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harrylee94 · 4 years ago

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Log Entry XXXXXX - Chapter 1

Summary: A new space station, complete with the most high spec and up to date technology there is to offer, has been set up at the edge of the known universe, a new way point for explorers to keep in contact with the rest of the human race. It has been carefully designed by the best scientists and engineers Earth could offer, and now 7 brave souls are being sent out to ensure everything works perfectly.

However, when Logan wakes from cryosleep from the journey, he is informed that several things are now in need of repair, though everything had been in perfect working condition when the station had been reconstructed before he and his crew had arrived. They will have to solve the problems they've been left with before the station is up and running, and yet Logan can't help but feel he's done this before...

Relationships: Intrulogical (Remus/Logan)

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Parasites, Remus having an overactive imagination, It’s an Among Us crossover so there will be bad stuff afoot.

A/N: For those of you who don't know, this story is based off of a comic by @fangirltothefullest which I HIGHLY recommend you check them out on the link above! Their art is AMAZING.

Note to everyone before we begin; there will be graphic descriptions of gore, dismemberment, possibly torture, and any other awful things that come with the territory of writing a story in an Among Us universe.

To read it on AO3 please click here.

Chapter 1: Log Entry #1

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:00 AM

Logan blinked his eyes open as the dim light of the cryodeck slowly brightened, emulating the rising of the sun back on Earth and offering a gentle escape from his induced hibernation. He waited patiently as his body began to realise that it was awake again and started to carefully move each digit. The tingle of pins and needles washed over him like a wave, but he'd been expecting it; he had taken the chance to research the effects that cryosleep would leave on the body, and had found it quite a fascinating read. Apparently it was very similar to freezing meat the preserve it, but the science behind it meant that the human body would be kept alive throughout the process, just severely slowed down, so when the process was reversed the human body had to take some time to recover. Hence the pins and needles.

He was just starting to curl his hands into fists when he heard the thud and slap of a body hitting the floor nearby, shortly followed by a long, low groan.

"You're supposed to wait until your blood flow has returned to normal," Logan said, his voice cracking for disuse.

The groan sounded again, followed by the sound of whoever it was who had decided that getting out of the pod immediately was a good idea crawling closer before a blurred dark head of hair with a streak of white revealed itself over the edge. Logan frowned.

"I thought Virgil was supposed to be in the same chamber as me."

Remus pouted. "Aw, don't you love me anymore, Ana-Logie?"

Logan raised an eyebrow at him at the nickname. "We were given specific cryochambers in which we were to be stored during our journey here. I can recall quite clearly that you were supposed to be with Roman while Virgil had been positioned next to myself."

Remus blew a raspberry at him and folded his arms over the edge of Logan's resting place, setting his chin on them. "Since when do I do what I'm told?"

That was a good point. "Then where is Virgil?"

"We swapped," Remus replied, biting his lip as he looked Logan up and down. "I didn't want to end up burning in an oxygen fuelled explosion and disappearing into the empty void of space unless it was by your side."

Logan smiled softly up at him and pulled his still tingling arm up to cup his cheek, humming when Remus leaned into it. "It is highly unlikely that we would have died in our journey. Everything was monitored by several A.I. systems, all of which have been tested on hundreds of previous missions. The chances of failure were miniscule."

"But it was possible," Remus said, his grin stretching the way it always did when he was thinking of something disturbing. "The cryochambers could have malfunctioned, turning us into frozen chickens, and we would have shattered into a thousand pieces when the chambers tipped over, which would have melted and we would have been all these bloody bits of bone and flesh, all mixing all over the floor, like a swamp where all the fish have died and it's turned the water rancid, and then the maggot and flies would have feasted on--"

Logan pulled himself up and shut him up with a kiss, making Remus freeze for a second before relaxing into him. Fingers wove into his hair, and the scientist sighed into Remus's mouth before pulling away, eliciting a moan from the man. "We didn't. We're fine. We are both awake and alive, and it is time we change."

"But I like you in skin tight latex," Remus said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"It would be more accurate to call this a synthetic polymer," Logan told him, pushing himself into a seated position and reaching past Remus for the glasses that had been stored in the side of the cryochamber, slipping them onto his nose he gave Remus an expectant look. "You know the only reason we would have been awoken would be that our arrival to the Station was imminent. I would much prefer it if you were wearing the correct safety gear for when we arrive."

"But wouldn't it be interesting to see what it was like for a human body to be exposed to the vacuum of space?" Remus asked, only to cackle when Logan pushed his face away.

"Get changed, Remus."

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 7:04 AM

Logan shifted the weight of his helmet under his arm as he headed towards the depressurisation chamber, the ship itself having docked only a few minutes after he and presumably everyone else had been awoken. Remus had taken every chance he could get to distract him and slow him down, so his usual twenty minute change into his suit had been prolonged, and he hadn't noticed the message until he was almost out the door.

Each member of the team had a set of keys, a security card and a tablet. Normally Logan would have checked the tablet for any news as soon as he had awoken, but it was only now he was stepping through the last door that he was reading the most recent message.

"Wasn't it supposed to be brand, spanking new?" Remus asked from where he was reading over Logan's shoulder. "Just spanking new?"

"Yes, that was the case," Logan said with a sigh, putting the tablet away in its pouch as the door closed behind him.

They were the last to arrive, as he had expected, and he did not appreciate the smug look that Janus was sending their way from where he was lounging in one of the seats near to a crate of supplies. Virgil was currently being led by Patton through some breathing exercises on the other side of the room while Roman rubbed his back in comfort. Orange was, as always, minding his own business, scrolling through his own tablet in the corner, his helmet beside him and ready to go. Remus immediately took the opportunity to flop on his friend in the yellow suit, much to Janus's chagrin, and Logan sighed.

"I take it everyone is aware of the situation we currently find ourselves in," he said, looking at each of them to observe their reactions before continuing. "It seems that the Station has been damaged in transit, so it will be our main focus in the upcoming days to repair the systems. It shouldn't take more than a day I expect."

"But what... What if it was something else?" Virgil asked between breaths, his eyes deeply shadowed despite the long sleep. "What if it was sabotage?"

"Yeah," Remus agreed with his usual grin. "What if it was the engineers who built it; maybe they made it to malfunction and kill us all! Or it could be a new HAL 9000, ready to blast us off into space one by one. Or maybe aliens-!"

Janus shoved him off his lap, shutting him up before Roman, who had been turning an alarming shade that almost matched his suit, could step in, Virgil's breathing becoming more erratic with each suggestion.

"The likelihood of it being anything other than some damage caused by transit is slim to none," Logan told them, adjusting his glasses. "I assure you, there is no reason to be afraid."

"And I shall be there to protect you," Roman said, placing a hand on his chest and posing as much as he could without removing himself from Virgil's side. "As is my sworn duty. No harm shall come to you as long as I am by your side."

Virgil did not look entirely convinced, but he nodded all the same, smiling at the flamboyant display.

"Either way, as we are all now here and have presumably taken a sufficient and healthy breakfast, shall we proceed?" Logan suggested.

Patton raised a hand.

"You don't have to raise your hand to speak, Patton."

"Oh, well then," the man in the light blue suit said with a happy grin. "I was just wondering if chocolate chip pancakes were healthy."

Logan blinked at him. "How can you-?"

"Yes, Pat, they're perfectly healthy!" Roman exclaimed, pulling Virgil towards the door. "Now let's go!"

Orange huffed and rose to his feet as he donned his helmet. "We're all ready, Blue."

"Yes, well," Logan said, adjusting his glasses one last time before twisting his own helmet into place. "I suppose so. Helmets everyone."

"Do we have to?" Remus moaned from where he'd been rolling around on the floor. "Wouldn't it be more fun if we-?"

"Put on the damn helmet, you rat in human form," Janus almost hissed, kicking him in the side for good measure. Remus laughed but put his helmet on, being the very last to do so, and shot up to his feet where he bounced in place as he waited, like a child on a sugar high.

The doors hissed as they opened, sliding apart to reveal the Sanders Space Station, the hallways near spotless and the lights bright and clean. It was almost like stepping into an Ikea or a show room, even coming with the smell of disinfectant, but a lot more technical. Having memorised the map over breakfast, Logan led the way through the maze of corridors to the cafeteria, as good a place as any to be called a base of operations, and stood by the central table as he waited for the six others to gather around. From the looks of it the integrity of the walls seemed intact, and nothing serious was wrong, as they knew, but still, it was better to err on the side of caution while they had yet to determine the status of the air.

"I thought we already had breakfast" Orange said, looking around in confusion.

"I thought it would be a good idea to set up a-" Logan pulled out his tablet and looked through his notes, "-'home base'. There are many tasks for us to do and I believe it would be more efficient if we split up to achieve them as quickly as possible."

"Because there is no 'I' in 'team'!" Patton agreed with a bright smile.

"Correct, you do not spell 'team' with the letter 'I'," Logan agreed with a nod, ignoring how several of the others snickered. "Now, from the list that has been sent to each of our tablets I can see that the Reactor has yet to be started, so I would suggest that Orange, as the most qualified with such things, would be perfect for the task." Orange hummed. "The engine would be a good place for you to move once you have completed that. Patton, I would suggest you take charge everything in Navigation, and Janus can take charge of tasks in Communications."

"I take it I've got the Medbay?" Virgil asked, his arms wrapped around himself, something he tended to do when he couldn't put his hands into his pockets.

"I'll go with you, Charlie Frown," Roman said, nudging him with his elbow.

"Actually, Roman, I was hoping you could-" Logan began but Roman waved him off.

"I will continue to ensure the safety of this vessel at Virgil's side," he said. "There's no need to worry, Specs."

"... Indeed," Logan drawled, turning to Remus at his side. "In which case, you can be in charge of the Weapons section. You and Roman can decide who can tackle the other sections that involve the security of the station."

As expected, Remus pulled him in for a hug, their helmets banging together as he tried to squeeze him through the fabric. "You're the best, my bleeding, puss riddled heart."

"Is there anything else we will be needed for in the near future?" Janus asked as the others either made disgusted faces as Remus's nickname or snorted as Logan tried to extricate himself from his partner's grasp.

"Uh, I just want you all to know that, should you come across any problems you come across that you believe will need a group effort, just set off the beacon in our suits and we can all meet back here. Any other tasks -- Remus would you put me down -- any other tasks you can do would be helpful."

"Sounds good," Orange said and spun on the spot, heading towards the reactor with a lazy wave over his shoulder. Roman and Virgil followed him soon after, the Medbay between the cafeteria and the reactor, and Janus went on his own towards the Communications room.

"Isn't this exciting?" Patton asked with a bounce. "I'm over the moon about everything!"

Logan sighed. It was going to be a long day.

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 11:27 AM

Logan had spent the better part of four hours trying to ensure that the oxygen filter was in correct working condition, along with all the wiring and such, but at last he felt he could safely say that it was up and running. For the last half an hour he'd been checking the oxygen levels in the Station and was pleasantly surprised to find that they had always been capable of supporting human life, so he checked it off his list with a satisfied smile.

He had heard Patton working in Navigation nearby, and Remus's maniacal laughter as he blasted the various detritus that had been gathering around the Station through the gun systems had been an enjoyable accompaniment, if a bit annoying after a while, and highly unnecessary, but now, as he rose to his feet, he could appreciate a break. Heading out into the corridor he took a quick left turn and came up behind Remus, who was sat on the the seat in the centre of the control area, and watched as he blasted a few more things on the screens.

"Take that you dry buttholes!" the man in green yelled as something exploded into dust on the right screen.

"Having fun?"

Remus immediately spun the chair around and pulled Logan into his lap. "Nerdy Wolverine!" he said, making sure Logan was straddling his lap and wrapping his arms around his back. "Here to give me a saucy lap dance?"

"I've actually decided that it was about time I had a break," Logan informed him, keeping his distance by setting his hands against Remus's shoulders. "That and..." He pushed himself back enough to be able to sit up without falling into his partner's chest and removed his helmet. "The air is breathable."

Remus stared at him for a few seconds before scrambling to remove his own and dropping them both to the floor with hollow thuds as he puled Logan in to kiss him thoroughly and invasively. Logan was all too happy to respond, grasping at the metal ring of Remus's collar. They had been asleep for years, travelling light years away from home, away from everything they knew, and while it might have been only a single sleep for them, it still felt like forever.

And yet the moment was broken, the beacon in their suits blaring loudly at them, and Logan pushed himself away from Remus in surprise.

"I'm going to disembowel whoever did that," Remus grumbled, allowing Logan up.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't."

"Don't be alarmed!" Patton said as he came in behind them. "I'm sure it's-. Hey! Your helmets are off!"

"Yes, the air is safe to breathe," Logan said, pulling Remus up.

"Did you do this?" the moustached man demanded with a sharp finger.

"No," Patton said with a frown. "I was just making sure the steering was straight and true."

Remus continued to glare at him for a few seconds before turning away, following Logan into the cafeteria.

No one else had arrived yet, though the three of them had been the closest to the cafeteria, and so Logan sat himself down at the central table as Remus wandered around the room, taking out his tablet to check on the tasks that still needed doing in the ship. From the looks of things they seemed to be on schedule, so whatever this was would only be a small hiccup in the scheme of things. Roman and Virgil had entered the room as he'd been studying the list, but still there was no sign of Orange or Janus.

"So we can take our helmets off now?" Roman asked as he looked between the three of them, all of them now bare-headed. "Thank God." He removed it quickly and set it down on the table, Virgil following his example, though he kept hold of it as they sat.

"Where's Orange?" Patton asked, looking past them.

"Oh, he's probably just-"

"He's dead."

Everyone turned to the door opposite the windows that showed the great expanse of space beyond. Janus stood there, leaning against the frame. There was a thick, shiny red liquid on his glove and smeared over his thigh.

"... What?"

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 11:51 AM

Orange was lying face up in the storage area next to the fuel tank, a smear of blood on the floor beside him, undoubtedly where he'd been lying face down before Janus had found him, as the majority of the front of the suit had been stained with his blood, and there was an uneven tear, revealing a mess of flesh, internal organs and bodily fluids. Blank eyes stared up through a cracked helmet. The six of them were stood around it in shock.

"... Are we sure we're alone on this ship?" Virgil asked after what had felt like an eternity of silence.

"We... We should be," Logan said, uncertainty rocking his foundations. This was supposed to be a safe mission. They were supposed to man the station until the rest of the crew arrived. They were only supposed to make sure everything was in working order. They were supposed to be safe!

"Should be?" Janus repeated with a sneer. "Orange is dead!"

"Yes! I've noticed that!" Logan snapped back, rubbing at his mouth as he watched Remus examine the body. "This... This shouldn't have happened."

"Well it did, didn't it," Roman said.

"What.... What should we do?" Patton asked, looking between each of them.

"We should put Orange in his cryotube before his bowels empty themselves everywhere," Remus said, getting to his feet. "Though I doubt we'll make it in time."

"Yes but, after that."

"Staying in groups," Logan said with a decisive nod. "Two or three per group at least. The more of us there are the less likely we'll be..."

"I'm with Log-in," Remus said, looking around the room and picking up a crate lid to shift Orange's body onto. "Need a hand, Ro. And preferably the rest of the body as well."

"Can you not!" Roman said in disgust but helped him move Orange onto the make-shift stretcher. "Storm Cloud, you're with me."

"Yeah, I'm not complaining," Virgil said.

Patton turned to Janus with an uneasy smile. "Well, I guess that means it's you and me-"

"I'll tag along with you two," the man in yellow said, pointing between Roman and Virgil.

"-Logan and Remus!" Patton continued as though that had been what he'd intended to say all along.

"Alright," Logan said and moved ahead of the brothers to ensure the pathways was clear for them. "Let's... get this over with."

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 12:20 PM

Orange had been sealed into his cryochamber, a task that had taken more effort than any of them had wanted, and there were now a few empty stomachs after smelling the half digested remains of his breakfast. Knowing the workings of death was not the same as experiencing them and no one was ready, not even Remus who was looking paler than usual. They were back in the cafeteria, sitting at the table and keeping an eye on all the entrances both Roman and Remus now with patches of blood on their suits from having to physically having to move the body.

Normally at his time Logan would have suggested they east something, but he knew none of them would be able to keep it down.

"What should we do?" Virgil asked, helmet now firmly back in place. "We can't just... wait here to get murdered."

"Logan did say that the more of us there are in one group, the more likely we'll be able to defend ourselves," Patton said with a forced smile. "Why don't we just, you know, stick together?"

"But then the alien might be going around sabotaging the Station," Remus pointed out, eyes flickering to every shadow as he touched each finger to his thumbs over and over again. "I mean, did Orange finish working on the reactor? And the engines; what if we weren't where we needed to be when the rest of the team arrives? They'd have to search for us, and that could take weeks! And then there's the Oxygen-"

As though Remus's words had been a prophecy the Station's alarm sounded and a yellow light flashed.

"Next time, keep your mouth shut," Janus said, pushing himself up from the table.

"We have to get to two panels," Logan informed them, painfully aware of the countdown that the overhead had begun in a tinny voice. "There's one in Admin and another next to the oxygen filter."

"We'll take Admin," Roman said, nodding to Janus and leading both him and Virgil in the right direction.

Logan, meanwhile, headed back to the oxygen station, but before he could get too far Remus caught his shoulder.

"Remus-"

"I'll go first," he said, moving ahead as he sent a grin his way. "If anyone's going to get disembowelled by a murdering alien it's me."

Logan felt almost physically sick at the thought but gave him a nod and followed behind.

Though there were only a few corners to turn to reach their destination, each one held a horrible danger and a potentially deadly encounter, turning the once safe and comforting realm into a nightmare. They held their breath as they stepped into the oxygen lab and Remus stood guard at the door, letting Logan get on with repairing the error. Although Patton's fidgeting at the side was a little distracting, Logan did notice that the error was actually fairly easy to fix, and it seemed to have been created remotely. That was odd. Very odd indeed. The only way for that to happen would be-

The voice stopped its countdown and the lights went back to their sterile glare as he closed the casing, confirming that the others had fixed their end, and they all relaxed minutely.

"That was a close call," Patton said, undoubtedly trying to sound optimistic but the wobble in his voice broke the illusion.

Logan nodded. "Let's go back to the cafeteria."

The three of them moved carefully back towards their meeting place, constantly on guard and feeling incredibly vulnerable with every step. It was an oversight to not keep something on the Station with which to defend themselves, and it was something Logan would certainly be bringing up with their eventual co-workers, but for now all they had was their suits and their tablets.

The cafeteria was empty and quiet when they returned, the vast expanse of space looming dark and cold out the thick, reinforced windows. Against all logical reasoning it made Logan feel more alone than ever and he reached out for Remus's hand, which he took with a squeeze in silence. They wandered to the central table, clustering together as they watched the door to Admin, waiting. Seconds passed, and those seconds turned into minutes, until the tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

"They should be back by now," Logan said, pressing closer to Remus's side.

"May... Maybe they went to check on the engines," Patton suggested, having come to stand on Remus's other side.

Remus continued to watch the stretch of corridor for a few moments, his face more blank -- more serious -- than Logan could ever remember seeing it before. "We should check."

Patton swallowed. "D-do we have to?"

There was another long pause before Remus nodded and he looked between the two of them. "I don't think they've gone to the engines."

Logan swallowed but nodded, having come to a similar conclusion himself. They would have returned here as soon as the oxygen situation had been resolved. He released Remus's hand to give him greater movement and followed close behind him when they headed onwards.

Each step seemed to echo, their breaths loud in his ears and the air was almost too cold. He didn't know what to expect, so his mind created images for him; a craze worker left behind by the construction crew wielding a bloody screwdriver, an android system that had become corrupted and was disguising itself as the very walls around them, some alien creature from the movies he and Remus had watched late at night back on Earth, using the shadows, the ceiling, and whatever else it could to get to them without being seen. Whatever it was it was still out there.

It was still out there, and it had killed not only Orange, but Janus as well.

The once yellow suit was now almost entirely saturated with blood, the domed glass of the helmet shattered and Janus's face stuck in a look of shock. Logan didn't know where all the blood had come from exactly, but it had started to pool around the body, and he stepped closer, almost hypnotised by it. The human body held approximately 10 pints of blood. There were a myriad of veins in the body. Janus was dead. If a main artery was punctured, say in the leg, neck or arm, it would take 30 seconds before unconsciousness and 3 minutes until death. Janus was dead. Similarly it could take up to 5 minutes to die if the heart was--

"Logan!"

He blinked, surprised to find Remus was holding his face.

"Hey, Nerdy Wolverine. You back with me?"

Logan blinked again and nodded.

"Good," he said, planting a kiss on his brow. "Now, we still don't know where Roman and Virgil are. It might be that they were taken by whoever-"

Darkness. Complete and utter blackness fell over them, the lights clicking off. Patton squeaked in fright somewhere near the door. Logan clutched at Remus. Remus pulled Logan close.

"Electrical," Logan said. "We have to go to electrical to fix the lights."

"How can we fix it if we can't see?" Remus asked, his warm breath brushing against Logan's cheek.

"The panel should have some battery powered light in it," Logan said, cursing that he'd left his helmet in the weapons bay; though it wasn't much they had a small light in them, one which would have been incredibly useful now. "Patton, can you come closer so we can all stick together?"

Silence.

"... Patton?"

Still nothing.

"Logan," Remus said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I think..."

Logan's grip on Remus tightened and he nodded, the cold seeping into him as they stepped forwards together, creeping through the blackness. Until their feet hit something soft and wet. Logan whimpered.

"We have to get to the shuttle," Remus said, starting to pull Logan down the hallway, leaving Patton's corpse behind them. "We can lock the doors behind us and-"

"What about Roman and Virgil?"

"They're probably dead," Remus said, choking on the word but pausing all the same. "They're probably in pieces. Roman... We can't think about them. We-" The words cut off, choked with a gasp, and Logan felt him stiffen.

"R-Remus?"

"Logan... I love you. I love... I love you so much." Remus said, his voice wet and broken. He could hear a smile in his voice, and then he felt him fall. "You're... the best thing that ever happened to me."

"I love you too," he replied, tears streaming down his cheeks as he collapsed down beside him, reaching for his face to hold him. "Remus. Remus I love you so much." He could feel a presence behind him, the certainty of death creeping over him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Remus had stopped moving had stopped breathing, and he sobbed in agony at the loss until he felt something sharp and serrated slice through the flesh of his throat.

It takes 30 seconds of blood loss from a main artery until unconsciousness...

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:00 AM

Logan blinked his eyes open as the dim light of the cryodeck slowly brightened, emulating the rising of the sun back on Earth and offering a gentle escape from his induced hibernation. He waited patiently as his body began to realise that it was awake again and started to carefully move each digit. The tingle of pins and needles washed over him like a wave, but he'd been expecting it; he had taken the chance to research the effects that cryosleep would leave on the body, and had found it quite a fascinating read. Apparently it was very similar to freezing meat to preserve it, but the science behind it meant that the human body would be kept alive throughout the process, just severely slowed down, so when the process was reversed the human body had to take some time to recover. Hence the pins and needles.

He was just starting to curl his hands into fists when he heard the thud and slap of a body hitting the floor nearby, shortly followed by a long, low groan.

"You're supposed to wait until your blood flow has... returned to normal," Logan said, his voice cracking in a somehow familiar way.

"Have... Have we done this before?"

#writing #me #my stuff #fanfiction #sanders sides #among us #sanders side fic #sanders sides among us au #logan sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #orange sanders #tw blood #tw gore #tw character death #time loop

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neocityfics · 4 years ago

Text

2096: Zodiac

Chapter: Intro < ❝ Prologue ❞ > Chapter One

➥ Chapter List

Genre: Cyberpunk inspired, mafia-esque, not-so dystopian, angst

Pairing: Doctor! Taeyong x Reader [Sprinkle of other pairings tbd]

Summary: 2094, the disaster happens. The richest become richer with their reddened backs turned, the people around you growing more and more tired, and a certain Dr. Lee plans to change it all. Lucas unknowingly pulls you into the frenzy, and you become part of this confusing and painful process. You catch yourself floating between the conflict of twelve gangs and a world where circuits begin replacing flesh.

Warnings: Moderate cursing, death, heavy events similar to real world situations

A/N: Throughout the writing, there’ll be links (indicated by ▶ Ambience) for a more immersive experience. These are YouTube links, so it may be difficult to switch between YouTube and Tumblr (especially for those unable to have video pop-outs on mobile), so please keep this in mind. I’m also working on a Spotify playlist. I really hope you enjoy my first published piece!

▶ Ambience

The sea of neon purples, pinks, and blues drowned out whatever background activity filled the hustling life of the city. Light harshly touches the exterior of small shops endlessly lining the streets. Though full of living people, it always seemed a bit lonely. Everyone for themselves as it had been before the disaster happened, before life became even harder and resources scarce. Half the world is gone, but for whatever reason, humans continue to persevere. This strength is a unique feat, but it comes with consequences. With the remaining 3 billion people left on Earth, only the Eurasian continent remains the only habitable land thus forcing people to squeeze in tightly. It’s like this everywhere-- tiny housing, famines, and the overgrowing hunger to hold power and wealth much as we did before. The rich stay rich, the poor stay poor.

Life’s tough in Neostone. With hundreds of thousands of people and little food, restaurants struggle to keep open with enough to sell. Fresh water sources and land were replaced with tall housing structures and corporate buildings. Most have to work two or more jobs. Education is non-existent and relies on parents teaching kids different skills through child labor. Further industrialization in the little space the planet has left led to bouts of acid rain from overworked factories. The world’s leaders morph into the same guise: ties stained with blood, suits the product of cheap labor showed off status, and their white-gloved hands tightly gripped heavy silver suitcases. Corruption still plagues the broken systems that hang over society, sustained from before the disaster happened. It seems like we’ll never learn.

Sure, it’s difficult to get by day to day without much, yet the communities outside the wealthy rich businesses were tight-knit. Everyone knows each other’s names. People often trade food scraps for little luxuries to feel any ounce of happiness. Friends hang out near street food vendors where most people are, begging for any kind of calorie. While life in Neostone is tough, the citizens depend on each other for care, not anyone from above.

I don’t think of it much-- how different life would be if the disaster didn’t happen, if the world had never been touched by so much chaos. I knew it’d be the same, that I’d end up still struggling to get from morning to morning. Even with the big drop in population, we live as sardines squished together under a layer of plastic that suffocates us. Nothing has changed. I lost everything.

Though the neons felt like home and they were all I’ve known for the past couple of years, I do remember who I was before this all went downhill. Fresh in college with a mind set on (major(s)/minor(s)), and although uncertain of the future, I was ready to break free from family and understand what it means to live a good life. Debt would hit me hard on my head but I was certain to find ways to pay it off without burdening others. Between jobs and school, I felt like there was a purpose for my movement, for my existence, to be a small gear of a clockwork world. For three years, I managed to get stuff done and become my own separate identity. I never felt more myself for the longest time. One more year to go, I said to myself as my third year comes to a close. But fourth year never came. It happened. The start of summer into my last year in college was the best time I’ve had in my life. During an internship in Japan, I’d gotten a handle of how it was in the real world as part of the workforce. A month into the most enjoyable moments of my life came the disaster.

▶ Ambience, Ambience

I watched the television screens throughout the subway, making my way to my 9am train when the static and distortions of color accompanied the shaking ground beneath me. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing as the news shifted to an emergency alert. All of a sudden, hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, building collapses, and tsunamis were destroying the western hemisphere. The disaster was inexplicable, the most spontaneous event in the history of Earth. I hid in the nearest shelter in Tokyo as realization hit how horrifying everything was. Buildings toppling left and right, people being crushed beneath the debris, splatters of fresh red on the broken bits of glass and metal heaps. That was a day of absolute terror. Within twenty-four hours, half the world was gone. My heart sank as the disasters settled throughout the world, and the news focused on the western hemisphere where I had lived most of my life. That part of the world was gone. My family and college friends were gone.

And I was left alone in Japan.

But the world didn’t change. The same evil corporate heads enforced the same evil policies and practices. The same tired faces dragged their tired bodies until no end just to, at the bare minimum, survive. No matter what form the world took, this was our fate until we went extinct. The only thing that changed perhaps was how many of us were kept in that system, and that the system favoring the wealthy became stronger. So the cycle continues.

▶ Ambience

With the scraps of money I had left on my name and picking up little jobs, I was able to get into a micro apartment. The government was eager to take advantage of the situation and make just enough housing to keep people happy and off the streets, but also enough to ensure some people couldn’t get out of the vicious system so labor was cheap. My space is dingy at best and quite small, but it’s all the comfort I have. Not a day passes where I’m not grateful for a private place to sleep, do business, and let myself feel at ease. Others aren’t so lucky, sleeping behind their food and merchandise stalls or in the nooks and crannies of back alleys. Weeks passed into months where my body ached from overwork, the same for the people I’ve been surrounded with and worked alongside. It’s only been two years since everyone had to rebuild what’s been lost, but it looked only slightly different in Neostone where Tokyo had once been. Only the mega cities were somewhat unscathed by the disaster, and businesses collectively chipped in to remodel them. Rural and suburban areas were either flooded or full of toxic waste.

