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writeforfandoms · 5 months

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Waking Lions 20

Find the series masterlist

We're changing things up a little this chapter! I felt you guys needed a POV switch to really get a better picture of what's going on.

So, let's check in with Price and see how he's handling this, shall we?

Warnings: swearing, yelling, game typical violence, war crimes probably, Price needs his own warning, canon typical violence against nameless goons.

Word count: 2.3k

In his defense, Price had a lot on his mind.

But no. That was no kind of defense.

Especially not when it came to you.

He'd sent you away because he had to, because otherwise you'd be too distracting. He had to focus on the task at hand.

Not on thinking about everything he'd just learned about you. Everything you'd let slip in your fluster.

He knew you well enough to know that you'd be mortified, later. You kept so many things to yourself that knowing an entire room full of people had heard that would probably send you into hiding.

From the way Laswell glanced at the door after you left, Price knew that she was thinking the same thing.

But there would be time later to console you, to apologize for being an ass, to make sure you were alright.

For now, he had work to do.

Now that there were three groups involved, it was easier to split up the targets. Easier to send Soap with Alejandro and Rodolfo, to keep Ghost with him and Gaz, to let KorTac keep to themselves. This wasn't the kind of mission he wanted to test by putting together potentially explosive personalities.

(Price could admit, if only to himself, that he didn't trust himself to work with those three. Not right now, not with the new intel still so close to the surface, not with his own curiosity burning a hole in his stomach.)

The three targets were, of course, not near each other.

“I can arrange transport,” Laswell said. It was not an offer for the 141 or the Vaqueros, but it was an offer for KorTac.

“We've got our own,” Declan said, a relatively gentle refusal. “Timing will be tight.”

“Just have to coordinate,” Alejandro said, unbothered. “We won't give them a chance to warn each other.”

“Give me a little time to coordinate the flights,” Laswell said, stepping closer to Declan. It was as close to a dismissal as the rest of them would get. She didn't need them hanging over her shoulder while she worked her magic.

So Price stepped out of the room, his boys behind him.

“Think Ace is alright?” Gaz asked softly. He was a smart, perceptive lad. Cared so much still. Probably too much, sometimes.

“I'll check in on her,” Price murmured. He still had one phone number that worked for you, fortunately.

It rang through to voice mail.

Okay. Not to panic. Didn't mean anything.

Soap and Ghost ran off to get lunch for everyone, since planning was best done on a full stomach.

Price tried calling again. No answer again.

It could be a thousand things. You could have your phone on silent. You could be mad at him and ignoring his calls. You could be busy with something else.

But his paranoia was rearing its head, undeniable and ugly.

You were right in the middle of all this, of course he was going to be concerned about you.

So he went on a little walk. To help clear his head.

He didn't see any sign of you. Every bit of his hard-won paranoia was screaming that something was wrong. That this wasn't like you.

One more phone call. One more.

Then he'd move on to more drastic measures.

The third call also went to voice mail. You weren't picking up. One he could excuse, two was iffy. But three calls?

Something was wrong.

“Gaz,” he called as he strode back into the building. “Need the laptop.”

Gaz was quick to produce it, giving Price a curious look. “Need any help, sir?”

“Maybe.” Price pulled up one of the programs Laswell had given him. Normally this kind of work was more up her alley - CIA shit, as Simon more or less affectionately referred to it. But Price wasn't clueless, or useless.

Gaz behind him, watching over his shoulder. Price didn't discourage him, focused on putting in your number and letting the program do its job.

Let this be nothing. Let him be paranoid. He could handle your temper, your hiding, your embarrassment.

So long as you were safe.

The tracker put your phone in a mostly residential area, well out of the way. Not near the hotel, not near anything the two of you had talked about.

Something was wrong.

It didn’t take him long to pull up CCTV in the area, flipping through them. There wasn’t a lot, and his jaw tightened in frustration.

“Wait,” Gaz said over his shoulder. “Go back one.”

Price obliged, going back to the previous angle.

“There, in the grass on the far side of the street.” Gaz pointed, shifting closer.

Price’s heart sank right down to his boots. A cell phone lay in the grass, abandoned. He knew you well enough to know that you wouldn’t just leave your cell phone. Not without reason.

Wordlessly, he backed up the footage until he found you. He paused for a moment, taking in the scene. The car. You, standing back just a little. The man clearly encouraging you in.

He backed up until you came into frame.

But you weren’t alone.

“Laswell!”

The door slammed open and Laswell was at his elbow moments later, leaning over his open shoulder. “Fuck,” she hissed, which was all the confirmation Price needed.

The man with you was Gray.

“How did he get her into the car?” Gaz, quiet and reasonable.

“Threats,” Price grunted.

“Me,” Laswell added, lips tight, fury in the crease of her brow. “He’s using me against her.”

Price scowled. Gray needed to be taken out. Immediately. But they couldn’t give up the mission, either.

“Track the car,” he told Gaz, pushing the laptop to his sergeant instead. “I need to know where they’re going.”

“Sir?” Gaz blinked at him, even as he pulled up the program.

“I need some supplies.” He looked to Laswell next.

“I’ll have them for you.” Laswell glanced back at Gaz, putting things together a little faster. “The op?”

“Needs to move forward.” Price shook his head. “I’ll be back in time, or I won’t. Gaz, you and Ghost are still on.”

Gaz frowned but didn’t object. Good lad. “Car’s left the suburbs,” he reported, a map pulled up on his phone. “Heading south.”

“We’ll find it again,” Laswell said, nodding to Price. “Here. Go here, take whatever you need.” She handed him an address scribbled on a piece of paper. “I’ll update you when we find the car.”

Price took the note with a nod and strode away. He didn’t wait for the elevator, hitting the door to the stairs hard enough it bounced off the wall of the stairwell. He didn’t slow, even as he hit the front door and just sidestepped running into Soap.

“Captain?” Soap called.

“Ask Laswell!” Price called over his shoulder, car keys in hand. He didn’t have time to stop and explain.

It took very little time to get to Laswell’s supply stash, and he took what he needed. Fortunately, she was well supplied, and he made a mental note to thank her for it.

But for now, the only thing on his mind was you.

You’d been gone for hours by now, and from the time stamp on the CCTV, you’d been in the car with Gray at least an hour.

He stopped at the curb next to where Gaz had spotted your phone, getting out. And there it was, still sitting in the grass.

Still open to show a new recording.

Price listened the whole recording, jaw clenched tight, fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.

Gray knew more than he should. He had sources, clearly.

But Price couldn’t bring himself to care much about that. No.

He cared about the little waver in your voice, the way he could hear you putting up a brave front.

You were terrified. And he wanted to rip Gray limb from limb for making you so scared.

Gaz called. Price barely glanced at the phone before he connected the call.

“We’ve got a location,” Gaz reported, voice even. Almost too even. Price could hear the stress he was hiding.

“Tell me.” Price didn’t even pause as he memorized the address, just in case. “Picked up Ace’s phone.”

“Anything?” Gaz tried not to sound hopeful.

“Ace got a recording before she got in the car.” Price had to pause for a moment, clenching his jaw. “He knows too much. Knew about us, said he’s got something planned for Laswell, too.”

“Fucking hell.” Gaz drew in a deep breath. “Sure you don’t need backup, sir?”

“I’ll keep you updated.” Price barreled through a yellow light, ignoring everything not an active danger to him. “How are your preparations going?”

“Laswell’s got the flights arranged,” Gaz said, a little reluctantly. “Timing is coordinated. We’ll be leaving in a few hours.”

“Rog.” Price doubted he’d make it back in time. And if, by some miracle, he did, he didn’t know if he’d be in the correct frame of mind to be on mission.

“Take the next left.”

Price obeyed without question, only breaking one or two traffic laws. (It was fine, Laswell would clear it up later.) “The others?”

“Up to date,” Gaz reported. “Had to talk Soap out of going after you.”

Price snorted. Surprising - he hadn’t known that sergeant had much fondness for you. Then again, Soap could just be reacting because Price was fond of you. Sometimes that was enough. “I trust Ghost is behaving.”

Gaz huffed. “Define behaving,” he grumbled, overly dramatic. Breaking the tension a bit.

“He hasn’t killed anyone yet or there’d be a lot more yelling.” Price scowled at the driver ahead of him, who was going exactly the speed limit.

“Laswell’s on top of everything,” Gaz assured him. “Go right, cut up two streets, and then left.”

Price grunted as he followed Gaz’s directions, pushing his foot down as soon as he was out from behind the slow driver. “How far?”

