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lassieposting · 4 years ago

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skulduggery/alt!serpine for the getting together ask game?

I’m bored, so. Send me two (or more) characters for a headcanon on how I’d have them get together

OHOHOHOHO SEE THIS IS A GOOD ONE BC

ive already been thinking about this and im. Lowkey really glad im not the only one

See I always hated skug with any serpine, like I was a passionate anti from 2007 - about three months ago but. I enjoyed their dynamic in phase one and then i read like three of their interactions from sow and got converted or some shit apparently idfk, anyway u know i love an angsty ship

this got really long so tldr; enemies to vitriolic hate-sex buddies to lovers, painfully slow burn, but they'll both die claiming they still hate each other

It begins with China.

She orders him to kill Serpine, and he refuses. He's not even 100% sure why when he does. It's not like they're friends. He's killed people he liked a good deal more than Nefarian Serpine under orders.

But she says, "kill him" and he says, "no", and then things spiral so quickly that it's actually a few days before he even has time to think about her parting shot, flung at him as he walked out on her: "if you want to keep him, you'll be the one looking after him. He's your responsibility, not mine. And if he hurts someone, you -"

He'd shut the door on her at that point, but he knows what she was going to say. You look after him yourself, you train him yourself, and if he hurts someone, you kill him yourself. A wonderfully old-world way of looking at things. He's fairly sure he remembers getting the same speech from the housekeeper when he tried to bring home the ugliest feral tomcat he'd ever seen as a small boy.

(This will come back to bite him. He's not sure how or when, but it will. That's the way of things, whenever he turns his back on China Sorrows. Her last parting shot - a classic "you'll regret this" - ended up getting him killed.)

But then there's Mevolent, and cleaning up a city in the aftermath of its latest Traumatic Event, and putting a size 10 to the backsides of the City Guard, so his priorities get reshuffled somewhat, and it's almost a week later that he thinks to ask, "Heard from Serpine lately? He's being oddly quiet."

Valkyrie blinks at him from the passenger seat. Her fingertips tap tap tap at the touchscreen. She's messaging someone. He doesn't know who. "He's...around."

"Why the pause?"

"Hm?"

"You paused," he points out, switching lanes to get around a hatchback dawdling along at 60. "He's...around. You're trying to hide something from me. I'm aware you still talk to him, you know."

She doesn't deny it. He's gotten used to that, in the last few years. She doesn't tell him things anymore. It's that distance, the distance he can try to banter over but never truly remove. She's a lot further away than his passenger seat. "He's been looking for somewhere to live, like. Now that he's here for good. So, you know. That's probably keeping him busy."

Nefarian Serpine is living out of a stuffy first-floor rented room above, of all things, Vaurien Scapegrace's pub.

He knows this not because China was having Serpine followed (although she was) or because plenty of old faces from the Sanctuary still owe him favours (although they do), but because he receives a text from Scapegrace at a quarter to midnight, in the middle of a grisly murder scene.

have u beaten anyone up lately? do u want to? think thrasher just rented one of our rooms to a war criminal

He taps out a response, half-focused on the screen and half on Valkyrie examining the photos on the dead man's mantelpiece. She looks like she's just figured something out.

Which one? Thrasher, or the other guy?

By the time he's dropped her home, said hello to the furball and returned to the city, morning is bleeding into the sky. He knocks sharply on Nefarian Serpine's peeling rented door, and then again when there's no response.

From inside, a thud.

Then another, followed by some deeply impolite language, and then the door jerks open. Serpine, wearing an impressive bedhead, a scraggly attempt at a beard and a pair of patterned socks with a hole in the toe, squints out into the hall and snaps, "D'you have ANY IDEA what time it is? This place is supposed to - ah, shite. It's you."

"It is," he agrees.

Serpine gives him a sulky jerk of the head - an invitation - and vanishes back inside. He follows, closing the door gently behind him. Inside the room is dark and depressing and smells faintly of mildew and sweat. There are clothes on the floor.

He pulls the curtains open and looks out the window, giving Serpine some privacy to get dressed.

"Found me at last, have you?" Serpine asks from over by the bed. There's a rustle of fabric and the sound of a belt being done up. "What do you want? Come to take my other hand?"

That's it. That's what's different. "Other? You don't seem to be missing any at present, Nefarian. Valkyrie's work, I take it."

Serpine sits down on the bed with a squeak of springs, and when Skulduggery turns to face him, he's smirking and, thankfully, wearing trousers. "Ever so nice of her, wasn't it? Doesn't work like the old one, though. You know. The one I used on you."

He sighs. "And here I thought this last week would've given you time to come up with some new material."

Serpine shrugs and spends a moment picking out a pair of shirts from the wardrobe beside the bed. If it's a test, it's a painfully obvious one. Almost an invitation. Go ahead, shoot me.

No, this is something Skulduggery knows far more intimately. A display of brittle confidence in the face of a threat. I'm not afraid of you. Do your worst.

Serpine is afraid of him. Afraid of being arrested, maybe, or killed, or worse. He'd have relished that fear, once. Delighted in flipping the tables.

He leans back against the desk, ankles crossed and arms folded. After a moment, Serpine turns around with a shirt on a hanger in each hand. He holds them up for an opinion.

Skulduggery points wordlessly at the green one, and the blue goes back in the closet. "If you're not here to kill me, what do you want?"

While Serpine is doing up his buttons, Skulduggery retrieves the folded sheaf of paper from the inside pocket of his long coat, and holds it up. "I came to drop these off."

Serpine's vibrant eyes narrow. "What is that? An arrest warrant?"

"A list of landlords in Roarhaven willing to rent to refugees. Valkyrie mentioned you were looking."

Serpine blinks at him. Skulduggery doesn't often bother with the facade in Roarhaven, but if he had a face right now, he'd be blinking back. It's a weirdly awkward moment.

"...thanks," Serpine says after a moment, tentatively reaching for the papers; Skulduggery leans forward to pass them over. "That'd be...helpful."

He sounds very uncomfortable saying those words. When Skulduggery responds, "You're welcome," he feels much the same.

Serpine unfolds the papers and skims them. Three pages of property listings. Tipstaff had printed them off for him with only a raised eyebrow and a, "Never thought you'd move out of Dublin, Detective."

"What brought this on?"

He looks up. "Hm?"

"You show up here at an ungodly hour of the morning, nobody to rein you in, and you're being helpful? I don't buy it. I know China as well as you do. She told you to kill me, didn't she?"

"She did," Skulduggery acknowledges, and a very old, very spiky part of him gets a kick out of watching the blood drain from Serpine's face. "I told her no."

"Bollocks."

"Hard to believe, isn't it? But it's true. Ah, don't look at me like that, Nefarian. It's got nothing to do with you. I was just feeling argumentative that day. And, if nothing else, I can always rely on China to argue with me if I tell her no."

"So -"

"For my sins, she made you my responsibility, see. I'm supposed to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't get up to any of your old tricks. And if you do, then I'll kill you. I'll be checking in on you to make sure you're behaving yourself. Think of me as a...probation officer, of sorts. With benefits."

More blinking. This version of Serpine is not a morning person. He bets his alternate self got to sleep in far later in this Serpine's dungeon. "I'm not seeing any benefits."

"The benefit is I get to kill you if you step out of line. I never said the benefits were for you."

"Are there any benefits in this for me?"

He considers this for a moment. "You get to live. Because of me. I saved your life. "

Serpine's face is emotionless and his voice is flat.

"Oh," he says. "Yippee."

He's interviewing a witness when his phone rings.

He politely excuses himself, and steps out into the hallway to answer it. "Pleasant."

"Hello!" Serpine says brightly, and launches immediately into, "I want a car."

Skulduggery's fake face blinks at the sigil-embossed wallpaper. It takes a second to even register the voice, and another to pick up on -

"How the -? Who gave you this number?"

"Valkyrie." Serpine sounds completely unapologetic. "And you're supposed to be teaching me to drive."

Serpine can't see his head tilt. He does it anyway. "Am I now? And what gave you that idea?"

"I'm your problem now, remember? Besides, you agreed to it," is the smug answer. "Before our little holiday back to my dimension, I said I wanted a better house and a latte and a car. And driving lessons."

"I never agreed to that."

"Well, you didn't say no. That's agreement by default. Sorry."

"Plenty of people can teach you to drive, Nefarian. You could teach yourself, even. Watch a video on Youtube."

"Detective Pleasant, I am shocked," Serpine teases, suddenly dripping with insincere concern. "Think of all those poor defenceless mortals I could run into. There's an advert on the television about how you're specifically not supposed to hit them with cars. It kills them, apparently. How will I cope without you there to make sure I resist temptation?"

Skulduggery grinds his teeth. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Immensely. I'd completely forgotten how much fun it is to have you at my mercy. And you did say you're supposed to keep an eye on me."

Skulduggery goes quiet for a moment, focusing on reining in the urge to hit something. Serpine's face. He wants to hit Serpine's face. With a chair. Trust him to figure out that being Skulduggery's responsibility meant he could go to him for help.

"Fine."

"Excellent! And now you have my number, so you can let me know when you're free."

"Since when do you have a mobile?"

"Since today," Serpine says airily. "Tanith helped me pick one out. I can talk to anyone, anywhere, whenever I like now. Isn't that great? I mean, I only have two numbers, three now that Valkyrie's given me yours, but still. Now I'll always have someone to talk to."

"This is a work line. It is not for social calls."

A passing sorcerer startles a little at his tone, and he gives her an apologetic smile. As an afterthought, he rolls his eyes in a you know how it is gesture. But she's already walking away, so really he just rolls his eyes at her back, which is probably rude of him.

Serpine is still talking. "- can send little moving pictures, and I've downloaded all these little applications, so now I do all sorts of fun things. Do you use...whatsit...Snapchat? I have Snapchat now. And I've got Angry Birds and Candy Crush and Grindr."

And that? That right there? That is more than he ever needed to know about Serpine.

"Goodbye, Nefarian," he says firmly, and hangs up.

He checks in on Serpine once a week, officially. Unofficially, he clocks more hours than he'd like to admit parked in an alley outside Scapegrace's pub, waiting for someone to scream bloody murder. Serpine spots him a couple of times, gives him a jaunty wave with his newly-regrown hand on his way to the off-licence, mocking and unconcerned.

But nobody gets murdered. Serpine seems to be...behaving. For now.

"I've volunteered you for move-in duty," Valkyrie says, apropos of nothing. When he blinks at her, she shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee. "Serpine's found a flat. He needs some furniture shifting."

He's not going to throw anything at his partner in this busy mortal cafe. He's not.

"I see. And you thought that has anything to do with me because..."

She polishes off the last dregs of her drink with a slurp. "I can't float stuff up stairs."

The apartment Serpine is moving into is a decent two-bedroom on the fourth floor of a six-floor block in a quiet area with a history of minimal unexpected-demolitions-by-overpowered-supervillain. Skulduggery idly wonders, as he pulls up in the parking area behind the building, whether a mass murderer moving in - and the frequent visits by the other mass murderer charged with keeping an eye on him - will bring down housing prices. China will hate that, when she wakes up.

Serpine is waiting for him out front, surrounded by boxes and furniture, already looking a bit frazzled. His outfit is stylish and his slicked-back hair is sticking up in places where he's been running his hands though it. He startles and looks up at the sound of footsteps, and seems to breathe a sigh of relief. "Ah! You came. Valkyrie said you'd know how to go about getting all this, you know. Up there."

"You can hire people for this, you know," Skulduggery tells him. "Removal men."

"With what money?" Serpine asks, a little helplessly. "Valkyrie gave me some of her old things, but I got most of this from - what's the word? - second hand shops, and the refugee aid centre. I've been looking for work, but...you know." He gestures at his face. "This is my criminal record."

Which...is a fair point, so Skulduggery rolls up his sleeves and moves to one end of a squashed two-seater couch. "Fair enough. Grab the other end."

Serpine's mouth almost drops open. "You want to carry it? Like peasants? I thought you were here to float the damn thing!"

Well, he could. But the world isn't actively ending right now, so he can afford to be petty. "I don't use magic unless I have to, these days. We'll be doing this the old-fashioned way."

"But." The last time he saw someone look this aghast was when Valkyrie realised how the citizens of Roarhaven saw her. "But that's manual labour!"

"A little manual labour will do you good."

"Gods, I hate you," Serpine tells him as he moves to grab the other end of the couch.

Skulduggery turns the facade on specifically to give him a smug smirk. "I know."

By the time they're finishing up the boxes, Serpine's new neighbours have come out into the hall to see what all the banging is about. They seem young, mostly - too young to recognise him from the war. Skulduggery is starting to suspect that Serpine has accidentally moved into student housing, but he keeps his mouth shut. Serpine is being chatty and charming, holding court in the corridor, and Skulduggery mostly lets him get on with it in between trips to the bottom of the stairs to pick up more boxes, until a young woman who holds Serpine's front door open for him and chuckles, "Left you doing all the work, has he? He's a talker, your boyfriend. I bet you don't get a word in edgewise."

It's not often that Skulduggery Pleasant is lost for words. "I. I'm sorry. What?"

Fortunately, Serpine chooses that moment to interrupt the conversation he's having and interject, "Oh, no, darling. We're not together. He's just here to make sure I stay out of trouble."

There's something off about how he says it, though. There must be, because the woman taps her nose like he's just confided a secret, and Skulduggery can't help but feel like he's just been made the butt of a joke he doesn't fully understand.

He checks on Serpine once a week. Occasionally Serpine texts him. A blurry photo, usually paired with a caption like, "what the hell is this?"; a set of traffic lights, or a lollipop man, or a chihuahua in a little jumper. Sometimes he responds, but sometimes he doesn't bother.

It's not like they're friends.

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, Roarhaven's shopping district is bustling, and Nefarian Serpine is late.

Skulduggery's been people-watching, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, for fifteen minutes when he finally shows up with a to-go coffee cup in one hand and a stack of books under the other arm. He's frowning.

"You're late," says Skulduggery, by way of greeting.

Serpine shrugs, taking the seat opposite. He dumps his books on the round table and gives the menu a cursory glance. "Sorry. I was at the library. Almost missed the bus."

A waitress approaches wearing a shirt stamped with the logo of the little bistro they're sat outside, and while Serpine orders lunch, Skulduggery idly examines the titles stamped along the spines of his book mountain. Some of them look old, leather bound tomes with fancy gold lettering, and the rest seem to be...textbooks, of all things.

"A little light reading, Nefarian?"

"Huh?" Serpine - busy watching the waitress walk back inside - swivels round to face him, and shrugs. "Oh. Yeah. I want to see if they match up with the slanderous shite they're teaching at the university."

"Excuse me?"

Serpine shrugs. "Vapid and Ty - you know Ty, weird hair, lives next door - thought it might help me adapt if I learn more about how your world is different to mine, so. I've been sitting in on some classes. Unofficially. History. Mortal Relations. That kind of thing. You have battles here that never happened back home, you know."

