#dystopian urban fantasy

[acourtofquestions]

Does anyone else think Sabrina Carpenters style gives Bryce Quinlan vibes?

[ofdinosanddais1]

So I'm writing the first chapter of my untitled dystopian urban fantasy and I realized it's just me creatively venting about my suicidal thoughts amongst a capitalist hellscape.

[hellsgate-roadhouse]

📺 📺📺📺📺📺📺📺📺📺📺📺📺📺📺

[whereserpentswalk]

Somewhere out there within the dark woods of somewhere or another, in days some time past, there was a town. And that town worshipped one god, and that god was a hole.

Yes, a massive hole, at the center of their town. Deep and dark, perhaps leading all the way down to oblivion. Some people said the god lived at the bottom of the hole, others said that the god was the hole itself, or even the shadows that lay within. They had no temples, no alters, only the hole. And the hole of the hole demanded things of them. It was hungry, strangely hungry. It did not have sacfices, it demanded tribute. Taxes in a way. People would scrounge up what little money they had for the hole, and the hole promised back that it would give them good things in return.

There were those who warned them of the hole. The cryptids of the dark forest, and the occultists and demon hunters, and even the deep ones that lay in the dark ocean and the scaled men of the forgotten ruins. But the townsfolk didn't listen, the hole made them feel good. It felt good to give it money. And even though they never exactly saw how the hole must have been helping them. How could it not be helping them if they had given it so much. And soon the hole banished all supernatural things but itself, and the people said the hole was making them safe.

And soon the hole was bigger. What was once the size of a well had grown to being big enough to consume a house. And soon the town changed, the hole began to be its center, the entire town shifted so that all public life was around the hole. And soon those who didn't like the hole, or who questioned it, where seen as evil or strange people, greedy for not wanting to give the hole their money, they were seen as selfish and entitled, entitled to all the hole's benefits without paying their share. It was a tragedy when someone grew up to move out of the town and not follow the hole.

And soon the hole had more and more demands. And everyone listened as it grew larger and larger. Soon it didn't want money, it wanted things too, televisions, automobiles, books, family relics, grandma's ashes, works of art, perhaps even beloved pets. And it became taboo not just to question it, but to feel sad when you lost something to the hole. You couldn't say you missed it, or replace it too soon, the hole wanted you to not have it, you were so obviously wrong to miss it. You didn't just have to give to the hole, you had to understand that it was improving your life.

There was a movement of young people, who wanted to get rid of the hole. But it was too late by then, they had no other gods, no other spirits or creatures, and the hole was as large as a city block. And either way, the town police belonged to the hole now, and they would kill for it, and they would die for it. Some young rebels moved away. But most found themselves not being able to give up their family, their freinds, and their safety to fight the hole. So for a time they pretended to like it, and when you do something, and say something for long enough it can become your truth, and soon enough those who pretended to live the hole truly did love it.

And soon there was no music or movies that the hole didn't approve of. Everyone followed the hole's rules. And everyone loved the hole so dearly and so brightly. They couldn't imagine a town without a hole. When they thought of other towns they imagined that they must have had holes too, and every idea of a place without it was sad and depressing. And as the hole was then a quarter of the size of the town, it was hungry, and demanded not just things but flesh. And people happily gave, it would be weird to not want to give. They gave eyes, ears, teeth, testicles, tounges, fingers and toes and hands and feet and arms and legs. And they didn't miss their body parts at all. And when one day the hole demanded people jump in, and give their lives to it, they didn't mind or question at all, it didn't feel like death, and nobody missed that they weren't there.

And now, in the dark woods, there is a hole where a town used to be. It has eaten the entire the thing, every last inch and citizen of it. It is not satisfied. But it has grown all that it could. And one must wonder if the hole is lonely now, or if it knows that it has done all it ever hoped to.

[ominous-feychild]

Happy Worldbuilding Wednesday! Where in your setting would you most like to visit, and where would you avoid at all costs?

This is an interesting question! And a really rough one, haha.

For one, it would definitely vary in the time period / exact moment in time regardless of the location, haha. But I'll pick from overall time periods! (And assume I can easily speak the native language.)

For those who don't know the countries in my world, check this out!

MOST ENJOY VISITING:

Haha, sooooo I technically have a tie here??? And both technically wouldn't work for one reason or another. 😂😅

MINOGUA (during RFtA)

Minogua is a country that's drawn a lot of inspiration from Latin America + Hawaii and, uh... well previously had a lot of themes of colonialism. That's why it feels a little rough to want to go there as a kinda tourist, haha.

But! Shortly before the time of RFtA, they evicted the direct authority from the colonizing countries! So by the time the story comes around, they've had a few decades of trying to turn their country into what they want it to be / what it was before they were invaded!

I grew up both in Texas (there's a LOT of Mexican people and influences there!) and Florida (near-tropical and has a lot of Puerto Rican people / influences!). I may not be Latina, but two of my closest friends are (and one is now my gf 😂) and I have a lot of positive experiences relating to the culture. I think that's a huge reason for my fondness for Minogua and Tzakah, haha.

Besides that, as I (hopefully) alluded to, Minogua is also a tropical country! It's got a rich, surprisingly friendly culture and I'd absolutely love visiting it on holiday. It just... would feel wrong due to the whole "colonization" history, haha. 😅

To be fair, I don't think a majority of them would mind it. But it's only been a few decades since they got rid of the direct authority of the colonizing country, so other people exploiting their history for their own "entertainment" would definitely not rub some of them the right way!

