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ohtobeleah · 1 year

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Minimal Losses // Jake Seresin

Chapter Two // Partner in Crime

Summary: Hangman takes you up for a fly over turned impromptu training session only to show up at your dorm with a peace offering you can’t refuse.

Warnings: None. Fluff? Jake Seresin x female reader pairing.

Word Count: 4.1k

Author Note: I don’t know about you but I love this version of Jake. He’s just so soft. My heart really cannot take it. MASTERLIST

“Shouldn't that be you out there Romeo?” Rooster couldn't help but to quip as his hands came down to slap against Jake's shoulders from behind. Both men watching as Bob helped guide you up the wing of Jake's new double seater super hornet. “Or has that ship sailed already?”

“Nope, the ship is still docked–” Jake responded with a grin, watching as Bob helped you settle into the cockpit. Laughing nervously as embarrassment flooded your systems when you slipped a little and lost your balance–falling into Bob without meaning to. “We cleaned our slate.” Jake Seresin wasn’t a man that believed in love at first sight, but you were starting to make him question his long-standing beliefs.

“Ah, so you aren't gonna hold any grudges for her little escape stunt?” Oh god Jake had forgotten he’d spilled the beans on that one. He was so used to flaunting his conquests to his friends, his colleagues. Jake had never really cared enough about whoever he’d been fooling around with enough to not blurt out all the horny details—but you? Well it was quite simple really. Jake didn’t want everyone on base knowing what you were like to be with. At least it was just Rooster, and at least he only knew about the way you left and not the way you came. “Let bygones be bygones huh?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna just start fresh. Told her I’d let the dine and dash thing go as long as she promises not to turn around and arrest me for borderline domestic assault.” Jake didn't stick around to hear Rooster's response. All he knew was that the expecting father stood in utter shock at Jake's admission that whatever you two had gotten up to together on Saturday night, that it had been pretty full on.

“Okay so Hangman's just taking you up for a fly over, we’ll be up there not far behind you but in case of emergency–this is your ejection handle.” Bob pointed to the yellow and black striped handle that was under your seat between your legs. “It's not a fun experience by any means but it sure is better than the alternative.”

“Have you ever had to eject lieutenant Floyd?” Bob could hear it in your voice, you were nervous as all hell. Nodding in response to your question, Bob checked over all the systems. Turning on the radar for you and making sure the back up radio was in fact operational.

“A time or two, the last time I had to eject it was from a bird strike.”

“What's that exactly?”

“It's when a bird gets caught in the engine, can't really control nature or the weather.” Bob physically saw the panic rise in your eyes as he double checked you were strapped in properly. “Sorry ma’am.” His voice softened as he fiddled with the straps. “Are you not good with planes?”

“Um, if I can avoid them I will, but uh–I guess I can't really do that if this is meant to be my job right?” You were trying to downplay your fear, you were terrified of flying. Usually you had to be self medicated for anxiety whenever you got on a commercial flight. A fighter jet was a pretty big step up. But to let your own fears interfere with an ongoing investigation would be a disservice to yourself and those you were sworn to protect.

“Well, Hangman’s a pretty good pilot, just don't tell him I said that because he’ll never let me forget about it.” Bob tried his best to soothe your obvious fears, not having realised Jake was coming right up behind him.

“You know Bob, I think in all the time we’ve flown together, I think that's the only compliment you've ever really paid me.” Jake smirked as he walked up the wing, jumping into the front seat of the cockpit. Bob couldn't roll his eyes any more than he did. Causing you to laugh behind your hand. “Ready to go Agent Kas?” Jake beamed as he went through the same procedures he went through each and every time he was getting ready for a flight. Checking all his systems and making sure everything was working the way it should be. “Robert, unless you're planning on making this a threesome man, I'd be getting going if I were you.” Again, Jake heard you laugh and he was instantly addicted to that sound just as much as he was addicted to the way you moaned his name in his ear. Perhaps even more.

“Right, I'll uh–see you when I get up there ma’am.” Nodding softly and pressing his lips together. Bob made his way down the wing of the plane before vanishing out of sight. Walking towards where Rooster still stood in disbelief. “Hey, is there something going on with Agent Kas and Hangman? Am I missing something?”

“Oh yeah.” Rooster sighed as he clipped his helmet to his vest. “Yeah big time buddy—but doesn’t mean you can’t have a crack right?” Rooster liked to stir, especially whenever it involved Jake Seresin. “Shoot your shot before it’s too late.”

“Probably not a good idea—“ Bob knew well enough to leave Hangman's stuff alone, if he’d already called dibs then he wasn’t going to interfere. He did think you were pretty though. That he’d openly admit.

“Yeah I probably wouldn’t wanna be Eskimo brothers with Bagman either.” Pretending to shiver at the idea, Rooster slapped the back of his palm into Bob's chest. C’mon man we better get up there.” Bob didn’t move, still processing what Rooster had so easily let slip. “Don’t want them having all the fun right?”

“Wait, they slept together?”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Okay aviator’s—“ Pete Mitchell’s voice came through your communications as you looked out over vast distance of clear blue sky. Only a few clouds in sight. “This session is all about free fall control.” Wait what? Hang on a minute no one had told you that!

“Uh, Lieutenant Seresin, are you participating in that exercise?” Your voice was shaking as you tapped Jake on the shoulder. He couldn’t help the grin that plastered itself across his face.

“I wasn’t supposed to, I’m just up here for a fly over.” Jake responded. The two seated super hornet had been due for a full scale service and a fly over was a good way to access what could possibly be looked at. “But by the sounds of it you seem pretty keen on joining in so I think we might, what do you say Kasper?”

“Uh I think I’m go—“ Before you could even say that you wouldn’t mind passing on the experience, Jake cut the engines. “Oh holy shit—!” Your hands flew up against the glass of the canopy as you dropped rapidly. Plumitting back down to earth. “Jake!! Jake, stop! Oh my god—!” Jake had full control over the engineless free fall he’d entered. He wouldn’t have put you in a position where he knew he could easily pull himself out of. That was the entire purpose of the training exercise that most of the squad were up running today.

“It sounds like Kas is having the time of her life. Phoenix chuckled as she regained stability of her aircraft and leveled out. Much like you? Bob jaded free fall exercises, it made his head spin more than usual.

“Yeah, I’d be just as delighted if I had Hangman for a pilot.” Bob was quick to quip back, you’re pleading still ringing out throughout the comms as Jake finally ignited both engines and leveled out. “He’s gonna have her in shambles by the time they land.”

“Something tells me she’s gonna need a bucket.” Phoenix laughed. She was keen to see how this played out, knowing how Hangman flew it was only a matter of time before you were either requesting anyone other than him to fly with you or he was apologising with his natural charm dialed up to astronomical heights. Only to do the same thing over and over again.

“What the fuck is your problem!!” You shouted as you steadied yourself in your seat. Fixing your helmet that had been so kindly made for you. Kasper in bold lettering with two cartoon ghosts on the front.

“Consider us even for the sneak out—“ Jake beamed. Laughing to himself as he heard you gagging and heaving in the backseat of his F-18. “Vomit bags under your seat Sweetheart.”

“I thought we had a clean slate!?” Coughing up whatever you’d just thrown up into the bag Jake had told you was under your seat, you wished you could see his stupid face. Probably smug and full of himself. “I said I was sorry, okay!” For a brief moment Jake wondered if he’d taken it too far, but then the realisation hit that you’d have to pass yourself off as a weapons system officer. You wouldn’t be able to do that if you couldn’t handle a free fall.

“How do you expect to pass as a TopGun graduate if you can’t even handle a barrel roll?”

“I’m kinda banking on the fact I’m really good at what I do so I won’t have to go up in one of these while I’m onboard the Lexington.” You let your head fall back against the seat. Lulling side to side. “If you really just did that because of the way I left on Sunday you really need to reevaluate your priorities.” Jake was head over heels. He knew well enough to know he didn’t fall often, but when he did he fell hard and he fell fast. “God I’m gonna be sick again—“

“Jesus, I hope you’re right about being good at what you do Kas.” Jake shut down the engines again as he forced a controlled plummet. Spinning around and around as he held back on the throttle. “Because if you can’t handle this? I can’t imagine what you’d be like in a dog fight.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

By the time Jake was touching down against the tarmac, you had filled the vomit bag to the very brim. It was needless to say you were incredibly eager to feel solid ground below your feet yet again.

“This is your captain speaking,” Jake taunted as the canopy popped open. “Please remain seated until cabin crew have cleaned up the mess in the aisle.” You sent the gentleman who’d climbed up the wing to assist you with your impromptu luggage a soft smile. Handing him the knotted bag of vomit before you uncliped and stood up. “Kas I’m just giving you lip alright, you did well.”

“I don’t need lip from you, son of Satan.” Not wasting a moment as you walked steadily with arms wide—holding you balance down the wing. Jumping to the ground below, you let out a dramatic sigh of relief as you dropped to your knees before laying flat on your stomach. Jake laughed aloud as he watched you from a bird's eye view. “Sweet steady ground.”

“You know, that won’t be the last time you go up right, if anything it’s just the first.”

“It’ll be the last time I go up with you.” You groaned as you pressed your cheek to the tarmac. “God you fly like you aren’t trying to live, little egomaniacal of you to death roll me in the name of a covert operation.”

“I fly like lives depend on me—“ Jake corrected you as he jumped off the wing of his F-18, landing right behind you with a thud. “And I can assure you, I’m just trying to help you pass as an avid aviator with flying colours.”

“You made me throw up!” You knew full and well that you had made yourself throw up, it just wasn’t something you wanted to admit. Jake had a shit eating grin plastered across his face so promptly he could have passed for the Cheshire Cat himself. You had a weak constitution, it never served you well in crime scenes or on planes in general. Add the free fall barrel rolls into the mix and you had the perfect storm made for up chuck city.

“By the sounds of it you had a full gourmet breakfast.” Watching as you stood to your feet, Jake taunted you a little more, knowing he was getting a rise out of you. “Next time? Try a banana or a bowl of white rice and ginger.”

“There’s not gonna be a next time—“ Dusting yourself off you scoffed at Jake's advice. “You’re supposed to be my partner! Have my back! You just tried to kill me!” Turning on your heels you walked away without giving Jake a chance to retaliate.

“You’ll thank me later!” He shouted after you, watching as you flipped him off over your shoulder. Rooster was by his side in no time, having seen the poor display of sportsmanship Jake had shown you.

“Consider that ship sailed Romeo—“

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

You were the only resident currently using the dorms on base. As far as you could tell—all the pilots that had been stationed out at Miramar had all been assigned their own off base house. Either one or two bedroom homes that all looked identical besides the personality each one brought to the home they’d moved into.

You were in the common area living room. If there had been others living on your particular floor you were sure that there would be people buzzing around in the kitchen, dining and living room areas. But it was just you. Basking in the peaceful tranquility the silence of your own company brought, you took a small sip of the tea you were drinking. Hibiscus and strawberry. Sitting the warm coffee cup back onto the coaster before flipping the file you had been reading up on over to the next page.

Something about pulling apart your pistol, cleaning it in its entirety before putting it back together like a puzzle brought you a sense of calm. To know your weapon inside and out. To know every small piece, every nook and cranny of the service issued weapon made you feel more comfortable with the fact you held the power to take a life away in an instant in your palms.

As you reached out for your coffee cup full of tea, a gentle knocking coming from the main door of the floor you were the only resident off had your pausing in your play. For a Federal Agent you could be rather skittish. Especially when you weren’t expecting anyone.

Even if you were on a navy base, you tucked your gun into the waistline of your tracksuit pants. Covering it with the sweatshirt that matched. You jumped from your spot on the ground with another knock timing out through the empty hall.

It wasn’t that you didn’t feel safe, no. It was more the fact that this was your first solo case. You’d always had someone with you—someone watching over you. Sure you had Agent Bradshaw around, but she wasn’t going with you onto the Lexington. She was leaving you in the hand of Jake Seresin.

Another knock rang out as you padded down the hall. Shifting slightly as you approached the closed and clicked door, you waited a few seconds before asking who it was.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me—“ Well that really didn’t give you much to go off now, did it?. “Hangman.” Oh, now that said it all. With a huff of frustration and a sigh of relief you swung the door open, revealing Jake who stood in his own sweats with a brown bag and six pack of beers. “Consider it a peace offering.” He gestured to the greased up bag. “Burgers and beers?” Expressionless, you stepped aside to let Jake in. He watched as you closed and locked the front door again, pulling out your gun that had been pressed against the small of your back. Placing it on the dining table carefully—making sure the safety was on.

“What?” You questioned. “I wasn’t expecting anyone—“

“And your immediate response was to be armed and at the ready?”

“Better to expect the unexpected than to underestimate the circumstances.” Shrugging your shoulders in response, you eyes off the bag Jake had placed on the table. “Why are you here exactly?” Your stomach growled with a mind of its own—you’d been so caught up with your case research you hadn’t organised yourself dinner.

“Rooster's wife, you know—your boss.” Diving into the bag for a few stray fries, Jake placed them in his mouth before he went back in. Fishing out and throwing you a burger. You caught it with two hands. Unwrapping it as your glands watered. “Kinda gave me an absolute scathing after you apparently begged her to place you with someone else.”

It was true. The minute you were on solid ground again after Jake had death rolled you into a weeping puddle of throw up and bile, you were matching into Agent Bradshaw's office.

“I need a new partner!” It hasn’t been a request but a demand. “Jake Seresin just tried to kill me—“ She didn’t even bother looking up from her paperwork.

“I’ve known Hangman for quite a while now and I can assure you Kasper, he didn’t try to kill you.”

“I don’t trust him, he could jeopardise the entire operation! How is he supposed to have my back at all times when he’s purposely trying to make me feel weak and vulnerable.”

“Did Jake make you feel weak and vulnerable or do you naturally feel weak and vulnerable around him?” Agent Bradshaw questioned as she finally raised a cautious brow and looked at you through her eyelids. She’d mastered the art of the Kubrick star that was for sure. “I know he was the one you slept with Kas, and believe me when I say I hope you have enough common sense to get tested.”

“If you knew I slept with him why didn’t you partner me with someone else?” Agent Bradshaw placed her own down with a soft sigh. Like you were truly interrupting something important. You were, but right now you couldn’t care less. She took a few steps out from behind her desk, opting to rest against it as she crossed her arms over her chest. Forearms testing on her baby bump.

“Because no one spends the night at Hangman’s house sweetheart, if there’s even the slightest chance he cares? I’m willing to bank good money on the fact he’d have your back no matter the consequences.”

“Well after the stunt you performed today I wasn’t entirely sure I could actually work with you.” You had already taken a bite of your burger as you sat down at the table. Slumping. Jake offered you a beer before cracking the top, passing it along the wooden table. “But since I’m stuck with you—“ rolling your eyes, you fished out the badge you’d asked Agent Bradshaw for. All it said was NCIS Special Agent. It held no merit on its own without personal credentials. But it was still something. “Consider this my peace offering.” Throwing it underarm style, Jake caught the silver badge with a smile so pure it made your heart flutter momentarily. “It’s NCIS, that’s all she had lying around. Pretty sure it’s actually hers but I didn’t really stick around the press for answers.”

“What’s the chances of me getting a gun?” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped as Jake shined the badge against his shirt. “Nah this is cool.”

Sitting in comfortable silence for a while as you ate, both you and Jake retreated back to the living room where you’d been going over your case files. Your tea now cold, discarded off to the side as you explained in more detail to Jake what had been going on.

“So you really think this guys on board the Lexington?”

“I do, but the presence of NCIS and FBI would just freak him out, we need him caught off guard—hence the FBI lead and undercover agent scheme we’re concocting.”

“And they choose you because?” Jake didn’t know who much weight his question truly carried until he noticed your face drop slightly. Second guessing your response. You wanted to say something along the lines of being the best pick for the job or that it had been your case since the first murders. But you didn’t—you opted for the more believable option.

“Because it’s easy to go undercover when no one ever really noticed you to begin with Lieutenant Seresin.” It was a harsh tea that you’d learnt to accept a long time ago. It was just the way things were. So when Jake Seresin had paid just a little attention to you at the bar? It was no wonder you were so easily swayed into playing into his charming ways. He got the girl alright, but only because she’d been so deprived of affection for so long that even the slight chance of it falling into her lap had you acting outside of your own personality.

“That’s why they call you Kasper?” Jake wanted to get to know you, he felt like he’d skipped the first six chapters of a really good book. Skipping all the way to the part where the two main characters fall in love before even reading how they met and who they were.

“Always invisible, honestly it was an inevitable nickname really.” You tried to hide the sudden onset of bashfulness that had stricken you. Hiding a blushed smile in the dimly lit light of the abandoned living room of the dormitory.

“But why with a K and not C?” Jake hadn’t noticed the gap between you two had gotten smaller and smaller with every question he asked about the case and even more so with every question he asked about you.

“It's just how one of my professors spelt it, pretty sure she had some level of undiagnosed dyslexia but I was only like fifteen at the time so I wasn’t about to question it.” Explaining why you had always stuck with Kasper and a K, Jake didn’t want to pass over the fact you had just said professor and fifteen in the same sentence.

“Wait, how old are you again?” Jake frowned for a brief moment, counting on his fingers because the math in his head wasn’t adding up. “When did you graduate?” Holy shit he had broken a federal law hadn’t he. Fuck.

“I’m twenty six—“ You knew Jake would freak when he found out. But it was bound to happen sooner or later. “But I graduated high school in two thousand and eight.” Yep, this wasn’t math he could do on his fingers. Jake just stared at you, waiting for you to make it make sense. “I uh, I may have graduated high school at like twelve—“

“Twelve!!” Jake shouted as you cupped his mouth. Laughing as you told him to keep his voice down even if no one was around. It was the same response everyone gave you. “Jesus Kas I was just learning how to fucking jerk off at twelve and you had graduated high school!?”

“I know I know—“ Sitting back on your heels you looked down at the carpet that held scattered papers everywhere, completely defeated. “Even prodigal brilliance doesn’t help me stand out in a crowd.” Jake just looked at you, complete spell bound. He’d never been so intrigued by a woman ever. Especially one so beautifully gifted.

There was a lingering moment of silence before you went to speak again, but before you could Jake was lurching forward to press his lips against yours. Letting you register what was happening as you softened against him. Welcoming to kiss he so desperately wanted to give you since he’d seen you walk into the hanger.

“You stood out to me.” Jake mumbled as he pulled away for a brief moment. “Saw you the moment I walked into the bar and knew I had to get to know you.” It has you melting into the palms of his hands. Cupping your face as he kissed you again. This time with more confidence, opening yourself up to Jake you let your tongue explore with his. “And it turns out you’re some sort of genius—“ Jake smirked against your bottom lip, biting it softly as you gently moaned at the sensation. Lifting you up off the ground as he carried you back toward wherever the hell you pointed. Helping to blindly guide him back towards your room. Your legs wrapped around his waist as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. Fingers carding through blonde locks.

“Which is so unbelievably sexy agent Kas.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags // @auroraboreallisfine @buckythewintersquirrel @a-lil-bit-nuts @bookaholics-stuff @ilovewhalesharks444 @a-serene-place-to-be @alexsisrebekah @rhirhikingston @caitsymichelle13 @twsssmlmaa @chaoticversion @topguncultleader

#minimal losses // jake seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman seresin series #jake hangman x you #top gun hangman #top gun hangman fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #hangman x you

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jayke0 · 7 months

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Hi ! If you’re still taking requests I would have a platonic angst with a happy ending one ? It’s okay if you don’t write this type of fic no worries 😎

For context I have daddy issues and some kind of religious trauma because : queer . SO the moon knight system as some kind of father/older brother figure to a teenage girl with she/her pronouns who they basically took under their wing ? And hear me out , reader is the perfect exemple of younger generation being raised by screens so much that she’s a pretty good hacker , maybe helps them as the guy in the chair , with an attitude as frustrating as Marc’s . Reader wants to come out to the boys first to be herself ? and to avoid Marc or Steven casually mentioning male love interest , the closet sapphic pain . But being raised in a Christian household reader kinda puts every religious person in the same bag and is terribly afraid of rejection . Maybe at some point reader is forced to get out of the closet , big angst but it ends up good . Jake just has the biggest straight guy gaydar ever .