“Rate you’re going? Fifteen minutes.”

Price breathed slowly. You’d have been alone with Gray for near two hours by that point. He had no idea what condition he’d find you in. If you’d even be alive. The thought sent pain through his chest, clenching and sharp, but he forced himself not to shy away from it.

It was a possibility, even if it was one he did not want to face.

If it was true… if you were already gone…

He’d burn Gray alive.

Price switched from the call to a comm unit he tucked in his ear before he headed out of the car. He’d parked a little ways away, just in case. The abandoned hotel was in clear sight, fortunately no taller than the surrounding buildings. Still too many hiding places, sniper spots.

That was fine. Price would just clear the entire fucking building room by room until he had you back.

“Careful, sir. I count six outside.”

“Together?” Price crept forward, using a parked van as a hiding spot.

“Spread out. Three teams of two.”

Price’s lips thinned. Time to thin out the herd, then.

The first two fell so quickly they were almost simultaneous. Price moved around the van, keeping low and creeping towards the next pair, the silenced pistol firm in his grip. This was normal, easier. It was easy to view these people as the enemy, easy to clear them out systematically, coolly, silently. And they were the enemy - they were working for Gray, who had clearly allied himself on the ultranationalists and terrorists.

Which all meant that Price felt no guilt, no remorse, not even a flicker of hesitation in taking down every single man between him and you.

“I have no cameras inside,” Gaz told him as Price finally approached the door.

“Copy,” Price grunted. “Going dark.” He breached the door as quietly as he could, looking around.

So far, so good.

The ground level of this building was an absolute wreck of furniture, graffiti, and rubble. Dust, dirt, and debris covered most of the floor. The main area was a mess of footprints and an open crate of supplies.

No good hints as to where Gray had taken you.

Price cleared the ground floor methodically, cold rage spurring him on. He didn’t spare any of the bodies that hit the ground a second look.

They were nothing more than obstacles.

The last door was more than just a room, though. There was a half-open door, with a staircase going down. Maintenance, at a guess.

And soft voices from down there.

Too far away to tell if you were down there. But if Price had to bet, he’d guess that you were. Gray would keep you contained and out of danger, at least until he got what he wanted from you.

“John,” Laswell said over the comm.

Price paused, pulling back from the open doorway, pitching his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “Laswell.”

“I found some backup for you. You’ll recognize him.”

Price blinked but didn’t allow himself any other sign of surprise. “Copy that. I’m headed downstairs - room near the back of the building has stair access.”

“I’ll pass that along.” Laswell drew in a breath, and Price waited. “If you can, bring Gray back alive.”

His lips pulled back from his teeth. “No promises.”

“Good hunting, John.” Laswell clicked off the comm.

Price breathed in deep. Someone would be coming behind him, backup. He just needed to not shoot his backup. And possibly not shoot Gray.

That would depend entirely on how you were when he found you.

Price nudged the door open enough to slip through, descending silently.

The first guard went down silently, and Price dragged the body out of the hallway and into a closet. That would buy him a little time if any other guards came through.

A double tap through the com got his attention, and Price half-turned to find a familiar face walking down the corridor towards him.

Price grinned, probably showing a few too many teeth. “Good to see you again,” he murmured. “Let’s get on it, sergeant.”

#waking lions #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

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cameronspecial · 5 months

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brothers best friend! rafe

No Recognition

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Unconsensual Grinding

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Masterlist

Joe had always been Rafe’s best friend. The pair were inseparable since they met at three years old and when Y/N came into the world two years later, the friends had agreed that they would protect her no matter what. If Joe and Rafe are around, then it is likely Y/N is not far behind, dragged there by her brother and his best friend under the pretense of protecting her. She loves the pair, but they often drive her crazy with their constant worry about her. Her phone is constantly ringing if she isn’t with either of them and they will be at her location as soon as they learn where she is. When she was a sophomore in high school, she had to get rid of her brother on find my iPhone after he and Rafe were “coincidentally” going to watch the same movie as her and her date. Once they graduated high school, the boys relaxed a little bit more with her. Their busy academic and social schedules impede their ability to take care of her. She has to admit that she missed the comfort of knowing they would always be there for her.

UNC Chapel Hill had a great program for what she wanted, so it wasn’t like she picked to go there solely for the reason that she would have the two troublemakers back in her life. But she has to admit that she found herself getting giddy every time she spotted his blonde hair and bold blue eyes. Over the two years of being away from him, she had realized there was another reason why she sought his comfort. It was because he caused butterflies in her stomach whenever she thought about him and she truly never thought she’d feel that way about her brother’s best friend.

——

Her roommate had dragged her to the party. Y/N had no idea where she was, but she was having fun at least until some guy thought it would be fun to encroach on her personal space. “Come on, Mamacita. You look so fine, just let me feel how tight your pussy is,” the boy grovels, pushing his front against her backside. Y/N tries to move forward to get away. It doesn’t help. However, suddenly, her solution seems to have worked because she no longer feels the pressure on her backside. She turns to check if he is gone only to see him being shoved up against the wall by Rafe. Rafe’s forearm is pressed against the other man’s neck, “I don’t want to see you touching or talking to Y/N or any other woman like that again. You are banned from this house. Don’t let me see you again.” With that, the man leaves in a hurry.

Rafe turns toward her, stepping closer to check on her. “Are you okay, Y/N/N?” His hands gently fall on her shoulders as he looks into her eyes. She nods, “Yeah, thank you. What are you doing here?” “I’m a part of the fraternity, Y/N/N. And good thing I am. I’m afraid of what that sleaze ball would’ve done to you if I wasn’t here,” he worries, bringing her into a hug. She wraps her arms around his back, “I’m okay, Rafe. I promise. It’s not like he had much going in his pants to press against me anyway.” The joke lightens the situation a little bit, causing both of them to laugh. Rafe straightens up to look her in her eyes and she swears it feels like his lips are getting closer to his. Just when she thought their lips were about to touch, Joe came crashing in. He pulls her away from Rafe’s hold. “Look, it’s Y/N/N. My baby sister can finally party with the big boys. Come meet the others,” Joe encourages, walking to different parts of the room to be introduced to Joe and Rafe’s other frat brothers. This leaves what could’ve been between Y/N and Rafe behind without the chance to be recognized.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron

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gabessquishytum · 6 months

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Human au/Immortal throuple idea!

Hob and Dream are best friends but Hob has a secret. He has been in love with Dream his whole life. But as far as he knows, Dream is only interested in women.

In fact, when Hob meets Calliope in a college course, develops a crush and invites her out for drinks, he sees the exact moment Dream falls in love with her. He watches it happen and feels his heart break again. Because Calliope is amazing. hob already knows it. But what can he offer either of them?

So Hob encourages Dream and Calliope to date, and pretends it’s fine. Dream has had flings before but this time, Hob knows it is serious. Still he hangs out with them all the time. More than he should, but Hob can’t ever turn them down when they invite him out. Their other friends joke about Hob being their constant third wheel.

After a year, Dream proposes and Hob helps throw them an engagement party. And Dream and Calliope both jokingly fight over who gets Hob as their best man. They share.

But Hob is at his limit. He had tried to quiet his heart but it’s just too painful to be so in love. And as long as he is in their lives, he knows he will never get over them. So quietly, Hob puts in an application for a grad program in the states, as far away as he can get. He doesn’t have the heart to tell them, not when they’re so excited for their future. He doesn’t want to ruin their happiness.

The day of the wedding, hob is heartbroken but so happy to see them happy. He means every word of his speech, where he tells the crowd how well matched they are, and how they are his best friends. He hugs them goodbye. Even if they don’t know it’s goodbye forever, he tries to memorize those last moments. And then as Dream and Calliope depart for their honeymoon in Greece, Hob shuts the door in his packed up apartment and hops on a plane.

Dream and Calliope don’t hear from Hob on their trip—but they assume he wants to give him space. But when they get back, they find a letter from Hob waiting. Hob tells them he has loved Dream for years but he knows his feelings aren’t returned. He tells them that he is not angry and that he knows Calliope will make Dream so happy. He admits that he loves Calliope too. He tells them to take care of each other but that he needs to move on and he is sorry but this is the only way he could think to do it. If he saw them he knows they would have been able to talk him out of it.

Dream falls to pieces. He calls Hob over and over but Hob has changed his number. He has deleted his social media. Hob doesn’t want to be found. Calliope is stunned by her own heartbreak. And she’s never seen Dream like this.

