#altered carbon imagines

[alicebloodborne]

Imagine...

You need a date to a event where your going undercover, in a disguise. Thinking that your gonna have to go alone, waiting in the lobby is this handsome gentleman, waiting for you.

"You look exquisite Y/n".

#altered carbon imagines #Altered carbon #Nova's Blog Imagines

[coconutstars]

Anniversary

Pairing: Takeshi Kovacs + reader summary: Tak ends up being late for a very special occasion. A/N: IS THIS FANDOM DEAD!? I hope not because I’ve got a shitload of prompt ideas after re-watching altered carbon for the 10th time. Also to everyone who hasn’t read my stuff before... Hi, hello, I'm Julie and I'm a terrible writer. I do my best tho so, you know, bare with me.

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

Takeshi was late.

Again. 

You had gotten used to him disappearing every now and again, often at strange hours and sometimes without warning. It was okay, it was a part of Tak’s life but today was the one night, the one goddamn night you’d begged him to be on time and he wasn’t.  

“You were supposed to be here two hours ago!” You scolded through your oni while pacing back and forth in his room at the Raven hotel. Your hands were practically  trembling with rage.

You’d really tried to make tonight special. Spent hours on your hair and make-up. Dressed up in the dress you knew he loved. Made a reservation at his favorite restaurant a fucking month in advance.

“I can explain” he replied calmly.

“No, I don’t think you can!” you sputtered angrily. “I asked for one night Tak! One night and you couldn’t even…” you closed your eyes and let out a frustrated breath. “Whatever, forget it”.

“Hey…” he began, from the other end of the call, his voice soft like velvet.

Instead of listening to his excuse, you started gathering up your things. He must have heard you shuffling because he suddenly asked;

“You’re leaving?”. He seemed genuinely concerned, like he couldn’t possibly imagine why the thought would even cross your mind. With a snort you pulled on your coat. “What do you think?” you sputtered, flipping your hair out of your collar. His voice was stern, “We need to talk about this” “Oh, I’m not sure we do” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

“y/n” His voice was pleading but determined. The discussion was clearly not over for him. You, on the other hand had had more than enough. Wrapping your scarf one lap around your neck, you took a final look around the room before walking out and ending the call. “Happy anniversary Tak”

#takeshi kovacs #Takeshi Kovacs fanfiction #joel kinnaman #altered carbon #imagine takeshi #altered carbon fanfiction #Takeshi Kovacs x reader

[faebirdie]

Bionic Exile: Chapter 12

Series Masterlist / Personal Masterlist

Summary: Takeshi goes on his first mission with the squad and you just try to cope.

Coauthor: @lacontroller1991​

Warnings: canon complicit violence, mind manipulation, lots of angst, cursing 

Word Count: 2,561

The ride back to the apartment is silent aside from Rick’s fingers tap, tap, tapping against the steering wheel to the soft music.

“You know he’ll be fine, right?” You glance over to him at the sound of his voice.

“Yeah, I know he’ll be fine. Of course he will,” A shaky breath cuts you off, “But what if he’s not?” Rick takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips, lighting kissing your knuckles.

“Why don’t we watch a movie when we get home? One of those cheesy action flicks you like.”

“That sounds great.”

—-------

“So does she ever get confused on who’s who when it comes to sex,” Harley asks, completely unprompted, “Come on McSteamy, I’m talking to you.” “Do you do this to Rick?”

“She does it to everyone,” DuBois replies, looking over to where Harley sits, now singing along to a song playing only in her head, rocking her body to the unheard beat causing Takeshi to raise his eyebrow at DuBois, silently asking for an explanation. Robert sighs. “She does that too.”

“Great,” he grumbles, mindlessly fidgeting with the rifle Rick had given him along with the armorer. He had wanted to use his own weapons that he brought from Bay City, but Waller and Rick had immediately vetoed that. “Have you guys been briefed yet?”

“Flag normally does that while we’re on our way!” Harley yells into the mic of her headset and Tak has to stop himself from cringing. 

“There’s a threat. We’re going to take it out. Simple as that.”

“That’s not much of a plan, mate.”

“Form one. I could do this by myself but Waller sent you guys with me.” Tak looks away, deep in thought. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Maybe it’ll get back to Waller and she’ll pull him off the task force, but for some reason, Tak can’t bring himself to care. Until he pictures your disapproving face. “Look, we’ll form two teams, flank the combatant on either side and hold positions. Do whatever you gotta do but make sure it’s dead.”

—-------

Rick’s arm inches closer and closer around your shoulders, but he’s not really sure how to approach your still frame. He had thought that one on one time with you and only you would be fun, but the way you hug yourself as you stare mindlessly at the tv proves otherwise and he’s about had it. 

“Are you like this when I’m gone?” The question stirs you out of your thoughts, pulling your attention towards the man next to you.

“What?”

“Are you like this when I’m gone,” he gestures to the way you perch yourself on the couch, your phone within a reaching distance. “Are you this cold with Tak?”

Your eye twitches. How dare he ask something like that? “You really don’t have a damn clue.”

Rick softens at your tone, a sudden reminder of how scared you’ve been each time he’s left in the past.  “I’m trying to learn. Please, talk to me. Say something,” Rick begs, gripping onto your arm as you thaw with his touch, letting out a shaky breath.

“When you’re gone, I cry myself to sleep. Recently, yes. In Tak’s arms. But that doesn’t make it better. I’m afraid to fall asleep because all I see when I dream are memories of last year. Everytime I try to shut my eyes, I just see you on the stretcher in that damn hospital with those tubes and wires sticking out of you every which way and me in the background, watching helplessly as they saved your life. Not able to do a damned thing. I wake up each night you’re gone, screaming for you. Terrified. And I have only been able to just slightly calm down after Tak holds me and reminds me that you are still here. And even then, in the back of my mind, I know that can always change. Now I have to deal with that for both of you.” You pull a gasp of air into your lungs, only able to judge how long you’ve been ranting by your need for oxygen, “This, me just sitting here, not talking is nothing, Rick. So please, just try to be understanding,” you crawl onto Rick’s lap and wrap around him, burying your head in his neck as his arms wrap around you. “I just want you both to be safe.”

Rick presses a kiss to the top of your head as he strokes your back. “He’s going to be fine, baby. We’re both going to be fine.”

—-------

Tak is not fine. Far from it in fact. Never in all his years of training with Quell and CTAC had he seen such a disarray of chaotic fighting, but what he sees here in the streets of Havana has him questioning all sanity. “Quinn, get the fuck down!” Takeshi’s voice booms as he dives to his right, tumbling across the asphalt and just barely escaping a large truck being thrown towards them. Where the fuck did that even come from? Harley isn’t as lucky. She gets decked by the corner of the vehicle and crashes onto the hood of a nearby car. Tak watches then as one of the army rangers that had been sent along with the squad gets picked up by an unseen force and hurled against a nearby building. His body slumps to the ground limply though Tak is unable to tell whether he is dead or just unconscious. 

“Fuck.” Managing to pull his bruised and sore body up from the ground, Takeshi moves quickly to position himself behind a flipped over van where he will have at least partial cover before angling his rifle towards the creator of all of this chaos. Standing in the middle of the destroyed street is a pale man dressed in completely drab clothing except for the black glove on his right hand, which glows with a bizarre purple light. Tak aims straight for the man's head, but once again can’t believe his eyes as he pulls the trigger. The bullets swerve around his adversary.  Round after round somehow manages to miss their target, but they do get his attention. The man, tall and lanky, then turns to Tak and begins to take short, precise steps towards him. Tak throws the rifle down and grabs two knives from their holsters on his side. “Come on then, you motherfucker.”

With a swipe of his attacker's gloved hand as he nears, the car Tak stands behind is lifted and heaved towards his head, just high enough for the envoy to duck and avoid.

“Is that all you got?” He spits out and stands back up to his full height, before taking a step forward.

The person steps back with a chuckle, his eyes gleaming with anger as he raises his arm outwards and points a finger in Tak’s direction.

“Not in the slightest.”

—-------

Rick places his card over the scanner, granting him and you access to an unused room. After much convincing on your part, Rick finally caved and agreed to let you watch the mission. Normally, it’s classified unless you were on the comms team, but how could he say no to your pleading eyes. 

“These computers should still be functional. We can’t stay here for long though, darlin’. We’re only here to see how he’s holding up. Right?”

You stand behind Rick, Takeshi’s coat wrapped around your body as you nod your head. Realistically, you know your Envoy is fine, but with any mission, there is always the nagging feeling that accompanies you. And this being his first with the team makes it all the worse. “Yeah, I just wanna see how he’s doing.”

Rick nods, typing in his own code and pulling up the surveillance in the area. Shock and confusion begin to set in at the scene playing out in front of you both. “What the fuck is he doing just standin’ there?” 

You easily push Rick to the side and stare down at the screen, the hacked security cam footage showing you two small figures who appear to be Takeshi and the enemy standing across from each other, a purplish light surrounding the Envoy who stands completely still in his spot. Your brows furrow together as you bang the computer with your fist, hoping the signal is simply frozen. Rick is quick to pull your hands away from the screen as he calms you and points to the corner. “This is live feed, darlin’. See?” your eyes follow his movement and see some trash rolling in the breeze, but still, Tak and the person remain still. 

“What’s going on? Why isn’t he moving?”

“I don’t know, maybe it has somethin’ to do with that thing on his hand?” A shiver runs down your spine and you wish you were there with him, helping him, instead of watching him fight on a screen from thousands of miles away. Placing your hand on the screen, you lean your head on the box as a tear slips out. 

“Please come back to me.”

—-------

Tak feels foggy. Like he’s out of place. He knows he’s walking down a corridor in Belle Reve, but he can’t seem to remember why or how he got there. His hands are stuffed in his jacket pockets and his head hangs low. It all feels off. As he continues to walk down the hallway, he’s quick to spot you and Rick, walking side by side and holding hands. “Hey Flag, (Y/N)!” He jogs down the hall towards the pair of you, who he’s surprised make no move to greet him. Coming to a stop in front of the both of you, a frown falls on his face when he sees the way you stare at your shoes, refusing to look at him and then Rick’s clenching jaw. “What’s wrong?”

Rick is the first to face the Envoy, pushing you behind his large frame and grabbing a fistful of Tak’s jacket, hoisting the man into the air. What the hell? Tak thinks to himself as Rick scowls. “Who the fuck do you think you are showing your face around here? You’re lucky I don’t kill you.”

Tak quickly break’s Rick’s hold on him and shoves the special ops agent back, giving them space. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on,” his eyes tear away from Rick and fall onto you. “Baby? What’s going on?”

You step out from behind Rick, and push your hair back; dark sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, and a pale complexion adorn your face, way different than the one that usually greets Tak. “If I’d known it would always be her, I would’ve kicked you back through the portal myself. I don’t want you around me, Kovacs. Leave me alone, you’ve already done enough damage.” You start to walk away and Tak tries to reach out but is blocked by Rick’s solid frame. 

“Look murderer, she told you to leave her alone. Now leave. Her. Alone.” Rick shoves Takeshi back as Tak’s thoughts race. What the fuck is going on? What did I do? Why does this feel wrong? 

“(Y/N). Don’t leave. I love you!” Tak falls to his knees, a heavy weight crushing down on him and making it impossible to breathe. His hazel eyes fall to the floor and barely catch the top of your shoes. “You ruined that, Kesh. I don’t love you anymore. Goodbye.” With that, you take Rick’s hands and walk away and out of Takeshi’s life.

—-------

Harley’s vision slowly starts to come back to her, though still hazy, as she coughs up dust, rubble laying all across her body and her javelin laying in the dirt next to her. Is everything over? Sliding off the hood of the car, she surveys the scene. It’s calm. Too calm. Grabbing the javelin, she starts to skip on the road, the metal weapon swinging back and forth in her hand and despite her joyous attitude, there was still a weird atmosphere. Rounding the corner, she easily spots the cause of the tension. 

In the middle of the road their clearly not dead enemy stands over Tak who sits on his knees in a daze, a purple haze clouding him. “What the fuck?” Harley looks down in her hands to her javelin and shrugs. If she can save Flag, she can save Flag 2.0. 

Sneaking around the pair, she crouches down beside a rock and peers over. “Why is he not fighting?” Her blue eyes scroll down the elongated weapon. “Should I save him? I think I should.” After a minute, she shrugs and starts creeping up to the person, keeping a low profile and clenching onto her javelin. “He betta like me after this.”

—-------

Tak stares down at his hands covered in blood. What has he done? A hand finds a place on his shoulder causing him to look up, a familiar face greeting him. “You did good, Kesh. I knew you could do it.”

“What did you do? What the fuck did you do?” He stands to his full height and looks down at his sister who smiles with a gleam in her eyes. 

“What you’ve always wanted to do. You just finally did it,” she shrugs and gestures to the hall, bodies laying across the floor. Tak’s eyes go wide and he feels like he’s going to puke. He carefully steps over each and every body until a hand sticking up among the rest catches his eyes.

“No, no, no, no.” He crashes to his knees and shoves the bodies aside until he finds yours, eyes wide and dull as blood pours from your mouth. He quickly drags you out from under the bodies and cradles your head to his chest and looks up at Reileen. “What the fuck did you do?!”

Reileen laughs and crouches down, pulling up one of Tak’s hands and showing the bloody knuckles. “I think the question is, what did you do?”

—-------

Harley stands behind the man and taps him on the shoulder, causing him to turn around. “Hey, let go of him, he’s had enough.” She swings the javelin across the side of his face causing him to lose focus and let go of whatever hold he had Tak in. Harley races to Tak’s side and throws the javelin down. Grabbing a hold of either side of Tak’s face, she tried to shake him awake. “Come on hotstuff, wake up.”

The enemy beside them groans in pain but before he could sit up, DuBois has a foot on his gloved hand and a gun aimed at him. “Uh uh, I don’t think so.”

Harley ignores her teammates as she slaps Tak’s face a couple of times, but to no avail. “He won’t wake up! He betta not die! (Y/N) will kill us!” She continues to slap his face as DuBois pulls the glove off of the bloody faced man and places him into a pair of restraints. 

“Relax, he’s probably just unconscious.”

—-------

“You’re a monster. You know that?” Wake up, Takeshi. You’re dreaming. 

“We’re the monsters, Kesh. We were designed to kill and you did what you’re best at. You killed the enemy.” This isn’t real. Wake up.

“No, I killed my love. You made me kill her. You’re the enemy.” Tak scowls at Reileen as she shrugs, picking at her cuticles. 

“When will you realize that we are killing machines? It’s what we do. She was just a bystander who got in the way. Now come, brother. We have work to do.” Reileen stands up and starts to walk down the hallway but stops when she realizes that her twin isn’t following her. “Come on, now.” Tak shakes his head, his arms holding your dead body close to his. “No. I’m done following you around. I’m not going anywhere.” “Keshi, please. Please come with me,” Reileen begs, holding out her hand for him to take but he shakes his head. 

“No. I’m staying right here. You’ll have to leave without me.” That’s right. Now wake up.

“You’re making a mistake.”

“Probably, but I’d rather stay here than go anywhere with you.” Reileen storms out in a blind rage as Tak continues to cradle your face to his chest. Looking down at you, he wipes some of the blood off your face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

—-------

Tak jolts awake in a panic and shoots straight up. He looks around and sees the team standing around him with the target in cuffs. Without allowing himself a moment to clear his head, Takeshi marches over to where DuBois is holding the man. “Let me talk to him.” DuBois moves out of the way and hands Tak the instrument that put Tak under. Gripping onto the collar, he stares the person in the eyes. “What did you do to me?” The man chuckles, spitting in Tak’s face but Tak doesn’t flinch. 

“I know your deepest fear now. It will come to pa-” Tak doesn’t let the man finish before he places his own gun - that he had in fact snuck onto the plane - underneath his chin and pulls the trigger, blowing the man’s brains to bits. The squad merely watches in shock. Flag would never do that. But then again, Takeshi is not Rick Flag. He’s Takeshi Lev Kovacs. Which no one on the team would ever doubt again after this.

“Wow, that was bad ass!” Harley comments and this time Tak gives her a nod in acknowledgement. Still shaken up, he grabs his weapons and the tech and starts toward the carrier with only one thought on his mind, to get home to you.

“Let’s go home.”

Taglist:  @kingtwhiddleston @taternuts @strawberriebabbles @nerdysuperchick​ @inthetikiroom @taylorgasmtpr @taarkatans @saritanotserena @blackrose53666 @more-cardigan-than-woman

#bionic exile #takeshi kovacs x reader #rick flag x reader #takeshi kovacs #rick flag #the suicide squad #altered carbon #dceu #dcu #takeshi kovacs imagine #takeshi kovacs x reader x rick flag #rick flag x reader x takeshi kovacs #rick flag imagine #imagine #reader insert #poly imagine #angst #collaberation #my writing #hannah writes

[sailorrlino]

Rodeo | lmh (m)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Pairing: hitman!Minho x arms dealer! F. reader

𓆩⟡𓆪 Summary: Minho’s relationship with you is like a good weapon - uncomplicated, refined, and trustworthy. He likes it that way. When you appear on his target list, his relationship with you becomes quite the opposite - complicated, rough, and unreliable. 

𓆩⟡𓆪 Word Count: 18,249

𓆩⟡𓆪 Genre: Cyberpunk | Smut | Angst | Peers to Something

𓆩⟡𓆪 Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

𓆩⟡𓆪 Warnings: Violence, world building, murder, discussion of murder, depictions of blood and fight sequences, brief mentions of drugs, depictions of wounds and treating them with syringes if you don’t like needles, explicit language, depiction of an anxiety attack, angst and self-doubt, Minho being an idiot, gun fights and scenes with weapons, some vague terms and references specific to the world building, sexually explicit content featuring oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, cum eating, bodily fluids, and mentions of spit in several places. I think that covers everything, for the most part. 

𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N: This is what happens when writers just write what they're inspired for. After almost two months of being unable to write, I got this random idea and I just went with it and took advantage of the moment and... genuinely had so much fun writing this. It got so much longer and more complex than I meant to, but I hope you enjoy.

𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N 2: This work is heavily inspired by Fallout 4, Blade Runner, Altered Carbon and the lovely song Rodeo by WayV. I imagine Rodeo playing during the shootout scene at the bar. Additionally, a fun fact: I use the nato alphabet to communicate Minho's targets and reader's target in this spells out 'reader' in the nato alphabet :)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Posted: Sunday, March 3 2024

𓆩⟡𓆪 Disclaimer: All members of Stray Kids are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Tag List Request Form | Song Inspiration

Any work is good work. 

Minho isn’t so sure that his father would say that as he crouches down next to the body on the living room floor. His thigh muscles protest, aching and tight from hours of sitting crouched across the street in the chill of a high-rise building waiting for his prey to enter this very building. 

Neon light bleeds through the foggy window behind him. The room is awash in watery pink as he pulls out his scanner with one hand and leans forward with the other, pressing his gloved fingers to the man's chin to push his head to the side. It rolls easily, giving a fleshy sound that might make someone squeamish as the man’s cheek hits the floor. 

Any work is good work, Minho thinks as he scans the man's non-existent pulse with his watch. He sees the blue ring of the biochip flash beneath cooling flesh, his watch flashing green with a soft buzz. The man’s entire life flashes on the screen - full name, date of birth, ID number, blood type, and place of work. Everything about him casts a sickly green glow on Minho’s sharp face.

Tapping a few buttons on the watch face, he waits, holding his wrist near his mouth as the sound of a dial tone chimes once. It’s silent in the apartment, though he can hear the hum of airborne traffic a few blocks off as the roar of adrenaline winds down. 

“Receiving,” a male voice answers. Minho doesn’t know who it is - he just knows he’s one of any of the Delegators who work for Collect Co. 

“Collection request number alpha-echo-tango-delta complete, served by Collector 102598.” 

“Collected alpha-echo-tango-delta confirmed. Please place a beacon before you leave. All credits for this Collection have been transferred to your account. Please wait five to seven business days before funds are available for use. Your next collection is in four hours, seven minutes, and eight United Seconds.” 

The line goes dead. The glow of the watch makes him squint before he can lower his brightness, scrolling to his bank account. He sees the credits added with a transaction pending. When he was a kid, the number glowing at the bottom of the screen to indicate his balance might have excited him. Now, it’s just a number on a screen that confirms the power won’t go out at his apartment and that he won’t go hungry.

Minho’s knees crack as he stands. He groans and leans backward, pressing his hands into the small of his back. A series of cracks slither up his spine, making his eyes roll back as he shuts them for a moment and shivers. 

He’s so goddamn sore.

Leaving the body on the carpet of the living area, he goes over to pick up the handgun resting on the counter. The energy weapon glows at his touch, syncing with his interface briefly before he holsters it inside his jacket. 

While he is technically within the law to eliminate targets for Collect Co., Minho finds that most people find it unsettling when Collectors walk around with weapons. He hasn’t given much thought to what people think about him, but it certainly causes a lot less trouble when he looks like an average businessman going to and from work instead of a licensed killer.

The gun isn’t technically legal, either. He would probably get away with it if a United Enforcer stopped him. The hitmen of the privately funded but government-sanctioned Collect Co., do not technically outrank the government’s militia, but no one with a badge is going to tell a Collector no. Not if they can help it, anyway.

Tossing a beacon on the counter for the cleanup crew to track to the apartment and get rid of the body and clean, Minho heads outside into the rain. He ducks his head down against it, water sliding off the slicker jacket he hugs a little tighter. He feels warmth kick in and his mouth twitches at the sign of the heating system in the body armor on his chest is doing its job. A nifty little upgrade from you, he knows. 

At the thought of you, Minho turns north toward the speed train, remembering that he needs an adjustment on his armor that is out of sync with his watch, and JumpPacks. He already used the last one about five hours ago and he feels the numbness of exhaustion buzzing at his edges, a warning sign that if he doesn’t get a jump or sleep he’s going to pass out.

Whichever comes first. 

Smears of color splash across the wet sidewalk as he jogs down the steps to the train. It smells wet and foul, making him tuck his chin to his chest as he rushes to the fast-closing door of the train. He steps over the threshold just as the doors clang shut, the hissing of an airlock barely finishing before it launches forward. 

He tenses to avoid being pitched forward into one of the standing railings. As the train rocks, the fluorescents above nearly blinding him, he finds a seat toward the back of an empty car. This late at night, there are only two other people in sight, both of them curled heaps of clothes on a seat, fast asleep. 

Sleep tugs at him the moment Minho sits down. He has a twenty-minute ride to North Ward Three, dropping his head against the back of the seat and closing his eyes. 

The light still hums behind his closed lids, making a splash of colors. There’s no sound save for the whine of the magnetic rail beneath his feet and the occasional mechanical creek as the vehicle sways. 

He melts into the seat a little, limbs loose. Fuck he needs a JumpPack. The last forty-eight hours awake are wearing him thin at the edges, stretching him like fabric over a surface far too wide. The forty-eight-hour mark is when he starts to decline, and as soon as he starts to creep toward seventy, he knows it’ll get messy. 

Minho is a lot of things, but he is ultimately human. The JumpPack can help him push beyond shaky hands, imagining things that aren’t there and the foggy thinking, but they won’t keep him sharp forever. 

As if proving his point, Minho hangs somewhere between awake and asleep, suspended in a dreamy space where he can still feel the rocking of the train but doesn’t feel the ache in his limbs or the pressure growing behind his eyes. 

He flinches when the chime echoes above him at the next stop, eyes flying wide for a moment as his gaze sweeps the train car, his hand on the inside of his jacket where he grips the handle of a very nice knife. 

No one enters the car. It’s just him and the other two sleeping people - he isn’t sure they’re even alive, really - and he relaxes, cursing at himself. This time when he drifts, he does so with a little more awareness, hand tucked warm against his chest and wrapped firmly around the blade.

It’s a unique little knife, snug in the sheath that’s buckled to the leather harness under his jacket. The handle is firm and made from non-conductive material that fits his exact grip from the meticulous measurements you took of his hand. You crafted the blade from a metal alloy you’d been playing around with and lined it with a highly conductive silver alloy you’d perfected.

When the button on the end of the handle is pressed, 5,000 volts of lethal electricity pulses through the sliver, finishing off a victim if he manages to fuck up a killing blow. It’s saved his life a few times in situations like now when he’s exhausted and his guard is blurry, or when someone has decided to make him the target for robbery. 

