#what if the real vengeance was the friends we mad along the way

[essiebie]

I keep plotting out halo/cod crossovers in the sense of cod characters in a halo setting (with an x reader plot) but what if I switch things around a little and put the halo characters in a cod setting? Huh, what then?

What if Alpha-9 had a botched mission in Kenya, not long after Konni’s attack in the UK tunnels? What if TF141, itching for something to shoot at after their own botched mission are sent in to help A9 pick up the pieces? What if Sadie’s there, and Vergil is a service dog, and Nikolai is helping them in a B-line side story just like Sadie’s adventures through New Mombasa were discovered in game with the terminals? What if it all comes together toward the end, and Nik helping Sadie pays off in the same way that Rookie finding all the terminals pays off in the level Data Hive?

Yeah that’s what I thought.

Think about Buck’s moody ass trying to lead the op with clouded judgement after mickey’s desertion and rookie’s presumed KIA, and Price (who’s like, totally known for being level headed especially around other authority figures) swoops in and starts giving orders! We all remember how happy Buck was to get a new captain in ODST!

Imagine Ghost and Romeo being sent on recon and they both have such distinct type of smart assery that at the end of the missions it’s a miracle ghost didn’t kill that arrogant yank. ‘Didnt Buck order you to keep your mouth shut’ ‘what, you gonna field marshal me?’

Imagine a bridge needs to be blown for some god-forsaken reason, and with Mickey AWOL, Dutch is left to fill that void but in swoops Soap, fresh off medical leave to concoct all new types of mayhem. Soap probably had an easier time learning Spanish than trying to understand Dutch’s accent. And vice versa.

Gaz being sent out to the harbor to do some undercover recon with Dare, he can’t help but think back on his usual banter with Laswell as dare shit talks her ex boyfriend who totally isn’t her sergeant.

Nik and Sadie are walking the streets of Mombasa, looking for Dr.Endesha, and they meet a really nice kebab salesman! :)

Buck and Dare are making out in one corner of the elevator on the way to the parking garage. Ghost and Soap are making out in the other. Poor Gaz, Sadie and Vergil just trying to mind their business.

Vergil and Riley have doggie play dates (no they wouldn’t they’re both highly trained career dogs and would barely glance at one another if they were ever in the same room because they’re too lazered in on their tasks)

Dutch old man ranting to Price, Nik and Laswell, talking about how much he misses his wife and just wants to retire, they’re all in the same boat one way or another.

[childotkw]

First, let me apologize for the size of this monster ask. Sorry.

The POTC fic ate my brain. I can think of nothing else now. Just... the sheer possibilities, ya know?

With Tia Dalma, I always thought Jack, though fond and always respectful, was mindful to maintain a certain distance between them, careful to not pay any offence. With fem!Jack though I see their relationship being much, much closer. Close as sisters perhaps? Or even a mother-daughter relationship (where is Jack's mother in this AU? Still a mumified head being carried around in Teage's pocket?). How does she react to Jack's deal with Davy Jones? Is she mad that her former lover is once again trying to chain a woman to his side? Or does she laugh, because the man has clearly not learned his lesson?

And Davy Jones himself is a whole other can of worms. Does he look at this bright, wild young woman, clearly favored by Calypso, and wants to claim her as the best addition to his crew in decades or simply as a way to get vengeance on the goddess? Or worse, does he look at her and think of a child that never was, a bittersweet what-if that could have been if only Calypso had waited for him on land all those centuries ago...

As for Barbossa, I want to see this man have Regrets (TM). I want him, cursed and desperate, to see Jack alive and well after abandoning her on an island and feel... things. Outrage, anger, disbelief. Amusement. Immense relief. Want him, back and alive again, to long for that short, fond, teasing 'Hector' instead of the cold, indifferent 'Barbossa' that greets him everytime. Does he lie awake at night, a part of him, no matter how small, yearning for that time when he sailed the Black Pearl under the banner of the Captain Jack Sparrow?

And Becket and Salazar! I have no words for these two, everything about their relationships with Jack fascinate me.

In the movies, the tension was THICK between Jack and Becket. I always thought those two had Real Respect for each other in the beginning. Jack who thought he had found a Actual Good Man to work under. Becket who thought he had found someone who, with a little time and polishing, could stand just behind him at the top of the world, the closest to an equal a man like him could get (tolerate?). Which really, only makes the betrayal from both sides even worse. Jack, who finds out the man he thought was good was actually even worse than the scoundrels he grew up with ("People aren’t cargo, mate"). And Becket, who finds out his little protégé, whom he had such high hopes for, actually has morals and a free will that don’t (and never will) align with his plans/worldview.

I wonder, with this fem!Jack au, were there rumours of Jack being the future Lady Becket? I wonder, later, after all's said and done, when Jack is tied to a burning ship with Becket looking on in the distance, is there a ring somewhere on Jack? On Becket?

And even later, when whispers of the Black Pearl start cropping up in the docks and inside darkned pubs, along with her Captain, does Becket have to sit down (with anger? Relief?) or does he stand and stares out the window of his office, towards the wide open sea and tries to imagine where his wayward (friend, enemy, lover? His, certainly) pirate is and how he might get her back, this time permanently

... did this just turn into a Davy Jones and Calypso ver. 2.0??

As for Salazar, I loved the idea of him from the get go. After we got the backstory of his and Jack's first (and last) meeting I was gone for this spanish ghost. The chase, the obsession. The way this encounter marked and changed both of them, one literally died and had to spend decades waiting in purgatory for a chance at revenge while the other spends this same amount of time forever know by the name coined by El Matador del Mar, the Spaniard's little bird who flew away...

Does Jack being female in this AU change anything for Salazar? In the minutes before being tricked and killed, did he think of her less as a pirate and more like a young woman led astray, perhaps even forced into this life? Does he think of himself as a savior for Jack (lol)?

Also. I'm all for a threesome happening between Jack, Elizabeth and Will. I think they deserve a threesome.

No don't apologise - this is great!! I'm glad I'm not the only one who's excited for this one 🤣 I'm going to break this up so I can keep my replies on track!

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For Tia Dalma and Jack - that respect and wariness is definitely still a core component of their relationship! But you're right in that they'll be a lot closer in this AU than in canon. While it might not quite be a full mother-daughter dynamic, there will be maternal aspects to how Tia Dalma treats Jack. Jack's mum is still technically alive for most of the story, even if Jack doesn't see or talk to her. Once the movie timelines come through, that's probably when I'd say Jack's mother died.

But Tia Dalma is uber pissed when she sees Jack for the first time after her deal with Jones. She goes quiet and wrathful, staring at the unseen mark on Jack's soul - the brand that shows her debt to Jones for anyone with the talents to see. And Tia Dalma mourns Jack long before she dies because even with all her power, not even she can break a soul-deep deal.

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As for Davy Jones - it's six of one, half a dozen of the other. He genuinely wants Jack's skills on his ship, and knows she's unparalleled as a helmsman. But he also is a petty, bitter man, and knowing that Calypso thinks Jack as hers also plays into his decision. It's very 'you like this thing so I'm going to take it from you' mentality. (Though I am intrigued at the potential and completely fucked up implication of Jack-as-a-stand-in-daughter. I'd need to think on that!)

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And oh do I have plans for Barbossa! He definitely ends up having something maybe like regret!

One of the things I rambled about in discord was wanting the Black Pearl crew to suffer some consequences for mutinying against Jack. After all, Jack is a Pirate Lord, and though it isn't widely known, the daughter of the Keeper of the Code. She is a good captain, respected, and generally well-liked, and mutiny is serious fucking business for pirates. A lot of people are angry at Barbossa for what he did, and in those ten years after the mutiny against Jack, the Black Pearl crew were considered persona non grata. They weren't really welcome at any pirate stronghold, and a lot of the older generation were chomping at the bit to avenge Jack.

The only reason no one did anything was because Jack, essentially, spread the word that if anyone was going to kill Barbossa, it was her. And they respected that.

And because Barbossa and his crew were scorned by most of the other pirates in the Caribbean, they didn't exactly know that Jack survived and was gunning for them.

So, the first time Jack and Barbossa see each other, his shock is genuine - as is the strange rush of adrenaline he gets because Jack's presence is still electrifying and keeps him on his toes. It's his irritation at her calling him 'Barbossa' catches him off guard, and it takes him a minute to remember that Jack was the last person to call him Hector - because he crew would never be that familiar with him - and he hates the part of him that mourns that. He had liked Jack during the brief time they had sailed together, found her engaging and brilliant, but his ambition had always been stronger than any affection he might hold for other people, and so this was where they ended up.

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And Beckett. Oh, Beckett...you're absolutely right in that the tension between them was *chef's kiss*

Even without the deleted scene, you could tell that those two had history the second Jack stepped in the room. And I think, for me, the most telling aspect that these two knew each other and knew each other well was that Jack didn't even try to be a fool in front of Beckett. Yeah, sure, there was some joking and posturing - but it was so half-hearted in comparison to other interactions Jack has.

Jack's masks were stripped back when speak to Beckett, and I find that fascinating. So, in this AU, there will definitely be a hell of a lot of implications between them.

There's respect, naturally, and an acknowledgement that they're intellectual equals. Beckett doesn't underestimate Jack (as even Barbossa and Will and Elizabeth are still prone to do despite knowing Jack's track record), and Jack doesn't insult Beckett by pretending to be something she's not.

But there's also that very acute bitterness and betrayal between them. Because Beckett tried to turn Jack into something she wasn't, tried to get her to compromise on her morals, and he burned her ship; and Jack broke Beckett's belief that he'd finally found someone who could understand and accept every facet of his being.

There's disappointment as well - that their partnership didn't work out. Because they had liked each other, and admired each other, and though they never progressed beyond a 'professional' relationship, Beckett knows that if he were to marry a woman it would have been Jack.

And that sense of ownership Beckett has over Jack is incredibly dangerous - because in his eyes if he can't be the one holding Jack's leash, than no one could. Jack was too big a threat to remain free, so she had to die.

It's all very poignant. Behold:

And Jack knew what men typically wanted from her. They saw the wildness in her dark eyes and the tangles of her hair and the freedom in her blood and it made them itch. It made them want a taste of it for themselves - or drove them mad enough to want to take it from her.

Put her in a cage and clip her wings and to crow as if they had tamed the sea itself.

But Beckett was different. He didn’t want to tame her. He was too clever to think he could. That anyone could chain her for long.

No.

Cutler Beckett wanted to break her, if only so he could put the pieces back together in the way he wanted.

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For Salazar, I don't think I'd change it much from canon. I don't think Jack being female would change his perspective much. He'd still be enraged at being beaten as he was by this slip of a pirate girl. The obsession would remain, the impact they had on each other would remain - Jack as the ultimate 'prey-that-got-away', and Salazar being the one that completely redirected Jack's path in life, propelling her into captain-hood and giving her her name.

Either way, they haunt each other.

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And for the ship - there might be elements of Jack/Elizabeth/Will, but it's not gonna be a prominent thing, unfortunately. I already have a main pairing in mind for Jack for this one 😂

(And no, it's not Norrington.)

[femboycatofmystery]

But like for real though I would absolutely be here for a sequel to She-Ra and the Princesses of Power but it's literally all wildly low stakes compared to the original. Like it doesn't have to be pure slice-of-life (although I demand four dozen such episodes), there's also:

The gang rescues Angela from Despondos and there's like, Poignant AU Magic again but it ends up being through like this lens of healing from trauma and how awkward and painful it can be.

Hordak Redemption Arc, community service civil engineering projects collide with hoard conditioning and The Real Punishment Is The Friends We Made Along The Way

At least some of the time Hordak and Entrapta both need it explained to them why their idea to fix a given Hoard-caused problem is bad (sometimes Hordak figures it out first, other times it's Entrapta. It's always painfully obvious to literally everyone else)

Side Plot: Hordak Discovers Emotions. He hates them.

Catra has more apologizing to do and is bad at it but it all ends in hugs

Adora and Catra Get Couples Counseling

The Best Friend Polycule Saves He-Man From Skeletor (who gets SO MAD that nobody wreaks vengeance on him, just community service, and Hordak is like "eh you get used to it")

Catra/Hordak bottle episode where they realize to their mutual horror that their backstories actually kinda line up a lot

BUT ALSO YES THE LOW STAKES STUFF:

Scorpia and Huntara get competitive at weightlifting and Perfuma RATHER ENJOYS THIS

Just like. Repkyle. Enough said.

Best Friends Polycule becomes canon. Enough said.

Angela and Micah pick things up exactly where they left off with no issues whatsoever and Adora and Catra can NOT figure out how this is so easy for them WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU and Angela and Micah are just like LOL YOUNG PEOPLE and resume furiously making out, driving Catra and Adora from the room in horror

The Hoard Clones now make up a sizeable minority of Etherians and come in a wide spectrum from cinnamon bun to crunchy goblin. They mostly make Hordak deeply uncomfortable.

[nat1vibes]

inspired by @manygalaxiesinone [disgea characters / classes i'd hang out with if they were real]

Nippon ichi verse characters and whether we'd be Friends/Rivals/Enemies if i was a Competently strong demon in the respective game(that was added for the rival/enemy part) (Assume i'd be 2/4 or 3/4 of the mc's power(with exeptions for Soul nomad and makai)

Tis a long one.(SPOILERS FOR ALL GAMES!)

Makai senki disgaea:hour of darkness

Laharl: Like most characters. Frienemy, not Flone but not Etna either. I'd probably be looking for a job at his palace and be kind of a mix of Fenrich but with Etnas playfulness towards him

Etna: Frival. We would tease laharl. But i would get in the way of her plans as much as i could when it came to mess with him too much

Flone: Friends! She would be curious of my morality like she is with any demon, but she could see i wasn't evil

Gordon: Idk, honestly i might kill him

Tsusday: lil buds (not if i kill Gordon)

Jennifer: friends. (not if i kill Gordon)

Kurtis: Warry of me for the most par. Not enough interactions

Mid-Boss: He could probably 4th-wall break and know i 4th-wall break. he doesn't mind me much.

Lamington: Hate him, if the theories for his identity are real. We are NOT buds anymore.

D2 extras

Sicily: I'd just be nice to her. Shes just a kid

Xenolith: Idk what my stance to him would be. But we would be enemies ultimetly.

Disgaea 2: cursed memories

Adell: Friends. We would bud heads. but not enough to be rivals. In setting maybe i could fit as an other pureblood demon like him. He wouldn't like how i don't mind the world turning into more intresting demons.

Rosalin: Wouldn't interact much her, don't wanna be a 3rd wheel

Tink: i'd kill him

Yukimaru: Friends! nin nin!

Fubuki: Enemies but if we fought, maybe with respect

Director: i'd be very annoyed by him

Axel: i'd play as a Dark hero fan. But still beat him up, maybe make up a pretend rivalry. But in Axel mode i'd rl wanna help him with his family

Taro: THE TAR-MASTER. Super cool guy, I'd hype him up

Hanako: Take the demon child away!!!!

Future Demon lord Hanako: We'd vibe

Zenon(fake): i'd call him phony

Masked man and woman: if i heard them in their death quotes i'd be angry they abandoned Adell.

Disgaea 3: absence of justice!

Mao: Enemies but in the same party. Kinda rivals, but i'd hate his guts. We would probably have a history of being gaming rivals.

Raspberyl: I'd be in her delinquent group!

Almaz: BEST BUDS. Ok i'd want that. But friends for sure. I'd like watching him get braver. And be the end a true hero. I'd try to uplift his spirits when everyone around him is too batshit.

Sapphier: Shes too illogical for me. I'd probably just make her mad sometimes

Mr. Champloo: i'd be just as preplexed about him as everyone else

Master Big Star:i'd wanna beat him up more often than not

Salvatore: Friends! more like i'd play along with her orders

Disgaea 4: a promise unforgotten

Valvatorez: i'd probably join his party through the auditions the DLC characters did. Not on good terms, but i don't know why. It would be one sided from my part

Fendrich: He wouldn't like that i don't love his lord.

Fuka: I'd try to make her think her dream is a dating sim more than she already does. Not only with me. I'd try to stage happening with all the other intrests too.

Artina: I wouldn't care what kinda saint she was back then. Now shes an annoying thief!

Desco: Best final boss. i'd hype her up like taro! I'd love to give her magichange a spin if she let anyone else than fuka.

Emizel: My boy. My pure baby, I'd be full mama bird mode

Genjuro: I'd kill him for being a shitty father

Primeminister Hugo: I'd kill him for being a shitty father

Disgaea 5: Allience of Vengeance

Killia:I'd wanna be his Lize until they are reunited. I'd want to make him accept himself. I'd also love his cooking and wanna train in the ultimate demon tech too. And idk, sence all members should be an Overlord(kinda) Idk, i think it would be cool if initially i was the new Cryo Overlord after him that ran away to find him. Damn going full fan boy kinda?

Seraphina: I'd be ''that bitch'' And remind her of her place. And that ''her mans'' ain't her mans at all.

Usalia: Lil trauma kid. I'd wanna be the positive infuence Seraphina wasn't.

Red Magnus: Rivals kinda? Friends? Kinda the same budoffery he has with zeroken.

Zeroken:i'd be pretty dismissive of him at the start. But he would win me over latter.

Christo: Respect the healer. And the OVERLORD OF A CERTAIN GIANT. I'd buy difrent kinds of demon horn tiaras and switch his with them when he is not looking

Lize: Respect to the Lv1 matriarch.

Goldion: We chilling. But i'd have some grudge on him after learning the whole deal. Like i'd expect him to have done more. But then again he was wounded.

Void: I'd be creeped out by his sisconing. And at post game i'd wanna force him to Give Alma ice back to Killia. (we know he can hold more than one overload too, coz he had both Tyrant Revellio and Marjoritas Overload-be we madevoid give it back to her)

Marjorita: I'LL NEVER FORGIVE HER PLIP.

(now for other games i'll just do those i remmember, i've only played phantom brave yet)

Witch and the hundred knight

Metallia: I don't think we would get along. But she'd be a good damn broom

Phantom brave

Marona: You'll go no further. For her sake I will not fail! FR lil girlly needs more people positive to her from the start of the game. I'd probably be an other chroma initially feeling bad for a small child being alone in danger all the time. but then get whraped up in the plot

Ash: We woud get eachother. Marona small, Must protec. be pretty cool if phantoms could actually posses humans. Maybe if a contract or consent was given. a living confine could happen? If so that's a mad cool fusion

Castile: she a good kid

Castiles parents: I get them, but i hate them a little bit.

Canary: I'd kill him

Walnut: I pitty the guy :(

Raphael: he cool... But in a shojou manga type way. So i wouldn't trust him.

Soul Nomad and the world eaters

Revya: I'd be down for whatever route thei'd be

Gig: Best pals. Would bribe him with hotpots all the time

Danette: Idk. Probably she would find me annoying for agreeing with gig so much

Makai Kingdom

Zetta: He is the bad ass overlord. I would probably be nothing more than a peon in his army

Pram: i'd wanna be her friend. But she probably wouldn't see anything fun on my future.

Petta: Shes cool, i'd follow her

La Pucelle: Tactics

Prier: Rival demon hunters

Overlord Priere: I'd be sad to see her like that. I'd wanna be the ''i can fix her'' character but can't

[anakainosis]

People dont seem to understand they gather a lot of conflict to their spirit when they treat someone poorly and then think it's perfectly OK to walk away. They accept that the person they hurt will be mad at them and walk away like they had nothing to do with hurting them, because they feel in the right or somehow convinced themselves they are held at a higher standard than the "low value behavior" of being human and are unaware of their own narcissism.

To those who have honestly dealt with a narcissist or have been hurt deeply and need to truly escape their wrath, this is not for you. There are some truly evil people out there abusing, and they either need therapy or their ass kicked, and you deserve the peace of being free of their ugly soul. I'm not talking about you, the true refugees of those assholes. You've done the suffering, and my heart is with you. I'm talking about the pricks who pretend to be like you beautiful thrivers to gain attention from unsuspecting kind people to take from and dump at the sight of not validating their shit self-centeredness.

Lack if accountability will always show up as being bothered in some way in life by things that don't put value to your existence.

People like this are cowards. That's why their problems haunt their lives. Not in the form of memories of those they stepped on or harmed, that's life's way of protecting the harmed heart from you coming back to do more damage. It's by giving you a false sense of peace and joy and contentment dangled like the golden carrot in front of you to focus on, blinded to how you treat others along the way, and how they leave you because they know to stay away from narcissists who think only of yourself. It's so subtle that you think you're leaving behind all the negative wraiths, the roadblocks in your succes, and really you're running from your accountability of hearing what an asshole you are and what you've become.

But you keep pushing and pushing, and then you're alone. In your pride. Because you're being afraid of real connection and intimacy, bullshitting yourself into believing in your pure heart and damaged goodness, it doesn't make sense as to why you are not in the arms of a good man or good woman who thanks God every day for you and shows it in their actions. Or how can you no longer have that good friend who's loyalty and generosity goes stupid-creative for your birthday that rivals no one greater only now will no longer be the only one who remembers you because your false promise to go all out for them when that day comes was an empty promise and they're no longer worth your time because they no longer fulfill your needs? Even worse, instead of like you who shift it to look like you're the dissed individual, they actually try to figure out what THEY did wrong?

Did YOU stop to think YOU did something or said something or ignored them? Of course not. It's all about you. YOUR life. YOUR goals. YOUR injuries and YOUR logic.

While we live in a world where good and bad things happen to everyone, it might be something to consider you doing an inward check on how your thoughts, words, and actions have affected others AND try seeing how you'd feel if someone did those same things to you.

This is a conviction and not a condemnation. It's meant for you to see you bring the life you deserve also in the way you treat others. People like to throw around Karma, but it's not that simple. The person that hurt me is living their best life while I'm picking up the pieces with gratitude for those who have shown me more goodness than the asshole will ever learn to do. You can't live on a revenge mindset. I get now that "vengeance is mine says the Lord " verse. They ran so fast after they decided to hurt me, and I even tried to reach out to talk to them, but they're convinced I'm the villain. Further, small-minded people will see this as weak or foolish or simp. I call it strong and thoughtful of the relationship, and it's not being too chicken shit to hear out the person if you did something or said something or if you need clarification. To the coward, he's (or she's...let's be fair here) they're looking down on you and feeling righteous. You and your friendship, or love, were not important as they made you think. You are dirt. They "dodged a bullet." Riiiiight. Good save, asshole. Take what you want, and when things get too real, dispose of the tool, and destroy all of your part of the evidence.

But then I hear they are still stuck in their prison of self-centeredness and narcissism, but I don't feel good about it. Because they've still not seen their part in their own demise by their own narcissism and self-centeredness, they will do it to the next soul. They will have nothing but their own accountability to face. And I will continue to ask God to bless them and help them to be better for the next poor heart dumb enough to take them on before that.

...and to help me forget them.

I will never advise anyone to "let it go" or "move on", but try to ask God to bless them better for the next relationship they have. Be the person who hopes for a break in the chain that's forming to ensnare him kind in being trapped in their own pride, strangling their spirit and perpetuating a never ending domino effect of hate and soul bondage that only serves to suffocate and kill us and only hold us accountable only while a real enemy watches like a cat licking the cream. I don't regret meeting the asshole, I only regret seeing ahead of time I went about my friendship the wrong way with them. I was only meant to pray for him and give some encouragement that I was drawn in by his fantastic sense of humor and charisma and focus that I didn't notice all the conversations were about him. On his terms. On his time. I almost died at one time. His response to that was devoid of any concern. There was little to no consideration for me even though he claimed to be thoughtful when no one was to him. Embarrassingly, I realized too too late I was narcissistic supply till I was no longer needed, when I was simply happy being his friend. Lessons learned the hard way are not always the best way. So now, I'm learning accountability to myself. Took head trauma on Wednesday to really knock some sense into me. I'm a good person. I'm responsible for my words and not how you interpret them. I'd go all out for those I love and care for. But I'm worth taking time for. I'm not the same as those bad people in your past just because what I say triggers how shitty you were treated by them that you think it gives you the right to treat me badly. It doesn't.

I was a good friend and a good girlfriend, and I will continue to be because that's who I am. I do not have to prove it to you or anyone, but I'll be happy to be it again. I'll just be more selective moving forward.

#self-reflection #tiredjustsosotired #Grace

[maguro13-2]

Death Vengeance ~ Origins of the Ink Demon Chapter 3 Pt.10.5

"Somewhere in a future timeline..."

Time Eater (as Homura Akemi) : Now, Chaos Emerald. Time for to make Soul World to unveil it's final curtain call.

[People Screaming in horror+Loud Explosions]

[S.E.E.D. - Kenichi Tokoi, Masamichi Amano]

Kilik Rung : HAAAAAAAH! Eat this!

Time Eater (as Homura Akemi) : Humph! You're Too slow! (Knocks Kilik with an uppercut, killing him directly) Annoying vermin of a Teenager.

Soul Evans : Kilik! Guys, no! Not all of you!

Kimial Diehl : Why...? Why did you have to go and do all of this?! Why are you planning on destroying the world of Soul Eater and the universe itself?

Demon Vibe the Heartless : For not telling the truth, you ought to be a shame for letting yourself astray from this girl that you loved and cared, this so-called hero of this Soul world created by the Devil Shinra, is nothing more than to have one's complex and another, she doesn't deserve to protect the legacy anymore, all she care about is being an obsessive friend to this kid they called him Crona for nothing.

[NEWCOMER : DEMON VIBE IS FINALLY HERE!]

Demon Vibe the Heartless : I didn't expected that the name Soul Eater comes from the name of a partisan owned by the black hound himself, Kireek. That's copryight law from the Sonic Team Multiverse that is putting a stop to you, along with these wretched humans you call them Heroes and weapons, unfortunately, The Time Eater had to make an official statement that I made wish that Demon Weapons of Soul World would no longer have the ability to turn yourselves into weapons and would become ordinary humans forever!

Tsubaki Nakatsukasa : Soul, listen to me. I was wrong, we we're all wrong! The author of our world set us up, he was only playing us like a bunch of fools sitting in the corner. It turns out that the Madness that spreaded was stolen from the Greek Goddess and Asura was actually a puppet controlled by that heartless, as a diversion to destroy the planet. We we're nothing but tools to the Kusakabe, puppets on a string the entire time! The school wasn't created to protect public order, it was about protecting the legacy that we protected it. We should've known that Maka would be dead for letting us a stray, the girl you knew about wasn't Maka at all, her real name is Inky Albarn!

Soul Evans : What?! What do you mean she's not Maka Albarn at all, Tsubaki?!

Tsubaki Nakatsukasa : What it means that the "real" Maka Albarn is dead, dead in a sacrificial way along with her lover Makoto Asagiri, when they harmed in the Sactuary explosion o. You've been soulmates with a demon the entire time and you couldn't face the truth, our Author doomed us all! Can't say how we are born to get ourselves into a mess like this. We are totally screwed by now. Evans, the son of Inky Albarn. He has found a way to travel back in time, if that happens then all of this will be over. Tell that his mother will be kept safe, or the demon will never be born! Remember, that's a promise to the real Maka Albarn as we all know it!

Time Eater (as Homura Akemi) : Cease your attack! Where did her son go?

??? : [with a demonic voice] Chaos...CONTROL!

[we show a portal was opened by Chaos Control]

Demon Vibe the Heartless : He using Chaos Control to warp himself back in time!

Time Eater (as Homura Akemi) : You go after that demon, I'll handle these simpletons to show them the meaning of truth to their little world of theirs, and expunged the Ohkuboverse into a void of nothingness!

Soul Evans : ...F**k you.

Time Eater (as Homura Akemi) : What was that I heard?

Soul Evans : I said....(enraged) F****K YOU!!! YOU TIME-EATING PIECE OF CRAP!!!

Time Eater : You better at least listen to yourself when you open that mouth of yours. And now, I'm going to put that filthy mouth of yours to shut it.

[Shadow SFX : GUNSHOT!]

Tsubaki Nakatsukasa : SOUUUUUUL!!! ["Soul" is echoed]

"Back in the year 2011..."

[Mysterious Tower - Kingdom Hearts Universe]

Cid : So, now you believe me, Mr. Mouse? White Star, leader of the Hoshi Clan, was a heartless Doppelganger named Shadow star. Second were the real Gorgon Witch trio that were responsible for their crimes against humanity, and then there was a teacher of the "DWMA" that was assassinated by a mask-wearing maniac covered in ink. [slams on table] Damn! What in God's name did the real world got messed up like this!? This is un-freakin'-believable!

Goofy : So you see, Master Yen Sid. We discovered that the heartlesses had the ability to disguised their selves as humans beings and even witches their selves. We did not knew that could fool the humans and witches that quick!

Donald Duck : Some say that someone had figured to fool the real world by using the Neo Shadows as decoys. And it's no surprise that witches are definitely not that smart to think that worshipping an evil god is totally a blasphemy! The one's thing for sure that the only things witches worship are demons that are not gods, but at least kings perhaps.

Yen Sid : I see then. This Ohkuboverse is merely a facade created by one being that wanted to make humans to unleash their insanity that comes from the power of their hearts, heartlesses that does not contain the madness that is within all hearts as well. This madman called Kishin Asura was being used as a diversion to destroy all life on planet earth that abuses power, the one who stole from the Gods and Goddesses of Greece.