Their first year of marriage is rocky. Without Hob’s joyfulness Dream drags Calliope into depressive spirals. Without his gentleness, they grate on each other’s nerves. They realize how much Hob had been the glue that helped them work. Their sex feels more like fighting for dominance than making love. Calliope is sure Dream resents her for Hob’s leaving. And sometimes he spits at her that she is right, he does. It’s clear something is missing. Now they realize not only have they lost Hob, they’re on the verge of losing each other.

Calliope, because she is a queen, finally sits Dream down to talk about Hob. He tends to fly into a rage or collapse into sadness at the mention of Hob’s name these days. But she makes him talk to her about him. About their friendship. And slowly they realize that not only did they depend on Hob, but they might have been in love with him too.

So there is only one thing to do. They have to track Hob down and convince him to give them a chance. But how will they find him when he is determined not to be found? And if they find him, what if he has already moved on?

Oh I love it!!! 3 dumbasses is the only thing better than 2 dumbasses.

I'm imagining that they rally all their friends and family to try and track Hob down. Calliope's sisters put out feelers around Europe, Death contacts all of her colleagues in the medical field, and Delirium has the amazing idea to get in touch with their brother Destruction (now know as Ollie) who also disappeared at one point and knows the best places to go to track Hob down. With a plan of action and hope in their hearts, Dream and Calliope's relationship actually settles into something more like it used to be. They feel united and they finally start to comfort each other instead of fighting.

Ollie's work pays off and he tracks Hob down studying for his PhD and living in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere. He's changed his name and even altered his appearance slightly - long hair tied back in a ponytail, beard sleek and neat around his jaw. Ollie sends the information to Dream and he and Calliope are on the first flight out to the nearest airport.

Hob is... not mad that they tracked him down. He's fucking lonely and he misses his two best friends, and he's not sure if he made the right decision. Never getting to see them hurts even more than seeing them in love. When they show up on the doorstep on his trailer he's so relieved he could cry.

Calliope smacks him on the chest, hard enough to make him stumble, and she says a lot of thing that mainly boil down to "I'm so mad that you didn't even give us a CHANCE to love you." And Dream is all teary eyes and trembling lips, holding onto Hob’s sleeve like he's going to just disappear into thin air. Eventually they all go inside, and Hob makes tea. Just like he always used to.

Dream and Calliope get on either side of Hob and twine themselves around him like vines on a trellis. They need his support and strength to allow them to grow. And they feel awful that they never even realised just how important he was. He should have been an equal partner in their relationship from the very beginning. And now they have him back, they're both practically trembling with want. They need to show him that they want him to come back and be with them always!

Meanwhile Hob is just trying to work out if this is just a wonderful dream come true... or if his two loves are really crowding him up against the wall and kissing every inch of him they can reach?!

#the sandman #immortal throuple #dream x hob x calliope

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cybrsan · 9 days

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Vignette: Duty — P.SH, K.HJ

STORY SUMMARY: For as long as he can remember, Seonghwa has dedicated himself to a single goal: making his father proud. To do so, he needs to win the Nightingale commendation, become the best of the best. But when he falls a step behind Hongjoong, he has to reconsider what it is he truly wants.

PAIRING: N/A, Seonghwa POV ft. Hongjoong (Future OT8 x Reader in main fic)

RATING/GENRE: PG-13 ; dystopian AU, steampunk AU

WORD COUNT: 11.1k

WARNINGS: Alcohol use (in a very unhealthy sort of way), self-deprecating thoughts and behavior, blood/injury, violence, strained father-son relationship, minor character death

A/N: This is the first out of six prologue stories that will be posted prior to the release of mine and Orion's main fic, Through The Darkness. Stay tuned for more <3

LINKS: ATEEZ Masterlist. Cross-posted on AO3. Story masterlist and glossary will be added once posted.

BANNER CREDIT: @kwanisms

General Elowen Nightingale makes for an imposing figure, dressed head to toe in military regalia. Her uniform is a stark white, not a crease to be seen, and decorated with numerous patches and medals that are a testament to her years of service and hundreds of battles won. Her honey-colored hair, streaked with silver, is pulled back into a perfect bun, and her piercing, grey eyes burn with an intensity that can make even the most hardened soldiers avert their gaze.

As she scrutinizes the crowd of cadets from behind her podium, Seonghwa finds himself having to make a conscious effort to maintain his position and not falter. His fingers itch to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles of his own—far less decorated—uniform, his heart pounding in his chest. He has been in the Vanguard Program for a few years now and has known her since he was a child, but he’s still not used to being in her presence.

Hongjoong snickers from his place beside him, whispering, “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Shut up,” Seonghwa hisses through gritted teeth, keeping his eyes trained forward. “The last thing I need is to get in trouble for talking out of turn.”

“You have no reason to be nervous, Hwa, seriously. You’re one of the best in the class.”

“Says the General’s favorite.”

“Well, yes.” Seonghwa doesn’t have to look at Hongjoong to know there’s a smug grin on his face. “But that doesn’t make what I just said any less true. You have as good a chance as any to get the Nightingale Commendation.”

The Nightingale Commendation is a tradition of 30 years standing, named after the General’s family who established the program. It is the highest honor that can be bestowed upon a young, eager cadet, marking them as the one to watch (or the one to beat, in the eyes of their peers). It’s a ticket to swift promotions and the most coveted assignments. Naturally, everyone wants it.

Seonghwa can hardly even imagine being considered for such an award. He wants it, of course he does; after all, his name means “to be a star,” so being the rising star of the Vanguard Program would suit him. Or so his father says. But the idea of actually standing at the general’s side, his first medal pinned to his jacket… it’s almost too overwhelming to bear.

Though he won’t openly admit it due to the risk of relentless teasing, Seonghwa does feel put at ease by Hongjoong’s words. He glances toward him, momentarily forgetting the fear of being reprimanded. Hongjoong’s gaze is still cast forward, though he seems completely unfazed by the general or her commanding presence. He’s always been confident in a way that Seonghwa envies.

Suddenly turning his head, Hongjoong’s eyes meet his. In the harsh light of the auditorium, they seem a shade or two lighter than their usual brown. He smiles, though it isn’t the teasing grin Seonghwa was expecting. Instead, it’s soft, reassuring.

“Let’s promise each other that no matter who wins, we’ll celebrate together. Deal?”

Heat rushes to Seonghwa’s face against his better judgment. He’s so used to their competitive banter that this show of such genuine camaraderie has taken him aback. Still, he agrees without hesitation. “Deal.”

With that, the knot of anxiety in his chest unravels near completely. Having someone else be so confident in his abilities, someone who is so outstanding in their own right, is deeply comforting. Before either of them can say more, General Nightingale’s voice booms over the speakers.

“Attention!” she demands, and Seonghwa would swear she’s looking directly at him. “The time has come to announce this year’s recipient of the Nightingale Commendation. As you all know, this award is not given lightly. The cadet who is bestowed the honor will have earned it through their hard work, unwavering courage, and dedication to the cause.”

Sweat prickles at Seonghwa’s temple, a lone drop dripping down the side of his face and disappearing underneath the neckline of his shirt. This is it.

“Over the past few years, I have seen growth in all 46 of you; the Vanguard class of 1018 has been one of the most promising in our history. And while many of you have exhibited extraordinary promise, there is one cadet who has consistently exceeded all expectations.”

She pauses for a long moment, her eyes sweeping over the crowd. It’s as if she wants to savor the anticipation and make everyone squirm for as long as she can. Seonghwa can feel his heartbeat picking up again, and he even sees Hongjoong begin to fidget out of the corner of his eye.

Her gaze lands on Seonghwa and, for just a moment, he lets himself believe. But she passes over him without hesitation and immediately, he knows. He closes his eyes and prepares himself for what she is about to say.

“Congratulations, Cadet Kim Hongjoong. Please come up to the stage and accept your award.”

Seonghwa’s eyes remain closed as applause erupts around him. Deep down, he’d always known this moment would come, always known it would be Hongjoong and not him. But disappointment is not an easy pill to swallow.

“Seonghwa?”

Hongjoong whispers his name, and Seonghwa comes back to reality, opening his eyes to meet his expectant gaze.

“Congrats, Joong.” And he means it. He can get over his own disappointment in order to celebrate his friend.

He brings his hands together, mustering up a smile as he watches Hongjoong take the stage. General Nightingale hands Hongjoong the framed commendation before shaking his hand firmly. She then pins the matching medal onto his lapel—his first medal—and allows the crowd to cheer for a few moments longer.