A lot of your little gadgets have saved his life. You like to remind him every time he visits you. He doesn’t mind, though. You’re an easy enough arms dealer - easier than anyone else in the city, really. You don’t ask the kind of questions that he doesn’t want to answer, and you’re always two steps ahead of him. Even your prices are fair, which he used to find suspicious. 

But Changbin and Jisung both swear by your tech and your business, and Minho is just happy that he doesn’t have to worry about you trying to give him a shitty deal or fuck him over. 

The Collection industry is made for fucking over. He knows the system can be fucked with, especially the closer to the top you get. 

Almost everyone tries to fuck Minho over. More than once he’s shown up as a Collection Request. He doesn’t know if it’s the system trying to clean up after itself or someone pulling strings to get him out of their way. It’s probably both, but every time it happens, he’s managed to evade it. 

A Reverse Collection, those in his industry call it. In a way, it’s sort of like a pop quiz. He gets attacked or shot at, and if he wins, he passes the test and reverses the Collection, earning him more time without any coworkers trying to murder him. The Delegators don’t seem to care which Collector murders the other, and he’s never suffered for coming out on top. 

Any work is good work. 

Minho snorts at the thought, feeling the deep twinge in his extremities as he rouses himself, the train coming to his stop. 

Rain sluices the streets in North Ward Three. Here, the streets are busier with an assault of people, smells, and sounds. LED umbrellas float along like jellyfish as people walk from pleasure house to food stand to fight arena. The hologram advertisements and neon signs are louder here, inescapable. 

“The United Republic stands for justice, equality, prosperity and freedom, bought by the noble sacrifice of the United Church. Join us today-” Minho presses the ad blocker on his watch. 

Immediately the holograms vanish and there’s just the neon watercolor reflecting off the umbrellas as he walks down the stairs of Neon Rodeo, the orange lights making his eyes throb as he reaches the door manned by two guards. 

They know him immediately but they scan the biochip in his neck anyway. When they’re pleased, they step aside and the door slides automatically, the base vibrating his ribcage as he steps into the dingy light, hesitating to let his eyes adjust.

True to the name, there is neon fucking everywhere. The servers are dressed in chaps with LED lights and glittering tassels, their cowboy hats flashing smiling faces on top of their head. The neon here is low-grade and covered in layers of dust, giving the air a dusky, burning sort of glow as he walks around tables.

Eyes follow him as he goes. The regulars are familiar with him, tipping their head in greeting though he doesn’t do more than watch them from the corner of his eyes. The servers all slow-smile at him, teeth too white and too glittering. He finds them more unsettling than attractive, and he quickens his step to the unmarked door at the back where Hyunjin sits on a stool.

Hyunjin is perhaps the most unsettling thing in the Neon Rodeo. His eyes are a strange grey, looking at Minho as he approaches. There is a predatory gaze in Hyunjin’s eyes that never fades, a sort of knowing in them that Minho can’t shake. Minho knows Hyunjin is entirely human, but every time he approaches the man, Minho is suddenly unsure. 

Nightcrawler.

Minho has heard the whispers about Hyunjin. He believes them, too. Everything about Hyunjin is like a carefully balanced blade, ready to tip in either direction. His senses are honed to perfection and he has a habit of both blending in and standing out depending on his mood. 

And he can kill. Minho has seen the lethal man in action a single time when someone tried to push past him into the Builder’s sanctuary. Hyunjin had been so fast that even Minho had a hard time keeping up, struck by how efficiently and quickly the former assassin moved.

Unnatural. Everything about him is uncanny, which is in line with everything Minho has heard about the underground sect of killers. What Minho does is legally sanctioned murder. The Nightcrawlers do something far more sinister, their skills going beyond the natural desire for order in the United Republic. 

Agents of disorder and chaos. That’s what some say. Minho isn’t sure where his opinion lands on the spectrum, but he gives them a healthy distance and respect either way.

Even the way Hyunjin sits on the barstool is unnatural, one foot kicked up on the bar between his legs, the other stretched out in front of him as he leans forward, his hand on the front lip of the seat. 

“Hello, Cowboy,” Hyunjin greets, voice deep and smooth. 

His hair is blonde today, slicked back out of his face, the ends touching his shoulders. He’s dressed in a black button-up with a cow print pattern across the shoulders and white, beaded tassels outlining the pattern. His dark pants are tight and he makes no effort to hide the gun on his waist or the knife handle peeking out the top of his cowboy boot.

“I don’t like when you call me that.”

Hyunjin’s smile makes the hair on Minho’s arms stand on end. “I know, but I like it.”

The guard makes no move to let Minho in and he tries not to show he’s irritated. By the way the grin spreads on Hyunjin’s face, Minho can safely assume he isn’t doing a great job. “Is the Builder in or not?” 

“Who is to say?” 

“Just tell her I’m here.” 

“If she’s in, she already knows.” Hyunjin nods toward an empty stool at the bar. “You can wait, Cowboy.” 

Gritting his teeth, Minho turns on his heel to sit on the stool a few feet away. Hyunjin’s uncanny eyes follow him, never leaving him once. Minho ignores him in favor of asking for water at the bar, the headache pressing behind his eyes growing more intense with the loud music and the choking smell of cigars. 

When the water comes back, it’s warm without ice. He glares at the bartender who has already moved on to paying customers. The water is tepid and a little sour, making him cringe. He’s pretty sure it came from the faucet, but he sips on it anyway, eying the grimy fingerprints on the glass. 

A cowgirl slides up next to him, her pink vest pulled tight across her chest, showing sweat-slick skin. She smells like vanilla, the scent overpowering as she leans in, lacquered lips grinning.

“Don’t,” Minho grunts, sipping the water. “Not interested.”

“But you’re so pretty.”

A severe reprimand dies on his tongue as Hyunjin appears like a wraith, leaning in close to murmur, “Builder is ready for you, Cowboy.” 

The cowgirl cowers away from the Nightcrawler, pressing up against the counter and fleeing as soon as he slinks away. If Hyunjin is offended, he doesn’t show it. He slips back onto the stool with that same eager lean, watching Minho through narrowed eyes as the Collector gets up and walks briskly to the now-open door. 

Minho doesn’t turn around when the door shuts behind him, immediately cutting off all sound. The door leads to a step of steps, mirrored walls on either side with glowing orange light strips above them. He climbs the stairs as quickly as he can, his head swimming a little as he gets to the top. 

The entire second floor is a massive, open-concept workshop. Tables covered with papers and instruments are placed in a chaotic maze, glowing screens with slow-spinning schematics and drawings giving the space a clinical, blue light. Workbenches with user interfaces hum along the corners of the room. Closed metal doors and offices stretch down a hall toward the pack, all under high-tech padlocks and surely protected with some sort of weapon system, if Minho had to guess.

Amid the organized chaos is you. The Builder. 

Minho hates calling you that. He thinks it’s a little ridiculous of a title, but it suits you. There is nothing in this room you haven’t built and no weapon on his person that was not carefully crafted by you. He hesitates to watch you, standing at the edge of your luminescent domain as you lean over something, a small welding tool in your hand. 

“Do you need a formal invitation, Cowboy?” 

He doesn’t mind the name from you. He tells himself that it’s because, despite his predisposition to not liking people, he doesn’t dislike you. You’re easy to deal with, sort of like the weapons you make. You make his life functional and you’re to the point. He admires that, and he’s willing to take a little bit of prodding and joking from you as a trade-off.

Wordlessly, he floats toward you. You don’t look up to greet him, but you kick your foot out and hook the toe of your boot underneath the leg of a stool to pull it out for him to sit on. He can smell a hint of jasmine and amber wafting from where you sit, making him clench his jaw as he fights a shiver. 

“I don’t have long,” he says, forgoing the seat. “Just need JumpPacks and wanted to drop off my armor. It’s having trouble connecting with the interface of the watch. I hit it pretty hard last night and I think I damaged the receiver.” 

That gets your attention, drawing your sharp gaze up to him. But instead of dropping your eyes to his chest where the flexible armor stretches across his chest, you zero in on Minho’s face. 

Your silence is uncomfortable, but he remains unmoving, willing himself to stay in place under your calculating gaze. You lean forward, eyes drinking him in, examining him the way you would a schematic for a weapon or a complicated piece of data. 

Minho busies himself with looking at you in return. There’s a crease growing deeper in your brow and your pretty mouth - he doesn’t remember when he started thinking it was pretty - begins to dip, displeased at something you find in his face. 

“When is the last time you slept?”

“Are you psychoanalyzing me?” You level a stare at him and he feels his mouth twitch. Minho thinks besides the occasional joke from Jisung - which he defines as Jisung accidentally hurting himself - you might be the only person who makes him want to smile. “Fifty-two hours, eighteen minutes and forty United Seconds.”

“No to the JumpPack,” you say finally. “Sleep.”

“I have another target in three hours, twenty-eight minutes and fifteen United Seconds.” 

“Down the hall and second door on the right. Sleep for two hours. It won’t kill you.” He opens his mouth to protest you cut him off, “I’ll be done by the time you’re up. Take off your armor.” 

His hands open and close. You’ve never declined a JumpPack before. You’ve definitely never offered sleep before. He stands buoyed by his confusion before he reluctantly sheds the jacket. It crinkles in the silence as he shucks it from his shoulder and neatly folds it, placing it on the stool you had intended for him to sit on. 

Next, he sheds the holster, his gun, and a few knives clanking as he does. You seem amused by the amount of weapons he’s managed to shove in the leather straps and he shrugs a little at your arched brow. 

Minho’s shirt is more armor than a shirt. It’s made from highly coveted synthetic material with hard but flexible geometric pieces stitched in that sync with his watch to turn on a light energy shield, pulse when there’s an energy weapon aimed at him, and generally keep anyone from being able to stab him. You’ve also added little things like warming sensors and anti-theft. 

Delicately, Minho peels off the shirt. He marvels as it moves, surprised at the give and flex of the material every time. He hands it over and you snatch it, tossing it on your work counter as if it’s not the most expensive piece of technology he owns. 

Immediately he’s covered in goosebumps. Your studio is bitter cold and you always wear sweaters and jackets with sleeves pulled over your hands. You’re dressed as such now, the too-long sleeves on your arms pooling over your hands as he stands there, trying not to shiver. 

You pay no mind to his armor, instead standing up and twisting your mouth in a frown as your gaze skirts his chest and stomach. For a second he feels self-conscious, which he thinks is a little ridiculous as he glances down his chest. He realizes there is bruising blooming across him, spider webbing across to show when the armor unsynced and he took a few hard punches. 

Minho holds his breath when you lift your hands, as though you’re going to brush the tips of your fingers over each wound. Your hands are smaller than his and far more delicate, nimble fingers reminding him of artists. His mother was an artist. Her slim hands and careful brushstrokes are one of the few things he remembers about her. 

That, and that she chose to leave him.

Minho finds himself so hypnotized by your hands that your voice startles him when you say, “Three hours, twenty-seven minutes and five seconds, Cowboy.” 

You drop your hands and step away. He nods and sheds his watch as well, handing it over. “Alright.” 

With heavy footsteps, he follows the directions to the appointed room. He’s a little off balance, his hip catching the corner of a table as he goes. He curses loudly, hands shooting to his hip where pain blooms from the jab. Your laughter trills behind him and he scowls over his shoulder at you, but you’re unfolding his armored shirt. 

Muttering under his breath, he goes to the hall to the second door on the right. He’s never been in the hall before, but there are several doors lining each side. He carefully tries the handle, glancing up at the ceiling where a camera stares at him. 

The handle gives under his hand easily and he swings the door open to what looks like a very small and well-kept medical room. He raises his brows as he steps in and closes the door behind him. There’s no lock on the door, his finger brushing across the handle to find one. He thinks about grabbing the chair tucked into the desk and sticking it under the handle, but the thought evaporates as quickly as it forms.

He’s not in danger here. 

Slowly, he trods to the cot. It’s a standard size with a thin mattress and scratchy blankets. Carefully, he sits down and immediately his body sighs. Minho’s eyelids flutter as he sags for a second, shoulders rolling inward as he curves in on himself, exhaustion pressing in. 

He needs to take off his boots, but his arms feel heavy. He promises himself that he’ll do it in five more minutes before he gives up and lays down on his side, kicking his feet up boots and all onto the cot. The room is cool so he reaches for the blankets, uncaring that they scrape against his bumps and bruises. 

The last fifty-some-odd hours begin to press in on Minho, a physical force that squeezes everything out of him until he’s fading fast into a heavy, dreamless sleep. 

-

A gentle knock pulls Minho from a heavy sleep. He feels the dregs of it like a weighted shadow he can’t shake off, groaning and blinking at the ceiling a few times. His limbs feel heavier than ever and his neck cracks as he rolls it to the side to look at the room he’s in.

He suddenly remembers where he is, flinching a little as he sits up, movements jerky with nervousness. The room is still dark and cool, the itchy blanket falling to the floor as he sits and stares toward the door where there’s another knock. 

“Come in,” he rasps, voice deep and rough with sleep.

A crack of light appears in the doorway as you slip in. You’ve got your arms full of stuff, using your elbow to smack the touchpad near the door. Dark orange light fills the room, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt his vision but bright enough to see that the stuff you’ve brought in is food and several bottles of water and some sort of blue liquid.

Minho eyes all of it warily, straightening as you stand in front of him, holding it out. He doesn’t move to take it and your mouth presses in a flat, firm line. “I know Collectors don’t have to be smart, but I do assume you know how to utilize the main food groups of the pyramid.”

He can smell the jasmine and amber again, soothing. “Why did you bring me food?”

“Because you look like shit, Cowboy. Don’t go losing your mind over a small gesture of goodwill.” 

Chagrined, he snatches the items from your hand. He immediately realizes that there are energy bars, protein bars, and packs of gel that will replenish immediate levels of hormones and vitamins. He eyes you curiously as he sets the pile on the bed next to him, ripping a foil back open with his teeth.

You cross the room to lean against the medical table in the corner, crossing your arms over your chest. When he doesn’t eat right away, you raise your brows, waiting. He pops the end of a gel back in his mouth and squeezes, immediately tasting blueberry and lemonade. It’s not half bad, making him hum in fascination.

That gets a grin from you, his mouth twitching at the corner again as he works the gel in his mouth to break it apart.

“Fixed your armor. How hard did you knock the watch?” His guilty expression tells all and you scowl. “It’s made with durast carbonate. It’s pretty shockproof.” 

“Didn’t mean to. Some guy’s goons jumped me when I was calling in the Collection. It um… took a bullet.” 

“How did they get the jump on you, hmm?” He stares. “Were you tired?” 

Instead of answering, he tosses the empty gel back on the bed and picks up a protein bar. He looks at it, squinting his eyes in the dim light. It’s peanut butter flavored, which he enjoys. He rips it open with his teeth and tears into it, realizing just how hungry he is.

Minho has no idea when his last meal was. He thinks you know his line of thinking, but you don’t say anything more. You’ve already gotten your barbs in and you don’t intend to poke until he’s truly annoyed or embarrassed, which he appreciates.

Without another word, you push off the desk and head to the door, slipping back through to leave him alone while he chews absently. 

Alone, Minho realizes the importance of accepting food from you without second-guessing it. He slows his chewing, contemplating about that. 

Minho’s relationship with you is like a good weapon - uncomplicated, refined, and trustworthy. Your tech has never failed him, you’ve always been reliable for a fast turnaround time or understanding of what he’s asking for, and you’ve never sold information about him.

Ever. He had tried to buy information from you on himself through multiple channels and pseudonyms just to see if you would, but he’d been met with steely silence each time. 

He eats with a little more enthusiasm as he realizes he does trust you. You’re as steadfast as the guns you build, and there is a confidence in that that he can at least resonate with.

Examining the contents of the blue liquid, he realizes it’s electrolytes and mineral compounds. As he takes long gulps, he realizes he feels infinitely better already, senses sharp, aches a little less terrible, and his headache is gone entirely. He’s not at a hundred percent, but he’s a hell of a lot better than if he had waited around for his next Collection. 

When he finishes, he crumbles the trash together and tosses it into the incinerator. He hears the fire hiss as it destroys the waste and sends the fumes somewhere to be turned into energy. 

In the main part of your lab, Minho spots you. He hesitates in the hall for a moment, watching you play with his watch. Movement in the corner of the room makes him tense up, hand going to the knife in his boot. He realizes it’s just Jeongin sliding across the room on a rolling chair, pushing away from his computer to examine what you’re doing.

Minho only relaxes marginally. He’s still getting used to seeing your apprentice in your workspace, and though the youth is excitable and intelligent, Minho refuses to let Jeongin near any of his builds. The trust he’s established with you over the last three years does not extend to apprentices he’s only known for a few months, no matter how much you trust them.

You trust the Nightcrawler too, and Minho cannot fathom why. 

As though sensing you on the edge of the room, you turn and look at him over your shoulder. The corner of your mouth lifts up and you beckon him eagerly before hunching over whatever you’re working on again. He strolls over, crossing his arms over his chest to lean against your worktable on the other side of you, eyeing Jeongin on your other side.

“Hello, Collector. How are you today?” Jeongin asks politely, giving Minho a smile that touches his eyes.

Minho says nothing. You elbow him sharply in the ribs and he coughs, clutching his stomach as he mumbles, “Fine, you?”

“Doing great, thanks! This piece of tech is a marvel.”

“My watch?”

It is his watch. A green light flashes on the underside of the face, the bio scanner that connects with the one with his neck to monitor his nervous system. You push the watch toward him and he carefully picks it up, brushing his thumb across the cool, glass screen.

An interface lights up again. He can’t figure out what’s so special until you gesture for him to put it on. It fits nicely, the perfect size. As he slides it into place and looks at the watch face, a diagram of thin body armor comes up, spinning. Except it looks different than the diagram that he’s used to, giving you a questioning look. You point to the corner of the room at a mannequin.

He walks over to it, cocking his head to the side as he stops in front of it. It’s far different from the armored shirt he wears. The contraption is equal parts ribcage and the thorax of a spider. The material looks like leather but feels hard to the touch like metal. 

Skirting his fingers to the hem, he bends the bottom of the shirt, watching as it flexes easily. It makes no sense to him how something could be so hard and flex immediately. If he were to guess, whatever the cloth is made from is a newer technology than he has access to. Perhaps more bio-engineered spider web. 

Minho’s fingers skirt inside of it, brushing across a strange, prickling fabric. It doesn’t hurt, but he brushes his fingers back and forth, rubbing the material between his fingers. It’s abrasive, but he can’t imagine what it is.

Blue flashes on the diagram on the watch. He pauses and presses his fingers to the needle-thin fabric. The watch flashes again and lines of color light up on the diagram, showing his nervous system in different, complex colors. He raises his brows. It’s far more sophisticated than what he came in with.

“The needles,” he calls, not taking his eyes off the contraption. “Do they connect with me?”

“Yes. When you put it on, it syncs with your biochemistry.” You get up and walk toward him. “You won’t even feel them. They’re the smallest on the market right now, and incredibly accurate. They use them in military armor to report back live health reports and status during enfighting. They’re more accurate than the sensors lined in your last one.”

“What’s the point, though?” 

You reach out and tap the watch. He watches curiously as a series of icons pop up, each a different color. “Inside of this,” you instruct, tapping the hard shell, “Is a series of chemical compounds. When you have on the armor underneath your shirt, you can tap to inject what you need. The needles don’t push deep, but they’re high-grade enough to break the barrier needed to disperse the compounds.” 

Minho looks up at you, silent. You don’t notice his trepidation, carrying on as you go into salesperson mode, explaining everything. “Blue is elektrolytes,” you instruct, pointing to it. “Green is a chemical compound of cortisol and adrenaline. Yellow is endorphins and an incredibly high-dose painkiller.”

“And purple?”

“Jump,” you deadpan. “But a compounded version Jeongin and I have worked on that lasts longer with less damaging effect. You should be able to sleep easier after using it. And you won’t need several JumpPacks a day to keep going. I can give you refills too, since it’s non-addictive.”

Minho stares. “What?”

“What part didn’t you get?”

“This is for me?” You scowl but he immediately notices the way you divert your eyes. You glance up at the ceiling, shifting from foot to food. “This is worth a million United Credits at least. I can’t afford it.”

“Do you see a price tag?”

“You can’t give me this for free.” 

“Of course I can. It’s just a prototype, so if it accidentally malfunctions and sends all injection options to your body at once and kills you, well…” You shrug. “At least you didn’t pay me. Consider yourself a test subject. I’ve never integrated the needle network into armor before. I don’t have the builds the military uses, just intel. I had to do it from scratch, so it might not work. Your current armor doesn’t protect you from plasma. This does.”

Minho doesn’t buy your bullshit for two seconds. He knows you wouldn’t give him this if it would risk killing him. For all your jesting and affectation, Minho has learned how to read you pretty well, and the way you blow him off and scoff tells him everything he needs to know. 

It is a favor and a gift, and a new sort of olive branch that he is unsure how to accept or take from you. Taking this gift worth more than his entire salary complicates things.

Did you make this specifically for him? He’s not sure. But the fact that he wants the answer to be yes is worse than anything else he can think of. 

Minho has peers. You’re a peer. Always have been. Anything else would complicate the simplicity of the relationship, and Minho immediately steps back and removes the watch. You watch him with razor-sharp intelligence, drinking him in as he holds out the watch to you. 

“The one I have is sufficient enough, Builder.” 

You snatch the watch from him, pivoting on your heel and walking with a ramrod-straight spine back to the table. For a second he thinks you’re going to kick him out but then you take a breath and melt into a smile, though a little sharp at the edges and not reaching your eyes.

“Fixed the connection. I also reinforced it again. Give me a moment to sync to your old armor.” 

Old armor. As if the new one is still his. His stomach flips and he grimaces. 

The affectation in your voice makes Minho uncomfortable. He doesn’t move, watching you tap viciously against the screen on your work desk. Jeongin spins a pen in his hand, glancing between the two of you nervously. When he notices Minho glaring at him, he grins awkwardly and pushes his chair behind one of the clear screens, his face distorted by blue lettering and diagram.

Wordlessly, you hand him the watch and turn away when he takes it. You say nothing else, moving on to a different project as Minho delicately picks up the shirt. He slides it over, feeling the warmth seep into his cool skin. He meticulously pulls the hardness with weapons on, followed by his jacket.

Fully dressed, he waits for you to say something. He doesn’t know what he expects - or wants - you to say. But he pauses anyway, eyes on your bent shape. His gaze flits to your hands, delicate fingers typing wildly, tense as you wait for him to leave. 

It feels like a stone has sunk to the bottom of Minho’s stomach. He doesn’t move for a few minutes, torn between walking out and preparing for his next Collection and staying to… what? He doesn’t know. He has no idea what to say or do, but he feels the palpable shift in your mood. 

So Minho chooses the easiest option. He nods to himself and heads toward the exit. You don’t spare him a second glance but he certainly looks at you out of the corner of his eye. Your jaw is clenched and you tap with a ferocity that thinks might shatter your desktop interface. 

As soon as the door opens, Minho is drowning in thumping base and synth again. Hyunjin leans on the stool, this time with his back against the wall and his glittering eyes focused on Minho. Though the former Nightcrawler wasn’t in the room, Minho has a sneaking suspicion that Hyunjin knows everything that happens in the Builder’s workshop. 

Hyunjin’s smirk is all-knowing and Minho storms by him, hating him for it. 

Rain no longer falls from a dark sky. Opaque, charcoal skies stretch above him, lines of moving air traffic creating layers of latticework. Looking at the watch - which shows his normal armor once more - tells him it's in the early morning hours now. 

The streets are not as busy as the night before. There are still glaring advertisements and he spots a group of cloaked United Church members walking around to accept alms and recruit, but the energy is muted outside of the clubs and pleasure houses. 

Morning commuters fill the speed train tunnels. United Travel Agents lurk in the crowd, watchful eyes on anyone causing trouble or trying to double up on the scanners as travelers pass through, machines charging their United Credits as they go. 

Minho falls into the dull buzz of morning travel. Glancing at his watch, he knows he has enough time to go home and change. He likes to receive his calls while he’s at home anyway. He tries not to replay the last conversation between the two of you. The offer you’d made him. The meaning behind it, whatever it may be. 