TZAKAH

The real place I'd most like to go... if I'd even be able to remember the experience!!! 😭😭😭

So, the problem with Tzakah is that they're kinda hidden! They're actually a massive city built into a seaside cliff in Cirrane's rainforest as well as an isolationist "country" (read: city-state) with no connection to the rest of the world!

See, there's two ways to go if you'd like to leave or enter Tzakah: through the forest or by the sea. Only... there's a couple problems with that.

Go by sea, and there's practically endless storms raging off the coast. And not just your average nasty equatorial storms--but hurricane-type stuff! Not close enough to bother Tzakans, and actually not even permanent! But any time anyone goes near that approximate area of the world, knowingly or not, storms begin to barrage them until it destroys their ship or they (wisely) flee the area.

Many around the world refer to that area "the Gods' Land", theorizing that the gods' home is past the storms and the storms themselves are meant to keep out all but those who are worthy.

Making the storms "the Gods' Trials", of course.

Tzakah is lucky to just barely be at the edge of the Gods' Land, managing to avoid the Trials even when they go out to sea for fish. Besides that, they don't travel much further--they learned a long time ago of the dangers associated with it.

On the other side, they have the rainforest. And, somehow, it's worse.

Beyond the usual dangers of wild nature, Cirrane's rainforest is known to be haunted by malicious spirits--theorized to both be faerie in origin and those of deceased victims--that kill all who encroach on their territory.

Those who wander too far into the forest are known to never come back. Most--the Cirranians on the other side of the rainforest--don't know exactly why people who wander into the forest disappear. Again, they just theorize it's spirits--they don't know for sure. All they do is that they should never go past a certain landmark in the forest... lest they never be heard of again.

Those of Tzakah, however, know of the "spirits" by name.

The Melijé.

Merciless hunters they're locked into perpetual war with, and will be forever until the end of time... or until one finishes the other off.

Why?

Well, for the horrible crime of having left the Melijé centuries ago!

OH, YEAH, BUDDY, IT GETS DEEP! I LOVE TZAKAH!

Anyway, yeah! Tzakah is a safe haven hidden in-between the Gods' Trials and the Melijé haunting the forests of {insert forest name here, probably sounding vaguely like "Melijé"}. Uh, I've definitely named the forest, don't worry! I'm just too lazy to look it up! Yeah...

Tzakah was formed by refugees who fled from the Melijé long ago. They're a peaceful people--descended from those who hated the Melijé's violent and hateful ways--and have created a completely pacifistic utopian society for themselves... outside of a select group of warriors who've trained under Torcaiz (their god of Protection) to repel any Melijé attacks. However, they're all warned of the struggles and pain associated with it beforehand, and accept the burden.

The people of Tzakah are isolationists due to the whole "actually kinda separated from the rest of the world" thing, and... another piece of their history that makes them see the rest of the world as a much darker place than their utopia. (Which obviously is fair. I mean, have you seen most of my worldbuilding??? It's bad.)

However... that Very Purposely Ambiguous "Piece Of History™" has also made Tzakans cautious of the very few outsiders that do make it there. (There's a few ways, but it's mostly them rescuing people who got lost in the rainforest before the Melijé kills them... or idiots who try to sail through the Gods' Trials, thinking they're "worthy".)

Instead of welcoming outsiders in with open arms like they'd want to (but they pretty much still do--), they're more cautious of and careful with them. Outsiders tend to get questioned by one of Tzakah's gods--usually Torcaiz alongside one of the others to keep him from deeming them all "unworthy" 🤣--to verify they don't have any ulterior motives.

And then, if and when they leave... they're stripped of their memories of their time there.

Yeah. Another one of the Tzakan gods--Marmorin--is able to completely remove people's memories. Except... he doesn't 99% of the time. Instead, he messes with the memories to "repress" them--leaving the effects of their time in Tzakah, but making it so, at best, they'll remember it as a dream.

Soooooo... if I were to ever visit Tzakah, I'd first have to put my life at risk and then be forced to lose my memory of my time there, anyway!

Haha, definitely not worth it, unfortunately.

In spite of all of that, Tzakah is an awesome place to visit. Like Cirrane (which the Melijé was once associated with) and Minogua, Tzakah has strong Latin American influence! They're in the middle of a rainforest, but obviously completely locked within the "city" itself!

(There's always at least one Melijé huntress patrolling the woods outside of Tzakah. Their rivalry is bitter, harbored and continued mostly by the Melijé, and one of Torcaiz's jobs as their god of Protection is maintaining a barrier that keeps the Melijé out.)

Again, their culture is very utopian, with most everyone being incredibly supportive of one another and each others' problems. The few who don't feel that way are instead given space and patience to do whatever they wish. Many of which eventually become (or already were) Warriors and develop a solidarity with the others, or leave Tzakah under the watchful eye of another god...

BUT YEAH, I LOVE TZAKAH AND WOULD LOVE TO VISIT IT IF I COULD REMEMBER ANYTHING ABOUT THE VISIT!!!

(To anyone wondering, the Melijé aren't any sort of "native peoples are inherently violent" thing or whatever. They're actually in the minority being that way in my story! Most of the time--like with Minogua--it's the opposite. Native peoples just want to be left alone. The Melijé's history actually separates them from most indigenous groups, tbh. Send an ask if you want to know more about them or Tzakah in general! Though please specify what specifically you want to know more about...)

