion, since you’ve never been there before…but I’ll wait outside until you’re ready,” Without waiting for your response, Jin gently closed your door.

With Jin outside you finally had the chance to sit down and think about what the hell you just dreamed about. You let out a puff of air as you sat back down on your bed, staring off into space as you replayed your dream in your head. ‘I don’t know what concerns me more, the fact that I just dreamed that Yoongi murdered me or the fact that I ended up kissing him.’ Just remembering how soft his lips looked and how nice his breath felt against your skin made your face practically burn. You didn’t want to disregard any subconscious worries about putting your life in Yoongi’s hands, but all your brain seemed to want to do was replay the last few minutes of your dream on repeat.

“How the hell am I supposed to face him normally after a dream like that?” You muttered to yourself as you got dressed in a pair of shorts and an oversized flannel shirt. You gave yourself a quick one over in the mirror to confirm that you at least didn’t look like you had just rolled out of bed. Satisfied with your appearance, you grabbed the gun Yoongi had given you yesterday and opened the door, seeing Jin leaning up against the wall in the hallway.

He looked up as he heard the door open and smiled brightly, “Ah, that was quick. Are you ready to go then?”

You simply nodded, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you followed him through the almost identical corridors of the mansion. The weight of the gun in your hands didn’t seem as impossibly heavy as it did yesterday, but the cool metal still made your hand tingle a bit. You were pretty nervous about the prospect of using a gun. Even if it was just for target practice, the idea of using a lethal weapon didn’t really settle well with you. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice though, since Yoongi was determined to give you something to defend yourself with. You just hated the fact that Yoongi seemed to feel that you would potentially need to use a gun in the future.

“You know, you’re pretty lucky Yoongi didn’t decide to kill you yesterday, or punish you at all really,” Seokjin broke the silence, snapping you out of your thoughts, “As angry as he was at us for letting you slip away, I thought for sure you were a dead man- er, woman, walking.”

You winced at the thought of Jin and Hoseok getting into trouble because of your actions, “I’m really sorry, Jin. I swear I didn’t mean to be a brat and get you and Hoseok in trouble. I just thought I could get some useful information…”

Jin shook his head, “There’s no need to apologize, I completely understand. If any of us were in your shoes we would have taken the risk for Yoongi as well.” He cleared his throat for a second before continuing, “Needless to say though, none of us would have gotten off as easily as you did. Yoongi has a soft spot for you, (Y/n).”

Your face flushed beet red for a third time that day as you stuttered, “S-Soft spot? What do you mean, soft spot? He practically chewed my head off yesterday.”

“Please, don’t take me for a fool, (Y/n). It’s obvious that there’s a little more to you and Yoongi’s relationship besides being coworkers,” Jin laughed at your astonished face before his smile fell a little as he muttered, “Although I just hope that Yoongi isn’t getting in too deep with his plan…”

You gave Jin a concerned look, “Getting too deep into his plan? What do you mean by that, Jin?”

A brief look passed over Seokjin’s face, almost like he regretted what he had said before he continued, “I-It’s nothing to be worried about. It’s just….It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Yoongi warm up to someone who wasn’t me, Hoseok or Namjoon. I’m worried that he might…try to rush his plan or something so he doesn’t have to get any closer to you, and rushing this sort of thing would be extremely dangerous for you.”

“You think he would do all of that just to not get closer to me? I wasn’t even aware that we were even getting all that close…” You frowned at the thought of Yoongi trying to push you away, but you especially didn’t like the idea of him putting you in danger in the process. Yet the part about you being in more danger didn’t really bother you as much as it should have. In fact, the possibility of Yoongi closing himself off and pushing you away seemed to hurt more than the prospect of getting put in harm’s way because of his actions.

‘Stop it, (Y/n)! I can’t be feeling these stupid things just because I had a semi wet dream about my boss last night. I need to get ahold of myself. I’m just feeling like this because of that stupid dream…’ Despite your best efforts, deep down you knew that writing off these feelings as a byproduct of your dream wouldn’t change anything, but you forcefully pushed those thoughts aside. Focusing on these conflicting feelings would only make them intensify.

Jin sighed as he stopped in front of a heavy looking door, “I honestly hope he doesn’t, but…I think he gets scared about having anyone genuinely close to him. Yoongi would more than likely try and get rid of that opportunity for people to hurt him before it had the chance to grow.” He pulled open the heavy door, revealing a steep staircase leading downwards to where you figured the shooting room was. Seokjin motioned you to follow him as he continued, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t try to get close, I’m just telling you to be careful about doing so.”