People from all races and backgrounds who survived into the aftermath of the disaster poured into the cities. I was kindly taken into the dangerous but welcoming community of downtown Neostone, where cooking and selling food in addition to helping at clinic became my new life. At the clinic, I met someone I familiarized myself with to be comfortable and close enough. Having someone around lifted up my motivation. Going by Lucas, a name he adopted to fit in with the rest of downtown Neostone, he worked assiduously the same shifts as me at Pearl Park Clinic. Besides weekends, Lucas and I leave for work together as he lives just a few rooms down in the complex. While working at the clinic down on East Row, he comes to visit for a bite at the street food stall that keeps me busy half the week. Throughout getting to know him within two years, he revealed he also lost family he was close with-- a younger brother and sister who by the sound of his stories were needy brats that he loved so much. It hurts to know they’re gone like my friends are. I was glad I could relate to him and also be someone to lean on. On a roller-coaster of life’s tests, Lucas and I know we have each other’s back.

▶ Ambience

Today was like most days, another Friday morning. The green flash of LED at 7:00am with a loud beeping, a quick splash of cold water against my face, clean clothes, and a quick bite of fruit. The same mindless routine guides me out of the door of the room and down the hall. From my room, 716, to Lucas’s room, 718, was only a few meters away thanks to the tiny size of rooms. I knock once, twice, then thrice, but no reply. Strange. I’m used to Lucas whipping the door wide open at the slightest sound of my footsteps to poke his head out and greet me loudly. Should I knock again? Call him? My hand gravitated towards the doorknob, uncertain if we’re on the kind of terms where I can barge in whenever. “Lucas,” I decide to start softly, “I’m here now, we can leave for the clinic.” No reply. Maybe I’ll text him. Unlocking my phone, a smile cracked on my face as a photo of Lucas and I hanging out with some other friends posed in front of our favorite ice cream shop flashed across the screen. No red numbered badge on the messaging app. Today feels a little bit unusual. Typically, he texts when he needs help or won’t be at work. Inhaling in, I choose to try the knob in which a turn and a push of the door unveils the dark, musky room. A room with no Lucas. Noticing the tension in my face and shoulders, I relax them and try not to think of anything bad that could happen to him. Maybe he needed to stop somewhere before going to work. Maybe he’s just out to get groceries and whatnot. Maybe he’s just busy doing something else. I trust he’ll get back to me soon, but the weird pit in my stomach bugged my thoughts.

Down the long winding halls, unlocking my phone seemed all I could do, the worry taking over. My pace quickened. It’s 8:00am, the clinic starts up at 9:00am. It’s a long walk through a rather sketchy part of downtown, but it's one I’ve mastered throughout the couple of years and certainly made friends in. Reaching the staircase, my breath was noticeably shallower. This was always the worst part. It took much time and energy just to get to the first floor. Upon stepping into the lobby, I swiftly pick up an umbrella from the community box set near the entrance and begin my path out. The clerk at the counter peaks over his rather raunchy motorcycle magazine, riddled with messy yellow text, and he subtly waves at me. I send the gesture back, taking my leave from the complex. Rain besets Neostone often, the overcast weather permitting low fog and grey clouds to lurk the bubble that is downtown. Chatter and noise blend together from all sides with the rushing waters eagerly greeting storm drains and early risers setting up their stores. In comparison to the staircase, the lengthy walk to the clinic is always a breeze, and it helps calm the nerves as I ready myself for a busier pace of day. Every five minutes, I unlocked my phone again to see if Lucas had contacted me. Still no sign of him.

▶ Ambience

After what seems like the longest walk of my life, some staff of the community medical clinic greet me and provide a list of my duties right away. 9:00am right on the dot. I take in what needs to get done, reading off the slightly crumpled paper between my fingers. Towel laundry… Disinfect beds in the North Wing… Prepare a warm epsom salt bath for patients in the East Wing… Always busy on Fridays when the work week is over and people live out their less-than-safe life decisions. Less work, more injuries, and more patients. A voice sharply interrupts, “Hey! Where’s Lucas? You two always arrive here together.” My heart sank. So he isn’t at work. Where could that man possibly be?

Tension grows but a sigh leaves my chest as I formulate some sort of response to the nurse, “He might be sick, I’m not sure where he went. Usually he tells me, but I’m sure he has his reasons.” The lady nodded and clicked her tongue as if irritated. A pause before I ask her, “Why, are we short-staffed today?” She gives a vexed nod again, taking her leave as another staff member urges her towards a patient. Stupid question. We always are understaffed. Located on the intersection of Bear Walk and Oak Lane as suspension railways weave between buildings, Pearl Park Medical Clinic threw itself into one of downtown’s busiest and most dangerous areas. Crimes being committed everyday that send people into the clinic, drunkards finding their way through the doors to spew anger uncalled for against the staff, and the homeless just asking for a pillow or blanket while they sleep outside as they’re reminded of the cold, hard pavement soaked with rain. Of course, we must treat everyone’s needs… and wants in some cases. Only a couple dozen of us work the two-floored piece of the tall establishment which also houses struggling law firms, compact grocery stores, beauty salons, and wireless carriers. This place is a mini mall, but not for the faint-of-heart mall goers. Murder, sabotage, and sickness run rampant. However, it’s the place Lucas and I call home. From Tuesday to Friday, from 9:00am to 8:00pm, my hands pruned from washing equipment and fabric constantly, legs moved to and from wing to wing to prepare stations, mind boggled by the surprising sights of Neostone’s everyday life. The dirty white walls, gowns, and noise make me feel rejuvenation each time I clock in for shifts. Home. A place of belonging. Everyone accepted me in, even as a seemingly insignificant part of the operation. For Lucas, he tells me so often as if I forget easily, it’s a dream come half true.

Lucas aspired to be a doctor. It was his lifelong desire to help others, fascinated by how many times the human body tested the limits and broke them, and how he could save someone’s life. That was his purpose. Unfortunately, he fell into the same boat as I did, not being able to finish college because of the disaster. As per hiring policy, Pearl Park requires employees to be degree holders in biology, chemistry, biochemistry, or any other related field. Lucas was studying biochemistry with a neuroscience minor. Beyond impressive were his grades by what Lucas boasts to me, though I can’t confirm since the disaster destroyed his documents. In his third year, he already started planning his senior capstone project with research on the nervous system of several types of animals. We bonded over doing labs, the silliest or most dreadful courses we sat through, and how the university dining food sucked and ripped us all off. But it was a waste. In this new society, formal higher education is not important. Some schooling still persists, but they’re limited to small, dusty, singular classrooms led by underpaid teachers. Families tend to force children into work as it’s deemed more beneficial in learning practical home economics rather than mathematical theories, ethics, physical sciences, and so much more. The mindset of the remaining world focused on survival versus getting jobs of higher pay and better conditions. No one could blame us when authority breaks and the top 1% fully turn their back on you. Despite being turned down for medical practice, Lucas still wholeheartedly accepted the situation and embraced helping out in the clinic. Here and there with a bit of discreteness, Lucas does patch up some patients with bandage, disinfect cuts, and give advice for those with physical pain. Might I add, he’s quite popular with the patients as well, handsome and charming as he is. I’ll admit to it, I’m jealous of how he lifts everyone up in the toughest hours. Shortly after he joined, my arrival a week later brought him joy knowing I was stuck in the same sticky situation he was in. His passion could be seen a mile away. On the other hand, I just needed this job to keep myself afloat like everyone else.

I snap back to reality when one of the doctors, Dr. Lee who made a beeline towards one of the stations, bumped my side. Asshole, I think to myself. He’s head of the Pearl Park operation, so I don’t feel the desire to cause trouble by reprimanding him. This job allows me to hang onto my existence and sanity with my apartment, I couldn’t afford to lose it. His voice booms suddenly, startling nearby staff, “Is Lucas not here? I need him to help.” His voice trails off and erupts again, “With surgery preparation on Monday,” he swivels his head to one of the lead nurses, “We’re doing a skin graft for a severely burned person.” Despite the cold aura, his face contorted with concern and urgency. The patients put complete faith into him as he’s been a well-known medical practitioner since before the disaster. My imagination briefly ponders the severity of the injury as if I haven’t seen my fair share of nasty burn wounds. Shoulders shudder for a moment, and then I begin towards the North Wing where my first duty awaits.

▶ Ambience

Phew. That might’ve been the longest shift of my life. All day, the image of Lucas constantly itched at the back of my mind. It was difficult to focus, but I managed to get through the hours until 8:00pm. With my feet aching from exhaustion and a slight headache from lack of food or water, I decide to pay a visit to my other favorite place: East Row’s finest Chinese street food, Electric Egg. In my innermost thoughts, I’d hope to see Lucas there, munching away on tea eggs. That was his go-to snack after shifts at the clinic. Being on your feet all day does quite a bit of damage and leaves the stomach to growl, to fight for a delicious energy replenishment. When I arrive, one of my coworkers greets me cheerfully, shouting and waving my name as I draw closer, much to my embarrassment. “Sicheng,” my voice laced with laughter, “how’s business!” Our most common exchange, with the most common reply. With a hardy laugh, he shoots back, “The everyday thing, you know. Slow.” Sicheng’s smile invites me towards the side of the stall as he prepares what he knows are my regular dishes of choice. “Xi’an pancake and sesame tang yuan, coming right up!” As if on cue, my stomach beams in excitement and I lay my hand on it to feel the grumble, making Sicheng to laugh. “How’s work by the way, and where’s Lucas? I have his tea eggs already here.” I glanced to the side of the cart Sicheng worked away at, and indeed Lucas’s tea eggs sat prettily in a mug, waiting to be eaten.

I sigh, turning Sicheng’s grin into a straight line. He’s observant and knows how to read the room well. After a pause to gather myself, I sit down on a stool facing Sicheng and begin to tell him my worries. “I’m not sure if maybe I’m overthinking this, but Lucas always tells me if he’s not feeling well enough to work or go out somewhere. But he was gone this morning, he wasn’t in his room when I left for the clinic. He didn’t show up to the shift, and so many bad things could’ve happened, especially in the area we’re in. I’ve been checking my phone the entire day, but I’ve gotten no resp--”

“My tea eggs! You’re the best Sicheng, I really needed this after a long day, oh my god. You guys have no idea, my belly’s been howling!”

I froze. I know that voice too damn well. Anger immediately boiled within me, and it burst like the hot oil that hits Sicheng’s arms as he cooked. “You. Piece. Of. Shit,” I whipped my entire self around to face the tall man who unsurprisingly turned out to be Lucas with his disheveled hair framing his stupid little face. “Did you not see your call log? It’s just me, me, me, me, me, and oh guess who… me!” The tone in my words frightened even me, even more so realizing both Lucas and Sicheng’s widened eyes. I earned some dirty looks from customers as well. Nevertheless, I was pissed.

Lucas’s heightened shoulders steadily fall. “Hey, I’m sorry… Something really urgent came up, and it’s very personal to me. I hope you understand. I should’ve told you as soon as it came up.” His jaw clenches, his fists tightening their grip against the counter as he sternly looks at me across the food stall. I shake my head and roll my eyes, gaining a scolding expression from Sicheng who’s confusion was written all over his face. Deep within me, I know Lucas is sincere.

I start back up, loosening my voice to become gentle, “Eat your tea eggs, please. They’re getting cold and Sicheng prepared them for you early.” Silence followed, then the chewing noises from Lucas hungrily devouring his food. Maybe today was a hard day by the looks of it. Lucas took care of his appearance, so it was a shock to see him in a seemingly vulnerable state. His eye bags seem bulging and darkened, a sign of a sleepless night. Unsure of what to think, I let go of my displeasure and chip away at my pancake and rice balls. After satisfying our hunger, Lucas and I bid Sicheng a goodbye and head back to our apartment complex. The walk is painfully awkward.

▶ Ambience

This feeling is nice. To have Lucas back as we go through our nightly routine of washing our faces and brushing our teeth in a tiny community bathroom. Our mannerisms seem slightly less stiff, and though minimal, it takes a huge weight off my shoulders. He’s back and I feel secure again. But he doesn’t bring up anything about earlier. I’m about to comment on his long-sleeved shirt as he’s the biggest heat anti in the world, refusing to wear anything that isn’t a muscle tee. But the rough emotions rattled us both, so I drop it from my list of questions to ask. We get ready for bed in silence, only starting to discuss things when we finish up and plop on the floor of my apartment. I tried to figure out if I was uncomfortable from the cold floor or for the conversation that might unfold. Since Lucas has been excruciatingly quiet, I take the initiative, “I sent so many messages and calls today. Do you know how worried I was?” Disappointment heavily coat my concerns. “This isn’t like you, I was seriously going to lose my mind. Please… can you tell me what’s going on?”

It pains me to see him looking like he’s kicked down again from having an already bad day, but I needed answers. He’s the person I trust the most in the life we have now. His chest inflated and quickly deflated. “I’m about to show you something. It might freak you out.” He tugs at the ribbed cuff of his left sleeve. A tattoo? Perhaps a little smiley face or some unconventional design placed oddly on his arm that he wanted to cover since we work at a clinic? Though tattoos are normalized on staff... Or an injury? Whatever it is, I just want to know whatever he’s hiding. “Promise me you won’t make a big commotion, I will explain.”

Without much thinking, I grow irritated at him for dragging this out, so I reach for the end of his shirt and pull it up quickly, unveiling the truth. My body and mind go rigid at the sight, unable to process whatever this… contraption was. “Lucas… what the hell is this,” I ask, alarmed, taking in the faintly glowing circuits and tiny sparks of blue electricity lighting up and down tubes that poke in and out of the machinery. From his shoulder down to his fingers, metals and screws and wires replace his flesh. After a long minute of examination and curiosity, I turn my attention back to Lucas’s face which expressed great worry, fear, and uncertainty. “Is this the reason you were gone today?” He gently shook my hand off and swiftly covered his arm with his shirt again. With a dejected look, he takes his eyes off mine and pins them on the dusty floorboards. His arm is no longer human.

“Dr. Lee from the clinic.”

#2096: zodiac #taeyong x reader #cyberpunk au #mafia au #taeyong reader insert #nct taeyong #nct 127 #nct u #nct #kpop fanfic #lee taeyong #wong yukhei #lucas #wayv #nct angst #nct mafia au #winwin #dong sicheng

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ubernoxa · 4 years ago

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The Dare: A Guns N’ Roses FanFiction

Chapter 33: Every Beauty

Masterlist

Story Summary: A stupid harmless dare, that’s all it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be something they would do, and never revisit. For Delilah, little did she know that visiting the strip wasn’t going to be a one time thing when she made the choice to accept the dare. Life is full of choices. Some choices can mean absolutely nothing, while others can change your entire world. Delilah had heard many rumors about the Sunset Strip or Devil’s Strip. Teenagers would whisper stories about how the Devil walks the streets of the strips without a care in the world. It was known as a place untouched by God. After years of hearing rumors about the Devil’s Strip, Delilah wants to see it for herself. Thus a Dare was born.

Chapter Summary: Betsie and Delilah’s exfiance encounter the magazine article. Mags, Stef, and Del put on masks to pretend everything is okay. Not because they want it to be okay, but because it has to be okay.

Taglist: @gingerspicetalks @str4nge-haze @queen-crue

Beth leaned back on the sofa that was tucked away in a small room hidden in the church basement. This ‘hidden’ room was her solitude. At first she couldn’t step foot step foot in the room, too afraid of the memories of Delilah that would flood back. It felt like only yesterday that four friends hatched a dare in this very room. She shook her head trying to get the thought out.

It was such a stupid dare!

Why did she ever agree to it?

How could she had been so stupid?

Beth wondered how different things would have been if she told Delilah no. Would Delilah have even gone on the dare? Guilt flashed over Beth to the night she abandoned her former friend at the bar. Originally Beth though she was courageous for not going into the bar, but after weeks and weeks had flown by, she only saw herself as a wimp and horrible friend.

“Hey I though I would find you in here,” Mat’s words pulled her out of her deadly thoughts.

He felt his heart sink as he found Beth curled up in a ball alone in the haunted room. He had prayed day and night in search of a way to help fight the demons that lived inside of her head, but it was useless. It was clearly a battle she had to fight herself, but that wouldn’t stop him from sitting with her or cuddling her if needed. All he knew was that he needed to be there for her to clean the wreckage Delilah had left in her path.

“Hey,” her voice was week as he joined her on the couch. She was thinking about Delilah, no doubt about it. Part of him wondered how much Delilah had thought of Beth. Had she ever regretted leaving or thought of the chaos she had created?

Mat wrapped his arm around Beth and she quickly snuggled into him. He watched tears slowly form in her eyes and gently cascade down her face. Sadly this wasn’t new to him. This was almost a weekly occurrence, every Saturday like clock work. The tears would come and she would melt into him like wax over a hot flame.

“If I have to make another berry pie or hear another child scream about how they don’t want berry pie, I think I’m going to lose it. God won’t be able to save those little whiny brats from my wrath,” Mat pulled Beth in closer earning a laugh from her. A laugh he surely missed. The laugh that used to frequently fill the room.

“Your wrath? What are you going to do, read them the Bible?” Beth teased back causing their laughter to fill the right room again.

“Hey! My readings are great!”

“No! You couldn’t be more wrong! Have you ever heard of not reading in a lifeless monotone voice?” Beth pulled away pointing at him with her index finger.

“It’s not my fault I get stuck with all of the ‘boring’ Bible versus!” Mat quickly shot back regretting ever volunteering to read for the children.

“David versus Goliath is ONLY boring when you tell it,” Beth chuckled, finally gaining her composure and sitting up straight.

“What time is it?” Beth added, regretting the fact that she didn’t wear a watch.

“Almost 11...did you buy my a watch that way you didn’t have to wear one?”

“That’s a secret I’ll never tell!” Beth mocked before she left the room laughing.

Mat sat up and let out a deep sigh. It was good to see her laugh. Her laugh was more beautiful than any song he had ever listened to. He pulled out the small velvet box he had in his pocket. He sighed as he knew it wasn’t the right time. Maybe someday.

Beth began to collect plates from the picnic tables and place them in large tubs for cleaning.

“Ohh dear, you’ve been working all morning. Why don’t you enjoy a slice of pie,” Beth looked up to see Mat’s mother handing her a slice, not noticing the quick glance his mother made towards Beth’s own hand.

“I just had an hour break, I’m fine,” Beth sweetly replied continuing to wash dishes.

“Honey, relax. We have a couple children who need to serve detention, and will more than happy to chose the chore of washing dishes instead,” the woman replied.

“Thank you,” Beth smiled as she took the plate and headed in search of Mat to share the pie with. He had been cooking them all morning and she highly doubted that he was able to have a slice. Plus she owed him for cheering her up. She didn’t want to imagine where she would be if he wasn’t there for her the past couple months.

She twisted and turned through the church until she found him still in the basement. This time he was at one of the large tables entertaining the children. In a quick glance, Beth noticed he needed to be rescued.

“Hey, Mat! Want to share a piece of pie? I heard the guy who cooked it was mediocre, but it’s still food,” Mat smiles when he saw that Beth was still in a good mood. He quickly said goodbye to the children and one of the nuns took his spot.

“Sure, wanna join Mark?” Beth quickly asked earning a nod.

“No way that’s totally Delilah” the pair froze as they heard the familiar name. Beth sidestepped and headed for the table of girls that appeared to be holding a magazine. Mat chased after Beth hoping that this wouldn’t go to sour too quickly.

“Hey Beth,” one of the with eighth graders sent Beth a warm smile as she hid the contraband under the picnic table hoping Beth wouldn’t see it. Beth saw it, clear as day. Her and Delilah used to do the same thing when they were in middle school.

“Come on, hand it over and I won’t turn you in,” Beth flashed a sweet smile to the eight graders. After a couple of seconds one of them broke the silence, “Give it to her Mary, she would be the best to know if it’s Delilah anyway.”

Mary placed the magazine on the table and Beth’s eyes grew wide.

“Holy fucking shit,” were the only words that came out of Beth’s mouth as she stared at the article.

“Is that the Doof guy” Mat asked looking at the cover, Beth ignored his words too focused on her own thoughts as she quickly went to page 7 where the article was.

“Duff, it’s Duff,” Beth pointed at a picture of Delilah and Duff dancing captioned, ‘late night after a gig, Bassist Duff Mckagan shares a sweet moment of slow dancing with girlfriend Del to Aerosmith’s single, Home Tonight’.

“Duff is a stupid name,” Mat said under his breath earning a nod from Beth.

“So is Del,” Beth replied. Mat pulled the magazine away from Beth before she could continue reading, earning a quick protest.

“Mat give me the magazine”

“No Beth, we all know this magazine is filled with nothing more than gossip. It’s not true and we don’t need to read it,” Mat calmly replied.

“Fine, Fine. We will probably see her in another article in a month or two when she ends up pregnant like that Mags chick that was also mentioned in the article,” Beth shot back.

Before Mat could think the words, ‘how could this get any worse’. Mark grabbed the magazine from him and stared at his ex fiancé posing scandalously with Duff on the cover.

Today was defiantly not going to be the day he proposed to Beth.

Less than an hour south of the church, the article was causing a similar chaos.

“I’m not ready to have a child,” Mags said no louder than a whisper as Tonya, Stef, and Del sat with her in the locked bathroom.

“You’ll make a great mom,” Instead of three pairs of eyes, Del felt like there were thousands starring at her. Del quickly added that to the list of things not to say to a pregnant woman who clearly didn’t want to be pregnant.

“How much longer?”

“A minute, Mags,” Tonya checked the stopwatch she tightly held in her hands.

All four girls sat together in silence beyond cramped in the mold infested bathroom. The stop watch buzzed, and Mags dove for the prgnacy test that was sitting on the countertop, or what was left of the countertop.

Mags remained frozen as she looked at the plastic stick.

Positive.

She had already known that she was pregnant. This test was just for Steven, but it still struck her like a freight train.

“I’m gonna get you some honey tea for you Mags, would anyone else like anything,” Stef asked before standing up. She was quickly followed by Tonya who volunteered to help carry the tea for all four of them.

“Steven get out to the kitchen, if you ask me about the pregnancy I will pour this warm water in your face,” Tonya said before stepping over towards the cabinets trying to find some tea bags.

Stef stood across the kitchen as she watched Steven eyes the bedroom door. He looked like a banished puppy. A hopeless banished puppy.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” For the first time all day Stef talked to Steven, her hushed voice causing his heart to melt. She walked over towards him, and he immediately pulled her in for a hug.

“Yeah, I know Stef...but”

“Stevie, you are a good older brother to not only Mags but everyone in this entire apartment. You will be an amazing uncle,” Stef looked up to see absolute shock in Steven’s face. She hadn’t meant for the last bit to slip, but she couldn’t take the words back.

“She’s keeping it?” Stef shrugged as she went back to joining Tonya in the kitchen.

Back in the moldy bathroom, Del moved to sit next to Mags on the floor. Mags immediately melted in Del’s arms, and once the first tear fell, the rest cascaded like a waterfall.

“Please don’t look at me,” Mags mumbled as Delilah tucked Mags’ hair behind her ears.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to you to see me like this, I don’t want anyone to see me like this. Just fuckin’ leave,” Mags spat as she pulled away.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Del shrugged. It was clear that Mags needed someone, and there was absolutely no way in hell she was leaving Mags alone in her current state.

“Ohh so you just want to watch a fucking train wreck?” Mags snapped back, careful not to yell in worry that more people would come into the small bathroom. She estimated she had a couple more minutes before Tonya and Stef came back with warm tea.

“If I wanted to look at a train wreck, all I have to do is look in a mirror,” Del’s monotone response caught Mags off guard resulting in silence slipping into the bathroom.

“Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be judging me or some shit like that?” Mags spat. To her she was shocked that Delilah wasn’t lecturing her about her sins or condemning her or quoting bible versus.

“I’m here because you’re more than just my friend. As weird as it might sound I consider you as my sister. Plus the Bible doesn’t teach us to judge one another, it teaches acceptance and love. The Bible is open to some interpretation, and sadly most people abuse that and use it a an excuse to justify condemning others. To be honest, I’ve never understood why. Granted I do care that you’re pregnant, but now how you think. I care because you’re going to be going through a lot whether you keep the child or not. I want to be there like you have been there for me,” Delilah’s voice was no louder than a mouse. Several minutes passed and a comfortable silence filled the bathroom.

“Everything has beauty,” Mags looked down at her stomach and placed her hand on it as she spoke.

“But not everyone sees every beauty,” Delilah finished the sentence as she placed her hand on top of Mag’s own.

“Come on, we should get moving,” Mags said as they headed out of the bathroom.

“You should tell your boyfriend his apartment is disgusting,” Tonya mumbled to Stef as she eventually gave up on looking for not only tea, but clean cups.

“He knows,” Stef sighed back. It was a battle she had lost several times.

They both froze as they saw Mags and Del slip into the bathroom, undetected by the guys who were now relaxing in the main room that had the shit couches in it.

“So we need to get out of here without getting noticed,” Del whispered to Stef and Tonya who quickly nodded.

“Mags and I are going to slip through the fire escape, but can you two distract the guys?” Stef was a bit put off by Del’s idea of sneaking out before she talked to Duff, but one look at Mags changed her mind.

“Yeah, we can ask about their gig tonight,” Tonya said dragging Stef towards the guys.

They went their separate was, and everything was going smoothly until Del felt someone grab her arm as she was about to climb through the window and onto fire escape.

“Where the fuck are you going,” Del turned to see the red hair that matched Axl’s voice.

“Trying to leave without causing further damage,” Del shot back, not in the mood to deal with him. They needed to leave ASAP, and he was preventing that. What was he going to do, hold her prisoner?

“Are you okay?”

Del looked at Axl’s hand which was still tightly holding her wrist. She knew that there was no way of overpowering him, and if she resisted she would only drag attention to herself.

“If I answer will you let go of me? I have to catch up to Mags who is probably waiting for me,” Del whispered earning a nod from the red head.

She took a deep breath before speaking, “No.”

Axl watched the brunette as her eyes began to water, he gently let go of her wrist causing her to sprint towards the fire escape.

Delilah sat in the living room that she shared with Tonya and Mags reading the article over and over. She couldn’t wrap her mind around why Drew would do this. He told her that he loved Mags. Love must have meant something different here on the strip. Her heart ached at the thought of all the times Duff had told her he loved her.

There was one paragraph that stuck in her head, and haunted her in her dreams. The one paragraph her mind had over analyzed hundreds of times over.

‘This relationship is doom to fail, no doubtz At first glance one might think the pair have found the infamous true love, but upon a second glance one’s opinion would change. It isn’t a love story like the ones in the movies. This is a story of a guy who has manipulated an innocent foolish girl to fall head over heals for him when he clearly doesn’t have the same feelings for her. There are only two ways this relationship will end, and neither of them bode well for Del. The first option is that he moves on because he grows tired of her. The second is that she eventually catches him cheating, as all rockstars do, but forgives him when he gives her a half assed apology which she pathetically accepts. Eventually though he would move on, but the real question is what will she move on to do? She has nothing. While the old saying does say that opposites attract, but there is a reason opposites are opposites.’

“Del, throw that piece of shit out. You are only torturing yourself,” Stef joined Delilah who was currently sobbing on the couch like a high schooler who had her heart broken on prom night.

“You know that article is trash right? Drew made up this stupid shit so the articles would sell! He did it all for his pathetic career. People aren’t drawn to happy stories Del, they’re drawn to ones filled with drama. Trust me hun, I’ve seen the way Duff looks at you, and you don’t have to be worried. Now go put on something cute. We have a gig to go to,” Stef was quickly met with a grown from Delilah as she melted further into the couch.

“Delilah get off your ass and change. Either you’re changing yourself, or I will. This article means nothing. DUFF IS NOT CHEATING ON YOU. You have NOTHING to worry about okay?” Delilah nodded and headed over towards the kitchen where her bag was.

Feeling like the Delilah situation was under control, Stef headed back into Mag’s room.

“Before you open your mouth Stef, I’m going to save you the time. I’m not going to the gig tonight. Not because of the article. I don’t want to deal with my brother when he is like this. He needs to focus on his gig. I will still be pregnant tomorrow,” Mags snapped back to Stef the moment she entered the room. Stef’s attention quickly snapped to Tonya who nodded her head in agreence with what Mags had just said.

“Makes sense. Delilah and I will be heading out shortly. I think she is currently getting dressed. You’re welcomed to come, but you don’t have to. I get it,” Stef promptly left the room knowing that there was nothing she could do to change Mag’s mind. To say that Mags was stubborn was an understatement. She was a damn bull and once her mind was made up there was no changing it.

After planning a small movie night with Mags, Tonya walked into the kitchen noticing Stef chugging a beer. Tonya’s original intention was going to ask how Stef was doing, but the amount of vodka she had just consumed defiantly answered he question. Stef was not okay.

“So who do you think is going to beat up Drew first?” Stef looked up at Tonya before she finished her drink.

“My money is on Duff or Steven,” Stef made herself another drink as she spoke only worrying Tonya more. Usually Tonya was all for getting plastered, but in the spirit of having fun, not as a coping mechanism.

“I would have said Axl. He already had a shitty temper and is incredibly protective of the band,” Tonya casually replied. Stef shrugged before downing her drink again.

“If you tell him you didn’t say it and that Drew misquoted you then you don’t have to worry. Everyone will believe you. That entire article is filled with lies. Don’t worry you’ll be fine,” Tonya calmly spoke as she watched Stef continue to drink.