AVOID AT ALL COSTS!!!

CIRRANE

Aaaand on the other end of the rainforest is CIRRANE! (Somehow there happens to be both a utopia and dystopia separated by nothing but a rainforest, some magical nonsense, and a ravaging cult bent on destruction of all others and growing their own power...)

I've spoken about Cirrane before, but it's definitely scattered across posts, haha. Long story short? Since this post has been LONG--

Cirrane is an incredibly impoverished nation with a massive wage gap and next to no middle class. Their way of "solving" that?

Bread and circuses!

... no, I mean it. Almost literally--

Context! The origin of the term "bread and circuses" to placate the masses is actually from Ancient Rome, where they'd use food ("bread") and entertainment ("circuses", which originally referred to what are now called coliseums)!

So... want to guess what Cirrane does?

Yeah, so, basically people have the option to risk their lives by fighting in arenas / coliseums to raise their status. Likewise, it's incredibly cheap to buy into and watch them! Lowkey, their entire economy is based around the arenas and the whole "political structure" around them.

Even the current monarch has fought in the coliseums before!

(In order to display their sheer magical prowess to the masses and intimidate them into falling in line.)

Similarly, Cirrane is known to be a debt-trap country, which will often try to entice people (but especially outsiders) into gambling... and using that to hook them into the many available vices.

I'm sure you can see why Cirrane is the "AVOID AT ALL COSTS" country.

Oh, and btw? It's VERY relevant in Rising From the Ashes! 🥰

Yeah, so, you'd really think it would've been Glavnran, but no. Somehow, as bad as Glavnran is, Cirrane is worse.

(PS: "Melijé" is pronounced "Mehl-ee-hey")

Worldbuilding tag list: @honeybewrites @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star

@the-letterbox-archives @48lexr @aalinaaaaaa @paeliae-occasionally (Ask and ye shall be added)

[technicallyclassyperfection]

Via print:

[xarrixii]

F/B Chapter_43 : "One of the Good Ones"

CW: none that i can think of previous chapter | beginning | masterlist

/ / / / / | ---

“You’re the best pyro I know, Alph,” Reggie mocked silently. “I’ve never seen anyone in my 34 years of life that wields fire better than you. Good control, Alph⸺”

Alph put a hand over Reggie’s mouth. The gym teacher made them want to vomit excessively all over the floor. With cat hair, stomach acid, and that mildly radioactive meal served on that blue hot-lunch tray. Reggie licked their palm and they pulled off.

“Just saying. He’s weird, dude. Like retired intel recruiter weird. Are you being scouted?”

“No?” As far as Alph knew, the government wouldn’t want a pyrokinetic in its special programs anyway. “I think he’s just a piece of shit.”

“Kineticist piece of shit,” Beth nodded, suddenly leaning on Alph’s shoulder. “This guy needs a new hobby. I think he just stalks all of the kids with kinetics. Doesn’t help he runs the yearly exam. So the government can have information on its citizens.”

Alph snorted impolitely, then laughed at the sound of it.

“The fuck was that?” Reggie snickered, lightly punching Alph.

The gym teacher whistled, yelled blue, and Reggie shrugged and walked back into dodgeball hell. Alph replaced him in line, then turned back to Beth. “What’d you purposefully get out to tell me?”

“I did not purposefully get out,” Beth said loudly, then leaned in, “but Flash Fire’s getting an update. AJ was looking at his smartwatch for notifications on the ‘medic scooter’ waiting for someone to go down. Multiplayer and ranked battles. Something about secret maps for them?”

“Multiplayer?” Alph said louder than intended, glancing over at the gym teacher who stoically stood around doing nothing. “Like, online, anytime, no arcade multiplayer?”

Beth nodded. “They finally figured out how to code their AI models to fight more than one target at once reliably. Also some lag fixes and blah blah blah.”

“Urban.”

“Quit it with the fictitious boyfriend,” Beth understood which Urban Alph meant quick enough to be sarcastic. “We get it, you have to make excuses each time as for why he can’t come down to the arcade⸺”

“For your information he’s real and he’s cooler than you are. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

Beth pretended to become offended, scoffing and rolling her eyes as Alph was whistled back into play. She whispered with her teeth as Alph walked away, “But you wish he was.”

She received a polite middle finger back.

The conversation didn’t resume until Alph was walking home, head buried in their phone screen. “Yeah. They’ve released map teasers and have beta testers testing out the AI right now. Apparently accounts in the top 5% of players can access the beta for early feedback. No online play though, only lobby codes and LAN play.” 

Alph chuckled at the statistic, pausing halfway through a text. Camdyn waved it off. “Yeah, so what exactly? Alph?”

“If we want to play at my apartment, I’m sure my dad wouldn’t care. As long as no one else has any obligations.” Alph hit sent and looked up. “What? Come on. It’d be cool.”

Reggie voiced a leading note before actually speaking at a crosswalk, “Nah. I agreed to take over a shift. I think I’m already gonna be late, so I’m gonna split.”

“Seeya,” Camdyn said. Then he turned to Alph, Reggie already halfway down the intersection. “You’re not actually top 5% are you? I distinctly remember beating you at an arcade before, and it was remarkably easy. And I’m not even top 20%.”