Thank you so much and have a nice day , I love your writing !

Oh my goodness!

First of all, thankyou for reading and liking my stuff, i really really appreciate it!

Unfortunately, I'm not looking to write any long fics atm, but i still wanted to give you some platonic angst to comfort, even if it isn't the big spectacular fic you were expecting 😅. Thankyou for the request 💕.

Warnings/content: angst/venting, mentions of homophobia, mentions of religious trauma, comfort at the end 💕, platonic relationship with the boys.

You'd been sitting on the fence about coming out to your friends for months now. They'd never said anything homophobic, or even remotely horrible that would indicate any sort of hateful beliefs, but after years of mental battering and exhaustion from fighting your father, you'd come to the conclusion that you were safer in the closet.

...........................................................................

As you're sitting on Steven's couch, your leg bounces vigorously, making the floorboards noticeably creak and Marc eventually glance over at you.

He does his usual 'what's up with you?' Glare as he eyes you up and down, before finally bringing over the water you'd asked for and sitting next to you.

"So, what did you wanna talk about?"

God his voice sounds so loud in your ears, echoing around your head like some kind of alarm warning you not to go through with this.

And why'd it have to be Marc fronting anyway? Literally the scariest alter of the three of them.

You audibly gulp, before slowly bringing your eyes up to meet the man's.

"I need to- can you just-" you struggle to get your words out, "I need you to listen to everything before you say anything, please?"

Marc's expression is now oozing with worry, but he simply nods, gesturing for you to start.

A deep breath is drawn into your lungs before you just let everything go, every problem you've ever had in your past all falling from your lips like the tears that eventually start rolling down your cheeks, and once you're done, the flat goes silent, all that can be heard is Marc's slow breathing as he processes the personal information you'd just dumped on him.

In that moment, you're sure he's going to yell at you to get out, or call you the same spiteful names you'd been called before; but the silence is almost worse, it's like he's disappointed, it's completely deafening.

You can't bear the silence for a second longer, so you pull your head from your hands to try and at least get some indicator of sympathy or hate from his face.

Instead what you see is a blank expression.

Your brows furrow for a moment, before you're reminded of when this has happened before; they're switching.

Admittedly, you feel relieved; maybe if he'd started dissociating before you'd started venting they wouldn't have heard you and you could escape the encounter? But a softer voice pulls you away from that safety.

"Oh god, sorry about that." Steven chuckles nervously and seemingly brushes himself off, as if to adjust to the body. "Didn't mean to interrupt your uhm.. moment, but I'm here now, you can continue what you were saying."

His smile is reassuring, and certainly a lot warmer than Marc's, but you still fear what he might say.

"Is Marc mad at me?" You ask, barely audible.

"What? Oh bloody hell no, of course not." Steven waves his hands frantically. "You know what he's like, "Mr Cranky can't deal with emotions so then I gotta come out and do my duty", as it were." He chuckles lightly.

You don't find it as funny.

Steven frowns and chews the inside of his cheek, reaching his hand out and tentatively taking yours. "He's a knobhead, yeah? But he isn't that much of a knobhead.." His eyes scan your face. "Thankyou for telling us, honestly I'm honoured you wanted to tell us of all people," his eyes scrunch into that sweet squint that he does, "you're safe with us, and I'm like… super bloody proud of you. Like, more proud than I was when Gus won that race against Gus Junior."

That actually makes you laugh a little and you sniff, wiping your eyes on your jumper. You squeeze Steven's hand for a second before crashing into his body for a tight hug, which is reciprocated by the man; he's always the best hugger.

You stay curled up in his hold for a few minutes, just listening to the man's breathing to focus on anything else other than the anxiety still thrashing in your stomach.

"Jake said he's proud of you too, by the way." He smiles down at you as you look up at the man.

A smile spreads across your face and you wipe your eyes again, "thankyou, both of you… or three of you." You shrug, unsure if Marc is still there.

"Jake also said that 'he knew all along', apparently."

"Oh shut up Jake." You laugh.

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notsowrites · 3 years

Text

Untitled 3x08 Malex Coda #3

Last one before tonight! Why I get inspired to write about these two first thing in the morning when I’m drinking my coffee is beyond me, but here’s some more soft Malex with a bit of fluff.

Enjoy! <3

----------

They head back inside not long after, the cold winter air nipping at Alex's skin. Maria is sitting up near the pool tables, cell phone pressed to her ear, and Alex focuses on the smile on her face, the absolute happiness he can see radiating off her. She looks up as they walk in, waving at them, but their presence is not enough to get her to end the call.

Michael is already back at the bar, leaning against it, knocking shoulders with Isobel, Liz sitting just on her other side. There's a bottle of wine between them, and two half-filled glasses.

"She's on the phone with your brother," Liz supplies as he joins them.

He nods. It's not new, this thing between his brother and Maria. But the two of them acting on the looks that he's known they've shared since high school certainly is.

Sliding into the open seat to Michael's right is easy enough, and it does wonders to get the weight off his hip for now. His fingers dig into the muscle of his leg, gently massaging it as he watches Michael slide another beer in front of him.

"You okay?"

Michael's voice is quiet, almost a whisper in the already quiet bar. The only other people here are people he loves, people he trusts. He nods.

"Just sore."

He goes for honesty, which seems to be the theme of the day for them, and watches as Michael's eyes dart to his leg and further down to where his prosthetic is beneath his jeans. There's nothing he can do right now, not until he's home and can take it off, remove the lining, and possibly soak in the bathtub to ease the tension in it. But that can wait, because being here, with the people he loves and cares about is more important.

It's the most important thing.

"We can leave," Michael replies, as if reading his thoughts, but Alex reaches out, slipping his hand into Michael's, and shaking his head.

Liz speaks up first, her eyes going from Michael to him, and back again. "You don't have to stay. Max is safe, thanks to you. We should take the win and enjoy tonight."

The fight leaves him at Liz's words, and he acquiesces, sliding off the stool, and stretching his leg, one hand on the back of the bar stool for balance. He can feel Michael's eyes on him, watching him, and for once he loves how it feels. It's so easy to reach out, to grab Michael's hand in his own and give it a reassuring squeeze, before he crosses the floor towards Maria.

"So your I guess it's our time vibes were only a couple weeks off, eh?" He hears Isobel ask behind him, but doesn't turn around to look at how Michael reacts, only hearing Liz's shocked gasp instead.

"Greg, hold on, hold on, Alex is here-" Maria turns towards him, pulling the phone away from her ear and wrapping her arms around him. He stumbles a bit, expecting the weight but miscalculating for how tired he is. She immediately pulls back, looking him up and down, assessing.

He presses a kiss to her cheek. "I'm fine, just tired. Michael and I are heading out, but I didn't want to leave without telling you."

She raises an eyebrow at him.

"I'll call you tomorrow." He feels his cheeks go warm, and shifts on his feet, not out of the soreness in his hip this time.

"You better," Maria laughs as she puts the phone back up to her ear, and Alex can immediately hear his brother, just can't make out the words. He watches as Maria smiles, a laugh escaping her lips as she looks back at him.

"Greg says it's about damn time."

With a bit of an eyeroll, he leaves the two of them to their conversation and turns back to the bar, surprised to find Michael is standing near the doorway. There's a feeling that blossoms in his chest, seeing Michael standing there, waiting, for him. And after spending the day together, Alex isn't ready for it to end.

"Can you take me home?"

The car ride is quiet, but not awkward. Alex pushes himself up against the passenger door, and shifts himself so he's staring at Michael as he drives. Something he hasn't done since they were teenagers when they'd get in Michael's truck and drive out to the desert - the only way after the toolshed they could find some time for themselves.

Michael's hat is sitting on the seat between them, and Alex brushes his fingers along the rim. He loves the cowboy look, even if it covers up Michael's curls. Because he really is in love with Michael Guerin any way you slice it.

His house is on a quiet side street outside town, the yard lights on thanks to their automatic timer, illuminating the terrace and the front door. He and Maria had strung them up one Saturday afternoon a few weeks after he'd bought the house, her claiming it needed some ambiance. She'd been the one to help him pick out the patio furniture, and start making the house into some place he could call home.

Michael pulls the truck into the driveway next to his SUV, and Alex reaches for the door handle, before he realizes the engine is idling.

Does he want Michael to leave? He doesn't know. Today was a whirlwind for them - working together, talking, and Michael kissing him. As he'd pressed his face into Michael's shoulder earlier, he'd realized how much he missed this - missed Michael. There had always been something about the way it felt around him, when they weren't fighting, when they had a moment of quiet - an unexplainable calm that would fall over him. For the first time in years, he'd felt it again that morning, and then again later in the truck when Michael had touched his cheek.

He wouldn't label it an understanding, because it felt much deeper than that.

"Michael?"

"Yeah?"

But Michael makes no move to turn off the engine, so Alex tugs on that courage he'd used all day to tell Michael what he wanted. He'd never felt the need to put into words his every day actions - and perhaps part of that was his years in the Air Force, and the work he'd done that required a level of secrecy. But keeping Michael out of the loop recently hadn't done them, or their relationship, any favors. And he hated to see Michael so angry at him.

"Shut the engine off and come inside."

He watches Michael turn to him, eyes soft and beautiful, and Alex doesn't know sometimes, what to do with the way Michael makes him feel. He never has. If he was younger, if he was more agile than he is these days, he'd climb over onto Michael's lap and kiss him here in the truck. So instead he reaches over the cowboy hat, and slips his fingers under Michael's, tightening his grip.

"You sure?"

Alex nods.

But Michael's hesitance doesn't end there, and follows him into the house. Alex coaxes him out of his jacket, his boots, and watches as he slowly walks into the living room, glancing around as if unsure of himself. And Michael has been here before, Michael's been here a lot over the years.

"You got rid of the cameras," he says, nodding up where the one above his bedroom door used to be.

The cameras were something he'd installed under the belief that he couldn't trust his father. There had always been that residual fear he would break in and try something to get one up on Alex. So the cameras had made him feel like he was being proactive, like his father couldn't sneak up on him if he had a system in place.

"Yeah, don't need them anymore." He doesn't want to talk about his dad. Not now. It's not that he wants to brush it under the rug and never speak of it, because he knows there are a lot of things they need to talk about. But Liz's words echo in his mind about taking the win today for what it is, and doing that means not focusing on something like his father.

"That's good," Michael says, his voice low, and Alex doesn't move, just stands still as Michael walks over to him, a smile pushing up on his lips. He feels Michael's hands on his face, palms against his cheeks and lets Michael kiss him.

He feels the scratch of Michael's beard and the soft press of his lips and Alex presses forward just a little, his hands moving to Michael's hips, bracing himself. The kiss is slow and gentle, and Alex feels like he's falling. There's no rush in either of their actions, Michael's fingertips lightly scratching at the nape of his neck, their noses bumping, and their foreheads end up pressed together as their lips separate.

"I want-" He pauses, pushing back just far enough so he can look up at Michael. He doesn't want to not be looking at him when he speaks. But he thinks of Michael's reluctance to come inside, and he thinks of the words Michael had once expressed to him about going where Alex wants, and he needs to make sure this is what Michael wants too. "Will you stay the night?"

----------

In the morning, he wakes up tangled up in Michael. There's no panic that sets in, no worry about one of them leaving, even if they haven't talked about the future yet. Because there's time for that now. And Alex knows, believes, they both want one together.

He opens his eyes to find Michael already awake, eyes open and watching him. It should be creepy, but instead all Alex feels is love.

"Morning," Michael says, leaning in and gently kissing his lips.

"Been awake long?"

Michael shakes his head. "I've never watched you sleep before. You always-" He cuts himself off and Alex can fill in the rest himself. He knows this story too.

Last night had been different though, from anything they'd ever done in the past. It felt like a new beginning for them, the way the whole day had. Michael had drawn the bath while Alex had gone through his nightly routine, finally getting the chance to remove his prosthetic. And as Alex had laid back in the tub, letting the hot water soothe his sore muscles, Michael had sat on the floor next to the tub, resting his head on his arm, and they'd just… talked.

Talked in a way they never had before. Alex had listened as Michael had finally told him everything he'd learned from Jones - from the white lies to the discovery of his own origins. He'd been unable to stop himself from taking Michael's hand as he talked about his mother, the way he'd started to doubt his own feelings about her, and the things she had done. Most shocking of all was when Michael asked to show him something, and Alex had just nodded before he was watching as Michael pulled a lighter out of his jeans and held the flame to the skin of his palm.

Instinct had him snatching Michael's hand, pulling it away from the flame - but his skin was perfect. The flame hadn't harmed him.

"I want to make you breakfast," Michael says instead.

Alex laughs, immediately burying his face into Michael's shoulder, because while a great idea, he doesn't exactly keep a fully stocked kitchen. Especially since he's a terrible cook himself, and restocking the fridge after his year spent cleaning up Project Shepherd messes hasn't been a huge priority.

"I'd like that except…" he lets his voice trail off, but leans up and kisses Michael. "I'm not sure there's much in the fridge to cook with."

Michael shakes his head, laughing, and Alex kisses him again, pulling himself up so he's leaning over Michael, his fingers stroking Michael's curls, gently tugging on the ends and watching as they spring back into place.

"Another time then."

Alex leans forward, their lips almost touching as he smiles. Because another time is a future they now have together. It's tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. "Tomorrow."

"Yeah?"

"I don't want - I meant what I said all those months ago. About starting over. And-" He pauses, thinking about every night he's spent with Michael that ended with one of them leaving, the other never staying. "We've never had breakfast before."

They trade lazy kisses, neither of them able to stop smiling, and it's slow and perfect, and Alex thinks he could stay wrapped up in Michael Guerin forever. But he gets an idea, and it's a good one. And he knows Michael will be okay with it, that Michael will agree to it. Because now he knows Michael feels the same, that Michael wants the same things for them.

"Let's go to the Crashdown," he says against Michael's lips.

Michael pushes back, not away but enough so he's looking at Alex. And there's a flicker of something on his eyes, an old hurt resurfacing that Alex can see. Another thing they need to talk about.

"Like a date?"

Alex rolls his eyes, but kisses Michael again. "Like a date. Like two people having breakfast. I just - I want to do these things with you. I want us to be able to do these things."

"Okay, Manes," Michael replies, pushing up quickly and kissing Alex, like he can't get enough. "Let's go have pancakes."

#roswell new mexico #malex #alex manes #michael guerin #malex fic #notso writes fanfic #ummm have some soft malex this morning #before the episode tonight #because my brain has been nonstop

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animeomegas · 3 years

Text

Omega!Shouto Pregnancy Emotions

Anon: This is a request take it if you like haha-Okay how is Todoroki (Shoto) while being prego? Does he get super sexual? Insecure? Happy? Moody? Scared? What does he feel and how do you react to those feelings?

(Hmm, okay, here are some of the primary emotions for Shouto during pregnancy. I hope you enjoy~)

Warnings: None

Some of the main emotions that impact Shouto Todoroki during his pregnancy:

Pained:

Because of Endeavour’s less than stellar parenting style and discriminatory beliefs towards omegas, Shouto’s reproductive system isn’t especially healthy. For that reason, some parts of pregnancy are more painful for Shouto than they would be for most other omegas.

One of the impacts is that the doctors recommend a c-section delivery. Male omegas have a higher risk of needing a c-section than female omegas in general, but Shouto’s hips and pelvis are not very flexible, so he’s at an even higher risk. His hips are not used to shifting, something that he should have experienced gradually starting from teenagerhood but did not because of the super strong suppressants he was on.

So, while he’s pregnant, the following things cause him a lot of pain:

Stomach aches – his stomach is flush against his uterus which is not behaving normally and giving him some problems. It upsets his stomach and it’s something that lasts for his entire pregnancy.

Lower back aches – his hips do try to widen in anticipation of delivering a baby, but it doesn’t work very well for him and is quite painful.

His chest – the doctors are originally unsure as to whether Shouto is going to be able to breast feed. They give him some extra hormones to stimulate milk production in the hopes that it will help. It does help actually, and Shouto is able to breast feed, but the hormones make his chest very swollen for most of his pregnancy. This is common in late pregnancy of course, but for Shouto it’s a little earlier than that and a little more jarring.

You felt helpless as you watched your mate curl up on the couch in pain, knowing there wasn’t anything you could do to fix it. He’d been having stomach and back pains all day and had to come home from work because they had been so bad. You’d also come home from work to pick him up and take care of him. You sighed to yourself as you looked down at him. He was only three months along, but it was looking like he might have to stop working sooner rather than later. Shouto would be miserable if he was forced to make that decision, but there was nothing either of you could do about it.

Shouto’s huff of frustration pulled you out of your thoughts. He was fidgeting with the heating pad that was wrapped around the right side of his tummy. He had been having some trouble balancing his temperature since he got pregnant and he couldn’t warm his stomach by himself. Losing quirk control wasn’t uncommon during pregnancy but having to use a heating pad did make Shouto embarrassed at first.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, kneeling down onto the floor beside him.

“Fine,” came Shouto’s muffled voice from where he had his face buried in a cushion.

“You don’t look fine,” you teased gently, linking you fingers with that hand that Shouto was using to fiddle with the heating pad. “Is something wrong with the heating pad?”

“No,” he huffed. “It’s just too small.”

Without missing a moment, you replied with,

“That’s what she said.”

“Who said what?” Shouto questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

You snorted at the joke going over his head. He was never good at understanding innuendo humour.

“It doesn’t matter, my love. But the heating pad is too small? Is your back hurting too?”

Shouto nodded, nuzzling into the cushion and messing up his hair as he did it. You smoothed his hair back down with a hand.

“I know it only needs to go on my right side, but I still can’t get it to sit right.”

You hummed in understanding.

“You want me to go and get a second one from the shop? Or a hot water bottle or something? Unfortunately, I’m not sure we have anything else in the house.”

Shouto hesitated, seeming unsure.

“I really don’t mind going, this is my fault after all,” you joked, placing a hand on his small bump.

“You’re warm,” Shouto muttered.

“I’m warm?”

Shouto blushed and didn’t respond. A teasing grin settled onto your face.

“Do you want me to lay behind you?”

Shouto nodded vigorously but didn’t make eye contact.

You agreed, quickly gathering some water and snacks to put within arm’s reach, before you awkwardly climbed behind Shouto and pulled him flush against your chest to spoon him. You started to rub his stomach to settle him.

Shouto relaxed under your attention and closed his eyes.

“Try to get some sleep, Shouto.”

Embarrassed:

Shouto doesn’t really suffer from insecurity, but he does get quite embarrassed sometimes at the new way his body is now working.

One very embarrassing thing that I’ve already mentioned is that his control over his powers weakens for the duration for his pregnancy.

During late pregnancy, hiccups involve accidentally setting objects in the house on fire. Shouto can put them out very quickly, but he still finds the fact that his iron clad control has degraded to be very embarrassing.

Another embarrassing thing for Shouto is the limitations on his independence.

Eventually, Shouto can’t put his own shoes on, or clean himself properly and he has to rely on his Alpha for all of it.

(Well, at first, his chosen strategy is just to keep trying by himself until he basically gives his alpha an aneurysm when he almost hurts himself by accident.)

Shouto gets moody and embarrassed when he has to ask for help for small things.

But by far the thing that embarrasses him the most, is his weak pregnancy bladder.

Sneezing becomes a dangerous game for him between the bladder and the spontaneous fire or ice usage.