“Thanks for worrying Jin, you’re a sweet guy,” You flashed him a small, appreciative smile before saying, “But what makes you think that I want to get closer to Yoongi? You know as well as anyone that I’ve only stayed this long because of the debt I’ve racked up.”

He shrugged as you two descended the stairs and reached another heavy door, with muted bangs sounding from within, “I guess I can’t really say why I think you’ll stay. You just seem to be pretty attached to Yoongi already, so I have a feeling that you’ll be sticking around for a while despite his… career choice.” Jin pulled open the door to reveal Yoongi in the room, soundproof earmuffs on and a bag of ammunition at his side, shooting at some targets set up at the end of the long hall.

You stepped into the room and ogled Yoongi as he held his handgun steady and shot at the targets. It most definitely wasn’t the most appropriate time for you to be admiring how good he looked with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and showing off his lean muscular arms underneath, but you found yourself doing so anyway. Your mind flashed back to your dream and how gentle his hand had felt on your face, making you curse yourself for thinking about that dream again.

After Yoongi had unloaded his clip into the unfortunate dummy at the end of the hall, Jin shouted, “Yoongi, (Y/n) is here!”

The blonde man paused and turned to see who had just yelled for him. Seeing you and Jin standing there, he nodded and put his gun and earmuffs down on the table in front of him, “Thank you Jin, you can go back to arranging the distribution of our products. Make sure you give the goods to a more reputable seller this time.” The other man nodded and turned to leave, but not before grinning and giving you a thumbs up, to which you replied with a sheepish smile.

“So, did you get used to the weight of the gun, or is it still uncomfortable for you?” Yoongi asked as he motioned for you to come up to the table where he was.

You nervously approached and put your gun on the table gently, “Y-Yeah I think so. What was that about though? The distribution of your products?”

He didn’t look at you as he took an ammunition clip out of his duffle bag and inserted it into your gun, “That’s none of your concern, (Y/n). We’re here today to teach you how to shoot, not to talk about my illegal activities of the day.”

“Yoongi, remember that whole conversation we had about trust yesterday?” You chided as you crossed your arms over your chest, “You said you wanted me to come with you when you did some sort of business deal with Jungkook, but how do you expect me to go when I don’t have a clue what you do? I mean sure, I have a few guesses, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

Yoongi sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Fine, you’re right, you deserve to know what’s going on. I don’t want to get into this discussion right now though, right now I want to focus on teaching you how to protect yourself.”

You weren’t happy that he was putting off this discussion, but you figured it was best not to push his buttons today, especially after he had let you off easy for the shit you pulled yesterday. Your heart was hammering in nervousness, partially about the prospect of shooting a gun, but partially because you were completely alone in the room with Yoongi. And damn if he didn’t look more handsome than he normally did.

“Here, I want you to watch me load and unload the clip for this gun, then I want you to copy it,” Without giving you a glance to see if you were actually watching, Yoongi’s hands grabbed your gun and an ammunition clip from his bag and assembled and disassembled it in what seemed like a blink of an eye.

‘He expects me to be able to follow whatever the hell he just did?’ You thought to yourself as your stomach churned in anxiousness. You knew you weren’t going to do well, and you dreaded having Yoongi getting frustrate with you.

He looked back up at you and held out the gun and clip towards you, but upon seeing the look on your face he sighed, “Do you need to see it again, (Y/n)?”

You nodded in response, but jumped a little when he suddenly slipped his hands on top of yours and began to move them toward the gun. “W-What are you doing?” You stuttered, trying to keep the blush on your face under control.

“I’m guiding your hands. I’ve found that physically doing things helps me remember things better, so I’m trying that method with you,” Yoongi said as he moved your hands slowly to reload and unload the clip carefully. It was hard for you to concentrate on what he was making your hands doing when you could feel his warm breath against the side of your neck and in your ear.

It took you a total of seventeen times to finally get to the point where you could somewhat reload and unload your gun without the assistance of Yoongi. Yoongi complained about how slow you were at doing it, but he did seem to be slightly amused at your struggle to follow his instructions. You couldn’t find it in yourself to give a damn about his complaints, you were using most of your brain power to not turn into a puddle of mush any time Yoongi got a little too close.

“Alright, we’ll practice reloading another day. The most important thing for you to learn is how to shoot your targets, and to do so accurately,” He went to the other end of the hall and drug one of the targets a little bit closer and walked back to you. “There, we’ll start with a close target to make it easier on yourself. Now show me your shooting stance, I want to see if you have a natural stance or not.”