“Uh, 4 point.... whatever. I don’t remember.” The remark reminded Alph all too painfully of walking into Decked Games at twelve years just to find out their high score had been beaten—eight times. UR. Over the next few weeks, with a month lapse stuck in the middle, each and every arcade in the city that had Flash Fire as an available game was overrun by a new winner that Alph could never catch in the act.

It was Urban, obviously. It was rare when Alph beat him on console. UR was for Urban Reichler. The kind of thing most everyone knew now from a simple search query, but four years ago was a fact known by the handful of people who either read the comics or did 100% runs. “Skill curve gets insane beyond that point.”

“We’ll see the real number when we get to your apartment anyway,” Beth jostled.

Alph threw up a hand the second the blast inched their vision, skidding across the street suddenly filled with glass and swiveling around to Beth and Camdyn. Ringing filled their ears more than their own voice, “Are you two okay?”

Beth gave a silent thumbs-up and Camdyn groaned out a thanks.

When they turned back to look at the newly-exploded building, they expected fire, just not the screaming child. “Call the cops,” Alph managed to get out before pushing off the ground back across the street to the burning building. The decision was met with barely any hesitation, Alph’s hands grabbing hold of the fire and whisking it away from themselves as they went toward the kid.

Alph could hear Camdyn protesting outside over the roaring fire.

“Hey, kid! It’s gonna all be okay, I promise you!” Alph yelled into the newly awakened pyrokinetic flame. “We’re gonna walk through this together, alright?”

next chapter | masterlist

/ / / / / | --- missing a content warning? let me know

it's actually so jarring to see how short this is compared to the two latest chapters i've written

taglist (ask to go on or off): @lychhiker-writes, @madeoforgansandtissues, @fins0up

[cabeswaterdrowned]

I feel like I’m in a headspace where I really am in the mood to read urban fantasy more than anything else, part of me wants to start the Lynburn Legacy reread I’ve been wanting to start for a while and apparently unspoken is quite cheap on iBooks so that’s doable but I’m already doing my in depth trc reread buddy read with notes + rereading other things more casually. If I do the TLL reread I’ll definitely liveblog it because I want to propagandize it to my followers who are here for other modern or urban fantasy I talk about lol. Maybe I should read a Sarah Rees Brennan book I haven’t read yet? I also have been wanting to start reading the Vampire Chronicles but I think I should leave that for when I have more concentration to give over to it / my brain is processing new content better. The TVD books are another possibility, if nothing else I think that could be really funny. There are other possible candidates but if someone wants to recommend me a thing now is your chance

[roleplayfinder]

19F looking for oc x oc fandomless rp 🌷

I'm a literate/multi-para roleplayer, from a minimum of ~6 lines to a maximum of ~40 or 3 paragraphs.

My favourite genres are urban fantasy, slice of life, tasteful dark realism, post-apocalypse, dystopian and modern settings!

f/f, m/m and m/f are all welcome ; nsfw and kink friendly.

I roleplay on discord and telegram, like this post if you're interested and I'll reach out with my contact info.

.

[anitatapio]

Rainy day, June 9th 2024

I love days like these. Woke up 6 in the morning, listened to a random nostalgic song from the Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland movie soundtrack that reminds me so much of 2010-2011, then at 7am I put on my corset and victorian gown (for some reason my corset decreases my anxiety like a constant hug and boosts my productivity, makes me feel like Violet Baudelaire with her ribbon) and started writing.

Usually I'm so addicted to checking all the apps (I like tumblr so far since it's text based and not as addicting at least so far when I don't follow too many people except friends). Today it's been raining the whole day (and still is). It just clears something up in me and I haven't felt the need to distract. I wrote 10 pages from scratch which was intimidating as for most of this year I've mostly gone over and edited/rewritten small sections of years old chapters. Then I took a nap (yes my corset is comfortable enough for me to sleep in even if it's not recommended), I read a little before I napped (trying to get into slow living instead of chasing instant dopamine), and now I've gone over writing physical notes into the computer, working on chapters 17 & 18 simultaneously. It's a good day and I feel productive enough to take a break to just relax enjoy the petrichor through my open windows.

Nostalgia is a creature of balance. I try not to live in the past while enjoying reminiscing from time to time... I also try to ground myself and remember that the present is always potential "future nostalgia." Enjoy the little things. As the youtuber Jennifer Myers says, "the little things are not small" and it's so true. It goes for many things in life.

[wordswithloveee]

[hellsgate-roadhouse]

UK underground

Abandoned

1980’s

[redxdesign]

[whereserpentswalk]

Your new job is to sit at a desk, looking at a single camera feed monitoring a small white room, writing down everything that happens in the room, and then reporting it back to your bosses. The first day, two men are brought into the room, possibly unwillingly, and are instructed to fight to the death. Neither of them think to refuse, one of them wins. You realize there's very little you can do. Though you can hear what's going on in that room from your office, it's in the same building as you, the feed is live and it is near you and there's nothing you can do.

You write the report. Your bosses say it's good work but you need more detail, they'll give you further instructions. The next day the same happens, two men are brought in, two men fight, one man lives. You can hear it all going on across the hall. But you know to add more detail, your bosses love it, they love that you gave the amount of information that you did, they say you have a good eye for these things.

Every day at your job is the same. The men are different most times but survivors come back sometimes. Sometimes they have more then two men, sometimes on teams sometimes not. Sometimes they give them weapons, things that you would find in a hardware store. Sometimes there will be special rules. Sometimes it's just two men fighting to the death. Occasionally it won't be equal, but it will always be fair, but sometimes it'll be something like a man with a fireaxe agaisnt a man with a baseball bat, or three elderly men agaisnt one man in his prime. But it's always fair.