It’s nearly impossible, but he manages. Especially once he gets into his apartment, sinking into the routine of showering, changing, and sliding back into his clothes like a second skin. As soon as he reties his boots, his watch begins to ring. 

“Receiving,” he answers, straightening up. 

“Collection echo-tango-foxtrot-bravo has been assigned to Collector 102598. You have five United Hours to complete your Collection.”

“Collection accepted.” 

The line goes dead. Minho slides his weapons into their holsters, then pulls on his rain jacket. It always rains in the city, like God is weeping for what he has become.

Any work is good work. 

Minho leaves the apartment to take another life. 

-

The water runs red in Minho’s shower. He stares it for a while, hot water rushing down his neck, shoulders and back in rivulets. It turns pink the longer he stares, the wound on his leg bleeding less and less. 

The irony is not lost on him that if he had accepted your gift, he might not have taken a gnarly hunting knife to the thigh. He was lucky that it was an energy weapon, the blade cauterizing the wound immediately. He’d had to pick the wound back open to flush out the dead, burned skin and pour burning antiseptic on it.

Shifting, Minho examines the wound. Pain blooms in his thigh as he turns, making him suck in a sharp hiss. The wound is to the bone. He knows he’s lucky it was not a well-made weapon, the ion pulse too weak to sever his limb. Still, it’s a deep wound and it would surely fuck him up if he didn’t have the next twenty-four hours to himself. 

If the knife had been one of yours…

A pulse of frustration echoes through him. He presses his closed fist to the old tile of the shower wall, feeling the dissonance between the scalding water and cool tile steady him. His knuckles are sore from the last Collection - which had gone wrong in every way possible - and he’s brutally aware of just how much everything hurts. 

Yet the ache isn’t what bothers him. His Collection target getting the jump on him from inside intel isn’t what bothers him. Minho has had that happen enough times that he no longer feels surprised when a Collection knows he’s coming.

What fucking bothers him is the ripple effect of his rejection of your offer made. 

Minho shuts off the water and steps out the water carefully. He can barely put weight on the leg, gritting his teeth as he grabs a towel and hobbles out of the bathroom, the steam billowing out into the tiny apartment and dissipating. 

Blue neon lights from the shop across the way burn in his window. He hardly needs to turn the lights on in his own home to see in the dark, the ever-present glow of blue guiding the way. 

Carefully, he sits on his bed. Another pulse of pain from the wound makes him shiver and take several deep, steadying breaths. He peels back the towel at the waist, revealing a single, thick thigh with a horrible cut right in the meat of it. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. Walking around has made it bleed again, scarlet trickling toward the towel. 

Trying not to disturb the wound, he reaches for the medical kit under the bed. The metal is cool to the touch as he flips the latches, rummaging around the bandages, antiseptics, and gels until he finds what he’s looking for.

Minho takes the single, long syringe and uncaps it with his teeth, spitting the cap on the floor somewhere. He flicks his hand a few times, holding it up to make sure there are no bubbles in the vial. Holding his wound carefully with one hand and with the syringe in the other, he inserts the needle deep into the flesh, the sting minor compared to the throbbing ache the cut itself emanates. 

The compound burns as he injects himself. He clenches his teeth, pushing down on the plunger with steady pressure. He can already feel the numbness spreading in his leg as the local anesthesia takes root. He knows he’ll be itching when it wears off, the tiny nanobots working to stitch the muscle and tissue back together already making his skin crawl. 

DeepStitch is an expensive thing to have. He pulls the syringe out carefully, glancing at the medical kit. It only came with one, meaning he was going to have to replace the vile. Medical compounds made for healing abnormal wounds cost a fortune, especially the type with micro-technology to assist the process. 

Tossing out the empty syringe, Mingo lays on his bed, uncaring if he’s damp and in a towel. The numbness in his thigh spreads, making him shiver. He tries not to think about the fact that there are thousands of microscopic bots working on internally stitching his muscles an tendons as quickly as they can before the blood in his body deteriorates them.

The medical advancement of this world is beyond Minho, but he’s grateful for it as he drifts in a half-sleep. He finds it harder to sleep after using JumpPacks, his body unable to adjust from the constant state of false energy and adrenaline. 

It makes him think about your stupid fucking offer again. A piece of armor that could sync with him and balance his hormones and chemical compounds at the tap of a wrist. Something that high caliber for a low-level contract killer was beyond him. 

There was crazy, and then there was that. 

Minho wonders if you’ve been charging him fairly, suddenly. He’s always thought the weapons and tech you provide him with were good prices. They were well-made but always within his budget, albeit he stopped looking at what you were billing him a long time ago. Now that he knows you’re willing to offer something that he’d only find on a United Praetor in the military, he wonders if you’ve been cutting him deals.

He’s never asked the others. Changbin and Jisung seem friendly with you, enough to make Minho wary about asking them questions. Though they’re the closest things that Minho has to friends, he doesn’t trust them whenever it comes to you. 

Jisung already thinks it’s sweet that Minho is nice to you, and he hates that. Even if it’s true. 

Time fades away as Minho circles his conversation with you over and over again. He examines every moment of it. When he can surmise nothing else of the interaction but you offering an olive branch of friendship, something a step beyond peers, he goes back to all of his other interactions.

He remembers almost every one of them. 

Minho’s memory is fine-tuned. It has to be in his line of work. But the memories of you are particularly sharp. He’s able to recall the way you always poke fun at him to the exact line of his tolerance, the way you always know how to get in a good jibe without actually pissing him off. The way that you let Jisung and Changbin have it in front of him for his benefit, especially after they’ve irritated him, like you’re giving him a gift or saying I’m on your team. 

Thoughts of you ultimately lead to other things like the way your eyes reflect the blue light of your many screens. Or the way you always smell like jasmine and amber. The way you pull your sleeves over your hands in sweater paws because it’s bitter cold in your studio to avoid explosions and corrosion of items. The way the nickname Cowboy runs so smooth off your tongue, making his toes curl. 

Minho’s fingers twitch when he thinks about brushing the backs of his knuckles against your soft skin. He’s thought about it before and immediately cringed at the fantasy. Now, between exhaustion clinging to him and the numb limb, he doesn’t jerk away at the idea.

He finally falls asleep thinking of you and what it would be like to accept that olive branch. 

-

The ringing of Minho’s watch wrenches him from sleep. He sits up straight in bed, gasping and hand shooting toward the nightstand where there’s a draw with one of his guns. He realizes that his wrist is vibrating and when he looks at the screen, he sighs with equal parts tension and regret as he realizes it’s work calling. 

Fuck. He slept for almost twenty hours straight. 

Clearing his throat, he answers. “Receiving.” 

“Collection romeo-echo-alpha-delta-echo-romeo has been assigned to Collector 102598. You have five United Hours to complete your Collection.”

Information flashes on Minho’s watch and he feels the world disappear from underneath his feet. Your name, age, permanent place of residency address, and anything the government has both legally and illegally obtained flashes before him. He’s never even seen your full name before and there it is, glowing on his watch as he stares at the information.

It feels obscene to know any of this. He flicks his wrist, turning off the display. He doesn’t want to see any of it, doesn’t want to see when you were born, doesn’t want to see what ward you pay taxes in, doesn’t want to know your criminal history. 

Minho’s ears are ringing. The Delegator does not confirm that Minho has heard or received the assigned target for Collection. Minho stares at the wall, his vision blurring at the edges as the name - your name - echoes in his mind over and over again. He hears it at the same rhythm as his pounding heart, pumping blood through his system as his watch flashes a high heart rate warning. 

Your name. Your full government name and ID number. He’s only ever known your first name, but you’ve always been Builder to him anyway. Minho can’t remember if he’s ever said your name, and suddenly he wants to. He wants to know what it sounds like shaped by his mouth, what it tastes like on his tongue. Wants to say it so many different ways, laughing, smirking, sighing– 

Three years and he can’t believe he’s never so much as said your name, and now that very name is on his list to kill. 

Indecision roots his feet to the spot. This isn’t like a Reverse Collection where other hitmen try to kill him and he can get away with killing them instead, clearing his name for a little longer. This is a direct and finite order to eliminate you. There is no alternative to this Collection. 

Irreversible. 

Running his hands through his hair, he looks around his apartment. It looks unlived-in and completely impersonal. Just like the impersonal way he calls you Builder, as though not using your fucking name makes it more sterile. As if it keeps you further away from earning his trust.

Which you have earned. Implicitly. Minho can think of no one else he would let take care of him. That he would sleep or eat in the presence of. That he trusts not to kill him in his sleep while he’s unarmed. 

Now he’s supposed to murder you?

Bile turns in his stomach. He hears the ticking of the clock on the wall. Every second inches closer to the decision he has to make.

Will he or won’t he? 

Minho grabs his gun from the nightstand and walks toward the door.

He’s only a few steps toward it when he realizes he’s not dressed or prepared for whatever he is about to do - what is he about to do? He has no idea. All he knows is that he is dazed and his hands are starting to shake and his heart rate is climbing, his watch flashing a warning. 

The room begins to tilt as his breathing comes out in haggard breaths. He stumbles a little bit, the blood pumping through him roaring in his ears. He belatedly realizes he’s having a panic attack, blindly trying to get back to his bed where he can sit. 

What does one do during a panic attack? He has no idea, he’s never had one. He thinks of the last time he saw someone panic and immediately bends over to put his head between his knees, gulping air through his nose and out through his mouth. 

What was it that Jisung said about panic?

It’s hard to remember. He thinks maybe there was counting involved, so he breathes in for seven seconds and then out for seven seconds. Does it again. And again. 

Slowly, the world swims back into focus. He can feel the twinge in his thigh as he comes down from the momentary lapse of panic and judgment. When he trusts that he’s not going to vomit on his bare feet, he slowly sits upright, looking around the neon-blue room. 

Quiet blankets the apartment. The world outside is faint. He can hear the clock on the wall as the minute hand moves, each marking the passing of a United Second. With a deep breath, he moves. 

There are no thoughts as he goes. His mind is a single list of action items, marketing them off as he goes. Get dressed. Check his weapons. Arm himself to the teeth with things you’ve made him. Message Jisung a cryptic, one-word text that only the other Collector will understand. Arm a bomb. Leave. 

It’s clinical. 

Minho had always understood with absolute clarity the reality of his line of work. He’s always had a failsafe - or a killswitch, so to speak. From the first day of work, Minho’s only purpose was to kill until he died. He was always meant to die. And he tells himself that the single, little safe space he has in the world he started saving for… well. If you ever needed it.

Any work is good work. 

Clouds hold in their rain. The night feels ominous. Minho glances up at the choked clouds, wondering what they’re up to. The Ministry of Weather controls the atmosphere in some parts of the city. Minho does not travel in those parts of the city - those assassinations are beyond the abilities of a Collector and reserved for Nightcrawlers. 

Paranoia is imminent, but Minho tries not to look over his shoulder every five seconds. The mysterious nature of Collect Co. is still something he doesn’t understand, so it’s difficult to unravel the nature of his assignment. Without a doubt, whoever placed Minho as the Collector knows you supply his weapons.

That simple fact branches out into multiple possibilities. Perhaps the person who wants you gone simply thinks Minho is the best person for the job because he’s in your tentative circle of trust and a familiar enough face to slip through you’re defenses. Or perhaps the problem is him and they know he won’t complete the Collection, earning a job termination and his name showing up on the Collection list. 

Either way, it’s on purpose. Of that, he knows for sure. 

From his years working for Collect Co., there are only a few things that Minho is sure about. Delegators do exactly what their title suggests - they delegate kills. Callers are a tier above Delegators, calling the shots working the network of requests that come in for contracted kills. Legals do all of the paperwork and research before agreeing to a contract, and at the very top of the chain is the Floorman. 

Beyond that, Minho has no concept of the hierarchy or who is hiring Collect Co. for jobs. There are obvious manipulations to the system and it’s impossible to work objectively within a private company that works with but not for the government, and Minho has little doubt that the financial benefactors are who really control assignments. 

Which leads him back to the root of the question: why you? Is Minho the problem, or do you have enemies so large that they hold sway in Collect Co. He doesn’t consider that your deeds are nefarious enough to warrant a hit. What you do is illegal but you sell to the military, too. 

So it begs the question: is it you or him who they really want gone? 

Maybe it’s even a combination.

Still, he attempts not to seem paranoid. It’s easier than it should be, Minho’s mind so singularly focused on getting to you as he takes the train and traves to North Ward Three that he doesn’t have time to look around every corner or see if he’s being followed. There are other ways of keeping tabs on him, anyway. 

The rain still holds as Minho gets off the speed train and ducks into the street. He keeps to the sides, activating his ad blocker as he’s immediately slammed by a screaming neon world. His gaze and gait must be sharper than he realizes, because people veer away from him, his energy repelling them.

From the corner of his eye, he notes Watchers - people responsible for keeping an eye on what’s going on in the street for their employer - take note of him. Some melt into the doorway of their workplace, and others call for runners.

Trouble. Minho looks like trouble and he can sense the shift as they catch wind of him. 

The Watchers are no threat to him. Their entire purpose is to close the doors and pull back when they catch a sense of danger in the air. They’ll stay out of his way and won’t engage with him unless he threatens their clubs and shops. 

Minho has little intention of doing that. He wants to make this as painless as possible. 

Neon Rodeo burns like a dying sun. The orange falls over him as he jogs down the steps and lets the guards scan him. If they notice anything is off, they say and do nothing. Neon Rodeo is perhaps the only business without a Watcher, and it’s only because no one would dare interrupt the business with the Nightcrawler inside. 

Synth rattles Minho from the ground up as he steps inside. The cowboy hats and their little smiling faces float like phantoms in the night. He only has a singular goal and he looks at no one else as he heads towards the back, sidestepping sweaty bodies and perfumed hair. 

It’s full tonight, the weekend crowd packing the bar from corner to corner. It’s no matter. He cuts his way to the back where Hyunjin sits on a stool. Today, Hyunjin’s hair is blood red and his eyes are sharp, unnatural green. For a moment, Minho thinks of a chameleon before Hyunjin kicks a leg out and blocks the hall leading to the door. 

“Your patronage has been terminated, Cowboy.” 

Minho’s heart flips. Are you that angry with him? He drinks in Hyunjin’s dress and slowly his anxiety turns to understanding. Hyunjin is dressed in all black today. His shirt is armored and in place of pants with tassels are tactical trousers with pockets and weapons strapped to his thighs.

An assessment of the Nightcrawler tells Minho that there are weapons he doesn’t see. There’s a plasma pistol on his hip, a bandolier of small knives strapped across his chest, knives in his boot, and another plasma pistol on this calf. 

Hyunjin’s fingers drum against his thigh as he watches Minho with those unsettling eyes. “Want to try, Cowboy?”

“I need to speak with her.”

“No.”

“I’m not-” Minho grits his teeth. “I’m not Collecting.”

“Didn’t say you were.” 

Hyunjin knows. He doesn’t know how the Nightcrawler knows you’re a Collection on Minho’s list, but it’s clear in the way Hyunjin leers. 

“Look, you can go in with me. Let me get her to safety.”

“And what do you think safety is, Cowboy? Even if you’re not lying, they’ll come after you too.” 

“Listne, Nightcrawler-”

Hyunjin grins. It’s unnerving, and there isn’t much that unnerves Minho. “No, you listen. I tolerate you because I am ordered to. Now, I don’t have to. My only orders were to say no and to not harm you.” He leans back and spreads his hands and shrugs. The neon lights catch his blood red hair. “I’m always within my right to make a judgment call.”

“I’d never hurt her.”

“You’re not friends, last I checked.” Hyunjin cocks his head to the side. “You don’t have friends, right? That’s why you reject acts of faith?”

“What do you know of acts of faith, Nightcrawler?” 

“You’d be surprised, Collector.” 

Hyunjin is unmoving. Minho’s fingers twitch and Hyunjin’s eyes follow the movement. For a second, Minho wonders if he could beat his adversary to the draw. They could do it like an old fashioned movie, the bar the perfect setting for it. Hyunjin is totally unmoving and relaxed, not moving his hand toward his weapons.

He’s that confident in beating me. 

United Seconds are ticking by. Every minute Minho doesn’t make his collection is time lost. He licks his lips ready to mount another argument when Hyunjin’s eyes flicker and look over Minho’s shoulders. His eyes narrow a fraction as they dart back to Minho.

“Here’s an act of faith. Let’s see what you do this time.” 

The energy in the bar shifts. He feels the tremor go through the air and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. Minho turns his head to the side, not enough to fully look back over his shoulder but enough to see the group of Collectors disperse in the crowd. 

Both, Minho realizes. The Collection had been for them both, and it was a good excuse to get them in the same place. He grits his teeth as he realizes how predictable he is. They might have come even if he didn’t arrive, but they might have sent a smaller force. 

Glancing at Hyunjin, Minho watches as the Nightcrawler does nothing. He waits for Minho, raising his brows and smirking. 

Act of faith. 

Normally, Minho doesn't believe in public acts of violence. Collectors are mostly prohibited from killing in public or endangering the lives of United Republic Citizens unless entirely unavoidable. 

Now, though, he causes a scene and pulls his gun, swiveling around and leveling it at the nearest Collector he has a clean line of sight on. He feels the hum of the weapon and the click of the safety as he squeezes the trigger, the pulse of the weapon barely perceptible as it fires. 

Plasma weapons are bright when they fire. It’s nearly blinding in the dark as he shoots, screams shattering the bar as the world turns into pops of energy and sizzling air. He ducks down as someone shoots at him, instincts kicking in as he grabs the leg of a table and yanks it toward him. 

Behind him, Hyunjin lets out a manic laugh and stands from the stool. He drops a small device next to Minho, drawing his attention for a second. Minho watches as it expands with a shimmer of translucent energy - a shield. He looks at the Nightcrawler who crouches with him, grinning as he peers over the table and shields with his green eyes. 

“There are eight. They’re just going to pin us here and shoot at us like fish in a barrel.”

“Is there a way through that door?”

“Sure there is. If they want to melt it down, I’m sure they have plasma blades, judging from the look of their very nice weapons. They can’t blow it without leveling the street.” 

“Does she have a way out the back?”

“No, then I would have two doors to watch.” 

A spray of metal and plasma ricochets off the shield that has molded to the shape of the table. Hyunjin gestures as if to showcase his point and Minho grits his teeth. Peeking around the table, he can see patrons hiding under tables and covering their heads. Collectors stand spread out, fanning the entrance and blocking the way, but they don’t come any closer.

They want to make the Collection, but they don’t want to face a Collector and a Nightcrawler together. 

“Aren’t you some sort of unmatched assassin, Nightcrawler?” Minho asks, checking the mag on his plasma gun. “Can you just take them all out? That should be light work for you.”

“I’m good at not being seen, Cowboy. I’m not inhuman.” 

“Oh good, so you’re actually useless when visible?”

Hyunjin’s face darkens. “You’d be surprised how often you don’t see me.” 

The threat isn’t lost on Minho but it doesn’t have time to sink into its full effect as bullets rain down on them. They cringe together to ensure they’re behind the shield, which whines under the plasma assault and flickers. Minho thinks it will hold, but it’s only as wide as the table it molds to and the table isn’t very large.

Hyunjin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a grenade. Minho grabs it, looking at him with wild eyes. Hyunjin pulls his hand away. “It’s a flash grenade,” he snaps. “I’m not going to kill everyone.” He pauses and smirks. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“That’s hardly less settling.”

“You know,” Hyunjin muses, pulling the ring from the grenad. Green light pulses on it slowly, counting down until it starts to release blinding white flashes. “One day you and I are going to have a talk about why you think your profession is so much different than mine.”

“One is legal, for starters.” 

Hyunjin lobs the grenade. “Right, so what you’re doing right now? This is legal?”

Minho is spared from having to answer as the world explodes in white. He and Hyunjin move at the same time, letting the memory of where the Collectors stand as they close their eyes and shoot. Minho’s shot blind thousands of times and it usually pays off.

It does for the most part now, the pair of them dropping Collectors as they shoot. The white light fades and there’s only a single Collector left standing by the door, his gun aimed at Minho. He swivels to shoot, but a bullet hits the Collector in the shoulder, twisting him backward from impact as he squeezes the trigger of his gun. 

The shot catches Minho in the shoulder, knocking him back a step. He curses but keeps his weapon trained on the fallen Collector until he hears high-pitched screaming. It stops his heart, the sound of the Collector’s voice reaching a level of madness that echoes even after he gargles and goes silent.

Minho looks at Hyunjin with an accusatory glare but Hyunjin juts his thumb behind him in answer, pointing to where you stand at the door with a heavy pistol in your and. Minho blinks a few times in surprise. 

“I think the nano-tips work, Jeongin.” You glance over your shoulder where the younger boy stands on the stairs behind you, armed to the teeth. “Remind me to write that down.” 

Silence stretches in Neon Rodeo, save the soft quivering crying and sparking sign that’s been shot over the bar. From the corner of his eye, Minho sees it flash between Rodeo and Odeo over and over again, bouncing between the two words as the ‘R’ tries to fight for its life.

Then there’s you. 

You stare at him with a guarded expression, drinking him in. Your gaze lingers on his arm, reminding him that it does in fact burn where the plasma bullet graze his shoulder. Next to him, Hyunjin shifts. The Nightcrawler barely moves forward, sliding part of his body between Minho and where you stand in the doorway to your studio, Hyunjin’s hand resting on top of his gun. 

“You gonna kill me, Cowboy?” Your voice wavers when you ask. By the twitch in your lip, Minho can tell you’re upset that it does. 

“No. I want to help.” Hyunjin snorts and Minho is reminded of his earlier question. What do you think safety is? “Consider it an act of faith,” Minho offers and Hyunjin’s snickering turns to curiosity. “I’ve rejected yours in the past. Let me off you the only one I have.” 

No one moves. Minho slowly lifts his wrist toward Hyunjin, displaying the information. The Nightcrawler looks it over and raises his brows, looking back at Minho. “What strange turn of events, Minho.” 

It’s the first time Hyunjin has ever used his name. He says nothing as the Nightcrawler heads over to you, murmuring quietly. Your face is inscrutable as you nod and look over your shoulder, saying something to Jeongin. He nods fiercely, face set in determination that makes Minho’s mouth twitch a little. 

The three of them join Minho wordlessly as he turns on his heels and heads up the stares. Hyunjin’s watch flashes and lets them know that the United Enforcers are three minutes out and they need to get where they’re going.

You take the lead then, hurrying out the door but not out into the street, ducking into a noodle shop three doors down from Neon Rodeo. You shout in United New Mandarin at the woman behind the counter, shocking him - not that Minho knows anything about you at all - and the woman waves you off.

Through the shop and into the stock room you lead everyone, hoping over bags of flower and starch until you reach a table that you climb up on and pull a vent from a ceiling. It’s far too large to be a normal vent, and his questions are answered when he realizes it leads to a small garage that faces the next street over. 

Once into the garage, Hyunjin takes the lead out into the street, weapon up. Minho brings up the rear, falling into a defensive unit as you go. Jeongin walks closely behind Hyunjin, his steps a little clumsy but his head on a swivel. 

Good, Minho thinks. Jeongin is alert. 

“Decided not to kill me?” you whisper as you skirt out into the street and hug the building face. 

Minho can barely hear you over the fabric you’ve pulled up over your face. He blinks and thinks to do the same, pulling the hood up on his jacket and sliding up a black gaitor over the lower half of his face. 

“I was never going to kill you.”

“Hard to tell with you.” 

“I… don’t have an argument.” 

And he doesn’t. He realizes that he’s kept you at arm's length despite your best attempts to spark some sort of friendship. What reason could he do that other than sparing himself if he had to kill you one day? It makes the most logical sense.

“I thought we were friends.” That makes him pause. You notice a few steps ahead of him that he’s stopped, looking at you. “We stopped being just business acquaintances over a year ago, Collector. My normal clients don’t get to test my new hardware or request as many JumpPacks as you do on the house.”

“They’re on the house?”

“Of course they are!” you snap at him. “Do you not look at your billing, Collector? How do you know I’m not overcharging you?” 

“I stopped looking once I trusted you weren’t robbing me.”

“See, that’s a funny word coming from you. Trust.”

A whistle catches Minho’s attention. You both turn to see that Hyunjin and Jeongin are nearly three-blocks away at the entrance of a nondescript shop. Color floods Minho’s face when he realizes the pair of you had stopped walking to have your argument and he curses himself as you start moving again. 