Cid : You got yourself that big of a deal! Now we finally understand that me, Cloud, and the rest are able to pull off that Soul Eater garbage! Nobody from Square Enix would believe that Mr.Ohkubo, that weirdo that wrote Soul Eater, has been using wordplay that make up his Crazy ass stories that were really a false one! Can't we all just agree that some of the mangakas has paid alot of attention?

Mickey Mouse (on Cam Video) : It's much more man than monster, fellas. The World of Soul Eater has never been a facade in one's life since everything's a story and even it really is a phony, ha-ha. We've been finally to tell what those Ghost-eating assholes were thinking that eating evil souls that literally comes from heartlesses. We've beginning to think clearly that the Ohkuboverse has proven it's self that a chronological order is somehow been rewritting it's stories and retconning the plots. We can barely tell the difference if Soul World is a greater asset to Square Enix and the other third-parties.

Cid : Everything what you knew that Soul World was the real name of Soul Eater, the name Soul Eater that he named that got it from the name of a Partisan from the world of PSO, the Japanese weren't that stupid enough to think that using names from Third-parties like us to cover up a few secrets.

Squall : Perhaps we're beginning to understand that real world is beginning to realize that the Ohkuboverse had it's plots rewritten with new stories, and retconned with new plots and twists. Seems like that anyone is smart enough to think that the beings of the Ohkuboverse ain't appeared what it used to be and we're definitely getting closer to the truth.

Yen Sid : You have redeemed that the man named Shinra Kusakabe was the one that is responsible for creating the girl's world that is filled with nothing but deception, although it is clearly that the real Maka Albarn in the real world has been hiding on the Planet Jupiter for a long time. What could've been more possible than to have one's soul taken from one's heart? Hearts and Souls are a greater force to believe in the true essence of their nature. Evil Souls are affiliated by the raw powers of darkness itself. Humans of the real world cannot to make stories that are really false to the public eye or they are true.

Mickey Mouse (on Cam Video) : Only to think that if it's nescessary that no one in Square Enix would team up with an imposter like her, I haven't heard that a monster that has spreading lies to become the hero she was before the world of Soul World was created about 1000 years in the Ohkuboverse, someone from the Real World that is only trying to pretending to think she's the hero. Her involvements with the Kusakabe Legacy had some nasty turns to overthrow it and bring darkness into the real world. That's how a Loony imposter works in every one of his or her moves.

Yen Sid : America is a God-fearing nation struggling with political ties from between the Ohkuboverse and the Real World, and maybe someone knows what's best at to not take any chances from the true face of evil itself.

Mickey Mouse (on cam) : Consider it that Evil Forces has been lurking out in the darkness just to bring humanity on the brink of destruction, but the questions are of that Evil Souls were powered from Heartlesses that disguises their selves as humans and witches as doppelgangers. We call it one thing from the Metal Gear Universe from Foxhound, we call them "Heartless decoys".

Cid : If that's the case you really wanted to handle Ohkuboverse's truth, then there are two important things to ask you this, Mr. Mouse. Number One : If the Phony god Asura did not make those Heartlesses, then who did to use him as a diversion? And Number 2: Why would the Heartlesses begged on destroying Soul World and would eventually ending it by being consumed to the Darkness?

Yen Sid : So, Mr. Squall. What do you know about these Heartless Decoys?

Sqaull : It was presumed that Infernals in the old world of Shinra that shared were the mixtures between Heartless and Firaga, We have confirmed that the Evangelist is really nothing more than a Decoy itself.

Cid : What? So you're telling me that the Evangelist from the Ohkuboverse is also really a decoy itself? [stutters to change the subject] Why didn't anyone tell me that the Kusakabe weren't created by that imposter and it was basically a decoy that using Firaga to create the power system that once existed in the Ohkuboverse?! Now we're getting closer to truth!

Squall : If not that somehow that Angel Vibe, the light of hope, was only knew that had a suggestion that bringing all the world's hope into one force of light. Light and Darkness are equal to each other, equal as a force, and equal as a parallel between worlds that make up Kingdom Hearts. There would be plenty of time that Heartless knew that they had disguised their selves as a human or a witch and why did they existed in the real world? We are now more officially concerned that they are living among us in Tokyo, America, and the rest of the real world itself.

Cid : Now that's insane for a made up universe.

[Door banging]

Sora : Sorry for the delays, guys! I'm hope that I'm not too late!

Goofy : Sora! Where have you been?

Donald Duck : We've been worried about you. You almost missed the meeting.

Sora : Yeah, I won't forget that to happened! I was in bit of a pickle with Riku.

Riku : Well, it appears that that we found a person that came into the Kingdom Hearts was a Heartless Decoy disguising himself as the man that fought with Giriko, who predicted and foreshadowing Chainsaw Man's birth. [pulls out someone behind what it appears to be Justin Law]

Justin Law : [about to wake up] Hey...What's the meaning of this? Where am I? And who are you guys?

Sora : Just your friendly neighbors that you don't want us to wake up. And you must be one of them spies that works for the loco madman.

Riku : And more importantly, you should know better than being a servant to a phony heartless bastard like you. Why don't you stand on that X Marks the spot in the middle on the floor? It'll be you reward to lasts.

Justin Law : Well, Okay. [stands on the X in the middle] So, nice play you got there. But at least you put me on the nice X marks the spot. That would be really concerning to figure my way of life of being an antagonist to Soul World. *Record Scratch* (realizing) Wait a minute, why the hell would I be on an X-Marks the spot!?

Sora : Gotcha! [they both point their Keyblads at Justin]

Squall : It seems that you may have lost the fight to the heroes like us in the real world.

Justin Law (?) : Hey! What the hell is this?! And just what the hell do you think you're doing?!

Riku : We've should've known that we found out, that you were lying to be the hero so that you would get yours hands on destroying the Kusakabe Legacy, didn't you!?

Sora : You'll be going down to a trip to memory lane!

Squall : That's right, Justin Law from Soul World, or should I say "Heartless Decoy". When it comes to humans, witches, and fictional characters like us, it would've appeared the thing that Heartlesses actually believed they disguised their selves as humans or evil people.

Justin Law : Oh great! After serving a loco madman that was Death the kid's older brother and getting end up at a time like this. Now this is just great, this is absolutely a bunch of Bogus! [chuckles] Speaking of bogus, there's one more thing for me to say to you before I had my plans on destroying the devil's legacy....I'M NO GOD DAMN--

Sora : See ya!

[DBZ SFX : ENERGY BLAST]

[Heartless shrieks before it dies and vanishes]

Squall : Well, case is completely solved.

Cid : Hey, guys. I can think that Sora can pull a move with something like this and I forsehadow him that he would definitely be joined by this weird floating glove guy. [shows a photo Master Hand] This one here ol' Master Hand, a floating magical glove and announcer of Super Smash Bros., Nintendo's popular fighting game created by the legnedary creator Masahiro Sakurai.

Squall : Sakurai is quite the man of creating pink alien creature that has the only thing to inhale and turn his victims into it's copy abilities, Smash Bros is a one true wonder that is way popular than Soul Eater.

Cid : True that my friend, Smash Bros is a much popular game that foreshadow Sora to join and I bet that Cloud is also to foreshadow to join Smash before the others from Square Enix does.

Yen Sid : Very well, you have what you wished for. Let's pray that Soul World will no longer be a better place for the Land of Nevada as it will fall into the Darkness itself. Tell, Sora that Smash Bros is in depth of saving the real world from evil forces that lurks.

Sora : Leave it to me, Yen Sid! Cause that future smash fighter would be gullible enough to join them, and his name, Sora!

~ Forty-Third Scene : The Heroes of Smash ~

[faemytho]

lust sans belongs in the bad gays group and here's three reasons why (with evidence) ((NOT CLICKBAIT))

ok i lied about the evidence but listen. i have thoughts and feelings about this and you all get to be dragged along. this is a long post.

DISCLAIMER: THESE ARE HEADCANONS. i do base many of my headcanons off of their canons, but i am not proclaiming anything to be canon or not since none of these characters belong to me; i am just having fun with them.

1.) lust is an outcast among the multiverse sanses - this is due to a cultural underlust thing, NOT a "sexual purity" thing because we do Not stan that here

the story of underlust is one of underpopulation and a continuous aphrodisiac heat curse. due to this, i'd bet MONEY that the underlust culture is wildly different than any of the other AUs. we're talking more solitary lives (less people around; more people alone, leads to loneliness and the NEED to be around someone, not even counting the heat curse), we're talking frequent hookups on the spot being considered normal, we're talking people who probably have very different ways to interpret social cues - aka, interpreting implied consent (which is a real thing and a huge problem in some places).

and i bet u that because of this, lust ACCIDENTALLY comes onto a lot of his alternate selves without realizing because his culture is so so different than theirs.

he's avoided because of this. he's an outcast. he makes them uncomfortable, even though he doesn't try to. he knows they're uncomfortable around him, but he doesn't know how to fix it.

this is where nightmare comes in.

2.) nightmare takes in those who are shunned (like he was), and lust is no exception.

for fucks sake y'all, his freaking NAME is "lust". i bet you he didn't even pick it out - could you imagine being named after something so normal in your culture, something you had no control over, just because it's not like that in other cultures? that'd be like naming horror "cannibalism".

imo, him getting named "lust" was literally just another way to shun and isolate him from the other multiversal sanses.

and nightmare knows what it's like to be shunned by everyone around you for something you can't control. big headcanon is that that's the reason why he takes in so many of the "bad" sanses in the first place.

3.) he would 100% fit right in

"how the fuck would sexy man fit in with the murderers??" well i will tell you one thing they have nothing to do with each other so you can put your poor little sexual purity mindset to rest and also get it out of here bc again we do not vibe with that

let me lay it out for you

horror comes from an AU where resources are dwindling. food is scarce, people are succumbing to cannibalism madness, it's messy and horrible and the culture of horrortale is a lot different than any other AU. horror would definitely understand lust's situation the most - he's shunned for similar reasons.

cross comes from an AU where he's one of many royal guards. im sure u all keep up with xtale and underverse, but lets say that in this, the events of underverse never happened after X. he's not so much culturally different as he is traumatized - he just lost his whole family and his entire AU, he's forcibly joined to a vengeance seeking spirit who he thinks is power-hungry and insane (xchara), and after X and before meeting Ink, he's practically hopeless. a perfect magnet for nightmare to find him. nightmare offers him safety and peace, and cross, tired of it all, agrees. the x-event never comes to pass. ((i'm laying all this out because i often see cross included in the bad squad with no explanation @ underverse, so this is how i figure it goes - underverse just never happens in these timelines))

ANYWAYS cross is traumatized, and though i think he and lust would be rocky at first, they'd eventually get along and understand each other; they'd just need some time to do that.

dust is from a timeline where chara commits genocide run after genocide run, and dust is driven to kill everyone in an attempt to beat chara - this leaves him in an empty world with a guilt formed hallucination of his brother. he is Also traumatized. i feel like he and lust would get along; the lack of feeling like there was any other choice is probably a huge thing that helps them connect.

killer is from a timeline similar to dust's, except instead of fighting against chara, killer joins chara after what are probably years of them resetting and asking him to join them. killer is traumatized, he's a bit not right in the head, but with chara out of the way and him with nightmare, i feel like he's pretty chill, a lot like his old self. i feel like he'd see lust and they'd honestly be best friends - they both have the same sort of laid back attitude. they'd fit like puzzle pieces.

error is a quirky, stupid little man baby with way too much power. nightmare didn't take him in; error just showed up one day and the bad gays simply got used to him showing up - i bet there was at least one point where error showed up, killer proclaimed that cross had gotten error "some of that chocolate shit he likes" and error immediately bolted to cross and held out his hands (and yeah, cross did get extra just for the next time error showed up). i think error and lust would honestly clash the most, what with lust's culture being "overly touchy" and error's blatant fear of touch. once lust realizes he can't do that kinda stuff with error though, they'd definitely be able to get along. lust probably bribes error with gifts and shit.

and finally, nightmare. i feel like they'd get along from the start; lust has a penchant for dramatics and nightmare's open to new ideas. lust and nightmare bonding over being absolute queens is something i will never let go of.

im saying that because they're all outcasts, they all figure they better stick together, and lust would fit right in with them.

then they help lust pick out a different name for himself and they all decide on "hearts" for him and then they all Kiss

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Eight): Icarus Falls

Notes: Why, yes, I am posting these relatively quickly. This is the last of a backlog since I’m actively still working on the next chapter, This is a doozy of a chapter, both emotionally and length wise, but I’m rather proud of it, if I’m being honest. I recommend settling in a snack and maybe...just maybe some tissues.... 

Word Count: 15327 

Chapter Warnings:  Multiple deaths, violence, gore, grief, angst. 

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V and Jackie get into the backseat of the Delamain taxi. White and tan leather interior, despite looking the nicest she ever has in twenty years she still feels like she might stain the white leather. No driver, instead there’s screens and consoles in the back of the seats in front of them. An avatar of a bald man with stark unnaturally white skin and blue lips 

“Welcome on board this Delamain service. With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door,” the AI avatar greets them in a robotic voice. 

“Son of a bitch! Better fuckin' believe I will!” Jackie yells out, still grinning. V lets out a breath of air meant to sound like a laugh, but the lump in her throat isn’t making it any easier. 

“I see no reason why you should be using expletives.”

“Sorry, he gets… excited.”  Her voice is tighter than she wants it to be, her leg bouncing now. 

“Damn right, I’m excited. Hey, Del, what about that time I wanted to hire you for my cousin's bachelor party, huh?” 

“Unfortunately, we do not take on such contracts.”

“Three months I'd been savin' up scratch… Egh, water under the bridge. Hit it, Del!”

“Before we begin our journey, I must verify the identities of all customers. Please proceed to connect your personal links,” the mercs plug their personal links into the console, “Thank you. "Excelsior" package activated.”

Crisp subtitles for Delamain alight along her contacts, more comprehensive than the lip reading tech sometimes gives. Maybe his AI avatar enunciates more properly than a human, she wonders. 

“"Excelsior"? Hohoho, this just keeps gettin' better!”

Jackie laughs as the taxi cab starts to drive and V finds herself fiddling with her suit sleeve. It’s perfectly tailored, but she still feels like a kid in dress up. Having to pretend she’s a corpo, having to pretend to be a hearing person. Her bright painted nails seem to clash so much with the persona and she curses herself for not changing the polish. What if they’re caught right away? The corps smelling Heywood and The Badlands on them the second they walk through the door. What if the spoofed SID hack doesn’t work, what if the bot malfunctions… What if, what if, what if; spins around her brain. They can’t fuck this up, there’s no room for mistakes. One disaster will destroy their reputations, hell their entire merc careers. And that's the best case scenario. 

When she glances at Jackie there’s no hint of nerves, no hint of reservation or fear, just giddy excitement. Like a kid getting ready to hit up a party. 

“What’s got you riled up?” She asks in spoken English, deciding she’ll mostly speak for the ride since Jackie is the only person really here, that way he doesn’t have to look at her the entire time. And maybe she’s also hoping if she talks enough she won’t clam up too bad in Konpeki.  

“Hang on, watch this… Delamain! Initiate combat mode!”

She can see the bright red ink of his tattoo peeking from his suit sleeve, eyes drawn to it, and something about that scares her more; a hint of his Valentino roots showing, would it be a literal red flag for Konpeki security. 

“My apologies, but you do not appear to be in any sort of imminent danger,” Delamain crushes Jackie’s hopes, a frown replacing his grin. 

“Huh… Oh well. Trust me, he'll mow down an army of ‘Saka ninjas if it comes down to it,” Jackie explains to V and she wraps her arms around herself, resisting the desire to bring her legs up into the seat, trying to get her mind off her nerves. 

“So, what else is included in Excelsior mode?” V tries signing to the AI, curious if it has translation tech for ASL. 

“Comprehensive health coverage, including the handling and disposal of a client's remains should death occur on board,” Delamain responds without hesitation and instantly ruins any chance of her getting her mind off the massive risks within this job. 

“Damn. Shit got dark pretty quick,” Jackie comments. 

“Dex isn’t skimping though.” 

“And thanks to you, we're still gettin' a juicy forty percent.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“Excelsior…This is how you wanna cruise into the major leagues…” He says like the job is already done and they’re hitting up an after party… 

“Wouldn’t get too excited yet, Jack, doing a job not hitting up a party.” And her words are too sharp, voice too venomous and rough in her throat. She regrets it as soon as they leave her lips, as soon as she’s spoken them into reality, wishing she could swallow them back down. His face drops completely, eyes harsh and she knows she fucked up. 

“For real, V…? See me as that shallow?”

“I-”

“Lemme explain somethin' to you, V… My whole life I've spent in this shit around us! And I ain't goin' back!”

“I’m sorry, really, I just… I’m worried and I let my nerves talk for me, I’m sorry.” She quickly tries to smooth it over, those knots in her gut only winding tighter with Jackie mad at her. 

“Swear to christ, V, I will never fucking get you,” he says, shaking his head and looking out the window.

“What do you mean?” 

“Twenty years old, sitting in the back of a Delamain, on your way to do a job for Dex fuckin’ Deshawn and you can’t even muster a fuckin smile? You fuckin’ know what I’d have done to be where you are right now when I was your age, I was still dreaming of seeing The Afterlife! Took you less than a year to be here, took me ten! And you ain’t even happy about it! Then you act like I’m not takin’ it serious, like I don’t got my fuckin’ head in the game, just cause you can’t appreciate where the fuck you are right now!” 

She chews her lip, not sure what to say to him. Guilt coming over her. He’s right, she hasn’t lived in Night City nor been a merc nearly as long. He’s been doing this since he left the Valentinos… For Jackie this has been a lifelong dream, the ultimate goal. She didn’t even consider it a possibility until she met him and now she’s already on her way there. Of course he’s happy, on the precipice of his dreams coming true. 

“I’m sorry, really I didn’t mean to piss on your parade.” 

“Yet somehow you always do.” 

V sighs watching the city pass outside her window for a few more moments, tapping her fingers, that knot feels like a ball of lead now. She wants to claw her skin off,  tear and tear away at herself, at her being, and maybe, just maybe she’ll find someone better under the gore.  Someone who isn’t such a fucking asshole. Someone who knows how to keep their mouth shut and doesn’t ruin everything for everyone else. She’ll never understand why Jackie puts up with her, why he has for so long. She just doesn’t want to fuck this up. The job, her friendship, the little bit of happiness she’s built. V wrings her hands together, tight enough to hurt and she twists them a little harder, nails digging into the skin. If she can’t find anyone better maybe she’ll just claw away until she’s nothing at all. 

She’s already a bundle of nerves over the heist and she can’t stand another moment of the tension hanging thick in the air. 

“Did you fuck my wife?” She says in her best imitation of something between an Italian and a Brooklyn accent, watching Jackie’s face, the hint of a smile tugging at it. Tension starting to melt ever so slightly. 

“Don’t get me started,” he returns forcing the same cheesy voice. 

“Did you fuck my wife?” 

“I think you fucked my wife and got me started.” 

“I got started cause you fucked my wife.” 

“I could trace back the moment I got started it’d definitely be when you fucked my wife!” 

“That is unquestionably when I got started!” They’re smiling now, giggling at every other word as they choke on their cheesy jokes. Tension melts away as a weight is being lifted off her chest. 

“My records indicate that neither of you are married.” 

And they lose it, laughter filling the car at Delamain’s interjection to their stupidity. Its ridiculous and dumb and they sound like children. But, she’s thankful for the moment, the reprieve, where it’s laughter and not nerves tearing at her guts. 

A call notification lights up on V’s optic contacts, T-Bug’s avatar and V answers, the runner’s voice coming just a moment later. 

“Hey. How's things?”

“Eh,” Jackie answers, “been better, been worse.” 

“We’re nearing our destination,” Delamain tells them and V’s throat tightens. 

“Listen, set up a direct, encrypted line to guide you through Konpeki. V, ring Jackie now, see if we're in sync. Can't be too careful.” 

She puts a call through to Jackie, inteface telling her it’s establishing a secure connection.

“And?” Bug asks, expectantly. 

“Got static,” Jackie cringes, “Say somethin', Bug?”

“The greatest crimes issue from a desire for excess and not from necessity."

“Say what now?”

“Yeah, I read you. Not so much your Greek friend, though it was kind of exciting,” Jackie tells her with the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“Could give it some thought, try to understand…? How 'bout you, V?”

“I want more Aristotle!” 

“Fuck off, both.”

Jackie and V share a giggle at the runner��s expense, V’s going to miss when Bug goes into retirement. If all works out, even on the brighter side, it may be the last time all three of them work together. But at least Bug will be happy and safe, unlike V or Jackie, this was never her dream or end goal. 

“OK, tech checks out, looks like,” T-Bug confirms. 

“Será mejor que sí…”

“Stay in touch”

And V just realizes the taxi has stopped moving, through Jackie’s window she can see the front entrance of the hotel.  The bright red exterior walls, a worker standing at the ready and those nerves are clawing their way back with a vengeance, tearing up her insides and making her want to bolt, terrified that they’lll be found out as soon as they step foot in. They need to get moving, only way to get through the fear is to take control, do what needs to be done. And hopefully avoid puking in the back of an expensive AI taxi. 

“Thank you for choosing the Delamain service. And best of luck. I shall await here for your return.”

“Shit's finally happenin’… “ 

“Its game time, got any iron left on you, time to put it away,” she tells him, tucking her gun and knife into the center compartment. Jackie following suit. V tugs off her suit jacket and rolls her white sleeves to her elbows, making sure her blades are accessible from the start. 

“Alright, Hannah, let’s go.” 

V opens the door of the Delamain, greeted by the view in front of the hotel, in the distance she can see the space travel facility, night settled over the water. The hotel has trees and plants out front, trying to sprinkle some nature into the cement and chrome world of Night City. She carries her suit jacket over her shoulder, keeping one hand busy with it, while the other sits in her pocket. Hoping it will keep her from signing if she needs to talk. 

“Hold on, lemme grab the Flathead.” Jackie pops the trunk of the taxi and pulls out the case with the bot. 

The mercs take the two marble steps up, a vibrant stript of red along the path.There’s long white marble with planters and the name of the hotel inscripted in gold. 

“'Member, reservation's in your name… Ramón. You're there to meet Hajime Taki - military tech department rep. Papers are for the Flathead” T-Bug tells them as they get closer to the double doors. 

“Welcome to Konpeki Plaza,” a man in a red, black, and gold uniform greets them, bowing his head as they pass by.

There’s a large waiting room, white couches along the sides with monitors displaying documentaries and vases with red hologram plants branching out of them. A security gate divides the waiting room from the front desk, scanners to check each guest for weaponry. Beyond it she can see staff with gold plated skin. All non-security personnel of the hotel are gold plated; receptionists, concierge, bartenders, and the like. A requirement for the job, even staff must match the aesthetic. 

“Welcome to Konpeki Plaza. Please come through single file,” The guard tells them as they reach the full body scanner. 

“You got it, holm-- uh, ahem, sir,” Jackie stumbles and V screams internally, watching her friend step forward. Blue light crackles along him, like lightning, then it flashes red. Misty’s warning of mean reds, flaring in V’s mind. 

“Ahem. Hold on got something,” the guard stops Jackie before he can go any further, “Sir, care to explain why you're bringin’ a combat bot onto Konpeki Plaza premises?”

“Arms dealers.” V yells out quickly, hating how forced it sounds, tightening her fingers in her jacket, desperate not to sign on instinct and not realizing she forgot the ‘we’re’ part of her sentence until she finished saying it. 

“Excuse me?”

“Ah!” A gold skinned concierge steps over,  “You are here to see Taki-san, am I right? Please accept my apologies for the confusion.” 

“Pff,” Jackie scoffs as the concierge bows and walks into the lobby, waiting at the front desk. 

V steps into the scanner, guard assuring her it will only take a moment. It distorts her vision, crackling it with blue for just a moment. Then the guard tells her to go ahead and she walks forward, meeting Jackie at the desk. A woman with gold skin, black hair all shaved except for the bangs and sidelocks greets them.  And V is starting to notice that the Arasaka logo is everywhere, the corp hotel owned by them. On the screens, gold emblazoned on marble planters, and on pamphlets. The hotel and Arasaka logo are clearly one in the same. 

“Youkoso. Greetings and welcome to Konpeki Plaza,” she says bowing her head to them and V returns the gesture.

“We’d like to check in,” Jackie says and V sends him a silent thanks for talking. .

“Of course, just a moment, please” the receptionist taps away at a keyboard, “The name on the reservation is…?”

“Victorino.”

“Double room, two adults, one night. Correct?”

“That’s the one,” V tells her, with a tight nod. 

“Perfect… I will go ahead and notify Taki-san of your arrival.”

“Shit, no good, not part of the plan. Talk her up, V, stall!” T-Bug yells out over the call and V is once again wanting to scream. 

“That, uh,  won't be necessary,” she curses herself for stuttering, “We'll go freshen up first, notify him ourselves.”

“But Taki-san is expecting you, no…?”

“Senorita, do you know how long we been traveling? Eighteen hours from New Barcelona. With a delay on Metakey 'cause some cyberpsycho blew himself into bits inside the terminal…”

“Been a nightmare, ugh.” 

“Of course, I understand. You will be in the Lapis Lazuli Suite on level forty-two. Oh, one more little formality… Please validate your SID chip.”

“Honor's all yours, Hannah.” 

A tablet on the table lights up with a bright blue handprint and she’s reminding of her issue getting into her own apartment. Bug said she put a temporary hack on their SID chip, but there’s an extra twinge of anxiety as V lays her hand down on it. She half expects it to show a senior citizen, to be outed as a fraud and tossed out the door. 

“Everything seems to be in order. We wish you a pleasant stay!~” 

“Better get goin'.”

V murmurs a thanks, feeling a bit of relief at having that part of this whole thing done. Playing corpo is somehow more stressful to her than the idea of breaking into Yorinobu’s penthouse. She follows behind Jackie. Large marble planters fill the lobby, some with trees that nearly touch the staggeringly high ceiling. 

“New Barcelona? Really?” T-Bug comments as V follows Jackie up a short set of marble steps. 

“It's called improvisin' - you should try it,” V stares up at a gold framed painting, “Whaddaya think, Hannah"?

“...” V raises an eyebrow at him with a soft noise in her throat. 

“Quaint, cozy. Not like the hotel we had in Zurich for that convention.”

“Don't need that, Jack. Enough.”

“What? I’m takin’ this seriously!” Jackie grumbles when T-Bug scolds him. 

They take two turns through the lobby, guards passing by talking about dolls being left in rough shape as they near what looks to be a bar in the corner. It's an open pathway inside, the bar illuminated in pink and a gold plated woman stands at a podium bearing Arasaka’s logo. There’s a lit collection of alcohol behind the bar, liquor that costs more than V’s rent, which isn’t a hard feat but still rubs her the wrong way. 

“Bar don't look too shabby.”

“We don't do reservations on weekdays, so feel free to grab any available table. Or a couple of stools at the bar if you prefer?” She explains to them, a valley girl accent to her words. 

“Could bring Misty here one day. When we, uh… close this deal.”

“Might take a look around.” 

The idea of sitting down, if only for a moment, and catching her breath after the close call in the lobby sounds nice. Her nerves are frayed already, she’s never wanted to drink so much on a job before. A quick breather before she has a full blown panic attack. 

“Shit,” Jackie curses, “look like some fuckin' travelin' salesman with this case. Go ahead, I’ll go on upstairs.” 

V nods, watching Jackie go to the elevator, a part of her feels guilty, but she doesn’t intend to take too long. And it’s not as if she’s made visiting bars on the job a habit before, she can have this one. She rubs a hand over the back of her neck, feeling the chrome indents of her Mantis Blades cooling the skin. Half of the room is a lounge with black couches and slick pink metallic chairs, terrariums built into the walls. The other half is, gold stools and booths before the neon pink bar. Each side is filled with people mingling, dressed in high fashion, people who’ve gambled away more money than she’s ever seen. 

“And when I say heads're gonna roll, I don't mean it as a fucking turn of phrase,” a half drunk man slurs his speech at the golden bartender. The stench of whiskey clings heavy to his clothes. 

“Had enough guy, don’t you think? You’re making the other customers uncomfortable,” the bartender sends a pointed look towards V, a slight twang in his voice. She was looking for a breather, not conflict. 

“Good! 'Cause this affects them, too! It'll slap everyone in the face!” 

“What’s that?’ She entertains him, figuring it might get the guy gone sooner. 

“You wanna know what a bearer of bad news looks like? What's four hundred yards long, weighs a hundred thousand tons, and is nuclear powered…? The answer's docked in the bay! Hanako Arasaka decided -,” he hiccups, “decided to take a little vacation!

“Big deal.”

“Don't know how big just yet,” her sarcasm doesn’t penetrate the fog of whiskey, “And by the time we do, it'll.. it'll be too late. Screw this. I'm gonna get some sleep…”

With that the man stumbles away, taking the too strong smell of booze with him and the shining bartender turns to her. His shaved hair either red or pink, color distorted in the glowing light. 

“Evenin, what can I get you, baby?” 

Her nose wrinkles at the term of endearment, “little forward, don’t you think?” 