You bit your lips you hesitantly raised your gun and aimed at the target in front of you. You had thought that your stance wasn’t that bad since it seemed like you were aiming at the thing based on the sights of your gun, but the laughter bubbling from Yoongi certainly wasn’t one of praise.

You frowned at him as you lowered your gun, “Y’know, for a teacher, you sure are an asshole to your students.”

He grinned as he stepped forward to help you, “Sorry, sorry, it’s just….obvious that you’ve never held a gun before. I’d hate to see you in a gun fight with your current knowledge.”

“Well, since you’re “the master”, why don’t you tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it?” You put your hand on your hip, getting irritated with Yoongi’s teasing.

Clearing his throat, Yoongi stepped behind you again and lifted your arms, “The main problem was that you locked your arms at the elbow. The recoil is going to hurt like a bitch if you have your arms that way, and it makes your accuracy and mobility decline. Keep your elbows slightly bent, but your arms still need to be out and away from your body so you don’t hit yourself in the face with your gun.”

You nodded, eyeballing Yoongi’s hands as they grazed over your arms to bend them at the proper angle. They looked strong and were warm, just like how they felt in the dream this morning. You harshly bit the inside of your lip, trying to keep your mind off of that stupid dream and trying to keep yourself from blushing in remembrance.

Yoongi stepped away when he was satisfied with your shooting stance, “Alright, now you should be ready to shoot. Aim down at the sights of the gun, and be sure to prepare for the recoil. It’ll be more of a kick than you probably think (Y/n), so be careful.”

“Y-You want me to shoot this thing now?” You thought as you looked at him wide eyed in horror. You had sort of expected these lessons to go fast, but you didn’t think that he’d have you shoot this soon.

He nodded, “You need to get a feel of shooting a gun eventually, and I’d rather it be sooner than later.” Yoongi picked the soundproof earmuffs off the table and walked over to put them on your ears, “Oh, and wear this. Eventually you’ll have to get use to the loudness of gunshots in this business, but for now I think you’ll appreciate me saving your hearing.”

You let Yoongi put on the earmuffs and step back, leaving you open to shoot the target some distance in front of you. Taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, you aimed at the chest with the gun’s sights, and pulled the trigger.

BANG

Yoongi was right, the recoil of the handgun was more than you had been expecting and made you stumble back a step as the shot rang out in the room. You looked over at Yoongi for approval, “Did I hit it?” You half shouted, trying to hear yourself through the earmuffs.

He gestured for you to aim your gun at the ground as he walked over to look at the target. “It looks like you just barely grazed it,” Yoongi called back to you, pointing to the left side of the cut out target where there was a thin slice, “Not enough to stop anyone really, but not bad for your first time.”

“That’s not very comforting since I was aiming at the middle of the chest,” You sighed as Yoongi made his way back over to you.

“Here, let me show you how to make your shots,” Yoongi said as he stepped behind you, chest pressed against your back and hands lightly pressed over yours. The heat that was radiating off of him was intense, or maybe that was just the feeling of your whole body flushing at the close proximity. Either way, you felt your heart catch in your throat as he guided your hands to aim at the head of the target.

“So since you seem to shoot wildly to the left of your aim, you’re going to want to try and compensate for that. You’re going to want to aim on the left side of that target about where someone’s ear should be.” He took a side glance at your face and asked, “Are you with me, (Y/n)? You seem to be flustered.”

You bit your lip and tightened your grip on the gun nervously, “I-I’m fine, j-just tell me when to shoot.” If you didn’t hurry up and learn how to shoot, you felt like you would do something embarrassing that you’d probably regret.

You could have sworn that you heard Yoongi give a small chuckle before steadying your hands again before tapping your finger that was laying on the trigger, signaling you to shoot. With another deep breath, you shot at the target once more, the sound of the bullet ripping through the target echoing in the chamber as you were pushed back into Yoongi’s chest due to the recoil.

Yoongi smiled brightly as he looked at the hole that was blown in the dead center of the target’s head, “Well how about that, you’re second shot is a bullseye. Good job (Y/n), you’re going to be shooting on your own in no time.”

You found yourself not really able to say anything, and you could only manage to take your earmuffs off and give him a shy smile in return. It certainly didn’t help your heart calm down with Yoongi’s hands still holding you steady long after the recoil of the gun pushed you back.