“I do trust you.” You say nothing to his comment. “I’m sorry I didn’t accept the armor.”

“It wasn’t about rejecting the armor, Collector.” The world Collector sounds dirty in your mouth. He suddenly wants to hear you call him Cowboy again. “It was about rejecting me when I thought we were already friends. I was wrong.”

Hyunjin leads them down into an alleyway that is void of anything besides dumpsters and murky puddles. The smell turns Minho’s stomach but he resists the urge to gag as Hyunjin bends down to pull up a sewer grate. He flashes his flashlight inside and nods before jumping down and vanishing. There’s a light splash as he lands and calls up for Jeongin. 

Minho crouches close to you as Jeongjin adjusts to follow Hyunjin down. 

“You weren’t,” he says as Jeongin jumps. You turn to look at him, confused. “Wrong. You weren’t wrong.” 

You look him up and down, hesitating. Hyunjin calls your name and you turn away from Minho, checking your legs and arms to make sure your pockets are zipped. Minho watches as you jump. He realizes his holding his breath until he hears your feet splash.

Quickly, he scrambles to the grate, pulling the top with him. Looking through the hole, he sees the orange light of glowsticks as you and Jeongin crack and shake them, lighting up the tunnel in a very small ring of light. Hyunjin has turned off his flashlight and looks up at Minho, gesturing for him to hurry.

Minho holsters his weapon and jumps down, bending at the knee as he lands to absorb the fall. His boots splash loudly in the tunnel, echoing for a few seconds. His shoulder wound aches as he straightens up. Hyunjin is already lifting Jeongin up to pull the great back over the hole. The scrape of metal on the concrete sounds much louder in the watery tunnel, making Minho cringe.

Looking both ways, he sees the sewer is less of a sewer and more of a tunnel. The cloth pulled over his face does little to keep out the rancid smell, and he winces when he sees fat, black rats scattering on the edges of the orange light. 

Something touches his arm and he jerks, hand going to his gun. You lean back and apologize, holding out a glowstick. He relaxes and takes it, fingers brushing yours as he does. He instantly gets a chill down his spine, though his fingers are warm where they brushed yours. 

Minho clears his throat and holds the glowstick up, looking around the tunnel. He can hear the faint echoes of dripping water and every movement of the group feels loud in the pressing silence of the dark. 

“What is this?” he asks, looking at you. 

It’s Hyunjin who answers, “Nightcrawler shit. You’re welcome.”

“Should we expect any of your former coworkers, then?” 

“They’re not so bad.” Hyunjin unholsters his weapon as he begins walking south down the tunnel, throwing Minho a sharp grin. “It’s the Darklings I worry about.” 

You fall into step behind Hyunjin immediately, ducking your head to murmur something to him as you go. The glow of your light gets farther away as Minho stands staring at Hyunjin, unsure if he’s serious or not. 

Jeongin steps up next to Minho. “He was joking about Darklings, right? The People Underneath are a myth?” 

“Have you ever heard Hyunjin tell a joke?” 

Minho leaves Jeongin thinking about it before the younger rushes to keep up with him, feet splashing wildly. 

-

Whether Hyunjin was joking about the Darklings or not, they don’t run into anything except rats and roaches in the underground tunnels. Minho finds himself itching to ask the Nightcrawler questions and demand where they’re going, but he doesn’t, 

An act of faith. 

It was an act of faith when Minho showed Hyunjin the safehouse on his watch. It was one of the few things that Minho protected more fiercely than his life, and he was hoping that when Hyunjin saw the coordinates, title of ownership, and Minho’s information, he’d gain a little trust. 

Minho had been right. Hyunjin, though still sharp at the edges, has become unnervingly benign with Minho, addressing him by his name. It’s not much to most, but he knows among killers it’s a huge step. One that means a little more trust, if not at least peers. 

You remain quiet for the most part. Your eyes stray toward Minho often and when he catches you looking, you don’t look away. Your gaze is hesitant and questioning, as though you’re trying to figure him out like one of the schematics on your screens. 

Biting into a protein bar, he quickens his pace to fall into step with you. “What will you do with your lab?” 

Your lips twitch. “Chemical fire. There’s a stop-line in the frame of the building so it should be controlled. I promised not to burn down Neon Rodeo when I established my office there.” 

“Who owns that place, anyway?” 

“Bangchan.” The name sounds familiar. “Reformed Nightcrawler.” 

“You keep unusual company.”

“Better than none.” 

That gets a little bit of a laugh from him. You smile when he does and he swears it’s brighter than the glowsticks you carry. “I deserved that one. I’m working on it, alright.”

“How do Jisung and Changbin deal with you?”

“The same way I deal with them.” You hum, nodding in understanding. For a few minutes, it’s just wet steps echoing in the tunnels. “What made you decide to come with me? I assume you have your own fallback plans.” 

“I do, but I don’t know. I wanted to accept your olive branch.” You look at him. “I wanted to trust you.”

He nods. His gut twists a little at that, both anxious and pleased. He’d been right about offering an act of faith in return for the one he scorned. Now, he just has to keep you alive, which he grows more confident in doing. 

“Where are we going?” 

He looks up at you. “Hyunjin didn’t tell you?”

“No, just said to trust you.” Minho’s brows shoot up and you snort. “I know. Whatever you showed him convinced him.”

“It’s a safe house on Isla de Suenos.” You look up at him sharply and he gives a soft grin. “My mother belonged to a very well-off family. I’m not supposed to exist, and she had to decide at a young age whether or not I was worth throwing away her family and their power. A single safehouse purchased with offshore accounts and through a network of money-changing and bought secrecy is the only thing she could give me.”

“She didn’t choose you?” He shakes his head. You think about that for a second and he lets the words sink in, waiting for the pity, which he hates. Instead, you hum. “No wonder you don’t choose people either.”

Your candor is a relief. You don’t tell him sorry or try to comfort him. You accept this as a fact of life, a normalcy that a mother would choose wealth and power over a child. “There are no records tying us together, but the title of the house is under what my name would have been if she’d taken me. Lee. My family name would be Lee.”

“What is it now?”

“I don’t have one. My father was servant-class. We don’t have family names.” 

“He worked for your mother’s family?” Minho nods. “Lee. I like it. Will you keep it?”

“Maybe. It’s who I have to be, now.” 

“No longer the Collector?” He shakes his head. “Good. Perhaps I like you more as just Lee Minho.” 

Minho bites back a grin. 

By the time they get to the surface again, they’re just outside of the city-proper on the northeast shore. Here, the night is bitter cold as the salty air blasts off the ocean, dark waves rushing and receding against the shoreline. 

They take a brief break once their topside, Minho gasping deep breaths of fresh air in as he gulps down water. Now that they can see without the glowsticks, they toss them into the trash and breathe in silence. 

Carefully, Minho peers at the wound on his shoulder. It’s caterized from the heat of the plasma, but the burn hurts something vicious. He has no medical supplies on him, and he examines the chawed flesh with mild concern. 

Seeing the injury, you get up wordleslly from the rock where you sit and come over. Your hand digs in one of your pockets and you produce a packet of burn gel and antiseptic, wordlessly gesturing to the wound. He nods and you offer a tentative grin before ripping the antiseptic open with your teeth, spitting the crinkling material on the ground.

With steady hands, you squeeze out the translucent gel on the tips of your fingers and peel the damaged parts of Minho’s shirt away from the flesh. He sucks in a breath when you apply the cool gel to the wound, the stinging of the antibiotic catching him off guard. You shoot him an apologetic wince before continuing to press it lightly into the burned flesh. 

You smell like jasmine and amber. Minho breathes it in deep, a soothing scent mixed with the salty air of the seat just a few yards away. His eyes flutter shut as your fingers work his shoulder, deft and skilled like an artist. 

“My mom liked to paint,” Minho says automatically, unsure where the comment comes from. “That’s one of the few things I know about her. She had artists hands. You have hands like hers. Graceful.” 

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say I’m an artist but I do draw designs for weapons a lot.”

“It’s a kind of art.”

“I suppose it is.”

Your closeness makes Minho dizzy. Instead of chasing you away in the past, he lets you linger and spread the burn gel on his shoulder. He doesn’t open his eyes, letting the sound of the ocean and the press of your steady fingers lull him into a moment of relaxation. 

He can almost pretend you both haven’t thrown your life away to head to some house he’s never been to with little to no plan but to arrive there alive. 

“Does it hurt?” he shakes his head at your question. You voice is soft and raspy, rising the hairs on the back of his neck. You’re so close he can feel the heat radiating from you, making him lean in on instinct, seeking the warmth. “If you let me give you better armor, plasma won’t hurt you.”

Minho’s eyes flutter open. “You brought it with you?”

“Of course I did.” Your face is inches from his, eyelashes fanning your bright, glittering eyes as you look up at him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Hyunjin’s voice shatters the moment before Minho can respond. “Hello, yes, the child and I are still here.” 

“I’m not a child!”

“The child and I need to leave, however. Seungmin and Felix are waiting to escort us. I believe your friend left transportation for you, Minho.”

You whirl around. “You’re leaving? What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I have some Nightcrawling to do with Bangchan and Seungmin. I’m taking the child to stay with Swan.” 

Minho has no idea who Swan is. He sees the uncertainty color your face as you regard your guard - your friend. “You would do that? Take him to stay with her?” 

“Of course. Swan likes strays.” 

“I am right here,” Jeongin reminds everyone, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’m not a child.”

Hyunjin grins at him. It’s real and not a leer, something that Minho doesn’t think he’s ever seen. Hyunjin grabs Jeongin by the shoulder, pulling him along before flicking his poison-green eyes toward Minho and you. “Enjoy your evening. I’ll be around, Minho.” 

“Wait!” you bolt over to them, catching everyone by surprise as you throw your arms around the two of them and squeeze. The smile on Hyunjin’s face is so soft that Minho has to look away, equal parts something like jealousy and feeling like he’s intruding. “Here.” 

You divest several items from your pockets, shoving them into their hands. Medical gels, a few gadgets, and a little Scorpion figurine that you shove into Hyunjin’s hands. He raises a single brow in amusement but you say nothing to the Nightcrawler, rushing back to stand at Minho’s side. 

Hyunjin and Jeongin lift their hand in waves to Minho before turning and heading down the beach at a slow pace, their feet sinking into the sand. Cold wind whips at Minho as he stands watching with you silent by his side, waiting.

Without a word, he turns and beckons you, heading up the rocky coast before heading back down precariously to a tiny cove with a boat buoyed between the rocks. It’s hardly a safe-looking boat and he realizes it probably wouldn’t have carried them all, but it’s something. 

Minho climbs into the boat carefully before helping you step down into it. The rocking water throws you off balance and he steadies you, hands tight on your waist. You mutter an apology but he doesn’t let go until he’s sure you’re okay, eyes searching. 

A moment of tension passes, his fingers pressed into the fabric of your hips, your closeness overpowering the sea air again. You clear your throat and it passes. Minho lets you go as he finds the key and plugs it in to turn on the engine.

You busy yourself with untying ropes, your steps unsteady as the vessel moves unpredictably beneath your feet. Once you manage to get rid of all the lines, he begins to navigate out the cove backward, turning the wheel violently from side to side as he fights the tide. 

Thankfully with every swell that pushes the boat into the cove, it drags it back out. It takes about three swells before the craft is pulled into the ocean proper and he throws the throttle in reverse, water rooster tailing for a moment as he does. 

You join him at the helm and stand close as he turns it around and drives. Wind rips at his jacket, blowing back the hood. He’s thankful for the face cover fighting the icy wind, squinting as he drives in the late hours of the night across a rippling black ocean. 

The water gets rough as he turns to the east, glancing at the coordinates on his watch every once in a while. Your hand shoots out to grab his forearm on a particularly violent dip. He curses, pain radiating from his shoulder as you do. You immediately shout an apology and let go, but Minho snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you tight.

For a second, you stiffen, looking up at him uncertain. He remains steadfast in his hold, willing his heart to slowdown as he drives, determined to keep you from falling off the boat and into the water before you can even make it to the safehouse. 

You relax into him after a second, pressing closer and letting him hold on as you go. He relaxes when you accept his help, breathing out a slow breath that he didn’t know he was holding. 

It takes almost forty five minutes, but the dark shadow of Isla de Suenos materializes in the night. The city is a spec of light on the misty horizon as the waves begin to slow down until he can let down on the throttle, bringing the boat to a troll instead of a plane. 

The collection of islands that surround the massive, man-made mountain in the middle of the seat are all only about seven acres in size and are privately owned. The level of exclusivity is something Minho is incredibly unfamiliar with, and he gets nervous as they approach the barely visible shield surrounding the collection of islands.

“Minho, there’s a-”

“It’ll let us through.” He squeezes your waist on instinct, hoping it’s true. As the boat passes, he holds his breath. He feels the biochip in his neck flicker and then they’re through the shield. The water is falt calm on the other side of the energy wall, tapping gently against the hull. “It’s biometric.”

“And you were sure that was going to work?”

“Mostly.” 

“Mostly is not a great attitude in the invention field, Minho.” 

It takes a second, but he realizes you’re calling him by his name and not Cowboy. He likes the sound of it on your tongue, though he doesn’t mind the diminutive. 

Even in still waters, he doesn’t remove his arm around your waist, the protective instinct still high as he steers the boat according to his watch. Islands with lights hidden behind thick jungle and rockface slide past them. 

The beacon on his watch flashes and he turns the boat, trolling to a long, empty dock ahead of them. The island is no different from the rest, covered in sprawling jungle and foliage that look monstrous in the ominous night. 

Quickly, you tie off the boat and disembark. Your steps on the dock feel loud in the quiet night, the two of you hurrying along and up the shore until you hit the stone stairway that leads through the trees. Though he isn’t holding you close to him anymore, you still keep yourself pressed close, the back of your hands brushing as you begin the climb up the island. 

Minho has no idea what the house looks like. He only knows that it’s coded to his biochip and that it’s always been there if he needs it. He doesn’t know if it’s stocked or if the electricity is on, or if it’s been raided and taken over. He doesn’t even know if there are codes to get access.

It is the most unprepared he has ever been. 

A large estate springs up among the trees. The entire building is constructed on a platform with foliage and trees brushing along the foundations. It’s made up of windows and metal framing, the windows dark and hiding whatever exists within. 

It is exquisit. Minho has never seen an estate or a luxury home before in person, but he knows that’s what this is. The thought seems a little silly as he leads you toward the modular home, steps quiet as he glances around. He cannot imagine that anyone but he and his could enter the grounds, but he’s still on edge. 

At the door, there’s a single bioscanner. He leans his neck toward it, letting it flash over his biochip. The scanner turns green and he hears the hiss of an airlock. Glancing at you and shrugging, he tries the handle and pulls the door open toward him. 

Inside, the air is cool. He steps in first, hand on his gun as he looks around the interior. It’s sparkling clean and decorated with dark wood furniture and greenery. He takes a few steps inside, flinching when automatic lights come on and cast a warm, gold glow in the house. 

“You’ve been living as a fucking Collector when this existed the entire time?” you deadpan from the door.

No kidding, he thinks, turning to look at the multi-story wonder that is the home. It’s three levels of tropical opulence, making his head spin at all of the possibilities. 

“I didn’t know what was here, honestly.” He turns to look at you and nods. You step inside and pull the door shut, tapping the screen beside it. The locks click in place again and with another tap, he sees the windows darken to privacy mode. “I assumed she didn’t leave me something grand.” 

“It’s a good start on an apology. She’s still a bitch for leaving you and I think you should let me fight her.”

A ripple of fondness goes through him and he smiles at you, uncontrolled and large. You shoot a shy one back before looking away at the wonder of the home. 

Unlike him, you seem to relax immediately, kicking your shoes off to wander around the house. He follows suit after a moment of hesitation, peeling the cover off of his face and kicking of his shoes. He leaves his holster open on his weapons, hands hovering near them as he follows you.

The house is extravagent. Smaller than he originally thought, with only three bedrooms and two bathrooms, but the spaces for each are massive and sprawling with greenery. It feels like the jungle is a part of the house - and he realizes it is, at least in the atrium. There’s a large pool and something that looks like a hot spring behind the house, hidden from the world by think palms and palmetto. 

Each room is richly designed and cleaned, as though it has been kept for him all this time. He’ll have to worry about that at some point, unsure who has kept the house in such a presentable state while it’s existed. 

After you’ve fed your curiosity, you drift to one of the rooms with a private bathroom. He takes the room across from you, feet dragging as the exhaustion hits him. His limbs feel heavy and peeling off his shirt with the injure arm makes him curse and hiss. He doesn’t bother looking in the mirror, knowing the old bruises from a few days ago are still there.

Steam fills the bathroom. He’s a little put out when he realizes that the stone shower has a wall of glass to reveal the jungle on the other side, but he realizes there’s no one to watch him. He shakes the uneasiness and steps under the scalding water, moaning as he closes his eyes and lets it run down him.

A screen with a dozen or more settings sits in the rockface of the shower, but he doesn’t know how to use them. He hits another button hoping for what is more water pressure and instead gets a heavenly waft of eucalyptus. He leaves the settings alone, settling for tranquility over scrubbing himself.

Minho doesn’t know how long he stays in the shower. His fingers prune and the crust and blood eventually peel away. He spends a short amount of time scrubbing his own skin, eager to get out of the shower and check on you. 

Now that he has you, a new sort of stream of conscious has made itself permanent, always wondering where you are and if you’re okay. 

Steam clouds the bathroom as he steps out, wrapping a towel around his waist. Water clings to him as he ruffles his wet hair, strolling out into the bedroom. He walks toward the table by the door, rifling through his things looking for medical gel. 

A knock draws his attention and you open the door a crack, making a sound of surprise when you don’t expect to see him standing right in front of you. Your eyes dip down to where the towel is on his waist and back up, immediately opting to look at the ceiling. 

Minho’s lips pressed into a firm line, trying to eat the smirk threatening to take over.

“Sorry, I assumed you were still in the shower. I - um - brought more gel for your shoulder.” 

He steps away from the door, leaving drips of water as he does. “Come on in.”

“Are you sure?”

He shrugs and then winces, the burn pulling taught as he does. You enter immediately, shutting the door behind you and ripping the top off the packet as you do, eyes focused on the wound. You’ve got your fingers slathered in gel and pressing to his shoulder before you realize the forwardness, pausing to glance up at him.

Now, Minho does smirk. “I’m at your mercy.” 

“Sorry. I know it’s hurting you and…”

“You don’t want me to hurt,” he fills in, remembering your words from earlier.

You nod and chew your bottom lip as you work. He studies you closely. He doesn’t know if it’s his acceptance that you’re more than just someone he buys weapons from, the exhaustion or the little sliver of feeling he’s always pretended wasn’t there, but Minho suddenly feels a little bolder. 

A little braver. 

“I never had a chance to thank you.”

“For what?” You throw the antiseptic on the table and rip open the burn gel. “Anything. Everything. I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you.”

“There’s a lot of things you haven’t said.”

“So let me.” You dart a look at him, nervous. When you don’t interrupt he continues, “You were right. We stopped being industry peers a long time ago, and I’ve purposefully ignored multiple favors from you to keep the illusion that simple relationships meant I couldn’t be hurt. Or hurt others.”

“And now?”

“I realize it was silly.”

“Hmm. At least you admit your faults, Cowboy.” 

He smiles. You finish applying the gel, but you don’t move away from him. You linger, looking up through silky lashes at him. Your face takes on a dreamy look, mouth parted a little and he feels heat coil in his stomach at that look. 

“Why’d you offer me that armor?”

“I was afraid of how often you were working. I knew you were getting hurt and I wanted to help. Why’d you reject it?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

There’s a long pause. Your gaze drops to his mouth. You’re only a few inches away, the ghost of your breath against his neck. “What if I want you to?” 

Minho needs no other permission. It’s like a dam giving way, the past few days able to wedge their way in and open him up to let the rawness spill out of him. He surges forward, catching your mouth against his as he does so, hands shooting to your waist. 

You don’t push him away. Worse, you melt into him like it’s natural, hands skating up his arms and around the back of his neck to pull him in closer to you. Your mouth is warm and minty and addicting, scattering his thoughts to the stars as your lips move against his. 

Heat is trapped between your bodies. He feels like he’s burning up from the inside, squeezing your hips as his tongue brushes against your bottom lip. You open up for him easily, like you were always made to and he groans. 

Every time he has ever held back from you fuels him forward. He presses into you, turning you to push you on the mattress. You go willingly, opening your legs to let him slot between them. He leaves over you, mouth hungry. Devouring. Ravenous. 

You gasp between kisses, nails grazing down his flexing arms. He wants to fucking drown in you as he bites the edge of your jaw, tasting the soap on your skin. You smell like jasmine and amber, though now he can smell the eucalyptus too, driving him insane. 

You. 

The one thing he’s let himself trust. The one person he’s let in, even when he didn’t want to admit it. The one person he wants to have more than anything else. 

Greedy hands scrape up his chest. Your fingers are warm and searching as he nips the tender flesh of your neck, tongue laving over the bite to soothe it. The sounds dripping from your mouth are so pretty, driving him inside as he traces his desire with tongue and teeth. 

The fabric of your shirt scrapes against his skin, itchy and in the way. His hands pull at the hem and he hesitates, looking down at you through a heavy-lidded gaze and panting. You not frantically, hands pulling at his to guide the shirt upwards and off, revealing warm skin.

Minho wants to taste every part of you. You create art with your schematics and your weapons, but you are art. He worships you with tongue and teeth, hands brushing up your stomach to cup your chest. His tongue pulls a languid moan from you as he flicks it over the peak of your nipple. 

Fuck.

He’s greedy, sucking gentle on your pert bud, ensuring to scrap his teeth along the sensitive flesh. You writhe underneath him, unable to remain still. His other hand works you too, tweaking your stiff peak as he trails spit-slick kisses across your chest to wrap his lips around that nipple too. 

Minho looks up at you through his lashes. You’re a rendering of pleasure, head pressing into the bed, chest pushed up, a sheen of sweat on your collarbones and neck. It drives him wild, cock throbbing heavily as he trails his mouth toward, fingers pulling your pants as he goes. 

Your fingers twist in the sheets. Everything he does affects you and he’s drunk on it, heart thudding in his chest as he drops down to his knees. His towel falls and the cool air makes him shiver. He feels the sticky tip of his cock brush against his leg but he ignores the ache between his thighs, fixing his eyes on what’s between yours instead. 

Pretty and wet, all for him. For him. He gets to have you. But he doesn’t yet, making you wait and feel the personal hell it’s been for him to pretend he wasn’t yours as he kisses up your thighs, licking warm skin and digging his teeth in. 

“Minho,” you half gasp, half wine. He smiles against your knee, giving it a gentle peck. “Please.” 

“Yeah?” he switches legs, biting your calf. “Want it that bad?” 

“Need it.” 

He brings a hand up to your dripping cunt, dragging a curled knuckle through your wetness. You let out a keen and he grins against your leg even more, hypnotized by the way your petty little hole clenches at the contact.

Minho drags it out. Plays with you, dragging that knuckle slow-soft through your folds, avoiding your clit. You let out a sound that’s almost a sob and he chuckles, bringing his hand up to suck at the stickiness on his finger. 

“Hmm. Sweet.” 

“Bet it’s better from the source,” you shoot back, trying to make a jab and failing with how weak your voice is. 

“True,” he agrees, leaning forward. 

Your taste blooms on his tongue as he licks up your center, slow and patient. He savors the taste, humming as he does. You buck under his mouth and he grips your thighs, pulling you open. You’re warm and wet and perfect, and he listens to your breath hitch as he licks you slowly, making sure to circle around your clit each time.

One of your hands shoots to his hair. He doesn’t mind as you pull. The sting feels good and spurs him on, eating you out properly. He loves the sounds you make for him, loves the way your thighs twitch as he sucks your click into his mouth, tongue flicking over it. 

It’s wet and messy and just the way he likes it, slick dripping down his chin as he presses himself in further, desperate to fuck you into sanity with just his mouth. 

He doesn’t have a problem doing it. You buck against his face and he lets you, holding his tongue flat for you to grind against. Your fingers in his hair have him in a vice grip and he moans, a steady stream of mhmmm dripping sweet from his mouth into your heat. 

“Fuck,” you gasp. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“Come on,” he mouths against you. “Take what you want, baby.” 