“What if I did say it? What if I did say that I didn’t think he was going to make it?” Stef’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Why would you...” Tonya was immediately interrupted by Stef before she could speak again,

“I would because I was drunk, and Steven is good but.....If he does make it everyone knows it will be short lived. With the money they will get they’ll drown themselves in booze and drugs. Don’t tell anyone but part of me doesn’t want them to make it. I’ve seen what the industry does to people and I don’t want it to happen to Steven.....Drew was interviewing me and I was by no means sober. I didn’t mean for it to come out, and he promised me he wouldn’t tell anyone. A girlfriend is supposed to be supportive and shit,” Tonya ran to Stef’s side as she began to cry.

“Shhh shh shh, you’re fine, no need to worry about it. Just deny it okay? You love him, I know you do. All you can do is be there for him, okay? That’s what you gotta do for him okay? Just be by his side through the think and thin....None of us are perfect Stef. So what you said something? It will all blow over in a week or two, now go fix your makeup because you and Del have a gig to go to,” Tonya flashed Stef a fake smile to cheer her up. Tonya shook her head as she watched Stef leave the kitchen. Tonya wondered if maybe she would be the first to beet the living shit out of Drew.

Delilah fidgeted with the hem of her skirt as her and Stef waited amongst some other girls for the guys to comeback from their quick sound check. Delilah watched true groupies, as Stef called them, as they walk around in heels that where higher than their hair. Paired with their clothes that with one wrong move they would flash themselves to the world. Delilah tried not to judge. She tried to ignored them as they flaunted themselves around, acting like they owned the place and sent Delilah glares. No matter how much she tried she hated them, and she hadn’t even spoken a word towards them.

“Just ignore them, believe it or not they’re jealous of us,” Stef whispered into Delilah’s ear before taking another shot.

“Jealous of having an article written about us or that we are dating a member of Guns N’ Roses?” Delilah questioned.

“Probably both,” Delilah chuckled back at Stef’s question.

“If they want an article that’s full of lies written about them, then they can fucking have it,” Delilah joked back.

“What about Duff?” Stef teased back.

“Over my dead body,” Stef watched as Delilah’s tone went sharp and a frown formed on her face.

“Don’t worry, you got that blonde under some sort of spell. I believe some people call it love,” Stef replied in attempt to pull Delilah back. There was no doubt in her mind that the article put Delilah a little on edge.

“Really?” Her voice sounded like a child when the question escaped her lips. Stef took a piece of Delilah’s hair and tucked it behind her ear.

“It’s clear as day hun,” Stef said as she watched Delilah take her fourth shot. For most a fourth shot in an hour wouldn’t cause any concern, but for a light weight such as Delilah it raised a lot of red flags.

#the dare #the dare fanfic #gnr fanfiction #gnr fanfic #guns n roses fanfiction #guns n roses imagine #guns n roses fanfic #guns n’ roses fanfic #guns n’ roses imagine #guns n’ roses fanfiction #duff mckagan imagine #duff mckagan fanfic #duff mckagan fanfiction #axl rose imagine #axl rose fanfiction #axl rose fanfic

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writing-the-end · 4 years ago

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WS Chapter 45- Runaways

Previous Chapter

Masterpost

Oof...this chapter hits in the feels. I’d say in our hero’s journey, this is the wanderers’ lowest moment, their abyss. I just want them to be friends, but also....angst. This chapter has a song I highly recommend- Runaways (Wild Culture Remix) by Sam Feldt & Deepend ft. Teemu.

Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block

Ecto has been to places she’s never seen before since she met Red and Avon. Her whole life was spent in the massive desert she called home. She knew other biomes existed from the stories held within dusty old tomes and even dustier old traders. But she never felt the need to leave the comfort, the safety of the desert. It had everything she knew, everything she needed. When everyone and everything else abandoned her, the resilient sand and cactus stayed. She didn’t want to go on this adventure at first.

But with everything she’s seen, everything she’s experienced, she couldn’t think of anything better than the journey they’ve taken. Ecto has seen places she could never imagine, colors she could never dream of. Forests with trees so tall they scrape the sky, or so thick they block out the sun. There was the mesa, rusty sand and the first time Ecto had been able to collect cactus in what felt like forever. To feel the tough skin and sharp spines, the crunch and pop as she bit into one. Ecto also saw an ocean for the first time. She still can’t wrap her mind around so much water, just sitting there. Undrinkable. And that Red grew up in all of that. She saw snow fall, both beautiful and deadly. Soft and Sharp.

Since they left Red’s home, she’s seen even more. Thin, spindly bamboo growing from the edges of a thick, vibrant forest. Similar to what they saw in the hermit world. Stony shores and mountains that the wanderers had to clamber and climb through. Well, most of them- Avon would simply fly over and wait for them. Birch forests with trees who haunted white trunks in the shadows of night.

And each night, Ecto can only think of the hellspawns. Questions fill her mind, concerns fill her stomach. Why do they attack the wanderers? What have they done to cause all this? What are they planning? How did they even get it to snow in a desert? Is her desert still covered in snow? Will it ever be the same again? She’s concerned for her home, for her cacti. She’s concerned that the hellspawns are only growing stronger with each minute they continue to run. Continue to avoid the problem. Fleeing with their heads bowed and tails tucked.

The campfire blazes bright, casting tall, menacing shadows across the dark, thick oak trees. Shadows lengthen across Avon’s stormy face, darkening her sharp purple eyes as she leans into the warmth. She hardly talks anymore, and anything she does say is short and to the point. She only responds when necessary. Red told Ecto that she acted this way when they first met. Cold, dark, silent. Always within her own mind, separate from reality. Separate from the other wanderers.

Red stands up from her seat next to Ecto, footsteps shuffling across the dead detritus. She sits down next to Avon, and scoots into Avon’s wingspan. Her voice is a cautious whisper, rising slowly from her lips. “Avon? When we get the egg back do you think they’d like it if I read them stories? Did Jeane like stories?”

Avon’s eyes squeeze shut, a grimace morphing the shadows on her face to look demonic. But both Red and Ecto know never to call Avon the m-word. Avon swallows down her emotions. “Jeane loved stories.”

Red grins, poking at the campfire with a stick. Watching the flames dance and embers flare into the sky. “When we get the egg, I’m going to tell it a story every night.”

“How do you know we’re getting it back?” Avon’s voice cracks at the question. She wants to believe that they’ll get Jeane’s baby back, she really does. But false hope will get them nowhere. Avon immediately wishes she could take her words back when she sees Red’s face. It looks like she just slapped him, ran her trident through his heart.

“The longer we wait, the less likely we’ll be able to get it back” Ecto hisses, looking across the fire at Red and Avon. It was always them two, with Ecto tacked on. They started this journey together, and they always seemed to side with each other. Even when Ecto’s ideas were employed, they were always strange to them. They probably wouldn’t notice if Ecto disappeared. They’d be happy to have a weirdo gone.

Red’s lip quivers, not wanting to think of the dragon egg being destroyed. An egg a thousand years waiting, a thousand years of love and care and devotion by it’s late mother. To think that it could be killed, all that work dashed away. And a life lost. Red has seen too much death these past few weeks. He’s not sure if he could handle any more.

“Rushing into the nether will only get us killed as well as kill the egg. They’re baiting us.” Avon’s wings don’t rise like they normally do, trying to make herself bigger. They tuck closer to her body, becoming defensive. Pulling Avon’s flat hair taught, the constant running of her fingers through the curls taming the gilded mane. Red’s cheeks grow rosy, holding back the whimper rising in her throat. She doesn’t want to die.

“We’re only pushing off the inevitable. For all we know, that egg is already crushed and they’re just sharpening their blades to come for us next! We’re strong enough to take those hellspawns on, if we work together!” Ecto stands to her feet, her brown hood falling free of her head, her chocolate hair curling free from her. Pointing out like spines of a cactus. The orange firelight and her orange scarves burn bright together, fabric dancing with the flame in her eyes. A weak gasp and a few wet streaks escape from Red. Both of these options are horrible, the dangers and demises they pose.

Avon rises, pulling her trident free from its sheath between her wings. She’s feared exactly what Ecto says, the same thoughts plaguing her head every night. Chasing away sleep. But to hear it spoken aloud…

Ecto’s blade rises, but less for a fight and more for defense. She’s tired of always having to prove herself, always being the scapegoat to other people. The problem, the issue at hand. She doesn’t want to fight Avon, she doesn’t want to hurt her friend. But at this point, she just wants to prove she’s right. They’re ready to take on the nether. That with their fighting skills, they could take on anything.

Red squeaks, falling off her perch on the log as Avon lunges, and the two clash once more. It’s been a long time since she’s seen such anger, such fever in her friends’ eyes. They’ve dueled, practicing against one another. Training to be stronger. And they’ve fought side by side, tooth and nail to keep each other alive. But as blood is drawn, sizzling against the burning wood, Red knows one thing.

All their progress has been lost. Weeks and months of bonding, of working together and learning to understand one another is falling apart. They’re being torn at the seams, becoming people they’ve never been before. Avon’s become irrational, Ecto has become strategic, and Red?

Red has become angry. He watches blood fall from a cut on Avon’s cheek, a slash on Ecto’s arm. Ecto tackles Avon to the ground, grabbing at her cloak and using it for leverage. Avon opens her wings, knocking herself free of Ecto. The two clash, wounding each other more and more. They’re a perfect match in battle, all the time training. They know each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Ecto won’t back down from a fight. Avon won’t quit until she’s unconscious or dead. Red’s friends won’t stop until they’ve proven themselves.

Prove themselves with what?

Ecto’s teeth and blade grind, metal against metal and tooth against tooth. It’s a pushing match between the two, focused on outmatching the other. So when Red’s voice shouts over the scraping blades, it surprises both of them. “Would you two both just fucking stop for once? Don’t you two idiots see this is what they want? They’re tearing us apart, they’re winning! And you two are letting them! Those stupid hellspawns don’t have to do a thing, because you’ll rip each other apart for them!”

Ecto and Avon look away from their fight, to Red. Tears fall across a face marred by anger, by frustration boiling over. Red’s patience has worn thin, and is ripping apart before their very eyes. “We have been through so much together, we have dealt with so much bullshit. We have gone through so much and you two are letting those assholes tear us apart!”

They both retreat their weapons. Red wipes the rivers of pain from her cheeks, a strangled cry popping all her resolve. She takes one, two, three steps back, before turning. Disappearing into the night, into the thick forest.

You finally did it. Good job, Ecto, you finally got them to run from you. Ecto takes her own step back, watching Avon grow distant both physically and emotionally. She wipes the blood off her face. Ecto feels an ache in her chest, like being shot in the heart by a poison arrow. People yelled at Ecto before, but none of them hurt like Red’s shouts just did. She tested the patience of his tolerance, and now suffers the consequences.

Ecto hears Avon’s wings open, a few flaps before hovering in the sky just above the thick canopy. Alone again. Abandoned, cast out. Just like always, the people she called friends have left. Things never change, as sure as the setting sun.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when Avon returns to the ground. Actually speaks to her. “I think I saw Red. We need to find him.”

At least he can help them before they leave. “Where’d he go?”

Avon points her trident to the north, thrusting it deep into the dark oak shadows. “Towards a mansion. Deep in the woods.”

#wandering stars #red #ecto #avon #minesona #mcsona #minecraft persona #im sorry ecto you get the angst this chapter #writing #minecraft #mineblr

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starscheme · 5 years ago

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Change My World

Chapter Nine: A Difficult Choice

Alone in the tent, Peridot sat herself beside Spinel while the formally pink Mermaid rested from her procedure.

“…So...it appears you have learned nothing after all these years,” began Peridot.

“What was I supposed to do? I got caught. He helped me get away,” answered Spinel, unable to sit up and face Peridot properly. “…he’s…not so bad.”

“You all said something similar before and how did that turn out for you?

Spinel frowned, feeling her eyes burn, “why did you even help me with this?”

“There are so few of us left. It’s best we all help one another, rather than fighting amongst ourselves. …and…I heard what happened to you after the war ended.”

“Yeah, so you thought I got what I deserved and now you pity me?” Spinel asked bitterly. “I don’t need—“

“—Pity you?!” Peridot shouted in disbelief as she got to her feet. “I don’t feel anything like that for you! Not after you and the others betrayed us. It was all of you that got Lapis caught in the first place!”

“We never meant for anyone to get hurt, we were trying to--- AGH!” Spinel had tried to sit up and turn to see Peridot as they snapped at one another, but when she tried to move, a stabbing pain shot through her spine.

“You shouldn’t move,” Peridot stated simply.

“Yeah…I figured that out…” groaned Spinel, carefully laying herself on her back again.

Peridot seemed conflicted for a moment, but she took a deep breath and her expression softened a bit. “…considering what happened. …you were also a victim of that woman. She fooled everyone.”

Spinel honestly didn’t want to talk about any of this, but it’s not like she could run off. She wasn’t even moving and it felt like thousands of needles were stabbing at her newly formed legs. “…Well…I hope that you find Lapis…”

“Oh, I already know where she is, the problem is getting her out,” Peridot sighed miserably. “Lapis is being held at the Capital by the royal family.”

“…for all this time?” asked Spinel in surprise. “Not that it’s not a good thing, but why would they keep her alive for thousands of years just to have her?”

“Lapis is strong…and I’m certain they are using her against us in some way. Over the last few centuries, more and more mermaids have been getting caught too easily. They might be using Lapis to manipulate the waters in their favor.”

Spinel felt sick to her stomach. Who knows what the humans were doing to Lapis to make her use her abilities. Why? What had they ever done to make the humans hate them so much?

“I’ve been posing as a human for a long time, trying to gather information and contacts that can get me closer to the palace where she is being held…and I’m finally getting close. …my point is you should cut that human loose before history repeats itself. Not just for your sake, but for everyone else’s. I’m still angry at Lars for even allowing a human in here at all.”

Spinel was quiet. She wanted to argue with Peridot, but wouldn’t that be like rubbing salt in an old wound? It would probably just be a repeat of the past like Peridot said. After all, this conversation felt horribly familiar.

Peridot wasn’t sure what to make of Spinel’s silence, but she had said what she came to say. “…I’ll be back in a little while to check on your legs. Even when your body starts to feel better, don’t try to stand up, you’ll just fall and make it worse.” Peridot instructed as she left the Tent. The conversation hadn’t gone as planned. Though she planned on trying to be a lot more pleasant, when she came in and saw that human acting so familiar with Spinel, her mood soured at once. It didn’t get any better when she left the tent and the same human talking so cheerfully with the Rutile twins. She didn’t say a word as she passed by them, sure that this human was no different than the one Spinel had met in the past. All Humans were the same. She’d lived among them for a thousand years now in her attempt to save Lapis and she still didn’t trust a single one.

Peridot stepped into Lars’ tent with an irritated groan.

“The talk didn’t go well?” asked Lars as he looked over an old map.

“You knew it wouldn’t, but I’m not here to talk about that. I want to talk about that Human you let stay in here. I tested the blood like you asked.”

Lars glanced up from the map, “and?”

Peridot looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening before she turned back to Lars. “You were right. Something is off about that boy. His DNA came across as human…but there is something else in there I can’t identify. It’s as if his genes have been spliced multiple times.”

Lars sighed and rolled up large map, looking slightly disappointed. “I had hoped it wouldn’t be so serious.”

“So you’re thinking the same thing I am?” asked Peridot.

“I am, but since there is no way to confirm it right now, we have to be cautious. We have to take those two with us to keep an eye on him.”

“I’m not going to let that thing roam around when we have all these mermaids to take with us. Let me sedate him and take him back to my workshop. I’ll keep him there until I confirm what they did to him.”

“We are not going to stoop to their level,” Lars insisted. “Besides, we don’t know if Steven’s even aware of this. He might be innocent.”

“-and he might be—“

As Peridot tried to argue with Lars, they felt a large tremor beneath their feet that threw them off balance. They looked at one another in a panic and both turned for the door. Leaving the tent, they witnessed smoke seeping through the camouflaged door that protected their camp.

“It’s a raid! Off Colors, we’re leaving!!” shouted Lars, calling his crew to his side.

The other mermaids had already begun to panic when the tremor rattled the ground. Rutile had planned to pull Steven along with her, but just after the ground began shaking, Steven immediately ran off towards Spinel’s tent.

“Steven?! What’s going on?!” Spinel asked frantically, sitting up despite the terrible pain.

He wasn’t able to explain fast enough before a loud explosion caused another tremor, knocking most of them to the floor. Steven scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, “We have to go! I’m sorry!” He knew it would hurt her, but she still couldn’t walk on her own. They could each hear armored footsteps rushing the camp, forcing Steven to ignore Spinel’s gasps of pain when he scooped her up into his arms. Unfortunately for them, it was chaos outside the tent now.

Soldiers in golden armor were scattering around the camp to capture the mermaids they had hiding here and whoever was helping them. Lars had called everyone to his side in order to escape, but making a direct rush for his tent seemed impossible now that the soldiers were making their way there. Steven had to think fast, frantically looking for a way out.

“Spinel, this way,” shouted Peridot, running hand in hand with Lars, trying to get to as many mermaids as they could. Lars’ eyes were glowing a white hot light, and with an echoed shout, a large pink circle appeared in the middle of the floor. Without hesitation, the Off Colors jumped down into the circle, a few others still struggling to get there.

Steven wasn’t sure where that hole was going to take them, but they had no other choice. He had to get Spinel there. Turning on his heel, Steven made a dash for the Lars and the others.

“Steven! Look out!!” Spinel shouted, spotting a soldier coming up behind them behind them fast.

“GAH,” Steven exclaimed painfully as the soldier grabbed his collar to pull him back and slam him against the ground. Though he did his best to keep hold of Spinel, another soldier had grabbed her arm and forced them apart as he fell back.

“I got this one,” the guard shouted, tossing Spinel over his shoulder which prompted a painful cry from her lips.

Steven panicked as he watched the guard turn to walk away with Spinel and though he wasn’t keen on hurting others, he couldn’t allow the soldier to keep him down. As he pushed one soldier off of him, two others came to their comrades’ aid, finding it difficult to hold Steven down.

Spinel was trying to look back at Steven, but everything hurt so much. Her newly formed legs were worse than useless. Each nerve burned her from the inside and her entire body ached as if she had been thrown against a large boulder many times. She was trying to concentrate and summon her scythe, but the pain was too much. As she wracked her brain for some sort of solution, she felt a stabbing pain at her ankles. Someone had grabbed her and pulled back as the guard carrying her was falling to the ground. Feeling as though she had been bashed against another rock, Spinel was on the floor, watching as Steven was pinning her captor to the ground. She barely had time to smile before Peridot locked her arms under Spinel’s shoulders to try and drag her body towards the warp circle that Lars had made.

Peridot knew that this must be hell for Spinel, but she didn’t have the strength to lift her completely. She was forced to drag her along the ground as best she could.

“W-Wait!! Steven’s still---“ Spinel tried as she watched more guards rushing towards Steven.

“We have to go while he’s keeping them busy!” Peridot insisted.

“The portal is closing! Hurry up!!” Lars demanded as he helped another Mermaid into it, waiting anxiously for Peridot and Spinel.

It was as if everything had gone silent as Spinel was being forced away while Steven was doing his best to keep the soldiers from following them. Her body was screaming and she knew it was difficult for Peridot to drag her away, but were they really going to escape and leave Steven behind? She could vaguely hear him telling them to hurry and leave. Why? Why was he willing to go this far?

“Lars! Grab Spinel!” Peridot shouted, sure that she wouldn’t be able to get there on time.

As Lars rushed over to them, Spinel panicked and forced her body to move. It felt as if her bones were breaking as she jerked her arms away from a shocked Peridot. Though she knew it was pointless, Spinel got to her feet, falling to her knees almost immediately, tearing up from the painful shocks that shot through her body.

“Spinel! Get back here!” Peridot cried out. Lars had to hold the small mermaid back, knowing that she’d get caught if she tried to grab Spinel again.

Steven was stunned, watching Spinel struggle to get to her feet. “What are you doing?!” he shouted, pinning down another soldier after knocking out a few during the scuffle.

“I’m not leaving you behind, you—you idiot!!” Spinel replied, barely finding the strength to speak through the pain. “You’re coming with us!”

Steven had been all set to stay behind to give them all time to escape, so he was fine holding the soldiers back, but if Spinel didn’t get away, it would all be pointless. Unfortunately, while he was distracted, the soldier he was pinning down had reached his knife, thrusting it into Steven’s left side.

“STEVEN!!” Spinel screamed, watching helplessly as he doubled over in pain, the soldiers finally getting the upper hand. One stayed to hold him down on the ground, while the two that were left conscious headed for the portal.

“I’m sorry,” Lars shouted forcing Peridot to jump into the portal with him. He had to close it before the guards got in and found the other mermaids. He didn’t like leaving anyone behind, but he couldn’t put the others in danger.

“Spinel!! The Capital---“ Peridot’s words were cut off as the portal closed, leaving Steven and Spinel alone with the remaining guards.

With the portal gone, the soldiers turned for Spinel to drag her away. Steven could only see their blurry figures as they neared the weakened mermaid. If they knew about the Gem, they could easily take her out. His body felt a little cold as his blood seeped slowly from the knife wound, but he couldn’t allow himself to pass out now. Once one of the guards pulled Spinel by the hair to lift her up, something snapped inside of Steven.

“DON’T TOUCH HER!!” Steven screamed, alarming everyone as the ground beneath him crumbled, a bright pink wave of light rippling from his body and knocking out the remaining soldiers.

Spinel was left sitting on the ground, staring wide eyed at Steven as he panted for breath, barely realizing what he had just done. “…wha…?” Spinel breathed, unable to process what had happened. She looked back at the guard that had grabbed her hair. He was bleeding. They all were. From that light? How was that possible and how did it miss her? It was all strange, but she’d have to save her questions for later. Steven was losing consciousness from the blood loss and she was still too far away. She knew that her legs would get her nowhere, so she used her elbows to drag herself along the ground. It took nearly everything she had left in her, but she eventually made it to Steven’s side, taking a moment to catch her breath before she tried to get his attention. “St-Steven…say something…” she pleaded breathlessly, trying to roll him over onto his back so she could remove his shirt and examine the knife wound.

“…you’re….o…kay?” asked Steven, barely able to keep his eyes open.

As looked Steven over, Spinel wasn’t sure what to do. His eyelids were threatening to fall, but she could see now that his eyes had changed color. They were pink now. Was it because of the light as well? She shook her head and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. “I’m fine,” she lied quickly, pulling up his shirt to find the wound, but was stunned once again to see that it had already closed up. He must have just been weak from the blood he already lost. This was all so confusing, but she was in so much pain and so relieved to see that he was no longer in immediate danger, that she just couldn’t bring herself to do anything more. Leaning over, Spinel rested her head on her arms over Steven’s chest, needing a moment to gather her thoughts and rest her aching body.

#steven universe #su #steven universe fanfic #spinel #stevinel #stevinel fanfic #mermaid spinel #change my world #chapter 9 #mermaid au #su au #stenel fanfic #stevnel fanfic

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airquietworks · 4 years ago

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Lost at the Summit (IzuOcha) (Part 3)

Part 1, Part 2

Chapter 3: Story One week later, Ochako found herself alone in a cold bed, groggily awakening on what was supposed to be a lazy Sunday.

Izuku was conspicuously absent, the sheets with barely a trace of warmth from his body's departure. She frowned slightly at that - she liked the rare chance for lazy cuddles in the morning - but didn't think much of it. He must have been preparing breakfast or perhaps dealing with a phone call - which he should not take on a day off, but oft did anyway.

She let herself slide into her bedsheets, struggling to resist the urge to fall back asleep again.

The days were so busy now, conspiring to keep her and her husband apart. A couple of news outlets finally asked her for interviews about retirement, and though she dutifully squeezed them in, they did not get much traction. People were still too preoccupied with Deku's retirement, what that meant for the hero charts, and other news of the day as the world shifted around the fall of the world's greatest.

Ochako had buried herself in her work, intent to live her last days as a hero best she could. She tried her best to ignore people's ignorance of her, focusing on saving lives and helping people. But the days dragged and part of her could not let go of her bitterness. All of a sudden, retirement could not come soon enough.

She decided to start her morning as he usually did - reaching out and grabbing her phone from her bedside table. She idly swiped her fingers across it, checking the news of the day, always with an eye out for anything she should be aware of as a pro.

A glance through her emails yielded something unusual. Her inbox was flooded with messages with similar titles: "thank you," "Thanks, Uravity!" "You rock." It wasn't that uncommon to get an appreciation message from someone she rescued, but the sheer number of them was peculiar.

She opened one.

"Hi! I just wanted to let you know you're my favourite hero, and I absolutely love you. You kick so much butt! I remember seeing you leap into a burning office tower one time and save 20 people. It was so awesome!

I'm so sad you're retiring! =( But I'll keep cheering you on while I still can!"

Ochako grinned at that, her mood lifted by the message of appreciation, even if it was simple. She got them from time to time, but they never failed to make her feel good.

But it was strange. These messages were rarer in her aging years and she could not recall doing anything that would garner this kind of outpouring.

She went through a few more of the emails, all with variations of people sharing their appreciation for her, whether or not she had personally rescued them. Eyebrows furrowing at the strange situation, she checked through her social feeds to see what exactly was going on.

On social media, her mentions were flooded into the thousands, far more than usual. A word caught her attention, causing her eyes to widen.

"#WeLoveUravity" was trending.

It was not a massive trend, but there were still thousands of similar, heartfelt messages - shorter, but no less impactful. Pictures and stories of her throughout the years were being shared. A few noteworthy commentators were even discussing how little coverage she was getting since she made her retirement announcement two weeks ago, and the inherent sexism at play with that.

Ochako fell back into her pillow, trying to make sense of it all. Her heart beat faster, a nervous, excited energy taking hold of her as she watched everything unfold.

The world - at least, a part of it - was finally telling her story.

And Izuku probably had something to do with it. There was no other explanation she could think of.

More than a little perturbed at the idea her husband had somehow manipulated the masses, she got up, not bothering to change, and made a beeline for the kitchen to confront him about it and-

Thank him? Scold him? She was not sure. She loved the words being shared about her, even if it was probably just a passing trend that would fade quickly. But she did not want that to come because Izuku somehow campaigned on her behalf. They supported each other, relied on one another, but only to a point. She wanted her legacy to stand by itself - even if it came up short - instead of sitting on Izuku's broad shoulders.

But as she walked through the kitchen and living area, he was nowhere to be seen. The only traces of him were a few dishes in the sink, a plate of eggs on their dining table and an envelope next to it.

Pouting, she trudged forward towards the message. She opened it up and pulled the paper out, growing frustrated by the surprising morning.

"Dear Uravity,

I wasn't too sure about writing this message. But I saw what was going on and I figured I had to.

You probably don't remember me, and I don't blame you. We met about ten years ago, with a villain raid in the city. I was a new pro hero, fresh out of school. I was overzealous and got myself into a bad situation. I saw my life flash before my eyes as a monstrous villain towered over me. I was sure I was dead, but you knocked her away with one punch and got me to safety.

I'll never forget the care and comfort you showed me, your bright smile somehow making me feel like everything was going to be okay, even in such a calamity. I was about ready to quit right then, but you encouraged me, told me to keep on pushing forward. You were the brightest spot in one of the worst days of my life.

I just wanted to let you know how much that meant to me. I wouldn't be a hero today without you. I've been following you since then, and I'm amazed at what you've been able to accomplish. I was heartbroken when I found out you were retiring, but I understand. You deserve a comfortable life and a happy retirement.

I don't know how to end this, so I guess - thank you. You are my hero.

P.S. I'm not much of an artist, but a lot of people are doing it, so I hope you like the picture.

Sincerely,

Clearway"

The memory was foggy in her mind - she had dealt with a lot of villain-led attacks, and could only vaguely recall this one. But she was touched nonetheless.

She turned over to the next page and gasped at a glorious sketch of her standing atop a roof, still young, posing heroically, looking down on the city below. She was smiling, her short hair billowing slightly in the wind, her confidence radiating in the simple lines.

In her early morning stupor, the image pierced through her heart. It struck her hard to read how much it mattered to someone that she had saved them - a hero, no less. That someone would still remember that, even a decade later.

She took a seat, anchoring herself, trying to find a steady place to keep herself from floating away.

Ochako eagerly consumed the breakfast left for her - perfectly warm, the likely product of Izuku's meticulous planning and knowledge of her sleep cycles - smiling at the simple, sweet gesture.

But as she ate, her mind spun in circles at everything that had greeted her this morning. She ran through the words over and over, a mix of pride, joy, and anxiety swirling around, uncertainty at the centre of it all. Her heart sang with gratitude for the love people were showing her, but her brain refused to stop questioning it.

There were people out there who remembered her, cared about what she had done - she could not deny that. But she always knew that to be true. That ultimately did not mean her legacy carried that much weight in a world filled with heroes who did the same. It did not mean she had helped enough people to make a mark. It did not mean her story would be told beyond the day. It did not mean she could stand on the summit.

But she had to admit their words were making accepting that a lot easier.

The familiar sounds of the front door opening perked her ears up. She got up quickly, moving towards it, eager to tell her partner what was happening and confront him if he had something to do with it.

Izuku wasted little time before marching through the room with a wide grin on his face, wearing a blue hoodie, with an oversized yellow backpack. He nodded towards her despite the confusion she was sure was showing on her face. He walked over to the table, depositing the bag.

"Good morning. Sorry I left early; I had an errand I needed to run," he said sincerely, stepping forward and inclining his head towards her. She put a finger to his lips, stopping his attempt at their usual good-morning kiss.

"Good morning," she managed, though with a sharp edge to her tone. "Do you know what's going on?"