“Suckled it outta my ma's very breast,” he returns, “Fifty percent protein, the other half pure high octane CHOOH2.” 

He presses two gilded hands to the bar leaning forward as he regales his story and she can’t help but raise an eyebrow; he’s implying he’s a nomad, but why would he tell her that? 

“What?” 

“She had wind and dust in her hair, so to speak. Belonged to the Aldecaldos. Before the bombs began fallin'. Her final words? ‘Wherever you go, whatever you do, be yourself, David.’ And so I ended up here. Still no one but myself.” 

He’s full of shit, she decides immediately. Maybe her own distrust or her own frustration, nobody with nomad blood would end up here, gold plated and slinging drinks to corpos. At the very fucking least, they wouldn’t act so damn happy about it. 

“Lovely story if it wasn’t a crock of shit.” 

“Everyone's making something up,” he smirks, “Just like you, baby.”

“Excuse you?” she chokes out, feeling like ice water has been shot through her veins. He’s seen through her, that implication clear, but how? Even regaling to her some fucked up story of being a nomad, like he could smell the dust of the badlands still on her skin. 

“Can I getcha somethin'? At the least, water?” 

“Bourbon and cherry coke.” 

“You got it, baby.” 

The repeated use of the pet name earns him a glare, V tapping her fingers against the bar, his story and perceptiveness making her nerves worse. He sets the drink on the table and she downs it with a gulp, alcohol not quite loosening her how she hopes. She sets the glass down and leaves the bar, it may be petty but she doesn’t leave him a tip, frustrated at the idea he could have seen through her. 

She jabs the elevator button, tapping her foot as she waits and stares at some painting. Its all abstract bullshit, pretty colors, but she’s not sure she sees much else to them. The golden doors open, the back of the elevator windowed with what looks like foliage inside, maybe it’s just a screen. V steps inside and jabs to her level. And after just a short ride, it stops  at her floor. 

The doors open and she sees Jackie, looking over one of the art pieces, walking past a desk and concierge to greet him. 

“About time,” he says, when he spots her, the pair making a beeline to the suite. They walk past a couple speaking Russian, talking about testing on people, as they find the door. 

Jackie opens the door and she gets her first peek of it, stepping in. The furthest wall almost entirely windowed, looking out over the hills. Another expanse dedicated to a terrarium, a large plush bed, white sofas, and a table projecting hologram displays of fish. V tosses her suit jacket off onto the couch. 

“Pretty snazzy. Too bad we ain't stayin' the night. Nice choice, Bug.” 

“Didn't pick it for snazz. Offers quickest access to the dweller and servers.”

“Sí, sí, me acuerdo,” jackie grumbles as he puts the Flathead case down on a table in front of the terrarium. The little spider bot springs to life the second it’s case is opened. 

“Now you fire up the Flathead and find the shaft entrance.” 

“Sounds simple enough…” 

“Simplicity's sometimes toughest to master,” T-Bug tells her. 

“Aurelius? Aristotle? Who's it this time?”

“Yours truly, that one's mine.”

“Go ahead and find the shaft, chica, I’ll get the Flathead running.” 

V nods and begins looking around the room, scanning around, finding the shaft after a short moment. A little square panel standing out on the wall next to the terrarium, scanner telling her it’s Flathead compatible. 

“Found it.” 

“Good. Jackie, how's the Flathead lookin'?” T-Bug asks, he’s put the control shard in one of his neuroports while V was looking for the shaft, eyes now glowing bright white blue. 

“All set. Systems’re operational, charge at a hundred…,” a moment passes his expression furrowing as he shakes his head, “Mierda.  Little gonk's stuck.”

“Just gonna stand there and look at it? Gonna have to switch to manual control. V, take the control shard from Jackie. Gonna link your Kiroshis to surveillance so you can guide the bot.”

“Why me, Jack’s got full blown optics?”  She asks, as he pulls the control shard from his head. 

“Yeah, but you got better tech, unlike someone I ain’t run up my tab with Vik. Got last-gen firmware low flow. May be contacts, but you’re working with top notch Kiroshi tech.” 

“Plus someone already has some playtime with the bot,” T-Bug outs her and Jackie raises an eyebrow at V, a teasing smile on his lips. 

“You played with the bot?”

“Just… give me the shard,” she takes it from Jackie’s hand, “Surveillance cover the whole hotel?”

“Mhm. Even the bedrooms in the suites.”

“Seriously?” 

“You'd be surprised what people're willin' to give up to feel secure. Lucky for us, Yorinobu's an exception. Penthouse is dark, no hotel security.’

“Okay, here goes.” V pushes the control shard into the slot, the interface says it’s connecting her, then it glitches and in a moment she’s looking at herself and Jackie through the surveillance camera. 

“Patching you through to in-cam view. Might get a little disoriented, but don't freak”

Her vision switches between rooms; a man getting a lap dance from a doll in a dimly room, two men in another hotel room. And then it lands on a third room. A meeting of four people; two Arasaka suits and two faces she vaguely recognizes. The view doesn't shift again and she takes the chance to look closer, talks of losing control of Watson, election season. And it clicks, the mayor of Night City. 

“Camera’s set,” V tells Bug, political bullshit isn’t her business, she can see the vague outline of the Flathead creeping into the room.  Only slightly visible to her thanks to her connection, 

“Get him to the next vent.”

V scans and finds the next vent shaft tucked in the corner of the room, sending the Flathead to it. She watches as it crawls and creeps through the room. 

“C’mon little buddy, you got it, yes,” She cheers on the little machine as it skitters across the camera and into the vent. 

“It’s a Military grade combat bot, not your pet, V. Patching you into the next cam now.” 

The next room appears, more brightly lit with two maids working to clean it. V goes to send the Flathead into the vent but the request is denied, detecting one of the cleaning ladies is too far into it’s path. 

“Cleaning crew’s in the way,” V tells Bug, listening to one of the women start drooling over Yorinobu. 

“Gotta distract her. Hmm, let's see what's on the subnet…temp control on the terrarium, sic the bot on it.” 

V follows the runner’s orders scanning and sending the Flathead onto the temp control. Barely a moment passes before the maid’s notice, freaking out about how expensive it is. The merc takes her chance and sends the bot into the unblocked vent shaft. 

“Little guy’s through.”

Next cam flickers into a green tinted maintenance hallway, the bots legs tinkering across the floor. Vent on the other side of the room, V sends it through, smiling as her little buddy makes his way through. And it brings her to a new camera, it looks like where the surveillance feeds lead to. A console and row of screens with a security guard watching them. 

“Dweller's just beyond the door. Flathead can jimmy the lock.”

V sends the command, watching it scamper to the door, tendrils working at the lock. But nothing gives away. 

“He’s having some trouble, poor feller.” 

“Shit… Gotta be another way. Lemme think… Got another cam other side of the door, but it's disabled.’

“Got a CCTV port, might be able to enable it.” 

“Go for it.” 

The Flathead creeps across the room and jacks into the port, giving V access to the other camera. And V switches her vision to it, the next room looks like a high tech runner’s nest. Two netrunning chairs in deep cooled divots within the room. But only one is in use, a man jacked into the security frame, illuminated in blue, screens running code around him. 

“Dweller’s inside.”

“Just as planned.”

“Still don’t get why they only have the one.” 

“Decent dweller's as good as a dozen rank-and-file. Lemme graft a demonoid onto your link, you’ll be able to jack the bot directly into the chair and neutralize the runner.” 

“Got’cha” 

“You'll have to get the Flathead in there first, though.” 

“Got another shaft grate,” V finds when she twists the camera’s view, there had to be a vent in the other room, servers lining the walls. Bad ventilation and the entire operation overheats. 

“Shaft may link both rooms, looks like. Toggle to the other cam.” 

V does so, a moment of scanning and she finds a hidden shaft grate in the floor, “Think I got it.”

“Send the Flathead over there, then toggle over to the second cam.”

She waits until the bot is prying open the vent in the surveillance room, then flickers back over to the runner’s den, eyes on the vent and hoping she didn’t send their tech into the wrong room. A moment passes and she sees her robotic friend creeping his way out. 

“Our friend’s inside.” 

“Flathead into the chair, V, jack in.” 

The bot crawls across the floor and into the netrunner’s cubby, creeping up the chair and scuttling over the man’s body. Deep in the subnet the man doesn’t stir or even notice as the bot hovers over his face and jacks into the chair. And the code across the screen glitches, replaced by a T. 

“Holy shit.” 

“Whoop! Got him! Love those daemons!” Bug cheers, louder and more excited than V has ever heard her. They did it, the bot is in, T-Bug has access to it all. 

“Uh, Flathead buddy stays, right?” 

“To keep an eye on the dweller, yeah. Punching into Konpeki’s main net. Go ahead and log out.” 

The young merc’s vision starts to glitch and flicker red, her pulling the shard from her head, everything spinning. Lightheaded and her body feels both too light and too heavy. Like she could collapse and float away all at once. 

“That's how it's done! How ya feelin'?” Jackie asks, concern lacing his voice. 

“Like I’m about to puke on a rug worth more than my car.” 

“Bug? How're you doin' on time?” The runner doesn’t respond right away, a moment too long passing. 

“Bug?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Soooo listen, ICE is thicker than I thought. Piercing it'll take a couple hours.” 

“A couple hours?! Can't do it any faster?”

“Want my brain to burst into flames? Just siddown and enjoy your snazzy suite.”

“Thanks, I will! V, you take it easy, c’mon rest for a bit.” 

V doesn’t need anymore prodding, settling down onto the white sofa, hoping her head will stop spinning and stomach cease churning by the time Bug is done. The merc kicks off her heels and lays across the sofa, softer than her bed. Jackie sitting across on the other side of the table, V brings her hand up to her face, trying to block out the blue light from the holo projector. But catches herself looking at the bracelet Misty gave her, the way the beads catch the light, remembering the name of it. 

“Hey, what was our suite’s name again?” 

“Lapis lazuli, why?” 

“Isn’t that what Misty’s bracelets are? The blue beads with the gold.” 

“Oh...yeah, ain’t that some shit, must be a good sign.” 

“Maybe… she read your cards before this?” 

“Nah, didn’t get a chance, nagged me about mean reds though. What about you, cards in your favor?” 

“All I remember is something about a magician and love, blegh.” 

“Hehehe,” his laughter is warm and fills the huge room, “telling you, one day you’re gonna be head over heels with some chiccy or mano and you’re not gonna know what to do with yourself.” 

“That how it was with you and Misty?” 

“Pssh, knew I was crazy about her from day one, took a while to work up the nerve though one day I just told her the truth.” 

“That you were in loooove~.”

“More like I’d take a bullet for her, chica.”

“Romantic.” 

“Fuck yeah it is, in Night City, that’s worth a billion I love yous.” 

“So you say.” 

“Keep doing that and you’re gonna rub the finish off Vik’s work,” Jackie tells her and she realizes she’s been rubbing and fiddling with her implants, “be a waste for free work to be ruined.” 

“I’m gonna pay him.” 

“You give him anything upfront, even a dime?” 

“I… gave him a hug…” 

“Wow,” Jackie says half laughing and she’s laughing too, “a whole hug for top of the line chrome! Probably wasn’t even a real hug, just your half ass shit!” 

“I may have only used one arm.” 

“Santa mierda, V, gotta learn to hug people like you mean it.” 

“Yes, yes,” she yawns, “blah blah blah, never know which hug will be the last one, blah….” 

“Flathead wear you out that bad?” 

“Maybe a little…” Her stomach feels better, but her head is still light, fuzzy. And in the plush of the sofa, with Jackie close by, she finds herself drifting away. Eyelids getting heavier with each word, each lull of his voice. She didn’t drink much, but she’s sure the bourbon didn’t help. 

“Gonna be a while, might as well catch a cat nap, chica. Though Bug might not like it, haven’t quite managed to get the stick out of her ass.”  

“Yeah..maybe…” 

The world fades away, a soft fuzzy sleep taking over. Time ticks by around her as she catches a moment, or maybe several, to sleep. Her brain is still a little foggy, but the dizziness is gone by the time she slowly starts to wake back up. A bad case of cottonmouth as she wakes, world filtering back in. 

Her suit jacket is tossed over her, a makeshift blanket she didn’t put there, she rolls over to sit, more stable than she was before. The time on the terrarium panel tells her only an hour or two has passed.  Jackie’s back is too her, his eyes staring at the window. And she finds herself staring, standing in a suit and basked in the lights of the city view, he’s never seemed so serious. 

“Whaddaya think? Why'd he give it all up?” He asks after a moment and she blinks, brain still foggy. 

“Who?” 

"Yorinobu Arasaka. The good life, I mean. Old news, I know. Just got to thinkin's all. It's like, think… You got everything, right? Eddies, education. Your pops can snap his fingers and turn half the fuckin’ planet into a nuclear wasteland… But instead you're like, ‘Nah, fuck it,’ and whaddaya go do? Start a fuckin' gang! Steel Dragons or some shit! You ghost from your fam, chip some RealSkinn and play gang leader for a few years. For what?!” 

She can sense the frustration in every word, feel it every clench of his fingers or swing of his hands. Someone like Yorinobu was handed everything he could ever want; tried to piss it away to play edgerunner, then found himself sucking the silver spoon once again.  But, she can’t blame him for wanting out from under his father’s thumb; that alone a feeling she knows too well. Her fingers hover over her wrist, the still branded flesh that Vik saved. 

“Maybe...he just wanted out of the system.” 

“So then why’d he come back.” 

“Tough to ditch the system when the system’s your own family,” V admits, finger still on the mark. 

“Black sheep’s still a sheep, eh?” 

“Maybe…” 

It took her forever to get the nerve to leave, she talked about it constantly, but it wasn’t until her mother’s death, murder, culling. Whatever she’s meant to call it, that she finally was pushed to make that move. Been gone for years now, but… more days than she cares to admit were spent wondering if she ever should have run, if she should crawl back and beg. If a family that hates her is better than no family at all… 

“Crawled back on all fours, tail between his legs, fuckin’ cheap ass rebel. Fuckin’ tourist!” 

Her nails dig into her skin; insecurities brimming, fear that maybe she’s just as much a fuckin’ tourist. Some black sheep nomad who’ll go running back to her dad, beg for another chance, playing pretend merc when all she’ll ever be is the family burden. 

“Tourist or not, he just walked into the lobby. And we are back in biz. Penthouse security is neutralized.”

“Perfecto, let’s start this show.”

And with those words, they’re back in business, the younger merc up on her feet. V grabbing her jacket and following Jackie out of the suite, fiddling with the fabric as she walks, heels clicking across the floor. 

“Hey, Bug…” Jackie says after a beat of silence,  “were, uh… were you on comms that whole time?”

“Three and a half hours.”

“Eehh… about that stick up the ass…”

“Mean the one up mine?”

“Ehh, slip of the tongue, y'know…”

“I know. Now's your chance to make up to me,” T-Bug tells him as they reach the elevator, Jackie pressing the button. 

“This is going pretty smooth right,” he turns to V as they wait, “right?” 

“Really are a silver lining type, ain’t ya?” V teases as the doors open and they step into the elevator. 

“Hey, when are you gonna wave off that dark cloud hanging over your head? Tellin’ you, it’s downhill from on in.” 

She rolls her eyes and hits the button to the penthouse, elevator doors closing and the carriage rumbling, shaking as it ascends. Silence falling over them, only the sound of the elevator. Jackie’s leg shakes and she knows that silence is about to end. 

“Ahh, there's the awkward silence. You, uh, wanna hear a joke?”

“Now? Seriously?”

“OK, so why'd the rockerboy's output kick him out of the apartment? ‘Cause he wasn't chippin' in.” Jackie cackles at his own joke and V rolls her eyes, a slight smile on her lips. 

“Jesus Christ…” 

Bug sounds a moment away from killing him, but thankfully for the older merc’s sake, the elevator comes to a stop. Doors opening up to Yorinobu’s suite. It feel different, seeing it from her own perspective instead of Evelyn’s and outside of a braindance editor. The entire suit feels bigger. A part of her wonders if it’s the height difference between herself and Evelyn, but decides to chalk it up to braindance shit instead. 

“Huh… not bad bein' heir to the Arasaka empire. Sure as shit better'n bein' the son of Raúl Welles,” Jackie comments taking in the room. 

V turns the corner through the room and a tank catches her eye. A slightly red light illuminating an iguana. It immediately reminds her of the only other iguana she knows, Manny. Come to think of it, his original crate was from Arasaka? 

“Hey, Jackie, look!” 

“Whoa, another fuckin’ iguana, not as cute as Manny though.” 

“Manny’s original crate was marked Arasaka; think he might’ve been Yorinobu’s before we klepped him?” 

“Think we stole his iguana and made him get a new one?” 

“Maybe?”  She gently taps the tank glass, watching the iguana’s tail flick back and forth. 

“Guys! Focus! The safe! And make it quick!” Bug yells out, bringing the merc’s back down to earth. V tosses her jacket onto one of the seats in the center, searching around the penthouse. Rain patters outside the windowed walls. They know where the safe is, but how do they get it out of the floor?

“Why, what's the rush?”

“Sig on Yorinobu's gone dark!”

“What is he, a fuckin' sorcerer?”

“Some kinda dead zone's my guess - have him back in a sec. And you do your damn job! Look around for a switch.”

V walks around one of the dividers where Yorinobu’s bed is, the slick metal of a gun catching her eye first and foremost. Black and gray, with purple detailing. She checks it for ammo and finds it loaded then decides it’s hers. 

“Looks like Yori left us a little gift,” she laughs, tucking the iron in her waistband. And on the other side of the bed, she finds a little switch. She presses it. 

“Bingo, got somethin' ejectin’! C'mere, V!” Jackie calls her over to the corner of the room, heart pounding in her chest.

They’re so close to the finish line, each click of her heels feeling like a step closer. This could actually work. A large black safe has risen out of the floor, a small jack in port and two red lights. Jackie stands on one side of it, the gray rainy day behind him. 

“What now, Bug?” 

“Jack in your personal and make us rich.” 

V plugs her personal link in, leaning one hand against the safe. Jackie leans against it from the other side, foreheads nearly touch as they wait for Bug to work her magic. Just get the chip and walk out, that’s all that’s left. All they need to do. She can’t stand still, itching to cross the finish line, minutes away from the major leagues. 

“Gimme two…”

The merc’s interface shows Bug uploading the daemons to crack the case and V watches the number rise. Sixty percent, seventy, seventy-five; each ticking number another shaky breath, a rising beat of her heart, and a chill up her spine. Homestretch, nearly there. 

And there’s a hum, V’s focus drawn away from the rising percentage, to the windows. Flying AV whirring through the gray skies, hovering around. She looks to Jackie, hoping somehow he’ll have an explanation, something to help her ignore the way her stomach is starting to drop. 

“We got winged visitors… Bug…?” There’s catch in his voice, nerves. Jackie’s scared and she swallows the lump in her throat. His face illuminated in the red flashing lights of the case, mean reds, the words flash in V’s mind. 

“Dunno who. But staffs abuzz, all two hundred on their feet, can't keep still…” 

Somethings wrong, the hair on the back of her neck stands up, a chill in her she can’t shake. Something is so fucking wrong. 

“Can't say I like this, how much longer, T?!”

“Shit. Yorinobu's penthouse bound!”

“What!?”V’s voice cracks, digging her nails into the safe, they’re fucked. They’re so fucked. 

“Fuck him!” Jackie slams his hand down, rattling the container, “Open the safe!” 

“Almost got it… Done!”  The safe opens, revealing a cryo-container within. Bright white light and a fog of ice cold air coming with it. V rips her personal jack out. 

“Preem, lets get the fuck out of here!”  

“Lemme look to this, eh?” Jackie says, pulling the container out and looking at the little screens across it. 

“Relic intact?” 

"Bioshard integrity - one hundred percent." Guessin' that's a yes,” Jackie reads off the vitals of the shard, picking up the case. 

“Good,  let’s delta.” 

The pair nearly trip through the center of the penthouse, rushing towards the elevator with Jackie lugging behind the giant cryo-container. So close, so close, so fucking close. An elevator and taxi ride away, then they’ll be at The Afterlife counting their eddies. The homestretch. 

“Fuck, too late!” T-Bug yells before V can hit the elevator button, “Yorinobu's about to walk in - find cover!

“Where in the fuck!?” V swings her hands as she yells, they’re so fucking close. She rakes her nails across her face, leaving red angry marks down her skin. 

“That pillar- try that!” 

“You fuckin' kiddin'?!” Jackie screams as the mercs make a move to the pillar in the center of the penthouse, were she thought servers for the room were kept. The back of it opening up and allowing a tight passageway. 

“No! Inside it! Now!” 

V slips inside as quickly as she can, Jackie following suit. He holds the cry-container close to his chest. The glass barrier is one way, they can see out, but it can’t be seen in. Still not ideal cover, ideally they’d be outside of the fucking hotel by now. The merc presses her hands to the glass, cursing under her breath. 

“We’re in,” she whispers to Bug.

“Which don't solve our problem, T.”

“I fuckin' know our problem's still there! Lemme think for a sec, okay?” 

The lights to the penthouse come on, elevator doors opening as Yorinobu strides in. with mechanical monstrosity of a body guard from the BD taking large whirring steps after him. And he seems even bigger now. He’s a cyber giant, one mech hand larger than  any part of V. 

He’s outlined in red, his eyes staring straight at her,  Vik said her new contacts would highlight if enemies saw her.. No, there’s no possible way. The man has barely set a borged-out foot into the room. She meets his gaze head on, swallowing the lump in her throat as she tries to seem braver than she is. On the off chance he may truly know the mercs are there. 

“Is that… Is that Adam Smasher?” Jackie whispers and V trusts him to look at her hands  as she signs, not wanting to break eye contact with the robotic monstrosity, refusing to show weakness.

“Bodyguard?” 

“Worse,” her trust in her friend is well placed, “Night City legend. Bleak motherfuckin' one, too. What's the plan?”

“We stay quiet and we wait.” 

A flash of movement makes V finally break the stare down, Yorinobu walks to the middle of the room and stops at the seat across from the table, black fabric strewn across it. He picks it up, regarding it for a moment and her heart drops into her stomach. 

V’s jacket. She left her fucking jacket on his chair, like an idiot, she didn’t even have time to consider grabbing it. They’re going to die because she left her fucking jacket out in the open and Adam Smasher is still staring at her. 

She half expects Yorinobu to call a sweep of the room, ring security, that he’ll realize the random jacket must be an intruder. But he shakes his head, tosses it aside onto the floor, not giving it another thought. While his body guard Smasher lingers in the corner, robotic eyes staring straight at V, watching the mercs squirm. 

“Are they here yet?” Yorinobu asks out loud. 

“They approach from the landing pad,” an AI voice responds. 

“Fuck are they talking about?” V resists the urge to elbow Jackie, silence has never been more important. One sound too loud and a borged out psycho will rip their heads off. And if her contacts are right, Smasher may just be waiting for the perfect opportunity. 

“Nuh-uh, no fucking way…. This isn't happening…!” T-Bug whispers over comms and V sees someone coming down the spiraling stairs, a guard it seems, with another older man following him, “Saburo Arasaka.” 

The second man is older, much older than the first. Balding with gray hairs and liver spots across his scalp, glasses perched high upon his nose. Dressed in a mixture of yukata robes over what seems to be slacks and loafers he takes slow measured steps down the stairs. The head capitalist himself, owner of Arasaka. 

“The emperor? Yet another asslickin' legend….” 

V taps Jackie’s side and puts her finger to her lips, encouraging him to be quiet. The man who led Saburo in starts to walk around the room. He’s older than V or Jackie, but nowhere near Saburo’s age. Long graying dark hair pulled back in a bun, cyberware across his neck coming out from under his black suit. 

“I thought I told you not to meddle in my affairs,” Yorinobu speaks in his native tongue, V’s contacts translating and subtitling to English. 

“Oh fuck,” Jackie curses as the long haired guard comes to stand in front of them, silver ringed brown eyes starting to scan them. 

“Leave us,” Saburo orders and the guard stops scanning, turning to face the corporate leader. 

“Arasaka-sama, I still haven't done a full sweep.” The guard turns his back and V can see where part of his hair is shaved, allowing intense cyberware extending beyond his neck and towards his scalp. 

“This is my son.”

“Of course. Should I retrieve what we come here to-” 

“I will handle it. You may go.”

The long haired guard bows and goes to leave the room, finally Adam Smasher’s gaze on her drops, as the borged freak leaves with the guard through the elevator doors. If they’re here to retrieve something… it’s likely the biochip, which means if they go to get it and see it’s gone… They’re fucked. They’re straight fucked. 

“Un-fucking-believable… Saburo Arasaka.” That comment makes V nudge Jackie with her foot, once again begging him to just stay quiet. 

“Did you think I wouldn't know it was taken from me?” Saburo asks his son, barely making eye contact as Yorinobu looks through a datapad. 

“Actually, I don't think of you at all. Ever. You see, that's your problem. You think the world revolves around you. Arrogant.” 

“Yorinobu.” 

“Why did you come? To humiliate me? To personally see to it that your son knows his place?”

“"The nail that protrudes from the wall gets hammered…"

“Couldn't think of anything original to say?” Yorinobu yells in exasperation, standing up and pacing around the room.  He’s on edge, looking ready to jump out of his skin and V can’t say she has a good feeling about any of this. 

“And do you think it ‘original’ to sell our greatest achievement to Westerners - our future to these… barbarians?!”

It’s definitely the biochip Saburo is after, they’re screwed, monumentally screwed. V would laugh if she didn’t feel like dying, of course, of course it all goes to shit. 

“Our future? Ours?! You are mistaken. You've only ever cared about yourself… and your sick schemes.” Yorinobu points and swings his limbs, still pacing, every word coiled tight with barely restrained hatred. 

“I knew this day would come. That sooner or later your impudence would cross the line,” Saburo is calmer, measured, taking soft steps towards his son, “There is much for which I could forgive you, but for treason - no.” 

The two men, father and son now stand in front of the pillar before an audience they don’t know. Stares trained on each other, each hateful, but one furious in it’s spite and the other calm in it’s contempt. Moments pass, no word said, each waiting for the other to light a fuse that will set off the powder keg. 

“I'm just glad your mother didn't live to see this. The heart should break but once.” 

And it goes off. Saburo’s words are punctuated by Yorinobu’s hands wrapping tightly around the old man’s throat. Yorinobu slams his father back against the pillar, cracking the glass in front of Jackie and busting open Saburo’s head. Blood streaking the shards. And he pulls away and for a moment, as Saburo clutches at his crushed windpipe, Yorinobu seems nearly regretful. 

“You shall never have to forgive me for anything again.” 

His hands wrap again, choking his father against the pillar. Until Saburo starts to fall limp, Yorinobu bringing him down onto the floor in a lifeless heap. Yorinobu stands over his father. Saburo is dead, killed before the merc’s very eyes at the hands of his own son. Jackie curses and V watches as Yorinobu paces, mind clearly racing before he stands over his father’s corpse again. 

“I wish… I wish to put the hotel on lockdown.” 

What does that mean? What the hell does that mean?

“May I ask why?” The AI secretary asks him. 

“Saburo Arasaka has been murdered.”

“Code red initiated. Attention! Code Red has been initiated throughout Konpeki Plaza. Please remain in your rooms and follow all instructions given by staff.”

Oh no, oh fuck no. The lights in the room drop, only bright neon red ones glowing angry in the dark. What the hell is going to happen? What the fuck do they do now? The elevator doors open, Smasher and the long haired guard walking in; the latter rushes and comes to a full stop when he sees Saburo’s corpse. 

“What happened?”

“Someone… someone poisoned my father.”

“Poisoned…?” 

“Seems so.” 

“Yorinobu-san… I doubt…”

Yorinobu glowers at the guard, pushing into his personal space, trying to intimdate him. Trying to make him stop questioning what happened, trying to stop him from looking any closer. Anyone who gets a good look at Saburo’s corpse will see the fingerprints around his neck. 

“What is your job, Takemura?”

“I don't follow.”

“It's a simple question. Answer it.”

“To protect the head of the Arasaka family.”

“I do sincerely hope you'll do a better job of executing your duties from now on…”

“Forgive me, Arasaka-sama,” the guard drops his head in shame, “I shall not disappoint.” 

Yorinobu turns to leave the suite. The guard, Takemura, follows close behind. And the still red highlighted Smasher follows behind him. The elevator doors close behind them. Jackie and V left alone in the suite again. But what the fuck just happened? 

“What the fuck just happened in there?” T-Bug asks, exactly what’s rattling around V’s skull as the pillar back opens again. Jackie and V clambering out. 

“Yorinobu just killed Saburo, he fucking choked out his own dad, I didn’t even know you could do that!” V rambles and yells as she turns the corner of the pillar, looking down at Saburo’s corpse. She quickly checks his pockets, stealing some cash and a pair of dog tags off of him. 

“What?” 

“His own fuckin’ pops.” 

“Know what this means?l Security's gonna swarm the place any second. Oh my god, we're so fucked!”

“We need to get the fuck out of here, now!” They can’t just go out the elevator, they’d meet security on the way. They’re beyond fucked. Why the hell did they take this stupid fucking job!?

“Gimme a sec!”

There’s the helipad, but it’s not like they have anything that fucking flies. Think, think, think; she screams in her head to just fucking think, there has to be something, anything. 