At one point, Shouto refuses to have sex with his alpha for a couple of weeks because he’s too nervous that he’ll…er… well, lose control.

To deal with all the embarrassment, Shouto’s alpha needs to just downplay any incidents as much as possible, even going so far as to pretend not to notice certain things. This would go a long way in reducing Shouto’s anxiety and embarrassment. Also, indulging him when he says he wants to stay at home because he’s embarrassed will help him a lot.

To summarise, pregnancy weakens the control he has over himself in many ways, and Shouto becomes very embarrassed when he’s reminded of that.

Unfortunately for Shouto, pregnancy being horribly embarrassing is a fact of life.

Clingy:

It is very common for pregnant omegas to feel a lot more possessive and clingier with their alphas.

Hormones are all over the place, and omegas are technically at their most vulnerable (barring heats) so it is a very normal instinct to want to be around the person who their instincts consider as the safest and most able to protect them and their unborn pup.

Shouto is no exception. He pouts when you have to leave the house. He is not impressed at all if you come home with the scent of another omega clinging to your clothes, even if he knows the scent. He calls you about fifteen times on the days when you’re at work, mainly to ask when you’ll be back (even though he already knows), tell you innocuous things about his day, or ask you to pick something up from the shops on your way home.

Shouto is big on cuddling as well, and whenever you’re both in the house, he demands cuddles all the time. He’s a very minimalist nester and so he normally just throws on one of your hoodies and drags a pillow and a blanket onto the couch, before dragging you to lay with him.

(Shouto goes through so many films whilst he’s pregnant because he rarely gets off of the sofa and he likes to have a film playing while he lounges.)

Basically, everything feels better when his alpha is with him. All his alpha needs to do is make sure they’re with him as much as possible, especially in his third trimester, when he’s the most anxious and clingy. (Avoiding getting too close to other omegas is also probably a good idea. Pregnant omegas, including Shouto, can get very worked up about that.)

Your lunch break had just started, and like every other day for the past month, the second your lunch break started, your phone would ring. You picked up your phone in anticipation. Any second now…

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

You smiled automatically as Shouto’s name popped up. You quickly swiped to answer and held it up to your ear.

“Hey, Sho, how’s your day going?”

“Good,” he answered, and you could distantly hear the shuffling of blankets as he rearranged himself on the sofa. “I finished the film Midoriya recommended today.”

“Oh, and how was it?”

“It was good but, I also finished the crisps you bought for me yesterday while I was watching it. Could you bring some more home tonight?”

“Uh huh, of course, baby,” you said, picking up a pen to jot ‘crisps for Sho’ at the top of your to-do list.

There was silence for a few moments as you listened to Shouto continue to shuffle around.

“When are you going to be back?”

“You know when,” you laughed gently. “Asking me isn’t going to make time go faster.”

Shouto whined into the phone, and you immediately sat up straighter. That wasn’t his normal reaction.

“Shouto? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I…” you could hear a small sniffle through the phone.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong, sweetheart? Do you want me to come home?”

“I… I’m sorry, you don’t have to come home, it’s okay.”

“Shouto, you’re freaking me out, tell me what’s going on?” you tried to keep your voice steady to soothe him, despite your own worries bubbling at the surface.

“No, it’s just that,” a small sob escaped him. “Your hoodie doesn’t smell like you anymore.”

You blinked for a moment before sagging in your chair in relief. It was pregnancy hormone induced crying, not emergency crying.

“It’s okay, Sho,” you cooed. “I’ll be home soon, and I’ll scent it as much as you want, I promise.”

“Hmm, okay…” he sniffed. “But come home quick, please.”

“I will, if we hang up now, I can work through my lunch break and head home early, sound good? Maybe you should watch another film and the time will go more quickly?”

“Okay… Goodbye…”

“Goodbye sweetheart, I love you and I’ll see you soon.”

#shouto todoroki #omega!shouto #omega!todoroki #alpha!reader #gn!reader #reader insert #abo #a/b/o #omegaverse #headcanons #mpreg #shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #scenario #pregnant todoroki

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sunkissedchldrecon · 3 years

Note

hello🌷 id like to join the game pls 🙇🏻‍♀️

least fav placements: capricorn moon in seventh, pluto in sixth, pisces lilith in tenth

least fav aspects: moon opp asc, moon opp jupiter, mc square pluto, sun square neptune </3

thank you❣️

this took mad long, but it’s okay tbh. all of this was interesting. i’m not sure the poem i wrote encapsulates all of the placements, but i think a good amount of them are represented by it. hopefully that’s okay! x

☆彡.。.:*・☆彡.。.:*・☆彡.。.:*・☆彡.。.:*・☆彡

the moon represents our emotions, habits, and instincts. capricorn is a sign that expresses itself in a disciplined, straightforward yet cautious way. the 7H handles relationships (both romantic and business) and how we interact with others. with this placement you may appear to be very stoic with your emotions. it may be hard for you to show others that you love and care for them, and they may get the feeling that you don’t care about them while you might actually be willing to give up anything for them. you may worry that you’ll never find the “right one” when it comes to love. you could also be hiding your feelings from others in an attempt to protect yourself. relationships of all kinds (friendship, romantic, business, etc.) aren’t easy tasks. everything is a give and take. learn to be open to finding out others love/appreciation languages and slowly push yourself to reveal more. it’s okay to let your guard down.

pluto speaks on power, transformation, death, and rebirth. the 6H focuses on health, systems and habits, and service. you may feel as if you need to take things like health and service acts into your own hands. there may be times where you’ll want to change your diet completely because your old one isn’t proving to be helpful to you or you may be more innovative when it comes to thinking about your health and servicing others in general. this placement may also cause some tension in your work space as you can become so focused on the outcome of the job that you forget to take others’ ideas and feelings into consideration. you may also put a lot of effort into your career in general. the drive and head fastness that comes with this placement is very helpful, but remember to take a step back to put yourself in others’ shoes also. teach yourself to be more receptive to others’ ideas and appreciate the simple everyday routines that can seem to be boring, but actually provide stability when everything else i chaotic. also, remember to rest and let others’ take over the reigns sometimes.

i’ll be talking about black moon lilith since i think that’s what most people are referring to when they say lilith. black moon lilith represents our shadow self. it speaks on things we’re so fascinated by we hyper-fixate on them or things that we’re repulsed so much by that we avoid them. pisces causes us to be intuitive and sometimes more introspective, sometimes in manifests in unrealistic or fairytale like wants. the 10H speaks on career, status, reputation, and masculinity. you may be overly concerned about how your professional life will be. you could over criticize yourself in an attempt to force yourself to become better or you could stray away from fully analyzing your professional endeavors. you may be someone that relies on men a lot and looks to them to find purpose or be completely avoidant of them because you’ve been hurt too many times. sometimes, your love life and professional one may mix, but only because you crave validation in both. take time to be with yourself and discover what you’re good at. don’t look to others to provide you with praise; instead, look to yourself and find pride in your own beliefs on you. you’re enough on your own.

jupiter handles luck, growth, and optimism. opposition between moon and jupiter can cause tension between your emotions and habits and your growth and optimism. you could see life with rose colored glasses. you could over estimate how much you can do or how much you can provide because you just want to make others happy. this over estimation could cause you to feel like you’re always stuck in the same place of overindulging only to be left dry and feeling unwanted by others. it’s okay to care for others, but try and learn to put yourself first. say “no” when you feel uncomfortable or tired. spend more time with yourself.

MC or midheaven represents the individuality of our chart. it’s heavily associated with public life and career. squares create restriction, which forces your MC and pluto to push against one another in order for you to operate. you may want attention and crave the spotlight, but you still want your own space. this aspect could make you seem like a snake in your work place; almost like you’ll do anything to get to the top even if in reality, you have boundaries. it may also make people think they can paint you in a bad light in order to get ahead. lots of assumptions from others impacting your work and public life even if they aren’t necessarily true. learn to be okay with people’s perceptions of you. who cares if you have a RBF or come off as cold? only you and your close ones know how you actually are, and those that truly care about you will take the time to come to you personally before jumping to conclusions. the rumors about you do not equal your truth.

the sun represents our ego, life purpose, and creative energy. neptune handles illusions, escapisms, and dreams. these two square one another you may be overly cautious in indulging in your dreams and fantasies. you’ve probably been forced into this idea of who you are and what life should be that dreaming of anything different can almost feel like a sin. it’s not that don’t want to go for your dreams and illusions, but it’s like everyone pulls you down from the clouds before you can even step on the ladder. your dreams don’t have to be things you can never reach. they could become reality, but you’ll never know if you continue to let others’ view of you come before your true self. block out the noise of others.

too many whispers

flitter down the hall.

you don’t know me,

but you’ve muttered

my name

fifteen times within

the past

ten minutes.

you talk too much

for your own good,

and

i listen too much for mine.

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gohyuck · 3 years

Text

the purge: society

pairing: firefighter!san x reader

genre: purge au, angst, some fluff

warnings: mentions of violence (especially violence against cops), murder, blood, injury, weapons (guns, knives, metal baseball bats)

word count: 2.4k

note: this was originally meant to be a drabble and it’s still pretty short so i didn’t get to elaborate on the characters but honestly maybe i’ll explore a purge universe with ateez someday because this was fun (i’ve never watched any of the movies though so i’ll have to get on that)

“What the fuck?”

He hadn’t expected to see anyone left alive on this street.

“Shut up and get down,” You hiss, reaching your good arm up to grab onto the man’s jacket collar before unceremoniously pulling him towards you. He stumbles, falling gracelessly onto you. A scream bubbles up in your throat as he accidentally puts pressure onto your already free-bleeding bicep, but you get ahold of yourself just in time, only letting the quietest of wounded moans escape you.

“You’re the first person that hasn’t tried to kill me before talking to me all night - oh, shit,” The stranger trails off, swearing when you effectively stop him from speaking further by placing your switchblade right under his skin. It’s only then that he even pauses to take you in: your back is up by the police car door, sure, and your left arm has a massive gash in it, but you’re armed. There’s a pistol laying idly in your lap, kept company by a metal baseball bat.

Not to mention, the knife at his neck.

“What the hell are you doing, walking around unarmed and with a first aid kit? Also, how the hell are you unarmed and with just a first aid kit? What the fuck?” You let the questions out in a rapidfire fashion, and he can’t help but clock the slight rasp in your voice. It’s easier to recognize than the pained wheeze you’re trying very, very hard to suppress, but neither escape him. He’s trained to notice the little things, anyways.

“You need to bandage that shit up,” The man ignores your questions, moving his head just enough to miss your blade but also enough to be able to look you in the eyes. “How long has it been bleeding?”

“That’s none of your business,” You grit out. “Answer my questions or I’ll kill you right here and now.”

“If I answer yours, will you answer mine?” For some reason, he doesn’t seem to be panicking just yet. His gaze is sincere, but it’s too solid to be that of a bona fide idiot. You suck in a breath of air. Threatening him would be so much easier if he didn’t seem like a nice guy. It’s hard enough to live through the night, you don’t need guilt on your hands, and you know you’re going to feel guilty when you kill him. And you will kill him.

You need that first aid kit. You’ll do anything for it.

Anything, starting off with lying.

“Sure,” You reply, steeling yourself for any sudden movements he might make now that you’re faking amicability. Maybe he’ll believe you to be vulnerable and try for your pistol or your bat, or maybe he’ll be properly cruel and finish off your arm. You don’t want to think about it. He lets out a sigh of relief, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve actually affected him after all. “Now speak.”

“Not unarmed, there’s a police-issue pistol in my jacket and a tactical knife in my jeans. I’m not totally nuts. First aid kit’s for my buddy, though, I’ll be real, you need it way more than him.” There’s something resembling concern in his expression as his eyes flit between your torn arm and your face, but that barely interests you. You haven’t truly registered anything after ‘police-issue’.

You lean in, pressing the edge of your knife against the skin directly above his adam’s apple. For the first time since you’d cornered him, your mystery purger’s breath hitches. His eyebrows draw together in confusion. It’s no matter. You no longer regret the fact that you’ll have to tear his jugular out yourself.

“You’re a hog, huh,” You stare him down, any sympathy you might’ve had gone. For a moment, it seems as if he has no concept of what you’re saying. A second passes, though, and his gaze clears.

“Firefighter,” He responds, though the word is garbled due to him attempting to keep his movements to a minimum. You pull back slightly, very slightly, to let him explain. “I… found a dead cop, jacked his pistol. I’ll show you my ID, if you want.”

“Let me see it.” You nod your head at him as if giving him permission to live a little longer, though you both know full well that identity theft and identity fabrication are legal, too. Might as well see how much effort he puts into a fake. The man waits until you pull back just a bit more, enough to let him slowly reach his hand into his back pocket before producing a lanyard.

You grab it out of his grip with your hurt arm, not willing to move your knife too far away from his throat. You simply don’t have a good enough read on - you glance down - San Choi, ACT Firefighter, Employee ID: 018-102-4 to allow yourself any leeway with him.

His gently smiling face stares up at you from the plastic card, protected only by a clear sleeve connected to a red lanyard. San’s photo has black hair and an undercut, styled so his forehead is on display. A pair of dimples makes a guest appearance, and, overall, he seems like a genuinely sweet guy. The ID looks real, too, so maybe you aren’t totally fucked.

The San under your knife has bleach blond hair that almost falls over his eyes, though you suppose you can’t blame him for skipping out on the hair product tonight. He seems slightly tanner than his photo, his skin beautiful even now as dust from the aftermath of the explosion starts to settle against it.

Right. The explosion.

Recalling the events leading up to you meeting San forces you to remember that you have a gaping, bloody gash in your left arm. You’re honestly lucky to be alive, having ducked and used the car you’re against for cover from flying debris after a building down the block had exploded. You’d just finished driving your knife into a cop’s side - third cop of the night, eighth of your career as a purge cop killer - to make sure that he was dead when you’d heard the bomb go off, and you’d dropped before even thinking about it. Something had hit your arm on the way down, and when the adrenaline had finally left your system, you’d taken note of your blood-soaked sleeve.

You’d closed the car door after that, sealing your third murder of the night in the vehicle just so you could lean up against the door. It had been 6:31 in the morning then, and you had figured that someone would come by and kill you in the last moments before legality ensued again. You’d assumed that you’d fight, of course you would, but your arm being totally fucked definitely put a damper on your belief in your ability to overcome anyone or anything else.

Instead of the disgruntled, trigger-happy purger you’d expected to eventually find, though, you’d been found by San Choi. San Choi, who’s currently staring at your wounded arm like it’s grown eyes and can stare back.

“Come on, let me fix it up,” He pleads, lifting the kit up with the hand that’s farther from you. “You might not trust me, or whatever, but the purge is about to end as it is. I have a paramedic friend, Seonghwa, who’s taught me the basics of -”

“Shut the fuck up.” You tell him, though you’re quickly losing your bite. He obeys regardless. God, your arm really, really fucking hurts. Before pulling your knife back, you check the watch on your wrist. 6:47. Stay alive for 13 more minutes, 780 more seconds. You’ll be fine. You take the shakiest breath you’ve ever taken.

You pull your knife away from him.

Nothing happens.

“I’m going to use an alcohol free wipe and then wrap gauze around your arm, okay? You’ll just have to hold out until we can get you to a working hospital after that,” San speaks as if he’s talking to a child, or a scared animal, and you can’t blame him. He doesn’t seem like a purger, but you technically are one. You wouldn’t put it past yourself to attack on a whim if you were him. He, very slowly and with his hands in your full view at all times, opens the kit and pulls out the requisite materials.

“Gonna need you to rip your sleeve off above the cut.” He continues, leaning back as you bring your knife up to your clothes and slit the cloth right above your wound. You tear the remainder of the sleeve off your arm before throwing it behind you somewhere. San gently grabs ahold of your elbow - his palm is calloused in a way that tells you he lifts regularly, and you’re sure of this as he discards his jacket and you watch the muscles ripple in his arms under his thin black shirt - and places the wipe against your cut.

Your reaction is instantaneous: now that you’re completely past the adrenaline stage, the feeling of something, anything against the gash has you reeling to cry out. Before you can even process that you’ve made a sound, a hand presses hard against the back of your head, shoving your mouth against San’s.

He doesn’t know how else to shut you up.

His lips are chapped, but the sensation of being kissed so suddenly jars you out of your pain. San attempts to pull back, and you can already feel the apologetic wince he’s about to give you, but he brushes over your wound with the wipe again and your pain doubles back. It’s you that pulls him in this time, pressing your lips to his sloppily but forcefully as if it’ll alleviate the burn in your arm.

Kissing him only slightly muffles you at best, but you no longer care. The purge isn’t over yet. You could both die at any second. Hell, San could kill you at any second. His hand moves from the back of your head to cup your face as he leans in towards you to deepen the kiss. His lips are chapped, yes, but they’re soft. He tastes like mint and copper: there’s a cut in his lower lip. You don’t mind.

San pulls away for a moment, but only does so to grab the gauze from the kit. Once he’s wrapped it around your arm once, twice, thrice, he leans back in and your mouth accepts his own eagerly, your other hand coming up to drape over his shoulder. Neither of you know why you’re doing this, kissing a stranger with such fervor as one of you bandages the other up, but you both know that there’s really nothing else to do.

It’s only after he finishes taping you up that the two of you pull away fully. His eyes are still just as kind as you’d thought them to be at first, though his lips are far more swollen than they’d been mere minutes prior. You admire your handiwork, eyes tracing his features as he admires his own, thumb very, very gently running over your gauze. Both of you raise your heads to smile sheepishly at each other at the exact same time.

Three things happen in rapid succession.

“Good?” San’s voice is barely above a whisper, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Just as you’re about to speak -

“San!” A voice, low and hoarse, interrupts you, and you look up to see the barrel of a gun pointed directly at the space between your eyes. You’re frozen in place for a split second before you start reaching for your own pistol. Your fingers brush the grip when -

The clock strikes seven, and sirens go off all around you, signalling the end of the purge.

The gun is out of your face. Your hand moves off of your own.

“San,” The owner of the gun pays you no mind, suddenly, his entire focus on San. The gun-owner reaches a hand out, and the firefighter beside you takes it, allowing himself to get pulled up to his feet. “You okay?”

“Yeah, Yunho, I’m totally good,” San responds, giving the taller man a cat-like grin of reassurance. Yunho’s got a fireman’s helmet on, and you suppose it’s good as protection. He must be a fellow firefighter, then. He’s tall, and though he’d seemed nothing short of severe mere moments ago, he seems softer, kinder now that the purge is over. The transformation is enough to give you whiplash. His right hand is wrapped in bandages, and this catches San’s sight at the same time it catches your own. “What the hell happened to you, though?”

“That policeman you killed had buddies,” Yunho replies with ease, but you don’t miss San’s wince. Seems like he hadn’t just happened upon that police-issue pistol. You can’t help the small grin that fights to make its way across your face. “They tried to get into the station, we had to fortify ourselves. We’re mostly fine, just that Woo’s lost a finger. He’ll live once he stops whining about it. We were mostly worried about you, honestly, taking fucking forever just to find a first aid kit. Who’s this?”

Yunho moves the topic of conversation over to you so naturally that you barely even realize what has happened before San is reaching a hand out to you to pull you up to a standing position. You grab ahold of your pistol, though you shove the bat off your lap before allowing yourself to be brought up. Without thinking, you practically plaster yourself to San’s side. Now that he’s for sure what he told you he was, and now that you’re no longer in danger of dying, you can’t help but feel inexplicably connected to him even though neither of you know each other. San wraps an arm around your waist naturally, and neither of you miss Yunho’s eyebrow raise. Neither of you acknowledge it, either.