His smile stretched wide again as he disengaged from her finger, gesturing slightly towards the bag. "I do. I went on an early mail run when I saw it. The post office only left a few in our mailbox; there were too many to carry otherwise."

"A few…?" she trailed off as he opened the bag to reveal it was overflowing with envelopes, not unlike the one left for her on the table. She went slack-jawed at the sight, quickly reaching out to get a better glimpse of just how many letters they received. There had to be over 100, all seemingly written out, stacked neatly, but clearly crammed within the bag's tight confines.

So many people had sent her a personalized message. She ran her fingers along the envelopes, confirming that they were really there in front of her.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" he said, awe in his voice as he watched her, gauging her reaction. "So many people wanted to let you know what you meant to them."

Ochako turned her head to face him, feeling her eyes getting a little misty. She narrowed her gaze, gauging him carefully. "But how? I don't get it. Did you do something?"

His eyebrows shot up, and he suddenly looked a little nervous, his green eyes looking away. "I...may have made a post on a popular forum. But I promise I didn't say much, and I kept anonymous!"

He got a little flustered, his hands moving with his explanation.

"I was just so frustrated and upset at how sad you were about everything. I wanted to do something - I wasn't sure what. But I just wanted to vent and maybe show you a thread of people who did appreciate you. I just said there wasn't a lot of coverage about you retiring and how sad that was. I guess it got some traction, and people started posting more and somebody I didn't know said they should do fanart, and before I knew what was happening, it went viral."

He took a breath after his rant, gesturing to the letters. "And I don't know how, but somewhere along the way, someone thought it would be nice to do handwritten messages, too. My post may have started it, but I promise I didn't do anything else beyond that. This was because so many people do appreciate what you've done - because you are one of the best."

He stepped forward to grasp both her hands in his, holding them softly, brushing his thumbs over top. "I know that better than anyone."

Her heart stuck in her throat, Ochako struggled to come up with a response. She could feel a smile stretch across her face as she stared up at him, and she was helpless to stop it. The knowledge that somehow, all these people had sincerely wanted to do something for her...a part of her still could not believe it.

"I just...I just don't get it," she murmured. "I haven't done anything to deserve this."

"You've been leaving an impact on people your entire life. You do deserve this - and more."

On instinct, she hugged Izuku, conveying the appreciation that words could not. He embraced her in turn, the two of them holding one another for a moment, basking in the warmth.

His lips pressed a kiss into her hair. "Want to start going through them?" he suggested.

"I think I'd like that." Maybe then, she could banish the doubts, still clawing at the edges of her thoughts.

The two of them moved over to the couch, pressing up against each other, making up for the earlier loss of morning cuddles. Together, they started to read through some of the letters, each one sincere and heartfelt. Izuku took it upon himself to read many of them aloud, giving voice to the sentiments of the people she had saved, helping them ring more powerfully in her ears. They also admired the art together - they had a wide variety of quality, but she appreciated each one, and she resolved to collect them carefully as a keepsake.

A couple of hours passed and they barely put a dent in the messages. They carefully sorted them out, removing the hundreds in the oversized bag, placing them aside for later.

The miraculous letters slowly eroded her defences. The world had left its eyes on her, and she was far more beloved than she would have imagined. Perhaps history would be kind to her, after all.

Still, that irritating, nagging part of her mind knew it might yet be a flash in the pan. Viral trends did not necessarily leave much of a lasting mark. She felt so wonderful about the love of her fans, but how far that ultimately extended was hard to know exactly. Did it really compare to what other heroes were able to do?

Just as they stood up and agreed to take a break, Izuku grabbed her hand again, beaming at her.

"So...I was wondering if you'd be up to take a trip with me."

"Oh? What for?"

He looked strangely giddy, his feet rocking back and forth, a toothy grin plastered across his face.

"Well...I didn't plan for all this. But I did plan for something else. A surprise."

Her spirits buoyed by the lovely morning, she found his giddiness infectious, and she eagerly pumped a fist up to share in his enthusiasm. "Alright, sure! Where are we going?"

Izuku trembled with his excitement. "U.A. High School."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Together, they walked to the place where it all began, Izuku keeping infuriatingly cryptic about his plans. The city streets seemed so much more wondrous now after their morning together, the cloudless day painting it in vibrant light, the busy people she had protected for 35 years going about their lives peacefully; a peace she had protected.

They moved covertly, dressed in baggy, unremarkable clothing, with hoods up to disguise their faces as they made their way to the front gates of the school. It was just as imposing as it was back then, built upon the shoulders of the country's greatest heroes. She had belonged here, but after so many years away, the hallowed grounds had regained their intimidating stature. A part of her wondered about herself in relation to this anyone care that this was the school that had produced her? Would her name be listed amongst its greats?

She tried to clear her head, shaking it thoroughly. It would do her no good to get mired in such thoughts.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" He looked just as in awe of it as she was, even though he visited far more often than she did for guest appearances. "I really miss living here."

"Those were tough times. But a lot of good memories," she said, reminiscing about those wondrous early days.

"The best," he agreed as they arrived at the front gate, closed with a mighty metallic door. Security was still just as tight as ever.

"So...will you tell me now why exactly you wanted to bring us here?" Ochako pleaded, pouting at her husband, desperate to know what surprise had made him so delighted.

"Well, if they're not late, they should be...ah, there they are!"

He gestured towards the corner opposite to where they had arrived. A middle-aged woman with long, red hair and a kind smile walked toward them, carrying a small girl in her arms. The girl was positively adorable, with short hair like the older woman's, rosy cheeks and a bright smile as she looked around at the school, squirming excitedly.

Ochako looked intently at them and then back at Izuku, posing the question with her eyes. The pair of them looked vaguely familiar, and the girl was certainly cute, but she was pretty sure she had never met either of these people.

"Mommy, mommy, who are they! Are they the surprise?!" the girl squealed, pointing at the two heroes as they approached.

"Yes, that's right," the mother replied, her own excitement ringing clearly in her voice. She turned her head to regard Ochako, looking intently at her. "It's so nice to see you both. Thank you so much for this. I didn't imagine this would ever happen."

"Thank you so much for agreeing to my request," Izuku replied with a grin. "Well, Ochako, do you recognize her?"

Ochako regarded the pair again, putting on a gentle smile, but struggling to put names to the faces. The girl stared back at her with wide eyes, tilting her head slightly, studying her.

"Mommy...is that...?"

"Yes, that's right," the woman said with a laugh, kneeling down to let the girl out of her arms, the child practically vibrating with excitement. "That's Uravity."

It was like a volcanic eruption. The young girl - who could not have been older than five based on her size - squealed with delight, jumping slightly in the air, her hair flying about as she hurried over to the named hero.

Ochako chuckled at the sheer delight before her, kneeling down to meet her apparent fan. It was always fun to interact with the little ones. It did her heart good to see somehow, she could still inspire children.

"Hello there," she greeted the girl, pulling her hood down to show more of her face. The girl glomped her knee, staring up at her with wide, chocolate-coloured eyes, beaming ever-so-sweetly. "It's nice to meet you. What's your name?"

The girl giggled suddenly, squeezing at the fabric of her jeans.

"Yours!" she cried out, laughing as if that was the greatest wonder in the world. "Ochako!"

The hero felt as if her heart might burst from the shock and joy that coursed through it. She felt her eyes go wide, her gaze flashing up towards the girl's mother, who had a smile stretching across her entire face.

The realization came through her mind. She looked back to the girl at her knees, beaming up at her. Her memories flashed backwards, 35 years ago, reaching deep into the rubble, pulling a red-haired girl out, consoling her, hoping she could put a smile back on that face.

Haruka Akemi.

The elder Ochako snapped back to the present, looking down at the girl, who suddenly looked so much like the one in her memories. She gulped, struggling to contain the welling emotion of meeting her namesake. "Well, that's a lovely name for a lovely girl."

The girl blushed, her cheeks getting rosier, but the smile never vanished from her face, little dimples popping up in it.

"Wow!" the girl exclaimed. "I love that we have the same name. You're my favourite hero."

Ochako's heart squeezed at the sheer cuteness, her breath coming out in a little gasp, garnering laughter from the other adults present.

"Thank you very much," she responded, glancing back towards Akemi. "Hey, would it be alright if I held you?"

"Yeah!" The girl cheered, suddenly trying to scramble up into her hero's lap.

Said hero looked up to Akemi for permission, who provided a quick, affirming nod.

Ochako lifted the girl up, grinning as she yelled in delight, her arms reaching up towards the sky. She hardly weighed anything, even without activating her quirk.

"Yaa!" the girl cheered, giggling as Ochako lifted her up and down a few times. Ochako laughed with her, the child's mirth infectious, her heart soaring at the sheer joy of the moment.

But suddenly, she felt a strange tugging at her neckline. Curious, she looked down to see her clothes pulling away from her body slightly toward the girl she was holding.

"Watch your Quirk now, dear," Akemi said. Ochako looked up to see the woman moving ever so slightly towards the pair, without moving her feet, pulled by some unseen force.

"Oh, sorry!" the girl cried out, slightly panicked, the smile running away from her face. She took a deep breath, calming herself down.

Ochako noticed her clothes fall back to normal, the force gone.

"Is that...her Quirk?" Izuku said slowly, putting his hand on his wrinkled chin. She noticed his eyes lighting up, as it often did when an exciting new Quirk appeared before him.

"It is. We're not entirely sure about it since she got it last month, but we suspect,, based on my Quirk, she is increasing her gravitational force to pull things in." Akemi frowned, walking up to stroke at her daughter's hair. The girl had suddenly lost all her excitement, the colour drained from her face.

"Wow, that's quite a power," Izuku chimed in, studying the girl intently.

"It is. But we're a little worried about the risks if it gets too powerful. So we're playing it safe until she's a little bit older."

"I want to be a hero like you…" the young Ochako said suddenly, looking away from everyone. She was suddenly on the verge of tears. "But I don't know if I can with this."

"Ochako…" the girl's mother replied, her eyes widening, apparently startled by the sad comment.

Without thinking, Uravity took action.

"Hey. You know, when I was a little girl, people were worried about what I could do with my Quirk, too," she said, causing her younger counterpart to pull her head up.

"Really?"

"Yeah! People were always saying I needed to be careful or I might really hurt someone." She could remember once sending her father a little too high into the air, leading to him getting a sprained ankle. "So I had to watch out for a little while. But eventually, I got a little older and had enough control to really work with it."

The girl sniffled slightly. "Could I do that?"

"I know you can do it. Just listen to your mom and keep working hard. Reach as high as you can. If you can stay positive and work at it, I'm sure you could be a hero, if that's what you want to do."

The girl's face lit up brighter than the sun, bringing a matching smile onto her namesake. "I do! I will!"

Ochako held up a fist, letting it slowly approach the girl. "Then I'm looking forward to seeing what you can do as the next hero named Ochako!"

The girl slowly mimicked her hero, bringing her tiny fist into her counterpart's one. She held it there for a moment, before bringing it back in, beaming all the while. The torch was passed.

The hero handed the girl back to her mother, spirits buoyed, heart warmed to have helped make such wonder in a child so small.

"I wanted to thank you for everything you did back then," Akemi said, her smile as beautiful as her daughter's. "What you said to me...I never really got to thank you properly, but it was what I needed to hear. I don't know if I could have gotten through everything without it. I never stopped looking up to you after that. I even run a fan site - I was just a little nervous about trying to meet you in person again."

Ochako beamed at the woman, her eyes getting wet as the words left their mark. What she did back then did matter. It was not for nothing. She had made a difference, even if it seemed so small looking back.

"Aww, you didn't have to be afraid. I would have been happy to meet you at any time." She looked towards the small girl who bore her name. "Thank you for this. For her. I'm just...I'm honoured."

"There wasn't anyone more inspiring we could think of to name her after. And neither of us would be here today without you." The girl in question gave a toothy grin and thumbs up at her idol. "And she's loved you ever since she found out about it."

Ochako took a breath, struggling to maintain some composure. Seeing the happy family that her work had helped create made her feel more pride than just about anything, besides her own family.

"Mommy, why is she crying?"

The hero touched her cheek. Oh. She was. She supposed it could not be helped.

"I'm just...very happy," the hero replied, making sure to show it in her smile.

It was difficult to describe the overwhelming, surging emotions within her. Here was solid proof of her mark on the world, something impossible to fathom before this moment. Surrounded by such love, she felt eager to give some of it back out.

"Would it be alright if I gave you two a hug?"

The blush returned to Akemi's face. She buried it in her daughter's hair, but she opened up her free right arm. Her daughter reached out eagerly, tiny arms stretching forward.

Ochako stepped forward and embraced the two of them, hugging them close, though taking care not to crush her namesake. Akemi let out a little gasp, seemingly struck by being embraced by her hero, while the younger Ochako latched around her neck.

The hero felt warmed to the very core of her being, holding a small part of a much greater legacy. She had made a difference, and she was holding it. Right now, these two people were the world to her.

"Thank you," the hero whispered her heart into Akemi's ear.

"Thank you for saving me," was all the woman could manage in reply.

After a couple of autographs and a promise to keep in touch, the couplings waved farewell to one another.

The hero promised herself, right then and there, she would watch the girl grow.

"I can't believe you found her after all these years."

"It took a little doing, but it was worth it." Izuku's answering grin was just as wonderful as it was on the day they first met.

She took the time to hug him from the side, digging her head into his chest. "You're incredible, you know that?"

"I couldn't be without you," he whispered into her hair. "You set a pretty good example."

"Oh, hush." She disentangled herself from him, face aflame, touched beyond words but getting a little embarrassed at the avalanche of compliments the day had brought. "So, shall we head back home?"

"Well...I had one more thing in mind." He walked over to the towering gate, pulling a card out from his pocket and flashing it at a scanner at the side of the door.

Ochako jumped slightly as the doors slowly opened, revealing the campus and school beyond. She stared wide-eyed at the familiar pathway, where she had begun her real journey to becoming a hero.

"How did you…?"

"Retiring comes with some perks. Called in a favour or two," Izuku said, tucking the card back in and adjusting his yellow backpack slightly. "Come on, let's go!"

With a surprising amount of exuberance, Izuku forged ahead, laughing as they returned to the grounds of their youth. Ochako followed him, joining in, eager to see just what more he had in store.

Staring at the school ahead now, it did not seem quite so imposing. The familiar path, lined with the busts of heroes, was significant, but she could walk it just as well as she did when she first came here.

This was a place bathed in legacy, but she was a part of that, just as much as the incredible heroes who had come before her. After meeting her young namesake, she did not doubt that now. Whether or not the world recognized it, she had made a difference, and there was plenty of living proof.

She realized how lost she had gotten. What was important to her was helping people - and heroes - in pain, people who needed you. She had done that thousands of times. That mattered. It was enough.

"I wanted to be here for this," Izuku suddenly called out, snapping her from her thoughts. He surged forward quickly, a few steps ahead of her. "The place where we-EEEEEEEEEE!"

Ochako reacted on instinct, sprinting ahead and tapping her hand onto the backpack of her descending husband. She did not see exactly how he had managed to trip, but even he would suffer from a faceplant into the hard ground.

Her reflexes were still quick enough, though he came pretty close to tasting brick. He stopped awkwardly in the air, body hanging horizontally without its gravity.

A rush of nostalgia hit Ochako with full force. Her mind went back more than 40 years, when she reached out to save the boy who would come to save the country - and her. She had acted on instinct back then too, not wanting to let people get hurt when she could make a difference, even if preventing a fall was trivial.

Silence hung in the air between them, the realization hitting them both at the same time.

She started snickering at him. Uproarious laughter followed quickly.

"I...can...not..believe!" Ochako paused between words, struggling to breathe, keeling over slightly. "That you would fall here again!"

After forty years of heroics, standing at the pinnacle, the world's greatest hero was still felled by his own two feet. Some things never changed.

"I swear...I swear I didn't mean to!" he responded, legs kicking in the air slightly as the laughter wracked through him. She noticed a blush starting to come to his cheeks, a little embarrassment peeking through the mirth. "Gosh, I planned to be more...together this time. I couldn't say a word to you when we..."

His face scrunched up suddenly. Just as she prepared to release him, he turned in mid-air, reaching his hand out to pause her.

"Wait! Uh, can you just hold me here for a bit?" he asked, reaching around himself to take his backpack off his shoulders.

Confused but curious, she nodded, staring intently at her partner as she tried to make out what he was up to.

With a shaky hand, he pulled out a small envelope from the bag, reaching out to hand it to her, still hanging awkwardly in midair.

"One...one last letter," he muttered, tripping over the words as he had with his feet. His nerves were evident, but she could not understand what he had to be nervous about. "From your biggest fan of all."

She had a hard time processing the image before her. Izuku, reaching up, letter in hand, hanging awkwardly, his gravity stolen by her hands. Blushing like a schoolboy, a nervous little grin on his face. She did as he asked, taking the envelope and regarding it carefully, curious as to its contents.

Izuku took a deep breath as she opened it up. "I just wanted to bring you here to remind you. About the very first time you saved me...and I guess the latest time, too."

He held up his yellow backpack, a toothy grin coming upon his face. "I even tried to look the part best I could!"

"Izuku…" she was astonished at just how far he had gone to make her feel better. She felt a surge of affection toward him, even before she read whatever was in this letter.

It was strange, thinking of this place as the first time she had saved someone. It had hardly seemed like anything at the time. Little did she know how that simple gesture would intertwine their destinies forevermore.

He finally flipped himself back upright, well accustomed to moving without gravity. She quickly tapped her fingers together, releasing him. He was suddenly right in front of her, eagerly gauging her reactions.

"Well...whenever you want to," Izuku said, inclining his head ever-so-slightly towards the message she held in her hand.

The envelope contained two pieces of paper, folded carefully together. She opened up the pages, her eyes met with his untidy scrawl. It could be difficult to read - he had developed his handwriting more for speed than legibility - but she had long since grown accustomed to it.

"To the world's greatest hero,

Hello! My name is Izuku Midoriya, and I have been a fan of yours since I was 16 - about 40 years. I might actually be your oldest fan!"

She let out a chuckle at that, Izuku joining in. I was always struck by just how determined you were - and how brightly you smiled. Even when you faced setbacks, you kept maintaining this incredible aura. It must have been hard on you. I wanted to help you, but I also knew it was something a hero had to do; reassure others even in the darkest of moments.

Being back here, Ochako could remember her first Sports Festival, and how brutal that setback had been. It was tough putting on a brave face. She put on a false smile too often back then, but it was a skill that could come in handy.

I've watched you every step of the way, and it was incredible seeing how fast you grew. How strong, how kind, how heroic you were. It drove me to want to be better. I know I would not have been the hero I am today without you.

You may not realize it, but I owe so much to you. At that entrance exam at U.A., there is no chance I would have made it without you. You saved me that day, and you've had a knack for doing that ever since.

She smiled at the memory of their exam together, even if it was fraught. From day one, they had managed to pull each other out of the fire often.

When I've fallen, you've lifted me up. When I doubted whether I could do it, you gave me a name that always meant I could. I've watched you blossom into an absolutely incredible professional. You inspire and help so many people. You are ridiculously kickass.

She snorted at that one.

My favourite moment of yours was your fight against the Renegades. The way you alternated your Quirk so smoothly and took out so many of them at once is - well, you know the rest.

"Nerd," she teased, garnering another chuckle from him.

You are the world to me. Everything we've built together, accomplished together - I'll make sure no one ever forgets it. You helped me tell my story - you helped make sure my story even exists. I will make sure they know yours.

I've left something to remind you of just how far you've come. The world may not recognize it, but I know we stand at the summit together. And I never would have made it here without you.

Thank you for always saving me!

Your number one fan, Izuku Midoriya

"Izuku...I…" her throat clogged up, rendering her speechless. Standing here, she could fully remember the incredible story she had helped create. How could she have doubted she had not left her mark, when the truth stood there before her, his eyes bright, standing at the top of the world, her right by his side?

Her story would be told. Their story. Together, in everything. She could see it now.

"Hang on. You should see the fan art first." Izuku looked sideways, blushing, adjusting himself away ever so slightly. "...Maybe even the first one?"

Startled, Ochako turned the page over, gasping at the sketch of herself. It was a little worn, clearly done with a basic pencil on an aged piece of paper. But it was surprisingly detailed around her face - far more than some of his older sketches. The descriptions highlighted her various costume features and abilities. She noticed a few crossed words like "cute" and "incredible," the page bearing the first signs of his love for her.

"It's the first sketch I ever drew of you. I usually cycle through these pretty fast, updating things. But I wanted to keep that one, even back then. When I first drew it, I realized I went too far and put it away. But I never wanted to get rid of it. Eventually, I realized it might make a nice retirement gift."

She reflected on the old sketch of herself - young, naive, courageous, simple. She drew a hand across the worn page, a gateway to the past, thinking upon how the image of her had changed, how much more she had done since then.

"Thank you, Izuku. It means so much to me." She stared up at him, his green irises shining down at her, the same passionate flame still there within them, even if they were now surrounded by more wrinkled flesh. "And thank you for saving me. Now, and always."

He grabbed onto her shoulders; she could feel the strength still so present in his arms despite how worn they had become. They beamed at one another, as best friends, partners, and everything to one another.

"This is where our journey together began," he stated simply. "Where our story began. And this is where the rest of our lives will, too."

She placed a hand over the top of his, holding it to her, staring fiercely back at him. "We got some adventures left in us after all, right?"

"The best is yet to come."

She acted then, grabbing onto the neck of his sweater and pulling him in for a deep kiss, her heart igniting at the contact, as surely as always.

They pulled away, the passion of the fleeting moment staining both their cheeks, suddenly sheepish about such a brazen public display of affection. Fortunately, nobody was around to witness it.

Ochako carefully put the letter and drawing back in the envelope and tucked it away in a pocket, turning back to the path where she had begun her journey, leading toward the gate out to the rest of the world.

She held out her hand for him, and he took it, intertwining their scarred flesh together.

They walked out towards the sunlight, the rest of their story left to tell.

----------------------------------------------------

AN: Written for the IzuOcha Temple Discord Server Big Bang Event. Prompt: "Thank you for always saving me!" Thank you very much to Mal for editing this and for Xylveon for the incredible artwork provided for the fic. You can also find it at https://twitter.com/Xylveon700/status/1294469669361840129. Please show Xylveon some appreciation! Thank you to the organizers for putting this on, it was truly wonderful to be part of. Please leave a like and/or reblog if you enjoyed it ! ^_^

#IzuOcha #my hero academia #fanfiction #Midoriya Izuku #Ochako Uraraka #shipping #IzuOcha Temple 3rd Anniversary Big Bang #Angst #fluff #romance #this is really dang fluffy

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frostysprinklez · 4 years ago

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When Star Vs. The Forces of Evil meets Cyberpunk

Summary Overview of Cyberpunk

This is an upcoming fan-fictional story of The Cyberpunk Chronicles: Project Maximus based on Star Vs. The Forces of Evil and Cyberpunk tabletop RPG game created by Mike Pondsmith's vision of a dystopian American future.

This fictional story takes place in an alternate timeline where America was once a great superpower has fallen from grace; leaving millions of Americans to defend themselves. They were either perished during a state of emergency, or were forced to join with a group of tribes calling themselves the Nomads. The rest of the world like China, Japan, and Europe maintain their economic status as they began to thrive for technology and cybernetic augmentations.

The bad news is half of the country became a desolate wasteland due to the lack of resources and decimating towns and cities of what's left of America. The New United States America (NUCA) was established after the collapse; under the dictatorship rule by President Elizabeth Kress. A former military officer who's been serving more than six consecutive terms while the government ignores the president's terms as long as she remains in power. The good news is some states like Alaska, North California, South California, Utah, Nevada, and The Republic of Texas have made a decision to exceed the NUSA to become independent and run their own governed state. In the year 1995, a new civilization has sprung up from America's ashes located in the Northern State of California called "Conorado City," which the city has changed to "Night City" after its predecessor Richard Night was assassinated from his newly constructed penthouse.

His vision was to create Night City into a place of sanctuary and establish law and order to keep people safe; hoping one day that humanity will thrive to rebuild the old world. However his vision was slipped away only to be snatched by a bullet. In the year 2021, Militech and Arasaka have declared war. The war was split into two factions and fought tooth and nail to obtain corporate's assets in order to become the toughest Megacorp in the century. This war has costed millions of lives and the world was ravaged by two powerful megacorporations; tearing the planet itself apart. They began deploying mercenary troops, tanks, aerodyne assault drop ships, armored vehicles, edge runners, and solos who are on the edge of cyberp psychosis. A mental illness caused by too many cybernetic implants after they were driven insane and went on a killing spree, which this mental illness was discovered by it's true nature for someone to loose their sense of human identity and costed their lives to become a psychotic killing machine.

The Fourth Corporate Wars lasted for four years until Night City was decimated by a pocket nuke after the Arasaka twin towers were obliterated. This city has become another bloody chapter of Night City's grim past and costed thousands and thousands of augmented souls. Their human civilization has proved themselves to show pure ignorance for their flaws and failed to repeat the same mistakes. Life goes on.

Decades have passed after The Fourth Corporate Wars, a rockerboy name Marco M. Kojima and his posergang members are trying to survive in a dystopian society of Night City's most dangerous city in America, against corporate cops, booster gangs, cultists, mercenaries, and cyber psychos.

Main Story & Focus on Marco's Posergang

The story focuses on Marco's lifepath before he became a Rockerboy and the events took place in Night City. Marco was adopted by a corpo family living in Tokyo, Japan. They raised him as their son for years until they were eventually murdered by corporate mercenaries. He ended up living in Night City for most of his life, but he also used to be part of a Nomad Clan and Valentino's gang.

He's also the lead singer musician and the leader of a booster gang calling themselves The Sons of Hellfire (Reference tv show of Sons of Anarchy) after performing his first gig at Night City High School. His gang's logo is a demon girl with a shape of a flaming heart that surrounds her (Hekapoo). Her appearance has pale skin (white) with fangs on her teeth and her forearms has spikes and claws on her hands. She has orange pupils and dark yellow sclera eyes, which she also has red hair and wears a fancy dress that matches her eyes. The demon girl also wields a pair of scissors, which Marco has on his possession. Marco's posergang members will cosplay as greasers from an 80s film, which they prefer with hair pomade and apply their hairstyle to pose someone who's famous. Many members will wear leather jackets modified with kevlar armor linen on the interior, and shoulder plates on the exterior, but sometimes they'll have a red collar around the back of the neck which protects them from getting hacked by netrunners. Some of Marco's gang are former booster gangs, solos, techies, Nomads, smugglers, and former corporate mercenaries. His members are consistent at least 30+ members for a relatively small group. Their list of gang activities mostly involves neighborhood watch (guardians), muscle-for-hire, street racing (either on road or off road), burgarly, and game activities (like poker, caravan, dominoes, five finger fillet, and blackjack).

Their headquarters is located somewhere in Night City where they live closer to the combat zone and they usually hangout at a local junkyard at a fancy 80s restaurant called "Johnny Rockets." The owner who runs the bar is Danse and they mostly serve alcohol, soft drinks, and milkshakes. They mostly rely with switchblades and armed with pre-war weapons, sometimes they prefer to carry heavy pistols and assault rifles, or shotguns. Their cyber bikes are customized that represents their gang logo, which they prefer to travel in large packs at least six-12 members and use highways to get around in Night City.

They're currently into conflict with the Malstrom gang since they don't appreciate their hostility for treating one of their members for being an "inferior human" and The Valentino's gang also has beef with Marco. A long time ago, Marco was once an initiate after his roommate Miguel encoueaged him to join their gang. Its not because he was concerned about choosing a side, but he also has a secret crush with Vaggie (Valentine Guerrero) despite she can be "gruff" with the boys sometimes. He stayed with them for over a year until Carlos and his friends caught a teenage straggler named Luke after stealing money from their gang. He handed the pistol to Marco and ordered him to kill Luke. He had two choices: He can become part of a gang member, or be left in the streets to fend for himself. Marco couldn't pull the trigger, but Carlos had no patience for pu#%$#s like him, so he decided to do it for himself. Marco decided to pull the trigger and shot Carlos in the leg. He didn't want to hurt anyone but he didn't want to become a murderer either, so Miguel told him to run and they escape.

The Valentino's gang and The Sons of Hellfire have been tearing each other's throats since day one, but none of them decided to start a gang war. Marco didn't want that, so the two factions mostly settle a dispute with street fights. One day, Marco was in a school cafeteria until he got into someone's face who didn't appreciate showing his face around here. They got into a fight while everyone was chanting the word "fight." When the fight was over. Marco didn't know that was Vaggie's girlfriend and she witnessed what happened. He pleaded Vaggie that it was an "accident" after breaking her friend's ribcage, but her response was "you're done."

Marco's History

Marco has no memory of who he is or where'd he come from. The only few mementos he had on him was two pairs of fancy scissors and an ancient samurai sword after his adopted parents discovered a baby crib sitting outside of their patio front door. Marco's scissors bows had a shape of a hear with a dark-purple color, a golden blade that looks rusted for decades, and the middle of the bolt has a logo of a fireball. The other scissors bows also has a shape of a fireball colored in red, similar to Marco's, the middle of the bolt is also shaded in yellow, and the end of the white blade has a shape of a dagger that looks sheathed.