“We don't have a sec!”

“Okay, got somethin'! Window - now! Releasing the lock! Should see a ladder… Ladder…” 

V sees an opening in the large windowed walls, double doors practically made of glass they goes onto the ledge. This has to be in, T-Bug can undo the lock and they’ll slip out. 

“Oh fuck.” T-Bugs voice drops and a chill shoots up V’s back, something is wrong. 

“Bug!?” 

“No, no, no, no - not now…! I’ve been made… “ 

And panic turns to agony as T-Bug screams, a shrill cry of pain then she’s gone. Connectuon cut and V freezes in place. 

Bug is gone, just gone… 

Maybe, Konpeki just cut their comms? But the scream rings through V’s mind. She’s heard of how runner’s can die, daemons and quick hacks. Having their entire brain fried, every nerve and neuron set on fire, burned from the inside out... And all that's left to find is a simmering corpse stewing in their own filth. Bug was never meant for that, meant to retire, meant to find peace after years of netrunning. But now… 

“Bug.!? Bug!? Can you fuckin’ hear me, Bug please, are you there!?” V calls out, words slurring together. She just needs to hear Bug one more time, and know everything is okay. 

And nothing. 

“¡Pinche Dios Santo bendito! We lost her, V!” 

“They...scorched her...didn’t they…?” 

“We… we gotta go, V,” Jackie says, voice cracking as he smacks at V’s shoulder. 

Bug’s final hack going through, the window unlocked. V steps out through the window onto the ledge, rain pelting her skin as she rushes around the corner. Bug said there’s a ladder they can use, last thing Bug ever said… There’s no time for mourning, no time to cry, they need to get through this. The ledge narrows around the corner, ride lights outside the hotel window guiding the way, secured against the steel of the hotel. V sees the yellow safety ladder. The merc presses her back to the building, gently side stepping across the narrow ledge, if they just reach the ladder. One wrong step and they’ll plummet. 

“You can do it, Jackie… just don't look down,” jackie tries to talk himself up, following V, “ Yep, that's fuckin' high…!”

There’s a whir of engines, an aircraft vehicle buzzing around the outside of the hotel.

“Shit! That Trauma?” Jackie asks and that’s exactly what they need right now, doctors shooting them. 

“If they’re here for Saburo, they’re a little late.” 

“Just hope they didn't see us! ¡Chingada madre!”

The aircraft carrier flies in close, flashing blinding white light onto the mercs. It sees them, definitely sees them. 

“Suspects in violation of security protocols.” The mechanical voice croaks out. 

“Time to bail!’ Jackie screams and the aircraft starts to fire, drone automated shooting at them. 

The glass around them bursts and V jumps, grabbing Jackie’s hand in her left, she swings her right blade out towards the ladder. It hooks in the bottom rung, creaking in distress as it stops their fall. And there the mercs hang, suspended by a single Mantis Blade and a ladder rung; rain pouring down upon them and a drone still searching for them through the debris. The strain pulls at V’s arm, pain shooting throughout, shoulders ache and left arm pulled tight trying to hold Jackie and the case he holds in his other hand. 

If she could pull them up with the blade, maybe they can get to safety. But her muscles already strain, wrought tight with the strength it takes to hold them up. The blade pulling at the inner tissue it’s attached too, never meant to support more weight than the person it’s attached to. Rain and tears sting her eyes as she forces herself to pull with the blade, use it to lift them up. 

“V! I can’t hold on!’ Jackie yells out, rain slick hand starting to slip from her own. She digs her nails into his skin, holding him tighter. 

“Just a bit more, I can do this!” 

Her throat is raw and she doesn’t know how much she believes her own words. Nerves scream in pain as her cyberware pulls at what’s left of her flesh. Muscles cry as forced beyond their capability. She curses beneath her breath, pulling them just a little further up. Immeasurable pain and brute force of will only amounting to the tiniest bit of progress, not even an inch closer to safety. Her blade is pulling further out from her skin, raising up from her arm in a way she knows it shouldn’t. 

Every nerve in her arms on fire; blade tugging at flesh and the other nearly pulled from socket under Jackie’s weight. Barely an inch closer to the safety, Jackie slipping from her grip quicker than she can pull, blade lifting from her arm quicker than she can move them. Her teeth sinks into the inside of her cheek, hard enough to bleed as she pushes herself further. Closer, closer, she urges herself. 

A bright white light shines across them, illuminating them in the gray night, adding another ache to her eyes. Drone marked Arasaka buzzing around, refinding them within the debris of the destroyed hotel wall. The robotic voice speaking again. 

“Violators found.” 

And her blade breaks, V’s eye blown wide as they begin to plummet, shock blurs her pain and deafens the world.  Slowing it for a moment, only able to stare as metal snaps, tissue tears, and her arm is ripped open. Cyberware tearing out tissue and nerves, viscera left behind. 

Then she hits glass, shattering it as gravity slams her through and shock becomes hurt. She hits metal, body bouncing from impact, crying as the air is knocked from her lungs. Her head bashing against something. V clutches her arm, the pain it hitting her as everything else does, blood sticking to her fingers. Each breath hurts, a labored wheeze as bruised lungs strain to work. 

V blinks, sitting up slightly, regaining her sense of self now that her fall is broken. Across from her is Jackie and the cryo-case. She looks at her arm, A solid rip from wrist to near elbow, nearly an open hole, metal and moving inner parts of the cyberware mixed with gore. It doesn’t bleed as much as she'd expect, the internal mechanics helping block major bleed out. It hurts, metal now working against raw nerves. But, she’ll live… if this is the worst that happens, she’ll live.

The cryo-case is dented, part of it sparking and part of it splatted with blood. But her eye is drawn to Jackie. A tear in his gut, shrapnel and glass caught him well, bleeding more than her. The white of the button up around his stomach turned scarlet. 

“The Relic! ¡Madres! Agh… Oh, this ain't good. Agh…” Jackie curses, each breath pained. 

“Jackie, you’re hurt!” 

“Worry about me later,” he growls, “check the relic… "Container depressurized. Biochip integrity at ninety-four percent." And fuckin' droppin'! Carajo! Parker! Call her!”

“And tell her what!? We fucked up!?” 

“Just do it!”

Evelyn answers after a short ring, her avatar coming across V’s contacts. 

“V?! Konpeki's all over the feeds! What the fuck's going on there?”

“Got a problem! Cryo-case is damaged. Biochip's integrity at… Jackie?”

“Eighty-six percent!”

“Eighty-six percent and droppin'!”

“Shit…! OK, listen to me. There's only one thing you can do. One of you's gotta slot the Relic into your neural port!”

“That sounds really dangerous!” 

God only knows how this biochip could fuck them up, the relic itself is like putting another personality in your head, seeing ghosts. If this one is even half as fucked up as that, they could be putting themselves in serious danger. 

“The longer you wait, the greater the risk we lose it!” 

“Well, someone’s got to do it,” Jackie says, voice a rasp, face steadily draining color as he opens the case, “In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit - Amen.”

Jackie crosses his body with the pray and pushes the chip into his neural port and V watches his eyes light up for a moment. And he’s quiet for another, a second too long.

“You okay?” 

“Dunno… I guess… Don't feel any different.”

“Once you're back, we'll take out the Relic and run a full brain scan and sweep. But you two need to get the fuck out of there first!”

“We’re working on it!” 

Jackie and V get back on their feet. He holds his hand to his stomach, trying to press his guts together and she keeps her arm held close to her chest, not putting pressure on it. Jackie calls Delamain. 

“Del, we'll be there in a couple. Be ready, got it?”

“Certainly, Mr. Welles.”

“Better be fuckin' certain.”

“We gotta somehow… reach the lobby. Only chance to hit the garage. And we'd best be quick,” Jackie jabs himself with an air hypo, “ Oh-ho, that's the shit… Great… Now let's get outta here.”

“Wait, take your jacket off, use it to keep pressure on your gut, okay? Should help with the bleeding.” 

It’s minimal first aid knowledge, she knows. Hold something to a wound to keep it from bleeding out as quickly. But it’s all she can offer, helping Jackie get the jacket off with one hand, so he can press it to his stomach wound. She can move her right hand somewhat, but it hurts and she swears she can see the tendons moving around the metal in the gaping wound her forearm has become. She catches herself wondering if she’ll be able to sign with her right hand again. But, there’s no time for those fears. 

She walks down the red lit metal grate, heels nearly catching in it as she turns to a doorway. V leads the way, less injured than Jackie, she pushes the door open. A door lobby with glass banisters and plants, the only light the bright red ones. 

“Great… Now let's get outta here,” Jackie says, each word a stressful choking sound to get out. 

An AI voice speaks repeatedly over the speakers that Konpeki plaza is in code red, as the mercs work to move quickly and quietly. Catching the murmuring of two guards as they reach a marble staircase, speaking of sweeping the floors and checking the lobby. They creep around the corner and past a desk, seeing the back of the men’s through the glass banister. The only sound the pounding of V’s heart and Jackie’s labored breathing. They watch as the two men separate, enough space for each to grab one. 

They move down the last stretch of the stairs, guards talking about evacuating Yorinobu. She lets Jackie take the one closest to them as she moves further to the one at the doorway. V swings her left blade, now her only one, through the man’s gut. Her right arm shoots pain through each nerve, metal inside churching to dispense a blade that no longer exists. She holds back a sound, Jackie’s already choked out the other guard, checking for pockets. Each one armed with a silenced gun. She steals ammo off of them.

They come to another door, each catching their breath. Sweat clinging to V’s brow as they brace themselves for what’s to come next. 

“Careful… security likely to be swarmin' outside,” Jackie warns and V nods, words clumping together in her throat as she opens the door. 

They stay crouched, spotting more guards as they go. The pair hide behind a planter, V taking a scan of the area, spotting a security camera. Remembering Bug’s lessons, she’s quickly able to shut them off. She’s the one to step back out, leading the way for the first time in months of working together. V needs to get Jackie through this, he’s holding on now, but.. 

She grabs a guard from behind and snaps their neck, arm twinging in agony at the movement she throws their body aside, clearing a long stretch of hallway for Jackie to follow her down. All light bright red and screens that once showed commercials now flash the words, Code Red. She leaves Jackie to stay hidden behind a counter when she sees another by the doorway, jumping at his back and dropping him just like his coworker.  

“Ain't doin' too bad… Just a little further…” Jackie whispers as she drops another guy, her arm screaming at her to stop. But she’ll survive without an arm, if worse comes to worse, she can’t let Jackie get hurt any worse. 

They creep through a door, past a desk, hearing a guard yelling out as they sneak and weave through the room. She watches over the top of a planter as the guard walks past them, none the wiser as V creeps around, getting behind him, and taking him down. She can’t risk leaving any behind, leaving one alive and them finding the mercs later. The hotel is huge, a labyrinth of Arasaka guards. 

“Engaging hostiles!” A voice booms out, the mercs spotted by a heavily armed Arasaka guard who nearly trips over V.

Fuck, fuck, so much for stealth. Jackie shoots over a counter, trying to stay somewhat protected from the gunfire, while V takes lead, firing Yorinobu’s gun at the men, only dropping behind cover to reload, she blasts. Fuck it, stealth not an option, she’ll turn the whole damn hotel into a blood bath. 

The guards drop and V knows she’s been shot, but she’s standing so she moves onward. Through a doorway, three more men open fire as the mercs turn the corner. V blasts a bullet through ones head, Jackie blows the second full of holes. 

“One more fucker dead!” 

The third is further back behind a glass door and V charges forward, glass open as she fires at the man. Bullets ripping through his chest in a spray of blood before he collapses, red smeared across the marble. If she gets a chance to sleep tonight, she’ll be seeing red in her dreams. The vivid neon lights of the emergency lit hotel, the burgundy uniforms, and the steady spray of it from every shot fired. 

Jackie and V go running around a corner, through another glass doorway and slide into side of a marble planter. Taking a moment to breathe, she can hear guards talking. Orders from higher up, panicked yells from the less experienced. She can spot two around the corner, but can’t get a clear shot. She runs to the open doorway, catching one off guard as she slams into his view and rips a blade through his gut. 

A full armored worker fires off when he sees it, partially hidden by a linen rack. Another runs in, half hiding behind a planter, firing off around the corner. She presses against a wall between it and a partial doorway, reloading before she looks back through. The less armored man moves around a pillar, peeking from behind cover, and she shoots his head as soon as she sees it, watching him hit the marble. 

She struggles to get a clear shot of the third, still hidden behind the rack and so she runs forward, past the rack and coming to a sliding stop behind him. The guard fumbles to swing around when he realizes where she’s landed. Back turned to Jackie now, her friend fires a shot clean through the guard’s head. 

The room is cleared for a moment and the elevator is nearby, she runs past a desk, when she sees the button screen. A glowing red off symbol. 

“Fuck!” 

“Chingo tu madre! It's shut down! What about the other one?” Jackie yells between rattling breaths, she wanted this to be stealthy, didn’t want to put him anymore danger. 

She runs, heels clicking against blood streaked marble, nearly tripping over a corpse. Quickly trying to stop herself when another guard springs up behind a desk. Two more swarming the room, one in the heavy almost samurai-like Arasaka armor. 

“Orale! Got to plough through them!” 

She focuses on the Saka samurai, pulling the trigger again and again,  Thankful to have emptied the ammo off every body she’s dropped so far. A bullet catches his throat, a gush of blood as he paints the floor,  and she shifts to the other men. A headshot on one, the other already down thanks to Jackie. 

V searches their corpses, pocketing ammo and bounce backs, when she finds an access token on the samurai. V thanks any god that may be listening, if they exist and makes a beeline for the elevator at the end of the room. 

“Got access,” she breathes out, calling the elevator. 

Its doors open and she steps in, the side railing lit that bright red. She waits as Jackie rushes in, he’s still in somewhat decent shape it seems. Not the ideal heist, she thinks as she hits the button, but maybe they can get out of this. Rush Jackie to a ripper, check on T-Bug, collect their eddies, and tonight will be a story to tell later. Remember the Konpeki Heist, how everything that could go wrong did. 

“Hah-… agh! Heh, hng…” She can’t tell if he’s laughing or groaning in pain, maybe both. Blood is coating his hands, has he bled through the jacket? No, Jackie’s bulletproof, said it himself a billion times. He’ll be okay, he has to be. 

“Jackie…”

“Saburo Arasaka, Hundred and fifty years… and today… of all fuckin' days. That's like… some divine comedy shit… hehehehe… agh.”

And he’s laughing, of course he is, holding his guts together and he laughs, because why would Jackie Welles do anything else. She’s not sure if she’s going to cry or laugh along, if she’s charmed or infuriated by it; is he just still desperately searching for that silver lining or does he genuinely not give a fuck if he flatlines? That idea, the thought, makes her throat tighten. He can’t die, he won’t die, she won’t let him. 

“Save your strength, please, we’re not out of the woods yet.” 

“What do you think I’m doing!?” She doesn’t miss the frustration, because if he wasn’t so hurt, he’d been the one leading that battle, charging in to take brunt of it all, “Buuut… chill, V. We'll get out alive.” 

“I know we will,” she says and wants so desperately to believe.

The elevator reaches the lobby, doors open to more guards, more gunfire. She shoots at one that looks out behind a wall, three more in the main room of the lobby. Jackie slides behind a desk, using it for cover between shots. V takes lead, shooting from around a doorway. Its chaos and mayhem, V blasting the four men. One dropping behind a chair, catching one through the green ferns growing from a planter.  Three more Arasaka corpses, splattering blood across marble and the roots of those towering trees. Bullet after bullet, shot after shot, until her ears are ringing and three remain; the mercs and one last guard. 

He throws a grenade across the room at them, V shooting it in the air before it can hit them, smoke and fire smoldering across the ceiling. She uses the chance to close the gap and blows his brains out at close range.  

Room cleared they rush through the rest of the lobby, finally reaching the elevator that will take them to the garage. V slams the button, calling the elevator. The door opens and she runs inside, expecting Jackie to run in after her. His steps are slowing and he leans against the wall for a moment instead, having to catch a second wind. He’s getting worse, but they’re in the homestretch, they can do this. They can do this, he stumbles through, leaning against the elevator wall. 

“Argh… I'm leakin' a little…” His voice a rasp. 

The elevator stops at the garage, so close to safety. Doors opening she can already hear the guards and the mercs step out, eye on them, its a swarm of Arasaka. Gunfire rings out alongside the screech of brakes. The Delamain taxis coming to a stop in the center of the garage, it’s doors flinging open. 

“I advise that you waste no time in entering the vehicle,” Delamain chirps at them, like this is a normal night. 

But she needs no prodding. V grabs Jackie’s hand and runs for the taxi, dragging him through the garage to the open doors. Rather than making him walk around, she shoves Jackie through her side on the right, letting him slide into the left seat before she jumps in; he needs the extra second of protection more than her.  The doors shut, bulletproof shields raising as they the taxi is blasted by the guards. They’re safe? Right?

“Welcome back. With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door….”

“DRIVE NOW!” 

And Delamain does just that, engines firing up as he rams through the garage door like it’s nothing. She leans forward on the two front seats. As the taxi takes a sharp turn, they’re almost there, almost safe. Jackie wasn’t fucking around about the combat mode. 

“Not bad at all.” 

“Client feedback noted.”

“How’s the ride looking?” 

“Tiptop. Though alas, we are being pursued.”

And then she sees him, Adam Smasher, the borged monster of a former man rushes them. No hesitation, no fear, as he slams his entire body into the car. Shattering glass, gnashing metal, and nearly sending the car to the side; slamming V and Jackie to the right. 

“Sweet fuckin’ jesus!” 

Jackie curses as V screams, the hell kind of freak is this guy? The car goes back down on its wheels. Adam Smasher on a metal knee, slowing standing up on front of the car. 

“Combat mode activated. Please remain calm.”

“Calm!!!????” She yells out as Delamain begins to drive backwards. 

 “Road block ahead. I kindly request that you brace for impact.”

“¡Oy, mis huevos! Shiiiit!”

The cab takes a turn, rather than driving through Adam Smasher, it goes through another roadway. A row of cars blocking the way and Delamain slams through through without hesitation, taking them through the Night City roads away from the hotel. Jackie is hunched over, bloody hands still pressing the jacket to his gut, the white shirt soaked through with it. 

“A hostile enemy aircraft has a lock on us.”

V doesn’t need a word more from the AI taxi, climbing halfway out of the window, she spots the drones flying after them. Three of them. Needing steadier aim, she flips off her hearing aids with a thought, steeling herself as the car weaves through the road and she fires at them. This is Arasaka’s last ditch effor to keep a lock on them, if she can get rid of them, they’re in the clear. 

Three shots; first drone goes down sparking as it hits the city streets. Two more kills the second, the metal remains slamming into a streetlamp. And the third goes down with a final shot, smoldering onto the roof of a  BD store. She turns her hearing aids back on as she slides into her seat again; they’re gone. 

“Hostile aircraft eliminated.”

“Nice work there… Del…”

She shifts to look at Jackie, he has one hand on his stomach, the other braced against the door. V grabs his shoulder with one hand and his leg with the other, practically shaking him. 

“We did it, Jackie! We made it!” 

“Heh...guess we did…” It’s not the triumphant excited Jackie, she’d expect to hear. His voice still rough, a rattle barely leaving his lungs. Her eyes sting, no, no. 

“My medical diagnostics indicate that Mr. Welles’ condition is critical.”

“Critical, what- take us to a fucking ripperdoc, now! Vik’s behind Misty’s shop!” 

She reaches to put pressure against the jacket over his wound, hand over his, but the fabric is bled all the way through. Blood sticking to her skin, warmer than Jackie’s skin and he’s looking pale, paler every second. He leans back against the chair, strength starting to leave his body. 

“Apologies, but that will not be possible. Our itinerary has been pre-arranged and paid for in advance. I am not at liberty to alter it.”

“Fuck your itinerary and fuck your liberty, just get us to goddamn doctor!” 

“It's OK, V… I'll hold out…” 

When did his nose start to bleed, when he did he start hacking up blood, red streaking down his nostrils and over his chin. She sucks in a shaky breath, eyes starting to water. No, not Jackie, anyone but him… please.  She doesn’t know who she’s begging; maybe god, maybe fate, maybe just anything in this world that will listen. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she chokes out, nodding, “you-you just got to hold on, okay? And, and, we’ll hit the major leagues. Only the best jobs, swimming in eddies, just like you always wanted.” 

She brings her forehead to his, feeling the cold sweat of his skin, hoping her warmth, touch, her words; anything will keep him alert. The tears flow freely now, wet and hot on her cheeks. 

“Mija...  you’re gonna be rich, I can feel it…” 

“No, we’re gonna be rich, Jackie! You and me, that’s how it’s always been, I-I can’t do it without you, y-you got to stay with me okay! We’ll get back, you can see Misty and your mom, everyone and let them know you made it.” 

“Misty… She knew… She always knew…” he breathes out, eyes glassy with a weak smile, “told me not to take this job, why she always got to be right?” 

“J-just a little longer, please, Jackie...please,” she begs him, like he can stop it. Like he can put his inside back together, stop the color from draining out of his face, and can just stay with her. 

“The biochip…” he holds her shoulder, grasp weak, and takes the chip from his head with the other, “Hold on to it. For me…”

And he slides it into her neuroport, her vision glitching for a moment. She surges forward, wrapping her arms as tightly as she can, burying his head into his chest, crying into him as she clings tightly; wishing she had the strength to just hold him together. 

“Please, please, Jackie, I can’t lose you, just a little longer, please,” she sobs into his ashen skin and blood soaked shirt, begging with every slowed beat of his heart. 

For a moment his hands graze her back and she waits for a bear hug, for him to squeeze the breath from her lungs and lift her from her seat like he’s done so many times. For him to be Jackie; her best friend, her partner in crimes, her brother, her everything. But his touch is faint, the space between each beat growing further and further. Until his hands fall limp, body slack in her arms, and she knows the next heartbeat will never come. 

And she sobs, she holds him and cries out her pain, if only for a moment. No more ‘chicas’, ‘jainas’, or the odd ‘mija’. No more smiles that outshine the sun. No more nagging her to look on the bright side. No more bear hugs or hands the size of her head ruffling through her hair. No more Jackie…. And it’s not fair and it’s not right. 

“Mr. Welles has passed. Where shall I take his remains?” A robotic voice asks and she realizes the car is no longer moving. 

She forces herself to let him go, one of the hardest things she’ll ever have to do. Pulling away, she sees him, truly lifeless. Bright green eyes now dull with no light behind them, limp hands falling away from her. 

“W-what?” She stumbles over the word, brain fogged over with grief. 

“The Excelsior package provides for the disposal of passenger remains free of charge. I merely require a destination.”

“I…he-he’d want to be with his family,” she stumbles across her words. 

“Mr. Welles' closest blood relative is Guadalupe Alejandra Welles, proprietress of the El Coyote Cojo bar. I will make sure to deliver him safely. Mr. DeShawn awaits you in room number two-oh-four. ” 

That’s right… Dex… The chip. The world didn’t stop spinning, only her’s. There’s still a job. And the idea of still going, that there’s a tomorrow beyond today, seems unfathomable. How the hell could she ever move on…  

Because Jackie would kill her if she didn’t and she knows that. He’d haunt her for a thousand years and kick her ass every day of it. She looks at the remains, her friend gone, now limp and bleeding across white leather. And knows if he could speak, he’d tell her to get her ass to that hotel room and finish this job, that he and Bug didn’t die just for V to bury herself alongside them. She squeezes his shoulder, presses her forehead to Jackie’s one last time, feeling the cold of his skin. 

“See ya in the major leagues, Jack…”

V opens the car door and steps out into the backlot behind the motel. Rain pours down across her bloodied skin, soaking her to the bones, a numb chill clinging to her. Painted across brick is the Night City emblem marks the wall, red graffiti altering its slogan.. The city of broken dreams… 

She moves, on autopilot as she makes her way up the stairs and to the back door of the motel, sheltered from the rain once she’s in a trash filled back room. The motel is bathed in the neon red lights, only offset by the white of sign bearing its name, it’s always red. She stumbles up the staircase and then  another, past a tv chattering on about Saburo Arasaka. 

The merc walks down the gloomy hallway, dark except for warm yellow floor lights, Graffiti covered walls, rain washing down the windows at the end of it. And she reaches room 204, her arm leaden as she knocks. 

No response. 

“Its V,” she yells out, knocking harder. 

The door opens but before she can take another step, Dex’s body guard takes a step out. Large hand blocking her from coming further. He checks the hallway, making sure she wasn’t followed. After a moment, he finally pulls away. 

“He waiting.” 

The man takes a step back, allowing V into the room. She pushes through a bead curtain and sees Dex, leaning over a TV screen, another cigar between his golden fingers. She clears her throat, hearing the door close behind her. 

“WNS… N54… Even the pirate networks… You blowin' up everywhere! And the Jackster? He out in the car?” 

“He’s...dead,” her voice breaks, words like thorns in her throat. Having to say it, having to hear it from her own lips… 

“Condolences friend,” he tells her, shifting to look at her rather than the tv, “and the relic?” 

“Here,” she says, voice a murmur as she taps her neural port. 

“Hmm, I was afraid of that…” 

“What?!” 

She got the fucking relic, everyone is fucking dead, but she got the relic! Everyone died for this fucking chip and now he’s disappointed that she has it!?

“Saburo Arasaka?” Dex paces, smoking his cigar, “Dead…?! You got any notion of the shit you pulled me into?! You offed the fuckin' emperor! His majesty! Anyone with so much as a pinky toe dipped in this mess is as good as dead!’

“I didn’t kill Saburo! I- I-” she stalls, wanting to say she didn’t do anything, but can she say that? Can she act like she didn’t fuck up any of this? Like she has no role in Jackie and Bug’s deaths… 

"No shit?l Tell that to the ‘Saka ninjas they send after you!”

“We...we got to leave the city.” 

Badlands isn’t the safest for her, but it will be safer with money, she could settle in another city, maybe. She can outrun her family more than Arasaka. 

“You don’t say.” 

“Call Parker, we close the deal, collect our eddies, and go off the radar.” 

“A’ight, settle down,” he sits down on the leather couch, “Gotta be tactical about this. Parker, eddies, then we leave the city limits behind. But first… Your face… got blood all over it. Bathroom's there. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

He points her to the bathroom of the motel and she nods, in no place to argue, she just wants to be on the other side of this mess. To be able to tell herself at least she made it to the major leagues, at least Jackie would be proud of her, even if he isn’t here to see it. 

V stumbles into the bathroom, legs wobbling. Everything should hurt, her arm ripped open. Bruises mottling every inch of flesh. But she’s… numb. She works on autopilot, only somewhat aware of the door shutting behind her as she grips the sink, streaking blood across the silver.

Her blood and Jackie’s. 

Bile rushes up her throat, stinging as she pukes into the sink, choking and gagging it out. The tears threaten to come again, eyes stinging as he nails dig into the sink. He’s gone, he’s really fucking gone. Her best friend, her brother in everything but blood and name, her rock, and world. The man who took her in, who gave her a goal, a life… 

And how’d she repay him? 

Watch him die in the back of a Delamain. All her promises to keep him safe, to repay back all the kindness he gave to her. And she couldn’t save him, couldn’t protect him, couldn’t do shit but hold him. Fuckin’ only time she really hugged him with all she had and she doesn’t even know if he could really feel it, if his body was too numb. 

If she would have refused the job. 

If she had gotten them up the ladder. 

If she had been stronger. 

If she had been stealthier.

If she had gotten them through the lobby quicker. 

If she could have convinced Delamain to get him to a doc.

If she knew better first aid. 

If….if… if… 

Thoughts spin and whirl through her mind, a thousand reasons why it’s her fault. Why she could have saved him, why she could have done more, why she failed him… 

Misty will never take Jackie’s last name and it’s V’s  fault. They’ll never have kids, they’ll never buy a home together, he’ll never get to take her to that stupid hotel bar with the annoying waiter. 

Senora Welles will be forced to bury her son and it’s V’s fault. She’ll never hold her son again. Never see him smile again. Never see him live out his dream. Never cook his favorite foods for him and nag him not to talk with his mouth full. 

Jackie had a future, a family, people who loved him. He was going to marry Misty one day, have kids. Get enough eddies to provide for them and his mom. And now there’s a hole in all of their lives. The world as a whole now worse off without him, her own world destroyed. It should have been her, she knows that, the world would be better off losing her than losing him. 

Yet here she is and she’s just supposed to keep moving, supposed to keep breathing, supposed to live a life post Jackie. 

When she looks up, she sees her own reflection staring back at her. Red rimmed eyes, swollen  from crying and blood splattered across her skin, stuck in the ends of her hair. And she doesn’t know where it’s from, if it’s her own, if it’s Jackie’s, or if it’s from the people she killed tonight. T-Bug and Jackie gone, yet she’s here. 

A brilliant talented netrunner is gone. But she’s still here. 

The kindest man to walk in Night City is gone. But she’s still here. 

She glares at herself, because she has no right to be here and the world has no right to be this cruel. Her fingers clenches, pulling at her damaged nerve endings and she slams her fist into the mirror. Glass shatters and crackles, shards splintering into her knuckles. 