You write down the details well. You always typed fast. Everything anyone would need to know. Anything they said. Every move each of them made. How each injury effected them. The way the blood splatters. If when a man wins if it's because someone dies or because someone is too injured to fight, if he tries to kill of an injured man or let him bleed out. If a man uses his left or right hand to hold a knife. How long a man tries to run or dodge before he starts throwing punches. It eventually stops becoming like a real thing that's happening in the same small building you work in, and more like a game, and it's a game you're winning.

Your bosses might not be human. They never show themselves, and say that you'd be horrified by them if you ever saw them. They refer to humans as separate from them, as a type of synapsid, which is technically true but still. They also just don't talk like people. They could be billions of years old, all of this could be so meaningless to them. They could be demons, or aliens, or creatures from another dimension for all you know. Or they could be rich and powerful people doing their best to scare those who work for them, though they'd be putting a lot of effort into not appearing human if that was the case. It almost seems like them being aliens or something is the less conspiracy minded answer. But still, it doesn't matter, you don't have time to question it. This job pays better then anything else, it's getting you through college, it's gotten you a much nicer apartment in a much better neighborhood then you could with any other job. Who cares if they're demons, they're paying you.

There was one day where you saw a wounded man limping out of the room where the fight had happened. It was the first time you saw someone from the fights in the flesh. It was horrifying, you wanted to turn away, not because of his wounds but because you didn't want to be a part of this. You're just someone who watches it, just someone who reports on it, you're not going to actually be involved.

There was also a time someone screamed at the camera for someone to do something while his opponent was stabbing him to death. There was nothing for you to do, but it was strange to write about. You questioned if you should describe him as begging the camera for help, or begging you for help. But it felt weird for the reports to contain the word "me", you don't think your bosses would like that. You just wrote that he was begging for someone to help, it was the easiest way to describe it after all.

There was one fighter who you really enjoyed seeing. He was young, handsome, and very good at fighting. He wore a smirk when others wore frowns, and had these beautiful blue eyes. He knew how to taunt his enemies and get in their heads. And you always rooted for him to win, and he always did. You started thinking about him more and more, reading into the smallest movements, theorizing about why he was so good, about his past, his hopes and dreams. You read his personality into all of his actions, and loved him so much for it. Part of you hoped you'd accidentally meet him on your way out, and that you'd get to know eachother. Once you even touched yourself to the thought of him with you, but the act gave you a weird type of shame. You never knew his name. After one rough fight he was too injured to fight anymore, mostly blinded from slashes to the face it seemed. You were sad about him for a bit, and then moved on.

Your bosses want you to do a major report on the fights. You get to choose the specifics and your thesis, almost like a college paper. It's so cool and exciting to get to have so much creativity in your job. You wonder what they'll do for you next. You still don't know what your bosses are but they've been talking about a promoting. You're so lucky to have gotten this job.

[technicallyclassyperfection]

[xarrixii]

F/B Chapter_45 : "Operative"

CW: guns, gunshots, child trafficking, choking, police, overall violence previous chapter | beginning | masterlist

/ / / / / | ---

Liam’s eyes traveled up and down the neon-lit sign of a woman spinning around a pole and chuckled. “Y’know, last time we were here, I kidnapped you.”

Harlow almost snorted, watching Liam rifle through his vest and make sure he had everything. “I feel like you also called me hot.”

“Funny how that works, isn’t it?” Liam looked up into the blackened sky and adjusted his sunglasses and mask. “This place is different without rain. Feels dirtier.” Then he turned and knocked on the truck while leaning against it. “Ains, man, the gun?”

“Find it yourself if you’re gonna be pushy about it,” Ainsley growled from inside. “I’m not the one who loaded the truck like it was a cache.”

“They’re under the seats.” Then Liam turned back to Harlow. “It was a reflection of someone else’s thinking, by the way. I’m like fifteen years older than you, that’s weird. Spend too much time in someone else’s head and everything starts needing a distiller to separate.”

Harlow cracked a smile and raised an eyebrow. “That is the worst excuse I have ever heard in my life.”

Ainsley tossed Liam his semi-automatic through the driver’s seat window and then leaned out of it to stare at them both. Liam caught it, raising an eyebrow right back at Harlow before looking back at the sign and blacked-out windows.

“Remember, Bauer,” Ainsley took out a cigarette and lit it with his thumb. He gave himself a nice smoke before continuing, “No blood ‘till we get the marks out of there.”

Liam lightly punched Harlow’s arm. “Get in there and make a good impression, Ben.”

“That’s the best you came up with?” Ainsley took a long puff of cigarette before tossing the still-lit thing to Harlow.

“After this one’s favorite band.”

“When did you even learn that?” Harlow scoffed. He stuffed the cigarette into his pocket as Liam shrugged and grinned as a response. He walked across the street and past the drunkards leaning on the exterior walls and opened the blacked-out door, senses immediately overwhelmed by light and color and the reek of alcohol mixed with some kind of flower he supposed was trying to overrun the sickliness of the rest of the air. Or was that just...? No, that was definitely weed.

The cigarette fire bloomed beneath his hand.

“You must be Ben,” a man trilled with a rotted smile. Harlow turned his head, making sure to carefully place an expression of annoyance and disgust. “I understand, I understand! This place must be beneath someone like you. This way, man.”