The endearment slips from him more natural than anything he’s ever done. His fingers squeeze your thighs as you undulate against him, his entire attention fixated on you as the begin to shake. Your hand twists in his hair and he groans, equal parts pain and pleasure as you come apart. 

He hums in satisfaction, keeping his mouth working on you, drinking you in as you continue to tremble. The power trip that comes with seeing you come is unmatched, lighting a fire in him as he licks you to oversensitivity.

“Minho,” you beg, voice squeaking. He grins, kissing your cunt before he mouths his way back up to you, capturing your mouth with his. You’re eager to taste yourself, tongue licking at him more than anything, smearing your slick on his lips. He feels his eyes roll back. You’re going to kill him. “More.”

Minho would conquer the world and call it yours if you wanted him to. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give you. Pretending otherwise was the great folly of man, he realizes, as he shuffles you up the bed and climbs between your legs, standing up on his knees.

You watch him, pupils blown and fucked out as he heaves. He can hardly catch his breath as he reaches down to take his cock in his hand, pumping leisurely as he watches you. The way you look at him like you’ll consume him whole makes him shiver. He wants you to. Want you to burn him up until there’s nothing left. 

Leaning down, he drops his cock out of his hand in favor of sliding a hand between you’re legs. You’re a mess of spit and cum, making the glide easy as he slips a finger into your heat to work you open. Your head falls to the side, giving him access to suck at your jawline as he fucks you open with his finger, adding a second when he knows you can take it. 

Your hips roll up to meet his thrusts as he scissors his fingers open, pressing against your warm walls to push the stretch further. You’re putty in his hands but he’s a mess in yours, too. He’s shaking by the time he slips his hand from between your legs to press the crown of his cock at your entrance, hesitating. 

Minho looks up at you. He already knows there’s no going back for him, three years of his own stubborn delusions robbing him of what could have been. But he asks, anyway. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure for a long time. It was you who needed convincing.” 

“What a stuipd man I am.”

“Yes,” you agree. “But mine.” 

That drives him wild. Simple words and yet the very action of you claiming him erodes the last bit of resistance. He pushes into you and goes slow with a considerable amount of effort, shaking and panting as he tries to keep it together. 

You’re warm and tight and twitches of pleasure ripple through him from cock to stomach. Minho swears he comes alive for the first time as he seats himself in your cunt to the hilt, barely able to catch his breath as he ducks down to press his mouth against yours.

It’s not delicate, but it isn’t the same ferocity as earlier. It’s something else that lingers between madness and relief. He only begins to move when he feels your hips wiggle. He smiles into the kiss, retracting his hips before surging forward again. 

Delirious. That is the only word that comes to mind as he starts to fuck you slow and deep. Your mouths bump together but you’re both breathing raggedly, shaking together. Your hands card through his hair, soothing and soft. His lashes flutter as he drops his head further. You press your lips against his forehead as he picks up the pace, letting your hands worship him as he fucks you.

How could he ever think he was sparing you from him? How could he ever make the mistake that if he kept on the fringes, you wouldn’t leave him ruined like this? It seems unimaginative now. Like something that was always meant to happen. 

No wonder Collect Co. knew he would go running to you like a dog when they assigned you to him. Everyone else could admit it except him, an egregious error on his part.

But Minho has you now. Gasping his name and moving in his arms. Rolling your hips to meet his, your cunt clenching on his cock as he fucks you harder. He wants to dig into you and never let go. Wants to sink in to the very core and live there. 

“Mine,” you growl as though you can read his thoughts. “Even though you tried not to be. You are mine, Lee Minho.”

When you say his full name like that, voicing the boy who could have been and now who is, he starts to come apart. His pace quickens as he chases your second release, holding you tight to him as he feels you clench longer and longer around him until you’re sobbing his name and spilling down his shaft.

Minho all but growls your name as he comes. Never again will you be Builder. You’re his. First and last name his to say. The acknowledgment almost makes him cry as he slows his thrusts, gasping for air as he tosses his head back, heat escaping between the two of you. 

Finally, he stops fucking you, hands linked with yours as he leans up to catch his breath. He’s still seated in you, feeling the cum drip between where your ass is pressed against his thighs. He doesn’t care, feeling the sweat and the water from his shoulder drip down his back.

His arm burns where he’s used it. He’d been unaware of the pain while lost in you, but he feels it now, throbbing. He doesn’t care. He’d do it again a thousand times.

Slowly, he unravels from you. Your hands don’t let him go far, pulling him down next to you to roll toward. He smiles, tired and dreamy at the edges as he lets you. The bed is soft against his balmy skin, the cool air helping calm him down. 

Finally, both of you can breathe. He knows that he needs to shower again, but he doesn’t want to get up. He wants to keep you near. Now that he’s all in, he wants to stay all in. 

“We should call this place the Jungle Rodeo.” He cracks an eye open at you to realize you’re hiding a grin as you look up at him. “You know, since we can’t go back to Neon Rodeo.”

“What is it with you and rodeos?” 

“You find Cowboys at the rodeo.” 

“Oh?”

“And you’re here… so… it’s a rodeo.” 

He blinks at you. “Your intellect is astounding.” 

You laugh and it’s like taking a JumpPack straight to his bloodstream, a rush of energy and euphoria driving him upward and toward you. He smothers you with kisses, driving by the need to taste you again. You let him, giggling. 

“What do you say then, hmm?” he growls, nipping your bottom lip. “Want to go for another ride?”

“That joke was terrible.” 

“You know what they say. When at the rodeo.” 

You laugh again and Minho is a goner once more, just like he was the first day he met you at Neon Rodeo. 

-

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[missroki]

CUPID IS SO DUMB! ┊ GOJO SATORU

star dusted arrows are standard. they have the advantage of being blessed by the gods, unable to bend or warp unless you add just the right amount of pressure. the only downside is that they are too light in the hands, practically a figment of your imagination with how the shaft would leave no impression on your palm. 

modern arrows have a more practical use, carbon made with hints of aluminum and soul fragments. they’re heavier, sturdier, made to withstand even the thickest of material. satoru has been using the same arrows for a millennia, so he finds himself befuddled to find that each one of his expertly crafted projectiles are snapping like wooden twigs.

either his bad eyesight has finally caught up to him, or you were simply unloveable.

you with your pretty smile and silly heart printed headband. you who had been shot easily by his arrow only a few days prior.

somehow, despite his best efforts, silly little you was still moving through your college campus with a scarlet red arrow lodged in your lower back; invisible to the perception of mortals but a bright beacon of satoru’s failure to any god who happened to pass by. 

he can hear the scolding now, how a cupid couldn’t even shoot an arrow! he can see the disappointed gaze of venus as she stares down at her creation. what is a god if his will can be altered by a mere mortal? what sort of spell are you casting that makes every man reject the love satoru is desperately trying to bless them with?

sure, you were a bit quirky — but you were clearly beautiful. the fact that you had needed any intervention from a cupid at all is a mystery within itself. from what he could tell, you were kind and true; a brilliant orange blossom in a sea of weeds. someone that could rival aphrodite herself (though he of course would never say this out loud.)

according to suguru, the cupids were meant to just push you in the right direction. to give you humans that final nudge.

you have managed to turn a nudge into a full on tackle.

countless hours have been spent watching as you glide through your university, avoiding every man in your general vicinity. it’s not a woman you seek (satoru has tried to pair you with the roommate you seem to spend most of your time with) and he couldn’t possibly pair you with the fictional man that runs across your television. (you should really sit further away from the screen.)

any time he finds you close to anyone, he takes a chance. shot after shot and each arrow ricochets into the nearest bush or snaps as if the mere thought of the match was absurd. he doesn’t understand you!

never in all of these years has he heard of such a case. you were infuriatingly difficult. stubborn, even! how else could he explain your inability to match with anyone? you must be doing it on purpose at this point.

satoru sulks, letting his chin rest in the palm of his hand as he leans against a building ledge. he feels the leather strap of his quiver pressing into his bare chest, his white pants low on his hips.

if he knows your schedule, you should be arriving at your favorite coffee shop in no time. it’s valentine’s day, after all, and they had a delicious heart shaped donut ready and fresh for customers. all he’d have to do was wait. surely the ache in his wings would be worth it in the end!

he hears you before he sees you, the soft click of your shoes as they hurry down the sidewalk. you seem to be rushing, books tightly held to your chest and your hair in a simpler style than usual. you aren’t even wearing your signature heart patterned headband… on valentine’s day.

you’re clearly not yourself and something about the thought… upsets satoru. you should be cheerful in that annoying way you always are. what’s going on?

you’re looking down at your phone when a man leaves the coffee shop. what appears to be a hot chocolate rests firmly in his hand. he’s also not paying attention, looking in the opposite direction of you and blissfully unaware.

he’s attractive enough, bright pink hair and an equally stupid grin on his face. he looks like the type of guy that would match you well (if the pink aura surrounding him was anything to go by.) a prime candidate for love, the emotion oozing out of him in waves.

satoru perks up at this. anyone from a mile away could see what was about to occur. it was a prime moment in any cupid’s career, a turn of events so perfect that the stars seemed to align for this very purpose:

a meet cute.

depending on how hot that drink was, potentially a meet ugly!

the white haired angel positions his arrow in his bow, nocking the sharp point as he eyes his target. satoru lowers his chin, weight on the balls of his feet as he leans forward off of his heels.

you’re almost there now, only a few more steps until you are to meet the love of your life. the thought brings a small smirk to satoru’s face. finally, you’d be out of his hair. he wasn’t sure if he could watch you binge another reality tv show.

he takes in a deep breath. points, aims, and shoots.

the arrow lodges itself into the man’s arm, effectively causing him to drop his drink... on the dress shoes of someone else.

it sticks! or at least… he think it does?

the arrow in the man’s arm disappears as if it was merely a trick of the light and he sparks up a conversation with the hot chocolate victim. with the way this new darker haired man seems to be unphased, satoru assumes they are already acquainted. 

if the kiss the pink haired man presses onto his cheek is anything to go by, all satoru managed to do was make their love stronger.

you on the other hand are still on your phone, typing away with that cursed point still sticking out of your lower back.

a red hot blush rushes to satoru’s face as he reaches for another arrow, anger rising deep in his stomach and lingering in his chest. you have managed to evade him again but this will be the last time!

he reaches into his quiver blindly, eyes focused only on you and your adorable face and pretty hair and stupid— ouch!

warmth quickly replaces the anger he felt in his chest, nervous fluttering forcing its way into his stomach. satoru quickly moves his hand away from his arrows, the smallest drop of blood blooming on his fingertip. with a shift of weight, he can tell instantly that another arrow has disappeared.

uh oh.

one glance down at the street and he can see the tension lift from your shoulders, your eyes flickering around until they lock onto his. the arrow in your back is gone, but satoru has seen that lovesick gaze many times before in training. he assumes that he wears the same one now.

his first day back on the job and he has already managed to break one of the main rules of cupidhood: don’t get pricked by your own arrow.

maybe suguru was on to something when he said to store arrows with the pointy side facing down?

you’re moving towards him now; quickly and with confusion riddled on your face. satoru won’t lie and say he doesn’t get it. one minute you’re experiencing the worst cramp of your life and the next, the pain is alleviated and a half-dressed man is staring at you from the top of an abandoned grocery store.

maybe he could call in sick.

do cupids get sick days? if so, satoru is sure he has plenty of PTO saved up to take the rest of the day off. maybe the effects of the arrows would wear off after some well deserved rest? perhaps you wouldn’t find a celestial being to be a good option for a romantic endeavor?

by the determined look in your features, that seems unlikely.

he can hear you stomp up the stairs of the building, the metal steps creaking with every press from your shoes. satoru finds himself growing nervous, a cold sweat lingering on his forehead and hands. the arrows must be having an effect on him already, because when you finally enter the rooftop, all he can think about is how underdressed he is for the occasion.

you are his perfect match, after all.

your hands rest on your hips, your eyes looking unreasonably lovesick. as satoru goes to explain himself, you interject.

“so are you like… cupid or something?” huh, you figured that out quicker than expected.

“well, i’m actually—“

“because if you are, you're… pretty bad at your job.” an apologetic look appears on your features, hands clasping together as you play with your fingers.

the white haired man lets out a scoff.

“for your information i’m a cupid. there’s like… thousands of us or something. if anyone should complain it’s me! trying to find you a match has been torture.”

your eyes brows furrow, your arms now moving to cross over your chest. you do that a lot, fidgeting. satoru imagines that you also feel the same heat that he does. it’s annoying, distracting.

there’s a twinkle in your eye, something close to teasing but not quite. “so you decided to just snatch me up for yourself? pretty drastic decision, no?”

“this,” his finger points at the space between you, “was an accident. i was trying to get you with that pink haired kid.”

“yuuji? he has a boyfriend, stupid.”

“cupid and yes, i know that now.”

“the heart eyes he was making at megumi wasn’t enough for you?”

“megu– isn’t that a girl name?”

“why are you even here?” you ask, deciding to ignore his comment for now.

satoru sighs, removing his quiver to show the arrows on his back. “i’m a cupid, remember? i’m helping humans fall in love for the holiday! you were on my list but…” he glances down at his finger. “there were complications.”

you nod slowly, a ghost of an arrow now lingering in your lower back. “so, what now? i’ve never exactly been with a cupid before.”

your companion hums, glancing down at the coffee shop across the street. “well i’ve never even spoken to a human before so, i think you’re at an advantage.”

it’s at this moment that your stomach rumbles, an embarrassingly loud sound that can’t be covered up by the sounds of people commuting around you.

“maybe…” you start, walking towards him. “we can grab a bite to eat?”

he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that eating isn’t necessary for his kind. “since i’m going to probably get fired anyway? sure. might as well.”

you smile and extend a hand to him. satoru takes it, though that same burning only gets worse, traveling up his arm and down the back of his neck.

“lead the way, little human.”

it was going to be a long day.

note: this was definitely supposed to be longer but no matter how hard i tried the words were not coming, lmao. hopefully y’all enjoy this little valentine’s day drabble anyway!

MISSROKI. all original work. do not plagiarize, translate, or repost. this includes feeding my work to ai apps and sites.

#‧₊˚ 🖇️ ۫ ⭒ — sorin writes. #gojo x reader #gojo x female reader #gojo x black reader #gojo fluff #gojo fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x female reader #jjk x black reader #jjk fluff #cw blood

[drabbles-mc]

Gone Soft

Takeshi Kovacs x F!Reader

For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge! Bingo square: nursed back to health

Warnings: 18+, language, blood/injury, mild angst

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: I've been tossing Tak around my head like a pinball for weeks now. Eventually I will get my thoughts and feelings about him together to do some longer fics and all sorts of stuff. But this was a nice little something to start writing him 😌

Altered Carbon Taglist: @garbinge (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

He came to with a groan and a cough, which was about what you had expected. Well, for a little while there you were wondering if he was going to come to at all. But Tak wasn’t ever the type of man who stayed dead. Might go down for a year, or a decade, or a century, but he always came back around. Lucky for you, this time he didn’t really go down, and he was only out for a week.

You looked over at him from the chair you’d set up beside his bed. Your bed, but for now it was his. You watched the way his face contorted—exhaustion, confusion, pain, all in rapid succession. He shut his eyes tight for a moment before opening them up all the way. After a few long, slow blinks he finally turned his head to look around the room. The confusion faded slightly when he saw you sitting beside him.

“You’re back,” you said as you uncrossed your legs, leaning forward.

“Didn’t realize I left,” he grunted. He braced his palms against the mattress, went to try and push himself upright just enough to lean back against the headboard. He didn’t get very far before the pain shot through him again and he dropped back down flat onto the mattress. “Fuck.”

You shook your head, a small smile on your face. “Yea I’d just stay flat if I were you.”

“Thanks for the warning,” he said, still staring up at the ceiling. He brought his hands up to his face, dragging his fingers down as he wiped the last of the sleep from his eyes. “How long?”

You laughed. “Not like you were on ice, Tak.” He turned his head so that he was looking at you. Propping your elbows on your knees, you told him, “One week.”

“And it still hurts this fuckin’ bad?”

You laughed. “Imagine if you hadn’t been out.”

He groaned, letting his eyes shut again. “I’m going back to sleep.”

You chuckled, shrugging. “Sure.”

He was already awake when you came in to check on him the next morning. He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You lingered in the doorway for a moment, wondering what he was thinking about. He knew you were there—it wasn’t like you’d been quiet. And even though he’d been put through the wringer you knew that his senses were still going to be sharper than most, sharp enough to have heard you the second you got up off the couch in the living room.

Flicking on the light, you stepped in. You couldn’t help but to chuckle at the groan he let out. “Like you didn’t know that was coming.” He turned his head so that he was looking at you. Not that you needed a reason to be popping in to check on him, but this time you actually did have one. Holding up the pack in your hand, you said, “Bandage change time.”

He let out a deep breath. “Right.”

Walking over, you peeled the blanket down off of him before sitting on the edge of the bed. For the first few seconds, your lingering stare could be written off as checking to make sure that everything was healing alright, the bruises, the cuts. But it didn’t take long for that excuse to run its course. Then you were just staring because you could.

When you finally made your eyes look into his, you found him already looking at your face. Despite the exhaustion and the pain, he still had that same stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. “Is it everything you remember?”

You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t help the smile that was creeping across your face. “Shut up. Just making sure you didn’t wake up with any new injuries.”

“Yea, I can see that.”

If he wasn’t already so beat up you would’ve given him a shove or clipped him on the side of the head. That seemed a little unfair given the circumstances. Rather than dignifying it with any kind of a response, you opted to start peeling away the bandages that were secured to his side and his chest.

“Couldn’t find me a sleeve that wasn’t beat to shit?” he asked, cringing slightly at the pull against his skin.

You shrugged. “Maybe. But I actually like this sleeve.” You paused, looking up at him until he locked eyes with you. “It’s pretty enough to make me forget how annoying your stack is.”

He chuckled at that, and you could feel the movement of his muscles beneath your fingertips. Somehow you managed not to fumble at the sensation of it, managed to keep a straight face. He could still sense the shift in you, though, because of fucking course he could. Whether or not you believed in Envoy Intuition was a moot point because Tak could read you like an open book and you had faith that he would be able to do that just as easily even if he wasn’t an Envoy.

“More work than it’s worth,” he said with a shake of his head.

Your eyes were back on his wounds again. They were already much better than they were when you’d managed to get him back to your place, but he was still a ways away from being healed. You didn’t have the money or the connections to get your hands on things that would heal him instantaneously. The selfish part of you in that moment didn’t mind it too much.

“I’m always in need of a good hobby,” you answered casually. You heard him chuckle at that and you looked back over at him. “But got it—next time I’ll let them throw you back on ice.”

He shrugged, and you knew that there was part of him that really would be that flippant about the prospect of going down again. Even if he wasn’t gonna come back for another couple hundred years. “No more hobby for you, then.”

You tried your best to reciprocate the energy. “I’m sure there are plenty of other broody men out there who need patching up.” Your expression shifted and you allowed yourself a moment of honesty even if Tak wouldn’t do the same in turn. “I would’ve found you a new sleeve if I thought I had to.”

His satisfied grin made you want to take it all back.

“Don’t,” you told him with a shake of your head.

“What?” he asked and even though you weren’t looking at him anymore you could still hear the smirk in his voice.

Rather than giving him the satisfaction of saying any of it out loud, you dumped disinfectant onto the gash across his stomach that hadn’t completely closed and started to scab over yet. He pushed the air out sharp between his teeth, hands balling into fists as he clutched your bedsheets between his fingers. He wasn’t looking at your face, eyes shut tight for a moment instead. When he finally pried his lids back open, he looked at you, able to just catch from the angle you were sitting that it was your turn to have a self-satisfied grin on your face.

“Feel better?” he asked, voice still strained as he worked his way through the sting.

“Who knew you’d gotten so soft, Tak?” you taunted with a smile.

“Wouldn’t be soft if you’d grabbed me a new sleeve.”

“You’d still be soft,” you joked. You paused, taking a moment to wipe away the excess medical alcohol on his stomach. “And if you wanted someone who could just grab you a new sleeve anytime you got yourself into a goddamn shoot-out,” you locked eyes with him, “should’ve been nicer to your Meth buddies.”

“They weren’t my buddies,” he said the word like it left a physical bad taste on his tongue.

“Did you tell them that?”

“I think the shooting might’ve said it for me.”

“You assume too much of them.” You said it with a chuckle, almost like it was a joke, but you didn’t have to be looking at him to know that he heard the truth in what you were saying.

It grew quiet between you again. You were more at ease than you thought you were going to be. Up until now, swapping out his bandages had been a solitary activity since he was still unconscious. You were expecting him to try and brush you off, try and take care of it himself. It crossed your mind, you found yourself hoping, that maybe this was progress. He was still tense beneath your touch, still sidestepping almost every chance at a real conversation with a joke or a snide remark. But he was letting you help. He was sitting still and he was letting you help. That was something.

“How often you been doing that?” he asked when you were done.

“First two days it was twice a day. Once the bleeding slowed it was just once a day.”

“Why?”

“So you didn’t get blood all over my sheets.”

He huffed out a short, quiet chuckle. “No. I mean, why put in all the effort?”

“What is your problem with this sleeve?” you asked, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“Not about the sleeve.”

You paused, lips curling down into a small frown as you turned over his previous question in your mind. “Wish I could say I just didn’t want the guilty conscience.” You shook your head. “But unfortunately, I think that I care about you now.”

It got a brief, weak smile out of him. “Very unfortunate.”

“For both of us, apparently, since it means I’m gonna make sure you stay alive.”

He let his head drop and rest against the pillow. “Looks like I’m not the only one who got soft.”

#altered carbon #altered carbon fanfiction #takeshi kovacs #takeshi kovacs x reader #takeshi kovacs x you #x reader #x reader fic #navy and roos sleepover #navy and roo's sleepover #slumber party bingo #slumber party #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[spicyviren]

Oh let me meditate on the beast of devouring that feeds on the stars, that star devourer dragon Let me repel this Star dragon and banish it from the light of my Sun

- Ancient Sunfire chant, Tales of Xadia

I'm thinking about the sun and the stars and how Laurelion is, probably, both.

(Reposted because I’m a damn fool!!)

The Big Bang, in real life

The majority of atoms which make up us, our earth, and even our very own sun, were formed in the hearts of the very first stars in the universe.

These stars were made of lighter elements, mostly Hydrogen, Helium, and Lithium. But under the immense pressure at the core of those first stars, heavier atoms like Carbon, Oxygen and Nitrogen were formed. The stars eventually died - exploded - and released those heavier elements into the universe to be crafted into other forms.

As Carl Sagan famously put it, "We are made of star stuff."

And so Aaravos's quote in the teaser for season six - We are, all of us, stardust - is a blatant nod to the Sagan quote as well as, I am assuming, that aspect of the universe in some shape or form. Allegorically, it speaks to the idea of the universality of existence in the basest sense. But also, it acknowledges that the stars, like everything else, operate generationally.

So in this way, if we are to assume the TDP cosmos operates at least somewhat similar to our own, Xadia's sun is a younger (but still old as balls) star, from a different generation than the stars which are far more distant and ancient.

(As a side note, the very first stars in the universe did not last very long. Though certain stars in existence right now have "lifetimes" which are projected to last longer than the universe has currently been in existence.)

So if Xadia's sun is technically a star, even by Xadia's own admission (see Sunfire chant), then by this metric I have to ask...

What makes the Sun arcanum different from the Star arcanum?

While those first, most ancient of stars produced the materials which would become life, only a sun can sustain life and is therefore inextricably linked with the earth and all the life on it. It's this connection which I imagine is responsible for the change in the nature of the magic.

In Callum's Spellbook, Callum makes some word-association lists for the different types of magic. He associates "truth" with both Sun and Star (perhaps a trait of their shared stardom). No other words match up completely, but it feels like they are referencing similar things within different contexts.

The Sun teaches while the Stars are simply intelligent; the Sun is a "guiding light" while the Stars are associated with "destiny." Further, many of the other words Callum associates with the sun are about being in positive community with others (optimism, warmth, charisma, leadership). The nature of the sun is more giving, nurturing, and dare I say loving than that of your average star. Sun is revealing and honesty, Star is mysterious and reality-altering. Further, there is a dynamism in the words for Sun Magic that is absent from Star Magic - sharing knowledge vs simply having knowledge, guiding vs prescribing a set path.