“Cadet Kim,” she begins. “You have demonstrated exceptional skills throughout your time in the program. You are an example to all cadets of what an elite member of the Vanguard should be. I am confident you will uphold the Nightingale tradition of excellence in service.”

Hongjoong’s face, lit up with pride, is something Seonghwa will fondly remember for a long time.

“You’re welcome to give a speech,” General Nightingale says, stepping back as she gestures to the podium.

“I want to share this honor with all of you.” Hongjoong’s voice is strong and unwavering as he addresses the entire class. “We are all the future of the Sector. We are in this together and I am honored to fight at your side.”

He pauses for a moment, his gaze landing on Seonghwa once again. “There’s someone in particular I want to acknowledge.”

The auditorium falls silent as everyone follows his line of sight. Seonghwa feels himself flush with embarrassment, but he can’t bring himself to look away.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, his voice much softer now, as if he were speaking only to him. “You have been both my fiercest rival and my closest friend. Always there to push me beyond what I thought was possible, or to pick me up when I fall. This award,” he holds the commendation up in the air for emphasis, “Would not have been achievable without you. Thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Seonghwa feels like he might pass out from all the blood rushing to his head.

“And if you or anyone else brings up the fact I got so emotional, I’ll take you to the mat.”

Just like that, the tension is broken. Laughter and cheers erupt as the crowd surges to life. The noise is enough to break Seonghwa from the trance Hongjoong’s words had him under and he can’t help but laugh as well.

Hongjoong takes a final bow and steps down from the stage, receiving some congratulatory pats on the back as he walks back down the aisle. Seonghwa notices the general watching Hongjoong closely, her gaze alight with something he can’t quite decipher. A mixture of approval and curiosity, perhaps? Yet he barely has time to question it before Hongjoong reaches him and claps him on the shoulder.

“Bet you weren’t expecting that, huh?” he says, his grin widening as he scans Seonghwa’s flustered expression.

“Expecting what?” Seonghwa’s proud he doesn’t stutter. “That you have a sentimental side or that you would actually admit it in public?”

Hongjoong chuckles. “Hey, you’re the one that complains I don’t give you enough affection.”

“Still, I never would have dreamed of you publicly declaring your love for me,” Seonghwa teases. This banter is good—it’s what he’s used to. His heart finally settles in his chest.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, the act belied by the softness that lingers in his expression. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I’ll try not to.” Taking a deep breath, Seonghwa allows some of his sincerity to shine through. “All jokes aside… Thank you, Joong. Your words really do mean a lot. And I hope you know that they’re returned tenfold.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Before either of them can say more, General Nightingale reclaims her place at the podium. “Cadets,” she begins, her voice cutting through the clamor of the crowd. The room quiets almost instantly, and everyone returns their gaze to her. “As you all know, this ceremony isn’t just about the Nightingale Commendation. It’s about all of you and how much you have achieved over these past few years. Some of you will move on to other assignments, and some will have to report for further training, but all of you are part of what makes our Sector so great.

Hongjoong, of course, will become a member of the Vanguard Elite squad. Like all the past commendation recipients, he will be awarded Flight status, which gives him access to the most advanced machinery, classified assignments, and even travel outside of the Sector. Considering his outstanding performance throughout his time here, there is no doubt that he'll excel in his duties."

There is a momentary pause as she locks eyes with Hongjoong, and a curt nod of approval is exchanged before she turns back to the crowd.

“Alongside him, the top 5% of the class will also become part of the elite squad. We have evaluated the performance of these three cadets on various fronts: combat skills, strategic planning, adaptability, teamwork, and overall growth. The names I am about to announce are the individuals who have consistently excelled across these parameters. When I call your name, please join me on stage.”

If Seonghwa had thought the auditorium was silent before, it was nothing compared to the hush that fell over the room now. For a moment, he wonders if it’s possible Hongjoong might be able to hear his heart beating from his spot at his side. The general calls the first name. Not him. Second name. Also not him.

Then, finally, “Cadet Park Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa’s knees almost give out from underneath him. He wasn’t expecting this. He had been so focused on receiving the Nightingale commendation that he failed to consider the possibility of being in the top 5%—of still being part of the Vanguard’s most sought-after squad. In his shock, his gaze instinctively drifts to Hongjoong, who smiles and mouths, “I told you so.”

Walking on autopilot, he joins his new squad mates on stage. Surely, this must be enough to please his father. He may not be the best, but he is still among the elite; that has to count for something. Turning to General Nightingale, he bows slightly before shaking her hand.

“Congratulations, Cadet Park.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I present to you,” her voice rings powerfully through the auditorium once again, “the top 5% of the class, our Vanguard Elites!”

The rest of the class cheers and stomps their feet, the stage shaking from the force of it all.

“Moving forward, the remaining cadets will be assigned based on their individual strengths and overall rankings.”

She begins listing the remaining names, but Seonghwa is too lost in thought to hear them. He's on stage, a member of the Vanguard Elites, standing shoulder to shoulder with some of the academy's most talented cadets. He might still be a step behind Hongjoong, but surely that doesn’t matter. They’re still a part of the same squad, the same team.

“Our ceremony has come to an end. Congratulations to each and every graduate; you have all worked hard and should be proud of your achievements. To those who did not graduate—this should serve as motivation for you to work even harder in the future. Is that clear?” The crowd responds with a short cheer of understanding. “As always, we commit our hearts, bodies, and minds to service—”

“For the glory of the Sector!” The entire class finishes the alma mater in unison.

Seonghwa is flush with pride, standing straighter and more confidently than he ever has. This is it. This is what he has been working for. As the crowd erupts into a final round of applause, he takes in the sight before him: the sea of uniforms, the smiling faces, people hugging and congratulating one another. Everyone disperses, wandering off in different directions, presumably to go celebrate.

But Seonghwa only has eyes for one person.

Hongjoong approaches him, still beaming, and salutes him. “I’m excited to work with you, soldier.”

Seonghwa returns the salute. “You’re not sick of me yet?”

“Well…” Hongjoong draws out the word, letting it linger in the air for a moment before laughing. “No, not yet. We’ll see if that changes, though.”

Seonghwa wraps his arm around Hongjoong’s shoulder, pulling the shorter man firmly against his side as they continue to walk. “Oh, shut up. You confessed your love to me, remember?”

Hongjoong curls his lip. “Keep bringing that up, I dare you.”

“Cadet Kim.”

Seonghwa almost jumps out of his skin when the general speaks up from behind them. Hongjoong flinches slightly as well but has a much smoother recovery; Seonghwa never would have even noticed if he didn’t have his arm around him.

Hongjoong separates from Seonghwa and turns around, standing at attention. “Yes, General?”

“At ease. I need you to come with me to my office. There’s much we need to discuss concerning the commendation and the benefits you have been awarded.”

“Oh,” a glimmer of surprise crosses his face. “Of course. Hwa, I’ll see you later, okay?”

Seonghwa just nods, watching as the two walk away. A pit settles in his stomach but he tries to ignore it. He decides to head back to their shared quarters on his own, his footsteps bouncing off of the polished stone floor. He begins the careful ritual of removing his dress uniform, his hands shaking slightly as he undoes each button, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

While shrugging into a more comfortable shirt, Seonghwa glances at his nightstand and is surprised to find his aurvox lit, indicating he has a message waiting for him. He presses play and instantly tenses as his father’s voice comes over the speakers.

“Seonghwa. I watched the ceremony. Call me immediately.”

A wave of apprehension rolls down Seonghwa’s spine. In the message, his father’s voice sounds stern, almost frigid. It’s the voice he always uses when he is about to scold him, but surely that can’t be right. He got on stage and his abilities were acknowledged by General Nightingale herself. He made it into the Vanguard Elites. It’s not the commendation, but it’s still something.

He takes a deep breath, willing his hands to stop shaking as he returns the call. The aurvox rings once, twice, before his father answers.

“Seonghwa.”

“Father. I—”

“You didn’t win the Nightingale commendation.”

Seonghwa’s shoulders fall. Any excitement he may have been feeling, any pride, is instantly extinguished by those six words. “No. I didn’t.”

“You need to try harder. Your win this year was supposed to make up for your brother losing the commendation to that rusted piece of scrap from the Outer Sector.”