“The depravity of you all,” Harlow mumbled for effect, adjusting the white glove on his left hand. The man gave a coarse laugh in response, leading Harlow back to a connected storage garage as though this were some funny occasion.

Harlow was going to hate every second of this.

The man pushed open the handle door after shoving his key into it and led Harlow into the small enclosure, clicking the door shut and locked while Harlow adjusted his tie based off feeling alone. Then he nocked his sunglasses back up his nose.

The overhead light came on with an audible dink, shrouding the garage that was longer than it was wide in a cream light. There weren’t any storage containers, just the stool the man immediately ventured to and scribbled Ben with capital BE and lowercase n.

Faint red light peeked out of the garage door to the street, and Harlow turned behind him where the garage ended at the other wall.

It took everything in him not to puke in that instant, to keep his face straightly dissatisfied by hygienic standards, to keep his entire body rooted in place as the overly-excited, weed-smelling man draped an arm over his shoulder and whistled.

“Aren’t they pretty?”

His heart crunched up. “With a bath, maybe.”

He feigned readjusting his sunglasses again, tapping on the radio insert close to his ear four times, once for each tied up and hand-bound kid in the corner.

The man grinned and gestured Harlow take the file gripped in a sweaty hand still swung around Harlow’s shoulders. He swiped it before smacking the hand off with as much indifference as he could physically stand. A lifetime of dinner parties with his mom’s army friends prepared him for this.

To stay calm in this moment.

“That in there is all correct?” the man asked, humming and jumping off the short ramp connecting the club and garage floors to hover near the kids, looking back only to smile at Harlow.

“Unless you count some of your spelling.” Harlow knocked some of the cigarette ash off the page before stuffing that hand back in his pocket and snapping the file shut. “Now that I know it’s alive, I’d frankly like to stop looking at it to go finalize.”

The man giggled. “Yes, yes! Let’s go. I have an office inside the club. You’re willing to take off that glove for your prints, yes?”

“If I wanted to shut down your operation, the cops would already be on their way.” Harlow strolled back to the door leading into the club, unlocking it and glaring as he stepped out, taking a deep breath before the man followed him back into the noise.

“This way!” the man shouted over some song Harlow didn’t recognize yet everyone else was singing along to just fine. Harlow watched one guy enter the garage as he was taken up a stairwell and two more guard the door. Obvious rifles on display.

Looking at it now⸺

Harlow made sure there was still a pistol beneath his buttoned suit jacket when no one had eyes on him.

This is about to get ugly.

He internally cringed at the thought, but the man in front of him—nor anyone else who seemed vaguely familiated with the trafficking—made a gesture. Which likely meant there was no telepath drifting at the edge of his head and that he could relax.

Just before my all clear, really? Liam posted back.

There’s a few more guns than we planned for.

Welcome to Cairn, land of the free and land of the gun. Liam internally scoffs, seeming to relay that information to someone else before asking, How many?

Along the lines of everyone who works here, Harlow took one final look at everything before being led into the office space cluttered with cheap storage containers on equally cheap wire shelving.

Oh, great.

Harlow’s eyes must have danced on the storage containers for too long because the man was suddenly in his face again holding a sheet of paper and an ink pad.

“Antsy, are we?”

“Didn’t realize this dump had so much business,” Harlow took both items and was guided over to a table.

The man hummed with a toothy grin. “We’ve been getting pretty good at it. Enforcement doesn’t really come around these parts anymore. Not to say this place isn’t secure, we still take every precaution.”

Harlow’s eyes sharpened as he removed both gloves and set them on the table.

“You need any help with that?” the man asked as though to distract from the more than obvious lie.

“No.” Harlow had only done it every time he went into rehab. He strengthened the fire in the cigarette still settled in his pocket, building it up as he stamped each finger onto the little stupid card for this idiot. The man turned to anxiously rifle through the wire shelf as Harlow swiped on a glove and got up with as little noise as possible, unbuttoning the stupid suit jacket on the way. Garage, now—“I’ll be taking the kids.”

One finger to the back of his neck. The man’s head hit the shelf on the way down, connecting to the concrete floor with an uncomfortable smack. Harlow put on the other glove again, tapping the paper card with just enough fire to get it burning as a woman opened the door with a rifle pointed at Harlow’s face.

He was already putting on a mask under the sunglasses.

“On the ground,” the bodyguard voiced before she, too, collapsed onto the floor. Ainsley snickered, stepping over the body with another member of Cinder’s arsenal.

“Cops ETA three minutes, make it count with that bagel-obsessed douchebag.” Ainsley nodded at Harlow as he left the room. The other person was immediately engrossed in the records when the first gunshot went off, followed by silence. Then the second, followed by screams running for the doors.

Harlow’s handgun was out, one bullet making peace with an armed bartender’s foot before he took cover behind the solid metal railing to a round of automatic.

Yeah, make it sixty seconds. Patrol just went by, all they have to do is round the damn block, Liam came through again. Kids are in the truck driving away, Urban, can you make it to their surveillance room?

I can sure as hell try, you know where that is by chance? Harlow took a chance to peek just over the rail, ducking as a round whizzed over his head.

Just under the staircase.

In that case, I’m trapped.

Liam paused, and a few gunshots slung through the room. Consider it covered. Move.