(Another side note: Callum also mentions that Star mages are born, which, Callum's limited understanding aside, is perhaps a hint about what it will take to connect to the Star Arcanum. I have thoughts, but.... I'll just leave that there, winky face)

Obviously, these word associations can only go so far. Some of the most hostile and arrogant (eh eh!!) figures we've met have been Sun-aligned. But it does make me wonder about the beginning of Sun magic and what that introduction may have looked like.

Ever wonder what those sparkly dots are up there?*

Okay, so big question for me. Is Aaravos a star, like, literally a personification of a ball of gas burning billions of miles away, or is he just like, a very special elf? The same goes for all Startouch elves.

Zubeia refers to Aaravos as both a star and as an elf, and it's one of those things which I can't decide is real or simply a more poetic way of speaking of him. Is "Startouch elf" simply another type of star? Official art also sometimes depicts him and others as constellations. Are they the formed consciousness of a collection stars?

But it also makes me think of how often Sunfire elves personify the sun/the sun orb.

JANAI: You are a student of history, yes? Do you know where the Great Orb of the Sunforge came from? KARIM: Legends say it was a gift from the Sun herself. The gift of a millenium. - "The Drakewood," S4E6

In "The Queen's Mercy," we have...

Aditi nodded. “[...]and so, as the Sun’s daughter, I will lead you into her embrace.”

...and earlier, there is this:

Queen Aditi the Merciful, they called her. Queen Aditi the Kind. The Light of the Sun Incarnate. Kim’dael had thought it all an insufferable exaggeration. Sunfire elves gilded everything they could touch, of course they would do the same to their beloved leader.

Karim personifies the corrupted sun orb in "After Darkness":

He could still see it: the top of the Sunforge Tower, upside-down from where he lay, shrouded in inky corruption. It looked ill, its sickness weeping red and crowning the spire in a haze of blood. [...] We will come back, he promised his beloved, tainted city, his lost home. We will not abandon you. The orb pulsed mutely, a cry for help he could not answer.

TDP uses personification a lot, so it is kind of hard to parse out when it's being literal and when it's being lyrical. Perhaps in the examples cited it's simply the ostentatious way of the Sunfire elves like Kim'dael thinks. But if Aaravos, a known person, can be a star, then I can easily reason vice versa.

In the Book 1 novelization, Aaravos refers to himself as "of the First Elves." And if that is true, it follows that there must have been "Second Elves."

So who is Laurelion?

The significance of the laurel in the Western canon goes back to the myth of Daphne and Apollo.

There are various versions of the story, but essentially, Apollo (popularly associated with the sun), falls helplessly in love with Daphne. Though her reasons vary in different iterations, Daphne turns away from Apollo's affections. She runs and Apollo pursues. Just as Apollo is about to catch her, she begs for help - sometimes from her father, a river god, and sometimes from her mother, a nymph or Gaia - and she is saved by being turned into the laurel tree. In Ovid's Metamorphosis, when Apollo reaches Daphne post-transfiguration, he can still feel her heart beating below the bark. From that point on, the laurel wreath was associated with Apollo, achievement, and victory.

Gold, the element, takes the symbol Au from its Latin word, Aurum, which has etymological ties to 'aurora' (dawn). Names likes Aurelio or Aurelius similarly mean "golden" or "guilded."

So, taken together, I of course think immediately of this:

THAT BEING SAID, this looks more like a weeping willow or a wisteria than it does a laurel, which has bushy foliage rather than hanging. The closest I can maybe get is a mountain laurel, which does have blooms that hang kinda sorta like a wisteria, though not nearly in such a dramatic fashion. But anyway!

The golden laurel...⋆｡°✩Laurelion✩°｡⋆

Interestingly, in Ovid's retelling of Apollo and Daphne, Apollo's love is the result of being struck by Cupid's golden arrow, while Daphne's disgust of Apollo's advances are the result of being struck by a lead-tipped arrow. And so, there is an association there with gold and love. And within the context of the myth - Cupid is getting petty revenge on Apollo after Apollo is boastful and arrogant about his own prowess with a bow and arrow - it's also an instance of weaponizing love.

Which brings us to that which is known everforth as...

The Nova Blade

It is actually quite common for stars to have companions and to exist in what is called a binary star system. In this system, two stars are gravitationally locked in orbit and can appear as a single object when observed by the naked eye. Sometimes, the proximity between these two stars results in what is called a nova - a sudden brightness which appears to be a new star. Novas are not associated with stellar "death" (you'd be thinking of supernova, in that case).

Now in our universe, novas are not actually stars. They are events, momentary bursts of brightness under specific circumstances between two stars. But the name "nova" originally came from the term "stella nova" which means new star.

…and though undying, took last breath, immortal Laurelion was no more. - "The Death of the Immortal"

Did Laurelion just...die? You know, it was really unclear...

I do not think the Nova Blade killed Laurelion in the moment described in the poem. Kazi is so doubtful and Callum is so sure - Callum you fool! - surely that would be too easy (quote quote easy)?

I will grant that "Supernova Blade" would sound kind of hokey, and even originally I had thought, "Oh cool, 'nova,' like 'SUPERnova!'" And then I thought to look up just 'nova' and it turns out it was actually its own thing. But even without all that, the 'though-undying' of it all haunts me.

And so I hold to the idea that the Nova Blade makes an immortal mortal. It does bring death's bite, but in a way in which Laurelion becomes something else, reborn with death's promise like all other mortal beings are.

I have two point five ideas.

The Light of the Sun Incarnate

My first hypothesis is, of course, that Laurelion became the tree with the Sunseed with a name that's a nod to Daphne and Apollo. Of course, I'm assuming here that the tree in which the Sunseed is kept is responsible for producing/sustaining the Sunseed, which may not be true.

Now the drawback of this idea is the legend that the Sunseed was a gift from the Sun herself. So here, it would have to be within the context of the Sun sacrificing Laurelion in some way for this purpose. There's obvious Jesus parallels here which, full disclosure, is not really my bag, baby, but there are plenty of elements in TDP that very easily slot in with Christian canon. But also, in the laurel myth Daphne begs a parent to save her, which puts the sacrifice of it all in a different light. It makes me wonder if the event with the Nova Blade is self-inflicted and, mayhaps, an act of love. So in this sense, the Sun "gifted" the world (or just the Sunfire elves, I dunno) her child by simply letting her child go.

My second hypothesis is that Laurelion became the first Sunfire elf, of the second elves. We are, all of us, stardust. It would not come as a shock to me if all elves were ultimately descended from the Startouch elves of old.

AND THEN we've got Aaron Ehasz talking about how the red dragon scale amulet (...and look, this show does color coding, that's SUN) is somehow related to Laurelion?

Sunfire elf, I say! SUNFIRE ELF!

Combining both of these scenarios, I could see Laurelion being the child of the Sun (again IF we are to assume each star is a living entity). Or maybe Startouch elves are born OF stars while not, technically, being the same thing, like an egg hatching the next evolution of its mother.

And so, perhaps Laurelion chose to become mortal, to become the first Sunfire Elf. And all of Laurelion's children, and their children's children, and their children's children's children, they were all of them children of the sun, the light of the sun incarnate, bringing the hope and optimism of something new to the world; destined to return in death to the embrace of their very first mother. And as a symbol of her love, the Sun gifted Laurelion the Sunseed, golden and cradled within a tree.

*oddly relevant Lion King reference

#the dragon prince #laurelion #speculation #you all i am a fuck up and deleted the original post #in case the “keep reading” doesn't work for you #here it is

[samble]

SHE HAS WHAT!! explain pls like i'm 5 ☠️.

don't remember plot 100%, so bear with me.

there's a wraith in wraith arc that, to homura, looks like a near carbon copy of madoka. acts like her, looks almost identical, etc. to everyone else it just looks like an eldrtich horror. wraiths starting to look like people (to fool the people seeing them and to steal emotions from them) is a plot point of the series.

wraithdoka has a pretty decent point in that homura might be losing feelings for madoka (iirc, this is related to the Wraith Stuff, because wraiths eat emotions). she doesn't say this to imply homura doesn't love madoka or that homura hates madoka, just that homura "feels nothing when she looks at her [wraithdoka] because her [homura's] heart has been broken".

homura is deeply upset at the mere implication that she might not be 100% constantly in love with madoka at all times. mind, the wraith doesn't say anything like "you don't like madoka", it just says homura seems afraid that she could lose feelings for her. she reacts with more visible emotion to this idea to this than she shows in 90% of the series.

homura in wraith arc has memory powers. iirc, she can't totally wipe someone's memory or anything crazy like that, but can temporarily make them forget things or "gloss over" stuff. homura has what i can only describe as a mental breakdown over this, as it happens almost immediately after the wraithdoka conversation. she's already on edge about potentially not feeling as strongly for madoka, and starts to panic thinking she could have somehow altered her own memory and made madoka up completely. she starts thinking about basically if this is true, everything is meaningless, and that madoka could just be "the memories of a dream".

mami and kyoko attempt an intervention, because not only is homura acting weirder than usual, but she's bringing an eldritch horror around everywhere. this does not help. the breakdown continues where homura says she can't remember contacting with kyubey, and now genuinely believes she made it up by altering her own memory. homura then asks wraithdoka to "save her from being a magical girl". wraithdoka then eats her emotions. kyubey is unimpressed.

iirc, the wraith kind of...is almost benevolent? it helps mami and kyoko fight other wraiths and stuff to "protect homura's heart". but it's still kinda scuffed that most people don't read wraith arc and miss out on prime Homura Mental Illness materials. her thinking madoka might have not been real is touched on in rebellion, but a pretty big chunk of the manga, which i liked. i cannot imagine the psychological effects 10+ yrs of time loop and watching your friends die would have on anyone, let alone someone 13-14, especially if you end it with memory altering powers and start to think maybe you made it all up.

#mail #anon #sorry for rambling here #wraith arc #pmmm #long post

[oliviabutsmart]

Physics Friday #7: It's getting hot in here! - An explanation of Temperature, Entropy, and Heat

THE PEOPLE HAVE SPOKEN. This one was decided by poll. The E = mc^2 post will happen sometime later in the future

Preamble: Thermodynamic Systems

Education level: High School (Y11/12)

Topic: Statistical Mechanics, Thermodynamics (Physics)

You'll hear the word system being used a lot ... what does that mean? Basically a thermodynamic system is a collection of things that we think affect each other.

A container of gas is a system as the particles of gas all interact with each other.

The planet is a system because we, and all life/particles on earth all interact together.

Often, when dealing with thermodynamic systems we differentiate between open, closed, and isolated systems.

An open system is where both the particles and energy contained inside the system interact outside the system. Closed systems only allow energy to enter and exit the system (usually via a "reservoir").

We will focus mainly on isolated systems, where nothing enters or exits the system at all. Unless if we physically change what counts as the "system".

Now imagine we have a system, say, a container of gas. This container will have a temperature, pressure, volume, density, etc.

Let's make an identical copy of this container and then combine it with it's duplicate.

What happens to the temperature? Well it stays the same. Whenever you combine two objects of the same temperature they stay the same. If you pour a pot of 20 C water into another pot of 20 C water, no temperature change occurs.

The same occurs with pressure and density. While there are physically more particles in the system, the volume has also increased.

This makes things like Temperature, Pressure, and Density intensive properties of a system - they don't change when you combine systems with copies of itself. They act more like averages.

However, duplicating a system and combining it with itself causes the volume to double, it also doubles the amount of 'stuff' inside the system.

Thus things like volume are called intensive, as they appear to be altered by count and size, they act more like proportional values.

This is important in both understanding heat and temperature. The energy of a system is an intensive property, whereas temperature is intensive.

Temperature appears to be a sort of average of thermal energy, which is how we can analyse it - but this only works in the case of gasses, which isn't universal. It's useful to use a more abstract definition of temperature.

Heat, on the other hand, is much more real. It is concerned with the amount of energy transferred cased by a change in temperature. This change is driven by the second law of thermodynamics, which requires a maximisation of entropy.

But instead of tackling this from a high-end perspective, let's jump into the nitty-gritty ...

Microstates and Macrostates

The best way we can demonstrate the concept of Entropy is via the analogy of a messy room:

We can create a macrostate of the room by describing the room:

There's a shirt on the floor

The bed is unmade

There is a heater in the centre

The heater is broken

Note how in this macrostate, we can have several possible arrangements that describe the same macrostate. For example, the shirt on the floor could be red, blue, black, green.

A microstate of the room is a specific arrangement of items, to the maximum specificity we require.

For example the shirt must be green, the right heater leg is broken. If we care about even more specificity we could say a microstate of the system is:

Atom 1 is Hydrogen in position (0, 0, 0)

Atom 2 is Carbon in position (1, 0, 0)

etc.

Effectively, a macrostate is a more general description of a system, while a microstate is a specific iteration of a system.

A microstate is considered attached to a macrostate if the conditions of the macrostate are required. "Dave is wearing a shirt" and "Dave is wearing a red shirt" can both be true, but it's clear that if Dave is wearing a red shirt, he is also wearing a shirt.

What Entropy Actually is (by Definition)

The multiplicity of a microstate is the total amount of microstates attached to it. It is basically a "count" of the total permutations given the restrictions.

We give the multiplicity an algebraic number Ω.

What we define entropy as is the natural logarithm of Ω.

S = k ln Ω

Where k is Boltzmann's constant, to give the entropy units. The reason why we take the logarithm is:

Combinatorics often involve factorials and exponents a.k.a. big numbers, so we use the log function to cut it down to size

When you combine a system with a macrostate of Ω=X with a macrostate of Ω=Y, the total multiplicity is X × Y. So this logarithm makes Entropy extensive

So that's what Entropy is, a measure of the amount of possible rearrangements of a system given a set of preconditions.

Order and Chaos

So how do we end up with the popular notion that Entropy is a measure of chaos, well, consider a sand castle,

Image Credit: Wall Street Journal

A sand castle, compared the surrounding beach, is a very specific structure. It requires specific arrangements of sand particles in order to form a proper structure.

This is opposed to the beach, where any loose arrangement of sand particles can be considered a 'beach'.

In this scenario, the castle has a very low multiplicity, because the macrostate of 'sandcastle' requires a very restrictive set of microstates. Whereas a sand dune has a very large set of possible microstates.

In this way, we can see how the 'order' and 'structure' of the sand castle results in a low-entropy system.

However this doesn't explain how we can get such complex systems if energy is always meant to increase. Like how can life exist if the universe intends to make things a mess of particles, AND the universe started as a mess of particles.

The consideration to make, as we'll see, is that chaos is not the full picture, large amounts of energy can be turned into making entropy lower.

Energy Macrostates

There's still a problem with our definition. Consider two macrostates:

The room exists

Atom 1 is Hydrogen in position (0, 0, 0), Atom 2 is Carbon in position (1, 0, 0), etc.

Macrostate one has a multiplicity so large it might as well be infinite, and is so general it encapsulates all possible states of the system.

Macrostate two is so specific that it only has a multiplicity of one.

Clearly we need some standard to set macrostates to.

What we do is that we define a macrostate by one single parameter: the amount of thermal energy in the system. We can also include things like volume or the amount of particles etc. But for now, a macrostate corresponds to a specific energy of the system.

This means that the multiplicity becomes a function of thermal energy, U.

S(U) = k ln Ω(U)

The Second Law of Thermodynamics

Let's consider a system which is determined by a bunch of flipped coins, say, 10 flipped coins.

H T H T H H H T T H

This may seem like a weird example, but there is a genuine usefulness to this. For example, consider atoms aligned in a magnetic field.

We can define the energy of the system as being a function of the amount of heads we see. Thus an energy macrostate would be "X coins are heads".

Let's now say that every minute, we reset the system. i.e. we flip the coins again and use the new result.

Consider the probability of ending up a certain macrostate every minute. We can use the binomial theorem to calculate this probability:

Here, the column notation gives the choose function, which accounts for duplicates, as we are not concerned with the order in which we get any two tails or heads.

The p to the power of k is the probability of landing a head (50%) to the power of the number of heads we get (k). n-k becomes the number of tails obtained.

The choose function is symmetric, so we end up with equal probabilities with k heads as with k tails.

Let's come up with some scenarios:

There are an equal amount of heads and tails flipped

There is exactly two more heads than tails (i.e. 6-4)

All coins are heads except for one

All coins are heads

And let's see these probabilities:

Clearly, it is more likely that we find an equal amount of coins, but all coins being heads is not too unlikely. Also notice that the entropy correlates with probability here. A large entropy is more likely to occur.

Let's now increase the number of coin flips to 1000:

Well, now we can see this probability difference much more clearly. The "all coins are heads" microstate is vanishingly unlikely, and microstates close to maximum entropy are very likely comparatively.

If we keep expanding the amount of flips, we end up pushing the limits of this relationship. And thus we get the tendency for this system to maximise the entropy, simply because it's most likely.

In real life, systems don't suddenly reset and restart. Instead we want to consider a system where every minute, one random coin is selected and then flipped.

Consider a state in maximum entropy undergoing this change. It's going to take an incredibly long amount of time to perform something incredibly unlikely.

But for a state in minimum entropy, any deviation from the norm brings the entropy higher.

Thus the system has the tendency to end up being "trapped" in the higher entropy states.

This is the second law of thermodynamics. It doesn't actually make a statement about a particularly small system. But for small systems we deal with statistics differently. For large systems, we end up ALWAYS seeing a global increase in entropy.

How we get temperature

Temperature is usually defined as the capacity to transfer thermal energy. It sort of acts like a "heat potential" in the same way we have a "gravitational potential" or "electrical potential".

Temperature and Thermal Energy

What is the mathematical meaning of temperature?

Temperature is defined as a rate of change, specifically:

(Apologies for the fucked image formatting)

(Reminder this assumes Entropy is exclusively a function of energy)

The reason we define it as a derivative of entropy as entropy is an emergent property of a system. But thermal energy is something we can personally change.

What this rule means is that a system with a very low temperature will react greatly to minor inputs in energy. A low temperature system thus is really good at drawing energy from outside.

Alternatively, a system with very high temperature will react very slightly to minor inputs in energy.

At the extremes, absolute zero is where any change to the internal energy of the system will cause the system to escape absolute zero. According to the third law of thermodynamics this is where entropy reaches a constant value, because it can't be changed any more after being changed by an infinite amount.

Infinite temperature is where it's effectively impossible to pump more heat into the system, because the system is so resistant to accepting new energy.

Negative Temperature???

Considering our coin-flipping example, let's try and define some numbers. Let's say that the thermal energy of the system is equal to the amount of heads flipped.

This gives us an entropy of:

S ≈ U ln[n/U - 1] + n ln[1 - U/n]

(hopefully this is correct)

The derivative of this is:

dS/dU = ln[n/U - 1] - 2n/(n-U)

Note how this value becomes negative if n is large enough. Implying a negative temperature!

But how is this possible? What does this mean?

Negative temperatures are nothing out of the ordinary actually, they just mean that inputting energy decreases entropy and removing energy increases entropy.

What this means is that a system at a negative temperature, when put in contact with another system, will spontaneously try to dump energy out of itself as it aims to increase entropy.

This actually means that negative temperature is beyond infinite temperature. A fully expanded temperature scale looks like this:

[The Planck temperature is the largest possible temperature that won't create a black hole at 1.4 × 10³² Kelvin]

[Note that 0 K = -273.15 C = -459.67 F and 273.15 K = 0 C = 32 F]

This implies that -0 is sort of the 'absolute hot'. A temperature so hot that the system will desperately try to bleed energy much like the absolute zero system tries to suck in energy.

Heat and the First Law of Thermodynamics

So, what do we do with this information then? How do we actually convert this into something meaningful?

Here, we start to pull in the first law of thermodynamics, which originates with the thermodynamic identity:

dU = T dS - P dV

Note that these dx parts just mean a 'tiny change' in that variable. Here, U is expanded to include situations where the thermal energy of the system has to include things like compression/expansion work done to the system.

This identity gives us the first law:

dU = Q - W

Where Q, the heat energy of the system is re-defined as being dS/dQ = 1/T.

And W, the work (mechanical) energy of the system is defined as being dU/dV.

Both heat and work describe the changes to the energy of the system. Heating a system means you are inputting an energy Q.

If no energy is entering or exiting the system, then we know that any work that is being applied must be matched by an equal change in heat energy.

Since we managed to phrase temperature as a function of thermal energy, we can now develop what's known as an equation of state of the system.

For an ideal gas made of only hydrogen, we have an energy:

U = 3/2 NkT

Where N is the number of particles and k is the boltzmann constant.

We can also define another equation of state for an ideal gas:

PV = NkT

Which is the ideal gas law.

So what is heat then?

Q is the change of heat energy in a system, whereas U is the total thermal energy.

From the ideal gas equation of state, the thermal energy is proportional to temperature. In most cases, we can often express thermal energy as being temperature scaled to size.

Thermal energy is strange. Unlike other classical forms of energy, it can be difficult to classify it as potential or kinetic.

It's a form of kinetic energy as U relies on the movement of particles and packets within the system.

It's a form of potential energy, as it has the potential to transfer it's energy to others.

Generally, the idea that thermal energy is related to temperature is related to the 'speed' at which particles move is not too far off. In fact, we often relate:

1/2 m v^2 = 3/2 N k T

When performing calculations, as it's generally useful.

Of course, temperature, as aforementioned, is a sort of potential describing the potential energy (that can be transferred) per particle.

Heat, then effectively, is the transfer of thermal energy caused by differences in temperature. Generally, we quantify the ability for a system to give off heat using it's heat capacity - note that this is different from temperature.

Temperature is about how much the system wants to give off energy, whereas heat capacity is how well it's able to do that. Heat aims to account for both.

Conclusion

This post honestly was a much nicer write-up. And I'd say the same about E = mc^2. The main reason why is because I already know about this stuff, I was taught about it all 1-4 years ago in high school or university.

My computer is busted, so I'm using a different device to work on this. And because of that I do not have access to my notes. So I don't actually know what I have planned for next week. I think I might decide to override it anyways with something else. Maybe the E = mc^2 one.

As always, feedback is very welcome. Especially because this topic is one I should be knowledgeable about at this point.

Don't forget to SMASH that subscribe button so I can continue to LARP as a youtuber. It's actually strangely fun saying "smash the like button" - but I digress. It doesn't ultimately matter if you wanna follow idc, some people just don't like this stuff weekly.

#stem #academics #physics friday #physics #stemblr #science #thermodynamics #temperature #entropy #statistical mechanics

[staygoldnimoy]

rewatching altered carbon, and Joel Kinnaman and his world weary, bloody good looks are bewitching me.

his looming physicality, apathetic brown eyes and chemistry with fiery loudmouths ALSO leads me to imagine him as ghost frolicking about in this verse.

can you imagine simon ghost riley, envoy. man out of time. wears a mask, because the while the sleeve changes, the skull remains?

he gets spun up on some methuselah plot, get saddled with Lieutenant MacTavish. new world, new age, same old bullshit. and yet.

and yet. soap starts to get to him.

#altered carbon #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #LOOK #i just think it would be fucking cool alright?!?!

[outsiderace88]

With movies like Blade Runner and (BR2047), Ghost in The Shell, Dredd and even the series Altered Carbon all with Budgets between $40-$150 million.

I can only imagine what they could do with a live action Cyberpunk film/series. I would much prefer a movie over a series, unless it was a full cgi animated series. A full cgi film could really go all out if it wanted to.

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #neo noir #robotics #enhanced #blade runner #blade runner 2049 #dredd #ghost in the shell #futuristic

[lgenvs3000w23]

NATURE & SHIPWRECKS (unit #5 - freestyle)

Hello friends, 

We are back again this week with the most exciting prompt yet: no prompt! I am taking this opportunity to talk about my biggest childhood interest… SHIPWRECKS!

You might be wondering how this relates to nature at all but deep-sea shipwrecks are biodiversity hubs. I have always been interested in shipwrecks because I am both terrified and in awe of them. My main fascination is with how such an inorganic and visually man-made object is completely emersed by aquatic life and fits so well in an ecosystem it was never intended to be in. 

STOCKTREK IMAGES. (n.d.). A sunken ship lays on its side near Grand Bahama Island, Bahamas. How do we find shipwrecks—and who owns them? National Geographic. Retrieved from https://www.nationalgeographic.com/history/article/how-do-we-find-shipwrecks-and-who-owns-them. 