Noticing your silence, Yoongi’s smile fell as he looked at you, “Where is your mind at today, (Y/n)? Are you still thinking about the whole product distribution thing you heard about earlier? I swear to you I’ll tell you later…”

“N-No, that’s not what’s on my mind…” You stuttered as you moved out of his grasp, trying to at least spare your heart a little strife, “I-It’s nothing I promise. Let’s just get back to learning how to shoot, because I still need to learn how to do all of this by myself.”

Yoongi was silent for a second before he gently took the gun out of your hands. Before you could protest, he said softly, “A huge part of being able to shoot well is being focused. Now tell me what’s wrong, (Y/n).”

Your face flushed at his intense gaze, “I’m telling you, i-it’s nothing! You’d just find it to be stupid anyway…”

He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning, “You’ve certainly done some stupid things in the past, but you don’t have stupid thoughts. Don’t go back on your whole “two way trust” thing you were lecturing me about earlier.”

You sighed in defeat, knowing that he was right, ‘But how the hell am I supposed to tell him that I think I’m developing a crush on him?’ You thought to yourself, looking down at the ground so you wouldn’t have to meet Yoongi’s eyes, ‘I doubt that he’d be happy about it. After all, Jin did say he pushes away people who get too close…’

Yoongi thumped your forehead, snapping you out of your thoughts, “Earth to (Y/n), you there? Start explaining or…or I’ll stick Seokjin on you for two whole weeks. His protective instincts will drive you crazy after a while I promise.”

“Your presence makes me feel weird,” You blurted out, your hands fidgeting with the edge of your shirt out of nervousness. ‘Oh my fucking god, I can’t believe I just said that out loud to Yoongi of all people.’ At the moment you would give literally anything to have the world just swallow you up then and there.

His face looked sad for a brief second before going completely expressionless as he said, “I understand that you don’t completely trust me, because I wouldn’t either. I’m sorry that you feel so nervous and unsafe around me, and I’ll try to avoid contact with you if that’s what you need, but-“

You shook your head vigorously, “No, not that kind of uncomfortable Yoongi, it’s…you know this is why I didn’t want to say anything. Just drop it, Yoongi.”

“I need to understand what’s making you space out so much, (Y/n). If you feel like you can’t tell me that you’re uncomfortable with me because you fear me, then I need you to know right now that’s something I want to try and fix or at least minimize with less contact.” The look on Yoongi’s face was one of complete confusion and concern, a look which made your heart flutter a little bit. He had that look on his face because of you. He was concerned for you, and you both loved and hated it.

You might have just brushed off the topic again and resumed your shooting lesson had you any self-control in that situation, but naturally you just had to notice again how handsome he looked. His flawless features, his shaggy blonde hair in his face, and his oh so kissable lips. You didn’t even realize what you were doing as you surged forward until you felt your lips make contact with Yoongi’s.

They weren’t like how you had imagined them being in your dream. They were even better, albeit slightly more chapped than what you were expecting. He tasted…well, very much like how you expected him to taste. You would have kissed him more to decipher all the different intimate aspects of him, but your mind finally came back to you and had the sense to yank you away from Yoongi.

He stared at you wide eyed and mouth slightly agape, stunned at the sudden kiss. Hell, you were pretty stunned at your actions yourself, ‘Fuck, why did I do that, why did I do that, WHY DID I DO THAT?’ You screamed at yourself.

You noticed that Yoongi was opening his mouth to speak, but you weren’t sure you were ready to hear whatever it was that he was about to say. Jin’s words echoed in your head, about how Yoongi would push away those who got too close, and you just knew that was exactly what he was about to do. Something inside you just knew that you couldn’t, or wouldn’t, deal with that.

You ignored Yoongi calling your name as you raced up the stairs and through the maze of hallways until you finally found yourself in your room. After locking the door, you stood in silence, blankly staring at your door, wondering if Yoongi was going to come rushing up to your door any second or if he wasn’t even going to check on you at all.

After a few minutes, you determined it was the latter, which made your heart drop to your stomach. ‘I just royally fucked everything up,’ You thought to yourself as you leaned against the door and slid slowly down to the floor. ‘Why did this have to happen? Why did I have to start developing feelings for Yoongi? Hell, I should have just kept it do my damn self instead of kissing him and running off like a young schoolgirl.’

Naturally, everything that you should have done came to you in an instant as you replayed your actions in your head, but there was nothing to be done about anything now. You sighed as you ran your hand through your hair, wondering what the hell you were going to do about the situation you had gotten yourself into.