The samurai sword he had in his possession was made out of copper and steel: On the collar it had holes that look like it had shapes of fins, the guard was a shape of a dragon that spews out a fireball, and the handle was decorated with skulls vertically. Although, the steel blade has been rusted overtime and hasn't been cleaned for ages, which there was no point of attempting to repair it. His father was kind enough to reconstruct his sword from the ground up and hired a blacksmith who knows him well. Marco now carries his father's sword that was recently been melted down from his old samurai sword. The sword itself has a Red, blood-like, Damascus blade with a copper plated collar of a dragon. The handle's linen exterior was black and red; decorated and shape like diamonds with a four-part symbol vertically.

His father decided to give him the name Marco because of the scissors he carried that was rusted has a signature that says "MARCO" engraved on his name, and gave him the middle name "Maximus," which comes from a latin greek name that means "Greatest" or "Largest." His father passed onto his adopted son's last name Kojima, named after his father before him, and the Kojima family has been working for Arasaka since World War II.

Marco's Personality & Estrange Powers

His personality has a combination of Berserk (brave, but emotionless), Nathan Drake (from Uncharted: funny, but can be a sarcastic jerk sometimes), and Ponyboy (The Outsiders: Cares about his friends and his loved ones). He can be a sarcastic jerk sometimes when he greets with his peers, even his sworn enemies. His life caused him to go through a tough depression after losing his adopted parents, but he had someone who gives him love and support. The only thing that fears him the most is his last name. If anyone found out that Marco was raised by a corpo family working for Arasaka. Many of his members and fans will shunned him. He didn't want everyone to know who he is, so he mostly keeps his secrets to himself except his girlfriend. His love of Johnny Silverhand's music inspired him to become part of a rebellion against Arasaka. He utilizes his musical lyrics to voice his anger and manipulates his fans to gain leverage and go against a specific group or person.

During Marco's early childhood, he had some kind of entity living inside of him. Whenever he feels agitated or angry, his orange pupils will glow brighter as a sun and his fangs will pop out from his teeth as a sign of anger. Marco has never lost control of himself since it's common to deal with local street punks and wannabe gangsters. His adopted parents have treated him with love and respect no matter how he looks different than the other humans.

If someone tries to harm him or his friends that puts them in danger. He'll beat them senseless and shows no mercy until they're either knocked out unconscious or they'll loses a tooth with a few broken bones. Many Night City residents and booster gangsters refer to him as: Hell Boy, El Diablo, Lucifer, Morningstar, and Mad Max.

Is SVTFOE a Crossover of Cyberpunk?

Yes, this is part of a fan-fiction story portrayed by some characters featured in Cyberpunk from Star Vs. The Forces Of Evil. There's also going to be some familiar faces added on my story, new enemies, and different scenarios. This story will focus on the main characters, including the gangs of Night City, Nomad Clans, and Megacorporations.

Disclaimer:

I never watched the show of SVTFOE, but I have read some fictional comic books made by independent authors and so as the creators who made this show.

What is Cyberpunk?

Cyberpunk is an old-fashioned genre that appeared in the 1950s or 60s by a group of RPG game fanatics who had a vision idea of a dystopian society: The difference between "dystopia" and "dystopian" have two different meanings, but they sound similar. The word "Dystopia" is a place or a community society under a utopia illusion that looks more frightening and unstable ruled by a powerful government or entity; which is inspired by Thomas More published from his book in the 1500s called: Utopia. Another word of "Dystopian" is a prediction that foresees a person's perspective of what our society will look like in the grim future (or The Dark Future).

The word "Cyber" is part of a metal gimmick or amputee of a cybernetic augmentation that's replaced with an artificial limb that looks fake, except it's manufactured by a company who makes them. In the world of cyberpunk, many war veterans have lost their limbs before the collapse. Many Megacorporations have began manufacturing cybernetic limbs that were in high demand, and benefited many disabled people to replace their lost limbs for cybernetics.

However this game didn't featured with interface plugs to connect with computers or machines back then until Mike Pondsmith released his first tabletop game of Cyberpunk 2020 in the late 80s. The word "Punk" is an old fashion style that people will wear flashy weird-looking clothes, leather jackets, metal piercings, crazy hairstyles, colors, boots, chains, and testosterone. Most people will design their own fashion clothing with many, many styles of their own design. When you see a posergang wearing flashy clothes, they'll dressed and match with weird-looking accessories, sometimes you'll noticed their facial and body features will not resemble as human. They can depict someone as a conehead, a furry animal, or a mythical creature.

Cyberpsychosis

In the world of cyberpunk, many solos and booster gangs will upgrade their implants and become superhumans to push their limits in order to survive, or to prove themselves worthy, but due to their mental illness of Cyberpsychosis. Their mental health has slowly deteriorated and became unstable. They will stop their daily routines (like eat, sleep, socialize, sex, or love interest) and become distant with friends and family. Soon, they'll see themselves more like a machine as they loose their human identity. And later afterwards, they'll become aggressive and see humans as "weaker" and "inferior." As a result, their psychotic rampage will caused them to go insane and lost the ability to reason.

Night City has become a dangerous place to live in America for decades, and Cyberpsychosis has become a big problem since the 2000s. Most state-sponsored organizations offer patients for treatment to recover from their mental illness, but it has become increasingly difficult to transfer patients to become a stable human being. The Night City Police Department has created a new division department called: NCPD Psycho Squad or Maximum Force Tactical Division (MAX-TAC). They have the best gear and equipment they need with heavily combats vehicles and AV-9s, with at least six highly trained SWAT members and one Officer in the field, but they sometimes do require to be cybernetically enhanced before deployment. They're mostly referred to as C-SWAT (Cybernetic Special Weapons & Tactical Squad) and are extremely aggressive when dealing with these cyber psycho threats. They will sent C-SWAT to kill or subdue cyber psychos if possible. If a SWAT unit fails, then they'll dispatch MAX-TAC units to take care of it.

What's it like Living in Night City?

Night City was an inspiration to rebuild a utopia city; free from government corruption and lawlessness. Richard Night's goal was to establish an independent City where everyone can live freely, but he was mysteriously murdered by a monster family. Megacorporations and private military like Militech and Arasaka have taken Richard Night's place and began expanding their business across Night City districts. The Night City Police Department is established and are divided into seven divisions, which they're privately funded by Megacorporations and are sent to patrol in each district zone "only to the highest bidder."

Although, some district zones where there's constant battles between factions and are crawling with booster gangs, cultist maniacs, cyber psychos, and street scum are called "Combat Zones." A combat zone is part of Night City's district located at the Pacifica district sector. Combat zones is a lawless place and are a no go. Law enforcement is limited or non-existent, and no emergency services to call for help. Traveling through the combat zone is not recommended and are controlled by a heavily armed booster gang running the district. If you happen to live near the combat zone where it's close to home. Many corporate cops and business executives tend to avoid that area and would not risk collecting tax money from residents who reside there. Sometimes booster gangsters will offer protection money for landlords and neighborhood tenants in case if there's trouble on the homefront. Some sponsored programs do offer licensing to work as police freelancers, neighborhood watchers, and bodyguards. Although there are some limitations to use some utilization of authority.

Night City's life of crime has two working class citizens: You have the higher-class rich family living in high-end corporate zones with corporate security and private militia, and you have the lower-class losers living in low-end district slums surrounded by booster gangs and violent crime in the streets. The middle-class is non-existent in Night City. It's not everyone's favorite choice, but people have decided live in those city slums these days. It's also a common routine for Night City resident to carry with weapons and firearms, and sometimes they'll modify their clothing to add kevlar and armor plates for body protection. Some cybernetic augs will also have implants to carry their weapon concealed like the mantis blades or a plasma cannon. The problem with Night City's lack of infrastructure and protection for their citizens only cared about "corporate interests" and can care less about their citizens unless their corporate business puts them on jeopardy. They're equally as evil and corrupt compare to some business executives.

Is This Story Starco related?

Actually, no. This story is related to a Markapoo timeline when Hekapoo falls in love with Marco. I read one of the creator's fan-fiction comic books from his patreon page (Zaicomaster14) and was interested about their love story. Marco is a reincarnation of Hekapoo, but his powers are limited in an alternate timeline because of his human form.

What Inspired You to Create a Fictional Story of Cyberpunk?

I first watch the trailer of Cyberpunk 2077's E3 trailer back in 2013 when they featured a video by CDProjekt Red. They're a small conservative polish company located in Europe and they're a big fan of Mike Pondsmith's work, so they offer him to turn his life's work into a video game that inspires people who play RPG games.

I have watched films that are based on science fiction and fantasy, and I have read a few books like Altered Life. If you have watched the movie Blade Runner and Altered Carbon (Netflix Series) that's based on cyberpunk. You'll get a clear painting picture of Night City's dystopian society where violence and oppression are the norm. A city being controlled by a powerful government or megacorporation that shares a common goal only for themselves, but not for the people who want a brighter future.

#star vs the forces of evil #svfoe #cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #dystopia #dark future #project maximus

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hoopdiddies · 6 years ago

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I'm Not Over You // Ben Hardy x Reader (Part 7)

A/N: This is probably the longest I've written in this series. Again guys, thank you for the support, your comments and likes mean so much! My tag list is always open so feel free to ask. And on a slightly heavy note: the next chapter could be really angsty. Just a heads up right there uwu

Summary: You had always loved Ben ever since you two met in university and became the best of friends. That feeling went out like a candle flame when the two of you parted ways until he re-entered your life...but this time with someone who has already occupied his heart.

Warnings: Angst, slight drinking, slight swearing, (yeah the fluff is still present)

W/C: 5k-ish

Tags: @haendel-me-with-care

@mrsdoradominguez-barnes

@mickmoon

@lakef

@mrsmazzello

@valeriecarolinaw

@queen-turtle-boiii

Edited// I forgot to link the previous parts

Parts: 6 5 4 3 2 1

(Got the pic from Pinterest hhh-)

Storing the luggage bag you've purchased for a fair price in the spare room, you come across a small box of sundries tucked in one corner with cobwebs clinging to the sides. Your eyes light up with curiosity spiking within you, you pick it up and dust the webs off, blowing the particles away from the top. You squat on the floor and open the flaps, discovering small yet familiar items that had been lost in time– one of them being a sepia-toned polaroid of you and Ben posing dramatically with hilarious doodles drawn on your faces. You forgot about this, feeling a little guilty that you had hidden it away in a drafty box without remembering doing anything of the sort. You flip the picture over and spot a date and an unfinished sentence written in faded ink on the bottom left part. This was taken on Homecoming night.

'I'm not going-' it says, clearly discontinued next to the date. Silly to think that the picture somehow represents a puzzle piece torn away from its board.

You were bound to graduate the week after and barely a day after, not see each other for several years due to your career paths and post-college choices.

You pull on the hem of your shirt, clearing the picture of dust and any more impurities, finally fitting it into your back pocket to finally treasure it the way it was always meant to be treasured.

The door clicks as you bring it close, your eyes gluing themselves at the hardwood floor seconds to having self-pity billow over you at how quickly your tears surface in the corner of your eyes from the memory of Ben spinning Rosy around - the exact way he did with you -and kissing her like she's a pouch full of life.

You clamp down on your bottom lip, trying your hardest not to stain your cheeks with your pooling tears. "Jeez, you just-" you pace back and forth in frustration, balling your fists as you gesticulate lazily, "you just don't get it, Y/N! Ugh, you're so- fuck, just get over it..." Knowing your harsh soliloquy would be getting you nowhere, you snarl strongly at yourself and roughly wipe your tears away with the back of your hand.

"He loves Rosy. F-freaking deal with it!" The reminder takes a hiss from your quivering lips for it to sink in; you have your own place in his life– a place behind the line you'd drawn in the years prior. The friend zone couldn't be any more hollow and cold than it already is.

And a polaroid pic is the only remnant left of how inseparable you and Ben were in the early days.

At the same time you're feeling your heart tear itself apart, Ben pulls out a picture - similar to what you've found - from the inner pocket of his old varsity jacket in the middle of rummaging through his wardrobe. He leaves his room in his pajamas and tosses himself on the couch next to a sleeping Frankie, softly apologizing to the little beagle for disturbing her cat-like nap. As he cuddles Frankie close, he scrutinizes the picture and it's also from Homecoming, but in it both of you are beaming widely with your arms slung around one another– the doodles ever-so-present on your faces. Behind it, the date and the continuation of the trailed-off sentence written at the back of your share of the memory.

'-anywhere at all.'- it ends in Ben's part of the duality. He grins fondly at the long lost picture, feeling twice as guilty for not keeping it safe and...close to his heart, just as he had promised you that night.

- - - - - - - -

In the convenience of Lucy needing some company to shop with for awards season just as she had returned from her get-away with Rami, she drags you along happily, having to pass through you insisting that you stay at home and study but purposefully ending up under her mercy anyway. You couldn't say no to her, she's basically your sparkly, glam counterpart and you're in need of her life-altering sparkles as of now. Especially since you're going to be tagging along with them, mainly as Joe's date cause you know, you're his 'girlfriend' and all.

You're at the mall, in a stylish boutique full of lines of voguish clothing and shoes that could span miles if not compressed together. For once in the hours you've spent scampering around the mall with Lucy to hoard dresses, skin products and make up, you admit that this is the most aesthetically pleasing space in the entire building.

You traipse along a section with black dresses fashioned into different forms, silently praying that what you have with you will amount to at least one of the varying prices.

Lucy's on the opposite side, ogling at the most colorful section in the boutique for a piece to wear. She peers over at you to make sure you've chosen your 'fighter'. A few swishes of the dresses lined up and you do, holding it up high to evaluate the appropriateness.

It's a sleeveless, halter neck satin that's just a few inches above the knee. Utterly backless but it ends right up the small of your back. The fabric is stretchy enough to move around and breathe in as it simultaneously hugs your shape. You love it but gulp as you prepare yourself for the price. Flipping the tag over, you suddenly wish you could let out the biggest, girlish squeal the human race has ever heard with how surprisingly affordable it is.

"Finally picked out yours?" Lucy pokes her head up playfully and you nod, quite speechless but giddy. She makes a grabby hand at your dress to examine it for herself.

Well she's the fashion guru so why not? You hand her the dress and as she trails her eyes from top to bottom, her mouth falls at the simple yet elegant details. "This is perfect! I highly doubt that it's not going to catch every exposed eye present at the event."

Your flush profusely at her comment. "Thanks but I'll be bringing a coat with me."

That triggered her, but of course you're only teasing. "You better effing not." She warns you and you chuckle, taking the dress from her and evenly brushing the skirt.

"I won't, you can sleep soundly tonight."

You assure her of the possibility. As you exit the boutique with a few bags you're not used to holding, Lucy takes out her phone and gasps, her face contorting with a little disbelief. "Uh oh, this might ruin your mood." She hands you the phone and you gape at her confusingly before taking a quick look.

Ben's posted some updates on his wedding preparations, shockingly tagging you, Joe, Gwil and Lucy in one photo. He's pretty busy alright; unable to text or call you for days but miraculously tagging you out of nowhere.

You come to disregard it until you notice one minute but important detail hidden in plain sight in all of his posts– there isn't a single one with him and Rosy together alone. None of such as well on his new ones.

The only post he's had with a close girl is the one with you, which is at the very bottom of his Instagram feed. You won't admit it but it warms your heart a little. Actually, a whole lot despite wondering why there's none of him and his fiancee. You hand Lucy her phone back and tilt your head to one side, suddenly finding the eagerness to go on shopping. "Let's go."

The following week comes as a radial blur contrasted to the slightly moderate one you just woke up from; your manager phoning you up to take the earliest shift you've had in years at the expense of your allotted time to rest, the heavy workload and rush hours in the upcoming hours followed by the slowest progress of filing your travel documents and visa needed for your departure on the 26th. You've got tons of missed calls from your parents and Joe, who's requested for you to pack up early since you'll be leaving for LA with Lucy on the day of the awards but earlier.

Also noting that you still need to double check the costs for flying to LA and back, ruling out the one exclusive for your flight on the 26th.

For mere days you feel as if you could lose your sanity as your life spirals into madness with everything you're required to do– whether or not you're obliged to do it.

But they are effective distractions for that problem you are still very much preoccupied with. That's a matter noteworthy of later discussion. Amidst all the chaos happening, part of you wishes for Ben to reply to your messages or even talk to you in the slightest. You never bothered to call this week since he's tied up but the least he could do is let you know how he's doing, if he's thinking of you once in a thousand passing seconds.

You give up for a day waiting on him and drown yourself in work.

- - - - - - -

Securing your phone between your tilted head and your shoulder as you indulge in your talk with Joe through the line, you crouch and zip your luggage bag close. Your eyes fixating themselves on two, separate luggage bags for two, separate travels.

"Was that all of it?" Joe's disembodied voice asks. You spring up and take your phone between your fingers. "Pretty much. I better have a kick out of something by the time we touchdown tomorrow– it's my first visit to the US." You inform him, leaping into your bed and landing comfortably.

He chortles softly and ensures you. "I know and you can be sure to expect a good par- ow! Bad kitty!" His smooth transition to a yelp amuses you for split second.

"Are you alright? "

"No. I'm finally feline food to my kid." He refers to his pet cat that has taken a small nibble on his finger, in which Joe returns with a light ruffle to its fur. You can't help but giggle heartily at him.

"Anyway, I'm picking you and Lucy up from LAX tomorrow." He gives you that heads up and you bring your hand up to your forehead. "Where will we be staying?"

"I've booked a hotel earlier so you've got nothing to worry about the moment you land." A faint crunch can be heard from your end and you mind to ask Joe about it. "Are you- are you eating?"

To answer your question, he bites down on his food sloppily and guarantees you of what you heard. You smack your lips together as your eyes narrow in bewilderment.

"Does that answer your question?"

"Sometimes you make it easier for me to hit you with a pillow."

"Is that how you treat your boyfriend?" He taunts at you and cackles, his distorted voice bouncing off of the walls of your room. You sigh, defeated by the fact that this charade is still going on. It's silly and immature yet you and Joe somehow managed to stick to the act.

"Speaking of boyfriend though– would he be furious if I told him that I couldn't be there on his wedding day?" Since you're rested and got nothing else to distract you, you pop the question to Joe.

"Ben?"

You hum softly.

"There are two scenarios that we need to consider," on his end, Joe taps his finger on his lips as he thinks of said scenarios, "Best case scenario- he would get discouraged and slightly unmotivated, and obviously sad, but he'd still support you cause that's your dream."

You sit up and twirl the ends of your hair around your finger, swallowing. "And worst case scenario?"

Joe falls silent before exhaling harshly. "You'd crush his soul, heart, everything ranging from physical to spiritual and it would take a toll– and I mean a substantial toll on your friendship."

"Joe, don't make it sound like a prospect! "

"That is, " he adds strongly, "if he finds out that you had meant for him to be oblivious to it." And he's right. But you had a reason. You still do. Even if you do end up telling him and he supports you, you need a great deal of space to move on.

As long as he's committed to Rosy and you're in the sidelines still in love with him, it's just something toxic. You couldn't love anybody they way you do Ben and you feel like you'll never love someone like him ever again. Albeit how clueless he is sometimes and clumsy, you both had survived every storm and wave. So sticking around to witness him give his hand and heart to someone else is torture for you.

"I'm gonna be direct and say-" just as you begin talking, your phone shrills to another caller, cutting you off from Joe.

One look at the screen and your heart begins racing. Speak of the devil. You reserve an explanation for cutting off and answer Ben, clearing your throat. "You're late."

Ben's gruff chuckle welcomes you back. "I know, I'm so sorry. Busiest week I've had and the lady at Starbucks signed my cup like a snail."

"What are you doing tonight that requires coffee?"

"Call me dramatic- or do so, given that I'm an actor- but I just want to stargaze right now." You hear a light rustle coming from his end, like he's seated out on his lawn.

Silently giving him the 'oh really' look, you spread one side of the curtain to let some moon light in. "Ben, you're leaving early tomorrow."

He hums, seemingly enjoying himself. "But that's not an excuse to not enjoy the night." This boy can not get any cornier. You cast your gaze upon the moon, sighing profoundly. "How did the wedding planning go? Good?"

"Hm, yeah. Church wedding, big reception. Whole lot of booze binging planned out. And a killer bachelor party the day after the awards. " He jokes through the line and you tell him off in a playful chide. "Benjamin Jones, you better-"

"I won't. I won't." You sense his gentle smile from your end, checking the time and reluctantly coming to the decision to hit the hay since you'll be leaving early as well. As much as you want to recreate those late night conversations you once had with him, you can't.

"Hey?" You coo somehow.

"Yeah?"

"I gotta sleep. I have to meet Lucy at the airport at 5."

He gives out a throaty grunt as if he's pulling himself up. "Tragic. I'll see you in LA then, love."

Your lips curl up into the gentlest smile with the moonlight blessing it from the window. "You too. Tell yourself and the rest- especially Brian and Roger- that I'm gonna be rooting for you guys to get up on that stage."

"I will. Thanks for the motivation, Y/N. All the words coming from you just mean so much to me. To all of us." And in his voice, you can hear his utmost sincerity and fondness just highlighting his tone.

"Anytime. Now let me sleep, you bloke. "

"Haha, alright. Love you tons, love."

Shifting your eyes to the sky once more, you reply, allowing the words you're about to say to mean more.

"I love you too, Ben. Good night."

- - - - - - -

24th

You had promised Lucy you'd arrive 10 minutes earlier than her and you really didn't hold on to that promise. As soon as you arrive at the airport nearly bathing in sweat and deaf from the multiple rings Lucy has given you, you both take off to the waiting area with your heavy luggage where you spend an hour and a half waiting for your flight to board. Joe has sent two texts telling you that he's still in the middle of having coffee and it's a questionable action since he's 8 hours behind you and is expected to be asleep by now.

You reply with a simple, "See you there" before heeding to the call of your flight number from the speakers.

All the rushing and you haven't had a bite of breakfast yet. An eleven hour flight doesn't sound so bad, as long as you make sure you don't reel everytime you get up to use the bathroom and acquire jet lag the moment you land from a direct flight without any pit stops. The flight is long as you are awake but by the time you fall asleep in between hours, it shortens the duration. The pilot announcing your arrival wakes you and Lucy from the latest nap you've had on the plane. After gathering your luggage and answering a couple of phone calls on you way down the plane, the arrival area is where you spy Joe behind the red tapes, a scarf around his neck and an eager look plastered on his pale skin, just waiting for you and Lucy to step in. His eyes crinkle as he sees you both treading towards him with a handful of luggage. He greets you both with a tight hug and ushers you to his car, assisting with the transport of your things.

He's booked you in the hotel he's staying in to, of course, avoid some minor inconveniences especially since the awards start at 7 pm and you drastically need Lucy to help you prepare. Upon reaching the hotel, he leads the both of you up the second floor and into the hall for your rooms.

Apparently you and Lucy will be sharing which is the great and Joe will be staying in the room right across yours.

After giving yourselves a brief tour of the room, you settle in and unpack your essentials.

"Y/N, bring out your fighter!" Lucy declares with a giggle, pulling the dress she's chosen from her suitcase. It's a purple, off-the-shoulder, crepe satin and black velvet gown that cascades gracefully against the stable air.

Your eyes widen in awe at how it looks against the light. "No need for a match, Luce. You win," you raise your hands up in surrender, "that's- that's catching more eyes. From Rami of course."

"Oh shut it. You'll look smooth in black." She clicks her tongue and smoothens it at the edge of the bed. You whip out yours and hold it up high, wavering a little at how you'll look like in it tonight. How fortunate you were to find 3-inch, black pumps closeted when you were 'panic packing' the night before. You take it out from your suitcase and set it aside before striding towards the blinds, pulling it up and beholding the breathtaking view of Hollywood before you.

Your first visit to the US and you're already headed to the Oscars. This isn't the real life. This is just fantasy.

- - - - - - - -

"We're having a dinner party afterwards, I don't see any reason for two sandwiches before the ceremony." Staring blankly at how Joe's handling waiting for you and Lucy to emerge from your room, Rami purses his lips quizzically– he's come by to pick up his girl as well. The two men look dashingly handsome in their black tuxes and slick hairstyles– their individual charm strong as they highly anticipate for your appearances.

Joe swallows the chunk in his mouth before speaking. "I'm stressed."

"About what?"

He bites down on his last sandwich, dusting his hands off crumbs as he reasons out. "It's the Oscars. Biggest ceremony of the year."

With a shake of his head, Rami opens his mouth to protest but pauses as the creak of the door behind them butts in their conversation. Lucy - exquisite in her cascading satin gown and look dotted in light to moderate make up - emerges with her purse in hand and eyes heady on Rami.

Joe wishes he could loosen some hinges in Rami's jaw since the latter has got his mouth agape at her girlfriend's evening look. To him, she is his ultimate award and he wouldn't have it in any other way.

"Hey, babe." Lucy smiles delicately and kisses Rami's cheek, to which he responds with a breathless, "Luce, you look..." His starstruck silence finishing his compliment for her. Joe hums, agreeing with crossed arms. "I wish I was as pretty as you, Boynton."

"You boys look handsome, too." Lucy giggles softly and Joe begins to wonder. "Where's Y/N?"

"She'll be out in three...two..." As Lucy deliberately pauses her countdown, you come out of the room, head down as you feel a bit hesitant to continue but you regain your confidence and look up timidly– your appearance putting Joe in the same position Rami was just in with Lucy. The dress really agrees to your form, contouring every curve of your body in a semi-sensual way, guaranteeing that you'll be snagging some looks tonight. Your (H/C) hair frames your face intricately with your light make-up emphasizing the color of your eyes and lips. The light brush of air against the skin of your exposed back makes you clutch your purse tighter, deeming it uncomfortable.

Lucy smiles proudly at her work and that is you. "Well, how does she look Joe?"

Joe lets out a hitched exhale, hazel eyes wide as a sinkhole and a slacked jaw struggling to budge. "Like my girlfriend."

"You wish." You can't help but retort playfully and he brings his finger up to his lips, hushing you. Rami compliments you as well and you thank him as the four of you make your way to the elevator– your arm on Joe's and Lucy's on Rami's.

You've taken a limo for the sake of convenience, since Joe and Rami wanted to propose a pre-toast - with the champagne present in the vehicle - to their successes and hard work in the past year. You have faith they'd bring home an Oscar; considering how spectacular their work was portraying the members of Queen. You're also thrilled that you're about to meet Brian and Roger.

The limo parks just across Dolby Theatre and the four of you climb out, making your way arms-in-arms into the place crowded with paparazzi and attendees. You see yourself as a small fish swimming in a sea full of majestic dolphins. This is the big leagues right here and you're not even one bit of a celebrity– at least you feel like you aren't one. After a couple of shoulder brushes with either familiar and unfamiliar faces and escaping the blinding flashes of the cameras, the four of you reunite with Gwilym who has Roger and Brian present by his side. You are introduced to the two Queen members by Joe and you couldn't be any more happier to meet them in person. A couple of moments of interacting with the rest of the crew and cast, Ben joins the 'party' looking sharp and admittedly drop-dead gorgeous in his white tuxedo blazer and slicked back hair with Rosy by his side.

Before he could even reply to the greetings of his friends, he lays his eyes on you and for a while– his pupils dilate and his expression flits faster than he can command it to. He can't believe what or who he is seeing before him amidst all the glam. Letting go of Rosy's hand for a minute, he steps close to you, indescribably captivated. "Y/N...h-hey."

You keep your composure, musing back. "Hey. You look left out, outfit-wise, and a like a million bucks."

It takes him nearly five seconds to reply with the way hes has his eyes transfixed on you. It's like he's seeing you for the first time. Your evening look setting him back to Homecoming night and something inside him just tweaks. You avoid his mindless gaze and break the silence, trying your hardest not to flush. "Ben, please talk. It's just really-"

"You look...beautiful." He breathes out like he had just gotten up from under water.

#queen #borhap #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #borhap cast #borhap cast x reader #borhap imagine #joe mazzello #ben hardy fanfic #imagine #fanfic

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hecohansen31 · 6 years ago

Text

“Of Superheroes and Superassholes” (Chapter 1)

A/N: This is my first multi chapter fanfic, so there will be more chpaters of this if you actually like it, I honestly had this idea after seeing “Endgame” and I actually discussed it with @lvngdvns (who created some pretty amazing headcanons about this, so if you want to check them out after this, I am sure she will be grateful, also they are absolutely worth a read… and a re-read, and … I mean Mal’s writing is amazing and her blog brightens my day, so…) and I decided to try to write down something.

Also before you start, here are some thing you need to know: Reader powers are pretty similar to Captain Marvel, meaning she got toxins in her blood which changed her DNA, making it adapt to something new, she doesn’t have the blast thing, but she is stronger, quicker and mo resistent (which comes in handy, according to Duncan and Michael…) meanwhile Michael is the bratty warlock he was at Hawthorne so he works primarily with magic (and sarcasm).

Duncan is a mix between Iron Man and Neal Caffrey (my writing buddy is pretty proud of me for this…).

So after this long introduction: don’t fear the smut will come in the next part (I just need to write it down…),

As always LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK? (because if I don’t get any feedback I automatically feel like I suck so… (also just hit me up to tell me I suck, I know…).

SUMMARY: Sometimes Destiny deals you horrible cards, and sometimes Destiny deals you two beautiful assholes to work with (+superpowers).

A superhero/secret agent AU comes your way.

Will the three agents manage to work their own problem to save the world (or will they straight up destroy it?).

WORDS: 2,9 K.

WARNING: No sex, or smut (there will be more in the newest chapters, I already am thinking about it), foul language, but also I feel like Duncan and Michael need their own warning.