Shipwrecks are considered “islands of biodiversity” because they offer a structure for an incredibly wide variety of species to inhabit, which creates pockets of very high biodiversity, acting as artificial reefs (Hamdan et al., 2021). Imagine a sandy sea floor with not much going on besides some small rocks and vegetation, now put a huge stationary shipwreck there, and eventually, many species will call this new isolated habitat their new home. Many shipwrecks are dripping with so many species that you cannot even see bare metal anymore.

It is clear from photos that there are lots of different fish, vegetation, and corals that inhabit old shipwrecks, but we are missing a very important aspect of shipwreck ecosystems: the micro-organism colonies! In our defense, we can't see them but they make up a huge portion of biodiversity. Microorganisms establish and preserve shipwrecks as artificial reefs, allowing other species to thrive in/on shipwrecks. It is amazing how much power the tiny species hold and how influential they are to full ecosystems. (Hamdan et al., 2021)

Murat. (n.d.). Bream Fish around the shipwreck. How do we find shipwrecks—and who owns them? Adobe Stock Images. Retrieved from https://www.bristolaquarium.co.uk/animal-stories/animals-that-find-a-home-in-sunken-ships/

I have never had the opportunity to visit a shipwreck other than kayaking over top of a boiler. I love watching videos of people diving to explore shipwrecks, although I can't imagine ever doing it myself. I am incredibly curious to hear if anyone has done this? I would absolutely love to hear your experiences! We (Ontario locals) live in the perfect place to go shipwreck diving because the Great Lakes have cold water and low salinity which are fanatics conditions for the preservation of shipwrecks. The Great Lakes are regarded as one of the best shipwreck diving spots in the world. (Harrington, 2019) 

I have always found shipwrecks interesting because of the duality that the vessel wasn't strong enough to complete its voyage but it is strong enough to be preserved underwater for (possibly) hundreds of years, sometimes in near-perfect condition. However, the shipwrecks of the Great Lakes are in trouble!! Invasive species of the Great Lakes like zebra mussels (Dreissena polymorpha) and quagga mussels (Dreissena rostriformis bugensis) are threatening our beautifully preserved nuggets of history. These filter feeders can cause damage through heavy weight and even corrosion of some metals, if enough pile up. Additionally, they release carbon dioxide which can severely alter water quality and the conditions that help preserve shipwrecks. It is insane that these huge structures that can last up to thousands of years can be threatened by something as small and seemingly passive as mussels. (Harrington, 2019)

Thanks for reading, hopefully you see shipwrecks from a slightly different perspective! Who knew shipwrecks were so intertwined with nature (I did because I am a nerd who loves shipwrecks)! 

References 

Hamdan, L. J., Hampel, J. J., Moseley, R. D., Mugge, R. L., Ray, A., Salerno, J. L., & Damour, M. (2021, April 22). Deep-sea shipwrecks represent island-like ecosystems for marine microbiomes. OUP Academic. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41396-021-00978-y 

Harrington, M. (2019, November 20). Aquatic invasive species threaten shipwreck preservation in the Great Lakes: Wisconsin sea grant. Wisconsin Sea Grant | University of Wisconsin. https://www.seagrant.wisc.edu/blog/aquatic-invasive-species-threaten-shipwreck-preservation-in-the-great-lakes/

[coconutstars]

Jealous

Pairing: Takeshi Kovacs + reader summary: Tak finds your jealousy very charming. A/N: Ta-daa!? I don’t think I've ever published two fics so close to each other. Anywho, here’s a quick fic. As per usual it’s not proofed. Also, it’s very late so you know... the quality may be a little... ishy. ENJOY. 

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

“Go to hell” You pushed your way passed Tak and made your way into the luxurious bathroom at the Raven hotel. You were livid. You couldn’t believe Tak had stood there, talking to that woman, smiling, and laughing like he was seeing an old friend.

Miriam Bancroft. The woman who had single-handedly manipulated the one and only, Takeshi Kovacs into sleeping with her. She’d used him like a pawn in a twisted game of chess. She was loathsome. A piece of garbage. That’s why it’d infuriated you so greatly the way Tak had interacted with her. That he then had the audacity to act like you were the one overreacting was absolutely infuriating.

“Will you calm down?” Tak begged, following you into the bathroom, leaning his broad frame against the doorway. “I was just saying hi. That’s all”. You looked up and held his gaze in the round- framed mirror. “Just saying hi!? Give me a break. I saw the way you looked at her.” you sputtered, your eyes narrowing in anger. 

Surprisingly, Tak broke out in a laugh which pissed you off even more. “The way I looked at her?” He stood up straight and walked over to you, his strong arms encircling your waist. “How exactly did I look at her?”  he asked, his gaze still latched on to yours.  “don’t even start” you glared, spinning around to face him. “You know what I’m talking about”

Tak knitted his eyebrows together, processing the situation, then broke out in an amused grin “Are you... jealous, angel?” “oh fuck off” You hissed through gritted teeth. Although, the truth was, you were jealous. Miriam was older, sexier, and a Meth. She had everything, and everyone, wrapped around her manicured little finger.

Frustrated, you wriggled out of his grip and made your way into the bedroom. You steered your steps towards the door but only made it halfway there before Tak grabbed ahold of your arm and spun you around. “Believe it or not” he said, walking forward with you still in his arms. You tried to wriggle out, but he quickly boxed you in towards the wall. “I have-” he searched your gaze. When you didn’t instantly look up at him, he placed a finger under your chin and made you look at him. “more important people in my life than Miriam Bancroft” There was something in his gaze and voice. A gentility and love that made all your anger and jealousy melt away. Your face softened. “Yeah?” Tak said, pressing his forehead to yours “We good?”  You let out a breath and leaned your head back against the wall, nodding lightly. “we’re good.

Slowly, he moved his lips down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. “good” he mumbled, the vibrations of his voice ghosting against your skin, sending a warm shiver down your spine. You could feel him grin before eventually pressing his lips down softly, peppering your skin with feather light kisses. “Tak…” you whispered, curling your fingers in his hair, and pulling his head back slightly. “Yes, angel?” he asked, moving his lips up to your face, his kisses still teasingly light.

“you’re mine” it was meant to come out a statement rather than a question but there was a certain insecurity in your voice. “Right?” For a moment he pulled back, his gaze latching on to yours. Then his lips curved into a side smile.  “right” he whispered against your skin.

“And you’re mine”

#takeshi kovacs #Takeshi Kovacs fanfiction #imagine takeshi #Takeshi Kovacs x reader #joel kinnaman #altered carbon #altered carbon fanfiction

[faebirdie]

Bionic Exile: Chapter 11

Series Masterlist / Personal Masterlist

Summary: An unwelcome phone call interrupts a quick morning at home with your boys. 

Coauthor: @lacontroller1991

Warnings: eating, cursing, that’s actually about it for once

Word Count: 1,251

Author’s Note: Shorter chapter this week but don’t worry. There’s lot’s to look forward to as we draw closer to the final chapter.

The following morning, you’re slowly lured out of your sleep by quiet bickering and the smell of bacon. Stretching your limbs out across your bed, you look around the room and see clothes thrown haphazardly around the room and blankets tossed over the floor. Memories of the previous night flood through you, causing a warmth to spread through your chest. Smiling softly, you throw yourself over your bed and find that you’re already dressed in one of Takeshi's undershirts and a pair of Rick’s flannel pajama bottoms. The thought of the two of your boys dressing you after you’d passed out, exhausted in their arms thanks to maybe one too many orgasms has you blushing as you stumble your way out of your room and toward the kitchen where the bickering is coming from.

“Yeah? I got this scar from fighting in an anti-gravity fighting ring,” Tak grumbles, causing Rick to scoff.

“There ain’t no such thing.”

“Maybe not here but-”

“Good morning boys,” you cut in, wrapping an arm around Tak and pressing your lips to his cheek before walking over to where Rick stands by the stove and kissing him as well. “What is my favorite cook making us this fine morning?” Tak shuffles behind the two of you, nudging into your shoulder and offering you a cup of coffee causing you to smile. “Thanks Kesh.”

“Mmhmm,” he replies, taking a sip from his own coffee cup and peering over Rick’s bare shoulder.

“Yeah what are you cooking, Rick? Looks like shit.” Rick shoots Tak a glare as you giggle, grabbing a fork and sticking the utensil into the scramble before Rick has a chance to protest. You bring a forkful of eggs to your mouth, chewing thoughtfully on it for a second while Tak and Rick watch with anticipation. 

“I think it tastes perfectly fine.”

“Take that, Envoy.” Rick taunts as Tak squints his eyes and takes out a cigarette, only for you to pull it out of his fingers.

“The window, Tak.”

“Sometimes I miss Poe and The Raven. Could smoke whenever I wanted to there.” He muses as you roll your eyes and Rick resumes cooking.

“Yeah, well. We don’t live in Bay City,” the shrill ringing of your phone interrupts you. Turning it over, you groan at the caller ID. Rick looks over to you with curiosity as he plates food for all three of you. “Waller,” you answer his stare before clicking the talk button. “(Y/L/N),” you silently mock her before she even has a chance to reply, making Rick stifle a laugh, Tak’s lips even quirked up into a smile until your eyes fall to him. You slowly hand him the phone. “It’s for you.”

“Kovacs… When… Alright.” He hangs up the phone as you and Rick lean toward the Envoy. “She has a mission for me.”

Rick and you sit in the back of the room, talking amongst yourselves as Waller informs Tak and the squad of their mission operative.

“Y’know, I think he would actually make a great solo mission member but not a team leader,” Rick’s comment has you lightly slapping his hand.

“Have faith, Flag. I’m sure Tak can learn how to play well with others.”

“Not in time for this mission though.” “Colonel Flag, Ms. (Y/L/N), something to add?” The two of you shake your head as Tak looks back, giving you and Rick a warning scowl. “Anyways, you and your team will travel down to Havana, Cuba where intel suggests that there’s an enemy operative, no known powers but they are believed to be in possession of alien technology.”

“So. I’m fighting an alien?” Tak questions, lighting a smoke much to Waller’s annoyance.

“You and your team are fighting an alien technology. You are to take down the threat using any means necessary and bring back the tech. Plane leaves in 30 minutes.” Waller disappears as Harley stretches over the back of her seat, staring at Tak upside down. 

“Y’know, you seem like a capable fighter and all, but if you fuck up, I’ll kill ya.” Tak chuckles, blowing a plume of smoke into the air.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been doing this far longer than you’ve been alive.” Harley’s eyes widen as her eyes glance over to where you nod in reassurance.

“Fine. Then just don’t be as big of a buzzkill as Mista Government Agent and we’ll be just fine, right Sport?” She turns to Dubois who only shrugs in response. Takeshi takes this as approval enough.

“Come on, let’s suit up.”

—-------

Rick and Tak don’t need to be especially empathetic to sense that you are beyond nervous. Yes, you get nervous whenever Rick leaves for a mission, but he’s been on them for years now, Tak hasn’t. You anxiously flick off some imaginary flint on Tak’s, well Rick’s, tac vest as Tak looks over to Rick with exasperated annoyance. Rick too is mildly annoyed, though trying to hold it together in light of the circumstances.

“Come on darlin’, there’s nothing there, leave him alone,” Rick pulls you back as Tak nods in appreciation, tightening the straps of his uniform.

“I know, I know. I just can’t help it,” your eyes flick between the two men as you take a mental picture. Both Takeshi and Rick are exactly identical in their uniforms. The only difference being that one of them is going and the other is staying. 

“Wheels up in 5,” a fellow soldier calls out as the rest of the squad boards the cargo plane, leaving the three of you alone. Quickly, you grab hold of Tak’s face and frantically pull him down to meet your lips. He eagerly kisses back, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you closer. Rick shifts uncomfortably before clearing his throat, causing the two of you to break apart.

“Be careful, Tak. These missions are oftentimes meant to, designed even, to fail. So just please, look out for yourself.” His voice is serious, taking even you by surprise at the concern he is showing for this man that he has so often considered his rival. Tak does his best to hide his own astonishment, choosing only to nod at his counterpart before turning his attention back to where you stand just barely holding back the tears in your eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about me, angel. I am more than capable of taking care of myself.” 

“I know, I know. But promise me you’ll be careful? I need you to come back to me.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” He steps away from you before remeeting Rick’s eyes. 

“Don’t kill my team.” “Pretty sure they’d kill me first,” Tak replies as Rick chuckles. “They might,” he sticks out his hand and Tak looks at it before taking it in on his own, shaking it. “Good luck, Takeshi. Don’t die.”

Tak steps towards the plane before turning back towards you once more, “I love you. I will be back. Just look after yourself, ok?”

At this, the tears finally begin to fall but you force yourself to talk through them, “As long as you do the same. I love you. Come home.” 

Takeshi gives you one more small nod before turning his attention to the man standing next to you, “Oh and Rick, take care of her for me.” You hang your head sorrowfully as Rick pulls you into his side.

“Always do.”

—-------

“You think he’ll succeed?”

“From what I’ve been told, he’s designed to.”

Taglist:

@kingtwhiddleston @taternuts @strawberriebabbles @nerdysuperchick​ @inthetikiroom @taylorgasmtpr @taarkatans @saritanotserena @blackrose53666 @more-cardigan-than-woman

#bionic exile #takeshi kovacs x reader #rick flag x reader #takeshi kovavs #rick flag #dceu #the suicide squad #altered carbon #dcu #takeshi kovacs imagine #rick flag imagine #takeshi kovacs x reader x rick flag #rick flag x reader x takeshi kovacs #reader insert #multi chapter #collaberation #my writing

[butchniqabi]

honestly a lot of altered carbon feels like theatre, the second season much more so than the first. in season one you had takeshi and rei (and quell, poe, and elizabeth) who knew they were in a greek tragedy and spoke and behaved accordingly, with tak soliloquizing multiple times per episode until it gets down to the wire at the end. others in season one were much less so, im thinking of ortega and elliot especially who despite being caught up in the drama of it all, dont recognize the theatre of it and i honestly think that has to do with age primarily. takeshi and rei are Old and know that the very nature of existence when you are that old and have that many experiences that life becomes a play, where the stakes are dramatized because youre desensitized to common acts of violence and betrayal. though not just age but experience, like with poe and lizzie, makes them recognize their places in the tragedy and how they function as moving parts within it.

and then the second season, everyone is speaking like its theatre. in part because many of them are meths and therefore old as hell, but also because it takes place on harlan's world and that planet is seeped in tragedy. it was founded on it. greek, roman tragedy. the whole second season is about how false everything about harlan's world is, and how its fakeness doesnt lessen any of the impact it has on life. everyone has Witnessed things, everyone has Experienced things, no one is free from the all encompassing devastation. even lila, a minor character and no more than maybe 30 years old, speaks in that sort of shakespearean cadence because she has witnessed horrors beyond what most can imagine and has prepared herself accordingly to one day be on the receiving end of them. its like somehow everyone just Knows that their life is a play and they are players within it. if you havent noticed ive been posting many many more quotes from season 2 compared to 1 because its like theyre embracing the theatricality of the functionally immortal half-life.

and then theres Quell! she is a warrior, a hero, a villan, a love interest, and a ghost. season 1 she functions primarily as an extension of takeshi's tortured psyche, but her own words are just as, if not more, poetic. she embraces her status as the Tragic Epic Hero and she performs. and she does it well, so well she can convince most people that shes just like that. but with takeshi that falls away a little bit, they speak to each other like lovers in a play but somehow its more grounded, less grand, more real.

anyways i could be COMPLETELY making this up but i noticed the difference in conversations and flow during this rewatch because of how quotable the second season is without losing any of its overall impact. anyways.

#altered carbon #alt carb liveblog...2! #sorry i couldnt start episode 5 witout getting this out there

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

I'm married and have children with WHO?!

Summary: Francesca and Violetta meet up with a magical girl named Roxy who takes them through different universes, where in every universe, something is always different and not everyone is with the same person they were with previously. Things get weird. And confusing. Send help.

The Violetta and Francesca we meet from this story is from what I would call "universe 1". It's a universe where Leonetta, Diecesca, Luty and Camila has children. Pablangie also has a kid, and Maxi and Andres is hinted to have kids. There is also a "universe 2" where everything here is the same, except that Franletta instead are married with kids. Often when I write fics, it either takes place in universe 1 or 2, the ones Vilu and Fran are together with determining it. Every other universe shown in this fic is simply made up for the occasion.

Violetta and Francesca sat in Violetta's backyard, clinking their glasses together. They were wearing their bikinis, and sunbathed as they had a careful eye on their respective daughters. Violetta's daughter Isadora and Francesca's daughter Diana were 2 years old, and played in the pool. A kiddie pool, don't worry, they did not let their toddlers go loose in a big pool.

It was soon time for the girls' naps and Violetta and Francesca hoped to let them tire themselves out. 

"Vilu, do you ever think you want to have more kids?" Francesca asked.

"I don't know. We'll see what the future holds. Right now I'm so pleased with just my little Isa."

"I feel the same. You know, I wanted to have three kids initially. But... you know how much Diana inspired me to write more songs."

"Yeah, your songs were beautiful on that album." As Vilu and Fran had gotten their kids just around a month or two apart, they spent a lot of time together taking walks and hanging out as they took care of their little ones. Similarly to what Violetta's mom did for her, both her and Francesca felt inspiration to write songs based on motherhood, and their love for their children. They released an album together and often sang songs from it as lullabies for their girls.

"I've realized just how much I wanna continue with my music career," Francesca said. "So, I think, once Diana is a bit older I'm gonna go back fully. I don't think I'm gonna have time to have more kids right now."

Violetta nodded. "I feel the same. I think it's so luxurious we can be home and work on music, but I wanna get out again."

Their daughters seemed to grow tired, so they saw it as a perfect opportunity to get them to bed.

Just 10 minutes later, the toddlers had fallen asleep, cuddling in Isadora's crib. It went smooth today.

"What do you wanna do now?" Violetta asked.

"I don't know, relax?" Francesca chuckled.

Violetta gave her a smug face. "I have a new wine."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I had to hide it really well, because Isadora is in a phase where she likes to open and close and grab onto everything she sees."

She dug out the wine bottle. It had the name Roxy on it.

"Camila gave it to me," Violetta said. "You can imagine why..."

"Did she make it herself? It seems a bit homemade..."

"Yeah, either she did it or her witch aunt. So let's hope there's no weird spell in this. She didn't say anything about it, though."

"Let's taste it and see what happens!"

They both poured up a glass each and took a sip.

"It tastes like regular wine," Francesca shrugged. 

"Yeah, it was fine..."

Then suddenly, and without warning, there was a flashing light. At first, they thought it was just the sun getting brighter, but no... it was something else. 

Something seemed to emerge from the flashing light... a red haired person? Blood red. Like... the wig Violetta had when she was... 

Suddenly, a carbon copy of Roxy, Violetta's alter ego, stood in front of them.

"Uh..." Violetta let out, "Who... are you?"

"I'm Roxy!" Roxy exclaimed.

"Yeah, but like... how? Who are you really? Roxy doesn't exist."

Roxy giggled. "Oh, in this universe, I don't! But you see, from my universe, I do exist!"

"Violetta, am I drunk?" Francesca asked. "This is not good, I can't go home later drunk with my toddler, I have to spend the night..."

"If you're drunk, I'm drunk," Violetta said. "But wait... I've never hallucinated when I'm drunk..."

"Are we drug tripping?! Was there drugs in Camila's witch spell wine?! Jesus Christ, keep it away from our children!"

"Take it easy," Roxy said. "Take my hand."

Violetta and Francesca unsurely looked at her.

"Take my hand," Roxy repeated. They did. 

As Roxy held both of their hands, she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Then suddenly, they traveled through this... void... it kinda looked like the digital world the three friends entered in that australian kids show. 

"Do you feel calmer?"

"Kind of?" Violetta asked. "But where are we?"

"We're traveling through the universes."

"Ok, but like... why?"

"Because it's fun."

"Hold on," Francesca said, "What exactly do you mean by that?"

Roxy took a deep breath, "Ok, you see... you live in what my device calls 'universe 1'. The ones you're married to, the ones your friends are together with, it's all supposed to be like that in that universe. But in other universes, things may be a little different... you might be married to completely other people, have completely other children, and live completely different lives. In some universes, you might not even know each other. Francesca, there's a universe in which you never moved from Italy! Violetta, there's a universe in which your mother never died when you were young!"

"Okay..." Violetta said, "And are we gonna see those universes?"

"Nope! That would take too long! We're simply gonna look through the universes in which you had the exact same upbringing as you had now, only that your current life is different!"

"I'm still very confused," Francesca admitted.

"You won't be for much longer! We're now entering universe 2!"

-

They ended up at what appeared to be Camila's house. 

"Who lives here?" Roxy asked.

"Camila," Vilu and Fran said in unison.

"Alright! Checking my device, she... still lives here. And she has a child named..."

"Kim."

"She does in this universe, too! Huh! So that's still the same."

They teleported to a new place.

"Ludmila and Naty lives here," Violetta explained, "In our universe."

"According to the device, they still live here, with their daughter... Stella?"

They nodded. This was the same.

Roxy went through the list. "Ok, I'm comparing universes here. Many similarities to your universe... Camila is the same, Ludmila and Naty is the same... your families are all the same... Maxi and Andrés have their twin boys in this universe, too..."

"Wait, what?" Violetta asked. "Maxi and Andres... they aren't even together!"

"Oh..." Roxy then started giggling. "Well, spoilers! They're gonna have some twin boys down the line!" Then she gasped. "Oohh... there is one thing that sticks out from this universe!"

"What?" Violetta asked.

She smirked. "Let me show you!"

They teleported to a brand new house.

"Who lives here?" Francesca asked.

"You."

"Me?"

"And you," Roxy pointed at Violetta aswell.

"We both live here?" Violetta asked. "Why?"

"You'll see..."

They suddenly noticed a little girl running out from the door. 

"Aww... she looks like you, Vilu!" Francesca said.

Then a slightly younger little girl came running out.

"And she looks like you!" Violetta said.

"Wait, girls!" a voice called. It sounded like Violetta.

Indeed, the Violetta from this universe stepped out on the porch. She was holding a little baby, with red curly hair. Francesca from this universe stepped out, too, standing next to her.

"Is that my kid?" Violetta asked.

"It is. He's adopted."

"That black haired little girl looks like me," Francesca said, "But she doesn't look like my Diana."

"And that brunette looks like me, but she's not my Isadora," Violetta said. 

Roxy turned to Francesca. "Have you ever wondered how it would be if you had three kids, like you originally planned to have before you settled with just one?"

"How do you know I-"

"I know everything. Anyway, in this universe, you do have three kids!"

"What? Where's the other two?"

"All three are in front of you!"

"But... aren't...?"

Suddenly, the Violetta and Francesca from this universe turned to each other with a glance. They then shared a kiss.

"Eww!" the brunette girl exclaimed.

"You have to accept that your mommies love each other, Elina!" this universe's Francesca said in a sing-song voice.

Meanwhile, the Francesca and Violetta from universe 1 stared in shock.

"Are we...?" Violetta said, lost at words.

Roxy smiled. "In this universe, none of you could really work it out with any of your boyfriends, and you instead started dating each other. This lead to a marriage, which led to three kids. Two of them produced with IVF, your beautiful daughters Elina and Carolina, and one adopted son named Oliver."

"I don't know how to feel," Francesca said. "I mean, I..." She smiled awkwardly at Vilu, "I wouldn't mind it... but..."

"I get it," Violetta said, smiling back. "We seem very happy together in this universe. But... where's Leon? And Diego?"

"The device does not say," Roxy said. "Literally, it just gets an error message. Maybe the universe has not decided yet..."

Violetta and Francesca weren't sure they wanted to know what that meant.

"But even if our kids in this universe look very adorable, I miss my Diana!" Francesca exclaimed. Violetta nodded, missing her own daughter aswell. 

"Well, then I have happy news, because you'll see your respective daughters again in the next universe we travel to!" Roxy assured them. "The next universe is called the 'canon endgames universe'."

"What does that mean?" Violetta asked.

"Don't worry about it."

-

As they entered the new universe, they ended up outside the house Violetta and Leon lived in with their daughter. Violetta sighed in relief. "Am I married to Leon?"