“I know. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be sorry—be better.” Seonghwa isn’t even given the time to respond as his father continues, “We are going to host a celebratory dinner for Hongjoong. His mother will be there so I expect you to be on your best behavior. After all, if you can’t beat him, at least make sure to use him. He might be able to aid you in the future, and Sunhee has plenty of connections.”

Seonghwa knows his father wants him to agree, but he can’t bring himself to say those words out loud. Use Hongjoong? He’s his friend. He won’t do it. He can’t.

“Seonghwa?” His father’s voice sharpens and Seonghwa flinches despite being nowhere in his vicinity.

“Yes, sir. Of course.” His words sound strained, but his father doesn’t seem to notice.

“Good. I will see you tonight. Dress well.”

His father hangs up without even saying goodbye, signaling that the conversation is over. Seonghwa places his aurvox back on his nightstand and immediately flops face down on his bed, groaning into one of his pillows.

He can hear the distant sounds of the other cadets, their conversations and laughter drifting in through the thin walls of his room. But they seem a world away to him now. He wonders if he's supposed to be feeling elated, liberated from the years of hard work and all-nighters that led to this moment. Instead, he feels numb.

He’s not sure how much time passes before the door swings open and Hongjoong walks in, a grin on his face. “Hwa! Both the general and I got the invite to your father’s dinner party tonight. You won’t believe what she told me—” He stops short when he notices Seonghwa’s current state. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just tired. How was your meeting?” Seonghwa manages to muster up a weak smile, hoping it’s convincing enough. By the look on Hongjoong’s face, it’s not, but he doesn’t press for more information.

“It was good,” Hongjoong answers after a moment, his smile slowly returning as he begins to fill Seonghwa in on the meeting. He babbles on and on about all the different benefits he will be able to take advantage of, unaware of the bitter taste filling Seonghwa’s mouth.

Seonghwa listens, nodding at the right moments, but he finds it hard to fully focus. He should be focused on his friend, celebrating with him. Instead, all he can think of are his father’s words. “Use him.”

“Seonghwa?” Hongjoong’s voice breaks through Seonghwa’s daze. “What’s going on?”

Seonghwa’s gaze snaps back to him, seeing the concern written all over his face. He attempts a smile again but it feels more like a grimace. “I’m okay, really. Just… there’s a lot on my mind.”

Hongjoong moves closer, shrugging off his overcoat and draping it over a desk chair before taking a seat next to Seonghwa on the bed. Their knees brush and Seonghwa jolts, pulling his leg away slowly enough for it not to be noticeable. As much as he wants the comfort he knows Hongjoong can provide, he can’t allow himself to indulge. Not now.

“You know you can talk to me about anything,” Hongjoong says, voice gentle. “Yeah, we compete, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be there for each other. We’re in this together.”

“I know, Joong,” Seonghwa replies, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s complicated, that’s all.”

Hongjoong stays quiet for a moment as if searching for the right words to say. “My mom always used to say that sometimes it’s the most complicated things that help us grow. They force us to confront parts of ourselves we aren’t comfortable with.”

Seonghwa feels a lump forming in his throat, his eyes shining with unshed tears. How can he explain that the uncomfortable thing he’s confronting is not a singular part of himself, but who he is at his core? That it takes into question his very values of duty, family, and loyalty? He can’t.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he murmurs, wiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Then, getting up, he heads over to the wardrobe in the corner of their room, pulling a bottle of some top shelf liquor out from behind a loose panel. They aren’t usually allowed to keep alcohol on site, but that hasn’t stopped most cadets. “How about a drink? We should celebrate.”

Uncorking the bottle, he pours two generous servings into crystal glasses and offers one to Hongjoong. Hongjoong hesitates, his gaze switching from the glass to Seonghwa and back again, but then he reaches out and takes the drink.

“To us?” Hongjoong raises his glass.

“To us,” Seonghwa echoes. He downs his drink in one go, the burn of it helping distract from his thoughts. The alcohol slides down easily, too easily, and he pours himself another glass.

“Careful,” Hongjoong warns. “Don’t forget we have that dinner later.”

“I remember,” he retorts, a little sharper than he meant to. It was only for a split second, his tone barely changed, but it’s enough for Hongjoong to pick up on it. He picks up on everything. Hurt flashes across his features and Seonghwa immediately backtracks, adding, “Maybe I just need a little liquid courage.”

“Liquid courage, huh?” Hongjoong sighs before downing his glass as well. “Just don’t get too drunk or you’ll leave me to face your father all alone.”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

The opulence of the dinner party is overwhelming. Seonghwa expected it, of course, but still. Instead of being held in the Nexus Chambers like most work-related events, his father decided to host it in their manor which has been adorned with gold and crystal as far as the eye can see. Velvet chairs and couches have been set up to form intimate conversation circles while the occasional serving automaton weaves its way through guests to offer champagne and hors d’oeuvres. There’s even an auto-orchestra in the grand hall despite Seonghwa’s continuous complaints that their music is nothing compared to that of the street performers he heard during his mandatory field trip to the Outer Sector a few years ago.

He finds himself following from a distance as his father leads Hongjoong around the room, introducing him as the newest addition in the running for the title of the Symposium’s best and brightest. Everything he says is perfectly polished, enough to praise Hongjoong while simultaneously reminding everyone of his own affluence. Seonghwa can see Hongjoong’s discomfort, the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the polite, robotic nodding as he is passed from conversation to conversation. As a friend, he should intervene. As a jealous son, however…

He refills his glass.

At one point, Hongjoong walks over to him, a drink in each hand. He seems to hesitate for a moment before extending one to Seonghwa. “I just bumped into Wooyoung and his friend, Yeosang," he says, his mouth quirking up at the corners.

"You did?"

"They were with some new girl Woo has taken under his wing. I didn't catch her name, but apparently, she's the sister of the new Watch Master."

"Oh, them," Seonghwa sighs. "Watch Master Luxe, right? My dad won't stop berating my brother because of that whole situation."

Hongjoong takes a sip of his drink before answering. "Yeah, I know he still hasn't gotten over Junghwa losing the commendation to him."

"Let's not talk about it. But is that what you have in store? Watch Master Kim?"

"Shut up, Park."

That’s the only time Seonghwa gets to talk to Hongjoong before his father comes back into the picture, whisking him away. After that, Seonghwa’s descent into total, blackout levels of intoxication is swift, the drinking he did earlier in the night definitely not helping. His mind is fuzzy around the edges, making it hard to process what he’s doing or saying. He becomes a blur of motion, stumbling from one group of attendees to another, slurring his words and laughing at jokes that aren’t even funny.

The dinner bell rings and with unsteady legs, Seonghwa makes his way into the dining room. The table is long enough to fit 50 people on each side and is covered with more food than anybody could possibly eat. Guests begin to settle into their seats and he goes to join them, only to find that Hongjoong has taken his usual spot to the right of his father.

For a moment, Seonghwa stands frozen, the room spinning around him. That spot is typically the seat of honor, the seat reserved for whomever the patriarch of the family deems most worthy. First it belonged to his brother, and then it belonged to him. Now, it seems, it belongs to Hongjoong.

“Oh, Hwa,” Hongjoong begins to stand, sensing his distress. “Is this your seat? I’m sorry, Speaker Park said—”

“Hongjoong, please, I told you to call me Soohyuk,” Seonghwa’s father interrupts. “And you’re the guest of honor tonight, so you should sit at my right hand next to General Nightingale. Seonghwa can sit next to his older brother at my left. That’s alright with you, isn’t it Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa’s vision blurs momentarily as heat floods to his face. He tries to form words, but can’t seem to make a sound. It is as if his breath is trapped in his throat. The longer the silence stretches on, the harsher his father’s glare becomes.

“Seonghwa,” he repeats. It isn’t a request—it’s a command.

“Of course,” Seonghwa finally manages. “It’s fine.”

He slumps into the seat next to Junghwa, who claps him on the shoulder and whispers, “Guess neither of us are the favorite son anymore, huh?”

“Not funny, hyung.”

Junghwa scoffs, letting his hand fall back to his side. “I’m not trying to be funny. This is what happens—displease father enough times and you are easily replaced. Get used to it. I have.”

Seonghwa doesn’t reply, instead reaching for the glass of wine that is being served with dinner. His hand shakes a little as he does so, enough for his brother to notice. Junghwa raises an eyebrow at him but mercifully stays silent.

After piling some food onto his plate, Seonghwa can do little more than pick at it, the appeal completely lost on him. His tongue feels numb in his mouth and all he can taste is the bitterness of the wine. He watches his father converse excitedly with Hongjoong, his eyes shining in a way they never do when looking at him.