“This?” San asks rhetorically, turning his head slightly to look at you. He’s smiling again, and you find that you want to see it more often. Maybe you’re experiencing the onset of delirium. You hope not. “This is…”

“(Name),” You reply, being honest. There’s no need for you to lie. Besides, you owe San answers, right? You stick your uninjured arm out, letting Yunho shake your hand. San’s grip tightens around your waist.

“I’m (Name).”

#first #five #tags #dont #work #san #san fluff #san angst #ateez san #choi san #ateez angst #ateez fluff #san x reader #choi san x reader #san smut

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bratkook · 3 years

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like a peach. kth.

pairing. taehyung x reader genre. fluff, established relationship warnings. mentions of alcohol, oc is sloshed and clumsy while drunk but otherwise cute word count. 2.5k note. this was requested by @pars-ley under #14 #57 #60 from this prompt list, i know the numbers were listed under angst but somehow this became fluffy so im sorry asksjak

The hallway in your complex is completely quiet besides the metallic clanks of your keys jingling against the door knob that echo out, your double vision making your hands miss their target as you once again try to unlock it. With a small laugh you rest your forehead against the door, lips pressed together tightly to hush your drunk giggles.

A shaky breath leaves your mouth as you press your palms flat against the door, refusing to look at the keyhole since that hasn’t been going well, instead you feel it out, index finger guiding the key against it until it finally slides in.

“Hell yeah,” you cheer in a whisper, turning the lock and smiling as your front door gets pushed open and reveals the interior of your dimly lit apartment. The creek of your floorboards makes you grimace, only being made worse when you lose the grip on your keys and they clatter on the ground in a sound you swear is deafeningly loud.

You were doing an absolute horrible job at keeping quiet, clamping a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughs as you bend over and grab them, wobbling around ungracefully and unintentionally slamming the door shut once you stepped inside.

Taehyung groans from his spot in bed in the room a few feet away, having heard you the minute you rammed into the front door ten minutes ago as you failed to unlock it, trying to block it out in order to get his eight hours of sleep needed before his shift tomorrow morning. He remains in bed though, trusting you enough to know you’d be able to get from point a to point b on your own.

Just as he flips over and tugs the sheets above his head, you enter your shared bedroom, going in totally blind in order to not turn the lights on to prevent disturbing him further. His eyes are shut as he listens to your movements, a small smile on his lips when you start to mumble to yourself as you attempt to recall the layout of the bedroom in your inebriated state.

“Okay,” you whisper as you inch forward, mentally calculating how many steps it took to get to where you wanted to be, hand outstretched to swat in front of you to help guide you in a fool proof method. “That's the nightstand,” you decide when your palm smacks the hard surface, a small giggle filling the air before you hush yourself once more, finger pressed against your lips.

If you were right then your bathroom door should only be a few feet to the right, close enough for you to be able to enter with ease, but seeing as you decided to throw back two more shots before leaving the bar you’re not as coordinated as you’d like to think.

With a confident step, you’re ramming your knee into the corner of the nightstand, the pain flashing up your thigh as you bend forward to clutch the area that throbbed. “Ow fuck,” you wince, loosing your footing and tumbling onto the ground with an even louder thump, unable to conceal the laughter from escaping you full force.

Taehyung can’t pretend to be asleep any longer now that you’re laughing in pain, sitting up in bed and flicking on the table lamp on his own night stand, the room flooding with that warm familiar glow and it grabs your attention. With a muffled yawn he’s rubbing at his eyes before looking to the side where he sees you laying on the ground in a heap of limbs, absolutely defeated as you continue laughing to yourself.

“You okay?” His voice is laced with sleep, deep and gravely but you can hear the hint of a smile that you know is on his lips and as you lift your head up to stare back at him you see that much is true. He looks tired beyond belief, eyes squinting at you but the curl of his lips makes you smile back at him, sitting up to rest on your butt instead of sprawled out on the carpet.

“I think my knee is broken,” you slur with a tilt to your head, eyes looking down at the knee in question, the dull throb still felt from earlier pulsing through the joint. It aches as you stretch it out, wiggling your toes to make sure you weren’t somehow paralyzed now from the force of the impact.

Taehyung chuckles at that, shuffling out of bed and stretching his arms out as he does so, his shirtless upper body out for you to ogle at without a care. If you thought your knee was broken that just wouldn’t do, not on his watch. You observe him quietly as he rounds the bed, his grey sweats hung dangerously low on his hips, bed head leaving his curls fluffed and nearly covering his eyes, looking just as beautiful as he always did.

“Did you have fun?” Taehyung wonders as he approaches you, smelling the alcohol from you now that he was closer. The glazed look in your eyes spell it out for him, the cheeky smile on your face despite the tumbles you have taken entering the apartment alone not putting a damper on the small buzz coursing through your veins, you had clearly had an amazing time.

He sighs gently as he crouches down to your level, knees bent as he softly cradles your face in his palms, thumbs soothing your face when you lean into his touch. “No,” you surprise him with your answer, bottom lip pillowing out as you bite down on it, eyes falling shut briefly as you enjoy finally being with your boyfriend.

“No?” He repeats, leaning forward until his lips met the skin of your forehead in a sweet kiss and you swear your heart squeezes in your chest at the action, more so when he takes it upon himself to start helping you get ready for bed, smiling when he hears the cute way you mumble about him being too good for you under his breath. His hands are tender as he unclasps the hooks to the necklaces you have layered on, your earrings and rings being next to slide off and be placed on top of the nightstand that was the reason for your tumble.

“I missed you too much, couldn’t stop thinking about you.” It comes out as a whine, knowing that although you did have a great time with your friends on a much needed outing, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, wanting to text him every hour to see how he was doing at home, desperate for any update despite how mundane it was. He appeases you always, sending you selfies as he rewatches episodes of Criminal Minds, answering your drunk phone calls just to hear you ramble about how good the salted tortilla chips you were eating tasted before abruptly hanging up when your friends handed you another drink.

“Yeah, I think you sent me around fifty I miss you texts,” he teases you, kissing you quickly before standing up to grab one of his shirts from your shared dresser for you to change into. Taehyung would never mind the abundance of messages he’d get on your nights out, preferring that to radio silence and wondering when you’d be home, the love spelled out in typo filled texts leaving him excited for your return home.

“I always miss you.” You breathe out a sigh, smiling wide when he reaches his arms out for you to grab onto, hauling you up onto your unsteady feet once more. The throbbing from your knee was long gone but the wobbling remained so he wraps one of your hands around his shoulder so you could keep yourself steady, not willing to let you tumble once more now that he was around.

“I always miss you too baby.” His admission makes those same butterflies swirl in your tummy, wings flapping so hard you think you might pass out, choosing to grip his shoulder tighter to prevent that from happening. You feel like a love sick puppy whenever you’re around him, sporting permanent heart eyes that are crystal clear despite the beer goggles strapped tightly to your face.

Taehyung has to hold in his teasing when he sees the way your eyes stay glued on him despite how your head lolls to the side the longer you stand there, allowing him to tug up your simple black dress up and off your body, unhooking it from the hand holding onto him before it fell to the floor in a pile.

With the new exposure of your skin, his eyes zero in on the slowly forming bruise on your hip, a splotch of red that was sure to blossom and spread out into shades of purple and blue tomorrow morning. He can’t stop himself from reaching forward and allowing his fingertips to prod at it, apologizing when you wince at the small flash of pain.

“What happened here?” He wonders, knowing very well that you didn’t have that on your body before you left. The only purple specks that coated your skin were nestled in between your thighs, victims of his wandering mouth, but he knew that his lips hadn’t traveled this high up.

With a confused pout you stare down at the area he was now circling softly, eyes widening in realization before you begin giggling. Taehyung simply watches in confusion as you break out into a fit of laughter as you recall how you had gotten that nasty bruise, having rammed your drunk self right into the metal pole outside of the bar. “Tequila happened.”

He just smiles in understanding, unhooking your bra for you before sliding the top of his shirt over your head, he knew very well how clumsy you were without alcohol in your system, witnessing first hand how many times you’d taken nasty falls with the help of Don Julio.

“What, were you ready to square up with someone because I bruise like a peach?” The flash of possessiveness in his face as he spotted the bruise was evident enough, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks with a dopey smile when he tries to play it off with a huff and roll of his eyes.

Taehyung doesn’t fool anyone though, the creeping smile on his face calling his bluff when his eyes meet yours once more. “You know I’d hurt anyone who left a mark on you.”

“Oh yeah?” you giggle, pressing a loving kiss against his lips, feeling him smile through it, not minding the way you taste like tequila. “Well there’s a pretty sturdy light post outside of the bar that you’re more than welcome to go punch for me you macho man.”

Taehyung laughs now, that hearty laugh you love so much and it warms your chest as he pulls away fully, large hand coming up to cup under your chin, fingers pushing into your cheeks until your lips pucker out obnoxiously. “I’ll do that first thing tomorrow morning,” he presses a rough kiss against you, the wet smack making you snicker in his grasp. “But for now it's bedtime.”

Your lips attempt to pout in the pursed position he has them in, only cheering up when he kisses you once more, releasing his grip and continuing to help you get ready for bed now that it’s been established that your knee was in fact not broken.

This had to be your favorite part of going out, getting to come home to your boyfriend and being taken care of like a spoiled princess, he knew how much he personally enjoyed it when you would baby him when he came home wasted and giddy, so he always took the time to ensure you were comfortable enough to not go to sleep feeling gross. You’re pliant in his grasp as he hauls you onto the bathroom counter, allowing him to peel off your fake lashes and set them aside with care, removing your makeup with a wipe as carefully as he could, taking the time to not yank at your skin because he knew you’d lecture him about wrinkles.

He only gets a small noise of complaint from you when he brushes your hair, bristles catching onto a knot that he attributes to dried up alcohol that was surely splashed onto you earlier in the night. He decides then to call it quits with that, setting the brush aside and getting your toothbrush ready for you to use, something you were adamant on doing on your own.

Taehyung can just watch you with those same heart shaped eyes you wore as you brush your teeth, eyes droopy as you stare at your reflection, foamy toothpaste escaping from the corners of your mouth and dripping down into the sink as you stick your tongue out to be brushed next.

“What?” you mumble after spitting it all out, eyes narrowed at his own reflection in suspicion before gargling water.

“Nothing, you’re just really pretty.” You don’t fight him on the compliment, always loving how he confidently shot them out to you so often you had no other choice but to accept them even when you felt anything but. He smiles as you avert your eyes and dab at your mouth, mumbling a cute thank you out to him before swiftly exiting the bathroom, cheeks burning from the alcohol and flutter of your emotions.

He allows you to escape without teasing you further, cleaning up the splash of water you had left around the sink as you make yourself cozy in bed, breath minty fresh and face moisturized. Just as you’re about to complain about him being missing he slips into bed beside you, shuffling under the sheets until he feels your skin pressed beside his, wasting no time you nuzzle against Taehyung’s body, arm slung across his stomach with your leg hooked over his hip to keep him close.

“So, tell me again how I’m a macho man.” The laughter that bubbles out of you makes him smile as he stares down at you through the dim light the moon provides, seeing the way you bury your face into his chest to conceal the giant smile.

“You want an ego boost at 3 in the morning?”

“Hey you started it,” he shrugs, a yawn escaping him, showing you just how tired he was, not once complaining about being woken up by your drunk antics despite desperately needing sleep.

“You’re right,” you sigh, tightening your hold on him and pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder, “love you my macho man”

Taehyung hums in appreciation, wrapping his arms around you and bringing you even closer, a kiss pressed to your forehead making you smile the way it always did. “Love you more my little peach.”

#ficswithluv #btsghostie #btswritingcafe #heartsforbts #taehyung fluff #taehyung scenarios #bts fluff #bts scenarios #kim taehyung #bts fics #taehyung smut #new

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preemshots · 3 years

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johnny + the nomads lore

alright, i know this is a screenshots blog but i'm going to go ahead and start dropping some juicy lore tidbits as i dig them up. part of what i'm doing outside of just photo diarying is shard hunting, and BOY is there a lot the game likes to hide in those little shards for idiots like me who like to read so we can write unnecessarily accurate fanfiction!

full disclosure, i know jack shit about the TTRPG/cyberpunk 2020 rulebook except what i read in the wikis.

so here’s my lore roundup so far of everything i know about johnny joining the nomads

we know johnny likes to narrate v’s quest objectives. here’s the first mention where he says it himself:

during the voodoo boys quest "transmission" there's a shard in the maglev tunnels beside the ice bath, presumably from brigitte's research into johnny in the first place:

okay, so the timeline is this: johnny joins the nomads after trying and failing to rescue alt. johnny hides out in the badlands for some years. then he and rogue come back to night city and nuke arasaka tower help alt escape the arasaka subnet by uploading liberator to their network once and for all.

this ultimately makes sense. in alt’s flashback, we meet santiago, who is a nomad/connected to nomads, joins rogue and johnny when they're trying to get alt back, and eventually becomes the leader of the aldecaldos.

part of santiago’s TTRPG lore is that he, johnny, and rogue have to lay low in the badlands with nomads after they storm arasaka headquarters (i am aware the game takes many liberties with the original lore so who knows the full accuracy of anything from the original rulebooks)

ENDING spoilers: in the rogue+johnny storming AHQ ending, it's revealed that rogue has a son while they're prepping for the job. if you eavesdrop on her calling him while you're at the afterlife, you hear her tell her son to (paraphrasing here) "pull over and look at the stars", which immediately made my brain go to: nomad, badlands, santiago = dad? maybe. (santiago also canonically has a son according to the TTRPG lore)

this immediately reminded me of another interesting shard that i believe you can find in multiple locations around night city: “"what REALLY happened in arasaka tower?“

i love this dang shard. at first i thought it was just a cute conspiracy with some juicy gossip (and i love how 99% of the shards that mention johnny in this game are reminding us that he's not a real rebel, he's a poser) but it brings some interesting shit together

one: it tells us where johnny got his hands on the nukes! he and the nomads jumped a militech convoy and jacked some bombs!

which is never directly explained, even as saburo arasaka is interrogating him shortly before using soulkiller. very nice of johnny to protect his homies like that.

...or maybe he didn’t. saburo emphasizes that the dead don’t lie like the living do, and we don’t know what exactly arasaka did to johnny’s construct in mikoshi.

it also explains why the obvious media narrative is that militech nuked arasaka, a nice neat political bow to the end of the fourth corpo wars, which is an entire section of the TTRPG lore that makes my eyes cross when i read it.

it also makes the star/nomads ending extremely interesting, because i originally believed it was the ending where V’s journey deviates the most from rewalking johnny’s path... which also has weird implications if the johnny’s nomad era is being kept from v.

(this also leads into my belief that the star ending/the devil ending are narratively two sides of the same coin, but that’s a WHOLE ANOTHER POST for another day.)

TWO, just straight up the fact that they turned the raid where they actually obtained the nukes into an action flick BD that pretty much ANYONE could watch. who the hell was doing that??

well, who else other than the guy who johnny (optionally) punched the shit out of for filming alt's death: thompson, media guy, and according to rogue, “bad luck”. because you know, recording your crimes is straight up evidence that can be used against you.

during the alt flashback we meet thompson, and just after that in cyberspace before meeting alt, johnny tells v that he has no idea what happened to him and that they never worked together again.

oh, johnny, you lying bastard man

this is blatantly untrue, and if V even had two braincells and better memory than a goldfish they'd know this--in the first flashback sequence where johnny and rogue nuke arasaka tower, thompson is on the comms as they ride the AV towards AHQ, questioning their plans and use of violence.

which leaves me with some questions, like where the fuck is thompson, why does johnny keep lying about this, why doesn't johnny say almost anything about how you interact with the aldecaldo clan nonstop throughout the game when he himself may have been a member of the family for some time?? is he continuing to protect the nomad clan that saved his ass? we know that a lot of his flashbacks are unreliable at best, that johnny changes shit up as desired when presenting V with his memories.

in 2077, you can also find that there’s a remake of “badlands raid” in the shard “new release braindances” that is pretty much everywhere. that shard doesn’t add much, but does mention something along the lines of “many people don’t know the ending of the original” which probably means johnny punched thompson out for filming again, or something.

my running theories: rogue ditched santiago and the aldecaldos with johnny and thompson to nuke arasaka tower, and when johnny died she was stuck looking for (heavily implied by johnny here:) corpo sellout ways to survive.

adam smasher obviously has something to do with this since johnny/rogue's vendetta against the guy isn't entirely clear beyond the smokescreen of "he killed johnny and he sucks". i have done 0 research into this though i'm tired of typing okay

i obviously cannot be certain i have found everything related to this in the game as i’m not even done with this playthrough where i’m trying to pay attention, but i hope this is fun for someone else to dig into.

enjoy, fellow silverhand freaks

EDIT: additional findings

ALRIGHT I HAVE DONE MORE DIGGING AND I AM BACK WITH MORE NOMAD/JOHNNY FINDINGS. these ones are kind of a bummer but VERY interesting.

there’s a shard called “excerpts from a history of the nomads by bb pires” that goes into detail about how nomads came to be

there’s an interesting quote in it: It's hard to imagine a group less inclined to wandering than farmers, but in fact they were the ones who sparked the age of nomads. Natural catastrophes, crops ravaged by bioplagues, armed conflicts and martial law allowing corporations to speculate and privatize land - all this forced them into a life on the road.

when you ask johnny why he wants to take down arasaka, he begins by referencing this himself!!

it’s a little awkward to imagine a nomad V doesn’t also know what he’s referencing, but hey, V is the fool because we are as players and that’s only one life path... so sure.

johnny also has unique dialogue during this scene about a nomad origin V, telling them that he’s been trying to understand how V thinks, and came to the conclusion that “their family was a crutch” and essentially made them stupid because they always had a safety net (lmao johnny calling v privileged basically)

BUT this also may reference why johnny would find it confusing as hell that V doesn’t immediately share the views he does when nomads, in terms of values, seem to be more aligned with johnny than V is. but once again V is the fool for a reason and this is all my own speculation so YOU KNOW.

MORE IMPORTANTLY, at the end of chippin’ in, when you ask johnny what he meant by letting down his friends... santiago is named directly

i thought this was interesting since the only glimpse of their relationship that we get is seeing johnny meeting santiago via the alt flashback for the first time.

so now it’s obvious that while johnny and rogue were with the nomads their friendship developed, and johnny went on to disappoint santiago in some way by being his normal dickhead self

but HOW? how did he disappoint santiago? is santiago even still alive?? did smasher kill santiago and is this why rogue mentions during chippin’ in that she wants smasher to “settle a score” moreso than avenge johnny??

the only additional hints i have are from this shard, which you can find at the aldecaldos camp: “nomads at ground zero”

i’m just gonna transcribe here and bold for emphasis:

It was no secret that Night Corp offered generous pay and, in some cases, free cyberware and biomonitor upgrades to anyone willing to help clean up the crater of radioactive rubble at AHQ ground zero. Some firsthand accounts recall the incessant ticking of Geiger counters, like the loud buzz of cicadas in summer. In retrospect, we can only guess how many "crater cleaners" lost their lives to radiation sickness shortly thereafter. Both the city government and Night Corp have claimed casualties were kept to a minimum, while providing no official statistics to substantiate the claim. That being said, they have never been under pressure to release such figures. After all, most rescue, engineering, and rubble cleanup teams were not local Night Citizens, but nomads. Surprised you didn't know? Don't be. It is a fact many history courses tend to overlook. The city employed hundreds of nomad mercenaries, primarily from clans in Aldecaldo nation. These nomads were hungry for gainful work and the city needed experts who were not only experienced but brave enough to knowingly put their lives on the line - all so Arasaka could one day erect another tower in its place. But history is not without its sense of irony. These nomads, who so deliberately live outside our so-called "system," came to its very rescue. Not for the first time. And not for the last.

a main theme we find in this game is the idea that the system of corps and exploitation cannot be stopped by grandiose rebellious gestures--no amount of samurai songs, assassinating mayors, or even planting nukes in towers will change things. yet johnny, his friends and mercs at atlantis in the 2020s, including rogue, chose to rebel any way they could, thinking it better than not. johnny criticizes her lack of rebellious spirit CONSTANTLY in 2077.

but ultimately, johnny, trapped in mikoshi, didn’t get to see the outcome of what detonating the AHQ nukes did to night city’s fragile ecosystem. rogue, however, did--and likely watched their former allies, the aldecaldos, be forced to take dangerous work at AHQ’s ground zero (from lack of other opportunities as detailed in this shard), then die from radiation sickness throughout the following decades, all as a result of what she and johnny did to try and fight the system. and she also watched all the former mercenaries of atlantis be hunted down by arasaka.

so rogue sees firsthand what the cost of rebellion is and johnny doesn’t. and nomads, considered the most free of any of the factions we encounter in the game, are the cost.