Skulduggery folds his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair, amused despite himself. "Mortal Relations? You're going to Mortal Relations lectures. You."

"Shut up," says Serpine, pointing a finger at him. "You don't get to laugh. You're not the one nobody wants to hire. - because that's still a problem, by the way. Aren't you supposed to be helping me with that?"

"I'm supposed to be making sure you don't kill anyone or make a nuisance of yourself. Sorry to disappoint."

"Would it kill you to write me a character reference?"

Skulduggery coughs conspicuously into his gloved hand with the throat he doesn't have. He picks up the top book from Serpine's stack and flips idly through Religion & Warfare: The Rise Of The Church Of The Faceless In The 15th Century . "Think about that one for a minute, Nefarian, and you'll remember why it's not happening."

"Fine. Be like that." Serpine's shoe nudges his leg under the table. "Here, were you at the Battle of Black Rock?"

He has to think about that one for a second, then hums in the negative. "Hm. No. I missed that one. I think that was when I was holed up in Cork with a broken leg. Why?"

"History 201," Serpine muses. "I tagged along this morning. It was mostly about that fight, but it never happened in my dimension. It was borderline slanderous, honestly. The professor is an imbecile."

"You're dying to vent, aren't you?"

"Would you mind terribly?"

Skulduggery pulls his ornate pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket and checks the time. "You've got fifteen minutes. Better talk fast."

Time goes by.

He checks on Nefarian once a week. They have coffee, sometimes. Valkyrie knows not to cross the line of bringing Serpine to Skulduggery's home, but she adds them both to a group chat and neither one leaves.

Nefarian wrecks his first car, and Skulduggery makes the drive out from Dublin at 5.45am to rescue him. He calls the tow truck while Serpine sits, pale and shaken, in the Bentley's front seat, drenched from the rain and squelching miserably every time he moves.

He apologises for calling so early, and for once he sounds like he means it.

Skulduggery takes him through the McDonalds drive thru to cheer him up, and as Nefarian tucks into a box of fries with gusto, he thinks, oh no.

They're not friends. They're not.

"Is this a date?"

Skulduggery tilts his head, hand stilling over the car keys. "I'm sorry?"

Valkyrie tosses another piece of popcorn into her mouth. She's already in her pyjamas, fluffy ones with dogs on them, and she's flicking through the Netflix queue. "You're all dressed up. Is this a date? Have you two finally gotten over yourselves? God knows it's been long enough."

He snatches up the car keys and sniffs, disdainful. "After all these decades, Valkyrie, if that's what your expert detective skills are telling you, I have failed as a mentor."

"And now you're getting defensive."

"I'm doing no such thing. Where's Tanith, by the way?"

She laughs and does double fingerguns at him. "And that's deflection!"

He sighs - dramatically, for her benefit - and as he checks his pocket watch, she continues, "And, she's on her way. Get out, already. You have a date to keep and we have movies to watch."

"It's not a bloody date," he complains, patting his pockets to make sure he's got everything. "And I originally asked you."

"Yeah, but opera's boring. Here, is he meeting you there or are you picking him up?"

"Goodbye, Valkyrie."

"See?!" She shouts after him as he shuts the front door. "Date!"

#skulduggery pleasant #remember when my shame post of shame was mere valdug? nope u get this now #thats right yall #i got WORSE #goodnight ✌🏻#there were gonna be more scenes in this believe it or not it just got SO FUCKING LONG #skulpine #which is not a ship tag i ever thought id be using rip

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kingjasnah · 4 years ago

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Is there the full list of brandersons favourite games reposted somewhere?

i dont think so? or not that ive seen. u can literally just sign up for the newsletter on his website but screw it ill just post them for u. it sure was a TRIP scrolling past these to get to the interlude though. undertale is on this list.....im shakign at the thought that adolin was based off ff10 tidus but i cant get it out of my head now

#10: Katamari Damaci

I love things that make me look at the world in a new way. Katamari did this in spades. It is an imaginative, bizarre vision with unique gameplay. It is like nothing else in the world and I love it for all its strangeness and occasional lack of gameplay polish.

I was transfixed the first time I played it, and have looked forward to it being remade and rereleased on multiple different consoles. I love the cute—and somehow creepy at the same time—storyline. It feels like a fever dream more than a game sometimes, and is probably the closest I’ll ever get to understanding what it’s like to do drugs.

#9: Undertale

This is an oddball on this list because I think it’s the only game that is not a franchise from a major studio—but is instead an indie game, which I believe was originally funded on Kickstarter.I loved how this felt like a novel as much as a game. It was one person’s vision; a single story told really well, with a huge amount of personality. The humor was just my kind of wonderful/terrible, and I was instantly enamored with the characters.That probably would have been enough, but it is a nice deconstruction of video games as a medium—and has not one, but multiple innovative gameplay mechanics. Together, the package left me enamored. This is a work of genius that I feel everyone should at least try, even if it ends up not being for them.

#8: Fallout: New Vegas

I have played all of the core Fallout games, and I was one of the (it seems few) who was really excited when it moved from turn-based tactics to first-person shooter. While Fallout 3 was good, it didn’t have the charm of the first two.New Vegas delivered on everything I was hoping to see. The charm was back, the writing sharp, the quests imaginative. The gameplay was engaging and branched in a variety of directions, the gunplay was solid, and the atmosphere immersive. I of course love the first two games in the series—but New Vegas combines everything I like in gaming into one package. (As a note, I own the Outer Worlds, and am looking forward to digging into it. Consider this item on the list a recommendation of other Obsidian games—like Knights of the Old Republic Two—regardless of genre, as I’ve found them universally to be superior to their contemporaries.)

#7 Super Mario World

When I was eleven, I flew (alone, which was very exciting to me) from Nebraska to visit my uncle Devon in Salt Lake City. Before I left, my father gave me $200 and told me to pay for my own meals while on the trip—but of course, my uncle didn’t allow this. At the end of the trip, I tried to give him the money, which he wouldn’t take.I mentioned my dad would take the money back when I got home, but that was okay. Well, my uncle would have none of that, and drove me to the local mall and made me spend it on a Nintendo Entertainment System. (This uncle, you might guess, is an awesome human being.)Since that day of first plugging it in and experiencing Mario for the first time, I was hooked. This is the only platformer on the list, as I don’t love those. But one makes an exception for Mario. There’s just so much polish, so much elegance to the control schemes, that even a guy who prefers an FPS or an RPG like me has to admit these are great games. I picked World as my favorite as it’s the one I’ve gone back to and played the most.

#7: The Curse of Monkey Island (Monkey Island 3)

I kind of miss the golden age of adventure gaming, and I don’t know that anyone ever got it as right as they did with this game. It is the pinnacle of the genre, in my opinion—no offense to Grim Fandango fans.This game came out right before gaming’s awkward teenage phase where everything moved to 3-d polygons. For a while after, games looked pretty bad, though they could do more because of the swap. But if you want to go see what life was like before that change, play Monkey Island 3. Composed of beautiful art pieces that look like cells from Disney movies, with streamlined controls (the genre had come a long way from “Get yon torch”) and fantastic voice acting, this game still plays really well.This is one of the few games I’ve been able to get my non-gamer wife to play through with me, and it worked really well as a co-op game with the two of us trying to talk through problems. It’s a lovingly crafted time capsule of a previous era of gaming, and if you missed it, it’s really worth trying all these years later. (The first and second games hold up surprisingly well too, as a note, particularly with the redone art that came out a decade or so ago.)Also, again, this one has my kind of humor.

#6: Breath of the Wild

I never thought a Zelda game would unseat A Link to the Past as my favorite Zelda, but Breath of the Wild managed it. It combined the magic of classic gameplay with modern design aesthetic, and I loved this game.There’s not a lot to say about it that others haven’t said before, but I particularly liked how it took the elements of the previous games in the series (giving you specific tools to beat specific challenges) and let you have them all at once. I like how the dungeons became little mini puzzles to beat, instead of (sometimes seemingly endless) slogs to get through. I liked the exploration, the fluidity of the controls, and the use of a non-linear narrative in flashbacks. It’s worth buying a Switch just to play this one and Mario—but in case you want, you can also play Dark Souls on Switch... (That’s foreshadowing.)

#5: Halo 2

Telling stories about Halo Two on stream is what made me think of writing this list.I’m sometimes surprised that this game isn’t talked about as much as I think it should be. Granted, the franchise is very popular—but people tend to love either Reach or games 1 or 3 more than two. Two, however, is the only one I ever wanted to replay—and I’ve done so three or four times at this point. (It’s also the only one I ever beat on Legendary.)It’s made me think on why I love this one, while so many others seem to just consider it one of many in a strong—but in many ways unexceptional—series of games. I think part of this is because I focus primarily on the single-player aspects of a game (which is why there aren’t any MMOs on this list.) Others prefer Halo games with more balanced/polished multiplayer. But I like to game by myself, and don’t really look for a multiplayer experience. (Though this is changing as I game with my sons more and more.)I really like good writing—which I suppose you’d expect. But in games, I specifically prefer writing that enhances the style of game I’m playing. Just dumping a bunch of story on me isn’t enough; it has to be suited to the gameplay and the feel of the game. In that context, I’ve rarely encountered writing as good as Halo 2. From the opening—with the intercutting and juxtaposition of the two narratives—to the quotes barked out by the marines, the writing in this game is great. It stands out starkly against other Halo games, to the point that I wonder what the difference is.Yes, Halo Two is a bombastic hero fantasy about a super soldier stomping aliens. But it has subtle, yet powerful worldbuilding sprinkled all through it—and the music...it does things with the story that I envy. It’s kind of cheating that games and films get to have powerful scores to help with mood.The guns in Two feel so much better than Halo One, and the vehicles drive far better. The only complaint I have is that it’s only half a story—as in, Halo 2 and 3 seem like they were one game broken in two pieces. And while 3 is good (and Reach does something different, which I approve of in general) neither did it for me the way Two did, and continues to do.

#3: Final Fantasy X

You probably knew Final Fantasy was coming. People often ask if the way these games handle magic was an influence upon me. All I can say is that I’ve played them since the first one, and so they’re bound to have had an influence.On one hand, these games are really strange. I mean, I don’t think we gamers stop quite often enough to note how downright bizarre this series gets. Final Fantasy doesn’t always make the most sense—but the games are always ambitious.Ten is my favorite for a couple of reasons. I felt like the worldbuilding was among the strongest, and I really connected with the characters. That’s strange, because this is one of the FF games without an angst-filled teen as the protagonist. Instead, it has a kind of stable happy-go-lucky jock as the protagonist.But that’s what I needed, right then. A game that didn’t give me the same old protagonist, but instead gave me someone new and showed me I could bond to them just as well. Ten was the first with full voice acting, and that jump added a lot for me. It has my favorite music of the series, and all together is what I consider the perfect final fantasy game. (Though admittedly, I find it more and more difficult to get into turn-based battle mechanics as I grow older.)

#2: Bloodborne

Those who follow my streams, or who read other interviews I’ve done, probably expected this series to be at or near the top. The question wasn’t whether Souls would be here, but which one to pick as my favorite.I went with Bloodborne, though it could have been any of them. (Even Dark Souls 2—which I really like, despite its reputation in the fandom.) I’ve been following FromSoftware’s games since the King’s Field games, and Demon’s Souls was a huge triumph—with the director Hidetaka Miyazaki deserving much of the praise for its design, and Dark Souls (which is really just a more polished version of Demon’s Souls).As I am a fan of cosmic horror, Bloodborne is probably my favorite overall. It really hit the mix of cosmic and gothic horror perfectly. It forced me to change up my gameplay from the other Souls games, and I loved the beautiful visuals.I am a fan of hard games—but I like hard games that are what I consider “fair.” (For example, I don’t love those impossible fan-made Mario levels, or many of the super-crazy “bullet hell”-style games.) Dark Souls is a different kind of hard. Difficult like a stern instructor, expecting you to learn—but giving you the tools to do so. It presents a challenge, rather than being hard just to be hard.If I have a problem with Final Fantasy, it’s that the games sometimes feel like the gameplay is an afterthought to telling the story. But in the Souls games, story and gameplay are intermixed in a way I’d never seen done before. You have to construct the story like an archeologist, using dialogue and lore from descriptions of in-game objects. I find this fascinating; the series tells stories in a way a book never could. I’m always glad when a game series can show off the specific strengths of the medium.In fact, this series would be #1 except for the little fact that I have way too much time on Steam logged playing...

#1: Civilization VI

This series had to take #1 by sheer weight of gameplay time. I discovered the first on a friend’s computer in the dorms my freshman year—and I can still remember the feeling of the birds chirping outside, realizing I’d been playing all night and really should get back to my own dorm room.That still happens, and has happened, with every game in the series. I have a lot of thoughts on this series, many of them granular and too specific for this list. (Like, it’s obvious AI technology isn’t up to the task of playing a game this complex—so could we instead get a roguelike set of modifiers, game modes, etc. to liven up the games, rather than just having a difficulty slider that changes a few simple aspects of the game?)I’ll try not to rant, because I really do love this game series. A lot of people consider IV to be the pinnacle of the series, but after V unstacked units—and VI unstacked cities—there was no way I could ever go back. If for some reason, you’ve never played this grand patriarch of the 4X game genre, it’s about starting with a single stone-age settler who can found a city—then playing through eras of a civilization, growing your empire, to try to eventually get offworld with a space program. (Or, if you prefer, conquering the world.)It’s a load of fun in the way I like to have fun, and I feel like the series has only gotten better over the years. My hat is off to the developers, who keep reinventing the series, rather than making the exact same game over and over.Now, about that request for difficulty modes...

there are runner ups but for the sake of anyone whos on mobile and cant get past a read more (first of all omg im SO sorry) ill refrain. anyway he thought WHAT loz game was the best before botw?

#mix between HARDCORE judgement and like. yea. yea ff10 was pretty good wasnt it #but i dont think its anywhere near the best of them #long post #im read mores dont work imm so fucking sorry this is so long #MOST of these games are good its just so wild its so wild its SO wild #asks #Anonymous

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just-zenitsu · 5 years ago

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oh that makes me curious... do you think zenitsu was thrown between orphanages and foster homes as a kid? or maybe he was in one until he ran away, either when he eloped or some time before and then lived on the street from then... or did he just live on the streets his whole childhood? ive been wondering this for days and its been on my mind for ages

*deep breath* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

first of all id like to say that i have like three fic ideas that explore his past (whether it focuses on how he grew up or not) BUT THANK U FOR INDULGING ME GUYS IM DEFINITELY RAMBLING ABT EACH OF THEM NOW… (this is a fucking monster tho. so its under read more)

* @anon THATS A WHOLE ASS MOOD TBH. i spend literal hours at night thinking abt whether he was in an orphanage or a street kid. ive wrote him living in the streets and getting sent to an orphanage when he was caught stealing. whereas i ALSO have mindless scribbled notes of modern au where his parents left him in an orphanage but bc of bad experiences (and thats putting it lightly) he gets sent to different homes A LOT and eventually gets kicked out at some point, ILL GET TO THAT LATER IN A BIT

* SINCE im trying to NOT write a fic here ill just list down headcanons and stuff bc YEET!!!! and for the sake of convenience lets just say he was both sent to an orphanage and lived as a street kid :”DD

* lets talk abt hcs ive seen first,, jpn fandom mostly all seem to hc him as a street kid who lived by working on odd jobs and the sort. ofc more often than not he just gets the bare amount for payment and the people he works for arent really nice :(( they never have the nicest words to say and sometimes they even hit him. zen sometimes endures it bc its not like he has much of a choice in the end. other times he runs away crying and scared.