But after hours of thinking in solitude, you only knew two things: You were falling for Yoongi, and you still had to play your part to worm your way in Jungkook’s sphere of influence. Where along the way you started to fall for your criminal boss, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that despite the arguments and fights the two of you had, he treated you fairly and was always concerned for your safety. It gave you the sense that he’d always have your back, and that thought made your stomach flutter with butterflies.

One question still floated around in your mind though no matter how much you tried to dispel it, ‘How well will Yoongi’s plan work now if I’m weren’t pretending anymore?’

#bangtan bookclub #kreativewritersnet #cosa nostra #yoongi #min yoongi #suga #xreader #yoongixreader #self insert #bts #bts fanfic #mafia!au

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howardlinkedin · 7 years

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Shelter - Part 14

Running title: Shelter Part 14 Summary: I just love happy endings, don’t you? Part 12: Here Part 13: Here

THE END.

shel·ter

ˈSHeltər/

noun a place giving temporary protection from bad weather or danger.

---

Life is full of storms. Both literal and metaphorical. A shelter can be the home one retreats to get dry from a sudden downpour. It can also be a place of safety after a terrible day, where comfort is found.

A home is a place where people reside, and are welcome. A home, incidentally, can easily be a shelter.

Shelter can be meeting the young woman who owned the repair shop, who was so inherently kind, that your heart couldn't help but flutter whenever you hear her voice.

It can be the greenhouse across the street, filled with beautiful and exotic fauna, ran by an eccentric, but not unkind man with a rather wobbly smile.

Shelter is the home for a young man who struggles with understanding the majority of the world and how it works, but they are endlessly supported by a father and brothers who were willing to guide him.

Or it’s said young man, who became the rock for another, who needed that extra push to become who they wanted to be.

It’s stepping out of the elevator, and seeing familiar faces who always greet you with warmth and welcome, while your brother becomes ecstatic at your presence.

For a lonely little boy, shelter was a clown who didn’t stop laughing. Shelter was the love the boy continued to feel long after his father left. The assurance that he would never be alone again.

---

At the recording studio, Allen took a calming breath. He could do this.

His eyes caught Link on the other side of the sound room, and smiled bright. He definitely could.

Lavi, at the recording booth, gave him the signal. “Right-o Allen! Ready in 3, 2, 1!”

Allen finally, finally sang his song. It was about time.

---

I could never find the right way to tell you

Have you noticed I've been gone?

'Cause I left behind the home that you made me

But I will carry it along.

---

When the song officially released on mainstream radio, it quickly hit the top five charts. When Allen got his cut of the profits, Lenalee looked over his shoulder at the check and whistled. “If this keeps up, you’ll be set for life!” She declared.

From the dining room, Cross snorted. “He was set for life the moment he took out that damned swear jar of his.” He made a point by stuffing it with a quarter without prompting. “Cussing is bad manners Cross.” Allen retorted. “What are you going to do with all that money anyway?” Lenalee asked, scratching Timcampy behind the ears. The little dog wiggled with joy. Allen looked thoughtful as Atuuda demanded to be picked up with a meow. He answered as he hefted the large fluffy feline into his arms. “I was thinking about a tattoo. For my arm.” The index finger of said red arm booped the cat on her pink nose. Atuuda chirped and swatted her tail in his face.

While Lenalee looked excited about the idea, his guardian squawked from the other room. “TATTOO?” “Cross it’s rude to eavesdrop.”

--- Marian Cross was less irritated about his kid wanting a tattoo - because he honestly did not give a single steaming hot damn if he did, and more so that all these years, he was basically being conned by a child to fund his need for ink. Mafia or not, Allen Walker would have fit right in if he had wanted.

---

And it's a long way forward, so trust in me

I'll give them shelter, like you've done for me.

--- Across the city, at the Central Building, Madarao held appointment with Head General Hevlaska Karma. He stood stiff and at attention in his suit. Hevlaska raised her brows at the young gentleman, “You do know, that there is a selection process I have in place, for choosing my intern from the University Mister Madarao.” It wasn’t a question. All the same, Madarao gave his assent. “Yes. I am aware General. Regardless of your choosing myself as your candidate, I also believe what I have compiled will be of great help for you and your police force.” He set a neat, and ordered stack of files on her desk. They were all dated, and color coated by tabs. The leader of Central’s largest and strongest police firm steeped her hands together, assessing first the files then back to the young man who had been requesting for her ear for the past month. “And how will this assist me Mister Madarao?”

So he told her. ---

At eighteen, Allen graduated high school. Arm in arm with his best friend, he and Lenalee marched off the stage, diploma in hand. “Congratulations Miss Lee.”