"You are," Roxy assured her, "And your little Isadora exists here. And your Diana exists, because you're married to Diego in this universe, Francesca." 

"I'm glad," Francesca said, "Mostly because of my daughter, but my husband isn't so bad either, hehe..."

"Well, while you two are back at the status quo... basically everyone else you know have it quite different."

They teleported to a park. Roxy immediately pointed at a teenage girl walking further away. She resembled Broduey in a way, but there were other genes mixed in too.

"Broduey has a daughter?" Francesca asked. Broduey didn't have any kids in her universe.

"Mhm... and guess who he has a daughter with."

Violetta and Francesca thought for a moment.

"You can go up to her, we're invisible," Roxy said. So, Francesca and Violetta did just that. 

"Is it just me, or does she also look a bit like... Camila?" Violetta whispered. She didn't know why she whispered, as no one could hear her as they were invisible.

"I know!" Francesca said, "But that's impossible! Broduey and Camila never worked out!"

"Maybe not in your universe," Roxy said.

Suddenly, a middle-aged looking Camila and Broduey ran up to the girl. Both of them were carrying toddlers. It seems like they had four kids in total, but the other three seemed to be triplets. Twins and triplets ran in Camila's family, so it wasn't too surprising. But oh boy, they seemed to have their hands full. 

"I don't wanna talk to you," the teenager said. 

"Sweetie, please," Camila said.

"I'm gonna go meet my friends," the teenager snapped and walked away from them. Broduey and Camila sighed. They were clearly stressed, holding three toddlers who wanted to wiggle out of their grip, and also a moody teenager at that. 

"I wanna hope that their marriage is healthy and good," Francesca said, "And that we just caught them on a bad day."

Broduey and Camila then started arguing, the way they always argued when they themselves were teenagers.

But then, like a minute later, they stopped, catched their breaths and put down all three toddlers so that they could share a kiss.

"I'm sorry," Camila said.

"I'm sorry," Broduey said.

They then noticed all three toddlers had ran off in different directions.

Camila took a deep breath. "Ready?"

Broduey took her hand. "Always."

They then ran in opposite directions, catching a toddler each, and then with the two toddlers on their grip, both went towards the third and grabbed them quickly. 

All in all, it seemed like their life was chaotic, but they seemed to manage.

"Ok, they seem to make it work," Violetta said.

"I say the triplets might have gotten their marriage a new spark," Roxy said, "Before they were born, and they just had their daughter... I don't wanna speak about it. It's why she is the way she is. Anyway, let's move on!"

Francesca and Violetta didn't have time to even say anything before they suddenly got teleported to a new house. 

They noticed a child around 12 years old standing by a car. "Mom! Hurry up!"

Out came Ludmila. She was also looking pretty middle aged.

"Is everyone older in this universe?" Violetta asked. "Camila and Broduey have a teenager."

"Yes, I forgot to mention, this universe is 10 years ahead. Your kids are almost teenagers, but I didn't want you to see them," Roxy explained, "I wanted you to watch them grow up for yourselves, in your own universe."

"Well, that's nice," Francesca said. "Is this Ludmila's... kid?"

"Mhm!"

"And let me guess... not with Naty."

"Not with Naty, no."

"Who, then?" Violetta asked. "A girl she met later in life, maybe?"

Roxy shook her head. 

Out came Federico. He wrapped his arms around Ludmila and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"She and Fede...?" Violetta asked. 

"Is Ludmila closeted in this universe?" Francesca asked. "Or does she have a different sexuality?"

"Now, universes may be different, but people's personality and sexual orientation always stays the same," Roxy explained. "But Ludmila is not bisexual, nor pan, nor likes any other gender other than girls. She is closeted."

"Yeah, we know... she had a rough coming out with her mom..." Violetta said. 

"There is a universe in which Priscila Ferro married a woman named Sharon instead of your dad," Roxy said.

"What-"

"We won't visit that universe, as that does not have anything to do with you. But it's fun, Ludmila got a stepsister that was in a similar situation to her and the two bonded together and stopped their moms from taking over the world, which they were fully capable of doing because both Sharon and Priscila are dangerous women... anyway, in that universe she at least didn't push you down the stairs, Vilu, but she did push another teenage girl down the stairs. But I'm getting off topic, that universe as I mentioned has nothing to do with you!"

"Mom, you're so slow!" the kid sighed, "I wanna go to the mall!"

"We will go to the mall," Ludmila said very calmly, "You just have to be patient."

"She never raises her voice at her kid because she wants to do everything opposite from her own mother," Roxy explained.

"That makes sense," Violetta said. 

"While you go to the mall, I'm gonna go make some dinner for my two stars!" Federico said in a cheerful tone. Ludmila smiled at him. There was kind of a sadness in her smile, but it was there.

"They do have a happy marriage, they do," Roxy assured them, "But their kid definitely suspects Ludmila. I'm sure in a few years it's gonna be some drama with that. Anyway, wanna see who Naty ended up with?"

They teleported to a new place. Immediately, they saw Maxi and Naty together in the backyard of a house. They had two little children, one boy and one girl, running around. Naty sighed in relief.

"At least they don't destroy everything in our house now," Naty said. 

"Only our backyard," Maxi chuckled.

"Now, Naty is also closeted, but so is Maxi, so it's ok," Roxy explained. "And they have a decent life. They got twins a few years back. Wild little things, they like to run around a lot, Maxi and Naty are often exhausted. But hey, that's parenthood."

"So Maxi gets twins in every universe?" Francesca asked.

"Maxi does get twins in every universe, yes. In every other universe he has them with Andrés, but in this specific one, he has them with Naty."

"I'm still so surprised him and Andrés are gonna be a thing," Violetta chuckled. "But it also makes sense."

"They seem to be doing ok together," Francesca said, "But I still think Naty and Ludmila are happier together."

"Yeah, and Maxi and Andrés."

"Maybe in your universe," Roxy shrugged. "Despite what I've told you, we have only seen a small glimpse of their relationships. But I can tell you there's one relationship that I'm happy is only in this universe."

They teleported to Violetta's childhood house. 

"What are we doing here?"

Roxy put a hand on her shoulder. "Violetta... I don't know how I'm gonna put this in the best way... your aunt and your dad are married."

"What?!"

"Mhm. And you support it in this universe."

"I-"

"Wait..." Francesca said, "Do they have children?"

Roxy shook her head.

"That's a relief," Violetta said, "I can't imagine them... but also... poor Angie... she really wanted kids. But I can understand she doesn't want to have kids with dad."

"Let's look at a glimpse of their marriage life," Roxy said, teleporting them inside the house.

Germán sat on the couch, as Angie came inside with some tea.

"I decided to give you some tea while you work," she said gently.

"Thank you, Angie." Germán laid back, "Ough, could you give me a massage, too? My back really hurts."

"Of course." She smiled and started giving him a massage.

"Aaah! That's the spot! Ooh, you're so good at this, Angie! I love you!" He kissed her arm that was leaning over his shoulder. 

"I love you, too."

Violetta stared at this in disbelief. "I have to admit I had a dream they'd be together once... but that was before I really knew how bad my dad was and I just wanted Angie to stay with me forever. I don't care if they have a happy marriage or whatever, I don't... like it. I think it's weird! Am I a bad daughter?"

"Yes," Roxy said. "But it's ok, he's a bad father."

"He really is," Francesca said. Violetta stared at her. "What?" Francesca asked, "It's true!"

"But it might also be weird because I know just how happy she is with Pablo in our universe," Violetta said. "And they have their daughter... and Angie is happier than what I've ever seen her."

"Can we go to another universe?" Francesca asked.

"Sure! Let us spice it up!" Roxy exclaimed. "Now, how do you feel about polygamy?"

"Uh-"

"No time to speak, we're gonna travel now!"

-

They ended up in a large room. It appeared to be a party of some sorts.

"Who's birthday is it?" Violetta asked.

"It is very unclear," Roxy admitted. "It might not be a birthday at all, but just a gathering."

"Look! Naty and Ludmila are together with Stella again!" Francesca exclaimed, pointing at Naty holding baby Stella, as Ludmila was cooing at her.

"And Camila has Kim!" Violetta added, noticing Kim sitting on Camila's shoulders. They were happy to see their friends have their kids back.

They then noticed Maxi and Andrés leaning against each other in the corner.

"Oh, they're together?" Violetta asked.

Roxy nodded. "In this universe, they just got together, but the twins are not here yet! But the important thing here is you four over there."

They noticed this universe's version of Violetta, Francesca, Diego and Leon stand over at a table. Violetta and Francesca were holding two girls that appeared to be their separate daughters at home. 

"I wanna say right off the bat, that's not Isadora and Diana," Roxy explained.

"Why?" Francesca asked.

"Because Isadora and Diana can never be siblings. Neither can Stella and Kim."

"Why not?" Violetta asked. "And what do you mean with siblings?"

"When your daughters turn into teenagers, something will happen with their relationship that would make any other universe very weird if they were siblings. And about that... these two girls you see in front of you were conceived with the ones you are married to in your universe... but they have other names here, and while they aren't biologically siblings, they... are."

"Hold up, what?" Francesca asked, feeling super confused. 

Roxy formed a mischievous grin. "Violetta, do you notice that you're pregnant?"

Violetta looked down on herself and frowned. "What?"

"No, not you, the other you! This universe's you!"

Indeed. This universe's Violetta handed over the toddler she had carried to Leon, and the second she did, you could see her bump. 

"Me and Leon are gonna get another baby?" Violetta asked.

"Not you and Leon. You and Diego."

Violetta stopped her tracks. "But... who's the black haired toddler that Francesca is carrying?"

"That's also Diego's."

"You lost us," Francesca said. 

"Remember when I asked you how you felt about polygamy? Well, in this universe, the four of you got very close on your trip to Madrid that one time... and you became so inseparable that you all four decided to date each other!" 

"Uh..." 

"None of you are married, that is still illegal. But you wanted to start a family, so you got yourself two kids, paired up Violetta and Leon and Diego and Francesca. But now, you're ready for a third, and so Diego decided to try mixing his genes with Violetta. Who knows if you get a fourth mixing Leon and Fran's, that all depends on how much you can handle three children."

"I..." Violetta tried to figure out how to react to this. "... ok..."

"As long as we're happy...?" Francesca said, raising an eyebrow. 

Roxy lit up. "Oh, if you say that, you're gonna love the next universe we're visiting! I call it the 'nothing-is-the-same-as-any-other-universe-universe'!"

-

They arrived in a living room. Violetta looked out the window. "Huh. We're in Madrid...?"

"Yes, you live here now," Roxy said. 

"Okay... why, and also with who?"

"You live here with your husband who missed his home country so much, and you were happy to move here for him!"

Right then, this universe's Violetta came in with groceries. She turned around. "Come on, can't you help me carry at least one bag?"

"They're so heavy!" a whiny voice replied.

Violetta and Francesca stiffened. They recognized that voice. It sounded like Sniff from the Moomins, but more a much darker voice. 

Out came Tomas, and gave Violetta a kiss on the cheek. ”Can you be a dear and get the rest of the grocery bags?”

”Okay,” This universe-Violetta playfully rolled her eyes. 

”How did I end up with Tomas?” Violetta asked.

”Well, you never forgot about him after he moved, and he never forgot about you either,” Roxy said as she wiggled her eyebrows. ”You kept in contact and eventually started dating… and now, here you are!”

”Do we have kids?”

”You don’t. It’s not that you don’t want them, but making them is hard, because Tomas has a tendency to… finish quickly?” 

Both women scrunched their faces up and shook their heads as they waved their hands around. 

”Thanks, I don’t wanna hear!” Violetta exclaimed.

”Why not, it’s your husband!”

”My husband is Leon and he’s the only one I can picture be a father to my children!”

”Is he the same as Tomas in bed?”

Violetta went silent for a moment, not sure if she would share such intimate details. Then she remembered Francesca practically knew everything as the two of them talked about intimate subjects a lot, and Roxy was this weird all-knowing universe bender. ”I’ll have you know Leon knows exactly how to satisfy both me and himself. Thank you.”

This universe’s Violetta came back upstairs with the last of the groceries.

”You can at least put them where they’re supposed to be,” she told him, ”I’m gonna go shower.”

As she left, Tomas started packing up the groceries. Right away however, they noticed he was putting things all wrong. Things supposed to be in the fridge was put in the cupboard, he put apples in the freezer for some reason, and just left it very disorganized.

”He’s doing it on purpose so that he doesn’t have to do it in the future, because you’d think he’d ’only do it wrong’,” Roxy explained.

”Lazy ass fuck,” Francesca mumbled. Everyone turned to her, as she usually didn’t swear. ”What? Let me!” 

”I’m annoyed,” Violetta admitted, ”Why does me in this universe stay with him?”

”Because you love him in this universe,” Roxy said. ”When you come out of the shower, you’re gonna go give him a massage because you love him so much.”

”Oh my god, I’m Angie in the universe where she’s with my dad! Quick, can we go see where Francesca is instead?”

”Sure thing!” Roxy snappad her fingers and suddenly they were in a new living room. This time, in what appeared to be Milano. Francesca was cuddling with someone on the couch.

Walking forward for further inspection, it appeared to be Marco.

”Marco?” Francesca asked, surprised. ”I married Marco in this universe?”

”Yes,” Roxy said. ”You never broke up. As Marco went to London, you wanted to be closer to him, and thus moved back to Italy. You had your singing career here, and as he was done with his studies, he moved her with you and now you’re married and go on vacations with Violetta and Tomas around Europe.” 

”Aww,” Francesca said, ”Well, that’s nice. Except I’m still skeptical about Tomas, but otherwise than that, it’s nice.”

”Imagine if I had ended up with Clement,” Violetta joked.

”You never will or have in any universe,” Roxy said, ”There was never a chance you and Clement ever would be romantically involved.”

”I’m guessing me and Marco don’t have kids,” Francesca said. 

”Well, check yourself.”

Francesca checked her alternate-universe counterpart and noticed that there was a bump sticking out from her. She gasped.

”I’m pregnant!” 

”You are,” Roxy said, ”Congrats!”

Francesca wasn’t sure she was supposed to say thanks, considering it wasn’t her that was pregnant, but it was still her from another universe, so it was her.

”Marco, can you get me a soda?” this-universe Francesca asked.

Marco got up. ”Anything for my princess!”

”He’s still a Ken to your Barbie,” Roxy remarked. ”But hey! You might wanna know what happened to your husbands from your own universe!” 

She snapped her fingers. They were now in Buenos Aires, in some garage. Diego and Leon were sitting down on a couch, holding a beer each. 

”What do you say we rehearse later?” Leon asked. ”After I walk the dog.” 

”If I have the energy,” Diego chuckled.

”You have the energy, you’re just lazy.”

”I’m not lazy!” 

”You are. You are so lazy!” After Leon said this, he gave Diego a quick peck.

”Ooooh…” Violetta said, ”They are ones married to each other this time.”

”Correct,” Roxy said. "Since you were so busy with Tomas, Diego spent more time with Leon than with you, which lead to them having a relationship and also lead to Francesca staying with Marco! But I don’t really know how all events led up to each other, but I guess it can make sense…”

Violetta and Francesca nodded. 

”Leon and Diego don’t have kids, but they do have dogs! And they’re planning on getting a parrot, too.”

”I have a weird question,” Violetta said, ”Is there any universe which Diego and Marco are together?”

”According to my device, they are together in the same universe as Priscila marrying a woman named Sharon. Possibly other universes too, but it won’t load. Anyway, that universe also has Angie being together with Jade and Ludmila and Camila being together.”

”Who’s Angie with in this universe?” Violetta asked.

”Jackie.”

”Our old dance teacher?” Francesca asked.

”Yes. Also, in this universe, Naty and Camila are together. Should we go meet them?”

"Sure...?"

They teleported to a kitchen. Immediately, they saw Naty stand by the stove, cooking something. 

"Mami!" someone shouted. A little child soon came running inside. It was a little girl, but it was not Stella. 

"Dinner is ready soon," Naty assured the child. 

"Guess who woke up from their nap early!" Camila said, making her announcement by saying that. She was carrying a little baby.

"Did you?" Naty joked. "Good thing the baby woke you up!"

Camila went up and kissed her. "What's for dinner?"

"It's a surprise."

"CHICKEN NUGGETS?!" the little girl exclaimed.

"No, not chicken nuggets," Naty laughed.

"I want chicken nuggets!"

"Tomorrow," Camila promised.

"'Morrow?"

"You'll get nuggets tomorrow."

The little girl seemed happy with this promise. 

"They might get a third child eventually," Roxy explained, "And even a fourth. The universe has not decided that yet."

"What a cute little family they have," Violetta said. "I know both Naty and Camila are great mothers from our own universe, so I'm happy they still are here."

"Yeah, even if it's weird not seeing Naty with Ludmila..." Francesca admitted.

"Yeah, where is Ludmila?"

Roxy tried to look it up on her device. "It... doesn't say."

"It doesn't say?"

"No... maybe the universe has not decided what she's up to."

"What does that even mean?" Francesca asked. "Does that mean she... doesn't exist in this universe?"

"No, no! She does exist! It's just that we don't know what she's up to or if she's with someone. She might not be with anyone! She might be single! She might be with Broduey, it doesn't say what he's up to either."

”I doubt Ludmila is with Broduey,” Violetta admitted.

”Ok, you’re right. In this universe, she’s either single or with another woman. We don’t know.”

”May I ask,” Francesca said, ”Any of these pairings we’ve witnessed here… do they exist in any other universe?” 

”Yes. There’s a lot of universes that mixes these together. We for example have universe 22 where you two are married, as well as Naty and Camila AND Diego and Leon. I don't know why this is called the universe in which nothing in the same as the others, maybe because there's not two or more pairings that both is the same in another universe?”

”Why are some universes numbered and others have a title?” Violetta asked. 

”Don’t question it. There’s also a universe in which you and everyone you know are a part of a tv show and are played by actors, and then people in their 20s write fanfiction about you!” 

”I have decided to not question anything anymore…” 

”And then those people in their 20s who write fanfiction about you are fictional characters in one of your universes and you might write fanfiction about them!”

Roxy then stared right at you, the reader, and smiled as she asked you: ”Which character would you want to write fanfiction about you?”

-

As they entered the white void that was in between all the universes, Roxy took the women’s hands.

”We’re soon gonna travel back to your universe again. But before I need to ask you: Did you see any similarities between the universes?”

”Well…” Violetta said, ”I don’t know…” 

”I’m gonna give you a hint: In every universe, there was a couple that always remained, and never changed, not even in the nothing-is-the-same-as-any-other-universe-universe.”

”What?” Francesca said. Both her and Vilu tried to recount all the different universes. Some had the same couples as the previous, but not all of them. 

”No, I’m lost,” Violetta admitted. ”Please, who is it?”

Roxy smirked. ”It’s two that you seem to have forgotten about. Makes sense, you only hung out with them for a year and then seemed to move on from them. But they were there…”

”Huh? Who?”

”Braco and Napo!”

"Braco and Napo?" Vilu and Fran exclaimed in unison. 

"Are they together?" Francesca asked. "I mean, I always had a feeling about Napo being gay, but Braco?"

Roxy shook her head and tutted disapprovingly. "You clearly have not kept in contact with them."

"No... I guess we haven't," Violetta admitted. "They're dating in our universe, too?"

"Yes. And in the universe where you two are married, and in every other universe! There's always them!"

"But how come they're an exception to the rules?" Francesca asked.

"Think about it, Fran... when you picture Napo or Braco with anyone... who do you picture?"

"Uh... I guess... I don't really... have thought about it."

"Exactly. In the universe in where you are fictional characters in a tv show, Braco and Napo disappeared after one season."

"Did they do that because we lost contact with them in our universe?"

"Probably. Oh well! We're back in your universe now!"

-

They were back in Violetta's kitchen.

"We're back to our universe?" Violetta asked.

"We need to get our kids," Francesca said, "We've been away for such a long time..."

"No, no time has passed at all in your universe," Roxy assured them. 

"I feel very odd," Violetta admitted.

"Yes, you feel that after seeing yourself living in different universes. And we didn't even visit all of them! Did I tell you about the one where you changed your name to Tini?"

"Why did I do that?"

"No one knows."

"Can I ask you something?" Francesca asked, "My brother Luca. In this universe we're in, he's not with anyone, nor has he any kids. Does he in any universe?"

"Yes, in several of the ones we visited! But I forgot that you'd be interested in that," Roxy admitted.

"Oh... okay..."

"Maybe next time!"

"Maybe next time, yes..." 

Roxy put her arms up in the air. "Well! I better go!"

"Where are you going?" Violetta asked.

"I'm sensing someone else needs some universe-travelling... in another universe."

"I see..."

"But it was very fun hanging out with you!" Roxy exclaimed and shook both of their hands at the same time.

"I'm just surprised that you even exist," Violetta said, "Considering you're my alter ego in this universe..."

"I'm your alter ego in a lot of universes! It's your fault, or your credit, that I exist as my own person in my own universe!"

Violetta stared at her, slightly confused. "How does it look in your own universe?"

Roxy shrugged, "I live in a universe where alter egos exist and always have existed! We are not born, we just come into existence as the age we were when we were created. Our universe is just a void that bends and changes, which is why we like to travel to other universes!"

"Ok, makes sense..." Violetta wasn't sure it made sense, but she was just too dazed by everything she just decided to accept it. 

"I need to go now!" Roxy said. "Goodbye!" 

She jumped and with a pop, she was gone.

"I wanna travel through universes again sometimes," Francesca said, "I wanna know what Luca's doing."

"Yes, although it feels weird to see us being with other people and having other children..."

"Yeah... wait, what were we talking about?"

"What?"

"What?"

What Roxy didn't tell them was that, as soon as you come back from a multiverse trip, you soon forget all of it. 

Maybe it was for the good, because you could easily get driven insane by knowing what you did in other universes...

Violetta and Francesca in universe 1 just thought they had been tasting a wine they friend had made, and that Roxy was simply a character Violetta came up with. They thought their daughters were children they had with Leon and Diego respectively, and forgot all about universe 2, in which they instead were the ones married and had three children of their own. Violetta never remembered visiting the universe where she was married to Tomas instead, and Francesca never remembered seeing herself in that other universe married with Marco and expecting a child with him. And none of the two remembered the universe in which, instead of being married to Leon and Diego separately, they had a polyamorous relationship with them.

They didn't remember their friends being together with anyone else than who they currently were and weren't together with. 

And all the Francescas and Violettas from all the other universes had no idea either that things were different. They all lived their lives happily unaware. 

Although, despite forgetting everything, Violetta and Francesca from this universe would always and forever have this feeling that they were going through something, but they can't remember what... and they would wonder that for the rest of their lives.

-

Camila, or her witch aunt, did not only cast a spell on the wine. One of them also cast a spell on the text you're reading right now. Don't ask me how they did that. 

Roxy is coming for you right now. You should be lucky the universe you're in is one of the few in which teleportation is illegal, because otherwise she'd appear directly next to you.

She just landed 100 meters from your location. She's running. Lock your doors if you're at home, and if you're not, then... have fun on your multiverse trip! You won't remember much of it anyway when you're done!

You could make it a drinking game every time "universe" is written... /j So, as I mentioned in the beginning notes, in my fics I only keep it in two universes, where the only difference is if Franletta or Leonetta + Diecesca is canon, and all other ships remain the same. The plan was that they'd just visit each other between these two, but then I decided to go completely chaos with it. A long time ago, I tried to figure out next gens for many of the canon ships, and it was those that showed up in the "canon ships" universe. The other universes were just me toying around. And there's probably hundreds of universes left... I don't have next gens for that many ships, so many of these were either "IF this ship had kids, this is how I could picture it", or "this ship would not have kids together". The only actual next gens I have are the ones that are mentioned by name. I also mentioned some ideas I've had about writing someday, like "the universe where Violetta is not relevant" ;) We'll see if I write it someday. Hope you liked this fic! Also, Roxy is by your door now. If you have it locked, she'll leave soon. If you see her or open the door, she'll come in, but the second your trip through different universes where you live your life differently ends, you'll forget it all, and it will just feel like a repressed memory that you can't recall.

#violetta #leonetta #diecesca #franletta #luty #camila torres #natila #tomletta #dieletta #leonesca #dieleon #germangie #pablangie #fedemila #brodemila #naxi #maxi x andrés #braco x napo