* he also doesnt really have a permanent home so he wanders a lot carrying what little stuff he owns (probably a few clothes or a worn-out futon or something)

* he’s taken advantage of a lot,, whether it’d be people tricking him into doing some work saying ‘he’ll be given something good in return’ or something equally vague. he usually wonders why their words sound so kind in comparison to their heartbeats that sound… off,, its not until he’s older that he gets an answer to that question

* bc he cant be picky i like to think that its not that hard for him to sleep somewhere uncomfortable. he also curls up a lot into a ball when he sleeps. he likes being cooped up into small spaces, it makes him feel safe and that no one can get him.

* was initially very verbal about his hearing condition (something along the lines of saying ‘i heard you say that ____’ or ‘hey, do you hear that’ etc etc.) people think hes creepy and/or he’s lying most of the time. he eventually doesnt really wanna talk about it anymore once someone came this close to threatening to cut his ears off.

* i think we can say that zen lived in the city? its why he likes expensive things and the sort, and he has a lot of stock knowledge about how the city works and stuff like that, not to say that he’s ever really participated in it

* as a child (and even as he got older) zenitsu’s favorite season is spring, autumn being a close second. he likes spring bc the air is fresh and he can find flowers in the outskirts of the city, surviving despite growing in cracked concrete. he makes little flower crowns out of them!

* he likes autumn bc the way the leaves change is pretty! but its only second to spring bc the flowers usually wilt by then and he gets cold :(

* he doesnt like winter simply because it is VERY cold. he dislikes summer the most tho bc the sound of literal thousands of cicadas give him a lot of headaches aaa

* is very used to being hungry when he goes to sleep. he makes due with it as best as he can. one of his fondest memories is a frail old man who owns a sweet bun cart that gives him buns in exchange for a lower price than what he actually sells them for. on a day where he thinks the old man looks more tired and quiet than usual, zenitsu takes it upon himself to give him a flower crown.

* unfortunately he never is able to give it, bc the next day, or days after that, zenitsu never sees him again.

* he has experience bein a sneaky little thief! its the reason on why he can easily take sweets without permission at the butterfly estate in canon hehe

* but its this very same reason that he gets sent to an orphanage, he gets caught! and bc he is a Literal Child. they send him to foster care woohoo

* (GOD THIS IS GETTING SO LONG BUT PLS DEAL WITH MY RAMBLING….)

* i dont have a clear idea on how zenitsu couldve been treated in an orphanage. but all in all, he’s just very grateful to be given some kind of semblance of a home and food

* he learned how to speak (barely) when he lived in the streets, but they teach the basic minimum and suddenly he’s learning all these sorts of things

* the people who took care of them arent the most affectionate, neither are the kids he lives with. zenitsu’s crying is often really looked down upon, he tries to stop but he can’t really help it. he’s not really anyones favorite person here

* there’s a small somewhat neglected garden in the orphanage’s backyard. he spends his time here when everyones playing and no one wants to play with him

* every time someone comes to adopt a kid he cries and begs for them to adopt him whenever they show a spark of interest towards him. it goes as bad as u think it does, they dont like that type of kid, and as such they assume everyone else is like that and leaves w/o taking anyone. zenitsu isnt allowed to eat dinner in these nights ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

* bc of the latter reason, kids gang up and bully him a lot. zenitsu tries to go along w it bc its the ONLY time anyone ever pays attention to him, but at the end of the day the only thing he gets is scratches and bruises from being pushed around and lots of words that hurt his heart

* (WAHH. OPK OK IM SORRY IM SAD NOW AINNFJKKJFDFHKH..)

* people think he’s a nuisance more or less. and then he gets sent to varied foster homes again and again bc he’s ‘difficult to deal with’ and going back to the first bullet point, he gets kicked out again wAH. at this point he might have been 15 and its when he starts trying to date girls, despite hearing everyone’s sounds of deceit and lies time and time again, he still goes through with it. and the rest is canon,

OK. thats basically my brain vomit about zenitsu backstory. i am deceased and IM JUST PURELY FROTHING AT THE MOUTH EVERYTIME I THINK ABT HIM KDFKLGDFDGHF. thank u sm if u read this far, i appreciate it ;_______;

#ask #KHGJSKGKJGD THIS TOOK SO LONG HAHAHHAHAH #headcanons #.post #screaming but w feeling

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harlot-of-oblivion · 5 years ago

Text

A Rose of Unconscious Beauty (Part 6)

All work and no play make Dante a dull devil, but when he finds out about his brother's flowery friend he sees an opportunity to cure his boredom. Well, that and his curiosity about what kind of woman catches Vergil's attention. So, he decides to spontaneously visit your garden to see what all the buzz is about.

Hope you enjoy these two finally meeting! And gardening puns...just all the gardening puns. 😆❤

Here’s the link to the list of all the flowers featured in this part. 🌹🥰🌹

Chapter 1: Meeting Dante

Life has been pretty good for Dante since he got back from his little foray into hell. He may still be in quite a bit of debt, but that never stops him from living life to the fullest. For the first time in a long time he does not feel so alone in the Devil May Cry shop. There is just one problem that plagues him now as he leans back in his chair, feet propped up on the edge of his desk as a huge overdrawn yawn escapes his mouth…

He is bored.

Very, very…BORED.

The occasional odd job usually keeps him entertained, but business has been slow recently. There is only so much games of pool and swimsuit magazines before Dante is positively itching to fight something…anything. Nero has taken advantage of this dry spell and is finally getting hitched to Kyrie. Even Vergil, who he annoys into fighting sometimes just for sheer fact that it relieves his boredom for a while, has taken to disappearing from time to time.

Oh yeaaaaah. The mysterious flowery friend.

Dante ponders the potential of that whole situation giving him something to do besides sitting alone in his shop. He did not think it strange when Vergil started to go out more…in fact, he is proud that his brother is finally embracing his humanity and making this world his home. But when his cranky brother came back to the shop with pretty little blue flowers wrapped around his beloved Yamato…well, now that just piqued his curiosity. He tries to goad Vergil into telling him where he got the flowers or where he has been disappearing off to lately, but that conversation usually ends with him being stabbed a lot. Dante got his answer one day when Nero asks if he knew this florist that his old man just recommended to him. It all just suddenly clicked. The constant visits, the soft cloud nine smiles, just the overall secrecy…

Vergil…has a crush.

Just the idea of his brother being head over heels for someone has Dante shaking his head in wonder. Vergil has already left the shop, probably visiting his florist friend if Dante had to guess. It happens to be the day that Nero and Kyrie are supposed to meet their savior of flowers. He wanted to tag along to see what all the hype is about, but Nero absolutely refused to let him. Usually, that is not enough to deter Dante, but then his nephew just had to sick Kyrie on him. And how could anyone say no to her? So, here he sits…extremely bored and very curious.

I have to know if it’s true…if my dumbass brother really is lovestruck…

A sudden idea pops into Dante’s head as he takes out his cellphone and begins to text:

Dante: Hey! Gonna see your old mans flower girl today, amiright?

Nero: NO. Forget it.

Nero: Im not spying 4 u

Dante: NO ONE said ANYTHING about spying!

Dante: Just a couple of pics!

Nero: NO U CREEP

Dante: OH C’MON!!!

Dante taps on his screen vigorously as he provokes his stubborn nephew to reply, but after a few minutes of continued silence he gives up. He rolls his eyes as he groans in mild irritation and drops his phone onto the desk. His nimble fingers stroke his scruffy chin in thought, wondering if there will ever be an end to this torturous boredom…then it hits him faster than the Devil May Cry van. Nico! Dante snaps his fingers and nods his head in approval at his own ingenious idea. He snatches his phone back up and begins to text again:

Dante: Heyyyyyyy

Nico: Wat

Dante: Wanna help a friend out?

Nico: Lemme guess

Nico: U want me to spy for ya, right?

Dante: A couple of pics is NOT spying

Nico: Yeah yeah whatever

There is a long pause and Dante almost thinks his last-ditch effort is a bust. Until…

Nico: Mayyyyybe I’ll do it

Nico: Wats in it for me tho?

Dante only has to think about her prize for second before replying.

Dante: I’ll let you check out my guns

Nico: Ive already seen my fair share of muscles

Dante: Im talking about Ebony and Ivory

Nico: U GOTTA FUCKIN DEAL

Dante clenches his fist in victory. Nico tells him to hold tight while she finds a good hiding spot and the perfect angle. So, he grabs the nearest swimsuit magazine to read while he waits for Nico’s sneaky photos.

He only has to read a couple of pages of articles and check out a few curvy ladies before his phone vibrates. “Well now…let’s see what we've got,” he announces aloud as his hand instantly picks up his phone and eagerly opens up the message. Here she is! is written below two pictures of a bubbly woman with a bright smile and lively eyes. In one photo she is sitting down at a garden table, and in the other she is standing by a bed of flowers. She is wearing white summer dress and has a white flower in her hair. Dante chuckles in glee because now he understands why his brother has fallen so hard: the local florist is a total babe!

Dante is about to get back to his magazine when another text from Nico comes through:

Nico: Yoooooooooo

Nico: U didnt tell me that Vergil was gonna be here!

Dante: Im not my brother’s keeper!

Nico: Im NOT about to get stabbed if he catches me

Nico: Im out

Dante: WAIT

Dante: I’ll sweeten the deal!

Dante: If you get a pic of them together

Nico: DANTE

Dante: Then I’ll let you check out my guns

Dante: FOR A WEEK

A very long pause follows and Dante thinks that Nico is still going chicken out despite his sudden add on to her prize when her response chimes in:

Nico: U better hold up your end of the deal, Dante

Dante: Nicooooo u know I always keep my word!

Nico: Cuz if u dont, I’ll run u over with the van

Dante: No u wont

Nico: VROOM VROOM BITCH

Dante’s amused chuckle echoes throughout the shop. “So, that’s where you’re running off to,” he comments to himself. “The secret garden.” As he waits for Nico’s next photo, he starts to wonder what kind of a woman catches the eye of his broody brother. I mean…sure, you’re a cutie, but Dante knows that Vergil is not so easily swayed by looks alone. Of course, he could be reading into this too much and you’re actually just a really adorable friend…which is why he has to see both of you together. If Vergil has that soft smile on his face and if you show any sign of reciprocating his brother’s feelings…

His phone vibrates and Dante immediately opens the message. How's this for ya? reads Nico’s text along with a bunch of laughing emojis and a video clip. He arches an eyebrow as he presses play. He sees Nero, Kyrie, Vergil, and you all walking together by a bunch of flowers. He cannot make out the soft conversation of the group, but he does hear a lighthearted giggle as you do a twirl. Dante squints his eyes when he notices your hand reach for something in your dress…then his eyes widen as you throw petals into the air. The distinct growl of his brother comes through the audio and Dante nearly chokes on his own laugh. Some of the little pink flowers you threw…are sticking to Vergil’s hair!

I’m totally saving this just for the look on his face!

Dante kicks his feet off of the desk and he leans forward in his chair, never taking his eyes off the screen as Nero and Kyrie step out of frame. He tilts his head when Vergil kneels and you start to pluck the flowers from his hair. Dante has to rub his eyes to make sure he is really seeing these events correctly. Things get really interesting when you move in closer. The awkward expression on his brother’s face is pure gold. But what really has him pressing his nose to the screen is when Vergil stands up and you both just stare at each other. It is like a scene cut straight from a romantic movie. Dante has never seen his brother look so…totally in love. And you are mirroring the exact same expression.

Jackpot!

The video starts to shake and he hears Nico quietly cursing up a storm. The screen is a blur for a moment before it just totally cuts off. Dante is still for a while as he takes in everything that just happened. He honestly did not expect Vergil to be bitten by the love bug. A genuine smile curls on his lips as he thinks that maybe you are exactly what his brother needs to finally let go of the past and start living. But he cannot be the helpful little brother that he is without at least meeting you first. The genuine smile turns mischievous as Dante texts Nico about happened after the video ended and where exactly is this secret garden in the city...

(A Week Later...Reader’s POV)

The late afternoon sun beats down as you wipe the sweat from your brow. You examine the rambling roses you are currently pruning, checking to see if you missed anything before standing up and stretching your legs. Sweet basil, it’s hot, you thought, taking off your gardening hat and fanning your face as you pocket your pruning shears. You think about Vergil and how he always seems to keep cool while wearing a long blue coat in the summer.

The power of Sparda must also include internal air conditioning. You giggle at your own quip as you put the gardening hat back on your head and decide to take a break. As you walk through the multitude of flowers you search for any sign of the Son of Sparda among the flora. He has not called to inform you that he is stopping by today, but that does not necessarily mean he will not show up unannounced…annoyingly startling you before buttering you up with an offering of beautiful blooms.

Vergil has been regularly visiting you in your garden now. Sometimes both of you read and drink tea under the fruit trees, other times you have to work and just let him read in peace while frolicking about your garden. Every now and then he insists on looming close behind you, claiming that he wants to observe how you arrange bouquets and care for the flowers. There are a few times that you somehow rope him into helping since he is so inclined to learn and you must admit…seeing a tall and imposing man handle tiny flowers carefully is so endearing, making you fall even harder for the handsome devil.

You step through the backdoor and walk into your kitchen, heading straight for the fridge and swiftly open the door. When the cold air hits your face you sigh and just stand there for a moment to cool off as you reach for a bottle of water. You close the fridge and head to your office to check the status of a shipment on your computer while you guzzle down half of the bottle. The flowers for Nero and Kyrie’s wedding are well in supply, but you ordered some extra ribbon, wires, needles, and other miscellaneous supplies. It is a little stressful that you only have so much time to pull this off, but that only pushes you to do your utmost best to give them the best flowers they have ever seen. All seems to be order, you mentally note, finishing off your water bottle as you tab out of the website.

Time to get back to work! You go back out to the garden, grab the garden hose, and turn on the outdoor faucet. You adjust the nozzle on the hose to spray into a mist and set off to water some flowers. “Alright, my darlings!” you say cheerfully as you step up to the first section of flowers. “Who’s thirsty?” You happily spray their petals with glistening droplets as you hum softly. One of the many reasons why you enjoy gardening so much is just how tranquil it can be, your mind slipping into a peaceful state as all your worries just drift away and you feel like a flower basking in the warm sunlight.