She laughed. “Congratulations Mister Walker.” At the floor, they spotted their family and friends respectively. Alma and Kanda, who had graduated the year prior, were there. Alma was waving them down rather enthusiastically, hand holding Kanda’s. In Kanda’s free arm, he had Timcampy, who seemed content at being held like a limpet. “Congratulations!!” Alma hollers, and hugged them both. The new graduates laughed. In the bleachers, Cross puffed smoke from his cigarette and glared balefully at the man beside him. “Why are you here?” He outright demanded. Neah stuck his tongue out at the redhead. “Did you forget that Allen is my cute nephew? Have you gotten senile in your old age?” “I am not old you goddamned-”

“Ah-ha! Language! There’s innocent ears everywhere.” Chided the Campbell, wagging his finger as though Cross were a child to be scolded. Cross snorted. “They’re all teenagers. Since when are teenagers innocent?” Behind them, Road pressed her heeled shoe into Neah’s head. “Will you two shush! I’m trying to get good audio with the video and no one wanted to hear you old man bantering!” “Road you’re practically my age.” Said Neah, ignoring her foot on his head. She decided to kick him then. Cross pointed and laughed. --- Link presented Allen with a bouquet assortment of colorful flowers. “Crowley had arranged them. He attempted to explain their meaning to me, but...I was unable to completely follow.” Link frowned, as though admitting he was unable to outright memorize something was a slight against himself. “Regardless, I was assured they are positive in their meaning.” Taking the offered present, Allen was certain he was smiling like an idiot at that moment. (Later, Kanda would state this as a fact, quite bluntly too). “Best boyfriend ever.” The blonde cleared his throat, Allen notice that his ears were red. Lenalee looked between the two with an “o” expression and took a respectful few steps back. She had a feeling this was going to be a rather important moment. “Not boyfriend.” Link started, rather awkwardly. “But, fiance, if you’ll have me.” He gestured to the top of the bouquet. Behind them, Alma squealed outright into their hands, and began shaking Kanda’s arm. Kanda looked unimpressed with Link, because he didn’t understand why the had to be so flustered about it. Everyone knew it was a solid Yes.

With wide silver eyes, Allen finally spotted the velvet box set on the flowers. He looked between the box, then Link in rapid succession. At first his mouth gaped open, as though he was going to speak, then he would snap it closed. Instead he hugged the bouquet to his chest and grabbed Link by the ear with his free hand and gave away both of their firsts kisses right then and there.

In the bleachers, Neah screamed a rather loud “WHAT?!” While Road let out a yell of excitement. Cross sat back and looked smug. You go kid. Lenalee was taking pictures with her phone.

Pulling back, Link looked rather dazed. Eyes wide and blinking slowly, his brain caught up with the moment. “I-”

Allen kissed him again. “!!”

---- “You never actually said yes.” “Oh my gosh Link shut up and get back to kissing me.” Link shut up and went back to kissing him. ---

Allen Walker discovered that he really, really, really, really liked kissing.

--- And I know, I'm not alone, you'll be watching over us

Until you're gone. --- Next, Howard Link, twenty-three, graduated college with high marks and his degree. Allen celebrated with him that night with a song and homemade chocolate cake. Eventually, his uncle called him in for his own congratulations. “I’m very proud of you Link.” Lvellie praised, looking every bit smug. Link nodded. “Thank you Uncle.” “It just so happens that there is an open position here.” His uncle preened, waiting for Link to show any sign of ascension to the idea. Arching an eyebrow, Link inquired. “Position?” “Well yes! You will be working for you dear uncle, won’t you?” Really now! Thought Lvellie. As though he wouldn’t hire his own flesh and blood. After a pause to gather his thoughts, Howard Link takes a step forward, and presents his uncle with his degree. “I am sorry uncle but I believe you are under the impression that I wish to work for you.” Lvellie stared openly at the embossed, framed paper, uncomprehending. “You see, where you believed me furthering my education with criminal justice, I actually gained my degree in business management, along with a minor in culinary.” “C-culinary?!” The Commissioner choked. “I have spoken with Mother and Father and they have granted me access to part of my inheritance so that I may open a bakery.” Lvellie looked white with disbelief. “But-” “I am sorry that your plans for me were not what I wanted.” Link was honestly anything but sorry; regardless it seemed to be the only thing he could say on the matter. Tucking the frame under his arm, Link bid his Uncle good day and started for the door. “Oh.” He paused and turned around to address his uncle once again. Lvellie was still gaping like a fish out of water. “Also, In half a year’s time, I will be binding myself to Allen Walker. Please look for the invitation, should you still be free and out of prison at that time.” With that, Howard Link left the the office. “Prison?!”