V washes the blood from her hands and face, cleaner but still a zombie as she turns to the door. Jackie wanted this for her, one of the only people who ever wanted anything good for her. If only for him, she owes it to him to finish this job. She stumbles to the bathroom door and opens it, stepping out.

Knuckles collide with her head, wracking more pain through an already injured merc, she’s sent sprawling to the ground. She curses and twists around on the floor, not sure she has the energy to stand back up, vision blurring as Dex’s bodyguard stomps on her. Heavy foot colliding with her head. She curses and sputters choking on blood.  She twists onto her back, blinking through the pain as Dex’s bodyguard hands him a pistol. The fixer walks closer, standing over her.

“Can't risk it, V,” he says casually, leveling his gun with her head,” ‘Member our first convo?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” She screams, spitting blood as she stares down the barrel. 

“Seems I've chosen the quiet life, after all. No blaze o' glory for me.” 

The shot rings out, loud and clear, the world going dark as a bullet rips through the young merc’s head. Blood splatters across the dirty carpet, her body going limp, a final breath gurgling forth as she chokes on her own blood, iron taste clinging in the back of her throat. 

Then she’s gone. 

[feastfic]

On my computer right now and I just spent like, I think maybe only an hour on this??? 

But hi!!! I wrote a thing! And I really want to say things about what inspired me to do this and why I thought of this, so if you wanna know please lmk! (Please I really wanna talk about this AU digjasobjn)

So since this took less than an hour and it’s currently almost two in the morning for me (and I took my sleeping meds) this is probably rushed and doesn’t have as much going for it as I wanted, so please keep that in mind!

This will be under the cut for spoilers, and tw in advance for implied/mentioned murder. Also wildly out of character behavior but it makes sense in the context of the AU I promise; but enough of me going on. Here it is!

He was just… mad these days. Well, not mad. But certainly unhappy. Upset, maybe, was the best word to use.

Ever since he and the rest of Team Snakemouth left the Swamps, he seemed a different bug. Ever since he’d killed The Beast- a rightful act of revenge, of vengeance for his previous friends- he was bitter.

He didn’t even quite know why he felt this way. Kabbu couldn’t tell if it was a new onset grief for losing his team, rage at The Beast, fear of losing the people he currently cared about. There was so much to feel about, and not enough of him to contain all of these feelings.

So he just decided not to contain it. Not around Leif or Vi, of course. There was no way he’d expressly show them how he felt. Not when these feelings were so destructive, so unlike how he normally was. Kabbu was not a bug to hate easily or quickly. But he had a feeling that that was what was going on. He hated- no, loathed; utterly despised this feeling. He wanted, needed to take it out somehow.

He didn’t seem to care about much anymore. His fighting skill wasn’t any better or worse off, but both Leif and Vi knew something was up. Other bugs that the team had previously encountered also could tell very easily that something was up with the typically gentle beetle.

Where he was once careful in battle, he was no longer. His caution was thrown to the wind, it felt like. More nicks and scratches collected themselves on his body, not out of the battles he’d won, but just out of his lack of self-preservation.

“What is up with you lately?” Vi popped the question as they took residence in the hotel underneath the termites’ dome. “Ever since we left that swamp you’ve been acting all weird.” Even her normally sarcastic tone was tinged with real and genuine concern. Not that she’d ever say that she cared any time soon, of course.

Kabbu gave her a side-eyed look, his arms held crossed as he leaned forward on the leaf bed he got when the room was rented out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stated bluntly, his gaze focusing on the bee on the bed right across from him. Behind her was Leif, silently watching the two of them talk. The moth had gotten quieter since the swamps, too.

“You’ve been all… all- I don’t know! You just haven’t been yourself and there’s no reason for it, Kabbu!”

“We agree with Vi. You’ve had a big change in character.” Leif said, quiet but as direct as ever.

With both of them on his case, there wasn’t a lot that Kabbu could say. He didn’t want their sympathy, he didn’t want them worrying about him. How could he ever tell them that he didn’t know if he even wanted to be part of the team anymore? Well, he didn’t have to. And, well… he could always just leave out of nowhere. Not that he was thinking of doing that.

He waited until the lights of the dome dimmed- the termites were going to rest as well now. To his side, he heard Vi’s soft snoring, but had to sit to make sure Leif was asleep too. It was a good thing he was, or else this would get awkward and stressful fast. 

There was nothing he chose to bring along. Except for the explorer badge that he and Vi got on their first day as an official team. It’d be only Vi now, but she had Leif. They’d be like every other team- a party of two, instead of their devious three. And that was it- he was never the item carrier; the bag with all of their things always went to Vi, where she’d protect their belongings as valiantly as she could. So the badge was just another thing that she’d keep.

Well, that was basically it now. Bringing along nothing with his person, Kabbu slipped out of the room in silence. He took the elevator back down to the ground floor, leaving for the great doors that had welcomed him into the dome just yesterday. The guards there of course asked him about his intentions and why he was leaving- alone especially- but he just coated his answer with a white lie.

“I’m only going to take the ant tunnel. It isn’t far from these gates.”

The two termites glanced at each other, their antennae twitching between one another like they were exchanging a telepathic message.

“Well,” one began, before letting out a sigh; “alright, but just go to that tunnel, alright? We don’t need any of those Farland beasts coming through. I’m sure you understand.”

“I do; don’t you worry.” 

The other guard worked the mechanism that opened the gate. Not all the way, only just enough to let Kabbu step through. When he entered the foggy abyss of the Forsaken Lands, the gate clanked shut behind him not long after. He nearly disappeared into the pressing grey surrounding him, so much so that he could barely even see the two termites standing watch outside their kingdom. That was certainly a good thing for him, at least.

He wasn’t going to the tunnels. What he needed was time to himself. Figure out what he was going to do now. Because leaving the team was sort of a big deal, even if he’d been considering it for a while. 

In theory he could join something like the bandits, or stake off for himself somewhere out in the wilds. No, the bandit idea wouldn’t work- they’d recognize him, even if that Astotheles character gave them heed about his defeat to Team Snakemouth before his disappearance. And while he could just live off in nowhere, that wasn’t the life he wanted to live now.

What he wanted was to make a big change. Something that’d get the attention of everyone. With the Wasp King being under high pursuits and being a bigger threat, he could get away with many more things. But what? What was there that he could do? He just wanted to break something, really. He wanted to do something to take out the way he felt so crushed about everything that happened in the swampy grasslands. Let everyone know what The Beast did to him.

By doing the same thing to everyone else. 

He looked down at his carapace in the deep fog, turning over his arms to look at all of the scratches that would remain on him either until he died, or until his next molt. But he was an aged man- he hadn’t molted in forever; not since he was much younger. These scars might as well be permanent, then. All of these would bear witness to whatever he decided on doing.

Oh, did he know it was wrong. He hated himself for it. Hurting innocent bugs was still something he didn’t want to do from the bottom of his heart. It wasn’t that he felt that it was all he could do though, but it was the thing he wanted to do most. He was scared. Both of the possibility of his actions, himself, and if he’d be caught. 

Fear. 

It was what he was going to make everyone else feel.

The same suffocating, horrible, gut-wrenching fear he once felt.

If he couldn’t bring himself to be the grand hero that everyone held Team Snakemouth up to be, then he simply wouldn’t. He was no team leader, he was no Green Ranger. He was Kabbu, damned.

If he was so sure of this course of action, he’d become someone like who he was once fighting against. 

The wasps were the enemy, or perhaps once were. He’d start there. Keep the pretense of doing good.

Those troopers wouldn’t know what hit them, or any of the other damned… things he’d sparred with. 

Oh, no. He wasn’t going to stop there. He just needed a gateway. Surely he wouldn’t feel bad about hurting a few of those folk. He’d work his way up; he just needed a way to get his initial anger out is all. It just so happened that a certain kingdom worked in his favor as a target.

He’d go from revered to hated, to where bugs would fear to speak his name for the things he’d done. Where exterminating a few wasps would first be looked up upon by other kingdoms, when the numbers began stacking higher and higher concerns would rise. Nobody would know it was him, not for a very, very long time.

From hero, to anti-hero, to villain.

He’d be a bad guy if it meant he didn’t have to live in guilt and sorrow for his own past. 

Only he mattered to himself now, and he was going to make sure that nobody got in his way or tried to change this path he was choosing. 

He walked further in the fog, until all he could make out of his surroundings were the cracks in the rock beneath his feet. This would be a long path for himself. 

Many countless nights full of himself hating himself, nights where he thought this was the best idea he’d ever had. Nights where he cried, where he laughed to himself. Going from his past self to whatever he’d be called was nothing easy.

But time passed. Days turned to weeks, which turned to months. He was only a fraction of his former self. Down the line he’d forgotten most of what inspired him to go on this outburst, but there was no turning back now. He’d abandoned his humanity just a month ago- these past thirty days were the easiest he’d had in what felt like years. 

And there was no telltale signs about Leif or Vi ever since he left. He’d heard of the talk when he first left; he entered towns from time to time cloaked in leaves and scraps of fabric bugs left about, shielding himself from observant eyes. People wondered what could’ve possibly happened.

They weren’t finding out any time soon.

At least, not from him. He was a little busy with… other things.

Which reminded him, as he sat alone in a small pub off the center of Defiant Root. The bar was a common ground for other bugs in shady business, so Kabbu fit right in. Ironic. But that was besides the point.

He didn’t like calling his craft murder. Nor assassination, or anything like that. But terms meant nothing when anyone else would know what it was called. What he was doing was never anything he’d thought he’d be able to do, but as it turned out, dealing with crippling survivor’s guilt and other feelings for so long made you numbed out to such things like death.

There was no joy out of it, but he didn’t do it just to do it. There was still the motive of fearmongering. He just didn’t know how far he’d take it.

Well, he’d find out in a week.

Because on his marks right now was a certain general. That’d surely get people to talk.

[sc14-weirdo]

So what if the dead aka Wilbur, Tommy, Shlatt, and Mexican Dream (MC) combined into one ghost, hungry for vengeance/revenge?

Introducing,

《Glexinnbur Ghost》

A tiny story on how the fused into one Phantom/ghost (grab some popcorn while reading because this might be a long one):

Will, Shlatt, and MC saw how Tommy death went down. They were either angry, disappointed, sad about how it went and everyone reaction was.

Yeah they died but they asked for it, they completed their symphony, lived there lives to the fullest but Tommy never asked for his own, he didn't finish his life or his teen life yet, he just wanted to move on from his pain toward his own future.

A flash came and Tommy was seen on the ground near them. Wilbur rushed towards him to see not the loud, outgoing, energetic teen who bright up a room but a small, quiet, beaten down soul who just wants to live.

Tommy opens his eyes to the Schlatt and MC there. We then glances at the closest person to see Wil giving him a sad smile.

"Wilbur?" Tommy finally choked out from his mouth.

Wilbur softly chuckled then replied back, "When I meant see you soon I didn't mean like this".

Tommy stares at him before tears and emotions burst out from him. Wilbur quickly gave him a tight hug as Tommy cries on his shoulder, holding on to it like it's will be taken from him once again. He cries as he thinks he will never do this one last time, he cries like he never done before his entire life as he never had a chance to do it.

Never has he done it infront of his best friend, his brothers, his friends, his father and certainly not to Dream. Wilbur just sat there as he thinks of how the adults never gave the teens a chance to grow up properly, how they always bring the kids to fight there own wars, how they had to fix it while the older ones create new ones.

How Tommy, the loudest, the level headed, and the youngest of them all, had to give up everything for them but his actions were wasted in the end and had his life cut short.

Sitting there what seems like hours but only mere minutes, Tommy calmed down a bit only to here sniffiling and hiccups. Tommy looked at Wilbur and started to smile. He was happy to see his brother, his real brother, once again even if he was dead.

"Im so sorry", Wilbur whispered to Tommy's ear.

"Im so sorry for what you and the others had to deal with the actions caused by not you but others"

He apologized as he wiped the tears from Tommy face.

Tommy sadly smiles, "Wilbur, it's okay, honestly I forgave you long back and I deserved what happened to me-"

"Tommy no," Wilbur puts both hands on Tommy shoulders as he stares him directly into his eyes.

"Tommy, don't you even think that you deserve what they did to, what Dream did to you, what I did to you." Sure you made some people mad and break a few things along the way but your just a teen, a child who was forced to fight our wars. You gave up everything just to have peace and freedom back to us"

Wilbur eyes starts to blur as tears builds on his face,

"Tommy if anything, you deserve everything for what you've done and Im proud of you for it", Wilbur finishes his words as the tears falls from his face.

For once, Tommy was unable to say anything at that moment. He didn't know what to say but he did know what to do.

He quickly wrapped his arms around Wilbur giving him a hug once more which was returned not a second later.

"Are you really proud of me Wilby?" Tommy asked.

"So very much proud of you" Wilbur answered back.

....

"Did you really call Wilby again?"

"Ohh f**k off"

Wilbur laughed at that response.

After awhile, they both got up from ground to see Schlatt and MC looking at them with a smile.

Schlatt was wearing a light blue sweater with a tiny heart with stitches patches on his right. He looked much healthier and calm. He didn't look like the same guy who took over country and ruined it at the process.

MC looks the same, he still had that energy when he was alive before Dream un-alive him back then.

There was a awkward silence between them as Schlatt did execute Tommy best friend and exhile him and Wilbur from their own country.

*cough* "Hey kid, hope you've been doing well..."

Wilbur slapped his forehead at that response from him while Tommy raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously?"

"Im trying my best okay!"

"Was it Schlat?"

"Ohh look whose talking"

"Well listen here you shi-"

Wilbur and Schlatt began to banter while Tommy with confusion while MC just laughs at them.

"The hell is this BS?", Tommy cursed at them as soon as he got his head straight causeing the cuo to stare at him.

"Ohhh yeah, me and Wilby over here made up just a bit while we came up here"

"Tf?!!?"

"Just barely, I still havent forgiven you for exhiling me and Toms"

"Pshhh, the past is the past, you guys forgave me anyways"

Wilbur gave a unimpressed look at him.

"Okay maybe not all of you guys"

"You damn straight I didn't you goat head a**h**e, don't think I didnt forget about what you did to me and the rest of L'manburg. You basically choose the path that made our home go to s**t and now we have no more real home and many divided countries in the end. You ruined everything for me and Wilbur, you made it worse for Wilbur as he was going from paranoid to insane cauing him to blow up L'manburg. Not to mention you made Techno execute Tubbo, my best friend, your secretary by a crossbow with a firework attached to it, and now he has one bloody f******g life left in that damn server!"

Tommy face was red from anger after screaming to Schlatt who wasnt shocked but impressed by the long over due shouts from him. He didnt think he had it in him but man was he proven wrong.

Coughing was heard from Wilbur causing Schlatt to snap back to reality. Shaking his head , he turns to Tommy and started to speak.

"Look," Schlatt scratched his head, "I wasn't the best president"

"More like person in general"

"The point is that I can't really say that I regret for most of what I've did for the country but it was still a s***ty thing to do, especially when you and Soot here made it from the ground up to make it to your home"

"But coming from an outsiders point and from Wilbur old friend, the country was breaking from what it used to be, even looking at Will I saw he was starting to break so might as well destroy it before it destroys all of you guys but that completely backfired"

[ketchup-monthly]

Sanders Sides D&D 2

Ooh fresh take: Jan is virge’s patron and that’s why there’s beef

Also: Jan is some sort of fae related being

Jan: i need you to do something for me Virgil: no Janus: that's not how this works!! Virgil: watch me :P

Okay so I was thinking of Patton as a cleric cuz ooh healer however, Patton as a Druid makes me so happy

I want logan to have Rage

(Also that could tie nicely in an arc about Logan learning to accept feelings)

but barbarian logan is going to be a scholar again and is gonna be smort

bc hes logan. he cant be not smart

Oh I figured he’d be the bbeg that eventually joins the party (hurt/comfort baybee!)(Remus)

he was the bbeg but then joined the party as a bardbarian or just a bard

plus, actual bard who accidentally casts vicious mockery instead of bardic inspiration

Side note: please include a scene where Remus attempts to seduce the dragon

also with this second au, i can start them at like level 5 so people can multiclass

Pat as cleric/druid

gasp logan as artificer/barbarian

janus sorcerer/rogue

because basically everything but alchemist would work well with barbarian, but alchemist feels very Logan

bc mad scientist being actually mad

alchemist logan making an experimental potion and going "here im not sure what this does but im sure its fine! someone drink it"

Remus does it voluntarily, but Logan usually tries to get Roman to drink it

Virgil will occasionally drink it when he's on his last legs and is just like.....100% done with the party

remus as a wild magic path barbarian and just fucking teleporting or doing something equally ridiculous whenever he rages

Oh my god Remus with rage would be a force to be reckoned with

You gotta describe the first time he goes into a rage really dramatically

obviously virgil is trying to "escape" his patron, Janus (really just do whatever he says to not do out of spite)

Eldritch knight roman

Feywild warlock virgil

hey so in the second d&d au, should roman and remus be actual full siblings but like remus went darkside and like romans just trying to get back at him for putting a dark stain on the family name

hey hey hey what about warforged Logan? (essentially a robot)(so like "i dont feel anything" becoming real)

okay hear me out. elf roman and elf base simic hybrid remus. so like maybe the reason remus went darkside was experimentation? so like. hes elf but special

FALLEN AASIMAR VIRGIL

virgil just transforming in the middle of a combat scenario and like his eyes turn into black pits and flightless skeletal wings appear on his back and like everyone near him has to make a charisma check and like he deals extra necrotic damage

Pat is the one human stuck in a band of misfits

so with it, roman would be a full elf, and remus would be an elf that has tentacles bc octopus

So robot logan

i meant literally he doesnt feel anything

like he has all the emotions, but he doesnt physically feel the need to like eat or sleep or stuff like that

he just.....he pretend he don't have the feelings.....but he do.....he feel so much and he hides it all in his littol mechanical heart <3

plus......if he warforged, then like.....AC huge

he stands in front of friends.....he protecc...."no, i don't have feelings, i am physically incapable of affection" but he do!! he do! he take hits for them because he do!! he care so much

Bro he spouts all this and then he uses a reaction to dive in front of someone and everyone’s just like oh

LIKE ROMAN STILL BEING MEAN TO LO BC HE THINKS HE DOESNT HAVE FEELINGS BECAUSE HE DOESNT HAVE A HEART BUT HE DOES

hey hey everyone needs to grow

and logan standing up for himself and other people stepping in and saying no stop thats not right

plus if canon wont give me roman facing the consequences of his actions towards Logan......

but also Roman learning how to properly handle his own emotions and how he interacts with others

logan who doesn't view himself as anything more than a machine to be useful to others

the party giving logan love and affection until he slowly learns his own worth as a person

Roman and Logan not getting along (maybe Roman has a Lore reason to distrust Warforged, maybe not) and slowly learning to trust each other

when Logan is feeling real down or having some issue, Roman actually comes through to help him, showing how far both characters have come

Okay yes but also can we please give Roman more confidence than canon? Like I’m sooooo sick of low self esteem being played for laughs or just being really really sad

this boy is going on a mission and will slap his brother upside the head and tell him to shut tf up remus youre not a monster just come back home and he will do it alone if need be

OKAY SO WHAT IF HE ORIGINALLY WENT ON THE QUEST JUST TO STOP REMUS ONCE AND FOR ALL BC ROMAN THOUGHT HE WAS A MONSTER, BUT ALONG THE WAY, AND AFTER LOGAN, HE CAME TO REALIZE THAT NO, JUST BECAUSE REMUS (AND LOGAN) ARE DIFFERENT, THEY ARENT MONSTERS, JUST DIFFERENT

AND LIKE IN THE FINAL PUSH TO MAKE REMUS JOIN BACK WITH HIS BROTHER, ROMAN IS PROJECTING HIS OWN FEELINGS ONTO REMUS AND EVERYONE IS LIKE WOW BRO YOU GOOD THERE, BUT ITS A BIG MOMENT FOR LOGAN, ROMAN, AND REMUS

im unsure as to how, but it happened when he was an older teen/young adult. a simic scientist either picked him (read: kidnapped), or remus volunteered (potentially to escape court life, unaware what exactly the experiment was going to do to him physically

bc also, remus and roman are royalty

so like. how best to get at the nobes/royalty/rich famous people than by turning their kid into a monster

wait, wait, wait, because i'm lowkey a sucker for this trope, but i'm not sure if it fits Remus: the experiments left him with some fairly significant physical pain/uncontrolled magical reactions. through some combo of trying to deal with that and trying find a cure for his pain, he keeps like....absolutely wrecking random towns on accident but also deliberately wrecking certain places looking for either a) vengeance on the guy(s) responsible or b) someone who can make the pain stop

SO LIKE. WILD MAGIC BARBARIAN DOING WEIRD SHIT TO HIM WHENEVER HE RAGES

AND LOGAN COULD MAYBE HELP WITH THE PAIN AND SHIT

BC ALCHEMY

Yknow, for simplification purposes, we could say the True Bbeg just gave Remus lycanthropy and Remus hasn’t managed to control it yet

lycanthropy but simic shit?

Mr. I-Don't-Have-Feelings sees the poor dude in pain and also Roman in emotional pain from seeing his brother in pain and is absolutely like "i must resolve this like right now, immediately" because he definitely doesn't hate seeing his friend suffering, or his friend's brother whom he's just met

he definitely doesn't relate at all to the idea of someone else shaping your body and absolutely does not sympathize with Remus's plight

i was thinking the grappling thing and either manta glide or the ability to breathe underwater for the simic stuff, but like he doesnt have control over the tentacles yet?

Manta glide seems like we could have fun battle scenes

he just jumps off a cliff to avoid mushy talk/dealing with his actions/roman

Roman: Remus just because you're a monster and though i wish i was an only child-- Remus, jumping off a cliff: byyeeeeee Patton: Roman, look what you did! Virgil: dammit jan what did you do? Janus: why do you think i had anything to do with that? im a fae, not a genie Logan, thinking: what an asshole. i wish i could do that

oh my god Logan always being tired mentally bc he cant sleep

Oh my gosh I love that. So Remus got kidnapped super young, (from royal family) they never found him, as a result Roman had to grow up super fast (side effect: lowkey inconsiderate and forgets to ask for others input). Meanwhile, Remus was experimented on by True Bbeg and came out with some trauma and super cool additives

yep! chronic pain and ptsd and all sorts of other shit!

so like, simic hybrids are usually created when they're adults. but what if the true bbeg decided to go younger to see what would happen, and thats why remus has chronic pain and stuff

he was still growing when his genes were spliced, so hes dealing with growth plates shifting and his body maturing and puberty and body changes and stuff

Pat is going to have a lighthearted story. Im saying that now. Hes the one without all the baggage

Sure, but his parents have to lowkey be the really kind people who are surprisingly always down for violence

everyone: multiple crises Pat: y'all need help Pat: love and affection in spades for his little band of misfits

Patton (which I think would be pretty simple, honestly he might just see danger and jump in and suddenly everyone in the party has Feelings)

Logan

Mhm. So how did he grow up? Was he just poof created? Wait

What if he was created by the king?

To make up for remuss disappearance

wait, wait....angst......he was created to fight (hence the barbarian stuff) but alchemy is his real passion

wait so like. a second son???

hes there to replace remus?

Yea! (But like in a sympathetic grief way) But that causes a bit of a complex in Roman and ergo Roman and Logan have a bit of a beef

okay so like. hes there to be a companion for roman, and like take remus' place, even though hes not actually in line for the throne?

LOGAN AS A KNIGHT

and just......the conflict of being created for a specific purpose (plus being, you know, robot and technically incapable of deviated from said purpose) vs the fact that he actually does have independent consciousness and like....wants to live life for himself

the parents made Logan a barbarian in hopes that him and Roman would be safe

okay. so logan was created by the king with the sole purpose to take remus' place as romans brother/companion, and to be his like guard? protector? and fight, but logan wants to be an alchemist and study shit

wait, wait, wait.....thinks about Asimov's Laws

he.....his first operative is protect (specifically protect Roman)

oh man. so hes literally just a shield

his second level operative is just like.....care for Roman's emotional well-being, but he doesn't really know emotions because he was kinda just spawned and nobody told him how

and he just....kind of....lets Roman treat him like garbage and take all his grief out on him because he's staunchly in denial of both having feelings or knowing how they work

Anyway Yea so Logan created by royal family in place of Remus which created angst between the two “brothers” and identity issues in Logan. Their arcs are learning how to healthily process emotions plus Roman apology and Logan commits to alchemy

So big question: why did virge make a deal?

Tricked

he gave janus his name

and instead of janus like killing him or whatever the fae do to people who break the rules of dealing with the fae, jan was like. hey. i'll give you magic, but do what i say

Janus is lawful neutral, but leans towards being selfish

hes self serving, but he has a strong set of morals and rules he follows

Tho I want to Virgil to also not be pushover so let’s say loophole happened and Jan has to stay with virge (hence why Jan is a part of the party)

okay so a couple of the rules are dont give a fae your true name and don't try to figure out their true name

So

what if virgil accidentally gave up part of his true name, and got stuck in the deal, but then figured out janus' true name

so in the same vein that janus had control over virgil, virgil now has more control over janus

he still gets his magic from janus, so he cant break free completely, but virgil has more freedom and can occasionally tell janus what to do or when to shove it

there should a running gag where virge can explain how he learned Jan’s true name but Jan can make something loudly censor him every time

(he learned his name bc once he heard janus practicing his evil genius voice and talking to himself in the mirror and janus said his true name)

so maybe janus sent virgil on the quest to protect a town or stop something related to remus, but virgil dragged him along

he might just be trying to protect a town thats close to a ley line, or something fae-related, and they just happen upon the whole thing

janus is selfish. but lawful vs chaotic is where he comes through, in morals vs doing whatever. janus has a strong set of loyalties to the fae, and to himself

so like....Remus is just too close to Jan's stuff and he wants to take him down

Virgil is just like....exhausted and said "fine, but if i gotta do this, you're coming, too"

or at least figure out a way to protect his place, even if it doesnt mean fully taking out remus. just moving him would work for jan

Janus: virgilllllllllll hes going to mess up my magic storage locker Virgil: Jan, its empty Janus: but its mine

Yea. Remus attacks a city away from the fae: Jan: Yknow I’m gonna sit this one out Virge: oh no you don’t, get up

Or

Janus vs Janice

so his real name is Janus, but Virgil calls him Janice

Virgil: This is Janice Janice: with a “U-S” Virgil: mhm, sure Jan

I'm a big fan of just like any of the old theory name being various aliases for Jan

Damien, Dante, Ethan, Declan, etc, etc

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Softer Than Silence

Read here on AO3!

(Takes place right after this fic which I wrote like a year ago and only now got to making a sequel for whoops.)

Summary:

“Your larynx was severed. It was a pretty nasty injury and Leslie did everything she could, but your vocal cords...they weren’t salvageable. I’m...I’m so sorry, Tim.”

Tim lets that sink in. Severed larynx. Unsalvageable vocal cords.

Oh, god.