She had never wanted superpowers, because as the motto said “with great powers comes great responsibility” which meant that no matter how many bad guys you beat up, there would be more from where they came from, so all your weekends plan had to be pushed aside and swept under the carpet, mostly if you worked into a secret agency to save the world.

And meanwhile she took her role very seriously, she had since toxins had changed her DNA, there was somebody who didn’t, and this made her work a thousand times more difficult, not to talk about the way it always put her in some dangers.

And all those reasons of stress had a name: Michael Langdon.

A blonde boy, enough powerful because of some arcane magical powers, not to talk about ripped AF (she looked him only to see clues for any kind of flaws or physical injuries she could use to her advantage meanwhile they fought in training).

To say she hated him was an understatement: he was against everything she believed in; faith, fair-play and avoiding straight up butchering their enemies in order to interrogate them and get some answers answered, and not have to dig up more things, with another few months of annoying research on her shoulder, since Langdon didn’t even touch paperwork.

She had been working on this case for three months, and she had managed to get infiltrated into the group of baddies that had decided to use poisonous toys to kill immigrant children, which was something she found disgusting, and not only had she managed to infiltrate and to meet their boss, but also the boss would tell her where the toys would be shipped.

But as soon as she walked in with Langdon as her body-guard he had started attacking everyone and although they had managed to take down the entire company, they had also managed to kill the boss so now they had no idea where and when the shipment would come.

And so, they were at the beginning again.

-I told you to wait- she screamed as soon as she opened the door to his office -Would it kill you to wait for my plan to work out? -.

-They don’t, (L/N)- he mumbled, simply, leaning on his elegant armchair an original vintage as the rest of the furnishing of his office, meanwhile hers was the most chaotic one but it was much more warmer than Michael, who had nothing personal on his walls, probably to protect himself, but the presumptuous attire of the entire office gave off what an arrogant prick Michael was -… they never work, (L/N), they were doubting you and they were preparing themselves to bring you down-.

-No, it would have worked it out, if you had managed to follow it, it is simple, Michael! – she felt the blood rushing into her veins and her skin glowed, something that happened since the toxins had entered her body and instead of killing her, changed her DNA, giving her new strength and powers.

She had never gone overboard with her powers because of rage, no matter how much Michael infuriated her, it was something she prided herself of, whereas Michael always was uncontrolled and more and more time some intern had to follow a trip to the hospital because of broken bones and other “minor” injuries.

So. it was a bad idea to start now and she immediately calmed down, moving down her hands, flattening them against her thighs and cleaning the sweat off of them.

-… it was my case, you were under my command, Langdon, you need to hear me out- she tried to appear as calm as she could, but this put Michael on an even more apathetic status which prompted her to actually think about kick him in the balls to get a raise out of him.

-I will hear you out when you can finally formulate a plan that will actually work out-.

She was going to punch him, she was going to lose control and punch him and she wouldn’t have regretted it.

-Agents Langdon and (L/N)! – the sudden opening of the door made her snap out of the anger trance she was in, which prompted her to assume a more collected position, again her palms went to her thighs, digging the nails into the soft fabric of the black pants.

Langdon instead, didn’t assume a more sober position, he just raised his back in order to assume a fiercer pose, standing his head tall and high, like a winner.

They both stood at attention, before the general Goode, a tall and proud woman to whom they both knelt to, although Langdon didn’t do it with joy, since he thought that with all his magical power he should be the one in charge of the entire thing, but general Goode was smarter and more experienced than him, so he had to stick to her partnership with her.

-Relax, agents- she had a bitter expression and (Y/N) thought what would come next: a little reprise for the fact that they hadn’t solved nothing on a mission which costed the agency a lot of money and time -… I come bearing good news-.

And… that was not what she had expected.

-…you’ll have a new partner- which wasn’t good news.

She had worked for longer in the agency but only in her apprenticeship she had worked alone and in her first missions she had always been paired with Michael, since they were the strongest the agency had to offer and this meant that she somehow saw the working with somebody as the freaking worst torture you could ever endure.

And the same was for Michael who straight up snorted.

-… a new partner? – he asked, incredulously and she was halfway through hitting his face -… you found some other stupidly naïve superhuman, because, honestly, we are full-.

She didn’t want to agree with him, but, apart from the insult, she did agree with what he said.

-Sadly no, Mr Langdon, but I have something much better…- and then she moved aside and a tall guy, strangely similar to Michael, but with a much darker color in his hair, which fumbled down in elegant waves down his eyes, hiding them.

She was swiftly taken aback, as she had been when she first saw Michael, but whereas Michael was all boyish charm and well-cured elegance, the new man was the image of what an accomplished man looked like, all tough forms and a rude beauty.

He promised hot nights and sweet sweet love making.

-… Duncan Shepherd will help us with the social aspect of your work, since you both are unable to handle that- Cordelia huffed, clearly annoyed by the fact that they always ended up fighting themselves instead of the enemies.

And she understood Cordelia’s reason, but also… TWO HOT MEN WITH WHAT LOOKED LIKE THE BIGGEST EGO IN THE WORLD. (AND OTHER THINGS… but she was trying to stay professional).

She wouldn’t be ok.

-Cordelia… can we talk about it? – Michael tried that approach, but he was quickly shut down by Cordelia just mouthing a no, before walking out, suggesting to all of them to get to know each other.

She was fucked.

——————————————————————————————————————————

Duncan knew that agents could be assholes, he had had to deal with them for a very long time since they had somehow discovered something about his illegal way of gaining information through his app, and when Cordelia had told him about the deal that would get him no jail time just in exchange for his assistance at the “R&H Corporation”, he hadn’t realized he would deal with much more asshole-ish agents (more asshole-ish than him, which was straight up impossible).

Because his new partners mixed a bad attitude with a petty tongue and a sharp intellect, and whereas agent (L/N) was one to close in herself and avoid any critical thoughts on her plan, if it was not something she approved, Michael was much worse, being what many people would call “a straight-up brat”.

(L/N) was at least hard-working and he had somehow created a bond with her (she trusted his hacker abilities, alongside the suggestions on how to handle another person), Michael kept on being straight up rude and useless, if the mission didn’t suit his “thoughts”.

This meant that Duncan thought half of time how to kill him, the other half how to get (L/N) to loosen up and there was no time for the mission, although they still had to save the world apparently.

They were in the latest mission: a search for a drug lord, an easy mission, mostly because the man could be loaded with money but his men hadn’t superpowers or the social knowledge of Duncan, who had find them a way to infiltrate in the gang, actually through Michael.

But they needed to do some teamwork, because although they had solved every mission with less dangerous explosions than usual (at least according to a still unsatisfied Cordelia) they still lacked so much precision and attention to the other.

They were in their hotel room, the entire mission would start the following day and Duncan was surprised when he saw (L/N)’s white lingerie being revealed as she shed her shirt and pencil gown, and although he wasn’t complaining, he… was extremely surprised.

-(L/N) are you feeling hot? – he asked, meanwhile he reasoned with himself that he wasn’t blushing because he had an half-naked woman in front of him, but Michael caught what was happening before him and he laughed between his teeth, before he got a glare from the other man.

-Just changing in night clothes- and she reached down to unlock her bra, which prompted Duncan to again have a heart-attack; he was used to freaking women taking their clothes off at his command, what happened to him?

A beautiful and superpowered woman had happened and she looked stunning in white panties and a pretty simple bra.

-Go and change in the bathroom, (Y/N)- mumbled Michael, looking at her clearly distressed and annoyed but Duncan didn’t know if it was because he had to confront her or he was simply jealous -… or Mr Shepherd over here will have an heart attack! -.

He was halfway through seriously chocking that asshole, but then he saw the little blush on (L/N)’s face and the way she immediately ran away in the bathroom, the insecurity written all over her face and her swift movements, and even Michael seemed to understand, although he did nothing to sweeten his words.

But Duncan felt guilty and with the mission so near, he didn’t want (L/N) to feel bad.

He also realized somehow that Michael had called by her first name, an intimate gesture he didn’t understand but it might have meant for them to grow closer.

He moved to the bathroom, the door was close, not locked, but he still knocked, swiftly hearing a “give me one minute” and (Y/N) was back, wearing an oversized band t-shirt, something that he never saw of her, always having worn pencil skirts or elegant black pants and blouses, a little larger than what she needed, as if to hide herself, in neutral colors, the usual office attire but also specifically worn not to stand out, unlike Michael.

-It isn’t like you think- he immediately rambled out, and she strangely laughed a bit at the proverbial words, but then she was twisted again in her previous nostalgic state -… I am used to women being naked with me… but…-

-… I am not that sexy- she replied swiftly, looking at him as if she knew him better than he did, and then moving to the door to close it.

But he didn’t let her.

-… I was embarrassed because you are extremely sexy and my colleague and I don’t want to have dirty thoughts on somebody I have to work with- he knew he had just bubbled up a non-sense discourse and he thought that (Y/N) hadn’t understood anything, but she did and she was looked at him surprised -… I just don’t want anything to be awkward-.

The revelation seemed to shock her, but she didn’t say anything except nodding and try again to close the door, but he just had a last thing to ask.

-You think you are ready for tomorrow? – and this time she let out a full-blown laugh.

-I think I am, if you now let me brush my teeth and then get my beauty sleep! -and then he was pushed away from the door, with only a sweet but audible “goodnight”.

He turned away, smiling happily… maybe tomorrow they would avoid a straight up massacre.

——————————————————————————————————————————

He wasn’t nervous, Michael Langdon was never nervous.

Michael Langdon never gave his squad a reason to tease him.

And he never gave them a reason to doubt him.

(Y/N) had spoken with him before this, she would be working with Duncan, behind the scenes, and he needed to remember everything they had gone through, everything.

And he was thankful she had been the one to quiz him, their competitions always bringing out the best of him.

They had also exchanged some pretty horrible sarcastic snaps at each other, till Duncan had asked them to either stop or he would have to put a gag on both of them, which had prompted a blush from his chaste colleague and a “kinky” from him.

He knew that Duncan Shepherd wasn’t shy on what he liked and what he didn’t (although what he had seen the previous night ruined the perfect image of the dom! Duncan Shepherd) and he low key liked him for that, much more than his sexual-repressed other colleague, but none of his flirty comments had been caught by the man, although he could blame it on his decision to stay strictly professional.

Still the fact that that man didn’t fall to his knees to his wit, meanwhile he blushed at seeing his pretty colleague almost naked…

He and (Y/N) were used to get naked in front of each other, he didn’t mind it, their bodies were both weapons, mostly (Y/N) but sometimes in his dream strand of (H/C) would appear in his dreams… and he didn’t want to think like that of somebody as sexually repressed as his colleague, but sometimes it was stronger than him.

He blamed the stress.

(Y/N) was tough, from what he had read, spying her little CV on Cordelia’s desk, she had a tough upbringing and after the incident which changed her life she dropped any contact with her family and friends, a loner, and this led her to know better than fall to his charms and he had seemed to ruin any chance with her when he first spit his nasty insult.

Sometime when she and Duncan giggle about a friendly joke, he wished he hadn’t spoken to her like that.

But his work had nothing to do with regrets, and more regrets he avoided the more he would be safe on the job.

And he did everything right and the drug lord still outsmarted them somehow, hitting Michael and sending him KO, before almost putting a bullet through his head, his magic wasn’t working somehow, and he was going to be dead.

Till (Y/N) jumped out from literally nowhere, hitting the drug lord and getting a bullet in the stomach from one of his cronies, which Duncan promptly shot in the head, the life he had taken slowly appeared back in his eyes, but as soon as he saw her bleeding he promptly moved to get here but Michael just told him to cover their shoulders, she would make it.

-… she has been invested by toxins that didn’t kill her, COVER OUR FUCKING SHOULDERS! – and he swiftly moved to an already up (Y/N), although she clutched the wound she was swiftly up and kicking the drug lord, meanwhile a few others entered, and strangely Michael did find a way to use again his magic.

And he did his best to cover his wounded friend’s shoulders, hoping it would be enough.

——————————————————————————————————————————

So that was all, I really hope you liked it!

Let me know what you thought about it and any feedback is greatly appreciated! 😘✨

See you soon, lovelies! 😉

Eroine Penzel.

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inevitably-johnlocked · 7 years ago

Note

Hey! I love the "for a case" fics! I was just wondering if you had any new ones?

Hi Nonny!!

I ACTUALLY DO have new stuff to add to this list!

For anyone interested, here are past similar posts:

For a Case Trope

Meeting the Family With a Fake Relationship

Married For a Case / Fake Husbands

Here we go! Apologies if I’m overlapping; I’m trying to remember where I left off, LOL.

FAKE RELATIONSHIP / FOR A CASE (PT 2.)

Ex by Itsallfine (T, 1,248 w. || Love Confessions, Coming Out, Exes, First Kiss) – One night, in the midst of their post-case high and on the cusp of something more, John and Sherlock run into John’s ex. His ex-boyfriend.

Christmas at Holmes Cottage by johnlockedstarkid (G, 4,295 w. || Christmas, Fake Relationship, Love Confessions, Holmes Family, Pining, Kisses, Fluff, Allusions to Mystrade) – Sherlock doesn’t want to have to deal with his mother’s wishes for him to find a partner when he goes to visit them for Christmas, so asks John to pose as his boyfriend. Little does he know he’s not the only one who wishes that the relationship could be real.

On Hiatus: Rotterdam (T, 4K+ w. || Friendship, Drama, Couple For A Case, Post-TRF, John Joins Sherlock, No Slash) – “Used them after uni a bit. Purely for research purposes, of course,“ Sherlock said tiredly, head lolling against John’s shoulder.” Sherlock goes on a mission alone, or: Two blokes in a luxury hotel in the Netherlands. Non-linear timeline. Set during the Hiatus.

The Honeymoon Suite by Salambo06 (E, 5,827 w. || Fake Relationship, Fake Marriage, Frottage, First Kiss, Cuddling/Snuggling/Sleepy Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Holidays / Hotels, Case Fic) – “You’ll see,” the receptionist smiles, handing John the key to their room, “This honeymoon suite is quite spectacular. Our hotel has won many awards, most of them for these rooms.” John nods, licking his lips and playing with the key in his hand. We’ll probably be leaving first thing in the morning, he wants to tell her. As soon as Sherlock proves who robbed the previous couple who booked a room here, we’re out of here and stopping this happily married charade. “Thank you,” he says instead.

The space between by Salambo06 (E, 6,830 w. || PWP, Friends to Lovers, Masturbation, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Miscommunications, Bottom Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Sexual Fantasy) – “It’s for a case,” Sherlock says as soon as John looks down at his computer. John remains silent for a long moment, eyes moving from the screen to Sherlock, before saying, “You don’t have to explain.” His voice is low, too low, and Sherlock looks at the computer, putting the video on pause. “Lestrade asked me-, no, forced me to find out who’s threatening a famous porn star, and the suspect is among his co-stars, so I only need to watch out for any signs from his partners, anything that might show they’re the one sending those threats and I can move to something else.” “Right.”

Full Disclosure by Itsallfine (E, 7,032 w. || Bars & Pubs, Fake Relationship, First Kiss / Time, Love Confessions, John’s Army Mates, Three Continents Watson, Semi-Public Sex) – John’s army mates get together for the first time post-discharge and invite John “Three Continents” Watson to join them. If John shows up alone, he knows he’ll be the object of non-stop ridicule all night. Sherlock plays along. John tests the waters.

that thing you like by misspamela (E, 7,165 w. || Holmes Family, Fake Relationship, Friends to Lovers) – “Happy Christmas, etc. etc.” Sherlock and John go to the Holmes’ for Christmas, and everyone thinks they’re together.

Down with this Ship by FrostedFlame (PinkOrchid) (M, 10,862 w. || For a Case, Gay Bar, Coming Out, Slow Burn) – Sherlock drags John undercover to a gay bar - for a case, of course - looking forward to seeing John flustered by their surroundings (since you know, he’s NOT GAY). John decides that he has hidden both his orientation and his feelings for his daft flatmate for far too long. He is done hiding, time to be honest with his bloody best friend in the world. He just hopes it won’t change anything between them. And then it does.

Twelfth Night by yourdykeinshiningarmor (E, 15,139 w. || Fake Relationship, Christmas, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Angst & Fluff, BJ’s, Anal) – John is invited to his aunt’s Twelfth Night ball. Sherlock offers to attend with him as a friendly face among strangers, but John’s family force him to address his true feelings for Sherlock.

Till Death Do Us Part by prettysailorsoldier (M, 15,390 w. || Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Friends to Lovers, Fake Marriage, Christmas, Fluff) – When Sherlock links a recent spree of murder-suicides to a psychologist who specializes in marriage counseling, there’s really only one thing to do: Go undercover as a couple in hopes of drawing the killer out. Faking a relationship seems easy enough, but things take a turn when their real issues start to creep into the sessions, and, all the while, a killer is watching, waiting in the shadows for their chance to strike.

Couples Retreat by Madam_Fandom (E, 18,717 w. || Fake Relationship, Undercover Couple, Case Fic, Angst, Kidnapping, Fake Marriage, Cross Dressing) – Couples are turning up missing at a very high class couples retreat; and the only way to get to the bottom of it is for John and Sherlock to go under cover as a couple. {{Haven’t read this yet, so read at your discretion}}

Just a Kiss by emmagrant01 (E, 19,695w. || Case Fic, 5+1, For a Case) – Five times John and Sherlock kissed because of a case and one time they kissed for real. (Chapter 7 is the one you want :D)

Ghost Stories by SwissMiss (M, 22,256 w. || Pining, Holmes Family, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Time) – Sherlock’s parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

Dropping the Act by jadztone (T, 27,258 w. || Parentlock, Fake Relationship, Mary’s Family, Post-S4, Cuddling & Snuggling, Bed Sharing, Pining, Christmas) – Sherlock and John are quite happy living together with Rosie in Baker St. They might be even happier if they didn’t act towards each other like their love is only platonic. Mycroft brings troubling news in the form of Mary’s parents wanting to know just what their grandchild’s home life is like. The boys decide to spend Christmas pretending like they are in love in order to seem more like a “normal” family. It’s easy enough to pretend when all you’re doing is dropping the act.

Sherlock Holmes & The Mysterious Ex by Gatergirl79 (M, 27,942 w. || Family, Romance, Holmes Family) – Sherlock and John are forced to spend Christmas with Sherlock’s family. An unsettling idea especially when John will have to play ‘Boyfriend’ thanks to Mycroft. But why exactly does Sherlock want to avoid a family party?

“finally kiss the bloody idiot” by Salambo06 (E, 29,812 w. || Mutual Pining, Declarations of Love, First Kiss / Time, Angst, Misunderstandings, Fantasies, POV John) – Inspired by a fic idea on tumblr : “John and Sherlock know the Yard has a pool going for when they’re finally going to get together. It’s been running forever, and it’s worth thousands of pounds. It’s all fun and games, hahaha, until they find out Lestrade is in dire financial straits (dog needs emergency surgery, he’s putting his kid through gymnastics training, I don’t know, something), and they decide to fake a relationship to win the pool for him. Sherlock figures out the day and way that Lestrade thinks it’s going to happen, and they act it out. It’s all for a good cause, fake relationship style, until it’s not.” Part 1 of The Pool

Classified(s) by blueink3 (E, 36,153 w. || Wedding Date AU || Fake Relationship, Jealous, PIning, H/C, Idiots in Love, Happy Ending, Mary is not Nice, Escort Service) – Clara’s American father is the ambassador to some such territory that Great Britain probably used to own, but she (and Harry’s undying love for her) is the reason John is getting on a flight at 12:30pm, flying across the second largest ocean in the world, and pretending to be in a perfectly happy, healthy relationship with an undoubtedly perfectly coiffed stranger. See, Clara is not only American (and wealthy to boot), she’s also best friends with John’s ex-fiancée. Whom she’s placed in the wedding party. As Maid of Honor. And John just happens to be Best Man. Bloody brilliant.

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

The Case of the Vanishing Pants by SwissMiss (E, 44,025 w. || Five and Ones, Friends to Lovers, Case Fic, Homophobia, UST, Post-TRF) – Five times John and Sherlock lost their pants in the course of a case. (Chapter 4)

John Watson’s Twelve Days of Christmas by earlgreytea68 (M, 53,464 w. || Christmas, Holmes Family, Fake Relationship, Alternate First Meeting, Falling in Love, Fluff and Angst, Hardcore Pining) – It’s the holiday season. John Watson needs money. Sherlock Holmes needs something else.

Wars We Fought, Things We’re Not by blueink3 (M, 55,204 w. || Parentlock, Fluff & Angst, Kidnapping, Whump, Post-TAB, UST, Slow Burn, Couple for a Case) – Five months after John’s world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

Bridging the Ravine by SilentAuror (E, 58,887 w. || Post S4, Couple For a Case, Bed-Sharing, First Times, Confessions, Awkwardness, Sex Trafficking) – Sherlock and John go undercover at Ravine Valley, a therapy centre for same-sex male couples in an investigation into a possible human trafficking ring. As they pose as a couple and fake their way through the therapy sessions for the sake of the case, it quickly becomes difficult to avoid discussing their very real issues. Set roughly six nine months after series 4.

A Cure For Boredom by emmagrant01 (E, 81,665 w. || Dirty Talk, Threesomes, Light Dom/Sub, Sex Club, Experiments, Anal, Mildly Dubious Consent) – They’d never talked about sex in the year they’d known each other. Well, that wasn’t quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #for a case #fake relationship #Anonymous

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hxh-secretsanta-2017 · 7 years ago

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yo this is for @sanktpetyrthethird who asked for drug dealer au killugon

honestly thank you cause?? this is not at all a story i would have ever brainstormed let alone written if not for that prompt and ive fallen in love with it and it really really improved my writing workflow to. yknow. plot instead of writing <3000 word fluff pieces (raincheck for acts 2 and 3 my dude. this. kinda got away from me)

(also i started following u cause of this and ur sweetheart!! i was really happy to be writing this for such a cool and awesome person)

I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!!!!!! :D

also thank you to @driftingglass for beta reading a whack of this and helping me to realize i had to cut some prose described by a friend as “violet”

Prologue.

Golden eyes. An earnest smile. Freckles that mark a childhood spent in sunlight.

Killua shakes out his hands, hoping to flick away heart fluttering memories and dread that sinks through his gut like ink in water.

“I need you tomorrow,” says Illumi. His hands drag across the spines of the books, fingers knobby and nails sharp. He eyes the titles with the same vacant, disinterested scowl he has for everything.

Iron supports hold aloft the domed glass ceiling and cast sweeping shadows like eagle’s wings. Fading dusk sky snatches away scarce warmth from the city below.

Killua shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of one of the few couches clustered by the unlit fireplace. He walks past the table stacked high with stolen documents awaiting review by himself, his parents, or senior staff.

As Illumi browses through the children’s books—Killua suppresses a disgusted sneer—he slides a brass ladder along the wall of the circular library. Its wobbly wheels scream in the otherwise silent air. He swallows hard and hopes that he hasn’t awoken Kikyo.

Body sluggish and aching for sleep, he climbs up and finds what he’s looking for by the marks he left in the dust a few days prior. It’s an old farmer’s almanac with folklore stories scattered throughout, factual and fantastical in equal measure.

Killua hops to the floor and runs his thumb along the scarlet cover.

It’s an illustration of a humanoid goat standing over a river of blood. Her apron flies in a vicious wind, and the scissors she holds over her head are open around a crescent moon. She stares straight out at the viewer, defiant and oozing with fury.

Killua passes the book to Illumi and Illumi looks up at him, unblinking. For a moment, Killua thinks he’s going to make him pick out something else, but then he adds it to the small stack balanced in the crook of his elbow.

Illumi fades towards one of the arched entrances, which gapes wide like a jaw.

Killua bites his lip.

“Can I give them to her?”

Illumi pauses, a hand gracefully posed on the archway. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Was there any trouble tonight?”

“Will I see you again?”

Killua can hardly keep himself standing. He rubs the side of his temple with the heel of his palm, before forcing himself to open his eyes as wide as he can manage.

“I’m fine.”

Illumi tut-tuts, sickeningly similar to their mother. “Oh Kil, you must be falling ill. Go rest. I don’t want to lose my best spotter.”

Killua is going to vomit.

He hisses in a breath to argue, but something about the way Illumi raises an eyebrow stops him. For a moment he’s pulled into his brother’s dense orbit. A cold sweat runs down his neck.

Killua’s legs itch, screaming both to run and freeze like ice.

Illumi breaks the stare, and Killua gasps, his breathing heavy.

“Goodnight, Kil,” he says, before vanishing with steps so smooth he may as well have been a ghost.

Killua raises a hand to the base of his neck and rubs his skin in a fruitless attempt to self-soothe.

Illumi is far from good company, but he leaves a vacuum in his wake.

Killua does not enjoy solitude. Loneliness, he has learned to live with; solitude, he abhors.

The library is gray and old. It’s a room that hasn’t seen proper use in years, a forgotten corner of the Zoldyck estate with mildew air that itches Killua’s nose and tastes like dust on his tongue. The books are no more than lifeless stacks of paper, ripped apart from the one who loved—loves—them most. The reading chair in the corner, undisturbed even by the housekeepers, calls out for company.

“Will I see you again?”

Killua grabs the hair at his temples and tries not to scream. For a moment, grief compresses him so hard he’s knocked to his knees.

There are translucent hands wrapped around his arms, grabbing at his neck, twisting the flesh of his thighs. His chest bubbles with panic that wants to spill over into sobs. A reckless desire he’s kept in check for years torrents through his heart, and he wants nothing more than to give in and let it ruin him.

Killua has survived through routine and a lace veil of iron between himself and the world beyond his fingertips, but now the walls are crashing down around him.

A thousand deaths on his hands, and he is going to crack for just one person.

There’s a chance, a risk, so stupidly foolish he hates himself for even considering the possibility.

Killua is a professional murderer. He has the heart of a killer, and the drying blood under his fingertips to prove it. He has never shown mercy, and tonight has yet to become an exception. His record is flawless, and his legacy, should he choose to embrace it, will be unparalleled.

Life stretches out before him, every cranny of it predetermined, and he has learned to accept that, to swallow it, for the sake of his sister.

It’s been months since he was allowed to see her, to rest her head in his lap and answer her questions about the outside. Even the polish on his toes has chipped away.

What do they have left to lose? Pain does not scare him, and they dare not touch her.

***

There are pinup posters on the walls of Milluki’s room, and a strip of lights wrapped around the ceiling that flash green and purple. Monitors are mounted to the walls, and boxes of cables in tangled knots are stored under the desk.

Milluki doesn’t even look up when Killua closes the door.

“What do you want?” he asks, tapping his finger on the mouse. A loading bar ticks slowly on one screen, and a jumble of code Killua has never cared to understand lights up another. Milluki continues working, used to more hysterical interrupters than Killua.

What does he want? Killua pauses for a moment, and then he almost laughs, because any answer even close to honest is surreal.

“Can you do me a favour?”

Milluki chokes at that, before spinning his chair around. There’s a glowing smile on his face, though he’s trying to hide it and failing poorly. A flash of irritation burns on Killua’s cheeks.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

Killua grinds his teeth and swallows his pride. “I need a favour.”

Milluki claps his hands together and rocks back in his chair. His eyes sparkle with delight. “Anything for my most darling little brother.”

“Shut up,” says Killua, his nose wrinkling.

Milluki’s enthusiasm is undeterred. “What do you need?”

Killua plunges over the point of no return before he can convince himself of reason. Hesitation, his grandfather always said, is the antidote to good fortune. “I need you to leak the outgoing messages from Zenji’s phone over the past two weeks. It can’t be tied back to us, and no one can find out about it.”

Milluki nods happily, and he’s already closed out one screen for another when he stills. “Wait—does anyone know about this?”

Killua shakes his head, frustrated and impatient. Kikyo could wake at any moment, Silva should be home soon, and Illumi has a knack for appearing when he is least wanted. Which is always.

Milluki sobers and worries his lip with his teeth. “I mean, yeah, I can do it, but…” His eyes slide up to the monitors and then down to Killua’s feet. “It isn’t a good idea.”

“I’ll owe you. Seriously.” Killua watches the door, his palms sweaty and his mouth dry.

Milluki sneers at that. “Obviously, idiot. But if they find out—”

“They won’t. You’re good at what you do.”

Milluki rubs the back of his neck, unconvinced. Killua can’t blame him, but he needs Milluki to help him.

Anxiety rises in his chest and he has to slide his hands into his pockets to keep from running them through his hair.

“Milluki, please.”

Milluki’s eyes shoot up to his. Killua doesn’t know what does it, but something about his voice, or maybe his expression, makes Milluki bite his cheek and shake his head.

He licks his lips, and then huffs a laugh. “Tell you what, Kil,” he says, turning back to his keyboard. “It’ll be one hell of a favour.”

Chapter 1.

Meteor City is a jagged mountain of metal and glass. It imposes over the landscape, cast in silhouette by the setting sun. A hazy cloud of pollution hangs over it like flies on an open wound.

Gon walks towards it along the edge of a dusty road, alone among a thousand others making the journey. Trucks pass by, forming an unbroken caravan from the blurry tree line behind him to a field of canvas tents and sheet metal buildings. People hang from the sides and produce jostles under tarps. A great big billowing cloud of dust forces Gon to wrap his bandana around his mouth and nose.

He stops when he reaches the edge of the shadow cast over the desert scrub. A woman with a weathered face and bandaged hands slows beside him, and the two of them look up, silently.