Harlow got to his feet and descended the steps, taking a glance up at the second floor as he rounded and crouched under a metal-backed booth seat. The frosted glass pane lining the top of it shattered and settled on the floor around him. Ainsley, guy at your door.

Appreciated, Ainsley gave back.

“Shit,” Harlow hissed after reaching and failing to unlock the door. Keycard chip, like this club knew it needed higher security, as if that hadn’t been blatant already. His first instinct was to ask Ainsley for the probably-unconscious guy upstairs above him, but...

He fiddled out the lit cigarette from his pocket, dragging it across the door’s handle side until it swung open, melted metal dripping onto the floor and cooling solid.

The gun spun out from his hand onto the tile, head thunking into the wall just as sirens started to whoop from outside the club, barely heard over the blaring music and the punch wound into Harlow’s face. The cigarette dropped and the security guard stomped on it before Harlow could gain enough sense back to use it.

Fuck, can’t, he sputtered mentally, fist closing around his neck.

“They brought a fucking D?” the assailant spat in Harlow’s face, actually laughing. “Sorry excuse for the underground police. That why you’ve all fucked off lately?”

Ainsley caught onto it quick. Liam, go after him.

I’m not running into whatever kinetic fuckery the cops brought with them.

Christ above, Ainsley flooded Harlow’s head with a low growl. I’ve got a flame for you.

Everything flooded in black, and it took every bit of himself to keep cognitive control over his kinetic. He felt desperately for Ainsley’s fire outside the room and latched on, finger curling where it gripped his assailant’s wrist, snapping the fire into the room. “Eat shit.”

The security guard dropped to the floor, Harlow dodging the grip as Liam yelled to get down and a spatter of ice shards came through at chest height, nicking the walls before melting and returning back to sender. Harlow’s head spun, coughing blankly into the floor. The world came back with one hand over his own throat.

We’ve got a Kepler, Harlow pushed.

Liam took no time in changing the plan, Raymond and Ainsley, switch, I need our marksman up front. Nick, where’s the truck?

Harlow scrambled weakly off from the floor while Nick—the one driving the kids to a safer location—and Liam argued about switching the original location to get the truck back. Nick was arguing that the kids couldn’t be left alone, and Ainsley shot back a remark to figure it out a little faster. Harlow was met with a password screen and cursed aloud while everyone else argued in his head.

Leave them on 2204 West Vanderpull. I know a guy that’ll guard ‘em there, Raymond cut in.

That doesn’t have anything to do with the other thing, does it? Liam queried a little angrier than he intended, evident by the voice’s snap backing off slightly after the words were out.

Shut up and do it.

Nick made some mental noise of affirmation.

Liam, Harlow took his turn, I need the password from this knocked out guy.

Are you fucking with me? Liam groaned back.

Cops know this guy, Bauer, Ainsley said.

Liam responded with some kind of grumble before actual words, Urban, we’re switching. If I find out the password is written on some sticky note under the desk later then Lord help me.

Cops. Harlow was more than familiar with dealing with police officers, especially since Raiden had introduced him to so many. Harlow’s main concern was why Kepler was already in this area. He didn’t typically do patrols as the chief. What had he been chasing after that he abandoned for the shootout?

I can make that work, Raymond chimed.

Harlow picked up his gun from the ground and met Liam in the doorway, taking his bag from Liam and crouching behind the ice-hole spattered booth seating. The only thing this provided now was a sight blocker.

He shoved the pistol back into the holster and opted for his lighter instead, collecting it from the combat leg-bag now fit tight against him.

Urban, can Kepler draw his water from the air?

He was tempted to say no. Weakly. Being A-class if you have a kinetic is a requirement for the force.

Right, damn it.

We’d still be removing his crutch.

Raymond considered that. Alright. Then we’re keeping my plan. I turn it to water, you evaporate as much of it as possible. Before I tire out while Liam fucks a guy in the head.

Kick yourself, Liam said.

Lots of swearing today, Ainsley hummed.

Some of Liam’s searching invaded the telecommunication as he talked, Yeah well shit’s going wrong.

Raymond’s plan ended up being scarily efficient, and soon they were back to defending gun rounds only from the other guys still in the club. Liam cursed at the same time as some form of joy.

Password obtained, but police are calling more backup. We need a safe exit. Urban, work on knocking out the guys with the shot feet. Ainsley⸺

Just one second, Bauer, I’m almost done. Files laid all nice and pretty on the table for our government enforcers in like one minute. Then I’ll get on cracking a hole open to the roof. Ainsley laughed. Not like they don’t have a helicopter on its way by now.

Nick, where are you? Liam sent.

Nick didn’t respond. Harlow had already surged a bartender, and another shot Harlow once in the vest before getting tackled and knocked out. Harlow let out a late yelp, seething behind the bar and immediately picking the metal bullet from out of the vest.

Nick!

Did he go out of range? Ainsley replied.

Stay still, I’ll redo the net, Liam hissed.

Harlow felt the three other voices in his head poke out as he made sure he wasn’t bleeding, then got to his feet again and decided to slice through each gun with a flick of enraged fire first before approaching. It was just gunshots and the shink of ice slamming into walls.

Fuckin’ ow, Liam said. Say hi everyone.

No one said hello.

Are we all ready? I’m like two blocks down next to a taco place. Nick seemed pleased.

Records set with the decrypter. Harlow looked up to see Ainsley giving the thumbs-up on the second story, running for the roof exit and passing by Raymond. Raymond nodded at Harlow to make his way back to the stairwell, which was significantly easier than getting away from it in the first place.