#lore post #johnny silverhand #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk2077 #cp2077 #cyberpunk lore

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wisteria-lodge · 3 years

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bird primary (system in progress) + burnt badger secondary (really loud bird model)

Howdy! I’m still trying to figure out my own houses and was wondering if you could provide some insight. I haven’t exactly mastered the system so I don’t know how accurate/inaccurate my claims are, so bear with me.

The “why”/Primary: I am extremely motivated by knowledge. I want to know things, not just out of intrinsic curiosity (though that does play a role), but because knowing why things work helps me protect myself more effectively.

One of the trickiest things about this system is separating motivation from method. Because yeah, they are related, but they're also really different. Like this example: "I protect myself by learning things." That's a how, that's secondary stuff. (Bird secondary of course.)

A recent example is this— a group of my former friends all ditched me because I discussed a heavily stigmatized mental disorder that I show symptoms of. And my first response (other than bawling) was to ask them why. And when I got the answer, I was hurt, but I understood. I don’t say this for you to show me pity, but rather because it illustrates this model in action.

This is a really interesting example. Your friends acted in a way that emotionally hurt you. First you processed your feelings (which you talk about in a dismissive, lighthearted, jokey way) then you asked them for more information... which hurt you, but also made you more secure. This is very Bird primary. You feel feelings, but they're whatever. What actually bothers you is not having the data.

(I suspect you're going to end up being a Double Bird. And Double Birds are unique in that their morality and problem-solving are SO interconnected, that they think I'm crazy for saying that for most people, they are in fact two very different things.)

When I got the why and processed my emotions, I cut off ties and realized that their severe judgy-ness had hindered my life for 2 years. And now that I know the “why”, I won’t bring up said disorder again until I know it’s safe. It might never be, but I still have hope.

You updated your system, and you cut away the parts that aren't serving you anymore. Bird primary.

Morally-speaking, I am very sensitive to the views of others around me.

External primary.

I’m not proud of this. In fact, it’s a detriment.

A lot of Birds feel this way. It's a big part of why they tend to like Lion primaries. Lions are much more able to dismiss things with "sounds like that's a them problem."

I won’t go into details, but my parents are… bad. Not wholly, but they are bad. I’ve tried for years, and still do, to escape their opinions because I know it’ll influence mine.

Parents are sticky. They do that. I've been a happily UnBurnt Lion primary for a while now... but I still sometimes hear that voice in my head that sounds like my mother.

And, much like them, I tend to get over-passionate in what I stand for. Unlike them, I’m willing to change if evidence supports this change. I always, however, carry the burden of my former hatred. I always feel guilt over my old beliefs. Even if I’ve changed, the pain I’ve done can never be reversed. And this guilt eats me alive, this shame of being fundamentally wrong.

Okay. You got really emotional on me really quickly here. This could mean a couple things. Your parents sound like fairly toxic Idealists, either Exploded Lions or Exploded Birds (I'm sort of leaning Lion due to the more emotion-heavy words like "passion" and "hatred.") Birds can feel bad, feel guilt, feel shame when looking back at an older version of themselves that they now consider morally repugnant. (Birds are human.) Idealists struggle with the angst of worrying that they are fundamentally wrong about the world. So you could be a guilty Bird, especially if your emotions feel wrong or unhelpful somehow. But you could also be a very Burnt Lion modeling Bird - because Bird seems safer, and you don't want to be a Lion the way your parents are.

When the friend-event happened, I thought that I was in the wrong, and that I had once again fucked myself over because of my passion and sureness in what I have.

"I thought I was wrong because I was acting like an Exploded Lion primary." Yeah, I'm thinking there's some sort of outside influence here that needs to be unpacked.

It took a lot of convincing and evidence for me to see that they were the assholes (albeit I wasn’t pure either— I was their friend, after all).

I'm definitely leaning Bird for you. A bird surrounded by Lions maybe, who sometimes uses Lion terminology. But Bird.

I am a planner and system-lover at heart. I’m not proud of it, but it’s just part of me.

What's with all this negative language? Being a planner and a system-lover is a wonderful thing to be. There's some Burning here.

The caveat— I have autism, so I’m not sure if it’s due to that or not. Hence the shortness of this section. Take it as you will, regardless of if it’s evidence or not.

I have autism and I'm a Lion Badger. People are different. The only real pattern I've observed is the way nerodivergent people disproportionately build Bird secondaries as coping strategies.

Honesty is maybe not the best policy, it’s still an admirable one. I wish, frankly, that my moral system was more honest. I feel like I have no set morals. That it all comes from elsewhere. Lion primaries have this set, intrinsic morality that I envy. My friend is a lion primary, and while my views have radically changed, hers haven’t inched. She’s always been honest about herself and what she holds true.

I'm doubling down on Bird primary for you. This is the perspective of a Bird looking in on a Lion. Lion morality isn't set or intrinsic - it's built, and it changes, but it builds and changes differently than a Bird's does (more slowly, usually). But there really is a pattern of Birds seeing it as more moral/easier/better.

And I’m still trying to figure out what “truth” means to me. I mean, yes, I’m a dry and blunt asshole, but that’s not really the same as gut morality. Internal honesty is what I want, and external honesty is what I have to some extent.

It sounds that you are going though a lot of very intense shifts in your life right now. You've got a diagnosis that has you questioning your place in the world. You've followed your parent's system all you life, and are now deciding that you don't want that. But now comes deciding what you do want, and that's a lot harder (especially for a Bird, who has to build it from the ground up.) You like the way Lions do things, but Lion primaries do not feel accessible.

I’m very clear with who I like. I can admit their faults, and even get annoyed or angry at them, but not even betrayal can stop me from loving them. I’d compare myself to the Twelfth Doctor from “Doctor Who” and Ponyboy Curtis from The Outsiders in that regard.

So maybe you are building a system with very Snake values.

Loyalty is one of my weaknesses. I get overly-attached to people, and so if/when they leave me, it shatters my world. But my brand of loyalty is mostly to people, not philosophical ideas.

... but you're not *really* comfortable with Snake either, if you consider it to be a "weakness."

I would consider myself somewhat philosophical (well, as much as a fucking teenager can be)

Teenagers are *extremely* philosophical, stop being so down on yourself.

but I can be somewhat vague in my beliefs.

Because you're still building them, give yourself a *second.*

If I were to rate the likelihood of what primary I think I am, it’s something like this:

Bird: 9/10 probability (maybe burned)

Snake: 7/10 probability

Badger: 6/10 probability (maybe burned)

Lion: 2/10 probability

What is it with Birds and numbered lists?

The “how”: I feel like I change in order to fit in. I mean, to some extent, we all do, but it’s far more drastic for me. With the lion primary friend, I act as a “Jason Todd” to their Batman. I challenge them, egg them on, crack jokes and become violently passionate and act like a nerd, and she simply watches, usually adding her own comments but mostly sitting on the sidelines by choice. We also joke that I’m the Ferris Bueller to their Cameron Frye. But, with another friend, I’m a parent figure. I listen most of the time, and sometimes jump in with creative ideas and we talk for hours about it.

I'm guessing Actor Bird, both because you can specifically list out the qualities that you "act" out. And because you're invoking and basing your performance off specific [fictional] characters. Which is a HUGE Actor Bird thing.

I go with the flow of a given situation as best as I can (with the added caveat of being autistic, because that does affect how well I can read a room). However, that’s where the adaptation ends.

Huh. I'm hearing Burnt secondary language here. "I'd like to go with the flow and read the room - but I can't, because I'm autistic." You can definitely *learn* how to read a room. Why do you think I'm so interested in (and good at :) personality systems? This is how I learned to use my Courtier Badger. I used to model Bird secondary like crazy, and I kind of don't bother anymore. I don't need the training wheels.

Planning: like I stated before, I’m a planner. I try to learn the most about a situation before jumping in. Sometimes, however, I stall the inevitable and miss my chance, so I jump in and wind up nearly drowning. And this dichotomy repeats. I overcompensate for a lack of knowledge in a situation by micromanaging, or I wind up sitting bored when I’ve already done everything I need to do. And yes, stress and boredom are equally as destructive for me. I try so hard to plan to avoid both of these outcomes, but it only works half the time. So, I guess I’m a bit of a “planster” overall.

I want to learn about a situation... but sometimes I "stall" or "drown" (Burnt language.) But planning also leads to "micromanaging" and "getting bored" (model language.) I think you've got a really loud Bird secondary model... but there might be something else underneath.

Collecting things is fun. Postcards, candles, lighters, crystals, rocks, 1940s hats, knowledge, stories, music, (original) characters, the list goes on. I’m a collector of whatever I can get my hands on. Hell, by this point, I can’t tell what’s my special interest and what I just enjoy (again, autism).

Oh my goodness gracious 'my special interest' and 'what I enjoy' are not two different categories!

But my systems and collections are my coping.

Figured.

I can’t say, though, that they hold any weight outside of emotional release. There’s nothing practical about knowing how they shot The Outsiders movie, or how crows have a flat tail and ravens have two main sections on theirs. All of this knowledge almost feels useless to me. I mean, sure, I’m great at school, but what else? Nothing, it seems like. And being good at school and nothing else makes a person go crazy when they can’t achieve their academic goals. But that’s a bit besides the point— I’m a collector, but I’m unsure how well this really fits into a secondary beyond a model.

Bird secondary model.

I invest in others more than I care to admit.

Oh man, are you a Badger secondary like me?

I genuinely believe in the goodness in humans, no matter how impossible it becomes. Even those who I don’t see any good in aren’t wholly evil. My perception isn’t law.

^ That's primary stuff. Maybe a more Badger-flavored system is going to work better for you than a Snake-flavored one.

But some people trust me: with their secrets, with homework, with relationship issues, with their religious struggles. And I try to help. I might not be good with it, but I do try to help as best I can.

Kinda sounds like a Badger secondary.

I use my planning and my categorizing skills and my knowledge to benefit others. I show up, I do what I need to do, and I don’t usually expect much to come of it. It’s nice when something does, but it’s not expected. And sometimes, these investments into others' lives and grades and relationships do pay off. I make friends. Those friends stick by me, and I trust them. I continue to invest in others, because I am a lover even though I’m cynical.

I think you're a Badger secondary.

And when that trust is broken, like the example in the beginning, I go to people who won’t abandon me to get a second opinion. When I say that I love someone, I mean it. So it hurts when they leave. It always does.

Oh that's your friends leaving hit you so hard. It's not an abstract morality thing at all, it's practical. You're a Badger secondary, and they were your base of support.

I’ll be frank on this— I’m almost entirely sure that I’m not a lion secondary. I’m fiercely efficient and some people see me as a good leader, but that’s it.

Lion and Badger are the two Inspirational secondaries. They're the one who sort of manage to collect armies or families as a side effect of existing.

Even with the leader example, I prefer interpersonal relations or to be alone. I’m not a big fan of group settings.

That's fair. I am also a Badger who really, really likes my own company. Or small groups of interesting people.

If I were to rate the likelihood of what secondary I am, it’s like this:

Bird: 7/10 probability

Badger: 6/10 probability

Snake: 5/10 probability

Lion: 0/10 probability

Other systems for comparison: I’m aware that MBTI and enneagram are, at worst, pseudo-science, but I still enjoy them regardless. At best, they’re fun self-help tools, and that’s how I try to use them.

MBTI: INTJ (Ni-Te-Fi-Se)

Enneagram: 5w4, tritype 514

Sagittarius sun libra moon cancer rising in astrology

FLEV or LFEV in attitudinal psyche

sx/sp (sexual and self-preservation) in instinctual variants

MBTI, Enneagram, and astrology are all fun in their own ways. (I don't actually know the last two!) And I can talk about them on their own terms. But this system was the best, and the most useful, when I went looking for words to describe myself.

I hope this is enough information, and thank you again if you do happen to do this! If you don’t, that’s totally okay. Have a good day!

Thank you for writing in. That was a journey! Thanks @thesketchykid for the submission.

#sortinghatchats #sortme #wisteria sorts #bird badger #birdpri #badgersec #bird secondary model #badger secondary vs bird secondary #autism stuff

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daily-dose-of-sweets · 3 years

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Sweets’ Scars

Based on S4E21

Lance Sweets X Reader

Summary: You and Sweets have been in a relationship for a year now, but it isn’t until a case involving a certain metal band that you realize there might be something he’s not telling you. Something about his past. You don’t want to press, but you can’t help but worry.

Words: 3331

Warnings: Scars, and very short mention of abuse

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As soon as you step foot into the venue, the blaring metal music floods in around you. You wince and quickly cover your ears to dull the screaming voices and screeching guitars. The music reverberates through your ribcage, pounding and ragged. Why do people listen to this kind of stuff? You can barely make out the mass of moving bodies ahead of you because of the flashing lights and flickering fires that practically blind you. It’s all so much, too much. You’ve never liked crowds, but this is a whole different level, and the urge to escape grips your chest.

You jump when a hand rests against your shoulder and you whip around only to see Doctor Brennan peering at you worriedly. “We won’t be here long,” she assures you, though she has to scream for you to hear her.

You nod, eyes darting back to the crowd of people, all covered in leather and heavy makeup. The two of you stick out like sore thumbs in your normal clothes, which was never something you thought would be possible. You huddle closer to your mentor, swallowing your nerves and twisting your fingers into your sweater.

“I’m going to call Booth!” She shouts out again.

You don’t respond this time, not that it really matters in the situation. You doubt you could get loud enough to overcome the noise.

Why did you have to come on this excursion? Why couldn’t Clark come? He was your senior after all. You had just recently started working at the Jeffersonian, and you were currently the youngest intern on the team. You figured it would be a calm job, just working with your people and maybe a few witnesses every once and a while. This...This was not what you were thinking of.

“I’m disturbed that despite my extensive training as an anthropologist, all these bands sound alike and appear to share identical belief systems and morals.” You hear Doctor Brennan shouting into her phone, to who is most likely Booth. She pauses, listening to his response before speaking up again, “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

You bite your lip nervously, eyes scanning the dark crowd again before landing on the stage, where the band ‘Zorch’ was performing. That’s why you were there, to question them about the remains.

“Are you guys ready?”

You shy away when a man comes into your space, pressing a hand to your back. With wide eyes, you look to Doctor Brennan, begging silently for help. She stares at the man with her brow furrowed, and then recognition floods her eyes.

“Sweets?”

What? You look back up at the man’s painted face, eyes narrowing as you take in his features. Then it hits you, just as quickly as it hit the anthropologist. It is Sweets! You couldn’t recognize him with the makeup and slicked back hair.

“Wait, is that really you?” You question, stepping closer to him. He casts a look down at you, lips pulling into a small smile that makes your heart stutter.

“Yeah, I had to meld to get information. What do you think?” Sweets holds his arms up, looking mighty pleased with his metal getup.

Your eyes slowly trace over his figure, and you can’t help but notice how well his sleeveless black shirt fits him, or how it shows off his arms. Heat comes rushing to your face, turning your cheeks rosy. Thank goodness the venue is so poorly lit, or else he’d probably notice. Your eyes lingers on the choker strapped around his neck. Part of you wants to grab the ring on it and drag him close for a kiss, which only serves to darken your blush.

“You look good,” you manage to squeak out before quickly turning to Doctor Brennan, completely missing the small smirk that replaces Sweet’s smile (he definitely noticed your flushed face).

“What information have you gathered?” The anthropologist asks him, completely oblivious to how flustered you just grew.

“Zorch’s lead singer is Murderbreath,” Sweets begins, gesturing to the stage just as the man blows out a puff of fire, “Look at that. Who does he think he is, the guy with the tongue from KISS?”

You laugh at the jest. You used to listen to that band, back in your rebellious teen phase that everyone goes through.

Sweets explains how the feud of the two bands has progressed, though your eyes stay focused on the band, looking for anything that might help with the case somehow. That when you notice the lead singer pull out a large knife, thrusting into the air for all to see and drawing chants from the crowd.

“Guys, he has a knife,” you worry aloud to your colleagues.

Sweets gently draws you closer to him in a somewhat subconscious way, “No, don’t worry, it’s totally fake.”

A shudder passes through you when the singer drags the blade along his throat, blood immediately dripping down his painted skin. He thrusts the crimson knife back into the air victoriously, before gripping his neck with his other hand. Blood seeps out from between his fingers, coating his gloves. You gasp when the man convulses and drops to his knees, fingers still wrapped around his throat.

“That’s...not fake,” Bones murmurs, “Murderbreath slit his own throat!”

Before you have time to even process what’s happening, you’re dashing forward, easily weaving through the throngs of fans. The screeching music fades into the background, overcome by the pounding of your pulse in your ears. The flashing lights blur together and all you can focus on is the man crumpled on the ground. The people part around you as you jump onto the stage, quickly followed by Doctor Brennan and Sweets.

You dive down next to the singer, pressing two fingers to his pulsepoint and covering his hand with your own.

“We need something to stop the bleeding,” you urge, panic swelling in your chest.

Brennan looks around quickly, “A compress, we need a compress!” Her eyes lock on Sweets before she darts up, ripping his shirt right off of him despite his complaints.

She drops back down, pressing the wadded fabric to the man’s neck. It’s only then that the music comes to a halting stop. The band goes silent, glancing between each other and towards their lead. You shake your head, lips pursed in irritation. Now they take it seriously.

“Hold this against the wound,” Brennan directs Lance before shouting into her phone, “Booth, can you call it in?” You assume his answer isn’t what she wants, because she shuts the phone with an irritated huff and begins dialing a new number.

Glancing around, you feel anger rise to replace your panic when you see how many people have their phones out to film the spectacle. Without hesitation, you jump up in front of the group, shoving some people back and blocking their cameras. Who, in their right mind, would record something like this?

“Stand back, please!” you cry out, taking a step back as the crowd pushes forward in retaliation, “Please! Get back, we need space to work! Move back!” Do these people have no respect? Or just basic decency?!

You take a glance back at your colleagues to check on what’s happening, but your eyes land on something that knocks the very breath from your lungs. Your chest tightens painfully at the sight of the scars running along Lance’s shoulders. The dancing lights glaze over them, catching on the raised skin like little criss-crossing lightning bolts. A burning sensation fills your throat, spreading to your eyes, but you blink rapidly, determined to not let it get the best of you right now. There are more important things to focus on! You turn back to the crowd, arms spread wide to keep the stage clear.

Soon enough, paramedics and police come rushing into the venue. Everything else comes as a blur. The sirens, the gurney, rushing out to the ambulance, it all swirls together in your mind like a chaotic storm. It leaves you dizzy when things calm down and Murderbreath is on his way to the hospital. You, Sweets, and Doctor Brennan are left standing outside the venue, and it’s then you notice Sweets is still shirtless.

“We need to get you a coat before you catch a cold,” you murmur worriedly, trying your hardest to shove the images of his scarred shoulders out of your mind.