--- When I'm older, I'll be silent beside you

I know words won't be enough

And they won't need to know the names or our faces

But they will carry on for us.

---

A month later, Malcolm C. Lvellie was arrested and marched out of the Precinct for withholding and tampering of evidence for the Guilty Murders, therefore placing him in suspicion for working with the Cardinal. The Cardinal who, ironically (and still uncertain how and by whom) was found murdered. It would later be revealed that Lvellie himself knew all along who the murder was, but held the information away for himself, hoping to find the right moment to reveal it all. His goal was to manipulate the circumstances enough that Head General Hevlaska Karma’s ability to lead Central would be scrutinized enough, that Malcolm would be chosen to replace her. Standing besides Head General Karma was Madarao, newly accepted intern, who watched passively as the man was taken away by police car. He decided that he would call Lavi, and inform him of his new location. The hyper red head would certainly be ecstatic at having himself closer to home. Lavi needn't to fear over any more mafia nonsense now that Madarao had his foot in the door.

Colonel Yeager crossed his arms, and huffed. “Good riddance. I never liked that man.” Claude Nyne watched Cross walk back into the Precinct and gave her own affirmation. “You’re not the only one.” Inside, Marian Cross kicked down Malcolm C. Lvellie’s ex-office door, and flipped the desk over. Socalo, the curious and nosey bastard, poked his head in. “What the shit?” Marian tore a framed important something or other off the wall and threw it across the room, into the other wall. It shattered. “Either you join me or fuck off Winters.” Ever the one to enjoy chaos rather than run from is, Socalo joined in on defacing the office.

--- Soon, the Precinct found itself under a much needed overhaul of staff. The majority of the forensics and tech department was left virtually untouched, but some officers had been let go or left due to further investigations of Lvellie’s misdirections as Commissioner. Froi Tiedoll walked into the now bard Commissioner office, looking surprised at the dents and holes in the walls. “Oh my.” He hoped whatever happened in here was therapeutic enough. “Welcome out of retirement, new Commissioner Tiedoll.” The man hummed and smiled with his eyes over at Colonel Nyne. “Thank you Colonel. I do believe I feel a good change in the wind.” The policewoman nodded, and turned to address her own new intern. “Tokusa, help the Commissioner get proper office equipment.” She ordered. Newly graduated Tokusa bolted upright, babbling. “Yes sir! Ma’am! Madam.” “No.” “Yes….Colonel?” “Better. Now hup to!” Tokusa turned heel to find out where he can get a desk and chairs. --- Tiedoll hung a picture of his sons on the wall, looking proud. One his desk was a framed photo of Kanda and Alma, dressed in white.

--- And it's a long way forward, so trust in me

I'll give them shelter like you've done for me.

--- “You don’t have to call to wake me up every morning you damned brat.” Colonel Marian Cross grouched into his phone. He was currently waiting in line at a coffee shop, hoping to fuel his need for liquid energy. Ever since Allen went on his tour, he still took time to call Cross and bother his ass about his morning routines. He swore his kid got a sick enjoyment out of it. “Are you at that cafe again? Cross I thought you got a new coffee maker.” His kid ignored his previous statement and chose to instead nag him on other things. “Correction, you got me a new coffee maker and it busted.” Just two more orders and Cross would have the excuse to hang up on his child. It was rude after all to talk on the phone while ordering.

“How can you bust a Keurig?” “Correction, it busted on its own.” He grumbled. “Riiiight.” Thank the Lord it was his turn to order. “Look, kid I gotta go. Fuck off and nag that husband of yours instead.” He heard Allen snort on the other line. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Bye Cross. Talk to you tomorrow.” The Colonel found himself grinning, despite his bravado. He was fond of the little shit, and will always be fond. “Whatever, leave me alone you brat.” Allen laughed before hanging up. His barista looked at him, an amused look in her dark eyes. “Brat?” Marian huffed. “My kid. He’s a brat.” And that’s all he would rather say on the matter. It was hard to bring up that yes, he has an adult child, and said child happened to be Allen Fucking Walker, singing sensation. Last time he let it slip out, he had nuisances at his door for a month. He strung his order to the (very pretty, but Cross always noticed pretty things so this wasn’t too surprising) barista. After ringing up his order, she introduced herself. “Anita.” Cross looked from her hand to her (still very pretty) face, flummoxed. “What.”