Tim doesn’t know how much time has passed when he wakes up. He’s not even sure how he’s waking up. A slit throat in any universe should be a certain one-way ticket to the afterlife—don’t pass go, don’t collect two hundred dollars. Dead. Maybe Tim is dreaming. Or maybe he’s dying right now and this is just his brain flashing forward to the future he could have had, “Owl Creek Bridge”-style. His ears feel like they’re packed with pillows, but voices make their way through his warped awareness like pencils poking through aluminum foil. “I say we should draw straws.” “Really, Jay? That’s your suggestion?” “You got a better idea, Dickface?” Someone clicks their tongue. “You’re both cowards. Let me be the one to tell him and I’ll have it done in less than a minute.” “I can’t even tell you all of the reasons I’m not letting you do that.” “Yeah, kid, your bedside manner fucking sucks.” “It’s better than yours!” “Will you both shut up?” Tim would feign sleep and listen longer, but the drug-induced haze is fading faster than he can keep up with. His throat burns with a fiery vengeance, flames creeping up his windpipe. He shifts, a hand instinctively grappling for his throat. Someone stops him. “Tim? You awake?” He opens his eyes. Dick is beside him, lowering Tim’s wrist back to the bed. They’re in the medical area of the Batcave; he can tell by the dank air and a sliver of rock peeking through the gap in the curtain surrounding them. Jason and Damian stand off to the side, their expressions unreadable. Tim opens his mouth to ask them what happened, but before he can utter a vowel, Dick is squeezing his hand. “Don’t try to talk,” he says. Tim obediently settles back, wariness rising in his gut. He reaches up with the hand not in Dick’s grasp and discovers a thick bandage plastered over his neck. That can’t be good. “Do you remember what happened?” The man flicks Tim’s blood off of his sword. “I would love to continue this riveting visit of ours, but it seems like my mission is complete. Have a pleasant night, Mr. Drake.” Tim nods with a wince. “You were lucky,” Dick says. “Conner found you and brought you here just in time. You lost a lot of blood and Leslie had you in surgery for a while, but she was able to fix most of the damage.” Tim doesn’t miss the most, and Dick grimaces when he catches it as well. Tim arches one eyebrow—a clear, What aren’t you telling me? “Looks like that’s our cue to duck out,” Jason says. He grabs Damian by the shoulder and ignores the raccoon-like hands smacking him away. “Glad you didn’t die, Tim.” He ushers Damian out and they disappear, leaving Tim’s stomach curdling. He looks to Dick for an explanation. “There...there was a lot of damage, Tim. You’re lucky to be breathing right now.” That should be good, right? Tim is alive. There’s no tube in his neck so he can breathe on his own, and aside from some residual soreness under the buzz of the drugs, he feels fine. This is a monumental victory. So why does Dick look like he’s delivering a death sentence? Tim wants to ask, but he physically can’t do that. Dick doesn’t seem to be able to either. “Your larynx was severed. It was a pretty nasty injury and Leslie did everything she could, but your vocal cords...they weren’t salvageable. I’m...I’m so sorry, Tim.” Tim lets that sink in. Severed larynx. Unsalvageable vocal cords. Oh, god. The utter horror on Tim’s face must be unmistakable because Dick is rushing to comfort him. “It’s okay, Tim. You’re going to get through this.” But Dick’s voice is muffled by the ringing in Tim’s ears. He can’t lose his voice. He can’t. This isn’t happening. Tim scrambles to sit up, his breathing becoming ragged. He sucks in a deep breath, opens his mouth, and tries, tries to make a noise. Tries to make a single sound, but all that comes out is a rush of air. He’s shaking. He tries to speak, to yell, to scream, and there are tears running down his cheeks and his gasps are empty and his throat hurts but he doesn’t stop. Dick’s hand is on his back. “Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out.” Tim hates that he doesn’t even have the ability to argue, to tell Dick that there’s nothing to figure out. Tim can’t speak and meaningless encouragement isn’t going to change that. Nothing will change it. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s an adjustment, to say the least. The first day, Tim holds out a flicker of hope that this is all some dream and any minute he’ll wake up again in the med bay, throat repaired and vocal cords intact. He can’t believe this is happening to him. In his entire life Tim never once considered what it would be like to lose his voice, never prepared himself for the possibility. He’s watched Cass trudge through reading assignments from Barbara and struggle to find the right words in a conversation, but it never occurred to him just how much Tim relied on his ability to speak. He took it for granted. His first day out of the med bay he finds himself slipping up again and again, opening his mouth in response to a question only to remember that that’s no longer an option. He doesn’t know enough sign language to partake in a conversation, so he avoids them altogether. He hears Alfred humming along to an opera album down the hall and is filled with a vicious, panging envy. Never again will Tim hum, sing, laugh. It’s all gone. Everyone keeps giving him the same droll sermons. He’ll get through this. It could have been worse; he could be dead. Cass manages just fine with sign language, and Tim can too. He should count himself lucky that the damage wasn’t more severe. But is he lucky? Is he really? Tim has already lost so much: his parents, his friends, his Robin career, Bruce. And now his voice. Life just doesn’t know when to stop taking from him. Maybe it will never stop taking, not until he’s an empty husk. Conner left for Smallville just a few days after Tim awoke. He never said why, but Tim knows it’s because he feels guilty. Tim wants to reassure him that this isn’t his fault, that Tim would be dead if Conner hadn’t saved him, but it would take too long to write down. Bruce taught Tim basic ASL shortly after he began his Robin training, sticking to the most rudimentary of phrases that one would need for crime-fighting. Yes. No. Please. Thank you. Help. Safe. Danger. Steph offered to learn sign language with him and Alfred left a sneaky pile of ASL books on Tim’s desk, but he hasn’t touched them. He instead relies on a whiteboard and marker to communicate, rarely as he does. His search for Bruce has been put on hold, not of his own volition. He supposes it’s fair. After all, Tim can’t even order a hamburger anymore without the help of his whiteboard. Not that he leaves the manor much, anyway. The bandage on his neck draws too much unwanted attention. He’d hate to see what Gotham’s press would conspirize about a Wayne son with a mysteriously slit throat. Tim’s days are spent in his room, working on cases out of the action. That’s what he does now, sitting on his bed with his laptop, music blasting through his headphones. Dick pokes his head in without knocking. They still haven’t devised a system for that yet. “Hey, you got a second?” Tim flicks his fingers in Dick’s direction: his way of acknowledging people these days. He pauses his music. “Damian and I are heading out on patrol now.” Tim says nothing. Obviously. “Alfred told me you didn’t eat dinner. Or lunch. Or breakfast.” Tim rifles through the papers sprawled around his knees and holds up a crumpled pink post-it. Throat hurts. “That excuse again?” Tim shrugs. “Look, I know you’re frustrated, but what you’re doing isn’t healthy. You know that, right?” Tim twirls a finger in the air. Whoop-dee-doo. “That’s real mature.” Of all the things I have to worry about right now, I’d say maturity is pretty low on the list. Not that Tim says any of that. He doesn’t know the signs and he let his whiteboard fall off the bed somewhere to his left hours ago. He doesn’t bother reaching for it. Dick comes closer to the bed and stops. “Can I sit?” Tim shrugs and goes back to his laptop. Dick sits on the edge by Tim’s knee and reaches over to close the computer. Tim flips him one of the few ASL signs he does know. “You have a right to be angry about this, but you can’t project that anger onto us. Me, Damian, Alfred—we’re not the ones you’re mad at. And we all want to help you, but we can’t do that if you don’t let us. So start letting us.” Easy for him to say. But Tim knows he’s right, as infuriating as it is, which is the only reason he doesn’t turn his music back on and shut down for another week. Sighing, Tim opens the laptop. He pulls up a blank word document and types for a moment. He turns the computer around to show Dick. Speech for Neon Knights foundation in a couple days. Already written. Just need someone to deliver it. Dick nods, smiling. “Sure. I can take care of that. And it’s okay if you need more time to work through this, but I want you to remember that I’m here if you ever want to talk. Or, well—you know what I mean. Just remember you’re not alone in this.” Tim wishes he could tell Dick the truth. That Tim does appreciate everything he’s trying to do—really, he does. Tim doesn’t know where he’d even be if he didn’t have Dick by his side, making the world a brighter place just by existing in it with his endless patience and unfaltering optimism. If only he had the voice to tell him. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason wouldn’t call himself a particularly caring individual. That sort of legacy is better left to the real heroes, like Bruce and Roy and Dick-fucking-Grayson. It’s for this reason that Jason didn’t stick around for a hot second when Tim got hurt, nor did he return for the aftermath. Tim is dealing with enough shit right now. He doesn’t need his asshole older brother getting involved and making him feel worse. Jason can’t imagine what it would be like to be in Tim’s situation. For starters, it would utterly butcher his knack for smartass remarks. Plus, there’s no finer euphoria than screaming obscenities at a blubbering criminal right before he puts a bullet through their skull. Losing his voice would be losing half of what makes him the Red Hood. Red Robin, on the other hand...he’s always been quiet. Not like Cass, but getting there. He relies on shadows and ninja-like swiftness to get the point across that this is goddamn Red Robin and you should be wetting your pants in his wake. But Jason’s smart enough to know that the silent schtick is done by choice. It’s a maneuver and a learned behavior rolled into one. He can only imagine how torturous it must be to be silenced by force—to be muzzled by something completely out of his control. (Fine, so Jason cares about the kid a little. Sue him.) He goes into the Batburger restaurant (Jesus shit, whoever came up with the idea of a Batman-themed restaurant should be shot in the head. Or maybe thrown a parade. He can’t decide) and scouts for black hair and pale skin. He spots Tim in a booth all the way at the back and heads over, sliding into the seat across from him. “Hey, kid.” Tim picks his head up from where he was engrossed in a game of Solitaire on his phone and gives a two-fingered salute. A notepad and Superman pen sit on the table in front of him. “Did you order yet?” Tim points to the scar on his neck and Jason mentally slaps himself in the forehead. “Right.” Tim picks up the pen and scribbles for a minute. “What,” Jason says, “no whiteboard today?” Tim turns the pad around to show Jason. Too bulky. People notice. Below that: Nuggets, fries & grape zesti. “Magic words?” Tim rolls his eyes. He tears out the page and bounces it off Jason’s forehead. However, he does lift his right hand and rotate it in front of his chest, palm flat: the ASL sign for “please.” Jason recognizes it from his minimal knowledge accumulated from Robin training and conversations with Cass. “Attaboy. For a minute there I was worried Alf failed in making a decent person out of you.” Tim sticks his tongue out, which makes Jason chuckle. He goes to the counter and relays Tim’s order, along with his own. While he waits he dares a look back and finds Tim back to staring down at his phone, shirt collar pulled as high as it’ll go. What must it be like, going from Gotham’s favorite billionaire playboy-in-training to a silent teenager who can’t go to a restaurant without people staring at the killer scar across his throat? Jason’s seen the gossip magazines. Some speculate a failed assassination, while others are sure it was a suicide attempt gone wrong. At least Jason’s scars can be covered by a t-shirt. Tim can’t hide his without a turtleneck, but it’s summer now. He’s forced to endure the speculated theories and pitiful glances, meanwhile Jason has the benefit of being legally dead on his side. He doesn’t have to worry about people remembering him. Losing one’s voice only months after losing his second father figure is tough shit for a seventeen-year-old. For anyone. He doesn’t know how Tim does it. Jason goes back to the table and finds Tim doodling a stick figure on the notepad. It’s got thick, narrowed eyebrows and pointed teeth. “That supposed to be me?” Tim’s mouth quirks. He fingerspells, Damian. His sleeve falls down an inch, exposing a med-alert bracelet. Alfred must have made him start wearing it. What with his asplenia and nasty habit of fainting in places when he forgets to eat, it makes sense that Tim would need it. If something were to happen, it’s not like he can inform paramedics of the deal. “You really captured the evil in his eyes.” Jason takes a bite of his cheeseburger while Tim busies himself with arranging his fries in size order, the little weirdo. “So how are things at home?” Good, Tim signs, his movements clunky and unpracticed. Dick… He frowns and scribbles on the pad. Helicopter parenting. “Same old, same old, right?” Tim levels an unimpressed look. “What? It can’t be that bad.” Benched indefinitely. It sucks. “Can you blame him? I wouldn’t want you in the field like this yet either.” Cass, Tim writes, and leaves it at that. “But she’s been functioning without speech for her whole life. She doesn’t need it to be understood. You’ve only been doing it for two weeks.” And a half, Tim writes. “You know what I mean. ‘s not like you can call for help if you get gutted in an alley.” Never thought I’d see the day when you’d take Dick’s side. “Yeah, well, sometimes the fucker has a point.” He takes a sip of his soda. “You know, I talked to Babs yesterday. Said she’s working on tech that’ll let you use morse code over the comms. If she finishes it on schedule, you can be back out there in less than a month.” Tim just nods, eyes dimmed. It’s weird seeing the kid so quiet. The real trick used to be getting Tim to shut up. He used to spend hours rambling on and on about whatever science kick he was on at the moment. For as quiet as Red Robin could be, Tim Drake never ran out of things to say. Jason misses it. He throws a sesame seed at Tim. “Hey. I’m trying to have a conversation here.” Tim makes a gesture that Jason doesn’t recognize. At Jay’s confused look, Tim writes on the notepad, Fuck off. “Cassie teach you that one?” Steph. Wanted to learn curse words first. “Of course you did. You know, you should hit up Jericho. He knows exactly what you’re going through, and I’m pretty sure he was able to teach Dick sign language in less than a year.” You’re the fifth person to say that. “I’m a fucking genius, we know this. But seriously. It might be useful to have someone in your corner who knows how to cope with this kind of thing.” I’m coping fine. “By listening to shitty emo music all day in your room? Yeah, because that’s super healthy.” Tim twiddles the pen between his fingers, glaring at Jason. Finally, he puts it to paper. I keep calling my cell phone to listen to the voicemail. Jason blinks. “Why?” Don’t want to forget what my voice sounds like. “You won’t.” Forgot my mom’s after a year. Starting to forget my dad’s. Tim pauses before adding, He yelled a lot though, so I think he’s got a lead. Jason has no fucking idea what to say to that, thanks for asking. He gives it a shot anyway. “Then...then I’ll remember it enough for the both of us. It's kind of hard to forget that annoying-ass nasally voice babbling about Star Wars for hours anyway.” Wow, thanks, Tim signs with an eye roll. No problem, Jason signs back. That makes Tim smile for the first time since Jason sat down. Maybe this kid will be all right, after all.

[black-streak]

Little Pistol - Millstone

Chapter 4

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This feels almost like I'm starting a new story and in a way I am. Tim's story. His side of this world in creating. That being said, for those who only got into DC and Batman and the Robins through the Maribat fandom, this actually gives a lot of background on Tim that isn't normally covered from what I've seen. Or at least, not in depth. Sure, I'm giving my own perspective on how canon events could of turned out, but all the way up to Damian taking up Robin is technically canon compliant.

That being said, here we go. (Song is Millstone by Brand New. All songs are featured on my Timinette Angst Playlist)

LP Taglist

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Permanent list

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~---~

Traveling downhill seemed so much easier than trekking up. In truth, it all depended on how you went. Slowly making your way on foot could end in braced, straining joints and burning calves from the effort of keeping balanced on steeper angles and rougher terrain. You could bike down faster, but you might miss everything that happens along the way or hit an edge and end up crashing to never see it through one way or another. Taken out of the race too soon. Running proved dangerous and much the same as a bike. One could always roll down the slope, but that leads to veering off course and coming up dizzy and disoriented. Falling was easy, but there was no control on how you went or how fast and many end up injured or lost by the time they hit the bottom.

Tim decided to mark his own path. He hadn't necessarily meant to find the bottom, it sort of found him to be honest, but nevertheless, he chose to make his way slowly down from the start. Twisting and winding carefully, every step deliberate and calculated until he stood where he is now, living in the brownstone with Jason Todd of all people. His would be murderer.

Funny how that worked.

It started early on, far sooner than most would guess, with his blackmailing his way into the mantle of Robin. Sure, it was ultimately Bruce's decision, but what else does one do with a kid with photographic evidence of your identity who saved your skin and insists on helping any way he can? Train him, send him around the world, and hone his skills under the nose of his parents, apparently.

Then his mother died and his father went into a coma. Bruce feared he'd fall to anger and vengeance, bringing up Jason as a reminder of what not to do.

It was interesting, the amount of times Jason was brought up as a form of warning. As a guidance for what not to be. It came to a point where he resented hearing the name, equated it to disappointment and idiocy. To brashness and brute strength. To death. His opinion of Jason was similar to that of a dumpster fire. Contained and expected, but needing to be put out before it could do any real damage to something actually important. 

That was in part due to being a child who'd grown up watching Dick fly in the Robin colors and seeing how his successor performed afterwards. In some ways, the magic of the Robin suit transferred with its new owner, still amazing Tim with its ability to make Gotham a little brighter, a little safer. But the disconnect between Robin and Jason was too strong for him to see them as the same person. He still thought of Dick as Robin, despite knowing he wasn't in that suit. Then Jason died and soon after he began his training, not really out of desire to BE Robin, but more for knowing someone had to do it. 

Then Bruce and in parts, Dick himself, kept reinforcing the story of Jason as something bad. As something to be avoided and better than. Jason was no longer a person at all in his mind. More of an urban legend told in bedtime stories to scare children into being good.  It only furthered the disconnect he felt between looking at the case with the old Robin suit and hearing the name Jason Todd.

It was a while afterwards that his next step down occured, with his return to no man's land, his rescue and finally, his father barring him from Robin and Stephanie taking up the title. He didn't mean to feel resentful, but it happened nonetheless. He fought so hard to be good enough, to hold the Robin title and be worthy of it only to have it ripped away by Jack Drake's form of blackmail. Oh, the irony of it being the same as his own from long before.

It took manipulation and carefully working from the other side, but soon he convinced his father of his need to be Robin. Of how Gotham needed him. And Jack let him. Too bad it led to him being killed.

He faked an uncle to avoid being completely under Bruce's thumb. Wanted a say in his own life and felt adoption wouldn't be the way to go about it. Didn't want to replace his dead dad so soon after losing him.

Things went faster after that. Stephanie died. Then Kon. He switched his colors in remembrance of his fallen friend. Became a little darker. Colder. Distant. Bart died. He fell further. Stephanie was alive. She let him think she was dead. Batman knew and felt no need to tell him. She lied to him. Bruce lied to him. Everyone he loved left him one way or another. Jason tried to kill him. More than once.

Surprisingly, almost dying at his hands was what began to help Tim see Jason as he truly was. A human being. He opened up the files on Jason and began his own research, no longer taking his mentors for their word. If Jason was alive, he needed to know who exactly he was up against. And he did, now. He knew who Jason was. A guy who'd been just a kid, taken off the streets and thrown into the nightlife of Gotham. A kid who loved his mother and did what he could to keep her alive. Who did what he needed to keep himself alive. Who loved school and maintained perfect grades and read classic literature. Jason Todd wasn't some punk who died because he was a brash idiot who got in over his head. No, he was just a boy who found out his birth mom was alive and went looking for her. Who died trying to protect the woman who birthed him, despite being the one who betrayed him. The Robin costume wasn't magical. Wasn't it's own living thing. The mantel was only as strong as the one who wore it and Jason had worn it well.

Funny how the resurrected version saw who filled the suit now and decided to try and kill him. Guess he couldn't really fault him for it, though. Talia threw Jason in the pits and practically siked him on Tim. If only she had kept Damian to herself. 

Tim took the child's attempt on his life to heart, despite the pardon to Jason for much the same. See the difference there was that Bruce didn't treat the two attempts the same. Both tried to kill Tim. But while Jason was condemned and seen as the enemy for it, Damian was barely punished. Sure, Bruce expressed anger and disappointment, but all and all, that was it. Quite frankly, Tim thought Jason was more justified and yet, he received the harsher treatment. 

The injustice and unfair treatment of the Robins was never more clear than in that moment.

The true fall of Tim, however, was after Bruce died, leaving the others as orphans to battle over the cowl.

He never wanted to hold the title of Batman, but Dick was so reluctant and then Jason started posing as Batman, so Tim took him up. Just to put an end to it. To make the madness stop for just a second.

And finally, finally, Dick took his rightful place. After the loss of his father and adopted father and so many friends and teammates, Tim was ready for a semblance of normal. He'd worked under Dick before and it'd gone so well, he knew this is what they needed. What the city needed. Something was finally going to be okay.

But then it really wasn't. Dick gave his position to Damian. To the kid who killed, who tried to kill him. To an ungrateful, insubordinate, murderous child who held no morals or standard for anything that wasn't an animal. Dick took the only thing Tim had left and gave it away to the person who hated him most.

Well. 

It should have come as no surprise that when Jason showed up, offering him refuge, a place to belong, a place at his side. He took it. 

He took it on his own terms.

Taking up the mask, not behind Jason, but at his side, as his partner, Tim took over the Brownstone building and created his perch. His and Red Hood's basis of operation. Dick thought Gotham needed a cruel, brutal, ruthless Robin? Fine. He'd give it one.

Sipping on his mug of hot chocolate and looking out into the night, he couldn't help the twinge of a frown that creeped onto his face. The downhill descent was a difficult one, yeah, but one way or another, he found his way to the bottom.

[1-800-roflmao]

Wash Day Delight Pt. 3

Rating:  General Audiences

WARNINGS:  None

Fandom:  Undertale (Video Game)

Relationships:  Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale) & Reader,  Papyrus (Underfell) & Reader

Characters:  Papyrus (Undertale), Reader, Edge (UF Pap), and Mentions of Other AU Skeletons

Additional Tags:  Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), reader is poc, Reader has curly hair,  Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Friendship, Wholesome, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, I'm Bad At Summaries, Not Beta Read, Romance if you squint, Subtext, Let Papyrus be Sassy, Edge Is The Unwilling Dad Friend, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Humor, Slice of Life

*I was vague with reader's scent on purpose. Some of use love coconut milk or oil or Shea butter, but it's not universal. I like Manuka honey blends~

And it's always the bra that get ditched first!

PREVIOUS || FIRST || NEXT

“So, what took so long with Mrs. Ida?” She had just finished locking up the house and they were now descending the back staircase.  It had been a mad dash to get finished and out the door since she flustered Papyrus in the bathroom.  If it was petty vengeance for teasing him, she didn’t know, but he had threatened to carry her out in a much similar way to how he does with Sans if she didn’t “MAKE HASTE.”  Needless to say, she hadn’t been given a moment until now to inquire what had happened earlier that evening.  “I was startin’ ta wonder if you’d gotten lost…” she mumbled, her tone giving away just how worried she had been despite trying to joke it off now.  She could hear him lightly click his teeth in acknowledgement.  

“Mrs. Ida Had Not Driven Here,” he started and she arched a brow before chuckling as it clicked.  How had she not considered a woman of Ida’s age might not drive?  Would it have been presumptuous to have asked though?  “She Had Said She ‘Caught’ A Cab, But Not Literally,” he was rambling a bit, but she wasn't complaining.  She lifted her gaze from the paved pathway they were walking along and up to her friend.  She could hear an edge of bashfulness to his voice as he admitted the old woman taught him about “euphemisms.”  His retelling was quickly veering off into a tangent, ranging from complaining and praising the many different facets of language to pondering if it was worth getting his brother some study materials.  He griped it was a fifty-fifty chance to either improve his jokes and puns, or make them so much worse.  

“Oh, I think it’d be worth it!” she piped up, looking away as he cut off his rant and directed his gaze down at her.  She didn’t need to look at him right now.  She could very easily guess his expression and just knew those sockets of his were narrowing as he sent her a suspicious look.  

A beat of silence then “THEN I WILL LEAVE SANS ALONE.” 

She fought back a giggle, “Aw, c’mon!  Don’t you want his puns to be up to your standards?”  She tipped her head back as she directed a cheeky grin his way.  

Papyrus just huffed, crossing his arms over his chest which was now missing the pastel sweater from earlier.  He had taken it off before they left the house to reveal his “Jog Boy” top.  “IT IS OBVIOUS YOU ARE HOPING FOR THE OPPOSITE!” he rebuked, “AND DON’T EVEN TRY TO ARGUE. I KNOW YOU TOO WELL! BEST. FRIEND.”  He emphasized those last two words like it was the most solid evidence to ever exist.  

With a little defeated shrug of her shoulders, she blew a raspberry his way.  “Fiiiine,” she drug out the word, “But you know you love his jokes and puns anyways.”  A frustrated noise hissed past his teeth as he shamefully agreed.  “Soooo, going off that logic…” she started, a devious curl to her lips and twinkle in her eyes as she moved in front the skeleton.  “Wouldn’t you love his jokes EVEN MORE if they got WORSE?” she pushed, brows waggling as she watched Papyrus freeze, his mind working through what she just said.  Once his mind finally wrapped around her hypothesis, he gripped his skull, falling to his knees, and let out possibly the most anguished, dramatic scream.  Apparently, he couldn't find fault with his human friend’s absurd logic.

○●○●○●○●○

     The temperature outside had dropped once again in such little time and despite the slight chill, she couldn’t feel any of it.  It would be a miracle at this point if she could.  No, she’d be thankful to as it would mean she wouldn’t be having the workout from hell right now.   Maybe she had teased him a wee bit too much.  

“Paaaapiiiii!” she griped, surprised she could even get out a whine that long considering she could barely catch her breath, “I said! I was-!”  What was supposed to be an easy jog had turned a into suicide run.  “SORRY!”  Papyrus was behind her setting the pace and any time she slowed too much, he would pinch or smack whatever part of her he could reach at that moment.  So far, her left butt cheek had felt the brunt of it along with her upper thighs.  

“FOCUS!  CONTROL YOUR BREATHING, HUMAN!” he snapped, ignoring her plea,  and she wondered briefly if maybe Edge had snuck up and taken her normally gentle friend’s place.  A pinch on her elbow had her picking up her pace and focusing on the now.  She had already learned she wasn’t allowed to look back, plus it didn’t help any with balance or keeping pace.  “LOOK!  THERE IS YOUR GOAL ONLY A FEW MORE STEPS UP AHEAD!”  Curse him for not even sounding out of breath.  She knew these skeletons don’t technically need to breathe, but at least huff a bit or something in sympathy here.  

Papyrus had not been lying though.  Just one more block down was the gym, or as she thought of it: her salvation.  Zeroing in on the building that was getting closer and closer, she focused on her breathing to bring it down from frantic pants to something more disciplined: slower and deeper.  It was a strange feeling as her mind calmed.  Heh, maybe her old coach had a point when he said the human body can do a lot more than the mind thinks.  

“START SLOWING DOWN,” she gratefully followed the order and began easing her pace, but aware of him behind her still setting the pace.  She supposed one day she would be grateful to him for not letting her come to a dead stop.  Today, in this moment, she wasn’t as the slow ease of the pace was almost as tortuous as the marathon she had been forced to run.  “WE’VE ARRIVED.  YOU CAN REST NOW.” He didn’t need to say it twice as the young woman nearly crumpled before the doors of the gym.  Bent over with hands on splayed knees as she sucked in air like it was going to get away.  She could feel a large hand rubbing her back and was aware that Papyrus was saying something, possibly praises or encouragements, but she could barely hear over the rush of blood, her pounding heart that seemed so much louder and next to her ears, and her puffs that were thankfully slowing as she caught her breath.  

○●○●○●○●○

Papyrus felt just a little guilty as he watched his friend recover from their run, but not enough to apologize.  He kept rubbing soothing circles onto her hunched back.  “AMAZING WHAT WE CAN ACCOMPLISH WHEN WE PUSH OURSELVES,” he gently pushed at her spine, encouraging her to straighten it rather than bowing.  He had a feeling she wasn’t hearing a word he was saying, but continued to sing her praises as he opened his dimensional box and took out a bottle of water.  “LOOK AT THE BRIGHT SIDE! YOU ALREADY HIT YOUR HEART RATE GOAL FOR TONIGHT AND WE CAN WALK BACK,” he cracked the cap on the bottle.  He couldn’t hear her gasping for breath anymore, but she was still hunched over.  “COME ON,  WE STILL-”

“I THOUGHT I RECOGNIZED THAT UNCEASING CHEER,” a new voice cut in, one he recognized as well.  Looking up from his friend, he spotted the pricklier version of himself leaning out the doors of the gym.  Edge’s narrow sockets stared the two of them down, but he felt no ire from the other, just curiosity and some irritation.  

“OH, WELL HELLO, EDGE,” he greeted as cheerfully as he could despite the mounting confusion he was feeling.  He could feel his friend tense for a moment beneath his hand before relaxing again.  Her heart rate had slowed to normal by now, but had picked up just a bit at the mention of Edge.  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” If he remembered correctly, his fell counterpart usually didn’t work out this particular day, or at least not at night.  

Edge only huffed as he finally stepped fully outside and marched up to his doppelganger.  “WHAT DO YOU THINK?” he snipped, arms crossed as he came to a stop just a few feet from the two.  

Oh, how hard Papyrus’s eyelights would have rolled if he had them.  “OH, I DON’T KNOW, BUT SINCE YOU ASKED SO NICELY!” he started, hand lifting to tap a phalange against his chin in feigned thought.  “AHA!  YOU HAVE FINALLY DECIDED TO VISIT THE CHIROPRACTOR WHO WORKS TONIGHT AND GET THAT ATTITUDE STRAIGHTENED UP!” he declared with utmost confidence, somehow managing to sound sincerely elated in a way only Papyrus could.

 A silent staredown ensued as Papyrus just kept smiling brightly in feigned innocence.  He could see that Edge wanted to be mad at him, but couldn’t hide that little proud quirk of his sharp fangs.  The moment was broken as his friend brought attention back to herself with a poorly smothered laugh.  

○●○●○●○●○

She had been quiet through the entire encounter.  Hearing Edge’s voice after just wondering about him during that hellish run had her wondering if she had somehow summoned him with just a single thought.  She took a moment to pray to whatever gods or deities were out there to take mercy on her.  She would hold back on the teasing and being a little shit, just no more torture tonight.  Maybe if she stays real quiet, she could avoid getting Edge’s attention and lessen her chances of irreparable damage.

That all went out the window as a little snort pushed past her lips.  Leave it to Papyrus to sass one of the pointiest, scary-looking monsters around.  “I need to know where you get that audacity from,” she didn’t bother trying to contain the laugh anymore as she straightened up with a roll of her shoulders, “I could use some of it.”

Both skeletons huffed at that, but it was Edge who spoke up first, “YOU HAVE PLENTY OF IT ALREADY, BRAT.”  

Papyrus nodded along, “ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING YOUR BEHAVIOR TONIGHT.”

She pouted, parting her lips to argue, but froze as Edge had uncrossed his arms with an appraising look sent her way.  

“OH?  AND JUST WHAT HAS SHE DONE?” Edge questioned, voice full of amusement as he watched the human between them shake her head and send a pleading look to Papyrus.  She was begging with just her eyes for him to not throw her under the bus. No such luck as he began filling Edge in on all her teasing and poking fun that night.  He decided to add on that she had been running late at that.  

Throughout it all, Edge was prowling closer and closer until he was practically invading her space.  He must have already been working out when they came since she could smell something spicy, like cinnamon, with just a little musk wafting from him once he was close enough.  Usually he was very keen on making sure his scent was barely noticeable, especially after the first time she commented on it.  It hadn’t been a bad comment.  It smelled quite nice, just like now, but since then she only got lucky to get a whiff here and there.  As much as she wanted to take a step back, she stubbornly kept eye contact and straightened up even more.  