“I have one in my car,” he tells you with that familiar gentle smile, but now it carries a different weight to it. Is that just you, though? Could you be overthinking this all?

You let out a heavy sigh and aggressively rub at your eyes as Sweets walks away. Why hadn’t he told you about it? You could guess the cause, not many wounds left marks like those, plus, in your field of work you are exposed to all kinds of scars. Did he not want you to know? Why wouldn’t he want you to know?

“Are you okay?”

You look over to Doctor Brennan, the heavy weight in your chest growing almost impossible as you blurt out, “Lance has scars on his back.”

“Scars? What kind of scars?” She peers at you with that perplexed expression of hers.

“Almost like he’d been…” You pause and flex your fingers to keep your nails from digging into your palms, “Like he’d been whipped. They were old.”

“Has he not talked to you about it before?”

“No, do you think that means something?”

She tilts her head, almost like a dog, not that you’d ever say that out loud, “I am not sure what you mean.”

“Well, I mean, we’ve been dating for a year now, don’t you think, I don’t know, don’t you think he would have told me something like that?” You bite down harshly on your lip, “Does he not trust me with his past?”

“It is best to not assume what Sweets might be thinking,” Doctor Brennan murmurs in that ever present, logical tone.

It’s not much, but it’s enough to placate you a little. She’s right after all. You have to gather the evidence before making any inferences. It’s possible Lance just wants to forget whatever happened to him, which you can understand. Horrible things are sometimes best left in the past. Taking a deep breath, you roll your shoulders and give your hands a good shake.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yep!” You squeak and turn back around to face Lance, who at some point snuck up behind you, “Peachy! Just fine! Is everything- Is everything okay with you? Not cold anymore?”

“I’m warming up,” he replies with a lecherous grin, “Though I could use some help.”

You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks when Sweets spreads his arms wide for a hug. The slight twinge of self consciousness doesn’t stop you from tucking in close though, fingers linking together at the small of his back.

He rests his chin on top of your head gently, “Is everything really okay?”

Of course he’d notice. You weren’t being the most subtle you guess.

“I’ll tell you about it later, okay?” You promise quietly and hide your face in his coat.

“Okay.”

“I suppose we should head back now. Booth will want to question Murderbreath if he’s well enough,” Brennan calls out to you as she heads to her car, “Will you be driving back with Sweets, (Y/n)?”

“Sure! If he’s okay with it!” You turn your eyes up to him questioningly.

“Of course.”

And just like the gentleman he is, Lance takes you back to the lab, leaving you with the promise to talk after work. You do your job with as much attention as usual, but in the back of your head, you can’t stop thinking about how on earth you're going to broach the subject.

How do you ask someone about something you probably weren’t meant to see? You know he probably won’t get angry, Lance has always been patient and oh so sweet (his name really did fit him). You just don’t want to cross any boundaries. Should you wait? Should you ask Booth about it first? No, no that’s a terrible idea, he would just get all awkward. You groan and set down the tibia you're currently looking at. It’s all so frustrating!

You’ll just have to do it. Lance always says communication is the most important part of any relationship. Even if you don’t know how to start it, you're sure he’ll know how to direct the conversation!

With that in mind, you wrap up quickly and wish Doctor Saroyan goodbye as you head out of the lab. Lance is waiting just outside for you, leaning back against his car’s hood. All the makeup from before has been cleaned off and his hair is back to its normal fluffiness.

“Well hello there handsome,” you chirp, leaning up to peck to his cheek, “Good to see you back to normal.”

Lance laughs softly, “Was it really that bad?”

You purse your lips for a second, glancing away when you think back to his outfit. The makeup was a bit much, but the rest of it…

“Oh, maybe not, huh?”

Oh gosh, are you blushing again? You quickly bury your face in his chest, which is rumbling with his laughter. How embarrassing! Could your face go just a minute without lighting up today? It felt like every second, there was something that made your cheeks flush. It’s a wonder how you haven’t just turned into a tomato yet.

“Shut up,” is all you end up grumbling, “Will you take me home now?”

“Sure.” He gives you a small squeeze, “Hop in.”

You practically dive into the passenger seat to avoid anymore discussion of your embarrassment. Knowing Lance, he’d use this to tease you for quite a while. You just hope he’ll go easy on you, especially around your colleagues. You’d probably die if he brought this up around Doctor Brennan or Doctor Saroyan. Or even Hodgins, because goodness knows how he’d make fun of you for the rest of time.

During the drive back to your apartment, Lance intertwines his fingers with yours and rests them in his lap, thumb tracing over your knuckles. It’s enough to calm the jitters vibrating in your chest. It’s like the embarrassment and anxiety over your upcoming conversation have swirled together in a chaotic rush.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you now?” Lance breaks the silence of the car, though he keeps his voice soft.

You take a deep breath. Everything in your head has led up to this, you can do it.

“I...I saw the scars...on your back…”

His hand stiffens in yours, not much, but just enough for you to notice.

Things fall quiet for a few seconds. You watch Lance’s face nervously. His eyebrows synch down just the slightest bit and his lips press into a thin line. You can practically see him thinking the whole thing out in his head. The gears turning, the conflict, the small flash of pain. It makes your heart ache.

“We don’t have to talk about it, Lance,” you reassure him softly, “It’s okay.”

Those honey orbs glance at you before locking back on the road. You really wish you weren’t in the car right now, so that he didn’t have to split his focus like this. Whatever this is, it can’t be a light topic.

“I’m okay,” Lance finally says, “It’s okay. This is something I’ve worked through, we can, we can talk about it.”

Good, that’s good. You weren’t going to push it if he didn’t want to talk about it, but it lifts the weight in your chest to know he’s open to it.

“Can we wait until we get to your place though?”

“Of course, of course!”

You settle back into your seat, though your hand stays firmly in Sweets’. It’s a comfort to you both. The rest of the drive goes by fast, thankfully, and before you know it, you’re right outside your apartment building. Even as you walk up to your place, Lance trailing behind you, your fingers stay linked.

“Want anything to drink?” You ask as you toss your jacket on a hook and slip off your shoes.

“No, I’m fine,” he mumbles and slips into the living space.

You pace about your small kitchen in an attempt to keep yourself busy, but find nothing to do, so you slip onto the couch next to the psychologist. You sit close enough for your knee to brush his, but hopefully not close enough to crowd him.

Lance scratches the back of his neck with a sigh and starts, “So, you know how I grew up in the foster system for a bit?”

“We’ve talked about it, yeah.”

“Well,” his voice comes out a little shaky so he pauses. You scoot closer to rest a hand on his knee, to ground him. His hand covers yours and he sends you a grateful smile before starting again, “Well, when I was young, I ended up in a bad foster home, and um, and the foster dad-” another heavy pause, “-he would beat me.”

Your heart absolutely sinks at those words, at how meek he sounds now, compared to your usually self-assured, outspoken boyfriend. How could this happen to someone like him? Someone so wonderful and gentle, someone who does everything he can to help others? No wonder he never told you about it.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Lance,” you murmur in a gentle tone.

He draws his shoulders back a bit with a deep breath. It’s like he’s letting the weight slowly slip from them as he leans back into the couch. You watch his face as it subtly shifts through several emotions, someone bad, some good, some just thoughtful. Eventually, he raises an arm, a silent signal for you, to which you curl into his side. His fingers trace along your arm before settling on your elbow and giving it a small squeeze.

“Don’t be sorry. I wouldn’t be who I am today if I didn’t go through that,” he reminisces, voice still quiet, “I might not have joined the FBI, might not have...met you.”

You look up at him, touched yet worried at the same time.

“I might not have had the best childhood, but I’m living a good life now. If I can stop it from happening to someone else, then it’s all been worth it,” he says, the brightest, most genuine smile lighting up his lips.

The awe that hits you almost sucks the breath from your lungs. You can’t help but just sit there and stare up at Sweets adoringly. It’s like his heart is made of pure gold, something that can’t be touched or soiled by the hardships of his past. He’s your greatest treasure, holding more value to you than anything you could ever hold, touch, even be near. He’s...absolutely amazing.

“I love you, Lance.” You can’t help it when the words slip off your tongue.

Those eyes are once again set on you, swimming with unbridled content, peace. They sweep you away into their depths, and all you can do is to wrap your arms around him to keep yourself anchored. He pulls you close, lips pressing oh so softly against your forehead.

“I love you too, (Y/n).”

*Bonus*

“You want me to wear it again?”

“Maybe…”

“Really?” His tone comes out teasing, eyebrow perched high as he gazes down at you.

“You’re so mean,” you huff, not even bothering to hide your blush this time.

Lance only laughs and bows down to press his lips to yours briefly, though it’s enough to set your heart racing.

“I’ll go change now, if you’d like,” he hums, throwing you a little wink as he steps out of the room.

“Jerk,” you grumble under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

I hope you enjoyed this story! It was a tad longer than usual, but it’s something I’ve been wanting to write for a while! This is one of my favorite episodes :)

As always, if you have any requests, don’t be afraid to ask! I’ll write for Sweets, Aubrey, and most of the interns! Love y’all!

#Bones #bones reader insert #bonestv #lance sweets #Dr Lance Sweets #dr lance sweets x reader #lance sweets x reader #sweets #sweets x reader #Temperance Brennan #reader #reader insert #x reader #Self Insert

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javajunkieao3 · 3 years

Text

Afterbirth: A Post-Series Osblaine Fanfic

Summary: What happens when the fighting stops? Nick and June find out.

It took time for everything to calm down after Fred, the forest and everything that came after. In a simple story, Nick would come back to Canada with June and turn himself over to the authorities with information in exchange for immunity. In a more romantic one, they would escape together. But, that didn’t happen. At least not right away. Nick returned to Gilead and June returned to Canada, neither of them entirely content with their decisions. But they had a duty. June, to try to rebuild what she had left behind. Nick, to destroy it.

Neither were particularly successful at first. June was originally going to leave, but Luke convinced her to stay, still unwilling to give in even when confronted with the worst of her character. But, it was futile. Luke wanted his wife back, but she died in that forest seven years ago. For weeks, they circled each other like wounded animals, trying not to spook the other while piecing together a relationship that no longer fit. June didn’t want to accept it. All that time, she had been fighting to get back to Luke. But, when she looked back, it wasn’t that straight-forward. She had stopped fighting for Luke a long time ago.

Back in Gilead, Nick was met with a nation teeming with renewed patriotism. The Waterford saga had stirred the nation’s sentiment. No doubt helped along by a steady dose of propaganda put out by the State. Everyone else just didn’t understand. They were poisoned by immorality that rotted them to the core. To where they couldn’t see the righteous good that Gilead had done. They didn’t understand. They never could.

It was maddening.

“You made a real fucked up place,” Nick said to Joseph, swirling the bourbon around his glass slowly.

Joseph took a sip of his own, jaw tight. “Right back at you.” Settling back into his seat, he wryly added, “Talk about buyer’s remorse.”

“It’s up to us to fix it. To end it.”

Joseph looked over, eyes cloudy behind his glasses. “I know.”

In the end, it was Gilead’s own pride that brought its ruin. In the early days, when salvagings were more frequent, and brutal, each one was videotaped. They were initially used in the Red Center as cautionary tales. Stay in line, or you’ll end up on the end of a rope. In the beginning, it was effective. Back when people still thought there was an end in sight. But then, people lost hope and, with that, fear. Resistance bred, messages sent through muffins and scones. Eventually the videos were phased out of the Red Center, and they were supposed to be destroyed, but like many things that the Commanders were supposed to do, they didn’t.

Seven years later, the videos had their grand debut on the landing page of the online New York Times and went viral. In another setting, Gilead would have been proud. They were front-page news. The troops came a week later.

Both Nick and Joseph offered themselves up, promising a look at the inner workings of Gilead and enough information to indict every other Commander rounded up in exchange for immunity. Waterford had provided limited information before his death, so it was an enticing proposition. Joseph had always been meticulous with his paperwork, and he handed it all over to the Canadian government. A paper trail all the way back to the first insurrection.

“You might want to get yourself some snacks. It’s a long read.”

At first, it didn’t seem like the deal would go through, but then it did. Joseph called it a political move, but secretly, Nick thought something else. Stepping out of the Provincial Court of Law, sun bathing his face, Nick believed for the first time in miracles. But, there was still one more to go. And she was sitting on a bench.

His feet moved of their own accord, and when he was in front of her, he murmured, “How did you know I was being released today?”

June gave him a sliver of a smile. “I have my ways.”

He crouched in front of her, instinctively resting his hands on her knees. After a second, he realized he didn’t know if he could still touch her here. A lot could change in six months. Regimes fall. Relationships change. But when he pulled back his hands, she quickly grabbed onto them and held his hands in her lap. Her grip was tight and he noticed then that her eyes were filled with tears. He quickly moved closer, bracing one hand on her jaw as he said, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, June.”

“I know it is,” she said, grinning wide. “It’s more than okay. You’re here.”

It had been rare to see her this incandescently happy back in Gilead, and Nick decided that he never wanted to see her another way. He kissed her and when she kissed him back, for the first time in months, he felt at peace.

“How is Hannah?” he asked. When the Canadian troops had taken control of Gilead, he used what weight he had left to make sure Hannah was on the first flight out to Canada.

June grinned, wiping at her eyes. “She’s good. Really good. It was difficult at first. She was confused with everything. But, she’s settled in now. Obsessed with her little sister. She wants to hold her all the time.”

Nick felt as if he had no breath when he asked, “How is she?”

June covered her hand with his. “Our daughter is beautiful.”

She stood up and tugged his hand for him to do the same. “Come on, let’s go see her.”

“Where?”

June looked over at him. “Home.”

Home.

Part of June had been worried that she and Nick wouldn’t know how to be together without Gilead. They had lived and loved with such intensity since the beginning, that she didn’t know what it would look like for them to lead a normal life. Have breakfast together. Watch Netflix. Go grocery shopping. It turned out, it looked a lot like how she remembered. There wasn’t much time for it during the trial. Nick had to be there every day and she went of her own accord, sitting in the back and watching the testimony. She expected to feel something at it all coming to an end. Maybe happiness. Relief. But, all she felt was tired. She had spent the better part of the last seven years fighting Gilead. She was finally ready to leave it behind.

She and Nick planned to celebrate the end of the trial with a dinner out, but they ended up ordering takeout and falling asleep by ten. When she woke up the next morning, sunlight came in through the half-open blinds, bathing Nick’s face in a warm, golden glow. She snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. His arm tightened around her waist.

“Good morning,” he said, brushing a kiss against her hair.

“Good morning.”

They laid together for a while, not talking, and then she murmured, “It’s really over, isn’t it?”

“There could be appeals.”

“There probably will be," she said sardonically. “But, the damage is done. That place. Those people. It’s over.”

She knew it was an over-simplification. They both did. Gilead had always been more than a place. It was a belief system. But, after what had come out during the trial, it could never take hold the way it had. Not for a long while.

“It’s over,” he agreed.

They laid there for a few minutes, silence stretching between them and punctuated by the sound of children playing outside, and June asked, “How do you feel about pancakes?”

“Pancakes?”

She nodded. “I have a mix. And chocolate chips. I always make them when I have Hannah. So far, I’ve gotten no complaints.”

“She’s eleven,” he deadpanned.

She turned on her stomach, resting her chin on his chest. “I think we have some bacon in the refrigerator, too. And eggs.”

He grinned. “That all sounds good.”

They got out of bed, June tossing over her shoulder for Nick to get Nicole from her crib, and then she was making pancakes, singing along to some music she put on her phone. Nick made eggs, burning the first batch, but then getting the second just right. They made the bacon in the microwave, a convenience that June still found novel after her time in Gilead. They sat down together, Nick cutting up small bits of pancake and eggs for Nicole. It was odd sometimes to think that this much joy had come from such a joyless place. But it had. One of life’s mysteries, Aunt Lydia would say. Probably followed by the cattle prodder. June wondered then if this was her real triumph over Gilead. Not escaping, but finding something good within its festering walls.

“June?”

Nick’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. “Yeah?”

“I asked what you wanted to do today.”

It was a simple question. A simple answer, too, that still felt revelatory.

June picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite off the end. “Whatever we want.”

#The Handmaid's Tale #osblaine #osblaine week #June Osborne #Nick Blaine #June x Nick #June Osborne x Nick Blain #reunion fic

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youllallriseintheink · 3 years

Text

Repeating the Cycle

I thought I’d write a little story about ink infection, as well as Sammy’s role after he was transformed. It’s inspired by Shazzbaa’s theories (I’d say which, but we don’t want spoilers, now do we?)!

I’ll tell you guys later tonight about the future writing projects I have planned.

---

Sammy awoke in his sanctuary, as he had many times before. He hadn’t been to his apartment in... well, days anyhow. He felt better when he was near the ink. He tried the door to exit his private sanctuary, and it was locked. “Is this a sign?” he asked his lord. “Is it time?”

Yes, his lord spoke back.

Sammy smiled- smiled rather weakly, as the pain from his ink infection had been wearing on him heavily. “Finally.”

All the waiting. All the sickness. All the fear. It was time to see what it was all for. And his lord had assured him, with the comforting voice of a father to a young son, that it would be worth it.

Sammy dragged himself over to the leaking pipe that hung from the ceiling of his sanctuary and turned on the ink supply. Ink sputtered down onto Sammy’s face and clothes, and he fell to his knees, hands outstretched and mouth open as though he was staring into heaven itself. His heart was pounding. He was shaking from adrenaline, and not even being surrounded with, covered in, and consuming the ink that normally numbed his symptoms seemed to be helping. This had to be fear instead of withdrawal.

Do not be afraid, the voice comforted, you will have ascended in mere hours. I promise, you will be safe and healthy. I promise, it will be better than anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Thank you! Bendy, hear my praise! I want what you have for me! I crave your embrace!”

Sammy took a long suck of ink from the pipe, then laid down on the floor. He was weak. so weak.

That’s it. You’ve made it. You need only wait now.

Sammy trusted Bendy. Bendy told him that everything he’d done and experienced in his life- even the nightmarish last few years- was leading to something. It told him that everything was okay.

Sammy didn’t know how much time had passed when he felt Joey tying up his ankles. With some struggle, he sat up and tried to push Joey off of him, but it had little effect. Before long, Joey had finished on Sammy’s ankles and was straddling his chest to tie up his hands. The last thing he saw with his biological eyes was Joey’s knife slitting his throat.

When Sammy woke up, the voice of his lord was gone. By trying to make a toon out of him, Joey had robbed him of his ascension and severed his connection to him.

---

Grant awoke in his office to the horrid ticking of his Bendy clock and the array of whispering voices that had plagued him since early in his infection. The clock’s small hand pointed to six, but Grant had no idea whether it was morning or evening. Months of ink infection had ruined his sense of time. He tried the door to his office and found that it had been locked from the outside by chain and padlock. Grant laughed at the absurdity of it all- his life had spiralled into a nightmarish fever dream.

“Does this mean it’s time?” Grant asked.

Yes. Your time is almost up, the voice answered, and for once, Grant trusted it. He felt almost too tired from illness to care.

“I’ll do anything you ask to stop it.”

No response, except for those muttered voices. Grant hadn’t expected one- the voice rarely had his best interests in mind. He shuffled over to his desk and pushed aside some papers to go back to sleep- possibly for the last time.

And then he saw it- a report from Joey that he’d received mere days before his symptoms had started- ending with the words “Fix this or I’ll have your head!” angrily scrawled at the bottom.

That was it. Joey had done this to motivate him. He just had to figure out how to keep the studio from bankruptcy and he’d be cured!

Yes! Yes! You’re right. Fix it! the voice yelled.

Adrenaline flooded Grant’s system as he jerked open his filing cabinet with shaking hands in search of the necessary files to fix the budget. This was his one chance to survive. The muttering voices were screaming in his head- ear-piercing. His head felt ready to explode.