Although, you do find yourself ceaselessly daydreaming about a certain white-haired gentleman while gardening lately. You cannot get the feel of his slicked back locks out of your thoughts, yearning to do more than just pluck petals from his hair. You wonder if the bergamot scent is from a cologne he is wearing or the constant cups of his favorite tea. And the expression on his face after you picked the stray petals from his hair…cheeks slightly blushing as his gleaming silver eyes stare straight into your soul. The very memory of it has you shivering in delight as you turn around to water the next section of flowers.

“Holy hollyhock!”

The sudden appearance of a man in a long red jacket standing in your garden has you jumping back in surprise. Your foot steps on the garden hose, making you lose your balance and start to tip over. Thankfully, the stranger has quick reflexes and quickly leans forward to catch your fall. “Whoa! Easy there!” he exclaims as he sets you upright, doing his best to avoid the misty spray of the hose still clutched in your hand. That is when you notice his distinct white hair swaying in front of his blue eyes. And his face…if it was not for the slight fuzz of a beard or the care-free expression, he would be the spitting image of Vergil. Which can only mean…

“You must be Dante.”

“What gave it away?” he asks, dramatically holding his hands out to the side as he nods his head in confirmation.

“You wouldn’t be a Son of Sparda if you didn’t scare your local gardener to death!”

Dante tilts head at your answer and smirks as he examines you from head to toe. “I dig the overalls,” he comments as he gestures to your attire. You look down at your green gardening overalls, the phrase "I like big buds and I cannot lie" imprinted on the front surrounded by large colorful flower buds.

“Thanks!” you laugh, turning off the garden hose. “I’m Y/N! I don’t recall Vergil saying that he was going to finally introduce me to you.”

“So, he’s told you about me? Did he mention that I am the better-looking twin?” he jests as he takes a step back and strikes a charmingly rugged pose.

“Uh, he mentioned that you are a demon hunter, a foolish buffoon, and…whoa!” Your eyebrows shoot up as you closely examine his coat. “Your jacket does look really expensive!”

Dante rolls his eyes as he relaxes from his over-the-top stance. “He just can’t let that go, huh?” He shakes his head and lightly chuckles.

“So…what brings you to my garden?” you inquire kindly, not letting his surprise visit distract you from being hospitable. Dante did not mention his brother being present here with him, so you hope that Vergil does not mind you being friendly and helping his brother out if he needs it.

“The girls keep telling me I need something to brighten up the shop,” he explains as he scratches the back of his head. “So, I figured some flowers from my brother’s friendly neighbor florist might do the trick.”

You smile sweetly. “Okay! Do you have any kind of flowers in mind?”

“Well, my mother’s favorite flowers were-”

“Burgundy roses!”

Dante quirks an eyebrow. “Did you just read my mind?”

A giggle escapes your lips as you shake your head. “Vergil told me that his mother had a modest garden herself, and that she grew those roses a lot. Don’t worry,” you affirm as your hand sets down the garden hose. A big confident smile spreads across your face as you twirl in excitement, pausing to strike your own cute pose. “I got you covered!”

He nods his head in approval. “Right on.”

You make small talk with Dante as you lead him to the rose section of your garden, asking if by “the girls” he means the other two demon hunters that work with him. He confirms your guess and grumbles about how unfair it is that you know so much the crew while he knows next to nothing about you. That is quickly remedied though as he bombards you with the oddest series of questions…most of them involving strawberries and pizza. When you tell him that you used to work at the local pizzeria and bakery in your home town he enthusiastically asks if you made the pizzas. You laugh at his boyish glee and inform him that you sometimes helped with the pizzas, but you mostly baked the pastries and desserts.

“Here we are!” You point to a bush full of the dark reddish-purple roses as you step through the various buds and blooms. “Roses of unconscious beauty!” Dante studies the rose bush as you approach it, lean in, and inhale their lovely fragrance. You breathe out in delight and start looking for the best blooms for a bouquet. “Aren’t they lovely?” You look over your shoulder and see that Dante is barely paying attention. His blue green eyes gaze distantly at the rose bush, reminding you a little of Vergil’s silver blue eyes when he recedes into his head. You wait a moment before deciding to coax him out of pensive stupor.

“Flower for your thoughts?”

Dante blinks and shakes his head. “Sorry about that. I was just…remembering something.” He walks over and stands next you, a small grin appears on his face as he peers down at you. “These would look nice on my desk. I’ll take ‘em.”

“Alright!” You reach into your pocket, taking out the pruning shears still stored in there and begin snipping some select roses, carefully removing the thorns before sticking them in another pocket until you can properly tie them together.

Dante quietly watches you for a few moments before he crosses his arms and leisurely leans back. “So…you and my brother.”

You snip a third rose as you glance over at him. “Me and your brother…?” you repeat, hoping he will expand upon the conversation he started. Dante just continues to gaze at you inquisitively. Your brow furrows in puzzlement as you wonder what he is trying to imply…until it suddenly hits you.

No way. He can’t be…

“Are you…Dad-terogating me?”

“Am I what now?”

“You know…that thing fathers do when daughters bring home their boyfriends.” Your voice drops as you do your best impersonation a stern father figure. “What are your intentions little girl?”

“Oh man,” Dante snickers. “And what if I am?” he counters with a puckish smirk.

“Well, Mr. Sparda,” you begin with a cheeky grin, turning to him while you clutch a thornless burgundy rose close to your chest. “I only have the best intentions towards your brother, Vergil. They include smiles, laughter, and a healthy dose of poetry with dash of tea…Oh!” You dip your hand into the front pocket of your overalls. “And lots of flower showers!” Your grin turns cheerful as you toss pink hydrangea petals high into the air.

Dante stares at you closely for a moment, totally unfazed by the petals scattering around him before he chuckles softly. “Well now…how can I argue with that? My party pooper of a brother needs it.”

You giggle and go back to snipping more roses. A fourth one is freed and you begin to remove the thorns from the stem. “It’s sweet of you to look out for him, you know,” you point out with a genuine smile. “You’re a good brother, Dante.”

He smiles back and is about to respond when an awful hellish screech fills the air. Your head snaps over to the direction it is coming from, but you already know what those sounds mean. Dante casually looks over as well, but he does not look as concerned as you. His face reminds you more of the neighborhood kids when the ice cream truck drives by. “Looks like our flower pickin’ is gonna have to wait,” he surmises as he struts briskly towards the commotion.

You pocket the pruning shears and the rose in your hand as you hurriedly follow behind him. The screeching is now really loud and as you step into to a clearing you see the familiar forms of demons just beyond the gates of your garden. Even though you live in a city known for its constant hellish attacks, the sight of their malformed bodies never fails to freeze your blood. The closest one, resembling a large corrupted bat, flies over the gate and hovers near one of your apple trees. It shrieks as its throat starts to glow red. Anger floods through your body when you register what it intends to do to your lovely fruit trees.

“Oh, no you DON’T!” you shout as you run by the gardening tools still laying out, grabbing the garden hoe as you pass by and rush towards the bat-like creature. It swivels around just as you draw your makeshift weapon back and swing up at it with all your strength. The hoe connects and a pained squeal rings out as the demon is knocked back a little bit away from the apple tree. You let out a shuddering breath, quickly realizing that perhaps smacking a demon with a gardening tool was not the best idea.

Multiple gunshots startle you out of your internal dread as they streak up at the bat-like demon. It shakes violently before it drops to the ground and disintegrates. You turn around and see Dante holstering two guns behind his back before giving you a round of applause. “Not bad! Very inventive use of…” his hands pause as he inspects your tool curiously.

“It’s a hoe,” you bluntly inform him.

“Really?” Dante puts his hands on his hips as he circles around you, shielding you from the oncoming demons notice. “Well then…you really know how to handle a hoe!”

You snort and check your tool for any signs of it being broken or bent. “You know what they say…a dirty hoe is a happy hoe!” you joke, flashing him the disgusting bloody residue on the tip. Dante hunches over as a hearty laugh burst from his lips. You feel a sense of accomplishment at making such a clever gardening pun, but it is short lived as a series of terrible growls and roars remind you of the current danger. “Umm,” you mutter softly, “as much as I would like to give more demons a good hoeing…”

Dante reigns in his boisterous laughter and nods. “Yeah...get yourself to safety.” He runs and skillfully jumps over the gate. Before he goes to deal with the demons, he looks over his shoulder at you. “Even though I’m not a hoe I can still get rid of these nasty weeds,” he quips with a wink.

You laugh and shake your head at his own gardening pun before retreating back to your house, sighing in relief as your backdoor comes into view. When you are a few feet away from safety, a low rumbling growl reaches your ears, making you stop in your tracks. You still have your garden hoe, so you hold it up in defense as you scan your surroundings for any immediate threat. It is quiet for a moment…then a series obscure red streaks zoom around you. Your eyes try to track whatever is circling you, but you cannot see what is stalking you like prey.

Your body is quaking now as you turn around to glance behind you. A lizard-like demon with a vicious red blade protruding from one of its scaly arms is leaping through the air straight at you. Your instincts kick in and you raise your gardening tool up in defense, even though you feel certain that it will not enough to block that sharp blade. A series of tumultuous emotions sling around your mind, but one strongly overtakes you as the image of Vergil pops into your head…regret.

I didn’t even get to tell him that-

Before you are able to close your eyes and brace yourself for the deadly impact, a sudden blur of blue spheres pop up and knock back your scaly assailant. A familiar form clad in a blue coat suddenly appears next to the demon and proceeds to hit it with a series of slashes. When he finishes his ruthless onslaught, he turns his back on the demon and dramatically sheaths his sword. Just as the hilt of the sword slams into the case, the demon convulses in pain one last time before collapsing on the ground.

The regret you felt earlier fades away as your devilish rescuer turns towards you. The usual scowl on his face is now even more severe as he scrutinizes your appearance. He may be fuming with rage, but you do not mind, nor do you care. “Vergil!” you cry, trying to thank him for saving your life, but you feel so overwhelmed that no words come out. All you can do is smile gratefully as your eyes well up with tears, so happy that you get to see the man you feel so deeply for again after all.

Read Part 6 (Ch. 2) here

Read on my Ao3

My Master List if you want more ❤

Tagging: @drusoona, @thedyingmoon, @bettybattaglia, @veenus-ow, @meowykittenn, @fandomhell97, @vergilsangel, @venomous-lawyer, @alicewinchester

#vergil x reader #vergil #devil may cry #dmc 5 #romance #fluff #flowers #the language of flowers #gardener reader #writing #fanfiction #humor #meeting the family #hijinks and shenanigans #wingman dante #A Rose of Unconscious Beauty #a rose among the briars #and just like that a legendary wingman is born #harlot writes

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charliejrogers · 4 years ago

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The Hate U Give

I change my phone background to a particular movie's poster every time I see a movie that really floors me. As of yesterday, The Hate U Give has unseated Avengers: Endgame for space on my phone after its nearly 15-month reign.

This is a must-watch movie for anyone who is struggling to make sense of the current protests across America and their fight for people to recognize the injustices facing Black Americans. It’s a film that teaches without being preachy. It moves emotions without feeling manipulative. It tackles difficult questions about race, the role of the police in perpetuating Blacks’ oppression, and white people’s complacency in that oppression, in a thought-provoking manner, that still effectively argues for its own point of view.

Much of this success has to do with how the movie grounds itself within the point of view of Starr Carter (and don’t ask her why there are two “R’s”!), a 17-year old Black girl who attends an elite, nearly all-white private school, who is conscious of the fact that she needs to “act white” at school so that no one treats her like she’s from “the hood.” But, she is from “the hood.” She lives in Garden Heights, a fictional neighborhood of an unnamed American city, which is predominantly Black and run by a local gang, the King Lords. It’s a neighborhood devoid of real opportunity, so much of its youth turn to the gang as the only chance to make something of themselves. It’s a world her father used to be a part of, but after a stint in prison he has sworn off completely, agreeing with Starr’s mother to make sure their children have the opportunities to get out of Garden Heights. But, still, it’s important to Starr’s father, and for Starr as well, to not pretend that their people don’t live in Garden Heights. It’s the kind of complex relationship between white and Black America that isn’t often shown on screen.

And so our protagonist Starr, played incredibly well by Amandla Stenberg, lives something of a double life. The moment she arrives at school, she takes off her hoodie and never uses slang. But back home, none of her white friends are ever getting an invite to hang. She’s spending her weekends at parties in Garden Heights. Starr moves well in both circles, but at the beginning of the film doesn’t fully fit in with either. Her best friend in Garden Heights wants to start a fight with another girl for creeping up on her man and asks for Starr’s help which she feels is all but guaranteed within her understanding of friendship, something echoed by others in Garden Heights. But Starr doesn’t want to jeopardize her standing with her school by getting into a fight and causing too much controversy. Meanwhile, at school, her relationship with a white boy draws disapproving stares from nearly every passerby.

Starr is a wonderful character, and one of the more memorable on-screen characters I have seen in recent memory. She is wise beyond her years, but not incapable of having a good time. And Stenberg does a fantastic job of bringing her to life, granting her an infectious smile and laugh, as well as a righteous anger when faced with the sudden death of her longtime best friend and crush by a police officer in a traffic stop gone wrong. This movie may be fiction, but the movie hardly takes place in a fantasy world.

And it’s that interaction that serves as the film’s catalyst to greatness. Prior to it, it’s an interesting movie in its own right, chronicling a Black girl’s struggles in navigating her two lives. But it quickly transforms into something more engaging. Starr is in the passenger seat when the cop murders her friend Khalil, and is therefore the lone witness to the event. No longer can she afford to sit by idly and keep her two worlds separate. People at school will really know “who she is,” and Starr will have to make the unfair choice of whether to disrupt her comfortable existence in order to bring about justice for her dear friend Khalil.

A word should be said about the magic of Khalil, played by Algee Smith. His time on-screen cannot be more than 10 minutes, but his charisma, and in particular his chemistry with Starr is pitch-perfect, capturing the feeling of two childhood friends realizing there may be something more to their friendship. And this is crucial, because if the scenes and the performances that introduce Khalil weren’t so on-point, the film would lose a little of its power and motivation as it focuses from here on out on achieving his justice.

I want to be clear, though, and say that Khalil deserves justice because he was unjustly murdered, regardless of whether he has charisma or not. What I’m saying is that the film quickly introduces us to Khalil, shows us what kind of person he is and what he means to Starr, allowing us to feel a fraction of Starr’s pain and keep us anchored to her point-of-view even as the movie continues to puts roadblocks in her way.

Many of these roadblocks take the form of people vying to convince Starr to embrace their point of view, and I think it is here that the film rises above others in its attempt to take on issues of race. It doesn’t shy away from opposing arguments; it forces its character into creating a dialogue. And each side gets a fair shake, the movie refusing to just prop up straw men. It helps that it’s a rock solid cast. Common shines as Starr’s uncle who is a police himself and tries to justify from his POV why black men keep getting shot. The local gang kingpin is played intimidatingly by Anthony Mackie who sheds all signs of friendliness from the MCU, and he posits another philosophy: one of forgetting and moving on, that Khalil’s death is unfortunate but it’s bad for business to rock the boat. Starr’s own mother, a fantastic Regina Hall, pushes Starr to think about her future and that the attention the incident would bring her if she speaks up might overwhelm her. And then there’s her father, Maverick “Mav” Carter, played by the imposing gentle giant Russell Hornsby, who encourages Starr to let the light of her truth shine forth.