“BUT SHE DID RUN ALL THE WAY HERE. NONSTOP,” Papyrus had finished his recount with her most recent accomplishment.  She let herself feel proud as she watched Edge’s cruel smile soften just a bit with awe and pride.  With how close he was though, she could practically feel the rumble as he hummed thoughtfully.  

“Then I Guess She Has Earned Forgiveness,” his voice should not be allowed to be at that volume.  It still had that scratchy quality to it, but the low volume just increased that damnable rumbling that was causing warmth to bloom in her chest and hopefully not on her face.  “BUT,” she gulped as that cruel lilt returned and he leaned in, “WHY STOP THERE?” No.  “I THINK IT’S TIME WE HELP OUR FRIEND LEARN WHAT HER NEW LIMITS ARE.  AREN’T YOU CURIOUS, BRAT?” No, no she was not.  

In a last ditch effort to get out this, she leaned to look pleadingly at Papyrus, but he wasn’t even paying her any mind as he seemed to be pondering something.  One foot was tapping as he rested an elbow in the palm of his opposing arm’s hand.  A water bottle was pinned between his arm and chest.  A distal phalange tapped away at his temple as he hummed.  Sockets squinted for the few moments he took to think it over.  Hope bloomed as he finally looked to them with that signature toothy grin of his.  “GREAT IDEA, EDGE!”  How quickly hope shattered.     

○●○●○●○●○

~THREE HOURS LATER~

○●○●○●○●○

“I hate you both…” the words lacked energy and any true vitriol.  She couldn’t even muster the energy to feel any shame or shyness pertaining to her current predicament.  She was now aware of muscles she never knew she had and she was sure the next morning would be hell.  Would she even be able to move tomorrow?  These two had done just what they promised and pushed her to find new limits, but the cost was her ability to pretty much function on her own.  Her legs were like jelly and her arms were just barely listening to her.  Her core wasn’t putting up a fuss right now, but she knew it was coming.  Hopefully it wouldn’t be too bad as the two had made sure she drank water, stretched, and did cool downs.   

Papyrus had taken pity on her when he saw her physical state and insisted he carry her.  He had won despite her stubborn efforts to stand and walk in the locker room afterwards.  Edge had even chided her, telling her to quit being fussy, and just accept the help or crawl.  She doubted he would have actually let her crawl out the gym. 

“We Know You Don’t Mean That,” one of her tormentors answered with a far too jovial tone.  The other just snickered off to her left and feeling contrary, she turned her face the opposite way, which ended up with her pretty much nuzzling into Papyrus’s neck as he was currently carrying her piggyback.  Rather than looping his arms under her knees and holding her that way, he had gone with braiding his fingers behind his back and letting her pretty much sit on his palms.   His arms kept her legs pinned to his sides.  He was bent forward slightly which kept her from having to hold on as tightly and instead just lay against his back.  

An indignant huff was the only answer she graced them with.   She could feel Papyrus’s little laugh more than hear it as it caused her to bounce gently on his back.  Meanwhile, the smell of sweet mint and citrus invaded her senses from where her face was tucked.  It was honestly a little unfair how these skeletons could smell so good after a hard workout.  She hoped she didn’t stink… 

A sharp distal poked her shoulder and stubbornly she ignored its owner.  The pokes continued until finally it was just stabbing into her already sore flesh and she gave in, rolling to face the sharp skeleton once more.  To her surprise, a banana was currently being held right in front of her face.  It had already been partially peeled.  She blinked and it was still there.  “A banana?” she mumbled, mentally slapping herself for stating the obvious.

Edge snickered, “AT LEAST THAT MUSCLE IN YOUR HEAD IS STILL SOMEWHAT VIABLE.”  His humor had always been drier than the Sahara and now was no exception.  Any witness would have thought he was beating a dog that was already down.

“If you’re talking about my brain, it’s actually made of fat,” she replied, just as dry and resting her cheek against Papyrus’s shoulder.  For a skeleton, he was surprisingly comfy and his easy pace was gradually rocking her to sleep.  Said skeleton made a noise best described as a “SNRK!” not long after what she said.  Edge had only released a drawn out sigh.  At least one of them appreciated her humor.  

“JUST EAT THE DAMN BANANA, YOU BRAT,” he moved it closer insistently, looking and sounding very much like a tired mom trying to get her child to eat the last piece of broccoli on their plate.  

A pause then, “No.”  

“NO?” 

“No.”

“WHY?”

“Where did you even get a banana from?”

“I HAD IT.”

“So, you just carry around a banana all the time?”

“NO, YOU DISCOUNT KAOLA.”

“Awww, and here I thought I was an upgrade.”

“QUIT TRYING TO DIVERT THE CONVERSATION AND EAT IT.”

“Fine… but only if you tell me why I should.”

Edge sucked in an unneeded breath as he nearly vibrated in irritation.  He took a moment to calm before gritting out, "FINE."  She was just a little impressed he had an answer.  “POTASSIUM IS SUPPOSED TO BE GOOD FOR EASING AND PREVENTING CRAMPS.  BANANAS, I READ, APPARENTLY CONTAIN IT.  THUS EATING IT SHOULD HELP YOU BE LESS OF A USELESS LUMP TOMORROW,” he explained, concise and leaving no room for argument, “AND QUIT YOUR LAUGHING, CREAMPUFF.  YOU’RE NOT HELPING THE MATTER.”  Her sleepy, tired brain processed the information and found no fault.  A memory of an old movie where the parents were shrunk and the kids were left on their own came to mind as she remembered it mentioning something about bananas and potassium as well.   

“Okay, you win,” she conceded, chuckling quietly as the scarred skeleton sighed in relief.  Edge had far more patience than most give him credit for.  At one point in the past, he would have just shoved the fruit in her mouth or just stormed off, but now he was willing to put up with the back and forth.  Maybe he actually enjoyed banter?  Earlier, he seemed to be proud of Papyrus’s sass.  

Sleepy and not thinking, she leaned forward and took a bite of the banana.  It was just at the right ripeness she noted as she chewed contentedly.  She didn’t notice how quiet either skeleton was or that they had come to stop before a black classic Ford Mustang.

○●○●○●○●○

Edge’s mind had blanked as he watched the scene play out.  This human, rather than simply taking the fruit from his hand and eating it normally, had instead leaned forward slowly and carefully.  There was a little sway to her movement, a little shake in her arms as she curled her fingers tighter in to the Creampuff’s shirt to steady herself, and he instinctively brought up his free hand to hover near her just in case.  “WATCH WH-what you...” his words faded out as she finally reached the fruit and took a small bite.  To top it off, she was doing that absurdly cute little wiggle and hum that human women seemed to commonly do when they ate something they liked.  

“I Can Just Feel The Cavities Forming…” he grumbled under his breath, diverting his eyes from her and her adorable display before a blush could rise.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his doppelganger sending him a sly look and he didn’t bother suppressing a growl.  It was cut off as he felt her taking another bite.  “WOULD YOU JUST HOLD IT?” he snapped.  

“But I’ve got to hold on,” she had mumbled in reply after swallowing her last bite, “And you told me to eat it.  You didn’t tell me how.”  He resisted the urge to pinch her nose for that smart remark and just sucked in a deep breath before slowly releasing.  

“She Makes A Good Point,” his softer counterpart imputted.

Edge could only level a deadpan stare on his duplicate, “NOT. HELPING.”  Papyrus had the nerve to laugh and the woman resting against his back giggled as she bounced due to it.  Shaking his head, he fished his keys from his black joggers’ pockets and unlocked the driver’s side door.  Before he got too far, he pushed the banana into the young woman’s hand with a quick order to hold on to it since he needed both his hands.  He swiftly put down the seat so the back seat could be accessed.  While he was sure Papyrus wouldn’t mind her riding in his lap on the way home, he didn’t think he could take anymore public displays of affection tonight.  No matter how platonic they are.  

“Alright, Get In The Backseat,” he ordered as he moved to the side.  He pinched at his nose ridge as he watched Papyrus move to get in the back with her, “NOT YOU. HER. JUST HER.”  There was no room for argument and no matter how much the Creampuff looked like a puppy that just had its treat stolen, he wasn’t giving in.  Thankfully, the woman’s little head pats she placed on his skull seemed to appease him.  Wait, how was she- oh.  He held in a snicker at the ridiculous image she presented.  She had freed up one of her hands by holding the banana in her mouth, while her other still gripped at his shirt.  A good sign she had some of her strength back at least.

○●○●○●○●○

Papyrus had at first been annoyed at the thought of Edge butting in on their hang out time, but had warmed up to it rather quickly.  Plus, Edge had informed them that he had missed his usual work time session the day before due to an emergency at his restaraunt.  It truly was coincidence.  It had been fun and having Edge there kept him from going soft on her tonight.  It was honestly amusing how she’d gripe and moan and beg, but would push through through the sets and exercises anyway.  He’d seen a new side to her as Edge decided to poke at her pride during weight lifting and she had lifted more in that deadlift than he could have ever expected.  She’d said it had been fueled by “pure spite” at that moment and not to expect it as the norm.  They had new bars set and she’d be less peeved at them when she saw how far she had come along.

Afterwards, it had been decided they would take Edge’s car back to her house, rather than parting ways.  While he wasn’t feeling it nearly as intensely as his companion currently resting on his back, he had been pushing himself as well to be fair.  Edge, being as observant as ever, had noticed.   He couldn’t argue against the logic that it wasn’t a good or safe idea for an exhausted monster and person of color to walk home this late.  By now, Sixth Street should be bustling with life and sometimes a few strays wander down teh other streets.  They’re not always trouble, but why risk it?  

With her this close, he was surrounded by her scent.  Mostly her hair products, but he could smell the musk of her sweat as well and sweet lotion.  It wasn’t bad, but he knew not to comment on it either way.  He was sure she could smell him and he just hoped she didn’t mind.   She hadn’t pulled away at any point or complained so maybe he was safe.  He kept one gripe to himself about tonight.  At this moment, if she had kept her hair down, those curls would be touching his face and neck.  A sorely missed opportunity.

Her and Edge had bickered most the way and he had valiantly tried not laugh, only to fail in the end.  It was just such ridiculous little diatribes.  It was all so cute, Edge included, but now they had reached his car and he’d have to put her down. 

She was currently petting his skull in an effort to comfort and it was working.  Her cheek still rested against his shoulder with her lips wrapped around the banana, just holding it in her mouth.  Her free hand that wasn’t gripped his shirt had stopped the gentle petting motion and now just rested her palm against the top of his skull.  He could feel one of her fingers just rubbing in a slow circle.  Now, that just isn’t fair-

“I WILL HAVE DUSTED BY TIME YOU TWO DECIDE TO FINISH WITH THIS,” his doppelganger snipped with an irritated huff and jerk of his hand to the back seat once again.  “EITHER PUT HER DOWN OR I WILL CONFISCATE HER MYSELF,” he threatened, his already sharp sockets narrowing further as his sharp teeth tipped up at the edges.  

Papyrus didn’t know if he should be impressed the other had not threatened to just leave them or flustered at his counterpart's subtext.  He would leave those thoughts for later.  For now, he crouched down carefully and with Edge’s help, they helped their companion off his back and into the seat.  By the time he made it around the vehicle and settled into the passenger’s seat, Edge was already seated in the driver’s side and in the rear view he could his friend eating with ease.  He called her name and she looked up curiously, still chewing her last bite, “Do You Need Require Any Water At The Moment?”  

She just shook her head and swallowed her mouthfull, “Not unless that water is part of a shower.”  

“A Shower Does Sound Nice Right Now,” he agreed.  He could hear Edge grunting in agreement as he turned the key in the ignition and put the car into gear.  The engine roared to life and the dash board lit up, showing off the upgrades Edge had done to the classic model.  It wasn’t long before they pulling out the spot and onto the road, heading back to her little abode on Eighth Street.  

“Human,” the sharper of the two skeletons called and glanced into the mirror to check if she was paying attention, “Hopefully, You Do Not Plan To Work Tomorrow After Tonight.”  It should have been a question, but it sounded more like a command.  

“I Have To Agree With My Cousin On This,” Papyrus piped in as he saw her looking like she wanted to argue.  She pursed her lips as he kept talking, “You’ll Be Dreadfully Sore Tomorrow Most Likely.”  

“And I wonder whose fault that is,” she didn’t hesitate with a little click of her tongue.  Papyrus atleast had the shame to wince, but beat down the guilt as their driver sent him a sharp look.  A look that said don’t back down.  

“No Matter Who's At Fault Here,” Edge started, coming to a stop at a four way and putting on his blinker.  Sharp red eyelights lit in his sockets and locked with the young woman’s gaze in the mirror.  “Your Body Still Needs Rest.  Doing Anything Other That Tomorrow Would Only Be Punishing Yourself For No Good Reason,” he scolded and gave her a moment to nod and voice her understanding before extinguishing his eyelights.  

The rest of the car ride was void of chatter as Edge put on some soft music and his passengers fought off sleep.  One because the trip was too short to provide a decent nap and would just result him being groggy.  The other because she was now responsible for an empty banana peel and she’d rather not drop it on any part of this vehicle that felt far too expensive for her to be sitting in. 

○●○●○●○●○

Finally, Edge was pulling the black Mustang over and parking just infront Papyrus’s red Ferrari.  She swears these two just visiting the area raised property values.  She scooted closer to Edge’s side as he got out and started putting down the seat.  Once it was down, she took Edge’s offered hand and let him help her out.  She was happy to see she could stand again, but that didn’t say anything about the stairs she needed to climb.  Even ground was one thing, but an incline… she may be crawling to bed after all. 

“Do You Think You Can Make It OR-?” her sharp friend started to question, but let the rest hang for her to fill in.  Despite how prickly he could be, he was honestly a sweetheart once you earned his trust.  

“Well…” she trailed off as Papyrus cleared his nonexistent throat and made his presence known once again.  One glance at him and she felt like smacking herself for almost forgetting.  “Oh right, Papi, you left your sweater inside,” she laughed, “You’re lucky, I could use another comfy sweater to add to my collection.”   There were a few of the skeletons whose sweaters she’d love to steal; namely, the lazier of the brothers had the prime specimens.

Papyrus just shook his head, “Maybe Asking Nicely Would Get You Better Results,” he adminished.  

Is that so? “Pretty please, can I keep your sweater?” she went for it with a hopeful smile, which was quickly dashed as he cackled softly with a dry “NO.”  She could even hear Edge snorting as he stifled a laugh behind his fist.  If she had the energy, she’d whine a bit, but her bed was calling her.  Turning her attention back to Edge, she nodded, “Thanks for joining us tonight.  It was fun.”  After a moment, she added one last thought, “You should join us more often.”  She meant it.  Even if the workout had been harder than she was used to, it was nice to have someone who knew how to push her buttons and get her to push herself.  

Edge’s sharp visage softened just slightly and he sent her an appreciative smile, nodding.  “Maybe I Will.”

○●○●○●○●○

It had been a blessing that Papyrus needed to get his sweater from the apartment as she had nearly crumpled going up the stairs.  The poor skeleton had been fretting about her something fierce and ended up just carrying her up the stairs as watching her struggle had apparently been too stressful.  It had taken plenty coaxing and reassuring that she would be fine and wouldn’t be completely helpless on her own.  He’d made her pinky promise to not shower or bathe tonight as he didn’t trust her to not slip and fall or fall asleep and drown.  He’d ordered her to bed immediately and she wasn’t arguing.  That had been an order from the heavens.  

She’d wasted no time after sharing a hug goodbye and he was on his way down the stairs to lock up and draw her curtains.  She’d shed her clothes like a snake once she had stepped foot in her room.  A trail of clothes, starting with her bra and ending with her socks and shoes now stretched across her floor.  She didn’t bother finding a night shirt and simply face planted on her bed with relieved sigh as the cool sheets and comforter kissed her bare skin.  

She wasn’t too worried about going to bed sweaty.  She’d decided on the way home to have a  wash day tomorrow.  It’s been due, but now with this workout, it was definitely needed.   She could just enjoy pampering her body, hair, and scalp.  A nice little spa day.  She could change and wash her sheets then as well, so no harm done.  

Her phone buzzing from somewhere in her room barely registered with her.  It wasn’t until it buzzed a few more times that she forced herself to sit up and look around her dark room for the infernal device.  It needed to be plugged up anyway now that she remembers.  Spotting the phone on the floor near her abandoned clothes, she slid off her bed and scooped it up.  Tapping the screen, she winced as it lit up and quickly lowered the brightness.  

No longer in danger of being blinded, she saw the notifications from earlier that she had forgotten to check and a few new ones.  Some were junk, but most were messages from friends, family, and one for work.  She would reply to the work one tomorrow when she has a fresh mind and it was a decent hour.  She rolled her eyes good naturedly as she opened a message from Papyrus.  

 

Papaya:  REMEMBER TO REST TOMORROW.  GOOD NIGHT!

Papaya:  WHY ARE YOU NOT SLEEPING?!  

Papaya:  PUT DOWN THE PHONE AND GO TO BED!

Papaya:  I KNOW IT’S A DIFFICULT THING TO DO WHEN YOU HAVE A TXTING BUDDY AS GREAT AS ME!!

Papaya:  BUT YOU MUST. 

 

    A little snort burst past her lips as the messages kept coming in, all along the same note.  She tapped the little text box and sent him a quick little message:

 

Flooffie:  Pot calling the kettle black

Flooffie:  XP

 

    Closing the convo as she saw him typing, she breezed through the rest of her texts.  She sent quick little replies where needed, but most turned out to be bad puns and one liners from the jokesters of the family.  Coffee had sent her a cute little doodle he had made her with a note saying he’d like to see that hairstyle on her.  It was cute.  She sent him a couple heart emojis and a thumbs up.  She could type a thought out reply tomorrow.  Switching her phone to silent, she plugged it up and crawled back into bed.  It seemed her head had barely hit her pillows before sleep swept her under.  

[okaybutlikeimagine]

hi there, please listen to the song Tommy’s Party - Peach Pit (link goes to YouTube)

okay now i want you to do something we don’t do a lot on this particular blog. I want you to think about Tommy H.

and i’m going to warn you now that this is angsty so…

TW: internalized homophobia, unrequited Tommy/Steve, mentions of/implied sex, swearing

okay. Imagine Tommy H. as a little baby toddler, first or second day of kindergarten, trying to find a friend and seeing a little baby toddler Steve Harrington. Imagine it’s snack time and he needs someone to sit next to and there’s Steve, the kid only the other rich kids know bc Steve was rich enough to go to preschool. Tommy didn’t get that luxury. but Tommy likes Steve’s hair and his little sweater bc it looks soft. and so imagine a wobbly, nervous Tommy walking right up to Steve, aware of the warning his mom has given him loads of times now about being “gentle” bc he’s an “active kid” who gets a little too “overexcited” and “likes to hit”. Imagine him sticking a single little finger out, overextending it like that’ll make him more careful, and tapping Steve on the shoulder a few times. Very clear and direct. Imagine Steve turning around, hearing that request of “Wanna sit with me for snack time?” and knowing full well he already has a group of friends to go to, but seeing this new boy and liking his freckles. bc imagine a baby Steve being told by his mom that freckles are kisses from angels so this kid must be extra special to get so many extra kisses. Imagine that as the start of their friendship.

and imagine all of the other times Tommy has gotten Steve’s attention as they get older. imagine that single finger that eventually evolved into a whole, flat hand patting Steve’s shoulder gently, to the light slap of the back of his hand to Steve’s arm, to more and more playful actions, knocking into each other gently, always garnering a smirk or a laugh from one another. a secret code for them.

but don’t imagine it getting violent. don’t imagine it suddenly having mal-intent. don’t imagine Steve giving Tommy any reason to be pissed off or vice versa. don’t imagine them fistfighting in that parking lot, Tommy with tears boiling hot and searing behind his eyes bc Steve’s stupidly pretty face is the last thing he’d wanna fuck up this bad but hey, if it’s gonna get fucked up it’s gonna be by him goddamnit bc this is his best fucking friend and no one else gets to touch him but Tommy.

don’t imagine Steve seeing that freckled, “angel kissed” face turn blurry and red.

….

but do imagine the boys being friends. growing up together, like two peas in a pod. imagine their parents meeting for the first time and not getting along too well bc they’re from different backgrounds, different social classes, and they’re not mentally equipped enough to comprehend that but both sides are able to share a smile at their two boys who are running around like little menaces, laughing and shrieking and enjoying themselves. imagine Tommy and Steve being close. real close. physically close. imagine them sitting next to each other every day at lunch. imagine Steve making Tommy laugh so hard that he shoots milk out of his nose and Steve sitting so close to him that it gets all over his clothes too. imagine both of them not caring, not even Steve, who knows he’s gonna get hellfire when his parents see what happened to his nice shirt. imagine them always bumping shoulders when they walk and kicking feet when they sit next to each other and holding hands when one leads the other.

don’t imagine them getting bullied for it one day. don’t imagine someone shouting cruel names at them for being two boys that are close.

and don’t imagine them internalizing it either. don’t imagine them drifting further and further away. don’t imagine them evolving from sitting close to standing on the opposite ends of their friend group to nodding at each other on the other side of a party.

you can imagine Steve being invited to one of Tommy’s parties. Like he always fucking is. imagine steve always being the first one on the metaphorical “list” of invitees.

you can even imagine Steve enjoying himself. Steve being a little social butterfly at fucking 15. already knowing how to hold his alcohol fairly well bc he’s been sneaking his dad’s alcohol and his mom’s wine for at least a year now. maybe a little over. you can imagine Steve getting tipsy and watching girls get tipsy and them both getting handsy to the point that they’re clumsily groping on Tommy’s couch. where Tommy sits to eat his cereal and watch cartoons in the morning. where Tommy used to eat cereal and watch cartoons with Steve when the two would have sleepovers back in the third grade.

but don’t think about Tommy thinking about that.

no no, don’t imagine Tommy getting sad over it. real fucking sad. don’t imagine Tommy in love with Steve to the point that it hurts to see him with someone else. don’t imagine Tommy suddenly wishing he hadn’t invited anyone bc he wants to be the only one at the other end of Steve’s fucking tunnel vision. don’t imagine Tommy channeling his sadness into anger bc that’s all he knows how to do. fucking crushing the can in his hand bc he’s fed up and doesn’t know how to express this oppressive sorrow in his gut.

okay, maybe you can imagine Tommy going up to Steve the next day, asking about the party. how he thought it went, how he liked it, if he saw Cam getting plastered from all those drinks he was feeding her. maybe you can imagine Tommy giggling that goofy little giggle he gives, all teeth and crinkled eyes and smushed up freckles.

but don’t think about steve responding hazily. don’t think about Tommy’s face falling into something disappointed. something sad that switches to borderline angry. something that’s suddenly mad. don’t think about Tommy’s face hardening over, about his angry little fists being shoved forcefully into his pockets as he concedes that Steve probably didn’t see bc he was with that girl. whatever her name was. Tommy never caught it. probably didn’t even invite her. definitely won’t from now on. don’t imagine Tommy talking about her to a laughing and smirking Steve who doesn’t get the hint. who never gets the hint. don’t imagine Tommy thinking about it way too hard. thinking about that girl and how she seemed like she was having fun keeping up with Steve… drink for drink… just like Tommy used to do with him. just like they used to fucking do.

don’t think about Steve never getting the hint.

i guess you can think about another party, not Tommy’s this time. another party where Steve is wandering around and touching shoulders and the smalls of backs and haphazardly grabbing gently at hips bc he’s drunk and he’s popular and people let him. i guess we can all imagine Tommy watching semi-fondly bc while he hates that he never gets those, he loves Steve’s confidence. his cocky fucking confidence. he loves to see that smirk grace his lips. loves to watch him swagger around like the world is fucking his to play with.

maybe imagine Tommy getting excited bc Steve is coming his way. aiming right for him, looking at him with those lazily confident eyes that hold the fucking sun in them they’re so on fire. maybe you can imagine Tommy’s heart beating wildly, Tommy’s fingers fidgeting slightly, Tommy downing his drink, Tommy high out of his mind.

don’t imagine Steve coming over just for a girl. some other fucking girl. Tommy doesn’t know her either- maybe he does, maybe his rage is preventing any recognition from occurring, but he doesn’t think he knows her. thinks he’d remember someone like that.

thinks he’d remember Steve- his Steve -looking at someone like that.

and then they’re laughing. don’t think about it but Steve and her are laughing, brightly and loudly and no one else seems to be paying any mind… and definitely don’t think about it but Tommy minds… Tommy definitely minds. don’t think about Tommy watching that with his heart sinking in his chest - deep in his chest. because Tommy sees that and wants to run away. don’t think about Tommy hearing that and clenching his fists, reaching for another can, almost crushing it in his grasp, taking a long swig with vengeance, fucking angry. he can’t get away from it… don’t think about Tommy sitting there, listening to Steve’s laugh, hearing every bit and piece of it and not seeing him w/ that girl but rather seeing them as kids. Tommy is hearing Steve’s laugh, that same fucking laugh he’s had for years, and seeing himself sitting next to him, Steve’s arm wrapped around his shoulder and Tommy’s own wrapped around his middle, laughing themselves breathless as Brandon made a fool of himself at that one sleepover. Laughing themselves breathless as they watched their favorite movie together. Laughing themselves absolutely nutty reading that stupid comic Tommy was finally able to buy for himself w/ his own allowance. Laughing themselves free. Don’t think about Tommy watching Steve get a little too handsy and getting antsy over it because… because fuck that should be him. Please, please don’t think about the bile that fills up Tommy’s system when he realizes what he was just thinking.

And don’t think about him leaving either. don’t think about Tommy walking by, making eye contact w/ Steve, slowing down, waiting only to get the most slurred “hello” out of Steve before the boy is giggling again with that girl, hands once again digging into her side and causing her to laugh into his neck and Tommy’s gone, his high feeling sour now. tommy’s heading home.

Maybe you can think about Tommy asking Steve if he wants to hang out the next day after school. in fact, please think about them hanging out in an open field, drinking beers, letting the sun be soft on their skin. please think about Tommy finding comfort in it, and Steve showing he feels comfort in it too. think about them being happy with each other. maybe you can even think about Tommy asking Steve how he felt last night. but don’t think about the poison filling his chest when Tommy apologizes for leaving so early… citing he was just too high. don’t think about Steve saying he didn’t even notice. don’t think about Tommy crinkling and crushing the can in his hand again, seeing that girl again in his mind, but trying to keep the small talk up. maybe you can think about Tommy talking about how Leslie saw Nat on his way home, puking on the side of the road. maybe you can think about him chuckling a little at that. but don’t imagine the tension in the air between them now. the awkward, strained silence. Steve telling Tommy he has somewhere to be so he needs to leave. don’t imagine the hurt it puts in Tommy’s heart.

and at this point, maybe we shouldn’t imagine another party. in fact, please don’t. please don’t imagine another one of Tommy’s parties, where Tommy talks with Steve a bit, even though he vowed he wouldn’t bc god fucking damnit Tommy can’t help it. he’s his friend and something about Steve will always grant Tommy comfort in the form of flutters. be it kind or bitter, it flutters just the same.

maybe you can think about Tommy there with Carol, bc she’s his now. think about Tommy being actually genuinely happy to have Carol, bc Carol makes him laugh and kisses his forehead sometimes and lets him do the same sometimes without getting too irritated and has sex with him. think about Tommy finding a gratefulness in Carol, enjoying playing with her soft hair. don’t think about him wishing the color of her hair was a little different… a little shorter…

maybe you can think about Tommy with Carol, swaying a bit to the beat as they dance, Carol whispering something softly and huskily to Tommy but Tommy looking away at something else. Maybe you can imagine Carol taking his chin in her soft hand and turning his face towards hers. but… no, don’t imagine him still not paying attention, still flicking his eyes over to the right. don’t imagine Carol noticing and looking that way too.

getting a little shocked at seeing it’s Steve her boyfriend is looking at.

and maybe it’s supposed to be a kind gesture, maybe she’s doing it bc she’s nothing if not a “generous girlfriend” (her words), but don’t think about Carol leaving Tommy to go over to Steve and whisper something in his ear. don’t think about Steve leaning down to hear and looking up to lock confused eyes with Tommy. don’t think about the second of lust Tommy sees there that sets a hopeful fire in Tommy’s chest and makes him down his drink, fingers fidgeting.

and i just… be careful about it, but maybe think about a few minutes later, when Carol is bouncing her way over to Tommy’s bedroom with Tommy and Steve in tow. be so careful about thinking about Steve’s hands, reaching out and fumbling but still groping with impressive skill at Tommy’s ass and hip bone and little tummy and then downwards. you can think about the falsely coy look Carol gives as she opens the door and flounces inside, taking her shirt off. but that doesn’t matter because… be careful thinking about it, but Steve is pulling Tommy in tight with his right arm wrapped around Tommy’s body, gripping and fondling his hipbone, making Tommy gasp as his fingers slide under the waist of his jeans and underwear to touch his skin. please be very careful thinking about Steve guiding Tommy through the doorway like it’s not Tommy’s own room- a place he obviously knows intimately. A place he knows Steve has become very unfamiliar with. and just… just don’t think about Steve putting his lips up close to Tommy’s ear, breathing unevenly, less than gracefully, moving his mouth down tommy’s jawline as he closes the door behind him and whispers into Tommy’s skin something that really sounds like: “I’ve never done… much like this… before….”

and… and…. and….

please be careful about it… but maybe think about Tommy waking up in the morning, body spent and throbbing and aching and mind racing because everything from the night before is so blurry. maybe just don’t think about it. don’t think about Tommy seeing and feeling it come back to him in waves, waves of pleasure and satisfaction and ribbons of guilt mixed in because… because… because Steve wouldn’t kiss him. as they moved around Tommy’s bed, Carol writhing and mewling between them, Carol on her front, unable to see them, Carol distracted by pleasure, and Tommy… Tommy tried to give a kiss, two, three… Tommy tried to steal them from steve. Tommy felt desperate for them, but please don’t think about him remembering that. don’t imagine Tommy, laying in bed, Carol curled up next to him, just… just picturing himself from the night before yearning and craving and practically begging in every wordless way for Steve to give him something he refused to let him have. for Steve to fucking kiss him. for Steve to touch him with more than just careful groping hands. please… please don’t think about the shame that fills Tommy’s chest at it… the pressing, smothering, choking shame that makes Tommy sob dryly for a second and causes Carol to stir.

and it’s just…. it’s not safe anymore. so please don’t imagine it. don’t imagine Tommy sliding out of bed to grab Carol a glass of water and maybe some breakfast because he’s actually a fucking gentleman and doesn’t fucking run out after sex, and as he places his feet down, he lands on shoes and sees… sees a pair of shoes he’s never seen next to his in this context before. sees Steve’s shoes next to his on the ground, next to his bed. don’t don’t don’t think about the pang of hurt that shoots through Tommy at seeing them. at the fleeting chance of it all being some vividly painful wet dream that’s now vanished bc Steve’s shoes just made it all real.

don’t imagine Tommy padding his way out to his living room, seeing the mess left behind from the party and hearing someone else padding around as well shuffling through things, mumbling darkly. don’t imagine the way Tommy’s chest fucking constricts at the sight of Steve, clearly hurrying himself around Tommy’s living room, looking for something desperately. don’t think about the bile returning to Tommy’s chest… the poisonous bile that consumes him.

and it hurts… it’s probably gonna hurt, but maybe you can think about Tommy getting spiteful. getting angry. leaning against a wall, watching Steve near panic, and asking: “Hey bud, how’d it go last night?”

maybe you can think about the sick sort of pleasure he gets when Steve jumps out of his skin. when Steve’s saucer-like eyes turn to Tommy and blink hurriedly. why don’t you take a page out of Tommy’s book and try not to think too hard about the way that Steve stutters a lame response of “Uhm… it was- uh…”

be very careful, but maybe think about the conversation going something like this:

Tommy: “You looking for something?”