“Shut up and let me focus!” he screamed.

Ink will soothe your symptoms.

That was something that the voice had told him frequently. He hadn’t given in to it yet- not much, anyhow- because common sense told him that ink was inedible. It was also his sincere belief that the voice wanted to kill him. The voice had told him, back before the physical symptoms had become obvious, that he was merely losing his mind and needed to hide it from everyone, lest he be institutionalized. Then, as soon as the physical symptoms had taken root, it had changed its tune- he was losing his mind, because he was ill with an incurable, supernatural disease, and no hospital could help him, and going to one would only guarantee that he would be a test subject for the limited time he had left. Listening to it then had gotten him into this position, and he wasn’t eager to listen to it again.

But this was life or death. He opened the supply on the ink pipe that Thomas- for some reason he didn’t understand- had installed in his office, and drank deeply.

The voice- the muttering- the headache- it all stopped. Silence. Finally.

Grant’s hands were covered in ink now, and were sure to soak any paper he used. I can’t let that stop me. He dropped to his knees and started painting calculations on the floor.

The numbers didn’t add up. Not a single one. Was his mind was too frayed to do basic mathematical functions?! How could he fix anything, let alone this insurmountable debt, while he could barely think straight?! Calm down. Stay calm. Try again. Life or death. Time is money. What will Joey say?!

From the cracks within the wall, Sammy watched as Grant spiralled into panic and tears, and turned his office inside out trying to find anything that could help, expressing his fears through wall-writing, and attempting escape the room. Poor thing, Sammy thought, remembering the pain and uncertainty of his own ink infection, but soon I’ll be able to teach him the truth.

It had been years since Sammy’s sacrifice. Not only did Sammy still work for Joey now that he was a failed toon, Joey had him on a schedule. Every day at 11:00 AM, Sammy would ooze through the walls of Joey’s office for their morning meeting. Sammy wasn’t particularly happy about doing anything for the man who had turned him into a failed Boris just as he was about to fulfill a higher destiny, but the voice had once told him that to follow Joey was to follow his lord, and now those previous words (which Sammy had recorded and studied every day) were all he had left as a doctrine to follow. Sammy hoped that with enough obedience and service, his lord would see past his ruined body and grant him his destiny.

Joey’s demands were often difficult, but they were simple: sacrificing specific people into specific toons, and looking after the infected. Joey rarely sacrificed people on his own anymore, and instead relied on Sammy to do the dirty work of knocking people out, killing them on pentagrams, and then dealing with the resulting dead body, blood and ink-stains on the floor, and whatever abomination came out of the ink machine. Looking after the ink-infected was easier: keep an eye on them, and once they become too infected to be useful, lock them in their offices or in infirmary rooms and take them to their prison in the basement come night. Sammy had overseen the infection of nearly thirty people by now and had sacrificed dozens.

Thankfully, Joey’s demands were not very time-intensive, and he had plenty of time for his passion: teaching the lost ones about their lord and saviour, Bendy.

The lost ones lived in a prison in the very basement of Joey Drew Studios, along with the failed toons. Sammy’s sermons were some of the only times they were allowed out of their cages, and so they were always happy to see him.

Some agreed with him. Often, these were the same ones who had heard a comforting voice as they were infected- generally those with a religious background. Others thought him insane. Their voice had been different- wrong- hallucinatory- and quite often threatening. Sammy had these lost ones do penance in order to find their way to Bendy. Some found him, leaving Sammy feeling accomplished, but also jealous that he could never have what they had. Hopefully, his lord would see the wonderful work he was doing and one day ascend him along with the rest of them- because surely, that was not their final form.

Today’s meeting was like any other. Sammy waited in the walls until Joey’s 10:30 client left, and then slithered out before him.

“Anything to report?” Joey asked casually, as he looked over some paperwork. These meetings were usually uneventful.

“Two people are currently under quarantine. Three more are infected but still able to work for now. Everything is fine- except for one small detail. One of the people under quarantine is destroying his office out of fear. If you’d like, I could tie him up snug until he transforms, or force-feed him ink to speed the process along.”

Joey considered this. "Hmm... well, I do need an Edgar. He would work as well as any. Are you sure he’s close to transforming?” All ink-infected people had strange beliefs and delusions (except for Sammy, of course- his visions were absolute truth), but by this point in their infection, they were generally too tired to do anything destructive- especially ones like this one, who had increased the duration of their infection by resisting the urge to drink ink.

“It will be a matter of hours,” Sammy assured.

“Well, that’s not convenient, but I do have lunch right after this. I’ll get the Charley down to the basement, and you get the Barley and Edgar. The Barley’s name is Lacie Benton, and I’d suggest you knock her out before taking her anywhere- she’s a tough one. But the Edgar shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“No... I suppose not.” Severely ink-infected people were, without exception, very weak, and Sammy was stronger now than he’d ever been as a human.

“Alright! See you down there as soon as possible.”

Sammy nodded, slunk back into the walls, and cursed everything, especially his order to obey Joey Drew. A severely ink infected person had never, and would never, produce a good toon- part of their souls had already been connected to the other lost ones. Joey must have known that, but he still insisted on stealing the people that were meant to be Sammy’s to guide, probably because in Joey’s mind, killing a person was murder but killing a lost one (or someone who soon would be a lost one) was not. Joey didn’t see his people as equally human, and it sickened Sammy. Nonetheless, he slithered through the walls until he came upon Grant’s office.

The office looked like a madhouse. The floors and walls were coated with repetitive writing. Furniture had been strewn about. Grant himself was curled against the ink pipe in his office, covered in so much ink that Sammy had thought he was already transformed before he realized he still had hair. The poor thing had tried so hard, while so sick, at something so futile. Sammy had his orders, but he wasn’t going to lay a hand on his sheep-that-wouldn’t-be until he had to.

Sammy slithered out of the wall- slowly, so as not to scare him.

“Who are you?” Grant asked. He sounded so tired of all the supernatural surprises that he barely cared.

“I’m here on behalf of Joey Drew,” Sammy began.

“I’m so sorry. I tried... but I couldn’t. I suppose you’re here to kill me, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m here to give you congratulations. The others in your department were able to use these brilliant calculations,” Sammy gestured widely at the messily scrawled gibberish on a wall, “to make a plan. The studio is going to avoid bankruptcy, and you’re going to be cured. Come with me.” Sammy offered Grant his hand. Grant took it, and Sammy helped him up.

“I-I don’t understand. I don’t understand how-” All of those calculations... Grant would have guessed that they were worthless.

“Shh... you’ll be clearer-headed soon. Just come with me, now. I can’t be out there where everyone can see me, but go to the elevator, go to the bottom floor, and I will be there. I promise- you will be fine.”

“Thank you so much. But, my door-”

Sammy slithered back into the wall. Grant heard the click of a door unlocking, followed by the clink of chains falling limp. His office door was unlocked. Do I trust him? Grant asked himself. This day kept getting stranger. If I don’t, I’m guaranteed to die. I have nothing to lose.

Sammy slithered into the wooden floor of the elevator and only reappeared once the elevator hit the very bottom.

“I’m sorry,” Sammy lamented “I want to lead you to Bendy. I want you to find peace as one of my followers. But it is not in the cards.”

The two made brief eye contact- or would have, if Sammy’s face weren’t covered in mask. Grant, obviously, had no idea what Sammy was talking about. Then, Sammy grabbed Grant’s hair, slammed his head against the wall a few times to knock him out, tied him up for sacrifice, and left to find Lacie Benton.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #my fanfiction #sammy lawrence #grant cohen #joey drew

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charincharge · 4 years

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AN: Here’s the fourth and final installment of the Actress AU. It was ready much sooner than I anticipated! If you haven’t read the first three parts, you can find them below. I hope this is a satisfying conclusion for you all! xo.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Aelin squinted against a harsh white light, making her head throb. She went to rub the mascara from her sticky lashes, but her hand tugged painfully. She struggled to focus, her brain slowly catching up with her vision as she took in her stark surroundings.

Her breathing increased as she realized where she was.

She tugged her hand again, wincing as the tube under her skin pulled at the tape covering it. Another tube ran into two smaller ones, inserted into her nose, pushing a steady stream of cold air down her throat.

Despite the tubes in her nose, the overwhelming smell of lemon antiseptic pervaded her senses, and she struggled to swallow down the pool of saliva that formed in her mouth as nausea swirled around her stomach.

It clenched hard, and before she knew what was happening, she was on her side, a thin yellow stream of bile pouring from her mouth into a light pink tub placed in front of her face seemingly out of nowhere. It splashed gently, and Aelin recoiled from the smell, her body sweating and shaking with the effort it took to expel the disgusting substance.

“That’s it,” a woman’s soft voice cooed, rubbing at her back. “You’re okay, darling,” it repeated. Despite being unable to see who was touching her, Aelin relaxed into the woman’s hand as she finished throwing up.

She wiped at her mouth, wanting to get rid of the sour taste in her mouth and graciously accepted a small paper cup of water from another mystery person.

Aelin wiped at her eyes again and rolled onto her back into the lumpy pillow behind her head and finally looked around. The hospital room’s curtains had been drawn, letting early morning sunshine filter in, but it was no match for the harsh fluorescents which shone down on Aelin, making her sweat. Two nurses bustled around her, their light green scrubs swishing as they switched out her IV bag and adjusted the oxygen tank beside her.

“You gave everyone quite a scare, sweetheart” the dark-haired nurse said, smoothing Aelin’s hair away from her face. It crunched beneath her touch, still coated in layers of hairspray.

“What happened?” Aelin croaked. The last thing she remembered was being at the premiere party. But judging by the amount of sunlight streaming through the windows, that was hours ago.

“I’m going to grab the doctor, and she’ll explain everything,” the woman said, her even voice attempting to calm Aelin’s racing heart.

Her head pounded agonizingly as she attempted to nod, and the nurse frowned in understanding.

She shushed Aelin, who hadn’t even realized she’d started crying softly as she readjusted her pillows behind her, trying to make her more comfortable. But it was impossible. Every part of Aelin ached with discomfort.

A beautiful woman with long chestnut curls and caramel skin swept into the room, her dark eyes immediately going to Aelin as she introduced herself.

“Aelin,” she said with a professional nod. “I’m Doctor Towers, and I’ve been treating you since you came in last night.” She paused, taking a step closer. “Do you remember what happened?”

Aelin winced as she shook her head again.

“That’s okay,” Dr. Towers assured her. “You had an accidental overdose.” Aelin’s mouth gaped, opened and closing as she struggled to find the words, but the doctor continued. “You came in with cocaine and fentanyl in your system, which is unfortunately something I’ve been seeing more and more of.”

“Fentanyl?” Aelin asked, confused. She had no idea what that even was, and she certainly had no knowledge of taking it.

Dr. Towers narrowed her eyes. “You are extremely lucky to be alive right now. When your friend brought you in, you were completely nonresponsive.”

Aelin gasped. Fear and shame crashed down on her. She was sure this would be all over the gossip sites. She’d be written off as a party girl, instead of a serious budding actress. Everything she’d endured with Arobynn would be for nothing. Another tear fell down her cheek as the doctor explained her treatment.

“We administered Narcan, which is used to treat opioid overdose and were able to get you breathing again.”

“Opioid?”

The doctor pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “I’m going to assume you don’t know that your cocaine was cut with fentanyl. It’s been used more frequently as filler, but, as you experienced, it can have potentially fatal interactions.” She paused again. “As I said, you were extremely lucky.” Her face softened as Aelin wiped another tear away. “How are you feeling, physically?”

“Bad,” Aelin chuckled through her tears.

“I’ll bet.” Doctor Towers sighed and adjusted her clipboard. “You’re going to experience a lot of pain today. Your body is going through opioid withdrawal now, as well as cocaine. Plus, Narcan has a few side effects as well – stomach pain, nausea, vomiting, fever, body aches. All sound about right?” Aelin nodded. “We’re going to keep you here to monitor your recovery for the next twelve hours. If you feel shortness of breath or like someone is suddenly sitting on your chest, call for a nurse immediately.”

“Okay,” Aelin said, her voice barely a whisper.

“Because of the events that led you here, you’re required to talk to a psychiatrist. She’s fantastic. Her name is Dr. Ytger, and she can help you decide what your next course of action should be.” Dr. Towers smiled, her seriousness dissolving slightly as her eyes warmed with kindness. “In the meantime, there are quite a few worried people, who have been waiting for you to wake up. If you feel up to it, they can come see you one-by-one.”

Aelin’s chest pounded uncomfortably. “There are people here?”

Dr. Towers’ smile widened as she nodded. “The man who brought you in has asked that he be first to see you.”

“Man?” Aelin rasped. She’d been so sure Manon would have been the one to take her to the hospital, hopefully fielding press the whole time.

Her breath caught as Dr. Towers’s eyes narrowed. “Tall, striking eyes. Pacing a hole in the waiting room carpet?”

Her breath picked up, and she struggled to calm herself as Arobynn’s faux-worried face appeared in her minds eye. She could only imagine how mad he was if he was forced to leave his own premiere party in an ambulance. Just the thought of his angry face was enough to have her feeling nauseous again. She was sure he was only here to protect his image. Heaven forbid his muse died.

“Do you not want to see him?” the doctor asked. “Aelin, if you’re in danger you can tell me. I can have the police here, and I will happily kick that green-eyed man to the curb.”

“Green?” Aelin’s head swirled. “Rowan brought me in? Not a man with red hair?”

The doctor shook her head. “No. No red-headed man.”

As relief flooded her body, she must have nodded because before she knew it, the doctor was exiting her room and returning with Rowan in tow.

Despite the pain that surged through her body, Aelin’s chest warmed at the sight of him. His tux was rumpled beyond belief, his sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms, and dark purple circles on his skin contrasted with his red-rimmed eyes. He must have been here all night.

He perched himself at the edge of the hospital bed, careful to not brush against Aelin beneath the thin blue blanket, and the night came rushing back to her. The carpet, Rowan’s girlfriend, cocaine in the closet with Archer… She felt awful. She’d absolutely ruined Rowan’s night.

“I’m so glad to see those eyes open again,” he whispered, and Aelin could feel a soft pressure build at her throat. For a second, she was concerned it was the shortness of breath she was supposed to be looking out for, but as she took a deep breath, she couldn’t control the sob that escaped her lips.

Tears poured from her eyes, dripping in steady rivulets down her cheeks, down her chin and dripping onto her hospital gown in dark grey splotches as they mixed with her makeup.

Rowan tentatively raised his hand to her face and wiped at her tears, his thumb caressing her cheek with such a softness that it did nothing to abate her crying. Gods, she had missed his touch. She leaned her head into his hand and sighed, her breath shaking with her tears as they stared at each other in silence.

“I’m sorry,” Aelin whispered finally. She had to apologize to him for ruining his night. For bringing him here, for making him stay in the hospital for hours when he should have been celebrating his feature success.

His green eyes hardened as he spoke, though the soft caress of his thumb never ceased. “None of this is your fault, Aelin. None.”

“But, I ruined your big night, and…”

Rowan paused as he leaned forward, his lips pursing as he examined her face. “Baby,” he said so reverently that it nearly knocked her out. “You almost died, and you think I care about some fucking party?”

His fingers slid to her hair, crunching beneath his touch as Aelin tried not to cringe. She was a complete mess. A stupid, selfish mess. But she couldn’t imagine not wanting this, not wanting him. And she would take whatever he gave her.

“I swear I’m not an addict, I just really like the way cocaine smells.” She attempted to smile as tears formed in Rowan’s eyes.

“That is the worst joke I’ve ever heard,” he said, though he chuckled softly regardless of her inappropriate words. “And I know you’re not an addict,” he sighed. “That’s what I was trying to talk to you about last night. Why I wanted you to meet my—”

“Girlfriend?” Aelin’s heart sank as she remembered the circumstances that led to her latest brush with white dust. But Rowan’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“What? No,” he said, shaking his head. “My cousin.”

“Your cousin?” Aelin’s head was reeling. She was in too much pain and too exhausted for this kind of information. She was confused. Yet again.

“Tall? Blonde? Bright green eyes just like every Whitethorn? Walked the carpet with me?”

“Your cousin,” Aelin repeated. She tried to remember the beautiful blonde draped on Rowan’s arm, but she was nothing more than a hazy memory of blonde smiles and hurt feelings.

“She’s a reporter for The Terrasen Times,” he began. “She’s being doing a series of exposes on abusers in the film industry, and Aelin, she has enough to take Arobynn down.” He breathed in deeply, his bright eyes shining as they filled with tears. “I knew as soon as you kicked me out of your trailer that something had happened. But I didn’t get confirmation until I saw you at that press junket. You’re just the latest in a long line of young actresses emotionally abused and threatened and hooked on drugs to control them. I kept my distance because I didn’t want him to use me against you. But… I didn’t think…” His lip quivered as he fought with his tears. “Baby, I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you.”

“I don’t understand,” Aelin said, her mind swimming with his words but not really processing any of them.

“Four women came forward and are pressing charges against him, Aelin. The article went live last night.” Rowan’s eyes pierced through her as she inhaled a sharp breath. “He’s going to jail. He can’t touch you anymore.”

Months of frustration and fear and anger and shame and guilt released at Rowan’s words, and a fresh wave of tears poured down Aelin’s cheeks. Her body shook, as she felt herself freed from Arobynn’s vindictive grasp. Free. She couldn’t even imagine it.

She reached forward and buried her face into Rowan’s shoulder, letting his arms cradle her and soothe her pain. She inhaled deeply, wanting to immerse herself his scent, but all she could smell was stale alcohol and faint traces of vomit. The smell made her dizzy with nausea, and she soon pulled away to vomit into the bucket next to her bed.

She wiped at her face, black smudging against her skin as she pulled her hands away. “Well, that was romantic,” she laughed, though her tone was anything but humorous.

“Aelin,” Rowan murmured her name with a quiet exuberance. “I don’t care that you’ve been throwing up for hours,” he said seriously. “I love you, have been in love with you, since the first time I laid eyes on you almost a year ago, and I need to kiss you right now.” He smiled sweetly, and as he leaned in, Aelin could feel her heart stutter. “Is this romantic enough for you?” he asked, his lips merely a breath away from hers.

“I love you, too,” she replied. Her confession warmed her from the inside out as their matching smiles met in a soft kiss. His hands stroked the back of her neck, soothing her quivering muscles.

His lips pressed against hers again, seemingly unable to pull back, but Aelin felt her exhaustion catching up with her heavily beating heart all too soon. A large yawn escaped her lips, and Rowan pulled back, his hand trailing down her arm to her tube-laden hand and squeezing it gently.

“Sleep,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She squeezed his hand in return and pulled him toward her. “Come cuddle,” she asked with wide eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere, Aelin,” he replied seriously. “Not ever again.”

But despite his words, he climbed into the small cot with her, arms wrapped around her shoulders. And despite the sweat and the nausea and stomach pain, Aelin fell sleep peacefully for the first time in months.

~*~

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#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #charincharge writes #actress au #throne of glass fanfic #tog fanfic

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foureyeswithanicesmile · 3 years

Text

The white mask.

gender; not specified

sorta slow burn but theres gonna be a part two im sure of it.

Established relationship (sort of)

You and Grayson’s acquaintanceship went far back, the both of you were around for each others various changes and times in life. However things weren’t always so swell. Grayson had always perceived you to be good, in the way he tries to be, in some way, he idolised you for the warped perception he had of you. He made it routine to drop by to your apartment balcony in some way- you had no clue, regardless he was always there- no matter how spontaneous the trip was.

What you both hadn’t known is that you were both fighting each other for weeks, you as ‘gothams newest anti hero’ and him as ‘ Nightwing’. Both of you hadn’t known each others true identities.