“Seonghwa, how have you been, dear?”

Seonghwa startles, so lost in his own thoughts that he almost forgot he would be expected to entertain guests. He looks up to see Hongjoong’s mother, Speaker Kim Sunhee, smiling at him from across the table. Even if the dinner wasn’t being held in honor of her son, she is still apart of the same council as his father and would have been in attendance anyway, yet he failed to consider she might try to engage him in conversation. She’s a pleasant woman, and at any other time, he would have been happy to talk to her, but tonight, he can barely hold himself together.

“I… I’ve been well, thank you.” He hopes he isn’t slurring his words too much. “And you, Speaker Kim?”

“Well, I’m thrilled! After all, my son has received such a prestigious award—I couldn’t be more proud.”

Seonghwa nods, plastering a polite smile on his face. “I’m sure you are. No one deserves it more than him.”

“Thank you for saying that. You’re very kind.” Her voice is soft with the kind of appreciation only a mother can have. Seonghwa can’t help but feel a twinge of envy; would his own mother have been as proud? “But I have to say, you’re a big reason my son is where he is today. You’ve been such a good friend to him, Seonghwa. He speaks very highly of you.”

The praise sneaks past his defenses, warming him from the inside out. For what may be the first time that night, he smiles genuinely. “I’m really happy to hear that. Hongjoong… he means a lot to me.”

His gaze involuntarily drifts to where Hongjoong is seated, his attention still occupied by Soohyuk. The light casts a warm glow on his profile, softening his features. For a moment, Seonghwa is captivated by the sight before the weight of his father’s order pulls him back to reality, and the guilt returns in full force.

“I can tell,” Sunhee says.

Before he can reply, his father stands, tapping his fork on his glass. “Everyone, can I have your attention please?” Once he’s sure that all eyes are on him, he continues, “As you all know, we are here tonight to celebrate the recipient of the Nightingale Commendation, Kim Hongjoong. I decided to host as he is a cherished friend of my son, Seonghwa.”

His father makes eye contact with him and smiles—that sick, twisted, vindictive smile. Seonghwa’s stomach sinks with dread.

“Before we continue, I feel it is only appropriate that he make a toast to celebrate his future squad mate’s accomplishment.”

The room falls silent, the air heavy with expectation. Seonghwa should have expected this, why didn’t he expect this?

“No pressure,” Junghwa says, a twisted sense of amusement in his voice.

Seonghwa glares at him before rising to his feet, swaying in place. He steels himself by gripping the edge of the table. His heart is pounding in his ears, his skin prickles with sweat, and the room seems to be closing in around him. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady both his hands and his voice as he raises his near-empty glass.

“To Hongjoong,” he begins. “To a friendship… a friendship that has meant so much to us both. And to… to a future that…”

His voice trails off, his words failing him. How is he supposed to toast to a friend he might betray, to a future that is so uncertain? He can’t, he can’t do this. His fingers tighten around the stem of his glass and suddenly, it cracks, shards digging into his hand.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong gasps, shooting up from his seat. It almost seems as if he’s about to rush to his side, but Soohyuk stops him in his tracks. Hongjoong’s eyes narrow, but he obeys.

“Stay where you are, Hongjoong. Everyone, please excuse my son’s poor manners; it appears he has had too much to drink.” His father addresses the crowd rather than him. “Seonghwa, apologize and then go get yourself tended to.”

Seonghwa swallows hard, the taste of bile stinging the back of his throat. He barely notices the blood dripping down his fingers, staining the tablecloth red and pooling around shards of glass.

“I… I’m… I’m sorry,” he stutters. “I’m so very sorry.”

He bows his head before quickly turning and bolting out of the room, his vision blurring with tears. He barely makes it to the grand staircase before tripping over his own feet. His knees hit the ground with an audible thud, and he grabs the banister to keep from going down completely. He’s too far gone, too drunk and too devastated to get back up. His grip slackens and he lets himself slide down onto the bottom step, ignoring the bloody handprint he leaves behind.

Nausea roils his stomach, and that, combined with the hot tears streaming down his face, makes him want to retch. He places his head between his knees and takes some deep breaths. He vaguely registers that he should be worried about keeping up appearances in case a guest walks by, but it’s hard to give a damn about that when he feels like his world has turned upside down.

An automaton servant walks over and comes to a stop in front of him. Its glowing, mechanical eyes don’t show a hint of concern, but it wordlessly offers him a clean, white cloth. With shaking hands, Seonghwa takes it and wraps it around the wound. The fabric quickly darkens with his blood, but it staunches the flow enough for him to gather his composure.

He drags himself upright, leaning heavily against the banister. He hauls himself up the staircase, one agonizing step at a time. He isn’t particularly fond of the idea of staying in his childhood room, but going back to base and having to face Hongjoong might be even worse.

He stumbles into his room, the door creaking as it opens. Seonghwa sobers a bit as he’s hit with a wave of nostalgia, the unchanged interior reminding him of his youth from before he was a soldier. Moonlight peers in through the window, bathing his old desk in a soft, silver light. It reminds him of quieter, simpler times, hours spent studying in his room, playing with building blocks and paper dolls.

He takes a seat in his desk chair, and his eyes drift to the portrait of his mother hung above the fireplace. He barely remembers her face outside of what it looks like in the painting; she smiles down at him with a warmth he can no longer feel. Sighing, he takes a first aid kit out of one of the drawers and begins the familiar routine of treating his wound, years of muscle memory kicking in. He peels away the blood-soaked cloth, grimacing at the sight of the jagged shards of glass still embedded in his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he starts to extract each piece, ignoring the stinging pain that shoots up his entire arm. He sterilizes the wound with a stinging splash of alcohol and then hastily wraps it with a clean bandage.

Once he finishes, Seonghwa collapses onto his bed, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. He doesn’t know how much time passes before he is brought back from the edge of sleep by a gentle knock on his door.

“Go away,” he croaks, his voice barely audible as he speaks into his bedsheets.

The knock sounds again, more insistent this time. Seonghwa immediately tenses. Is it his father, coming to berate him further?

“Seonghwa,” a voice murmurs from the other side, the timbre so soft, so hesitant. It isn’t his father—it’s Hongjoong. A rush of anxiety and embarrassment shoots through Seonghwa at the thought of facing him, so he buries his face in his pillow and pretends he doesn’t hear.

The knocking persists until it becomes too much of a nuisance to ignore. “I’m trying to sleep, Joong.”

There’s a pause before Hongjoong responds. “I know. I just wanted to check on you. Can you open the door?”

“No. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

The knocking stops and, for a moment, Seonghwa thinks that Hongjoong really walked away. But then he begins to speak again.

“Okay. We don’t have to talk. But listen to me, alright? What happened tonight… I’m not upset, and I don’t blame you. What your father did to you, putting you on the spot like that, it wasn’t right. Especially with you being as drunk as you were. I…” His voice hitches and Seonghwa can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he struggles with what he wants to say. “I should have stopped you from drinking that much. I knew something was bothering you, but I didn’t press you on it. That’s on me. Just know that I’m here for you. Whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Seonghwa bites his lower lip to keep his cries from becoming audible; Hongjoong is kind, too kind, and he doesn’t deserve that kindness. Not now.

A moment of agonizing silence passes before Hongjoong says, “I’ll just leave you to rest then. Goodnight, Hwa. I… goodnight.”

Months pass with Seonghwa avoiding Hongjoong whenever he has the opportunity. Between spending most nights sleeping at home instead of their shared room and investing himself in his new duties, It’s surprisingly easy. Even though they’re part of the same squad, Hongjoong is always on elite missions, carrying out confidential orders, or out to dinner with other high-ranking officials. Rarely do they go out on missions together, and when they do, there’s little time for personal talk as General Nightingale usually accompanies them.

It’s not that Seonghwa doesn’t want to make things better with Hongjoong—he does, truly. But every time he thinks about facing him, about bringing up that night, his stomach lurches with fear. He’s not ready to confront the guilt that still gnaws at him endlessly, not ready to face the gentleness he knows he will find in Hongjoong’s eyes.

It doesn’t help that his father, after inevitably finding out about their falling out, has been pressuring him every chance he gets to fix things. Not out of love or care, but because of the prestige Hongjoong now holds as a commendation winner and the connections he and his family have. If they do become close again, Seonghwa worries that, through him, Hongjoong will just become a pawn.