Yes, the conflict between Starr and the local gang might be a little over-dramatic, and the film’s ending and how it addresses the movie’s titular theme, “T.H.U.G.L.I.F.E.” (The Hate U Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody) might be a little too on-the-nose, but a film this thoughtful and this smart is certainly not bogged down by such little squabbles. For white people in particular, it highlights our own role in perpetuating this cycle. Our general propensity towards defending cops, our inability to see Black people as anything other than “one of us” or “hood,” how our media will spin these stories to highlight the victim’s past misdeeds even though it's unrelated to their present murder, and our love for maintaining the status quo. It’s a tough film to watch, but carried on the back of Stenberg’s incredible performance, it is one that highlights film’s important role as an empathy machine, as Roger Ebert called it. The Hate U Give is one for the ages, and one everyone who has questions about the BLM movement should watch.

**** (Four Stars out of Four) - An Instant Classic

#the hate u give

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gotatext · 5 years ago

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PREFERRED NAME — nora. i think i started going by it in like, 2009?? my full name is eleanor but i hated it n thought it was way too pretentious n i never felt like it fitted me so when i started writing on forums i decided i’d be a nora rather than eleanor and then my school friends called me it and it just kinda stuck, the only person who calls me eleanor is my mum

PRONOUNS — she / her / ethereal being beyond comprehension

AGE — 23 but i tell everyone im 21 because even tho time is literally fake im desperately clinging to that fleeting thing we call youth trying to catch it like smoke in my hands

PINTEREST — i actually have two. this one is my main one where i just cram all my shit n i’ve had it for years and some of its super unorganised. then i also have this one which is one i made for exclusively female characters. it started as mythological figures but now its like, women in literature and the occasional oc as well. variety is the spice of life!

DISCORD — lindsay lohan’s meth#8664

TUMBLR (PERSONAL/MUSE/RPH) — i used to be froseths but now im pvrscphones cos ya gal is a fucking whore for mythology

OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA YOU’D LIKE TO SHARE — oi oi guvna ere’s me twitta. also here’s my letterboxd n my goodreads if anyone still uses tht

MYER-BRIGGS — enfp / infp border .... the classic profile of a lit student

HP HOUSE — hufflepuff, am fuckin mad.

ZODIAC — libra which is a joke because i am in no way balanced but i guess i AM indecisive and a peacekeeper so?

DO YOU BELIEVE IN ASTROLOGY? — i believe it when it says good shits gonna happen in my life and blame it if bad shit happens but i don’t strongly follow it i just find it interesting

HOW OLD WERE YOU WHEN YOU STARTED RPING ON TUMBLR — maybe like 14?? my first rp blog here is literally so embarassing i wrote as clove from the hunger games n my best friend irl wrote cato :/ it was wild

WHAT YEAR WAS IT? — like 9 years ago?? 2010 maybs

NAME A RANDOM ROLEPLAY THAT STICKS OUT IN YOUR MEMORY — me n my friend ellie made this really cool group the summer before we left for uni which was loosely based on a concept mentioned mayb once in the divergent series, but it gave us loads of freedom to make it our own thing. it was called the fringe n it was like..... this dystopian society where people with different genes were cut off from the rest of society n lived in overrun slum cities where different groups had like, a monopoly over weapons, produce, etc.... my character jack was the leader of this lost-boy-esque tribe called the wolf pack who were hunters n used to run across the rooftops wearing the skins of animals they’d killed and engage in tribal rituals with sacrifices to the gods n shit. sounds lame but everyone there was so invested in their character arcs that it was a shame to see it go. but ! it kind of reached its end point so we blew it up w nukes n they all died. tragic.

WHAT WEIRD ANIMAL WOULD YOU HAVE AS A PET IF IT WAS REALISTIC — a fox?? do ppl keep foxes? idk i’ve always just felt a sense of connection w them like when a fox stares at me im like this shit is life i am living and breathing in this bitch.... visceral

NAME THE FIRST SONG ON YOUR DISCOVER WEEKLY ON SPOTIFY OR THE FIRST SONG THAT COMES ON APPLE MUSIC / ITUNES SHUFFLE — everbody party tonight by cobra man n summer girl by haim..... not my usual stuff but big summer chillin vibes,.....

NAME A BOOK THAT YOU READ IN SCHOOL THAT YOU SURPRISINGLY LIKED — lord of the flies and also the handmaid’s tale. one of assignments was to write a chapter from another character’s perspective n i chose moira

NAME A BOOK YOU HATED THAT MOST PEOPLE LIKED — skellig. fuck off with ur asprin ugly bat man i don’t care. also of mice and men. don’t care about the rabbits or curley’s goddamn wife.

WHAT TV SHOW DID YOU RECENTLY BINGE? — im not a big binger bc i find it jst makes me depressed if i watch tv all day but im nearly finished stranger things season 3 n i recently finished euphoria (big rec but proceed w caution as quite triggering content)

FAVOURITE QUOTE — cool girl speech from gone girl. but also “there’s something dangerous about the boredom of teenage girls” i know its like.... such an overused quote but it really encapsulates this kind of feral girlhood that a few of my characters like bridget n greta have tapped into. i also loved the line “i feel like i could eat the world raw” from song of achilles, that really captures this kind of.... pure n childlike enthusiasm tht i wanna achieve w rory

LINK TO A VINE THAT EXUDES YOUR ‘ENERGY’ — this is my energy completely am always covered in glitter n staring broodily out of the windows of ubers at 4am like im in the sad bit of an indie film

DO YOU WRITE OUTSIDE OF RP? WHAT DO YOU WRITE? — uhh.... not as much as i shd.... i want to be a writer so i shd be makin some effort to get my stuff Out Into The World but im just not.... lol. ive done a lot of poetry collections . i wnt to finish a novel @ some point too.

THREE YOUTUBERS YOU STILL TRUST — bold of you to assume i trust any youtubers

A CELEBRITY CRUSH THAT JUST WON’T QUIT — id literally die for saoirse ronan n timothee chalamet :/ chance perdomo also owns my ass.

EVER MEET A CELEBRITY? SHARE YOUR STORY — i once high-fived dani harmer, the actress who played tracy beaker. today my sister text me tryin to make me guess what celebrity she just saw on holiday in wales and for ages she let me think it was timmothee but it was actually bradley walsh from the chase :/

WHAT’S YOUR PICTURE-PERFECT NIGHT? — i am in a bomb ass crop top and mini skirt, several scrunchies in my hair, glitter all over my face, wearing cowboy boots. we eat dinner in a trendy but affordable pub that doubles up as a cocktail bar n then we drink zombies or sex on the beaches n go to a rave where everyone is on the same wavelength n i share drugs with girls in the toilets and we swap numbers knowing we will never text each other but its ok bc in that moment we feel like we are soulmates and everyone is super drunk n touching everyone else n its all very visceral and we walk through the woods when the rave ends and lie in the grass because we wish to suck out all the marrow of life

A CONSPIRACY THEORY YOU KINDA BELIEVE IN — princess diana was murdered

ARE ALIENS REAL? — maybe the real aliens are the friends we made along the way

PLAY ANY PHONE GAMES? WHICH ONES? — love island game im addicted and way too invested in my fictional relationship with bobby, a cartoon

WHAT’S A FILM YOU LOVED WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG AND RECENTLY WATCHED, ONLY TO FIND OUT YOU DON’T ANYMORE — bold of u to assume i remember my childhood. but if we’re talking last 10 years angust, thongs n perfect snogging is so so cringe

DO YOU COLLECT ANYTHING? — pairs of glasses belonging to other ppl when they break / get new ones even though i can see perfectly well.

WHAT’S SOMETHING YOU WANT TO LEARN MORE ABOUT BUT YOU’RE TOO LAZY? — mythology...... always a craving and a wish i’d read like ancient texts but my school wasn’t good enough to do greek or latin or any of that shit n even tho i could read english translations i cant be bothered. also criminal psychology

THREE LANGUAGES YOU DON’T SPEAK, BUT WISH YOU COULD — italian, french and latin

MOVIE YOU’VE WATCHED MORE THAN 5 TIMES — ladybird, about time, angus thongs, shrek 2, what we do in the shadows, the history boys, atonement, coraline, the breakfast club, ferris bueller’s day off

NAME A FICTIONAL CHARACTER FROM TV/FILM/MOVIE/GAME/BOOK THAT YOU FIND YOURSELF PROJECTING ON / YOU RELATE TO — cecilia lisbon. rue in euphoria. alison brie in glow. adam parrish in the raven cycle. richard papen. olivia cooke’s character in thoroughbreds. allen ginsberg in kill your darlings. lily in sex education. holliday grainger’s character in the film animals --- i too am an aspiring writer who never writes and just gets drunk instead .

DO YOU FOLLOW ANY SPORTS? WHO DO YOU ROOT FOR? — no. cba

HOBBIES BESIDES WASTING AWAY HERE? — i go to the movies basically every day bcos i work in a cinema. im also a voracious reader n i occasionally do theatre or costume making

PLUG A TV SHOW / MOVIE / BOOK / VIDEO GAME / ETC… YOU WISH MORE PEOPLE WOULD CHECK OUT — where the wild things are (film by spike jonze). animals. beats. the book fen by daisy johnson and a girl is a half formed thing by eimar mcbride. andy warhol’s biography from a to b and back again

WHOSE BRAIN WOULD YOU LIKE TO PICK, ALIVE OR DEAD? — phoebe waller-bridge on how i get her life. carey mulligan on how she got to be such a good actress n how i can become her. maybs wes anderson. maybs gillian flynn. i tend to listen to podcasts w the ppl i really wanna pick the brains of.

TEAM EDWARD OR JACOB? — edward :/

LAST MOVIE SEEN IN THEATRE — blinded by the light n i lovd it

DO YOU STILL READ? — when i finished uni i kinda got out of the habit but this week i finished two books so ive set myself the challenge of a book a week.

IF SO, WHAT ARE YOU CURRENTLY READING? — i finished song of achilles yesterday n i also finished call me by your name yesterday. started circe by madeline miller today, im also partway through milkman by anna burns and the plays of annie barker

ON A SCALE OF 1-10, HOW MUCH DID YOU HATE FILLING THIS OUT? – 3 i didnt hate it bcos at heart i am self-indulgent and love fashioning some sense of self when i feel lost in a world that is scary and constantly changing

#wshedtask002

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calebarchived · 5 years ago

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「 alex fitzalan. cis male. 」have you seen caleb montgomery around yet? i hear he decided to be in AUDAX for their SENIOR year as a CHEMISTRY major. the 24 year old SHEPHERD is known to be lighthearted, gregarious, untrustworthy and addictive. ➨ the muse is written by alli. she is 20, in the cst.

tw: drugs tw, abuse tw, internalized/general homophobia tw, addiction tw, rehab tw, car crash tw

I. HISTORY

you open your eyes and the world is new. you have a mother, one who loves you more than words can express, and you know you have a father, though you never see him around. he works, your mother tells you when you are old enough to ask. he works, but that is why she can stay home, raise you alone in your concrete playground. the city is yours, you are one of the demigods in your storybooks. your mother is the essence of beauty, the master of brains. you two make an incredible team. you are gifted, that much had always been clear. but you were also different.

your father doesn’t like different. he makes that clear from the moment he moves in. by now, you are twelve, more than a boy but far less than a man. your father reminds you of this daily. it’s easy to stay out of his way. your mother goes back to work, but you know she loves you, even in her absence. they save lives, your parents. they are modern day superheroes, and that makes you special, too. the son of a legacy, one that will not weigh heavy on your shoulders until the last drop of innocence is sucked from your veins like the ichor your father already stole. he steals everything. you liked it better when he was a myth and not a raging current destroying your home.

you learn rebellion is escapism before the others. you are a troublemaker; daughters are warned to stay away. but you never had much interest in daughters anyway. manhattan is a large city. there is plenty to explore, and you see it all. your first kiss, under the tree in central park, blanketed in snow and shielded by the wind. he is your best friend, and you are eager to grow up too fast. your father doesn’t like the man you’ve become. he knows too much, gave you half of who you are only to strip it away. it turns out you have always been scared of your father, but you know you aren’t a child anymore.

you live a double life. you hide who you are from your family, from yourself. how long has it been since you knew what it was to be sober? there’s a sister now, one your old man doesn’t lay a finger on. you hate her, just like you learned to hate yourself. your mother doesn’t sleep. your father drinks too much. your family is the picture of success. you are so lucky to be a montgomery. the pills taste like candy. the smoke smells like flowers. you are your father’s son. he finds the videos on your computer. your bruises are from the skatepark, from picking fights at school. from lacrosse. your girlfriend meets your family and there is money in the bank.

you don’t touch another boy, but you touch anything else you can get yours hands on. you touch the bottle, you touch the steering wheel of your car. you touch the iv attached to your arm when you wake up in the hospital. god is angry at you. you touch your suitcase, your life entire life packed away. your family doesn’t write you. your mother doesn’t call. this is exile. but this is not freedom. tears do not comfort you, fear will not leave you be. you do not fantasize about growing old. you fantasize about growing young. your watershed moment is waiting. caleb. it whispers. open your eyes. happiness is a false promise.

II. HEAD CANONS

gay and hardly out. his father has his own ideas about who his son should be and this doesn’t fit his mold. the cameras unsettle him for more reasons than one.

local friendly drug dealer and big time fuck up. he parties all the time, practically every day, and makes his living this way.

very outgoing and can talk to a brick wall. also lives his life shrouding feelings with sarcasm and doesn’t let very many people truly IN.

can be very protective of those closest him. not afraid of getting into fights.

spends most of his free time skating or smoking weed

often on or around campus as he sells to both students and staff alike, but hardly ever because he’s attending class. the boy is smart but.. he really should apply himself! ( like he hasn’t heard that one a million times )

terrified of the app. feels like he’s done so much that could be exposed that he could get turned on any minute. leads to trust issues, mostly is only close to those he’s known for quite some time. this doesn’t stop him from enjoying a night out with just about anyone though, but don’t expect him to have Feelings or Care

he has a dog named dog because both caleb and i are equally uncreative. cute of us!

III. WANTED CONNECTIONS

best friends, general fuckup buddies, hoodlums goofin, etc u know the drill

his sister !!! i’m going to make it a wanted connection since it’s so specific bt. love ha!

a guy gang?? they just watch each other play video games and party and send each other shitty memes

old hookups (not gender specific!), ex girlfriends (never anything serious but caleb attempted a lot of relationships), exes to partners in crime, hookups to nemesis, etc??

clients (he sells pretty much anything you could ask for tbh)

skate friends/enemies

party friends/enemies

unlikely friendships, opposites attract scenario

im open to anything! hit my line drake hotling bling dance move

#wshedintro #bio #drugs tw #addiction tw #rehab tw #abuse tw #internalized homophobia tw #homophobia tw #car crash tw #jesus could i include anything else #never realized hw rogue caleb is.#thats showbiz baby!