Steve: “Uh… just my shoes.”

Tommy: “Mmhm. They’re in my bedroom, next to mine.”

Steve: “Oh.” (be careful thinking about the nervous chuckle he gives)

Tommy: “Uh huh. Kinda weird waking up to see them sitting there. Never seen that before.”

Steve: “Yeah, pretty wild.” (be very careful imagining the glint in Steve’s eye as he gets a bit more confident with the situation. Be even more careful thinking about the way it hurts Tommy’s heart and the tense silence that follows the statement.)

Tommy: “Yeah… wild.”

Steve: “Think this is what everyone means when they talk about growing up?” (careful… don’t imagine Steve sauntering up to Tommy, hints of that heated look that flash away as quickly as they came.)

Tommy: “Doubt it. Y’know… what I was thinking about the other day?” (don’t think about Tommy’s heart racing so fast it feels like it’s going to fail) “I was thinking about how we used to go out and blaze… late as fuck at night. Remember that?”

Steve: “Yeah!” (don’t do it. don’t imagine Steve’s bright laugh, his eyes crinkling, his large and warm hand patting Tommy’s shoulder and making Tommy want to crumble) “Not like that anymore, huh?”

please don’t imagine it. Tommy standing there, shaking, joints weak and brittle as Steve pushes past him to grab his shoes. don’t imagine Tommy standing there still, still as a statue yet shaking, unable to move as Steve sneaks into Tommy’s room, grabs his shoes, and sneaks back out, pushes past Tommy with a “See ya later, bud. It was fun. Tell Carol thanks.”

don’t. don’t imagine Tommy standing there, not breathing, eyes going blurry from staring unseeingly at the ground as he hears his front door open and then latch again. don’t think about him shaking with the memory of Steve’s hand in the waistband of his underwear… the memory of want flooding through him.

and please please please don’t imagine the jealousy in Tommy’s eyes… in his heart and chest and fucking fingers and toes but more importantly his eyes as he watches… watches Steve go fucking soft for Nancy fucking Wheeler.

don’t. don’t imagine Tommy with fire in his heart and rage in his head as Nancy pushes Steve away coyly in a way that only makes Steve draw her in even more. don’t imagine Tommy watching his friend drift away from him even more. Don’t imagine Tommy see every sliver of his friend fade away with this prissy fucking girl that he hates with his soul because she’s taking him. she’s stealing him right from underneath him and…. and… and forcing Tommy to think about how Steve was never his. not really. maybe not even when they were kids and their worlds belonged to each other and no one else. before girls and cliques and sloppy and inexperienced first kisses at parties. before everything before all the distractions… even fucking then Steve never belonged to Tommy. not in the way he was always hungry for. ravenous.

don’t imagine Tommy hearing the voice of a 10 year old Steve promising he would never put a girl before his best friend as Tommy watches Steve kiss Nancy in the parking lot, pushed up against his fancy car.

please don’t think about the fist-fight over Steve leaving them for Nancy. please don’t think about their falling out. please don’t think about Tommy with rage in his heart, pushing Carol away until she forces him back to his fucking senses because “what’s wrong with you Tommy? You’re being a dickhead!”

you can start to think about Tommy becoming friends with Billy, but be careful about it. because it comes with poison laced in it. because you may get the idea to think about the fact that it wasn’t out of kindness or genuine interest but rather out of spite. on Tommy’s end. you may get the idea to think about how Tommy did it just out of a want to dethrone Steve. you may think about the parties after Billy arrives, that include a heavily drunken Tommy following Billy like a puppy because suddenly Billy’s the support Tommy never knew he needed. and it’s not sweet, it’s not kind, it’s not understanding like Steve used to be. no. no, you may want to think that but trust me, you’re going to think about how it’s harsh and cold and empty. all closed fists. it’s ravenous like Tommy felt ravenous, but maliciously so. because Billy is tortured in a way that Steve isn’t. Billy comes with baggage Tommy isn’t strong enough to carry. Billy comes with pain and he dishes it like he takes it. he doesn’t hit Tommy but he isn’t kind. he doesn’t come with the same, charming, easy smiles Steve does and Tommy’s always thinking about it, late at night, when he lays in bed and wants… but don’t imagine that.

be careful about imagining Tommy finding comfort in Billy anyway… because… because he feels like he’s getting back at Steve and that’s all he wants now.

and… and please….

please be careful about imagining Tommy ditching 3rd period one day to go walk around the yard to get some air. be careful thinking about him heading to the bleachers on the far side of the football field to smoke under them. be very very careful.

because you might get caught up thinking about what Tommy finds. which happens to be Billy fucking Hargrove on his knees in front of Steve fucking Harrington… his Steve that was never really his… sucking Steve’s dick like he likes it and Tommy thinks he does and… and Steve is coming apart, coming undone, sobbing small cries into the chilled out air of the early spring as he… as he…

fuck.

don’t don’t don’t. don’t think about Tommy watching that with a fallen heart. or about Tommy’s heart lifting with some kind of perverse hope that maybe… maybe Steve just grew some balls and this is something they’re doing out of anger. this is the result of some weird, perverted fight. this isn’t anything with feelings… this isn’t anything to do with care.

and please stop. stop before you think about Tommy seeing Steve pull Billy up with force before kissing him. harshly but… but with care in his brows, passion in his hands as he spreads them across Billy’s back and up to cradle his neck, as Billy follows suit with his own large, calloused hands reaching up to tug at Steve’s hair. don’t think about the whine Tommy hears.

and don’t think about the slam of Tommy’s hand on the bleacher bench next to him- out of anger out of rage out of utter devastation at the sight because… because… because fuck. fuck! He… he doesn’t get anything he doesn’t get any kind of solace he’s lost… he’s lost it all and this is the end of it. the tail end of it. the last thread being pulled out and now he’s undone and rushing away in a storm of himself.

don’t think about him hearing a distant: “Shit! Goddamnit-”

followed by a: “Billy, wait! Let me get him.”

don’t think about the sound of footsteps rushing after him, don’t think about the calling out of “Tommy!”, don’t think about Tommy’s wild heart and wild eyes and tears, and please don’t think about Tommy feeling a hand on his shoulder.

Don’t think about Steve, voice near desperate with his: “Tommy! You’re… not gonna tell anyone, are you?”

Don’t think about Tommy fuming, body hot with anger as he says: “Just watch me.” as if he thought for a second to tell anyone. as if he would ever do that to Steve.

and don’t don’t don’t. stop it now before you think about Steve grabbing Tommy’s shoulder and shoving, straight into the brick wall of the gym building, pinning him there cleanly, pointing an authoritative finger in his face as he growls at him.

“You’re not gonna tell anyone.” Steve says it like it’s a command, an order… but don’t think about that.

Don’t think about Tommy’s heart running away with everything. every emotion and feeling and fear of anger and betrayal and want and desire and shame and fear and-

“Oh yeah? Why not?” Tommy spits the words angrily into Steve’s face, but don’t imagine it.

don’t imagine Steve searching Tommy’s face for the answer. don’t imagine the tension that’s there between them again. don’t think about how it’s different now and Tommy can feel it and Tommy knows Steve can feel it too. Don’t think about Steve’s finger lowering, his face relaxing into something less angry and something more like that pout he gives. you know the one. the one where his eyebrows furrow and his lips pout and he’s obviously thinking a little too hard about something.

don’t think about what he says.

because what he says is: “Because you love me too much.”

i’m begging you not to think about that. because if you think about that, you’re going to start thinking about the way it punches Tommy in the gut… the way it hurts Tommy more than any physical pain ever could. the way it stabs him and drains him of every bit of energy. the way it hurts.

the way that pain shows in his eyes and on his face, and the way Steve latches onto that like a fucking predator. be so careful or else you’re going to think about Steve chuckling darkly, like the cat that caught the canary. the look he gives that’s nothing short of wicked. truly wicked. mirroring something Tommy’s only seen in Billy. don’t think about how much that in particular hurts Tommy even more.

“Holy shit… I’m right, aren’t I?” Steve says like it’s something disgusting but please don’t think about that.

don’t think about Tommy chewing his lip in a nervous habit because he just can’t help it. his eyes shifting back to the bleachers where Billy is standing, arm leaning up against them, hip jutting out, standing like he owns the world. don’t think about Steve’s hand gripping Tommy’s shoulder harder to bring him back. get him looking into his eyes again.

“I’m right.” Steve says with a chuckle that’s sinister but it’s best not to imagine it.

“What?” Tommy’s mad but it’s best not to imagine that either.

“I’m fucking right. You love me. I mean… I thought as much but… wow.”

don’t imagine Tommy shaking again. shaking from all of the pressure building up inside of him. shaking like he’s a goddamn overblowing kettle.

“You’re not gonna say anything.” Steve says, and best not to imagine it coming out like the dickish season 1 Steve Harrington he’s acting like right now. “You won’t say anything. I don’t even have to threaten you. You love me too much to say anything.”

don’t think about Tommy shaking. about him spitting out “Fuck you.”

don’t. be careful now, don’t think about Steve rolling his eyes, taking his hand off of Tommy’s shoulder to place it on his own hip and say in that cocky voice: “Yeah yeah, you wish.”

don’t think about Tommy seeing red. stumbling away from the wall, glaring, hissing: “You’re an asshole, Steve Harrington.”

don’t imagine Steve licking his teeth and calling out in his cocky-confident voice, heat in his eyes that isn’t nearly as lustful as it is spiteful as he says: “Yeah, well, you are what you eat, huh?”

don’t think about those words hitting Tommy hard. please… please be kind to yourself. don’t think about Tommy stumbling to the gym to shower off everything. to shower off how gross he feels. or about Tommy in his room, thinking about those words for days… for weeks. or about the shame he feels as he jacks off and pictures Billy on his knees for Steve, or Steve with his tongue in Billy’s ass like he insinuated… don’t think about him doing that for weeks, not being able to get off w/o his mind going there. don’t think about the few nights that just the actions of getting off to that makes him cry… cry himself to sleep.

don’t. don’t imagine Tommy in a whirlwind of fear and anger and sadness, ignoring everything, ignoring Carol, ignoring responsibilities, ignoring class. don’t think about him desperately grasping for any kind of relief from himself and his thoughts in the form of bottles or cigarettes or weed or threesomes w/ Carol and random girls in their grade. don’t think about him trying to drown himself in porn focused on women, trying desperately to get the idea of men out of his mind. don’t think about him flailing drastically and dramatically don’t think about the fear he lives in don’t think about the grief just… just don’t.

and please. please don’t think about when he sees Steve again. with Billy again, kissing up against the back of the gym, so into each other it makes Tommy nauseous.

don’t think about Tommy filling with fire. don’t think about how Steve gives him a look that looks like pity. don’t think about how it feels shameful to Tommy when it’s aimed his way. don’t think about how Tommy is the one that internalizes that shame for himself. don’t think about Steve calling after him, reaching out, asking “Tommy? You okay? Come… c’mon, bud, talk to me-”

and maybe you should stop now, or else you’re gonna think about Tommy snapping. full on snapping. whipping around to shove Steve’s hand down and scream: “Shut up!”

because once you think about that you’re gonna think about the worry in Steve’s eyes that make Tommy want to scream. make him fully aware of the comfort he used to find in that expression that now makes him want to scream and… and rip his hair out, make him want to punch someone because: “I’m not your friend! How does that feel, huh, Harrington? How does that fucking feel? And get this straight, I said I’m not your friend, not the other way around. I’m the one taking away my friendship this time, huh? Huh, King Steve? How does it fucking feel? You don’t get to be my friend anymore! So stop fucking faking it, you goddamn piece of shit! I’m sick of it and I… I hate you! I hate you so much I swear I could… I could… I could kill you I hate you so much!”

and don’t don’t don’t, don’t think about Tommy’s heart racing, don’t think about his breath getting short, don’t think about his freckled face red with anger and shame as he turns around and don’t think about his heart skipping a beat or two when his wrist is grabbed.

don’t think about Steve mumbling: “Tommy…”

don’t think about Tommy pulling his hand away with a “Get the fuck away from me.”

don’t think about Steve reaching out again, grabbing again.

don’t think about Tommy ripping his wrist away harder, with a “Get away.”

don’t think about Steve reaching out to hold onto Tommy’s shoulder now with a mumbled: “Bud, c’mon-”

don’t think about Tommy throwing Steve’s hand down before rounding on him with a sound punch that makes Steve take a step back.

and please… don’t. because if you think about that you’re going to think about Billy, who’s been standing back quietly, jumping into action and stepping up heavily and moving like a storm of thunder and lightning and anger  and pushing Steve back out of the way and glaring daggers and bullets and pulling his arm back quickly and pushing it back forward even quicker, cutting through the air and landing squarely on Tommy’s jaw with a sound like a crack.

you’re gonna think about Tommy staggering. you’re gonna think about the air going still. you’re gonna think about Tommy’s ears ringing. you’re gonna think about the way it stings. you’re gonna think about Tommy looking up from his hand that’s now covered in the blood from his mouth to see Steve place a ginger hand on Billy’s shoulder and try to pull him back. you’re gonna think about Steve mumbling: “Billy, wait-”

if you think about all that, you’re gonna think about Billy’s eyes, fiercely protective and fiercely loyal, glaring heavily into Tommy’s own as he growls: “You touch Steve again, and you die. Got that Hagan?”

if you think about all that, you’re gonna think about the pain in Tommy’s chest. You’re gonna think about how his heart runs cold. you’re gonna think about how his world goes gray. you’re gonna think about his head throbbing before he closes himself off to the world. you’re gonna think about that last look he gives to Steve… that last time he sees Steve… which is a look of pity and sorrow on his face, pooling in his eyes, looking at his childhood friend that Tommy wonders if he even recognizes anymore now that he’s bloody and spiteful and shamed.

if you think about all that you’re gonna think about Tommy walking away that day with something gray and shattered in his chest.

don’t think too hard, bc if you do you’re gonna find yourself thinking about the checklist going through Tommy’s mind, that says that Steve was the first and last happy thing for him in Hawkins and now his best friend for life is gone and has taken his new friend with him and… and he still loves Steve but he lost Steve and hates Steve and every inch of Hawkins is stained with memories of Steve and the only way to escape Steve is to… is to escape Hawkins.

so don’t think about it too hard, bc if you do, you’re gonna think about Tommy packing his things and getting in his car and getting away. and he takes a pit stop by Carol’s house and maybe it’s a sudden lapse of judgement bc even Carol is stained with the color of Steve but it’s fine bc when Tommy pulls up to her house, saying “either you get in this car right now or you never see me again” she calls him crazy and insists he’ll be at school tomorrow bc “This is insane Tommy and… and you’re not insane.”

and it’s probably gonna hurt you like it hurts Tommy, so don’t think about Tommy driving away, into the night… driving until he can’t think of anything to do with Hawkins- not his deadbeat dad or Billy or Carol or even Steve. until he’s in a Motel 6 with no family and no friends and no high school degree and just the faintest, smallest, weakest thought of Steve.

[crowsent]

AUgust 2020: Angels & Demons

Challenge given by @augustwritingchallenge

Summary: Goro won’t ever get justice. Vengeance, though... Vengeance Goro could get.

“Don’t you want vengeance, Goro Akechi?” A hand shot out from the darkness. "I can offer you vengeance. All I ask is possession of your immortal soul."

Pairing: N/A can be interpreted as ShuAke

Characters: Goro Akechi, Joker (Akira Kurusu/Ren Amamiya)

Word Count: 2305

CW: N/A

Notes: the tumblr version is unformatted. for that reason, i highly recommend you to read the ao3 version instead so yall get that sweet sweet tone difference.

i didnt include the “angel” part of the angels & demons but you know. potato potahto. also, big thanks to @yusuke-of-valla​ for giving me an AMAZING prompt. hope i did it justice

AO3 Link: HERE

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She was buried quietly, without fanfare and without mourners. Goro remembered staying at her grave hours after sunset, clutching the single flower he brought for her between his fingers so tightly it had crushed the leaves and petals and stem into a mangled mess.

The sky was a dark inky blot by the time a woman with tightly bunned hair and a blue and white striped uniform came for him and said that since his last living relative was six feet underground, Goro would be put into foster care. Dark clouds swirled over the horizon, flanking the boom of oncoming thunder. Goro wanted to tell her that he had a living relative still, a piece of trash masquerading as a man. Shido. Masayoshi Shido.

But who’d believe a dirty bastard child over the nation’s darling upstanding politician? The son of a whore with not a single yen to his name against a “respectable” and reliable Masayoshi fucking Shido. Even as a child, Goro understood that he won’t get his justice. This biased, pathetic excuse of a system won’t ever give him his justice. He followed that woman into an orphanage and let the years pass being shuffled from place to place. No roots. No friends. No bonds. Just a pebble thrown into sea, meant to be swallowed and spat back out again.

Goro won’t get justice. Justice for the years he suffered unwanted, unneeded, and unloved. He won’t get justice for his mother whose only mistake was being too kind and loving something that deserved no love at all. Justice for the society that looked at his face and deemed him unworthy to be saved and left him to drown.

Goro won’t ever get justice.

“But I can give you vengeance.”

Vengeance.

That word, over and over again in his dreams, a promise, a vow, an offer and an absolution. Goro didn’t know when it started, exactly. All he knew is that at some point in the blur of his adolescence, a voice started calling out to him in his dreams. Hands with black-painted nails, perfectly manicured, beckoning him into the depth of an endless void. Pointed horns and red eyes. A smile and the glint of shiny teeth. And in his mind, the voice would ring out, “Vengeance. Vengeance. Vengeance.”

Justice is for children. Wide-eyed children with petty idealism and a gross misunderstanding of how the world works, of how cruel the world is, of how unwanted and unneeded and un-special they were. Vengeance, though… Vengeance for his mother’s life ruined by the selfish ego of one man undeserving of every breath he deigned to steal, his cruelty, his blatant disregard for the one thing that Goro had in this sham of a life. Vengeance for Goro. Vengeance to quell the pit of hatred and despair and the thrashing of wild listlessness and chaos.

Vengeance, Goro could get.

“Don’t you want Vengeance, Goro Akechi?” asked the voice in his dreams. “Son of a whore and a bastard child. You are playing an unjust game in a world that will never deliver justice.” A hand shot out from the darkness. Pale skin. Dark nails. And past that, further in, gleaming eyes. Blood red. Inhuman. “I can offer you vengeance. I can offer you Masayoshi Shido’s head on a pike, his legacy tarnished, the vision of Japan he was willing to burn the world down for handed to you on a silver platter.”

And in his dreams, Goro always refused. Denied and rejected and lashed out with violent words and the hurl of his fists that only ever seemed to pass through smoke. Even in his dreams, he was taunted. Taunted with something he can never truly have.

That time though, that night, on the eighth anniversary of the day of his mother’s death, on the day Goro stood alone over her grave crushing a delicate flower in his murderous, loveless hands, the creature lurking in Goro’s head won.

In that dream, Goro had reached out back into the darkness, hands shaking as he hesitated mere inches from the flawless hand beckoning him into a mad abyss. “And you’d want something in return, I presume?”

There was almost a chuckle in response to that. “But of course,” said the creature. Horns flashed for a brief moment, sharp and black and angled forward. Flames seemed to lick up the creature’s smile. “All I ask is possession of your immortal soul, Goro Akechi. Give that to me upon your death, and you will have all that you want and more.”

A soul. A soul to finally see Shido fall. To see his pathetic excuse for a father finally get his just desserts. A soul to get the justice -the vengeance- for his mother, for himself. Goro leaned forward, let his bony half-starved hand grasp the one shrouded in darkness, and spoke:

“You have yourself a deal.”

Because really. His soul was dirty, broken, and worth less than the mud on his shirt.

If that’s what he had to give, then he’d give it. Gladly. A hundred, a thousand, a million times over.

The figure in the darkness of his dreams grasped his hand, grasped it tightly, too tightly, until it began to hurt but Goro held on. Then the hand shaked his, slowly, deliberately, and a burning searing pain followed. Not in Goro’s hand but further in, his chest, his head, his heart. His soul. It burned and burned and burned a searing pain, like something was peeling his skin away bit by agonising bit. Still Goro held on.

“Stubborn,” chuckled the voice in Goro’s dream. The hand receded, the pain faded, until all that Goro was left with was darkness and the piercing red eyes. “We will get along well, Goro Akechi.”

The eyes vanished and left behind an echo.

“You may call me Joker.”

Goro woke up.

He was not a child, not a teenager fraught with dreams of deals and vengeance and darkness. He was Goro Akechi, a respected detective fresh out of the academy, praise and accolades and connections to his name. Loved by the common folk for his humble beginnings, an orphan who had to work and bleed and sweat to claw his way into the upper echelons of society, a beacon of hope that maybe they too can make their way up the ladder. Loved by the elite for his charm and wit and charisma, his flawless manners, his cadence, his posture, his mask. One of his masks.

It took years. Years longer than what Goro would have wanted, years longer than what Goro could have been patient with, but at last, he could begin the endeavor that kept him going through years. Bring down Shido. More than a quick death. More than humiliation. More than anything Goro himself could have thought of.

The thing that Masayoshi Shido valued most. Himself. His reputation. His power. His legacy. His control. Brick by fucking brick, Goro would tear it all down. Watch the ruins burn in ashes. Have Shido’s name cursed for years, for generations, for future historians to come. Have the entirety of this nation sneer at the mere mention of his name.

All it took was a soul.

The best damn thing Goro’s soul could ever be worth, honestly.

“I can do many things, Goro, but even I can’t delay a dedicated media crew,” came a voice in his head. Familiar, after years of hearing it. Joker stood at the doorway, insouciant, relaxed, leaning against the frame of Goro’s bedroom door with that irritating nigh-permanent smirk on his face.

He looked human now, which was probably the most unsettling thing about him. No horns. No face wreathed in fire. No clawed hands, no tail, no wings. Joker’s red eyes were a very human black, framed with glasses that made him look innocent and harmless when he was anything but. “Out of bed Goro.” Really, the only thing that belied Joker’s true nature was his smile. The glint of canines just a bit too sharp to be human, visible for only a breath before vanishing once again into this perfect veneer. A mask. “The new Detective Prince can’t be late for his own interview, Goro. Out of bed.”

The pillows were soft, the mattress inviting, the window positioned just so to let the right amount of sunlight in. Ultimately simple, so that when reporters and paparazzi invaded what little semblance of privacy he had left, all they’d see was a humble man living a humble life. The image Goro wanted to cultivate, that Joker advised him to cultivate. The perfect mask.

With a heavy sigh, Goro dragged himself back to the realm of the conscious with a false smile, practised so often it reached his eyes, crinkled them at the edges and lit them up how a real smile would. It was terrifying how he didn’t even have to think about it, how it was as easy as breathing. “My interview isn’t until after noon.” Goro can’t quite remember the last time he smiled genuinely. It was terrifying that Goro didn’t care. And though sleep clung to him still, Goro sat straight-backed, knees slung over his bed and crossed at the ankle. An image. A mask.

Joker gave him a smile. Well, it wasn’t entirely a smile. There was joy in it, sure, and more than a little excitement, but Goro had never quite seen another human being give that look. One of hedonistic greed not for power or wealth but for thrill, chasing something that can’t be caught and loving every second anyway. A dangerous thing, an incorporeal thing, an emotion or an experience or just the mere imaginings of something too alien for Goro to grasp.

“It isn’t. But wouldn’t you want to witness the death of the IT President that eats from Shido’s hand like a loyal dog?”

But then again, Joker wasn’t human.

For all Goro knew, this look was how creatures like Joker smiled. If they could even smile. If Goro could even smile. His camera-ready expression slipped into something other at the news. Lips stretched wide, teeth bared. It might have been a smile. It might have been him imitating the expression Joker’s face. It might have been simply Goro, delighted to know that the crumbling of Shido’s empire had already begun. Sadistic and feral and removed.

“I thought you said that Shido shouldn’t die,” said Goro conversationally, in the same tone one might discuss the weather. Despite how still and steady his voice was, he could not hide the excited tremor that ran through his body, the thrill of seeing his dream finally begin to take root and bloom into an ugly thorny rose.

If Joker noticed, he did not say. “True. I said Shido shouldn’t die. But I said nothing of the men working under him.” Goro was on his feet. Wordlessly, Joker handed him a simple summer outfit, a coat, his gloves. “The ultimate suffering for Shido is a life without power, without influence. A long life of being less than nothing. His subordinates though?”

“Weapons,” said Goro as he dressed himself. To be used against Shido. To have their lives be the sword and the bullets and the gun. To have their deaths be a wound.

For a split second, Goro could have sworn that flames erupted in Joker’s eyes. But when he blinked, it was gone, and Joker was laughing.“Right you are, Goro. They’re casualties in the war. Trash. Tools that have outlived their usefulness.” Joker led Goro out the bedroom, into the hall. Handed him a cup of coffee and a sandwich. “A threat to Shido perhaps?” Joker paused his stride just long enough to look into Goro’s eyes. “Maybe our IT President found something about Shido that he shouldn’t have.” They did not stop in the dining room for Goro’s breakfast.

“Did he?”

“Does it matter?” Joker asked.

“It doesn’t.”

Joker chuckled. The hallway light flickered with each breath and the shadows curled at his ankle. “We’ll create a story, Goro. The president dies from some… unseen force and you’re simply the good samaritan who wanted to help. You’ll get closer to the public, you get an in with Shido, and you get to watch the fall from inside the ivory tower.”

Goro took a sip of his coffee. Roasted to perfection. “And you will get my soul.”

They passed by the floor mirror in the living room. Joker’s reflection was not that of a man with fluffy black hair and a dark button-up. It was shadow and flame and a creature with horns and black-clawed hands. “And I will get your soul. But only after you watch Shido get dragged through something worse than hell. Such is the terms of our deal.”

All for the price of Goro’s soul.

“Well,” Goro smiled, sharp and fake and utterly convincing, “I suppose I’ll take my morning walk. I have an interview coming up, after all. I should clear my head.”

Joker laughed. Deep, hungry, triumphant. He vanished into black smoke and receded into the dark corners of the house just as Goro opened the door. He wasn’t gone though, not really. There was a fire in Goro’s chest, painful and freeing and damning all at once. A brand of malediction and a stain on the soul he already sold.

And when Goro saw a brown-haired man in nice clothes with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder suddenly collapse in the middle of the street, grasping his throat for invisible hands that slowly strangled life out, he heard Joker’s voice in his head again. Loud, clear, and malicious.

Vengeance.

Vengeance.

Vengeance.

Goro dropped his coffee and his breakfast and rushed forward, putting on a mask that fit far too well on his face. “Are you alright sir!?”

Vengeance.