Liam left the security room and started firing off pretty much every round he must have had left to allow Harlow up the stairs. Harlow snapped the fire off his lighter to form a wall neither side could see through, other hand grabbing at his handgun and firing through it where he knew would be above peoples’ heads.

“Let’s go!” Liam shouted after catching up, and all of them—including Raymond—made like hell to the roof stairs where Harlow clicked the lighter shut to dissolve the fire.

“Ladder over here!” Ainsley beckoned everyone over just before sliding down with his gloves.

The four stayed quiet, running through an alley and then straight through a street Ainsley had gotten ahead to block cars from running through. Nick helped Ainsley onto the back of the armored truck first, then she ran back to the driver’s seat so Ainsley could help everyone else on as a police car rounded the corner.

“Shut the door!” Raymond yelled as the first few bullets whizzed into the truck, even though Harlow and Liam already had them halfway shut.

The truck kicked off.

Bullets ricocheted off the back a few times before stopping, but the sirens didn’t as Nick swerved the truck around corners. Liam watched Ainsley take a few shallow breaths and took the stray bullet from the floor to flick at him. “That’s what you get for getting out of shape.”

Raymond looked at the door. Why isn’t that officer firing ice anymore?

“Getting circled,” Nick called. “Gonna change the route, we have to pass by district one’s station to get out of this. I don’t have any other options and I will take no criticism.”

“Murphy’s the clerk,” Harlow climbed into the passenger to tell her. “He’s a geo, we can’t⸺”

BRACE! Liam’s voice racketed through everyone’s brains a second before the truck flew off the ground and a spike of ice shot the armor. Nick unbuckled from the now useless driver’s seat as another spike shot through the middle and stopped the truck from sliding.

“Christ,” Raymond breathed. “Poor infrastructure.”

Ainsley carefully moved from where he’d gotten pressed into the truck. It groaned beneath him. “Be happy none of us got fuckin’ impaled.”

Harlow’s entire body shook as he flattened against the nearest surface. They were getting trapped. Fast. A megaphone sounded from down below where they all hung suspended by ice quickly cracking under pressure.

Think, damn you. “Nick, the kids are on, what was it?”

“2204 West Vanderpull,” Raymond said before Nick. Nick nodded.

Harlow didn’t even get to say it aloud before Liam was responding mentally. Got it. Break for it, kid. Ray, time for a little platforming fun. Ains, cover. Nick, get Urban down there safely and find a god-damned way out of this. Urban, I’ll keep my head open for you.

“I hate you,” Raymond hissed back.

“Well I can’t exactly make solid ice platforms in the middle of the air now can I? Get your Morgen-trained ass going…” Liam’s voice trailed off when Harlow finished cutting a hole in the side of the truck and jumped out with a trail of unwound flame from the lighter.

Tuck and roll! Nick yelled as the telepathy cut, and the air beat against Harlow’s limbs as he hit the ground and took off down the sidewalk, pain racketing up from the safe but not quite cushy landing.

A siren whoop followed him, each swing of his arm through the pace used to charge up the fire. He was suddenly very thankful for the sunglasses scraping the sun from his eyes, for the years and years of running home late knowing it would only get worse.

It gets better, Harlow screamed to himself to overrun the thought. You’re making it better.

You’re making it better.

His feet packed into the concrete, throwing up the fire at each point of ice that tried to pin him to something, anything, for long enough to grab at him. Kepler was ordering pedestrians out of the way, the old man’s agility astounding enough to keep up when Harlow darted into the subway and jumped the toll gate without much thought about it, flicking the lighter closed.

Harlow pushed through the crowded congregation waiting for the next train, legs giving out as he looked behind him to see Kepler still on his radio, although with significantly more distance.

He jumped another toll and the lighter came open again. His bag slapped someone as he ran by, finally hitting dead in the middle of 2204 West Vanderpull with Kepler still on his trail, making a point to run past the four kids crowded just outside the closed arcade in a blanket with some guy who immediately halted Kepler about it.

Breath was failing to pass in and out of Harlow’s lungs in early January’s cold, shaking from the same adrenaline that pushed him forward as he found a safe space to fall against a wall and feel the biting air mixed with sweat.

Liam. Harlow set his head against the wall and sputtered wildly for a few breaths. I’m on Halver, behind a Five Guys with a hotel on top.

Heard, Liam returned.

Harlow laughed until it caused pain near where the bullet had hit the vest earlier, then hissed silently, then caught his breath. Minutes passed where he barely felt like he could see the wall in front of him.

I feel sick, Harlow drawled mentally, still out of breath when Liam, Ainsley, Nick, and Raymond caught up in some random black minivan. Where did this come from?

“Cinder’s got quick getaways littered in a lot of places,” Nick smiled with a full grin.

It was when they were debriefing in a Cinder meeting room that the police radio ticked off the initial investigation and subsequent arrests of potential trafficking suspects. An hour later the call came in that all four kids had been identified and were being brought home.

Harlow had given a sigh of relief and gone to his dorm for an outfit change.

Cheering followed behind the smile on his face.

next chapter | masterlist

/ / / / / | --- missing a content warning? let me know

if anyone's wondering what the first few paragraphs of this chapter are referencing, it's Chapter 6 / Acid Rain

also is this, does this count as whump?

taglist (ask to go on or off): @lychhiker-writes, @madeoforgansandtissues, @fins0up