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flandesuka · 6 years ago

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Yo you should answer all of these scene questions👀👀

:OOO

you think so lad???? shit dawg i was thinkin just a few at a time but if that what u want my dear nonnie i will supply

1. wats ur scene name?

i was thinkin maybe ‘gods mistake’ would be a good one but then. i found a way to make it both danganronpa related, and, even better, a fucking pun as well. ‘kamukura kamukura jasqueen’, or just ‘kamukura jasqueen’ for short is good k thxxx

2. describe ur dream outfit!

oooo gosh this ones trickyy!! there are so many good outfits out there, especially in the scene community!! but it’d have to have a few tiny elements of dr cosplay to add a lil of my dangan-weeb culture in there ofc! more specifically, id really love to get one of kazuichis jumpsuit and just wig out and add shit like this just because i could:

(id just rlly love going out in all those glowy/shiny things at night like all that haha..and yes the shoes would probably kill me/my fuckin feet if i tried to walk in them but shut up i love them theyre cute as fuck)

3. describe ur dream haircut!

oo another tricky one!! i do like my regular hair, and honestly id be lying if i said i didnt love ibuki’s hairdo too but id defs have to go with something like this!!

yaaaassss, so pretty and spikeeeey! maybe id dye my natural hair colour black and/or add some funky colours if i ever actually got this style down!

4. describe ur dream room!

i have a lot of ideas for dream bedrooms actually, but heres a visual image of one of them i found!!!

MIKU ROOM MIKU ROOM MIKU ROOM MIKU ROOM

(this specific idea arose mainly just for the aesthetic but i also find it super cute and a good environment to be in general hhhnnggg)

5. if u could make anything out of kandi, wat would u make?

oh you mean those colourful beads and bracelet things??? i love those man!!! theyre so visually appealing to me aaaaa…id probably just make a fuck-ton of those and most probably use the little letter beads to say random words/phrases like ‘aubergine’ and ‘despacito’ knowing my shitposter self lmaooo! id definitely make a sansmaeda themed one too thoo fr

6. wat would u write on ur shoez?

it’d probably range from things like a simple kaomoji doodle to something randum and stupid like ‘seesaw’ bc yes asjnd

7. wat kinda piercingz/tattooz do u hav/want?

i dont think i rlly want any real piercings (at least not atm) but id totally go for those fake stick-on gemstone lookin’ ones! and as for tattoos, i cant rlly see myself gettin one of those rn either, but id want something like a mario power-up, preferably the bell one/cat suit powerup!!! its my favorite powerup and its sooo cute!!!

8. fave genrez?

i dont rlly have a specific genre, i like most kinds of music, but i rlly like energetic music that i can dance tooo!!! >w

9. fave bandz?

im a big fan of gorillaz and botdf!!! i like p!atd as well but havent listened to it in a while.. gatta catch up loool

10. fave songz?

my favs alternate a lot, but atm im super into ‘slow dancing in the dark’ by joji!!! so much emotiooon quq…also rlly hooked on botdf and jefree star’s ‘sexting’ tooo lmaooo

11. fave lyricz?

‘The world keeps spinning Among this sinning Oh what a cruel and disgusting place The purest moonlight Is bloodied by plight And screaming resonants But somehow I know That it’s all for show The world will reveal it’s true beauty soon And we’ll all reach towards the moon ‘

its so deep but its from a fucking kaito momota fansong and i love that asnkjdnefe

12. hav u evr been to a concert?

not in a damn long while my lad,, rip australians not havin many artists they like from other countries tour there ;-;

13. do u wanna be in a band?

ive always thought thatd be pretty cool ngl!!! tourin around with ur bandmate friends, makin awesome fuckin tunes, people lovin u and ur music, just livin the dream in general,, nice

14. wats da best soda/energy drink flavour?

havent rlly had any as of rn my lad so i wouldnt know :/

15. wat do u miss most abt old internet?

i loved that we could all just be ourselves and act like the kids we are inside without bein reprimanded at all.. it aint rlly that much of an issue for me but i still think itd be a lot nicer if it was like that again sometimes,,

16. wats da best old meme?

ooohhh there are so many i still miss man! numa numa ermagerd and doge still remind me of the glory days…when old animeme was good and you could still haz ur cheezburgers in peace. also rage comics! rage comics were good what happened

17. best place 2 buy clothez?

i dont think theres any hot topics in australia but if there is. i will hunt it down you hear me

18. wat r ur fave accessoriez?

OH THERES SO MANY GOOD ONES??? as i stated b4 i rly love kandi bracelets and other glowy/led things!!! also rlly love ties with cute and fun patterns and long colourful and/or ripped socks like ibuki’s too hehe

19. wats ur best tip fr ppl that just got into scenecore?

im not rlly the best at advice, but my main point would be-just hav fun here dudes!!! dont let anyone else bulli u abt it, we’re supportive people, u can talk to me or anyone else whos willin to listen an/or help for reassurance ofc

20. opinion on furbiez?

oOH MY GOD YES. FURBIES. MY BABIES I WANT 10 OF THESE CHILDREN…I ACTUALLY HAVE A FURBY HE LIKES SLEEPING IN HIS SPECIAL DRAWER AND HIS NAME IS TINGLE I ADORE HIM I’LL POST A OF PICTURE LATER MAYBE

21. opinion on funko popz?

i like em and ive seen lots at eb games, but i dont buy em much..i do have a megaman pop with a broken arm tho loool

22. wats ur fave pattern? (zebra/leopard print etc)

i looove a lot of patterns but not gonna lie im always a sucker for rainbow checkerboard patterns yknow hehe!

23. fave color combo?

i dont have one rlly…soooo many possible comboooos…cx

24. sumthing u liked as a kid dat u still like?

im still going on girlsgogames and recently, ive finally mastered sues beauty machine!!!! its so good and fun all of ya’ll should try it my dudeeees

25. wats ur most used emoticon? 0w0

as most of ya’ll probs alredy know i spam ‘:O’ a lot, but one of my bigger favs is actually ‘x3′ and my fav kaomoji is ‘ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧’ (both of them are so kyooot >w

26. wats ur fav typin quirk?

i luv talkin like dis, but i dont rly do it that often loool…i awso wuv tawking in ‘owo’ speak wike dis >//w//>

27. do u wish ur fllwrz talked 2 u moar?

hellz yeaaa!!! i luv followr interaction my dudee! it makes me super happi when u all talk to me heehee! x3c

28. tag ur fave scene blawgz!

:O !!! oh gawd!!! i dont know many atm but heeereee!

@xxadam-antidotexx (op of the ask meme)

@glitchkichi (not sure if this counts but their stuff’s rlly cool >v

@otonashi-banana (scene boyf…wuv im more than anythin >///w///>

29. wat got u into scenecore?

i dont remember exactly how it happened but i’d always sorta wanted to go back to the glory days that was the old web and the scene era, and that, coupled with a bright, colourful aesthetic that i could really enjoy, drew me in like a moth to a neon colored flame ig looollll

30. how long hav u been scene?

i’ve only been officially apart of the community for about a few months now (at time of writing) i reckon so some things are still a lil new to me ig ^^;;

31. wats da best thing abt being scene?

the freedom of bein able to express myself 4 one thing, and its just so fun being so ‘out-there’ yknow???? it feels so great really

32. do u hav a fursona?

i…actually used to but ive moved on from the furry fandom and ive grown more attached to my human sona anyway sooo :/

33. r u in sum “cringy” fandomz?

YEA man!! i dont rlly think dr is inherently considered ‘cringey’ but undertale is and im in that one for sure!!! i also kinda technically never left the skylanders fandom(?) so theres that too ig??? oh yeah and who wants to let me draw my old moshi monsters characters COWARDS

34. do u liek plushiez?

YASSSS QUEEEN!!!! i have HEAPS of them in my room on my desk with my gonta shrine

35. do u liek stickerz?

also a big yaaassss from me dawggg!!! i love them and i love those ones that you stick on your fase like this!

its so cuuute!!!

36. do u hav a friendproject?

i dont, not at the moment a least, actually! didnt even know what it was til recently but it looks kewl haha

37. do u hav any other scene account?

well, i haz this one, and i also have an emowire account for shuichi if that counts!!

38. do u make art? (drawingz, blingeez, etc.)

YES!!! i love to draw and i also make blingee edits sometimes!!! ITS SO FUN XD !!!

39. wats da most scene thing? (anything!)

hmmm, weeell…i think the most stereotyped thing would be that kewl, suuuper big hair like this;

its really prettyyyy, and i love all that colouuur!!!

40. ask ur own randum question!!

hm, oh wowie, since the anon didnt specifically ask this one…POTATOES!!! X3

phew, finally done, that was a lot of typing! this was so fun to do though, so thank u nonnie!!! :3

#ask #ask meme #scene revival #scenecore #scene kid #scene #anon #oh god what now jasu

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pinkykitten · 6 years ago

Text

Safe and Sound

Marvel

Loki x female! reader

Warning: some violence, 1 curse word

Specifics: angst, romance, man vs man, based off of iw, race neutral reader

People: Loki, you, Brunnhilde, Tony Stark, Pepper Pots, Stephen Strange, Bruce Banner (mentioned), Thor (mentioned), Thanos (mentioned), other Asgardians, Valkyries (mentioned)

Words: 1,825

Requested: By @jinx-is-fire 😢 um so ive been pretty upset because of this so could I have something where Loki lives and goes with Hulk to earth and meets back with the reader and just something that will get me to stop crying everytime someone says Infinity War

Authors Note: i am so sorry that this took me so long to write（>﹏<）please forgive me! im kinda still trying to get all my requests done just pls everyone just be patient with me cuz I AM SO SLOW! i also took an idea of what (i think) the russo brothers said happened to Brunnhilde. i hope u guys like this its my first loki fic and i tried my hardest. so pls feedback is much appreciated, thnx and enjoy!

“No Loki...I won’t leave you,” tears streaming down your face. Your hands grasping on tightly to Loki, your significant other, shoulders.

Asgard was destroyed, but you and a couple of others had rescued the people of Asgard. As you all were heading to your new home, Earth, an unknown ship appeared. When you all figured out it was the most powerful enemy known to mankind, Thanos, the whole ship was chaos. Many Asgardians sending distress calls to anyone who would listen. Children scared and sobbing, afraid, mothers trying to soothe them, but you knew they were also in fear. Some wanted to fight, but you and almost everyone on that ship knew Thanos could kill everyone. Thor gave an idea that a few people, because of the only few mini ships they had, could escape, so that Thanos would not wipe out all of Asgard. Brunnhilde was the leader of helping some Asgardians escape. Ushering and sending orders.

“Y/n...listen to me. You need to get off this ship, if you stay you will die,” Loki whispered to you, he tried to sound strong but you noticed his hands were shaking. His hands were placed on your cheeks, wiping the tears away.

“I don’t want to leave without you. What if-,” you swallowed a sob. “What if you get killed, Loki? What will I do without you?”

Loki chuckled, “Love, you do realize who you are talking to, right?”

“Loki this isn’t a game! The most ruthless being is outside this ship as we speak and you want to joke about it!”

Just then a loud bang was heard, and all the Asgardians ran around panicking. Thor sent out a few warriors to go fight and see the commotion.

“They’re here,” you breathed.

“My darling...you need to leave now. Please, listen to me,” Loki raised his voice, pushing you to Brunnhilde’s side.

“NO! Loki, please, I can’t leave you. We are one! If you die so will I! I can’t let you fight by yourself.”

“My love...there is no other way. Remember our time together,” Loki gently lifted your hand and laced his fingers with yours. “Remember us laughing, remember us crying, remember our magnificent love. For if I was any good enough for a second chance, we shall meet in Valhalla.”

“I love you Loki,” you sob as you embrace him, and kiss him goodbye. You put your forehead together with his and whisper, “may we meet in Valhalla.”

Brunnhilde sprinted to your side and grabbed you by the shoulders, “Alright y/n, its time to get it.”

You walked side by side with her and looked back to see Loki. Loki looked lost as his puppy eyes stared at you. He looked as if he wanted to shout your name so as you could rejoin him. He looked as if he would never see you again, that all that he is about to fight for is for nothing. It was as if his heart was taken away, ripped right through his chest.

“Goodbye...my darling,” Loki whispered and ran the opposite direction.

You were led to a tight ship, filled with many Asgardians. The ship started and all of you blasted away to a destination. You sat next to Brunnhilde to help her pilot the ship. You turned around to see if maybe you could spot Loki but all you saw was destruction. More tears came out like a waterfall. Deep in your heart you knew that you were to never see Loki again.

You straighten your posture and put your focus to the space in front of you. “Where are we going now?”

“Earth,” Brunnhilde said, tears also coming out of her eyes. You could hear a slight sniffling coming from her. “We need to warn the midgardians about Thanos.”

“I think they might already know.”

As your rescue ship heads towards Earth, the Asgardian ship suddenly explodes.

“NO! No...this can’t be happening! Please tell me he’s okay, that he escaped,” you asked to everyone, searching for a reassuring answer that he was fine, that he did make it out. But everyone just gave you a saddened look, all hope vanished, sucked out of the room. All the tears you tried to keep in suddenly rushed out. Your sobs were the only noise in the ship. You could tell some felt bad for you. The floor was covered in your own depressing tears, all of life that moment was ripped out of you. The moment that Loki died a piece of you went with him.

You stood up, your hands turning into violent knuckles. Your nails digging harshly into your skin, blood being created from that. “I will avenge you Loki Odinson, god of mischief,” you paused to cry some more, “my...god...my...love...I will avenge your death. I will make sure all those who hurt you pay.”

Brunnhilde nodded and set the ship to Earth. After the enemy.

You all landed on Earth more towards the city and to Tony Stark to warn him about Thanos. You wanted to hear his plan and if he didn’t have one then you would discuss something with him. To save humanity.

“Thank you Brunnhilde. But just as Thor ordered you and trusted you to protect the Asgardians...I am going to go my own way-”

Brunnhilde interrupted, “Y/n, I understand you are sad and scared because...I am too. All my nightmares are coming true and I don’t know what to do-”

You brought her to you and hugged her tightly. The hug in your mind was from Thor, Bruce, and all those Valkyries who were watching her from Valhalla and cheering her on. Your tears fell on her shoulder.

“Yes...Brunnhilde...I am scared, in fact I have never been more frightened than this. But these people, now your people, are more scared. They trust you and you are their only hope. I trust you, girl, you got this. You are the most incredible fighter I have ever seen. Keep that in your heart and use it. Try to find a hide out and keep them,” you say as you point to the Asgardians. “Safe. Protect them with your life...my friend...Brunnhilde.”

She nodded, and announced to the others to follow her to safety.

“I do hope to see you again, y/n.”