Somewhere in the staggeringly enormous mass, he’s going to find Ging.

The woman moves on first. It takes Gon a few more minutes, and by the time he starts on again, the shadow had crept to his shins.

The eastern market is the major entry point for the city, but Gon isn’t interested in squeezing his way through the crowd. He cuts off onto a thin path, with dry grass growing high down the center.

The buildings, jutting like crowded teeth, are packed together so tightly that not even a starving alley cat could squeeze its way through. More are under construction. Workers buzz about the scaffolding, and huge machines Gon has only ever seen in an encyclopedia gifted by Abe dig up the ground.

There are open balconies on every story. People lounge in them, wearing fancy clothes and airs.

“Welcome home, sunshine!” shouts a woman, hanging off the arm of a clearly intoxicated man with a hideous mustache.

Gon waves. “I’m just passing through.”

She snorts, covering her mouth with a ring-bejeweled hand. “Sure, of course. Just passing through.”

Gon’s breath hitches and he wants to ask what she means by that, but the two of them giggle off into the room beyond.

He waits to see if they’ll return, and when they don’t, he draws closer.

Gon approaches the building like it’s a frightening animal tensing to bolt.

He reaches out and touches the wall. The cold concrete is unyielding against the warmth of his palm.

Gon walks along the edge of the city as dusk falls around him.

The workers continue clanging, sparks bright and flying in the fading light. Gon is careful not to step underneath the swaying cranes, or cut across through dug out pits.

Eventually, he finds a door propped open with a rock. Workers stroll in and out, chatting to each other in a language Gon doesn’t understand. None of them pay him any mind as he slips inside.

The air is rot and neglect and grease. He slams a hand over his mouth and doubles over in the hallway, gagging. His eyes water, and his lungs burn as he forces himself to breathe.

A man walking out snickers down at him, and Gon’s nose wrinkles. He straightens himself intentionally, pulling the bandana back up over his nose.

Gon swipes a tear out of his eyes. The corridor stretches on, long and punctuated with bursts of light where caged fluorescents flicker. All he can see between the pockets is darkness shifting like falling sand.

A fly buzzes in the nearest light, banging itself against the walls of its confinement.

Gon swallows hard.

Just passing through.

***

Gon sits on scaffolding made of plywood and cheap metal, his feet dangling over oblivion. The bridge connects two different buildings. The bustling neon party scene on one side fades into the almost idyllic business row on the other, where plants hang on the walls and shoes squeak across vinyl flooring.

Gon takes another bite of his sandwich and clicks his heels together, watching people stream across the dizzying sprawl of other connectors below.

When he was young, Mito got him an ant farm. Sometimes it spilled sand all over his windowsill, but he still loved it. Gon could watch the workers dig for hours. The city is the same; something about it is mesmerizing.

He’s been meandering for a day and a half. Whale Island, for all its beauty, was plagued by familiarity. Gon grew up around the same four hundred faces and a bitterly frigid line to his exploration quite literally in the sand. Meteor City is incomparably dense with wonders.

He found a shop that sold glass butterfly charms in every colour of the rainbow and watched the artist make one.

It dangles around his neck, now. A luxury he can’t afford, but one he couldn’t say no to, either.

He passed by a funeral procession marching slowly through the street, percussion instruments made of wood and beads clacking. The woman leading them wore a bone white tunic and red shoes.

He looked at park from an observation window, unable to afford the fee to enter. It had a high ceiling and ivy climbing the walls. Gigantic lights fed the lawn, and a handful of couples were clustered on benches under carefully pruned apple trees.

Gon finishes his lunch and shrugs on his backpack, careful not to let it fall.

The next market he passes through has a ceiling painted to look like a midday sky. Dragons swirl through thick cumulus clouds and swoop down the walls. The stalls are open and cascade throughout the entire floor. Support columns are painted green and plastered with posters. Most of them are written in a language he doesn’t recognize.

He skirts around an open vat of oil, manned by an old woman with bags under her eyes and whiskers at the corners of her mouth. She dips meat down in strips, and they sizzle on the surface. A mother with a toddler in tow buys a bag, and pays by tapping the back of her phone to a metal plate drilled into the table.

Gon is pushed onwards by the swelling crowd.

The Hunter Association, when he finally finds it, is marked by the logo on a handleless door.

Gon hops onto the bridge to it. Both above and below, he can only spot three other entrances to the building.

A voice crackles from a speaker.

“Name?”

Gon tugs the collar of his shirt. “Gon. Kite sent me. He said to tell you ‘strawberry blackwater’ and to apologize for using an old pass code.”

“I can’t let you in with an old pass code.”

“He said I should mention I’m Ging’s son.”

There’s a long silence.

The speaker crackles, and Gon can make out indistinct words spoken too far away to be picked up clearly.

“Fine.”

The door slides open with a chime.

There’s no one on the other side. Gon pokes down the hallway, expecting to be interrupted once again by whoever was watching the door, but he’s only met by dead air.

All the hallways are painted the same grating shade of gray, and every door he tries to open is locked and beeps at him angrily. He’s steered like cattle through the building by short stairwells and dead ends until he stumbles upon a lobby.

The room is large, white, and brightly lit. There are a few people talking in clusters of two or three. Gon doesn’t recognize any of them. None of them smile when they look his way.

He fists the hem of his sleeves, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and his knuckles. There isn’t a line at the front desk.

“I’m looking for Ging Freecss.”

The woman behind the high counter snorts. “I’m sorry,” she deadpans, flipping the page of her magazine.

Gon pouts. “I want to see him. Do you know where he is?”

“Does anyone?”

Gon hums, considering the question. “He probably does.”

A ghost of a smile graces her face. She looks up and gives a snide scowl. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

Gon isn’t sure what to say, so he says nothing. She goes back to reading, though he can tell by the way her eyes aren’t moving that she’s watching him peripherally. Gon bites his lip and glances over his shoulder.

Apparently accepting that he isn’t going to leave, she sighs and drops the magazine down. This time, her smile is tight and annoyed. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Ging.”

***

There was a long retired sailor on Whale Island, so old that even Abe could only shrug when asked his name. He lived alone in the hills, where yellow wildflowers spilled across the forest floor like honey, and came into town when he needed to replace a failing tool or stock up on food. He had eyebrows like scraggly wire and shuffled, though he didn’t use a cane.

One lazy summer afternoon, gnats buzzing in the air, Gon stumbled upon him plucking weeds in his back garden. Compelled by nothing but curiosity, Gon pushed up his sleeves and helped. They spent a few hours in silent companionship, and at the end of it Gon was invited into the well-maintained kitchen to share a blackberry pie. Gon breathed on a spoon and managed to stick it to his cheek; the old sailor guffawed, his nose wrinkled.

A couple of years after that, Gon found his body in the woods.

At first, it looked as though he was sleeping against one of the apple trees, but the smell, the flies, and the stillness of his chest told Gon otherwise.

Bisky reminds Gon of him.

It’s her eyes that do it; soulful and heavy, despite a body that doesn’t look a day over sixteen. Even slouched, with elbows on her knees, her presence fills the air.

The lounge is chaotic. Flashing lights cut through smoke. Music blasts, and partygoers holler. Gon slips through the crowd, offering muttered apologies as he squeezes between dancers.

Wide support columns curate his view. They cut up the lounge like a warren, giving him only snippets of her form as he makes his way over. Gon ducks under an arch and jogs down the half-flight of stairs.

He slides into the seat across from her. She jolts from whatever she was thinking about.

“Bisky?”

“Gon?”

For a moment, they float in their own bubble, separate from the rest of the world.

She leans towards him, eyes wide.

They’re interrupted by a young man tripping on his own shoes. He catches himself on Gon’s shoulder and nearly tumbles into his lap. Gon helps him back to his feet, insisting that it’s not a bother as the man blushes fiercely. He scampers off.

The conflicted swirl in Bisky’s expression is gone when he sits back down.

“You’re so much like him,” she says.

Gon’s chest swells with shy pride.

***

His throat is warm and fuzzy, and his senses are enjoyably dulled. His inhibition, thin at the best of times, has been shredded like wet paper.

Bisky is either a fantastic influence or a terrible one.

She hollers and Gon grunts, his elbow straining, sweat burning down his forehead. The woman across from him narrows her eyes and pushes harder against his palm. Gon’s muscles are clenched so tightly he can hardly breathe.

The back of his hand slams into the table. There’s a roar, and people in the crowd push him by his shoulders as he catches his breath. The woman offers him a handshake and a roguish smile as a conciliatory participation prize.

“My turn, my turn,” insists Bisky, sliding into the seat after him.

The woman, graying at her temples, quirks her lips into a smirk. She stands to whispers something in Bisky’s ear, and Bisky laughs.

Gon is knocked back by the swell of the excited onlookers; he lets himself drift, and while he doesn’t see it, he sure as hell hears it when Bisky pulls off a victory.

They sit beside each other on a quiet step. Bisky scribbles out something on the back of a napkin and shoves it into his hand.

“He’s a lightweight too,” she says.

Gon groans. “‘M fine,” he lies.

Bisky can’t hide the chuckle that bounces her shoulders. “Of course you are.” She claps her hands together. “Right. Let’s go get you settled, young man.”

The true face of the headquarters is nothing like the monotony from earlier.

Every hallway is decorated in a different style. One is lined from floor to ceiling with wooden masks, whose eyes seem to follow them. Another is snow white, with the silhouettes of deer somehow moving across the wall.

Bisky has to drag him along by the wrist; Gon keeps wandering off to gander.

Her apartment is luxurious. The ceilings are high, and from them hang ornate chandeliers. The carpet is thick between his toes, and the paint on the walls looks new. He can only stay for the night, she says, because she’s leaving in the morning and the place will be turned over to someone else.

Gon curls up on the couch and she brings him a glass of water, a pillow, and a fond ruffle of his hair.

The night wasn’t what he was hoping for. He’s disappointed he didn’t get to meet Ging, even if he had a fun time. All Bisky knows is that he’s off on some special assignment and planning to come back soon. It’s enough for Gon, though.

He’s waited his whole life. He can wait a little longer.

Chapter 2.

Gon stops outside the restaurant and triple checks the napkin. He’s supposed to meet with the friend of a friend of a friend.

Bisky’s words swam over his pounding head during breakfast. He isn’t sure whether he’s meeting with a thirty-something martial arts instructor or a guy his age with a buzz cut. Either way, he isn’t looking forward to it.

The other key detail that he missed was what job he was applying for, exactly.

He pokes his head inside. The restaurant is empty; not one of the three round chairs has a guest, and there’s no one behind the counter.

The walls are yellow stucco and the splashboard behind the workspace is functional black diamond plate. There’s a chandelier with tacky plastic jewels that reflect spots of light onto the walls and ceiling. The melamine tables are worn and chipped, and the chairs have awkwardly low backs.

It is, Gon thinks, the least welcoming restaurant he has ever had the misfortune of visiting.

There’s a bang in the back room and Gon jumps. The door swings open. A man with a willowy build and unruly blonde hair stalks up to the counter, tying his striped apron behind his back.

“Can I help you,” he sighs venomously, as though he would rather swallow spiders than even consider doing so.

“Bisky sent me,” says Gon.

The man’s nose wrinkles with disgust and he rolls his eyes. “Great.”

Gon rubs his hand along the back of his head and passes over her note. The man holds the napkin out at arms length before pulling glasses from his pocket. He mouths the words as he reads them, and Gon taps his fingers on the empty glass display case as he waits for him to finish.

“Bisky didn’t tell me what KP stood for but—”

“Kurapika. Me. My name.”

“Oh.”

Kurapika sets the paper down and pulls his glasses back like a headband. His hair is tucked, revealing dazzling ruby red earrings.

“Who are you.”

“Gon Freecss. I came here looking for my dad, but—”

“Gon, I want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, that I do not care. What do you know about running?”

“Um, I’m fast, I think? I’ve never really raced anyone though, so—”

“Okay.” Kurapika chuckles a little, his eyes sliding closed and his smile genuine for the first time. Gon squirms, certain that he’s stepped over one of those invisible lines that everyone else can see. “Go tell Bisky not to waste my time.”

Gon’s heart plummets. “I’m a fast learner.”

Kurapika stares at him unflinchingly.

“Also Bisky just left this morning, so I can’t do that.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence. Kurapika stares through him, his eyes glassy and his mouth pressed flat, before untying his apron and hanging it up on a hook beside the fridge.

“You’re from outside the city.”

Gon tilts his head, wondering how Kurapika could tell.

“You’re never going to know it as well as someone who’s grown up here.”

“I’m good at—”

Kurapika holds up a finger, turning on his heels. His smile curls sharper. Kurapika shapes his words carefully, like Gon is a rabbit he’s leading into a snare. “How long did it take you to get to the Hunter’s Association headquarters?”

Gon winces. “A couple days.”

Kurapika holds out his relaxed hands, palms flat. “That’s only a seventeen minute trip from here if you know the way, Gon.”

Gon gasps. The pieces click into place, and he relishes in the rush of having figured out the test.

“No it isn’t.”

Kurapika bites his tongue. “Yes, it is.”

“It only took me twelve.”

Kurapika freezes. His eyes open wide, but he recovers quickly into a slightly less confident scowl. “You said it took you days, Gon.”

Gon nods avidly. “Yeah, the first time. Then when I came back it was only twenty minutes because I knew to use the tunnels way below everything. And then I was bored because the restaurant was closed for the night, so I went back and forth a few times.”

“And you shaved it down to twelve minutes?”

Gon beams. “Yup! It only really works one way, though. There’s this place where the boards are really close between the buildings and you can hop down and it saves you from having to do”—Gon demonstrates with his hands—“the hook thing.”

“Show me.”

***

Kurapika stands with him on the top board and shakes his head slowly. Gon can’t wipe the smile off his face. He points at the grated metal, only seven feet below.

“It’s—”

“Twelve minutes. It’s actually twelve minutes.” Kurapika licks his lips and puts his hands on his hips. He stares at the path below like he doesn’t believe it.

Maybe it wasn’t a test. Either way, Gon’s pretty sure he passed.

With practiced grace, Kurapika holds out a hand. Gon shakes it firmly. Kurapika’s teeth grind and he pulls away, clenching and unclenching his fingers.

Gon rocks back and forth from his toes to his heels. “I said I was a fast learner, didn’t I?”

“You did, you did, you absolutely did,” says Kurapika, his voice dazed. “I take it back. No guarantees, but I can try to find you something.”

Gon hollers at the victory. Someone far above shouts down at him to be quiet. Gon apologizes.

“So what now?” he asks.

For the first time, Kurapika’s smile is softened by fondness. “Try to learn the area around the restaurant as best you can. Do you have a phone?”

Gon passes it over and Kurapika presses a few buttons before tapping their backs together.

“I’ll call when I know one way or another.” He stills and rubs his thumb over his lips. “Do you have a place to stay?”

***

“It’s temporary.”

Gon leans against the wall and bites his lip. It’s the first true residential area he’s visited. Kurapika had to tap his phone on a screen to slide open the front gate.

The hallway has tiled vinyl flooring, and the mounted lights are soft. The main corridor branches off like a fractal, what must have once been a wide open space subdivided into a maze of small apartments. It’s nicer than most of the places Gon has been so far, which is to say that there are no suspiciously dark stains on bare concrete.

Across the narrow hallway the door to apartment forty-five opens. A boy with short black hair, not much younger than Gon himself, steps out, carrying a handful of empty bags.

“Like hell it’ll be temporary, Kurapika.”

The boy’s eyes widen and Gon mirrors the look.

“Just a few days. He doesn’t have anywhere—”

“Why can’t you take him in?”

With a polite wave the boy runs off down the hallway, favoring his right leg.

“Because my place is—”

There’s a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Fine.”

Kurapika leans out, a smug smile lighting up his face. “Come on in.”

The apartment is a long, narrow room. There’s a kitchen at the very back with mismatched stools. Closer, the walls are lined with cubbies full of plastic totes. There’s a low circular table between them, and one of the boxes is open on the ground beside it, folders spread out chaotically.

Next there’s an unmade bed that juts out from the wall, right beside the door to what Gon presumes is the washroom. Across from the bed is a couch, sandwiched on either side by a bookshelf and a dresser.

The man beside Kurapika is, somehow, exactly what Gon would have expected if he had only seen the room.

He’s tall but slouches, his glasses seem comically useless, and the twist of his lips is crass. His hair is dented on the side from bed head, and his button-up shirt is half untucked.

“I’m Gon, nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand with a beaming smile.

The man looks up at the ceiling in a silent prayer for patience before accepting the handshake. “Leorio.”

Gon sets his backpack down and clasps his hands behind his back. Kurapika wrings his wrists. Leorio rubs his eyes. The silence is awkward, and Gon jumps to break it.

“What are those papers?” he asks.

Leorio glances over at the table. “Records.”

“Oh. For what?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“Why?”

Leorio inhales through his nose then exhales through his mouth. His stare turns to Kurapika, who has conveniently fled to the kitchen.

Dinner is made in near silence. Gon chops the vegetables put in front of him while Kurapika and Leorio bicker in low tones over the pot on the stove. He wonders why they’re friends if they spend so much time arguing, but maybe that’s what friends are supposed to be like. Gon isn’t exactly an expert; there was only one other kid on Whale Island, and she moved away years ago for high school.

They’re eating soup, lined up on the counter stools, when Gon tries again.

“So why did you want to be a doctor?”

Leorio drops his spoon and scowls at Kurapika. “Was he being an ass earlier, or…?”

“I don’t know,” says Kurapika, covering his full mouth with a hand.

“What are you talking about?” asks Gon.

The two of them look up at him, and then to each other. Kurapika shrugs. Leorio sighs, and rubs a fleck of broth off his cheek.

“A long time ago a friend of mine got sick, but healthcare in Meteor City is expensive and shoddy, so, y’know.” Leorio twirls his hand, watch clinking. “I wanted to help.”

“Did he die?” asks Gon.

Kurapika sucks in a breath. “G—”

“Yeah,” says Leorio.

Gon bites his cheek.

He swirls his spoon in his soup, and a carrot bubbles up from the bottom. He tries to imagine what that would feel like—losing Abe was hard enough, and he’d been able to find comfort in her long life well lived. Gon’s chest unravels at the thought of losing a friend.

“I’m sorry.”

Leorio looks down. Kurapika rests a hand on his arm.

“Thank you, Gon,” says Kurapika. “Now finish your soup.”

Gon cleans the plates while Leorio digs out extra bedding from the dresser. Kurapika has left, something about needing to sleep before his next shift started.

“You’re getting the couch ‘cause I’m too tall for it,” says Leorio, trying in vain to get fitted sheets to work on couch cushions.

“Okay.”

Gon lies with his back to the room. Leorio snores, like Mito does.

Gon sleeps easy.

***

Gon flips over the work phone. It’s sturdier than his own, and designed to snap closed. He clicks it open and shut as Kurapika explains the process to him.

Again.

“Deliver the package, tap the back of your phone to theirs, if they’re the right person it’ll tell you, and if they aren’t, I’ll get an alert. Do you have any questions?”

“Nope.” Gon reaches for the cardboard box, not much larger than a slice of bread, and Kurapika slides it down the counter, out of his reach.

“I can be there in five, six if you need me armed.”

“It’ll be fine,” says Gon, stretching on his tiptoes to grab the package. He flies out before Kurapika can launch into another lecture. Lectures, Gon has discovered in the two weeks since meeting him, are something Kurapika is fond of.

He weaves through the buildings, secure in his bearings, slowly ascending staircase by staircase. Waiting for Dalzollene’s approval was boring, but it did give him time to familiarize himself with his surroundings.

The meeting itself is mundane. There’s a woman waiting right where expected, and when they click their phones together, they both receive a cheery green check mark.

He passes the box, she slips off into the crowd, and he returns back to Kurapika, where the next delivery is waiting.

Running, Gon discovers, is something he enjoys a lot.

It takes him a few days to conclude what, exactly, he’s carrying, but once he does it hardly bothers him. Who cares what other people want to do if it means Gon is getting paid to fly through the city?

There are three of them working out of the restaurant. He’s a runner, as is Zushi, a barrel-chested boy with stony expressions but a kind heart. Kurapika is their manager, and he reports to “the brass”, as Leorio calls them. Gon isn’t sure what “the brass” has to do with him, so he keeps to running.

There are a few regulars. The woman he met his first trip was one, as are twin boys down in the factories with equally devious grins and clothes that seem intentionally picked to set them apart. There’s a gangly teenager who always meets him behind a heart-pounding night club, and a woman who insists on double checking their tap every time.

Gon hears a new language every day, sees a new pastry behind shop windows. He meets people he never could have imagined, and every night his dreams are fed by pushed horizons. It’s like he’s twelve again; his heart soars with anticipation of adventures to come.

***

“Whale Island?”

Gon nods, slurping from his bowl of noodles. The woman across from him with a sleeve of tattoos and an impractically big septum piercing smiles warmly. She leans back in her creaky chair.

“I passed through there a summer, way back when.”

Gon bites back a pang of homesickness. “Yeah?”

She clasps her hands behind her head and smiles. “Just for a night. Beautiful place. Miss the sky.”

Gon does, too. He’ll return someday, though.

He calls Mito in the evening, and they talk for hours.

The mail system is unreliable, Kurapika says, but Gon still sends her the glass butterfly. It made him happy. He hopes it makes her happy, too.

***

Leorio, despite his big talk, lets Gon stay.

After a few months, Gon is grunting along with him and Kurapika as they maneuver a second bed into the apartment. There’s barely room to squeeze it in against the wall, and only about a foot is left between it and Leorio’s, but it’ll do.

***

When Gon runs into trouble, he’s unprepared. He breathes through his mouth and grips the edge of the cushioned table as Leorio’s fingers brush over his nose. He swallows blood, and the slick, thick feeling of it travelling down his throat almost makes him gag. Leorio sets it, and Gon can’t help but cry out. Kurapika winces, hovering over Leorio’s shoulder.

“What happened?” he asks, eyes stormy.

“I got into a fight,” says Gon. Leorio’s mouth quivers as he fights back a snicker.

Kurapika sighs and rubs his forehead with his index finger and thumb. “Yes, but what happened.”

Gon shrugs. “I was just walking.”

Call it a fight is honestly an overstatement; more accurately, Gon got his lights punched out and woke up with his face against the ground.

Kurapika insists he learn to defend himself, after that.

***

Firearms are rare in the city. The Ten Dons ban them outside of their own use; with the thin walls and shabby floors, it’s too dangerous to risk lackadaisical use, so confrontations come down to martial ability.

Gon coughs and lets his head loll back onto the springy wooden floor. His instructor—an old student of Bisky’s—pads closer.

“You’re completely uncoordinated,” says Wing.

“I’ve never done this before,” says Gon, rolling onto his hands and knees before bouncing to his feet.

“That much I could tell.”

Gon sputters a laugh and rubs the back of his head. Wing crosses his arms.

His teacher is coiled muscle, veiled by unassuming, baggy clothes. The studio is an extension of himself, with its wonky fans and chipped mirrors. Overhead, the neighbors shout each other down.

Gon takes a deep breath, wincing when his ribs ache, and resets into the stance Wing showed him. They move slowly; Wing explains every step as he’s doing it, and Gon occasionally interrupts to ask for clarification.

Two hours pass in the blink of an eye.

Gon ties his laces as Wing talks him through the studio’s schedule.

He learns, slowly, about the people he’s working for. Some of it is from Kurapika, but Kurapika is stingy, dispensing information in palatable drips. Most of it, he gathers from the people he meets.

The Nostrades are just one of the many families tied to Ritz Clan, which is just one of ten clans that operate quasi-governments throughout the city. They control a pocket on the border of the Ritz’s territory, and are infamous for the daughter’s hobby of collecting human body parts. A grim fascination, Gon thinks.

They are also, he learns, infuriatingly difficult to get the drop on. They smell weakness like bloodhounds, and many suspect Light Nostrade is trying to worm his way into the Ritz’s inner circle. How, exactly, no one can tell him. Smoke chokes out the sun, but no one can find the fire.

When Gon isn’t working, he’s exploring.

He charts his way through the ground level, where he finds the crematoriums, water treatment plants, and livestock pens. It’s dingy. The walls are caked in grime, and he finds more than a handful of bodies rotting in the stagnant water between the buildings. But it does provide the most direct routes he can find. Usually, it isn’t worth it to climb down and back up the stairs, but he notes the potential.

It’s normal for him, now, to go weeks without seeing the sun. His eyes burn when he does climb up to the roofs. He can’t tell if it’s because of the light or the pollution. Probably both.

His martial ability improves through hours of practice with Wing and hours more alone with Zushi. Zushi is an enthusiastic teacher, thrilled whenever Gon asks him to stay a little longer.

Sometimes his lessons are less like lessons, though, and more like excuses to show how good he is at trapping Gon in a headlock.

Kurapika begins splitting the risky jobs between them more evenly. Gon learns how to slide unnoticed through crowds, treating the markets and echoing apartment complexes like the forest.

Bisky does not return. Ging does not return. Kite does not return.

Gon keeps waiting.

Baise, one of the Neon Nostrade’s bodyguards, takes two weeks off to visit family. Kurapika suggests Gon fill in, and in a burst of generous optimism, Dalzollene lets him.

Standing outside a locked door for hours or shuffling awkwardly through crowds isn’t as much fun as running. It’s exhausting to have to assume the worst of everyone. Neon likes him, though, so Gon ends up spending more and more time in her entourage.

One afternoon, he has two hours to kill before the next run. He sits in the restaurant, flipping through a newspaper in a language he can’t read, frowning at the pictures. Zushi walks in and greets Kurapika formally. Kurapika grunts from his stool behind the counter, but his eyes stay glued to his phone.

“Hey, Gon.”

Zushi stands with his back straight and his mouth schooled into a professional scowl.

“Howdy,” says Gon, smiling up at him.

“Don’t even fucking start,” says Kurapika.

“Hello,” says Gon. He folds away the newspaper and drops it on the table. Zushi is robotic as he pulls out a chair and sits down.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out. With me.”

“Sure.” Gon reaches for his jacket. “Hey Kurapika, we’re—”

Zushi waves his hands in the air, cutting Gon off. “No, like, out.”

“Yeah,” says Gon. “Sure.”

“Like a date. Together.”

Gon brows pull together. “Was I supposed to say no?”

Kurapika blurts a laugh, which is quickly cut off by his hand slapping over his mouth. Gon fidgets with the hair at the base of his skull.

Zushi’s cheeks are bright red. The colour spills up his ears and over his forehead. “You like me?” asks Zushi, voice cracking.

Gon shrugs. “The point of a date is to find out, right?”

Zushi is a wreck as they make their way to the karaoke bar.

Gon tries to get him laughing, but it’s in vain.

Zushi is cute, Gon thinks. He’s fun, and Gon likes spending time with him. Gon isn’t sure if that’s a crush, though.

The karaoke bar is loud and bright and Gon hates it upon arrival, but Zushi is a balloon ready to burst at the next morsel of air, so Gon goes along with it. There are, unsurprisingly, no versions of the songs he knows in the Whale Island dialect. Gon flounders, trying to keep up with lyrics that are close but ever so slightly off.

When it’s Zushi’s turn, he stands with white knuckles around the microphone. The words start to scroll and his cheeks puff out. There’s a tremor to his bottom lip.

“Why don’t we leave,” says Gon.

Zushi breathes a sigh of relief and agrees eagerly.

They end up tucked in the back of a donut shop, sitting across from each other.

“Sorry, that was bad,” apologizes Zushi. Again.

“It’s fine,” says Gon, flashing a smile.

“I’m not sure this was a good idea,” says Zushi, his hands rubbing each other on the table.

Gon nods his earnest agreement. “I don’t think we’d make a good couple.”

Zushi’s face falls at the confirmation, and his gaze drifts over to the wall, plastered with amateur paintings on sale. Gon’s gut twists.

“But I like spending time with you. And someday, it’ll be really funny that we went on a terrible date.”

Zushi laughs nervously. “Really bad.”

Gon beams. “The worst.”

Zushi smiles shyly and takes a sip of his coffee. He taps his fingers on the sides of his mug for a moment, looking down at the floor. “It won’t be weird?”

Gon shakes his head. “Nope, promise. Here.”

He holds out a pinky and Zushi reluctantly takes it. Gon chants as Zushi watches him with befuddled interest.

“—sealed with a kiss!”

Zushi’s face turns beet red. “No thanks,” he says, voice tight.

Gon pushes their thumbs together. “Mwah.”

“Oh.”

Zushi sighs, his shoulders sinking down in relief. Gon can’t help but snicker. Zushi reaches over and slaps his arm.

A half-hour later Zushi has recovered to his regular self.

“So, how did you end up a runner?” asks Gon, stealing crumbs off his plate.

Zushi lifts a hand to swat him away, but Gon, ever a careful thief, escapes unscathed. Gon sticks out his tongue. Zushi gives him a stink eye before letting it go.

“I need a job while I’m training to take the Hunter exam,” he says, twisting his mug back and forth by its handle.

“Oh,” says Gon.

A plate crashes across the room. Gon springs to his feet. There’s a woman with her hands over her mouth and an embarrassed wobble in her voice as she bends down to pick up the pieces. The boy behind the counter tugs her back up by her arm, insisting she not worry about it. Reassured that no one is hurt, Gon leaves them be.

Zushi shuffles in his chair as Gon sits back down. “Your dad’s one, right? Don’t you wanna be too?”