It’s a cold, winter evening when Seonghwa accidentally bumps into Hongjoong outside their quarters. He had just stopped in for a moment to grab a heavier coat, not expecting anyone to be there. Hongjoong is dressed from head to toe in his winter event uniform, the same striking red and black as usual but with synthetic fur lining the collar. He looks like one of the princes from the old-world storybooks Seonghwa’s nanny would secretly read to him when he was little.

“Hwa,” Hongjoong says, surprise evident in his voice.

“I was just leaving,” Seonghwa mutters, trying to move past him, but Hongjoong blocks his way.

“Please, don’t. We need to talk.”

Seonghwa worries his bottom lip, trapped between the desire to flee and the knowledge that Hongjoong is right and a conversation is long overdue; he’s been running for far too long. “Okay,” he agrees. “You’re right.”

Hongjoong walks into the room and Seonghwa follows. The space feels oddly unfamiliar to him now, even though it’s the place where they used to share countless meals and stay up late into the night talking. They sit down on their respective beds, the distance between them feeling far larger than it actually is.

“Hongjoong—”

“Seonghwa—”

They start to speak at the same time and immediately stop, cutting themselves off with awkward laughter. The tension eases, but only slightly. Hongjoong gestures for Seonghwa to begin first.

“I… I’ve been avoiding you,” he admits, his gaze fixed pointedly on the floor. “And I know that’s not fair. Especially not after the mess I caused at your celebration dinner. I—”

“Hwa, wait. You don’t have to apologize for what happened at the dinner. You were obviously hurting, and you needed someone. I should have been that someone for you. I’m sorry.” Seonghwa opens his mouth to speak but Hongjoong continues, “Wait. While I will apologize for that, and I don’t blame you for what happened that night, I am upset that you have been avoiding me. In fact, I’m livid. Since when do we not talk about our problems? I thought we were closer than this.”

The silence stretches on as Seonghwa struggles to form a reply. “You’re right,” he finally admits, his voice barely more than a whisper. “We… we are closer than this. I’ve just been so… God, I’ve missed you, Joong. I’m so sorry. For all of it.”

Hongjoong’s stern expression softens at that. “I’ve missed you too. More than I can say. Do you know how many nights I stayed out late, expecting to come home to one of your homemade dinners? Or to you nagging me about working myself too hard, or not cleaning up my side of the room? I didn’t realize how much I depended on you until you just disappeared. Maybe I should have appreciated you more, or—”

“No, no, you did more than enough for me. You are one of the only reasons I have made it this far, not just in the program, but in life. I mean, I was such a scared little boy before I met you, I—” Seonghwa takes a shuddering breath. “I still am. I was scared to death of what you would think of me after that night, scared of what my father might do, scared I would lose my position, lose you—”

Hongjoong jumps up from his bed, coming to sit next to Seonghwa so he can wrap him in a hug. “You won’t lose me. No matter what happens, no matter what anyone says or does, you will never lose me. Promise.” His grip tightens as he says this, as if to emphasize the sincerity of his words.

Seonghwa feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he buries his face into Hongjoong’s shoulder, refusing to let them fall. He just allows himself to be held, to soak in the comfort. This feels familiar—safe, like home.

“I don’t want to run away anymore,” Seonghwa says.

“Good, because I can’t bear you running away again,” Hongjoong replies, his voice barely audible. “Move back in. Please.” Something about the way Hongjoong says this sounds like a confession.

“Okay, Joong. I will.”

They spend the rest of the night talking, laughing, making up for lost time. They agree that they won’t discuss their achievements, that they’ll put aside their differences, and just try to go back to the way things were. Time moves on, and slowly but surely, it seems to work. The following weeks are a whirlwind of vigorous training, missions, events, and more training, yet there is an underlying sense of peace and contentment that had been missing for so long.

Occasionally, Seonghwa still feels a tug of guilt, especially whenever his father decides to make some offhand comment. But when that does happen, all he has to do is look at Hongjoong and remember his promise. He won’t let anything get in the way of their friendship again.

One night, months after their reconciliation, Seonghwa walks into their quarters to find Hongjoong asleep at his desk, the dark circles under his eyes relaying his exhaustion. The sight is a familiar one; he remembers the countless times in the past when he found Hongjoong in a similar state. He quietly approaches him, taking in the numerous reports and other documents strewn about.

As gently as possibly, he picks Hongjoong up and carries him over to his bed, laying him down on top of his blankets. He softly brushes a stray lock of hair from Hongjoong’s forehead, smiling down at him as he sleeps. He stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, his body relaxing further into the comfort of the bed. Seonghwa contemplates waking him to eat, certain that he hasn’t, but decides against it. He seems like he needs sleep more than anything. Heading to his own bed, he crawls under the covers, ready to get some rest of his own.

Another year passes in a blur, with both Hongjoong and Seonghwa falling comfortably into their new roles. Hongjoong rises in rank, becoming a sergeant, while Seonghwa focuses on his own responsibilities, earning a solid reputation amongst their squad mates thanks to his meticulous eye for detail. Throughout it all, they try to carve out time to spend together when they can, refusing to let things get as bad as they were before.

One night, they’re out to dinner with Soohyuk, Sunhee, and General Nightingale to celebrate a recent win in which they managed to dismantle part of a criminal ring based in the Scrapyard. One of the leaders was captured and detained, thanks to the general’s brilliant plan and the Vanguard Elite’s flawless execution.

“Seonghwa?” His father holds up a bottle of wine, gesturing to Seonghwa’s empty glass.

Seonghwa clenches and unclenches his fist. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Are you sure? It’s a fine vintage.” The smirk on his lips suggests it’s more than a simple question.

Hongjoong clears his throat and turns to General Nightingale, smoothly redirecting the conversation. “So, General, can you tell me more about the new opportunity you mentioned earlier?”

Elowen stirs in her chair, eyes shifting around from person to person before settling on Seonghwa. He gets the subtle feeling that this is something he isn’t supposed to know about.

“We’re starting a new program at the beginning of next year,” she says. “The Affiliates Assembly has worked out so well that we want to open up more opportunities for those who already have a place in the Symposium and Inner Sector.”

“And what do you want with my son?” Sunhee asks, eyebrows furrowing. “I think he has plenty of opportunities open to him already.”

“Certainly he does. But, he’s one of our strongest soldiers and he could be an asset—”

Soohyuk clears his throat, putting a stop to the conversation. “I think it is best if you finish this conversation later.” He glances at Seonghwa. “Not everyone here is privy to this type of information, after all.”

Seonghwa feels a pang of irritation at his father’s needless remark. Hongjoong shoots him a sympathetic glance from across the table and opens his mouth as if to say something before deciding against it. The topic switches to that of the new flu that seems to be sweeping through the Outer Sector. Soohyuk reassures everyone that he has spoken with the Outer Sector representative and it is being contained—it shouldn’t spread to anyone inside the Ring.

Seonghwa forgets about the conversation entirely, having not wanted to focus on it for fear of his jealousy rearing its head. At least until a few weeks later, when Hongjoong bursts into their bed room, the door slamming shut behind him. Seonghwa nearly jumps out of his skin, dropping the book he was reading onto his bedsheets.

“Joong—” Seonghwa stops short, the words dying on his lips as he takes in the sight of the man before him.

Hongjoong’s chest is heaving with panicked breaths, his eyes wide with a fear unlike anything Seonghwa has ever seen before. His hands are clenched into fists, shaking at his sides. He doesn’t seem to even process the fact that he isn’t alone in the room, beginning to pace as he mutters frantically under his breath.

“Fuck, what the fuck… I can’t… the fucking lab… cogbrains, all of them…”

Seonghwa can’t make out everything he says, but it’s enough to send a chill down his spine. He gets up, approaching Hongjoong calmly, carefully.

“Easy, Joong,” he says. “It’s alright. Tell me what happened.” Hongjoong doesn’t seem to hear him, still muttering. “Hongjoong, hey!”

Seonghwa reaches out and grabs his arm with a firm grip, forcing him to still. His touch seems to jolt Hongjoong back into reality and he whirls around to face him,

“Hwa?” he whispers. His voice sounds so broken, so terrified, so unlike the friend Seonghwa has come to know and love. It’s heartbreaking.

“Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay,” Seonghwa murmurs, pulling the shorter man into his arms.

Hongjoong stiffens at first, but then his knees seem to buckle from underneath him as he collapses into the embrace. A strangled sob escapes him, muffled against the fabric of Seonghwa’s shirt, the same shirt that he’s grasping onto so desperately.