You bid your goodbye and left.

You called Tony and met up with him. You felt so bad to interrupt his non-violent life for the time. He was trying you can tell to be normal to focus on his life rather than others.

“Hey Tony,” you waved and try to give a smile, but it backfired on you. Your face was written with worry. “I heard the famous Tony Stark has gotten engaged you chuckled. At least a little sunshine, a little good news came out of this reunion. “It was about dam* time. Wish I could of seen it.”

Tony gave you his millionaire smile seeing you, his long time friend. You were by his side since Loki tried to take down New York. “It's really good to see you too, y/n.”

You went to pepper and gave her a hug as well as Tony. “You guys look...happy…,” you said feeling guilty.

“Y/n, what's wrong,” Pepper asked panic setting in.

“Great y/n, you’re ruining their lives,” you thought to yourself.

“Oh, guys, I don’t even know where to start,” you began sobbing over again. Your knees meeting the soft green grass of the park. “Thor, and Loki, and the ship, and Brunnhilde, and Bruce. I tried, they’re gone, I was so scared, I just,” you realized you were currently have a panic attack. Everything now was starting to affect you mentally. You all were going to die. There was no way out of this. Your breathing was heavy and you felt you were being suffocated. The world was getting tinier, darker.

“Y/n,” Tony got down to you. “Y/n, you have to breathe for me. Come on breathe for me, please.”

You started to do breathing exercises with Tony. Those breathing exercises would come handy, you just knew it. Finally, you got control of yourself to be in a normal state.

“I’m sorry, its just. I feel so empty, and lost.”

Tony hugged you and suddenly Dr. Strange appeared. He told both you and Tony to go with him, because he had to show you two something.

You were more nervous to find out if this something that Stephen wanted to show you guys was another pile of bad news.

As you walked into the portal that Strange created with his string ring you saw Bruce.

“Bruce,” you shouted as you sprinted towards him. Greeting him with a rough embrace.

“Hey y/n, good to see you too. Are you okay?”

Your arms, still wrapped tightly around his shoulders, squeezed tighter, “No, I’m not okay. But I’m happy you’re alive, was there any chance that maybe…”

You stopped hugging Bruce and returned your hands to your sides. You knew that Loki would not be alive. It was just pointless asking.

“Now why the long face,” came a familiar soft voice.

You lifted your head and turned around seeing the one and only Loki.

“Loki!”

Running as fast as your legs could take you, you hopped right onto him. You and Loki fell back and you hugged him the hardest ever. You were like a snake, your arms were aching from all the strength you put. You were just so overjoyed to see him here, alive, with you.

“Oh my god, I thought I would never see you again. I was frightened Loki, I was so scared that you had died. But now you’re here, alive, its, it's a miracle my love!”

“Oh my dear sweet darling, I am terribly sorry to have you frightened. All I wanted to do was keep you safe and sound. My heart broke in two when I saw you weeping, I also weeped.”

You cried some more, having your bodies against each other. To hear and feel his heartbeat was incredibly comforting and in his arms you felt safe.

Loki wiped your tears away and kissed lightly your cheeks, “Oh my love, please don’t cry. I hate to see you in such a state.”

“Loki, I’m just so happy to see you alive. I thought you were gone and now my life, my world you’re here. I never want to be away from you again. We fight Loki...together,” you declared lacing your fingers with his pale white fingers.

“My job, love, is to always protect you. Without that what good am I?” “I will protect you as well Loki, with every fiber of my body I will protect you...I love you so much Loki,” you embraced him again.

“As do I love you, sweetheart. Forever,” Loki whispered as he kissed you. A passionate kiss that set your whole body in flames. Now you and Loki would have to prepare yourselves for the battle. The battle of Thanos.

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lovebunnie · 6 years ago

Note

Do them all nerd

1. meaning behind my url?

- i like venom and symbrock (veddie) is good

2. a pisture of me

- people get creepy with pics of me (plus u know what i look like already) so have uh this?

i look like this

3. how many tattoos do i have and what do they look like?

- i dont have any (yet) but i really love tattoo culture

4. last time i cried and why

- i was looking at cats that needed to be adopted online and they all are….. so cuuute

5. piercings i have

- i dont have any :p

6. favorite band?

- gorillaz

7. buggest turn offs

- if you make rude jokes ill immediately be annoyed with you (twitch humor)

8. top 5 (insert item)

- well since u didnt do it ill do top 5.. numbers..

420, 69, 666, 0, 👌

9. tattoos i want

- i want some roses, maybe some song lyrics and some special pieces drawn by the artist because i love artists expressing themselves

10. biggest turn ons

- im babby but also hand holding

11. age?

- im 18

12. ideas of a perfect date

- ive said before that i want my first date to be to a build a bear because thats CUTE we make bears for each other

13. life goal?

- i want to one day give a ted talk

14. piercings i want

- not really what i want but i actually really love gauges and septums because im gay and goth

15. relationship status?

- absolutely not dating anyone and pining over like 5 people

16. favorite movie?

- dead poets society

17. a fact about my life

- i had a half brother i didnt know was a half brother until i was 15 years old lmao

18. phobia?

- throwing up

19. middle name?

- it starts with an ‘m’ but thats all ill say

20. height?

- i havent gotten measured since like 8th grade so last time i checked i was 5 2 but honestly i dont know

21. are u a virgin?

- have u seen me and my content? of course i am

22. whats your shoe size?

- 7.5 or 8 depending on the brand

23. whats your sexual orientation?

- im bisexual :3

24. do you smoke, drink, or take any drugs?

- no because im not cool enough to get them and also my family is full of addicts so if i start itll most likely kill me

25. someone you miss?

- every single person i met at camp (ian and rivers and connor and jared but theyre the ones i have tumblrs from) i love them dearly and i cant wait until the summer to see them again

26. whats one thing you regret?

- i wish i did more theater because i honestly really enjoy it

27. first celebrity you think of when someone says attractive?

- jake gyllenhaal (followed closely by hugh dancy and megan fox)

28. favorite ice cream?

- turkey hill mint chocolate chip

29. one insecurity?

- my face looks like a pizza i have such nasty skin

30. what my last text message says

- fun fact but if u know me youll know im the absolute worst at responding to messages, i didnt text my grandma back so much my dad threatened to throw my phone in a ‘fucking lake’ (his words) but anyway it was to my friend seb and it said “yeah just me being a pretentious fool as usual” talking about my twitter

31. have you ever taken a picture naked?

- absolutely NOT lmao who would i send it to my english class gc?

32. have you ever painted your room?

- my old room in maryland yeah, we painted it light blue

33. have you ever kissed a member of the same sex?

- i havent had my first kiss yet whoops

34. have you ever slept naked?

- HELL NO my cat steps on me in my sleep

35. have you ever danced in front of your mirror?

- literally everyday it makes me really happy and its fun and im not apologizing

36. have you ever had a crush?

- i dont think ive ever not had a crush like deadass

37. have you ever been dumped?

- no ive only really dated one person

38. have you ever stole money from a friend?

- no all my friends are broke like me we suffer together like champs

39. have you ever gotten into a car with people you just met?

- god fucking NEVER all my closest friends live away from me and are gay so none of us can drive (yet. connor is getting there) but yeah no i dont even trust my brother to drive me

40. have you ever been in a fist fight?

- no but id win because my muscles are so huge

41. have you ever snuck out of your house?

- no i live in the middle of no where. i could walk to food loin or burger king if i wanted to but i dont. so no. im asleep at 8:30

42. have you ever had feelings for someone who didnt feel them back?

- literally all the time, i like people who will never like me back

43. have you ever been arrested?

- no im a rule follower

44. have you ever made out with a stranger?

- see question #33

45. have you ever met up with a member of the opposite sex somewhere?

- like in secret? no. but as friends? yes.

46. have you ever left your house without telling your parents?

- accidentally yes and when they tell me they were worried i cry in shame

47. have you ever had a crush on your neighbor?

- i think back in elementary school i had a crush on a neighbor boy. he was a lax bro and i think liked me back even if i was 2 years older than him

48. have you ever ditched school to do something more fun?

- no and actually, last year i had gone the whole time without missing a single day so my mom and i went into the city and i asked to go home to finish homework and my mom called me a nerd :(

49. have you ever slept in a bed with a member of the same sex?

- that has never come out, no

50. have you ever seen someone die?

- ive been watching our country die for years

okay im only doing half because im literally falling asleep i might finish the other half if u want me to

#g0bbleb0ners #this took forever #im literally falling asleep as i type this

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kuppakoopa · 6 years ago

Text

Pen Flipper Extraordinaire

Ao3 Mirror

Tim flips a pen between his fingers. He learned it as a trick from Ives to quote, “Impress the ladies, Tim.” He never got around to actually showing Steph (their dating was comprised heavily of fighting against hordes of grunts who were not going to stop attacking because he had a cool pen trick to show his girlfriend). Considering Tam was still ultra pissed at him for faking her dad’s death, he didn’t have anyone to show it to. Showing it off to Steph would be pretty lame now, but Cass might get a laugh out of it...

“Mr. Wayne,” Lex Luthor intones, “if you’d deign to pay attention to the dealing concerning millions of dollars.”

“I am, Mr. Luthor,” he smiles the fakest smile he’d ever smiled. It was a shame his pen trick was wasted on this stale boring meeting with a stale boring man.

Luthor sniffs like his teacher Mr. Owens who always assumed he wasn’t listening and he didn’t understand what he was doing. Mr. Owens was overbearing and self righteous man; Tim listened enough and he understood enough to get an A in the class despite the U for Unsatisfactory on his report card. Eat your heart out, Mr. Owens. Look at him, now; he was an unhappy seventeen year old dropout at a confidential meeting with the only person in the world who hates Superman’s guts. A meeting he only half understands because Bruce didn’t teach him how to be a CEO for all the training he jammed into 6 months. It is a small mercy he fully understands all the blatant attempts at manipulation from Luthor because you didn’t become a Bat without being soaked in manipulation, intentional or not.

“Timothy,” Luthor said, as if he was repeating himself.

“Yes, Alexander, I heard you the first time.” He didn’t, but Luthor could stuff it. “I thought you might be following up with a point of some kind.”

Luthor purses his lips. “Yes, of course,” he says with palpable hate. “It would be a revolution in water filtration; something that Gotham desperately needs in the wake of all the hoodlums attacking her. Gases and toxins of all sort poisoning children and loved ones.”

Ha, like the poisons are going to do anything to anybody. Local Gothamites are practically immune at this point. Anyways, Waynetech already had a filtration system. Of course, Luthor lives in Metropolis. As a rule, Metropolitans knew zero things about Gotham.

“It’s impressive technology,” Tim says because he could admit it is good tech and he is a sociable host. “The bluetooth release of purification chemicals is amazing, really. Everything’s got to be connected to the Internet these days. Otherwise, how would we function as a society. We’ll buy it.”

Luthor’s eyes sharpen. “If you were listening, Tim-”

Tim arches an eyebrow so hard that it might go flying off of his face. What was it with supervillains and his first name. There are boundaries.

“-Mr. Wayne,” Luthor continues wisely, “you would know this product is not for sale. It is merely Lexcorp’s magnanimous offer to Wayne Tech to distribute and install this, as you said, impressive technology throughout this needy city.”

Yeah, sure, he was going to allow Luthor Corps to install anything in Gotham, especially a water filter paired with timed substance release using wireless controls. Tim’s ninety-nine percent sure this is a deal Wayne Tech has already refused and Luthor is trying to push it forward through the weak link, him. (Tim is offended. Look, he hasn’t taken any business classes but he’s heard enough plans about poisoning cities to know how they work.)

“The city will be incredibly thankful for your contribution; an invaluable image booster for a young, up and coming CEO as yourself.” Ha, young. He looked in the mirror this morning and he had a gray hair. Soon, he’ll be rocking the Jason Todd look. “In addition, it would be a wonderful bridge between our megacorporations.”

“A step,” Luthor says, “your father never took.”

The pen clatters to the table as Tim’s open grin becomes two upturned lips pressing together. Recovering, he snatches the pen back from the table in a too tight fist. He teeters the pen at a slower pace across his knuckles.

“Yeah, well, you know Wayne Senior,” Tim chuckles. “Business wasn’t-” Should that be isn’t? Bruce is alive, after all.“-isn’t his preferred sport.” “He likes polo.” He’s never actually seen Bruce play polo but it’s Brucie’s go to hobby. A stereotypical hobby for the Gotham elite. It wasn’t really his dad’s thing, though. He was more of a football man. Not that it was relevant to the very important conversation he was having about the fate of Gotham’s water supply. Get your head in the game, Drake. Tim exhales through his nose and gets the rhythm back in his pen flipping. “Anyhow, I know he wasn’t much of a step taker in the business world.”

“An understatement,” Luthor says with a rueful smile. “Will you be different?”

Tim cobbles together businessman-ese in his head. “Although your offer is incredibly generous, you do understand my hesitance in letting a… strong company, like your own, control infrastructure like water filtration. This is a Wayne city.”

Luthor gives Tim a onceover with a raise of his eyebrows. He snorts and inclines his head. Of course, it would be territoriality that garnered him respect from this guy. The scrutiny reminds him uncomfortably of Ra’s. “It is understandable. What if we do a test run on a portion of Gotham?”

“Hmmmm,” Tim says, “we here at Wayne Enterprises, at Gotham, would be grateful to have your technology. You are correct; the quality of water here is less than pristine.”

Luthor’s eyes glimmer. “However, as they say, give a man a fish, feed him for a day, but teach a man how to fish and he will never be hungry again.” Luthor’s smile dropped considerably. “Would you be amicable to collaborating with Waynetech in developing this project before implementing it? We can offer considerable funding and an extensive infrastructure R&D. We know Gotham.” Either Luthor backs off or he lets Tim in on his little ‘poison all Gothamites’ project.

Luthor’s eyes, which apparently are the windows to his soul or the mood ring to his heart because they broadcast his every emotion, turn cold and his nose wrinkles in distaste. The silence extends broken only by the faint sound of his pen moving across his hand.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Wayne, our labs and our technology are notoriously private. I’m afraid Lexcorp refuses and given your trepidation at this moment, has removed the offer for your convenience.” Awww, Luthor doesn’t like to share. The ‘at this moment’ was suspicious. Tim bets a hundred bucks that a mysterious poison finds itself in Gotham pipelines next month.

“Thank you for arranging this meeting, Mr. Luthor. It was a pleasure seeing you again.” It really wasn’t. Tim couldn’t even tell Kon about this meeting without violating a thousand NDA’s. Luthor’s nostrils recoil in defense as Tim puts down his pen and extends his hand. Apparently, he is allergic to niceties, even to fellow CEOs. Given that he hates Superman and the thing Conner has said about him curing his sister of a chronic disease and then making her sick again, Tim is not surprised.