She laughed, and Cross noted that her laugh was also very pretty. “This is the part where you give me your name and I start to flirt with you.” “Oh.” Oh.

---

Years later, Allen Walker, 24, walked through the streets of Paris. He had just slipped away from Lenalee that morning after doing an interview about his upcoming concert in the city. His best friend and sole security would most definitely be lecturing his ear off later over this, but sometimes he needed time to himself. With a green beanie hiding his very noticeable white hair, and thick sunglasses that he hoped were dark enough to keep his anonymity, Allen wandered aimlessly. If someone had told him as a kid back in the circus, that he would be a singer songwriter, whose name was practically known by everyone, he would have been disbelieving.

Then he would try and pick their pockets. He digressed. There was also the whole, married and in love thing. Child him wouldn't have even been able to comprehend.

He was about to wander to a crepe stand, his stomach thinking for him with anticipation, when he heard it. The sound was high, and distressed, and young. It had all the potential to reach lower notes, but at the moment it’s owner was rather stuck on piping out the high tones. Allen would recognize the sound for what it was anywhere, no matter what notes it played. Allen Walker followed the sound of a distressed pipe organ, away from the crepe stand and into an alley between the buildings. It was still the middle of the day, so the ally itself wasn’t in anyway dark or ominous. Along with the organ, Allen heard tell tale sounds of a foot kicking a trash can. “PWEEEEEEEEE!!!”

Oh, now that was a very distinct cry, Allen thought. He never heard someone actually produce their sound verbally before. Kicking the trash can in the alley was a young boy, Allen guess about nine, maybe ten. He had wild brown hair that looked like he had tried to dye the ends with blue kool-aid and wore an orange jumper with frayed jeans. “I’m so mad I’m so mad!” was the boys mantra. “Why are you mad?” Allen asked, kneeling next to the angry boy. Said boy was startled and made a wild swing at Allen head. “AAAAH!!”

--- After whopping Allen, the kid ran off. Only a little winded, Allen followed after, undeterred.

He felt a vague sense of deja vu, and grinned.

“Hey wait!” He called after. ---

“Why won’t you leave me alone huh?!” Demanded the angry boy. Allen shrugged. “I don’t want to.” The boy looked at Allen like he was the most bizarre person he’d ever met. Which, may very well be true. Allen would admit that he was indeed, very odd. Link also took joy at pointing it out to him. Regularly.

“Well get lost!” The boy stomped his foot. “I don’t need some weirdo following me around!” “How about you tell me why you’re so mad, and maaaaybe I’ll leave you alone.” Allen weedled. The kid looked unimpressed at this. “Maybe.” he repeated. “Yeah. Maybe.” They both had a stare down. Allen more amused while the boy simply refused to back down from the impromptu staring contest. Eventually, there was no winner, as the boy’s stomach used this moment to growl rather loudly. Allen’s own stomach felt sympathy. “Are you hungry?” The boy, who looked like wanted to cry again, but was holding it back, only glowered.

---

Howard Link, 28, came back to the rented suite he was staying at with his husband, arms full of bags of fresh bread and boxes of pastries. He had been taking his time in Paris to sample and buy all the baked goods he could, and seeing if he could garner new recipes. It was a very riveting experience for him. He was also certain that Allen had been enjoying all the fresh eats he kept being with him. “Welcome back!” Allen called. “We’re in the kitchen.” “We?” Link asked. Was Lee here as well?

The blonde made his way into the suite’s kitchen, and instantly noticed the boy making headway into the pumpkin pie Link baked that morning. Sitting beside him was Allen, who waved his fingers cheerfully at his husband, his own plate sparse save for the pie crumbs left behind. “I see we have a guest.” Link lead. Allen patted the boy on the back. “Yeah! This is Timothy. Say hi Tim.” “He’wwowoooo!” The boy, now Timothy greeted best he could with his mouthful. Link nodded, and set down the baked goods in his arms at the counter. He went over and held out his hand. “Hello Timothy, I am Link. It’s a pleasure.” ---

And I know, I'm not alone,

you'll be watching over us.

Until...

#ashlee writes #dgm fanfiction #and that's a wrap folks!#hope you all enjoyed!#it was fun #Link just accept that after this point #he is now a father #Allen goes on tours now and nags Cross over the phone oceans away #madarao is like yes i am the new defender of justice #Cross is stuck babysitting the pets including rosemary while his kid and husband galavant across france #the cat dog and murder plant are like his grandchildren at this point #allen walker #howard link #cross marian #and others #im tired bed time MUAH

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