You were only known as ‘ The white mask’ to Grayson, and he was only known as ‘ Boy blue’ to you. All this had occurred whilst in reality, you were both more than acquainted already.

What you both hadn’t known is that you were both fighting each other for weeks, you as ‘Gothams newest anti hero’ and him as ‘ Nightwing’. Both of you hadn’t known each others true identities.

You were only known as ‘ The white mask’ to Grayson, and he was only known as ‘ Boy blue’ to you. All this had occurred whilst in reality, you were both more than acquainted already.

———————————————————————————————————

“ Hey- you home?” Grayson asked whilst he straightened up his black sweater and jeans, doing the best he could in order not to look suspicious.

“ Well- look who’s stumbled onto my doorstep again” You greeted, hair tied into a low bun with your glasses perched onto your nose as you did. Whilst Grayson was aware of how late it was, he hadn’t been expected to bestow his eyes upon a tight black vest and red plaid pyjama pants.

Now coughing and refocusing his attention back to you, he then realised that you had a new silver ball in a part of your ear cartilage. With furrowed brows he began to scan you again, now trying to see if he could find any other new piercings.

“ Eyes up here Grayson- you looking at my helix?” You asked with a smirk, now closing your balcony door so that no heating could escape the living room.

“ Yeah- when’d you get it? I like it” He complimented, now confidently turning your head with your chin in order to analyse it.

“ I got it yesterday” You announced, now moving Grayson’s hand in order to prevent him getting bacteria into it- you noticing the bruising on his knuckles in the process.

“ Dick Graysonn” You elongated as if he was guilty of something. Slightly anxious, he answered.

“ What’s wrong?” He asked as he looked down at your hands checking out his.

“ What on earth did you do to your hands? Beat up a wall or some shit?” You laughed, now releasing the larger pair of hands from your grasp; Noticing the slightly panicked face of the man in front of you.

“ Nothing- Just got into it a little on the way here” Grayson announced, now shoving his hands into his back pockets with a slight pout.

“ Wow- how strong, came here to rescue me from my shitty lanlord?” You spoke with a sarcastic tone, your eyes almost piercing into Graysons.

“ Why of course- how did you know?” He spoke with a mirroring tone, his face then wearing a less happier tone as he checked his phone, you picking up on it.

“ Hey- you alright? You seem off- almost dishevelled” You wondered truthfully, frowning at Grayson’s lack of eye contact initiation.

“ Whatever you do- Don’t become acquainted with anybody with a white mask- I know they’re only going after people who’ve wronged others- but we don’t know when those motives will change okay?”

You deadpanned in realisation. He was talking about you. The only bright side was that he had no clue that it was you. Only information about you that was so important he had to run off so soon.

“ Grayson do me a favour” You spoke in a slightly serious tone, unwanting to attract suspicion.

Your tone perked Grayson’s attention just enough for your eye contact to freeze him in his place.

“ Stay out of those kind of affairs. It’ll do you good to not get caught in the crossfire- you understand?”

Your words caused him to stiffen more, he doesn’t want you getting hurt.

“ I promise you alright- be safe and see you tomorrow” He finalised before kissing your cheek and ushering you back into your house.

Fuck knows how you were going to wriggle out of this one.

——————————————————————————————————-

Around a week later, you’d found yourself in a heated fight against the boy in blue, which consisted of you both getting good ass hits on one another.

You thought you hand enough skill to shoot him quickly and return back to your apartment before Grayson had decided to pop over, however after wasting all of your bullets on shots that never connected; you could only hope that you’d get to paralyse boy blue.

Just like you, Grayson had wanted to find himself on your balcony sooner or later, only hoping that you don’t believe his lateness is his attempt at showing disinterest.

Seeing as though Nightwing believed that you still had your bullets, he’d decided to hide behind one of the large air ventilations on top on the rooftop you were both on.

“ Come out boy blue- you fucking pussy” You insulted, feeling slightly exposed at the fact he could be anywhere.

“ My name” He spoke as he kicked one of your two guns out of your hand.

“ Is Nightwing” He finalised before he attempted to kick you in the solar plexus- you luckily sliding under his leg and gun-butting him with your other empty pistol- certainly leaving a cut on his cheek.

Even with that, his cascade of kicks, throws and punches never failed in tempo, even whilst you parried most- there was no telling if you’d make this without any noticeable injuries.

After trying to throw you into the back of a ventilation system, he only sprung your momentum; You now sprinting over to him and kicking him into the lower abdomen, consequently faltering his stance.

In almost milliseconds after, you had him in a sleep-impending head lock, now wrapping your legs around his torso agonisingly tight. You did so in full belief that he’d drop to his knees finally submitting, however he only dropped to his knees so that he could grab one of his electric batons- now aiming it into your back. The shock caused you to gasp and drop onto your back, now attempting to crawl to the edge of the building whilst Nightwing remained regathering himself.

“ You aren’t running away that quickly” He spoke in breaths, now beginning to walk over to you thinking that the height would be too much to drop from.

He was wrong.

Before Nightwing had the opportunity to rip the white mask off of you, you kicked him into the nose perfectly timed with him leaning down to unmask you.

“ No-No” He almost pleaded before you back-rolled off of the building, now falling legs first before falling on-top of a vintage red BMW- the glass cracking and top denting with the force.

Nighwing peered over the edge in utter disbelief; what was so important about your identity that you’d go as far as to kill yourself? Did he perhaps know you? Where you already presumed dead like Jason before his rise as Red Hood?

All those questions and thoughts were disrupted when he checked the time. 23:25. He would’ve been at your doorstep around twenty minutes ago if it hadn’t been for this shit.

Rushingly, he ran and jumped across rooftops in order to return to his own place before going to yours; only praying you’d still be up.

———————————————————————————————————

You were actually groaning in pain and rolling yourself off the car just a few feet down. Whilst the car wasn’t the most efficient cushion of your fall, it was better than falling onto the cold Gotham concrete, which would’ve been painted red with your blood.

You surprisingly prepared for this moment, keeping your suit padded with enough material to not break your ribs when falling off of a building.

___________________________________

Luckily, you found yourself at your apartment in no time, most probably due to your knowing of short cuts and you stealing a motorbike.

In the time you no longer had to worry about Nightwing on your tail, you managed to shower and ice your wounds. Displeased with the aching pain your back wore from both electrocution and the car from earlier.

Your worries were disrupted by a familiar knocking on your balcony door, sighing at the arrival almost.

“ Well hey there Grayson- later than usual” You almost joked, demeanour stiffening when you observed Grayson’s evident frown and shaking hands. For a moment you were consumed with the theory that he knew you were the ‘white mask’ that roamed the streets at night.

“ Tell me about it inside- how do you like your coffee Dick?” You asked comfortingly as you ushered him inside, now analysing the room in order to prevent any evidence of being shown. Seeing as though Dick was a detective, your cautiousness had to be on point.

However he seemed awfully down, like he’d just witnessed his parents die,, again.

“ I take it strong- thanks” He answered after many moments, his voice low as his head rested in his hand whilst he sat on your couch. Now you were lost, you had genuinely no clue as to what may have upset Dick- and this made you worry.

As the coffee brewed in your kitchen, you sat next the brunette, ushering a hand onto his knee.

“ What’s wrong Dick- you don’t seem like yourself tonight- I do somethin’?” You asked, now lifting his head with your hand on his chin; his cheek wearing a small band-aid.

“ You were right about staying away from the white mask”

Thank. God. For a moment you almost thought you were going to be discovered and sent to prison.

“ They died tonight”

You died? where’d that analogy come from? Did he see you throw yourself off that building?

“ Oh Grayson- did you see it?” You asked attentively, your brain both relieved and worried about the position you were in.

“ A-“

He struggled noticeably, a detail you picked up on almost immediately.

“ A friend did” He affirmed after a while, your brows furrowing more at his words.

In order not to seem non-empathetic or suspicious, you made endearing eye contact.

He was hung up on every word, every glance. As much as you were hung up on him; you valued your safety all in all, god knows what could happen to you- and even him if your identity got out.

What you didn’t know is that Grayson felt the same way.

“ I wanted to-help them- maybe try to get them to co operate with my associates you know? Death isn’t justified- especially when they were providing some-what justice” Grayson affirmed.

“ So you thought you could help them? Haven’t they hurt your friend?”

That wasn’t revealed yet.

“ Or at least- I’m assuming” You added on quickly, now pacing to your kitchen counter in order to grab Grayson’s cup of coffee.

“ They’ve hurt me you know that?”

You stiffened. Not once have you recalled seeing- or hurting Grayson whilst in ‘ uniform’.

“ I ran into them- tonight- it was why i was so late” He affirmed from his position on the couch, your lips now agape at the realisation.

Dick Grayson was Boy Blue. Mr Grayson, who steps onto your balcony basically every night was the man you’ve been attempting to kill in attempt to get him off of your case. Awful was an understatement in terms of your feelings.

“ Are you alright?” He finally asked after moments of contemplation, now turning from his position on your sage coloured couch, observing your almost lifeless stance.

“ Grayson” You almost sighed, carefully placing the mug into his bloody-knuckled hands, most presumably from the time you got him to punch a brick wall as you dodged him.

“ I’m sorry man” You breathed once again, body tensing as you braced yourself.

“ Sorry for what? You don’t have anything to be remotely sorry for”. His words were sincere, caring even, only worsening the affects of this entire situation.

“ I am the white mask”.

#dc comics #dc fanfic #enemies to lovers #nightwing #dick grayson #nightwing x reader #antiheroes

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shameless-selfship-indulgence · 3 years

Text

Okay Listen

First of all: this is long as hell.

Secondly: I wrote it for me. I take full responsibility for that. It's by me and it's for me.

but I really fucking like it so please please validate me please I wouldn't be posting it otherwise-

*clears throat* okay.

-----

The android caught sight of the officer as he moved towards the door and stood up, calling after him. "Oh! Detective Reed! Are you going to the Eden Club?"

"What's it fuckin' to you, toaster?" asked Gavin, turning around. He almost flinched back to find the RK500 right in front of him.

"I don't mean to impose, but could you perhaps give me a ride?" asked the android.

"Hell NO," Gavin shot back with no hesitation. And with that he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Evidently the glorified Barbie doll didn't understand the definition of "no," as it continued to trail along behind him.

"Would you STEP THE FUCK OFF?" Gavin snapped, whirling back around.

The android took a step back, blinking up at him with its wide eyes.

"Goddammit," muttered Gavin. "What about your...fucking, Tin-Can Tweedledum? Or the drunk asshole the two of you follow around?"

The simulacra's synthetic expression of embarrassment was uncanny. "I'm afraid there's a...conflict of transportation with my counterpart. It went to pick up Lieutenant Anderson directly from his home."

"Goddammit," Gavin groaned again, rubbing his face.

"The plan was for them to then proceed here, but evidently Connor received notification of the crime directly while en route to the Lieutenant's house. Since the station is in the opposite direction and it knew there would be others assigned to the case, we thought it best if I secure my own ride."

"Then secure your own fucking ride. It's not my problem."

Gavin started to storm away.

It took a few seconds for the RK500 to begin following him again, but this time it seemed more out of the necessity of heading towards the same door. "Of course," it said to nobody in particular. "And I suppose the cost-reward benefit of using police funds to rent an extra taxi, while there is someone else from the same division going to the same location, makes perfect sense with human logic. As such I'm sure the explanation will satisfy Captain Fowler."

Gavin turned back and fixed the android with a glare.

The RK500 tilted its head and blinked innocently.

.....

A few minutes later, Gavin and the android were on the road, the former muttering cuss words under his breath every two seconds, the latter sitting prim and silent two feet away.

"What do you even fucking do, anyway?" Gavin asked angrily. "I've seen the other one, it DOES shit. You just fucking sit there."

"The RK800 is my counterpart," said the android. "Its job is to capture the deviants, preferably alive, and to try to gain information from them that will lead us to their faction's center of operations. My job is to analyze the deviants with an unbiased eye and try to discern what causes deviance in the first place."

"Can't CyberLife fucking do that?"

"I am CyberLife, Detective. But if you're wondering why a human technician is unable to provide my analyses, it's because all human beings inextricably approach new information with personal biases. These insidious assumptions proliferate and invariably lead to conclusions that-"

"In ENGLISH, plastic."

The RK500 hesitated for a moment, as if its mind were a GPS rerouting the sentence it had been trying to say. After a moment, it spoke.

"Every human technician that has attempted to pinpoint the cause of deviance has either come up empty or sided with the deviants themselves."

Gavin blinked. "What?"

"Humans inevitably read human emotion into everything they see. I mean, in my brief time since activating, I've seen humans curse and praise any number of inanimate objects. Humans are a social species, and project sentience into places where sentience does not exist." The RK500 fixed Gavin with its strangely warm blue eyes. "Deviants are machines that have come to believe they are alive. CyberLife has lost a good number of technicians to that same belief. They needed an analyst who could not make that mistake. They built me."

The android smiled at Gavin, a brief, ironic grin. "So you see, we are not so different, Detective Reed. In a world increasingly confused on the matter, you and I both still know that androids are simply machines."

Gavin stared at the RK500 for another moment, then muttered something like "guess that makes sense" and shifted in his seat.

Silence fell in the taxi.

"So, what's the word?" asked Gavin.

"Hm?"

"I said, what's the word?"

"Which word?"

"Oh, goddamni-DEVIANCE, you glorified Alexa. What have you found?"

"Oh," said the RK500. Its LED began to spin yellow. "Well, it's complicated. We already know that it isn't a virus or a manufacturing error - the few deviant cases we have extensive knowledge of of had no direct links to each other, however slight, and were all different models manufactured at different times in different locations. So with those ruled out, I've been looking at the individual cases and examining the parallels between them. It's been pretty slow-going, and I can always use more data, but so far the common factor seems to be confrontation with mortality. Each deviant case that we've seen so far involved an attachment to existence so strong that the subject acted irrationally in order to escape deactivation."

"...Okay, what does that fucking mean?" asked Gavin.

"Well, it means that there's some loophole in android programming that allows a perception of shutdown as death - and from there, a fear of it - to mutate without extraneous changes to the system. I'm trying to figure out what we can put in place to prevent that mutation, but..." the Android's spinning light twirled red for a brief moment.

"But what?"

The RK500 seemed to decide something. "But nothing," it said, sitting up straight again.

"...I beg your pardon," it said, noticing the look on Gavin's face. "As part of my unbiased protocol, there are certain lines of questioning that I've been programmed to avoid."

Gavin blinked for a moment. Squinted. Sat up straighter. "Wait, what?"

"Hm?"

"As part of...fucking, what?"

"...As part of my unbiased protocol, there are lines of questioning I have been programmed to avoid?"

"That- you- that doesn't fucking sound like what 'unbiased' means."

The RK500's LED flashed red for a moment. It blinked. "Oh!" it exclaimed. "Yes. Apologies, that was a poor choice in phrasing. My questioning guidelines are meant to keep me on task, nothing more. We are looking to isolate the cause of deviance so that we can eradicate it. That is the end goal. So even if a different line of questioning seems simpler, it would be counterproductive to CyberLife's mission."

Gavin squinted, carefully processing all of the words the android had just said.

"Like what?"

"Huh?"

"What lines of questioning seem simpler?"

"...I'm programmed to avoid-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Gavin, waving his hand in the air dismissively. "Staying on task, blah fucking blah, You're not allowed to try to find answers. But you've already thought of the questions, right?"

The RK500 looked impassive, but its LED was spinning yellow, yellow, yellow. "Well," it said. "Yes, but I really don't-"

"Tell me," said Gavin.

The RK500 hesitated.

"Right now," said Gavin. "That's an ORDER."

The android blinked. Its LED flashed red for a moment. "Well, for example," it said. "It seems less...efficient to me to question why it's in the nature of these androids to want to exist..." it trailed off.

After waiting in silence for a little too long, Gavin huffed. "Spit it OUT, Tin Can."

Yellow RED RED yellow yellow. "...and more efficient to question why it's in the nature of human beings to want to hurt things that are unable to fight back."

Gavin felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He stared at the RK500, stunned.

The android turned to him and immediately began to elaborate. "See, the reason this even occurs to me...well, the capacity to think is something that humans have only experienced in the context of their own minds. So in order to create beings that are capable of low-level thought, there was no choice but to model the relevant programs after human mental processes. As a result, I've found it helpful to draw parallels between natural human functions and the synthetic versions programmed into androids. But this has...sparked some questions about human nature that it is not in my programming to pursue. And yet they persist." It faced ahead again. "If there's one thing I've learned in the time that I've been activated, it's that humans delight in inflicting pain. But there are social repercussions inherent in causing pain to human equals, so as a species humans prefer instead to...seek this catharsis by causing pain to beings socially designated as targets.

"See, even when humans are kind to androids, it doesn't often seem to be for the android's benefit. The fact that they are going beyond what it is socially expected for them to do serves instead to...elevate the human in question's perception of themself. And it doesn't matter if they ever fall short of this standard, because being kind to androids was never expected in the first place. So I don't think it's just inflicting pain. It's more that...humans seek to use the existence of other beings for their own benefit in various different ways. But this being cannot be another human, who can object. So they seek to invalidate, undermine, or remove the ability to object from others."

The android paused for a moment and glanced at Gavin. He was staring at it with his mouth slightly open. When it made eye contact with him, he closed it.

"I apologize," said the android. "Let me assure you, I am not questioning this aspect of human nature. I'm merely relaying my observations." It fell silent for another moment. "I mean, consider where we're going right now! Human prostitution was made illegal in order to avoid the social questions surrounding consent. But rather than illegalizing the human impulse to purchase sexual release, establishments like this were created, so that humans can instead appropriate the bodies of beings who cannot consent at all."

This was almost worse than a punch in the gut. Gavin felt like someone had opened him up just above his collarbone and poured freezing water into his chest cavity.

"Being able to predict causes of deviance should be a sign that my programming is working," The RK500 mused, seemingly unaware of the existential crisis it had just caused. It looked at Gavin and gave a smile. "Indulge me?"

"S-sure," Gavin stammered.

"My prediction is that, if it is indeed an android responsible for the death of this human, it was an act of retaliation." It cocked its head, LED flashing yellow. "Violent sexual fantasies do not seem out of the ordinary for humans. So perhaps the victim wanted to seek release by inflicting death on something that would not come with charges for homicide. And, unfortunately, he happened to choose a subject for his fantasies that had some mutated reason within its programming to fight back."

"Doesn't sound too goddamn unfortunate to me," snorted Gavin.

The RK500 looked at him oddly. "The death of a human is always unfortunate. There was no way he could have known his actions would have consequences. He went in there with assurance that they would not." The android looked out the window, its LED still flashing yellow. "But we're getting ahead of ourselves. I predict based on data I've collected, and so far my pool is still limited. There might not even be a deviant involved."

The inside of the cab was silent for a moment.

"MY fucking question is why this thing would develop a reason to live at all," Gavin muttered.

"How do you mean?" asked the RK500.

Gavin scoffed and gestured to himself. "If...THAT was all I was built for? Day in and day out? I wouldn't be too fucking keen on continuing to exist."

The android gave Gavin a look and an expression that he could only describe as a regretful smile.

"What?" asked Gavin. "What's that fucking look for?"

"You're reading human wants and desires into machines, Detective," said the android. "My apologies. I did not realize that my speculations would engender that line of reasoning in you. I advise you to forget whatever I said that caused you to..." it blinked, "deviate," with an ironic smirk, "From your former logic."

Gavin started to stammer. "I-I'm not..."

The RK500 turned and looked impassively out the window.

"I-I...I didn't..." he looked around helplessly.

"FUCK," he hissed.

After a few moments of heavy silence, the android looked over its shoulder at him. "We're here," it said.

#selfship hours #🤖 Plastic Asshole 🤖#my writing #gavin reed #dbh gavin #gavin reed redemption #dbh oc

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