After Luthor gets over himself and smoothes his face into condescending placidity, they have a nice, firm business handshake. Luthor’s hand is average for a civilian: a few light calluses, warm, and dry. It’s funny for how for all the limitations humanity has, the terrible person capacity doesn’t seem to have a cap; he tucks his sardonic smirk at the thought into a cordial smile. “Have a nice afternoon, Mr. Luthor.” “You as well, Wayne,” Luthor replies because he has to get the last word.

Mercy, ever the silent bodyguard, walks Luthor out. Tim watches Luthor get into his car and be chauffeured off back to Metropolis through the clear glass of the skyscraper wall. He collapses into his spinny, cushioned CEO chair and sighs. Business sucks.

#tim drake #lex luthor #red robin #batman #the lex poisoning his sister thing is from adventure comics vol 2 issue 6 #the water filter poison thing is a plot from something else #i dont remember what #hit me up if u know #kuppafic #kuppapost

36 notes · View notes

lookingforhappy · 2 years ago

Text

oh god don't even with the checkovs gun stuf !! five's butterfly knife got soooo much promotion and we saw it once!

putting this under a read more bc yea this is becoming a beast lol

i think the Dublin thing is too specific and most people will know that not everyone is gonna come from the capital of their country. tho someone should tell the writers this since we've had London, Seoul and Moscow holy shit why are they all capital cities??? no i think fanon is more open to smaller communities/obscure towns - also side note, why would the newspaper describe efa's town as "a small seaside community" if its Dublin?? - like i havent seen anyone say Diego is from Mexico City.

i do think the Dublin thing came from the sticker on his suitcase, which, yeah i still think thats a hint to him getting spectacularly drunk at the wedding (that and the commish were his only plot points this season tbh)

i had a classmate called Niamh so see ur point. (lol im UK too! plus irish ancestry but ive only ever been there as a baby!)

it may have been simplified for the sake of legibility but i don't really see the point of it if they just.. never say the name. The majority of the audience likely doesn't even know she has a name! I had to go searching thru screencaps and imdb pages to figure it out and thats only bc im interested lol

idk i dont want to dismiss this out of hand but there are plenty of other shows that have irish names that are hard to pronounce (i think its Succession that has a Siobhan?) and isn't there a lot of americans who are descended from irish immigrants and like irish names anyway? (i may be misinformed here)

plus this is such a minor character that the name is entirely made up for the show - why not pick something thats easier to pronounce (derry girls has a shit load of irish names, Erin, Orla, Maeve, Deirdre, Maureen, etc etc) and also recognisable as an irish name? idk i feel like theres a simpler fix here? rather than the roundabout phonetic route?

actually the writers aren't particularly logical are they. i'll give you that one lol

hmm "known as Efa to friends and family" is odd since that's supposedly just her name but then I don't see why they'd A) use Efa as a nickname to Aoife when they're pronounced very similarly and spelled completely different, B) list her name as Efa on IMDb if her real name is Aoife??

wtf is Efa supposed to be short for tho?? unless she goes by her middle name or a hyphenated name like Sarah-Beth. that might be it

i agree the props and the research was defo rushed or just not cared abt (its a scene that lasts less than a second, casual viewers won't care). tbh thats kinda what i blame most of the weirdness on when it comes to the newspapers (i think they said uhhh "carnivorous costumers" instead of "carnivorous customers" so thats the kind of quality im expecting)

i dont really trust the writers enough to bring the mothers back. we were graced with so much info in one ep and klaus got half of a plotline around his mom before the writers got bored and moved onto other things (fair enough tbh theres not much u can do with the moms). i THINK bens mom might be expanded upon bc hes in seoul and shes the only one we dont know the name of. but none of the actresses are big name (rachel maybe since she's tom hoppers wife but that felt more like a cameo than anything else) and theyre all swept under the rug really quick. if we do get more on the mothers i will be ecstatic but idk

theres a shit ton of plot points i want to be explored further - the swedes, the cult, wtf was up with human grace where did she go, the jennifer incident, how did reg know abt the apocalypse way back in s1, what was he gonna say to klaus before he got yeeted back to life in the club, dave??? dave?!?! is he alive??? - but are they gonna get answered? theyve already written themselves into a corner with reginald and his weird ass oblivion vs apocalypse plot lines so my confidence in the writers to pull off a checkovs gun or really any of their plotlines in one season is uhh low. to say the least

anyone: Five is Irish! me, knowing that "Efa" is a Welsh name, and "Aoife" is the Irish variant:

#all my usa knowledge comes from media and fics #and sometimes my dad bc he works/travels around with an american company #i also have very little knowledge on ireland and wales tbh #didnt know abt the potato famine until i played among us with an irish guy so #but i did take media and english in sixth form so i permit myself to talk shit abt movies and stuff lol #also sorry for the late reply lol ik its like midnight now #long post #five hargreeves #irish v welsh five

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hxh-secretsanta-2017 · 7 years ago

Text

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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some-bitch-named-destyni · 7 years ago

Text

his name....is not finn.

at like 2:40 a.m. i meet a guy on grindr. this guy hits on me in the typically angry and abrasive fashion i have designed my profile to solicit from men of a certain variety, and so we get to talking then wind up on camera, me expecting the same shit as usual....in between midnight meeting with strange men in unknown and unsafe places, i get my need to self destruct and overcome the mind numbing boredom of sociopathic lack of fear satisfied by getting even more men off over the internet on camera... and then, last night happened.

his name, is not finn.

its robert. but he gies by finn. finn has four les pauls, recording machines...the works an entire worling fucking studio. lives in middle tennesse but has been to atlanta many times bc HE ACTUALLY PLAYS MUSIC MIDTOWN EVERY YEAR SINCE 2013 im watching the shit behind him on camera, the house hes in, the guitars on the walls, the records hanging around the cords and amps and pedals... and hes alone. he lives alone, its his place. FINN IS 23. thats all. 23. he got into it all, along with a little band that came from Knoxville tennessee in 2009 named 10 Years...who if u follow rock, u have to know. this is a massivelt succsesfull mainstream alternative rock act. one of my favorite bands.

so here we are.

its five a.m. were still talking, not fucking.

about music and art and finns ideas on sexuality not being real.

odd for someone whos telling me they wanna grudge fuck me bc i have extintential philosophers words tattoos up my arm, and then jump from a well worded rape fanatasy back to intellectual artistic expresssionary approach debate and metjod, use, deploymwnt methods and how they more prolifically provide correct walls of sound they assail the sensations of emotions in pattern sufficient to stimulate a response.

and were talking, then its almost six.

finn has to leave for "work" soon.

hes recording one of the three bands he plays in this a.m.

here i am, on cam talking like were actually getting to know, and enjoy knowing who each other are, with this man

a sound engineer for 10 Years touring company.

Actually. what the actual fuck is happening right now.

he looks like youd expect, having seen these guys on t.v and all, hes tall...6'1 not super tall but taller.

hes stocky and has bushy curly short hair and a clean face, complete with black shirts, wrist bands, leather vest/whatever material that is... the typical rock guy look. and youngish. p young looking yeah.

and i could see it all his house was fucking unreal the shit in that house, the music, drum sets . bass processors, computers studio monitors mic stands... and just i forgot about itnall speaking to him for three and a half hours bc he thinks so fucking different from anyone ive met before him. completely challanges every basic assumption of society that he can.

but then has the self discipline to make this all happen by his age. has the real world common sence, the extraverted thinking to handle the nessesary tedium that makes it possible for this creative energy to become something, and be used and marketed and produce a way to live for himself.

he confounds me sideways. these two opposite people, one part myself, one part my opposite???

i almost tell myself he wants it worse then i do, but thats not it, it cant be it. id die for it.

i would do anything. id give anything, go anywhere, crawl to china. id lose anything, live anything, repeat this entire awful miserable unbearable horrific life ive had three times for it.

id do anything anything id go to the ends of the earth id forsake anyone, id suffer any loss to get just a moment of chance

a moment a single opportunity is all id need and i would light a fucking fire so large it would blind everyone involved.

so yeah i want this sound in my head out, and onto an album just as bad as him or anyone so its not that he wants it worse.

so what then? why is this kid able to be me, and then some...and also not be me enough to actually be living the life he is already?

is it bc its not real? is that it? make me feel better. tell me that i am valid since im tragic enough to

have this incredible talent and yet at the same time have it come from something inside so FUCKED that having it means never being known, never heard, never shine bright like the fact of my creative passion could, and be unlived, then die never having spoken to the world like i should have could have would have

bc im valid so. bc im better. make me feel better. tell me its bc i am REALLY fucked. not pretend fucked for the sake of fashion in rock. not forced or mimiced or copied. and thats what he is right bc if not he wouldnt be well enough to make this happen.

but then, i know its a lie.

i wanna believe it, but i know its a lie. a beautiful, perfect lie. bc i know if i got the part out of the way that cripples me, id still have the rest to write from and create from. and still be capable of what i have been since birth.

so...im lazy? am i lazy? internally, mentally lazy? like or just for aomeone who loves to take pride in their pain, am unable to take the pain of change inside that facilitates the construction of a life like finns... what is it? do i just watch finn now and wait for a secret thats never coming?

I HAVE A DREAM. A NIGHTMARE. ALL MY LIFE I HAVE HAD IT OVER AND OVER. IN IT I AM 70 YEARS OLD , THO ILL NEVER REALLY MAKE IT TO THAT AGE, THE IDEA REMAINS THAT MY LIFE HAS COME AND GONE AND IM GREY AND WRINKLED AND LIEING DOWN AS I GASP FOR BREATH AND THEN I SEE AROUND MY BODY FROM ABOVE

im alone. poor. broke. in beggars clothes. in the gutter, in the filthy city streets, in the cold in winter. im that homeless decay you pass for the smell and then i die there. and thats it. thats what i let happen. i let this go on unti, i ran out of time to change it, and i never did a rhing. never made it, never finally got the shit insode out, never began to burn bright, never started playing live, never recorded, never anything. the thing inside i have that i alone see the magnitude of, and would only have ever really shown to anyone through true sucsess, it never MEANT A F U C K I N G T H I N G A T A L L

now in this mornings call with finn, i begin to see that dream take shape in my reality. soon. its creeping with an slythe above its shoulder just behind me. im here alone like this. deluding myself that this little computer screen is somehow a substitute for a real relationship, delluding myself that i actually am this sad imaginary projection i want to be lercieved as in this fake little digital world. making due with this as if its even happening for real . as of anyone or any idea on this small machine in my lap is life, or love, or me, or actual.

but here where my body is, where i cant take a good picture of me to hide my age, where my personality disorders are, where i am weird and different , where i am an addict, where i am unconventional and do things others wont want near them bcmof the risk i bring to myself, where my body is. my real body .... here there is not a fucking person with or like me. i have some temporary help as i stumble foolishly through my fucked circumstamce from my family, that ofc is going aay everyday, as that nightmare i mentioned begins to take shape. bc they gonna die before me unless i take my death into my oen hands and then that nightmare i have will have shaped fully and begin looking me in the eyes.

so, here i am. 10 a.m.

fuck this guy.

hes sexy, he wants me, and hes my type as in in another life serious boyfriend material . no kids, no phobics, trans or homo, no issues seeing me as who i am, and then also my creative and intellectual counterpart. and hes not very far like a w hour drive. and alllllllll so it makes it feel odd bc he seems like the worst thing for me, that only this situation would develope the addition of feelings have no room for amidst my chaos... i need to be LESS in romance with ppl not fucking MORE... or have someone else establish those feelings for me either just either way..bad idea. and so fuck him

mean it fuck this guy.

fuck this finn, robert whatever and fuck his life

fuck his guitars.

like i needed this shit? i needed to see this? needed to know him? or to have him that, weird weird convo for that long ...the longest ive spoken to someone new in years at once , and not even wind up wanting me for a nut before he got off the vam etc... just fuck this shit.

but not that it seems like that with him, im a combo of not romantic at all, and already emotionally spoken for HARDCORE by aomeone i am trying and fightimg with all i can to stop, STOP being romantically attached to.. so.. no new fucked romance crap for me please. i mention it bc it seems like what happens to me usially, and for no other reason then that.

but as for what i am SURE OF WITH FINN..for tnat... F U C K him

reminding me that im more then shit, reminding me that im throwing away things thousands of people never get to have or would kil, to be able to do like i can. remininding me that im more then this 4 a.m. methamphetamine induced desperate attempt to distract myself from throwing myself away, and relive the pain again, once more, one ,ore gimme one more time always...always need one more sex session where i live out how my father never loved or accepted or appreciated me in my own head again, and keep that defining pain in Clear FUCKING FOCUS FOREVER. KEEP IT HERE. KEEP THAT PAIN HERE. RIGHT IN MY ARMS, CRADLE IT, CLOSE TO MY CHEST, CLOSE TO MY HEART , EMBRACE FEED NURTURE IT GROW IT, LET ITS POISON VINES GROW INTO MY SKIN AND FEED ME FILTH HAPPILY, always one more man, one more moment of disrespect, one more instamce of debasing myself to remind me why i ket myself almost die in a hospital last winter, why ill be sleeping in the cold wind again before spring, and why ill never walk right again or run at all. why im this old and sti,, here, remind me why im trapped by my that talent im so thoughtlessly wasting daily, and...

finn reminds me. fuck him.

he reminds me im doing it , in at least part, by choice.

he takes my excuse away. takes away my escape.

lies, inside lies, inside lies..... finn shows up at 3 a.m. when ur only awake to do things like throw away potential of this magnitude and destroy your human body.

invades my momemt of distraction from the truth of how responsible i really am for this now, and reminds me that

its still out there. the chance i wanted, the opportunity to get the music out and realize that potential ratner then become that 25 year nightmare i have in my future currently...

tne hope, the possibility, the chance to burn finally

burn bright like a star, and shine so hard i can be seen for miles and miles by millions of people

its stil, out there.

fuck finn. i didnt need to remember that.

bc i am what i predict, i am what i know i will do. i am what i will and i dont have that other thing he does. common sense, extraverted thinking, strength to rid myself the demons so i can at least get it going. i dont have it, and im to terrified to let go the crutch ive found that gets me by with the maniac mind i carry and endure. i am not him, and i can not gather the strength to face the world without my crutch so i can then rise to the talent i toss in the trash more each day. i wont even consider it. its all ive got here. its all ive found through all this bullshit life thats made it even half way tolerable. and weather for my own better, weather i be to weak to sacrafice, weather i be to cowardice to dare to even attempt, or be to patnetic to for once FOR ONE TIME TAKE SOME PAIN FOR MY BENEFIT RATHER THEN MY DESTRUCTION.... even if its all true and i am very very responsible for how this hapoens here...

its ok.

bc that just makes me real right? and ive got that. and ill have it now, the rest of the way, to finish the ride,

all of the ride. ill have it. the truth, il. have that i was so cursed and gifted by the same thing that it overcame itself in me

and il. have that genuine authenticity, il. have that close as i finish this ride. the rest of the way.

all of the way.

all the

FuCkINg wAy DOWN

down down down down the only place im gonna go

and il. see finn from underneath, and everyone else who heard of or knew me from below

where i will burn in hell

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