Gon hums, a thumb on his lip. “Not really. I don’t think I have to be, so I don’t see the point of it.”

“You don’t see the point of it?”

“It’s a lot of work for perks I don’t care about.” The boozy lounge, free alcohol, and splendid apartment are not things he desires.

Zushi balks. “It’s not about the perks. It’s about being a protector of the city.”

Gon raises an eyebrow. His expression of disbelief morphs into a wince. “My dad is hardly a protector of the city.”

Zushi’s eye bulge wide. “Dude. Your dad is like, on some quest to find out what killed the last chairman. If that’s not protecting the city, I don’t know what is.”

Gon bobs his head back and forth. “Fixing the bridges? Upgrading the water mains?” He gestures vaguely towards Leorio’s practice, fourteen stories and three buildings away. “Making healthcare accessible?”

Zushi opens and closes his mouth like a fish, before snapping it shut and glowering down at his mug. His eyebrows are scrunched together like he’s trying to solve a difficult puzzle.

Gon shrugs a shoulder. “You don’t need to be a Hunter to do any of that.”

“Maybe,” says Zushi. “But I still wanna do it.” His mouth is set with determination.

Gon’s eye crinkle fondly. “For what it’s worth, if anyone should be a Hunter, it’s you.”

Zushi’s eyes flutter in shock. He sniffs and looks up at the ceiling. “Thanks, Gon.”

Chapter 3.

They issue him a firearm.

It’s coded to respond to his fingerprints and will only be activated when he’s on duty. Further precautions include a weekend of training at a facility on the other side of the city, jointly run and funded by the Ten Dons.

Gon enjoys the walk, and he enjoys the breaks from the classroom when he has nothing to do but wander around. Training is miserable, though. No one will crack a smile, and distrust leaves the air hot and sticky. By the time it’s over, he’s relieved to return home to Leorio’s cooking and loud complaining about work.

Kurapika tells him he suits it and the holster.

Gon’s face puckers at the compliment. He doesn’t like suiting something crafted to kill.

The gun has no functional affect on guard duty because nothing ever happens. Gon watches doors that stay closed and scouts streets free of danger.

In the copious, wretchedly still free time the job gives him, he begins to draw out a map of the city. He doesn’t need the guidebook, but maybe it can be a birthday present for Zushi.

At the very least, it makes his time feel less squandered.

***

Kurapika is late. Gon stands outside the locked up restaurant, rocking from the balls of his feet to his heels, humming a song Leorio’s been blasting for weeks.

Kurapika is never late.

It’s a guard night, so maybe he just forgot to meet with Gon before heading to the estate.

Gon texts, and then he calls. Nothing.

He bites his lip and scratches the back of his head. They’re going to be late at this rate.

Kurapika’s apartment is a shabby place. Gon’s shoes crunch on broken glass as he steps around buckets overflowing with water leaking from the ceiling. Kurapika can afford better, but says he doesn’t see what the point would be if he’s almost never there. (Most nights, he sleeps on the couch in Leorio’s apartment, anyway.)

Gon grabs the key tapped to the back of the mailbox and knocks as a formality before walking in. For a professional bodyguard, Kurapika is comically lax with his own security.

The room isn’t much more than a box. There’s a mattress on the floor, and a milk crate flipped over to support a microwave. Clothes, which theoretically belong in the shallow dresser, are scattered over the desk, chair, and bed.

Gon hears a scratchy moan in the bathroom.

Kurapika is doubled over the toilet. Sweat soaks through his white tank top, but he’s shivering. Hair is plastered to his forehead.

He looks up at Gon, his eyes dark and narrowed.

“Let me die,” he hisses as Gon hoists him up, slinging one of Kurapika’s arms over his shoulders. Kurapika leans heavily into Gon’s side, his free hand clasping at the fabric of Gon’s shirt.

“Leorio would cry,” says Gon, walking them towards the main room. “And he cries enough already.”

Kurapika fixes him with a sour pucker.

“Like when you sent the cat.”

Kurapika frowns and stumbles as Gon transfers him to the door frame to dig up a jacket.

“The cat picture?”

“Yeah.”

“It made him cry?”

Gon presses his lips flat.

Kurapika’s brows furrow, then his face falls into weary but fond amusement.

“I can see it.”

***

Leorio, freshly awoken from his night shift recovery, stares down a greasy Kurapika.

Kurapika pinches his lips tight, his hand still on the doorknob.

“Sit down,” Leorio sighs, grabbing Kurapika by the scruff of his tank top and pulling him back until his knees fold against Gon’s bed.

Gon drops their pill bottle haul from the bathroom cabinet beside him.

“I have to go now,” he says, shooting a worried look to Kurapika.

“Then go,” says Leorio. “I’ve got him.”

***

The Nostrade estate sits on top of the territory they control like skin on the surface of lukewarm soup. There are big glass ceilings over the ballrooms and jars of preserved body parts decorating alcoves.

Gon changes in the armory and barely swings into the front lobby before Neon and Eliza walk down the spiral staircase from the bedrooms.

“Where’s Kurapika?” asks Baise, her teeth gritted and her smile forced.

Gon twists his heel in the carpet. “Sick. We’ll be okay without him.”

Baise’s smile tightens and her eyes bulge. “You can’t make decisions like that on your own.”

“We’ll be fine,” says Gon.

Her glare is disgusted, but she drops the subject.

“Good evening,” says Gon, cheery, as Neon slides off her slippers, using Eliza’s offered arm for balance.

“Good evening Mr. Freecss,” she says, voice light and airy.

For all the time she spends out of the house, it’s rarely for her own pleasure. On nights when she’s alone, or alone as she can be, Neon is always bubbly.

They take an elevator to the theater.

It’s one of the services the Nostrade family operates. Not only do they control the drug market, but they monopolize most amenities, too, from water to light.

The elevators, old and prone to failure, are especially expensive.

Eliza and Neon chat in the balcony lobby, Baise and Gon close at their sides. There are two other high-ranking mafia members present, but Gon can’t name them or the older guards that circle them.

A young man Neon smiles brightly at is telling her disconnected facts about the theater’s architecture when Gon spots trouble.

Kurapika rubs his eyes as he makes his way over. Gon slips away to intercept him.

“What are you thinking?” he hisses, grabbing Kurapika by the elbow. Kurapika shrugs him off.

“I’m good to work. Leorio gave me medicine. I’m feeling better.”

Gon scowls his disapproval.

Kurapika’s nose is red and his eyes are puffy. His hair is damp, and Gon suspects he washed it in the sink.

“We can handle it without you.”

Kurapika doesn’t bother replying. He steps around Gon to catch up with the rest of the group.

Lights flash, and the shuffle for seats begins.

The theatre is paneled with dark wood, and the house lights are so dim that it takes minutes to adjust. There are private balconies, rows of seats, and a pit down the center of the room. The stage itself is shallow and cramped.

Beads, in long, dazzling strings, are hung along the spines of the faux dome. Every lighting effect and curtain lifts sends sparkling ripples out like waves.

Gon stands at the back of the balcony, beside the door, and Kurapika slumps beside him. From here the ballet is hidden by curtains red as dried blood, but Gon doesn’t care for it much anyway.

Eliza, Neon, and Baise sit in the front of two rows. Eliza and Neon chat idly, even as the music begins. Neon’s elaborate hairstyle bobs with every laugh. Baise taps her fingers on the armrest impatiently.

The audience settles. Before the performance, after it, and during intermission are the high risk times. Between those, it’s smooth sailing.

Gon zones out and watches the beads.

It’s twenty minutes into the performance when Neon abruptly stands, turns to face him directly, and says: “whatever you do, don’t touch your weapon.”

Gunfire.

Kurapika pushes off from the wall and nearly stumbles to the ground, but he manages to grab Eliza and yank her down as Baise does the same for Neon.

The music abruptly halts. There are screams, and the floor shakes as people run to get away.

Someone has to sweep the emergency route before they can move on. Usually, it would be Kurapika’s job.

“Wait with them,” says Gon, slipping out before he can be stopped.

Kurapika shouts, but his voice is cut off by the door closing. There’s a click as Baise locks it.

A curved hallway with creamy walls services all of the balcony seats. It’s an unbroken oval, with part of it used to access the catwalks over the stage. Gon jogs around it as it fills with a panicked crowd.

People shout and push past each other in a dash for the exits. A man stumbles to his knees, and Gon swerves to help him back to his feet.

Gon finds himself bumping into shoulders and getting in the way. It’s useless to try and fight the flow. He steps aside to the wall and lets people pass.

The shots came from inside the theatre, but Gon didn’t have a view of the seats. They could have been fired by a licensed guard, or someone might be running around with a cracked weapon. Neither possibility is good news.

He doesn’t know the target, and he doesn’t know if bystanders are injured.

Kurapika will have almost certainly reported the incident by now, so backup will be on its way. With so many unknown variables, staying put until then might be the smart decision—or, they might be in harm’s way.

Gon rubs his temples. There isn’t an obvious answer. Combined with Neon’s ominous warning—if anything working for the Nostrades has taught him, it’s to listen to her warnings—he doesn’t know what to do.

The crowd is thinning and being still increases his visibility, so Gon moves on. When he reaches the heavy curtain separating backstage from the audience, he draws it back without hesitation.

No one.

There are big stage lights, carts full of props, and painted set pieces.

Gon passes by the door out to the catwalks. A bucket of fake snow is tipped over beside it.

His phone rings. Kurapika. Gon snaps it closed.

On the other side of the next curtain, the hallway is empty. The silence is eerie, dropping over him like a shroud.

Gon has never seen it still like this before. The unfamiliarity, the warping of space he knows into something he does not, sets his teeth on edge.

Usually, he appreciates the gentle curve. In hand-to-hand combat, seeing your opponent when they’re still far away can minimize conflict. But once firearms are introduced, it just means that every step could be the one that put Gon in the line of a bullet.

His hands shake from the adrenaline pumping through his system, and he walks on the balls of his feet, as though he’s barefoot in the forest.

There’s a thump ahead.

A chill runs down Gon’s spine. His nostrils flare. He inches his hand closer to his lapel.

Someone is around the bend.

A man appears. He takes a step forward, graceful as a sylph, and not a sound is made when his foot falls. The tilt of his sharp shoulders is predatory, like a cat coiling to spring. Dangerous and…

Beautiful.

His eyes are sapphires, and the curve of his lips is soft. His suit is tailored perfectly to his form. The braid over his shoulder is white as crisp ocean foam.

Gon can hardly breathe.

“Who are you,” asks the man. He pops the knuckles of one hand with his thumb.

A fleck of blood drops.

Gon grinds his teeth together, mind racing.

“Are you choosing to get involved or not?” he asks, bored and impatient.

“Your buttons are done up wrong,” says Gon, pointing to the man’s jacket.

The man’s eyes widen in what is either shock or disbelief. And then he glances down.

Gon closes the distance with a leap and slams his knuckles into the man’s solar plexus.

His feet are swept out from under him and he’s slammed against the wall, toes dangling. The detached coldness in the man’s eyes is gone, replaced by hot fury.

“What the he—“

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

The intensity in the air evaporates away.

The man’s mouth is slack. His eyes narrow into a squint, searching Gon’s with naked bewilderment.

Gon holds his breath.

The man lowers him so that his toes can touch the ground.

“You could have,” says Gon.

“Because—you—who does that?”

Gon hums thoughtfully, and loses his fight against the smile trying to curl his lips.

“So you were curious, too.”

The man blinks, then closes his eyes and gives a long, shaky sigh. With a gentle shove, he lets go of Gon entirely and backs up, like an archer relaxing his bow string.

“Just tell me who you are,” says the man, leaning against the wall on the other side of the hallway.

“Gon.”

The man stares at him with a mix of horror and confusion.

A moment of silence passes. Gon pats his hips, unsure of where to put his hands.

“Do you have a death wish, Gon?”

“That’s not fair.”

The man’s eyes flutter and he gasps a shocked laugh.

“What?”

“I told you my name, you tell me yours.”

The man purses his lips. He leans his head against the wall and looks up, as if the light moldings will give him answers.

For a few seconds, Gon doesn’t think he’s going to answer.

“Killua.”

Killua.

“Nice to meet you, Killua.”

Casually leaned back, he doesn’t seem nearly as dangerous. Still beautiful, though.

“You’re weird, you know that?” says Killua, his voice raspy.

“I’m not sure you’re one to talk.”

Killua sniffs a laugh. “Takes one to know one, I guess.”

Gon laughs.

Killua’s eyes shoot wide as saucers.

“What?” he asks, tilting his head.

Gon shakes his head and waves his hands placatingly. “Nothing, just funny.”

Killua scowls. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” says Gon.

Killua raises an eyebrow. “Sure.”

There’s the click of a door opening further down the hallway. Gon’s head swivels.

Backup, probably. That, or a peeved Kurapika on his way to shout Gon down the second they’re out of Neon’s earshot.

Killua stands with his hand on the frame of an open door.

Gon stumbles back a step, taken aback by the dramatic movement.

For a moment their eyes meet, and something in the air shifts. It’s a comfort and a bone deep knowing so strong that Gon’s heart aches.

“Will I see you again?” he asks, hands floating uselessly.

Killua runs a hand through his hair. His eyebrows furrow, and he sucks in a breath as though to speak.

And then like a switch flicking, his eyes glaze over with the same detachment from earlier. “No, and it would be better if you forgot you ever did.”

And then he’s gone.

#hunter x hunter #hxh #killua zoldyck #gon freccs #killugon #fanfic #submission

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preservationandruin · 7 years ago

Text

Oathbringer Liveblog, Part Four: Chapters 108-111

Onward with our various plotlines in various Planes of Existence!

Shadesmar Road Trip continues, Dalinar arranges a meeting, Azure bids the group farewell (and also I’m still in love with her), Dalinar meets my Least Favorite Person In All Roshar, and then everything goes straight to hell while I scream constantly.

An epigraph:

Chemoarish, the Dust-mother, has some of the most varied lore surrounding her. The wealth of it makes sorting lies from truths extremely difficult. I believe she is not the Nightwatcher, contrary to what some stories claim.

So that’s interesting. I remember thinking back in my book 1 reread that “dustmother” might be a reference to Cultivation, but looks like I’m wrong. Anyway, back to the honorspren ship! Apparently the humans were kept in the hold for a week, and when Kaladin tried to argue the honorspren into letting Syl out he got locked in for another two days.

Of course he did.

He’s trying to plan them a way off the ship--getting off when it’s closest to Thaylen City, then making for the Oathgate. Not going to be easy, as Shallan thinks. She’s also drifting between personalities, and Kaladin’s fuckin ended up growing a beard again. Kaladin’s attempts to remain clean-shaven in this book seem doomed to failure.

The honorspren are, still, bound by honor--they can’t keep Shallan and the others imprisoned, because they did nothing wrong. it wouldn’t be right. But they don’t know what to do with them. Shallan’s starting to get familiar with dealing with the beads of Shadesmar, but Veil keeps peeking through into her main persona, which worries her.

Notum, the head of the honorspren on the ship, has confirmed that the Voidspren are trying to create an empire in Shadesmar. Azure got her sword back--because it doesn’t have a bond or an enslaved Spren, they’re fine with it. Still, Azure warns the honorspren she’s talking to to draw the sword slowly--”she doesn’t know you.”

So it probably is a Blade similar to Nightblood, although with a different command-phrase, I expect. Kaladin and Azure start arguing--she wants to go to Lasting Integrity, to try to get to Cultivation’s Perpendicularity and see what the honorspren know about the person she’s hunting--who I’ll bet is Zahel, although might not be. Kaladin stalks off onto the high deck. Azure says that it’s a weapon that she’s chasing, so it’s almost certainly Nightblood.

Shallan glanced toward the high deck, where she could faintly hear Kaladin making a disturbance.

Never change, Kal.

Anyway, Shallan’s drawings of herself are going strange, too--she’ll draw one head on another body, and such.

“Shallan?” Adolin asked, coming over to her. “Are you all right?” She shook herself. How long had she been sitting there? “I’m fine,” she said. “Just...remembering.” “Good things or bad?” “All memories are bad,” she said immediately, then looked away, blushing. He settled down next to her. Storms, his overt concern was annoying. She didn’t want him worrying about her. “Shallan?” he asked. “Shallan will be find,” she said. “I’ll bring her back in a moment. I just have to recover...her...” Adolin glanced at the fluttering pages with the different versions of her. He reached out and hugged her, saying nothing. Which turned out to be the right thing to say. She closed her eyes and tried to pull herself together. “Which one do you like the most?” She finally asked. “Veil is the one who wears the white outfit, but I’m having trouble with her right now. She peeks out sometimes when I don’t want, but won’t come when I need her. Radiant is the one who practices with the sword. I made her prettier than the others, and you can talk to her about dueling. But some of the time, I’ll have to be someone who can Lightweave. I’m trying to think of who she should be...” “Ash’s eyes, Shallan!” “Shallan’s broken, so I’m trying to hide her. Like a cracked vase, where you turn the nice side toward the room, hiding the flaw. I’m not doing it on purpose, but it’s happening, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

So first of all, this is horrible for Shallan--she’s so lost that she’s actually talking to Adolin about it, asking which version of her he likes most, and I’m so glad he’s hugging her through this. This is what I’ve been wanting to happen--Shallan actually being open with someone, admitting that she’s a lot more broken than she pretends to be.

And as if that wasn’t enough of what I wanted, the other big thing I’ve been wanting to happen also happens:

“I...” he pulled her tight again as the ship rocked. “Shallan, I killed Sadeas.” She blinked, then pulled back and looked him in the eyes. “What?” “I killed Sadeas,” Adolin whispered. “We met in the corridors of the tower. He started insulting Father, talking about the terrible things he was going to do to us. And...and I couldn’t listen anymore. Couldn’t stand there and look at his smug red face. So...I attacked him.” [...] Shallan shivered, then whispered, “Good for you.”

I’M SO GLAD THESE TWO ARE TALKING ABOUT SOME OF THEIR MANY, MANY ISSUES AND STARTING TO BE MORE OPEN AND HONEST.

Anyway, Adolin says that he likes the real Shallan--the vase is cracked, but that just lets him see what’s inside, and he likes what’s inside. There’s a moment, there, where Shallan is comfortable. Warm. Unafraid.

And then Kaladin causing problems on the upper deck ruins it. He’s arguing with the captain. Again.

When you try to explain that god is dead but are talking to a depressed agnostic who really doesn’t give a shit:

“The honorspren were created by Honor himself, many thousands of years ago. You call him the Almighty, and...I’m afraid he’s dead.” “Which makes sense, as it’s pretty much the only excuse I would have accepted.” “That wasn’t levity, human,” Notum said. “Your god is dead.” “Not my god. But please continue.”

Anyway, Kal calls Notum out pointing out that both keeping Syl captive and killing Kaladin--which he mentions as a way to get rid of the bond--would go against Honor.

And as he thinks, as he ponders the Fourth Ideal, noting that he’s worried what it’ll demand of him, small pinpricks of light start spinning around him, almost like spren--but not spren, because spren here are closer to people. And then he hears Syl’s voice in his head, and they start talking.

Syl claims that she escaped the Honorspren trait of stubbornness, which is. A lie.

Ok, so the light-prick things are windspren that Kaladin is somehow drawing. Also, he tells Notum that Dalinar, who Kaladin is trying to save, is bonded to Stormfather--and realizes he probably should have said that sooner.

Adolin notes that it’s kind of hard to compete with Kaladin, who is currently dramatically posed, trailing a halo of windspren, and is just like. he doesn’t even know he’s doing this, is he.

And then, of course, the Fused start coming for them.

Re-Shephir, the Midnight Mother, is another Unmade who appears to have been destroyed at Ahareitiam.

Ok, so we can’t trust any reports of them being destroyed, ‘cause we know Shephir came back.

We’re over to Dalinar, in any case. He and Navani are still trying to figure out how the hell Urithiru works. It has garnet veins running through it. I still think it’s interesting how Radiants find it easy to get around, but other people are baffled. They’ve gotten confirmation that the Voidbringers are building a navy--probably to start harrying the shores, as Dalinar suspected.

Anyway, Dalinar is going to try to bring someone--the one of the Voidbringers that Stormfather can sense--into a highstorm vision. Please, please work. Venli needs to know she and Timbre have other options.

Plus, if anyone can understand feeling like the wrong sibling lived and the wrong sibling died, if anyone knows their own stupid, stupid actions tearing their loved ones away from them...it would be Dalinar.

Unfortunately, Odium has noticed that Dalinar is starting a vision. Dalinar gets Stormy to try to hold him off so that Dalinar can speak with Venli. Venli is startled and bitter, but notes that here, she can use the old rhythms--so Odium hasn’t concentrated on her. Yet.

Also Venli is currently taller than Dalinar and I love tol Parshendi ladies. Just a note. Odium starts battering at the vision. Venli starts running--trying to avoid Odium, knowing what he’ll do if he sees her talking to Dalinar.

She turned away, desperate to do what she could to delay her own burning. Then...she stopped and looked back again. Dalinar Kholin stood on the balcony. And he was glowing. Neshua Kadal. Radiant Knight. Without meaning to, she attuned the Rhythm of Awe. Around Kholin, the balcony was stable. Boards trembled and quivered at his feet, but did not move into the sky. The balcony had ripped apart to either side of him, but where he held to it with a firm grip, it remained secure.

Dalinar is literally holding this vision together despite Odium’s force. It actively starts reknitting itself.

Venli tries to leave, and Odium comes for her again--she’s clinging to the balcony, not wanting to let go, and then sees Timbre, fighting through the wind and the vision to get to her. Have I mentioned I love Timbre because I love Timbre. Venli manages to grab it out of the air, and feels warm as Timbre basically yells “THANK YOU” in Timbre-speak, which is just a pulse of Rhythm of Praise.

And then she’s falling into a bottomless chasm, and Dalinar jumps to save her--and shoot her out of the vision before Odium burns it to shreds. She lands in Marat, and she and Timbre are safe.

Dalinar, on the other hand, is in excruciating pain. Odium gives his little “ohh I care about you, Dalinar,” speech again, then Dalinar returns to Urithiru.

Stormfather is weeping from pain and exertion.

The most powerful spren on Roshar--embodiment of the tempest that shaped all life--was crying like a child, whispering that Odium was too strong.

HEY BRANDON CAN I HUG STORMFATHER

Anyway, we head back to Shallan and Shadesmar. They’re getting let go--but the Fused are still on their tail. Notum notes that they need to hurry--he can’t promise how long the crew can keep their secret. Syl is more than a little pissed at Notum. Azure is staying with the crew, saying she’ll help them try to fight off the Fused. That...increases their chances considerably.

“When you boys next meet the swordsman who taught you that morning kata, warn him that I’m looking for him.” “Zahel?” Adolin said. “You know Zahel?” “We’re old friends.”

And then she confirms with the captain that they were cutting cloth into specific shapes. Oh boy, those Fused are about to get a nasty surprised. They’re expecting a ship full of honorspren; they’re getting that, but they’re also getting a practitioner of BioChroma who trained with one of the best.

The gang basically hides in a Shallan-made cave under the water. They manage to survive, and Shallan wants to draw the trees in Shadesmar. There’s a highstorm happening in the real world--this must be happening pretty much concurrently with the Dalinar moment, then. They’re almost to Thaylen City.

Back over to Dalinar, opening with the MOST RELATEABLE SECTION THE BOOK:

Dalinar stepped out of the Oathgate control building into Thaylen City and was met by the man he most wanted to punch in all Roshar. Meridas Amaram stood straight in his House Sadeas uniform, clean-shaven, narrow-faced, square-jawed.

In case anyone is keeping score: I still hate Amaram. He fuckin thinks that they’re going to being invading Thaylen City, because god forbid anyone do anything good without an ulterior motive, am I right???

“Permission to stab him a little, sir,” said Teft, the bridgeman leader. “How do you stab someone ‘a little,’ soldier?” “I could do it,” Lyn said. “I’ve only started training with the spear. We could claim it was an accident.” “No,no,” Lopen said. “You want to stab him a little? Let my cousin Huio do it, sir. He’s the expert on little things.” “Short joke?” Huio said in his broken Alethi. “Be glad not short temper.” “I’m just trying to involve you, Huio. I know that most people overlook you. It’s very easy to do, see...”

I fucking love bridge four so much like here we get: A) they still to a man hate Amaram B) Lyn is already ride-or-die enough to offer to stab a highprince C) they instantly lift the mood of any situation through teasing and bullshit jokes

Navani is very smug about the success of her arm-clock fabrial in getting Dalinar to be on time or early to things and this is still my favorite tiny running gag. We also get that Fen’s son has spiked his Thaylen-long eyebrow hair, leading me to declare this man a punk icon.

They’ve left running the Oathgate to Malata, which--given that she’s working for Taravangian--might be a problem. Oh well. Renarin is wondering if there are any larger gemstones in the city, other than spheres; when asked why, he just says “because.”

Someone might be either planning something or getting another future-vision.

We get that the only reason Stormfather is alive is because Odium doesn’t want to expose himself to a strike from Cultivation. So, even in her retreated state, the thought of her attack is still an effective deterrant for Odium. Good to know. I think her retreat might only be partially grief-driven; I think that also, in her mind, the way for Roshar to grow was for it to learn to live without active gods.

I mean, what if she was active and they relied on her, and then Odium killed her like he did Honor? That would be devastating. This way, they learn to stand on their own. Their growth is their own.

That’s just a hypothesis, though.

We get that the Nightwatcher isn’t Cultivation, although Dalinar has met Cultivation herself. The Nightwatcher is one of Stormy’s siblings--the third Stormy refers to with “they” pronouns and refuses to tell Dalinar about, saying “Leave them alone. You hurt them enough.”

I don’t know who this slumbering nonbinary wounded third godspren is but i love them.

“Did he...care about what we felt?” Dalinar asked. “Honor, the Almighty? Did he truly care about men’s pain?” He did. Then, I didn’t understand why, but now I do. Odium lies when he claims to have sole ownership of passion. Stormfather paused. I remember...at the end...Honor was more obsessed with oaths. There were times when the oath itself was more important than the meaning behind it. But he was not a passionless monster. He loved humankind. He died defending you.

YES. Tanavast didn’t deserve the slander Rayse was spreading about him. Yes, I am very protective of Tanavast, and no, I’m not sure why.

Taravangian says that Dalinar can call him Vargo. I think someone is feeling more and more guilty.

“I am...I am well, today.” He stopped and squeezed his pale grey eyes shut. “That’s good, isn’t it?” “Yes. But it is not a day to be heartless. So I worry.”

This does not bode well for literally anything ever.

Oh no, Dalinar is also looking forward to the meeting, which means that you know something is going to go horribly wrong.

Anyway, things are starting out well. Queen Fen’s son is making a point to talk with Renarin and engage him in conversation, which is good. Lift is perched on a windowsill near Bridge Four, and somehow Bridge Four has actually gotten two scribes--perhaps the women that some of the members were courting. They’re becoming a real platoon, while still being a ragamuffin crew of bros.

Dalinar keeps hearing unite them in his head, but Stormy says he’s not saying anything. You know how I totally distrust all voices in people’s heads that don’t have a source? Even though this is literally Dalinar’s catchphrase, I’m on edge.

I just...don’t trust when things are going well in these books. And we know that Taravangian is planning to undercut Dalinar. He’s probably going to do it now. Fuck. Fuck.

The Azish fleet is only a day away, and there’s no sign of a Voidbringer advance. They might wait for a Everstorm, though. Amaram’s troops have been carousing, and he’s a bit pissed at that.

He wants his image to be cleaner than that. Well, too fucking bad, asshole.

Renarin looked very uncomfortable and just excused himself, so that means something bad is definitely going to happen. I’m going with my instincts, which say “trust the one kid who can see into the future.”

And then Stormfather says that a storm is coming.

Oh, fuck. That’s the Everstorm. it just hit Shinovar. Navani and Jasnah are distracted, reading through something. Stormfather says that that won’t be everything--there’s more coming.

A passage of the Dawnchant, called the Eila Stele, has been translated by both the people in Jah Keved and those in Kharbranth.

...Taravangian was talking about leaking something about the Dawnchant....

Oh, god. Oh, oh god.

The original Voidbringers weren’t Parshendi.

They were human.

Fuck. So many things make sense. Why Roshar’s mythology is a refugee narrative. They say that humans were exiled from the Tranquiline Halls, and that’s why they went to Roshar. This gels with that. The Dawnsingers, the original inhabitants of Roshar--

Dawnsingers. Fuck, how didn’t I see it before? Dawnsingers. Of course they were Singers, parshmen. They welcomed humans, and that welcome destroyed them. it was in the name. How did I think that Dawnsingers would be human? Only one race in this world is tied to songs.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This will kill morale.

And that’s the truth that destroyed the Radiants. Humanity destroyed its previous world with Surgebinding.

At the same time, the news about Dalinar being “highking” has been raised. And that he had a Vision where he talked to Odium. Lift reacts to that.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Jasnah immediately picks up on the fact that someone leaked this deliberately.

These three pieces of information: that humans are the original invaders, that Dalinar talked with Odium, and that Elhokar wanted to make Dalinar an Emperor.

That’s what Taravangian is using to destabilize the alliance.

#oathbringer spoilers #stormlight archive liveblog #to be unmade you have to be made #i love timbre #dalinar voice: unite them #i am in love with highmarshal azure #god do i hate meridas amaram #FUCK YEAH BRIDGE FOUR

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