“I’m not okay… It’s not… I can’t…”

“Shh, shh… I’ve got you.”

Seonghwa wraps his arms more tightly around Hongjoong’s trembling body, rocking him gently, his hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. Even after he finally calms down, something about him is still so on-edge. He refuses to tell Seonghwa what he was upset about, no matter how much Seonghwa pries.

“Hongjoong, come on! Is it confidential? Does it have anything to do with what the general mentioned a few weeks ago? Why can’t you tell me?”

Hongjoong takes a shuddering breath. “I just can’t, Seonghwa. The situation is too complicated. I need to figure it out on my own.”

“What happened to our agreement to handle things together?”

“This isn’t… it’s not the same. I don’t want to bring you into this mess, it’s dangerous.”

“I can handle myself just fine—you don’t have to protect me!”

Hongjoong just shakes his head, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He looks like he wants to say more but instead gets up and storms toward the door.

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa calls after him, but it’s too late. The door slams shut behind him, leaving Seonghwa alone in the room.

In the following days, Hongjoong becomes a shell of his former self. He is silent and distant, avoiding everyone, especially Seonghwa. He disappears for hours on end, returning each time looking more drained than the last. Usually, around this time of year, he’d be talking about his upcoming birthday, pretending he doesn’t want anything while simultaneously dropping hints about the latest tech or some book he’s been eyeing.

Even without Hongjoong showing any indication of wanting to celebrate, Seonghwa is determined to do something to lift his spirits. He won’t let whatever secret Hongjoong is holding onto change their yearly tradition of celebrating together. So, he goes all out with the planning, and spends days scouring the Nexus shops for the perfect gift. He even debates heading to the pier to take a look at a different variety of items, but with the flu that has been plaguing the Outer Sector, that’s probably not the best idea.

He finds a leather-bound journal in an old-world antique shop, it’s pages yellowed by time but in perfect condition otherwise. Hongjoong loves to write, and he’s never owned anything quite like this. Seonghwa purchases it without a second thought, barely even glancing at the price. It’s perfect.

The morning of, Seonghwa comes back to their shared quarters at a time when he knows Hongjoong should be at training. His arms are full of decorations, and the journal is tucked safely away in a gift bag. He struggles with the door, having to balance everything on his hip in order to turn the handle, but when he finally manages to get it open, he freezes.

The room is empty.

Not empty as in Hongjoong just isn’t in there—empty as in every single trace of him is gone.

Seonghwa lets go of the decorations, dropping them to the floor with a resounding crash. Candles escape their packaging, rolling on the hardwood, disappearing under furniture. The journal lays abandoned next to a string of silver stars. He stares at the room in disbelief, taking in everything that’s missing. The usual clutter of papers on the desk—the clutter Seonghwa would always complain about—is gone. Hongjoong’s shoes aren’t haphazardly stashed in front of his wardrobe. His aurvox, his tablet, all of his devices are nowhere to be found.

He’s gone. Hongjoong is gone.

No, Seonghwa thinks. Maybe he went to another Sector on an urgent mission. Surely there’s a logical explanation as to why he would leave without saying anything. Seonghwa rushes out of the room, praying that General Nightingale will actually be in her office for once. The halls are eerily quiet as he sprints down them, and he can hear his own blood rushing in his ears.

Reaching the general’s office, he barely knocks, forgoing the usual protocol of waiting for her permission to enter. Elowen is seated at her desk, pouring over some files which she quickly closes upon his intrusion.

“Ah, there you are. I was hoping we would have a chance to talk.”

“Wait, before you say anything—do you know where Hongjoong is?”

She raises an eyebrow. “That is exactly what I was going to ask you.”

Seonghwa’s heart drops into his stomach, and his mouth goes dry. He has to wet his lips before asking, “But… but he was with you, wasn’t he? At training this morning?”

“No, he wasn’t,” she sighs and puts down her pen, rubbing her temples. “He never showed up for training today. In fact, he’s been MIA since yesterday.”

Seonghwa’s knees nearly buckle and he stumbles toward the nearest chair. He’s vaguely aware of Elowen saying something more, about how if Hongjoong isn’t found he’ll be marked AWOL, he’ll lose everything he has been working towards, so on and so forth. But he can’t focus on her words, not when he feels like his world is crumbling to pieces. Nothing he has ever felt, not losing the commendation, not what happened at the dinner, even comes close to comparing to the devastation he feels now.

One day turns into two, two into three, but Hongjoong never shows up. His family confirms that he has had no contact with them, and he is officially marked AWOL. Now, even if he does come back, he will never be able to return to the same life he had before.

Seonghwa’s initial shock turns into anger. How could he throw away everything he’s worked for? How could he abandon his responsibilities, his squad, his family… Seonghwa? How could he leave without so much as a goodbye? How could he break his promise? Each day, the betrayal and hypocrisy of it all festers, like a scab that refuses to heal.

To make things worse, the flu from the Outer Sector makes its way through the Ring, into the Inner Sector, the Symposium, and even the Nexus. It’s as if Hongjoong leaving started a chain reaction of unfortunate events. Soldiers are falling ill left and right, spending days or even weeks in the infirmary. The base seems to become quieter and quieter. At night, when Seonghwa lays in bed, alone in his room, it’s so silent that he feels suffocated.

One morning, one of his squad mates approaches him, a forlorn look on their face. “Hey, did you hear? Apparently Larkin is sick with whatever flu has been going around.”

Larkin is another member of the Elites, someone Seonghwa has grown quite close to over the past almost two years. The news is worrying—they still don’t know what’s causing the sickness, or what can cure it. Luckily, most people seem to recover with no lasting issues, but that isn’t much of a balm to his nerves. Maybe it’s because Hongjoong’s disappearance still feels so fresh, but the idea of anything happening to someone else he cares about makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

After he finishes up with his daily training routine, Seonghwa heads to the infirmary to pay Larkin a visit. It’s a cold, sterile place, the stark white of the walls and harsh lighting making everything seem so impersonal. The pungent smell of antiseptic fills the air, turning Seonghwa’s stomach. Trying to ignore it, he heads toward the reception desk, smiling at the woman working.

“Hi. I’m here to see a Mr. Ashwell?”

The nurse fiddles with the knob of her eyeglass, pupils moving rapidly as her eyes follow text only she can see. After a moment, she says, “Larkin Ashwell? I’m sorry, he’s in the restricted wing. No visitors allowed.”

“The restricted wing? Is this flu that contagious?”

She gives a non-committal shrug. “I’m just telling you what his file says, sir.”

“Oh… Well, thank you.”

He turns around as if to leave, but, when she looks away, he quickly slips down a side corridor. He can’t shake the nagging feeling that something weird is going on. If he leaves without seeing Larkin, he fears he’ll never get any answers.

He holds himself confidently, knowing that the key to deception is acting like you belong. He walks past all of the nurses and doctors with what he hopes is a determined look on his face. He nods at them, as if he is familiar with them, as if they should be familiar with him. Luckily, no one spares him a second glance, and he makes it all the way to the restricted wing with no issues. However, once he tries to open the door, an alarm blares.

“Shit,” he curses, glancing at the wall. He didn’t notice the ID reader.

Panicking, he backs away from the door, but it’s too late. Two guards turn the corner and spot him, looks of surprise crossing their faces; they’re both from his graduating class. He tries to explain what he’s doing there and, as sympathetic as they are, they can’t let him off the hook. He’s given a stern talking to from General Nightingale, as well as a warning that one more infraction on his record will terminate his status as a Vanguard Elite.

But the worst confrontation is, of course, the one with his father.

“Attempting to break into a restricted area? Must you continue to bring shame to this family? To me?”

“Dad—”

“Stop. If I hear about you doing one more thing—one more stupid, idiotic thing—the General will be the least of your worries. Do you understand?” His father’s voice is laced with pure venom and Seonghwa can’t help but flinch. “I said do you understand?”

Seonghwa bows his head, making himself seem as small as possible. “Yes, sir. I do.”

He should stop there. He should listen to the general’s warning, to his father’s. But whenever he tries to sleep, his thoughts go haywire. He remembers Hongjoong’s fear, the secret he was holding onto. He thinks about Larkin scared, alone, sick with some unknown disease. He can’t just do nothing.

And so he returns to the infirmary no more than a day later.

The same nurse is stationed at the desk and Seonghwa ducks around a corner, waiting for an opening. He’s learned his lesson—running into this blindly won’t get him anywhere. He doesn’t know how long it takes, but eventually she leaves to go check on a patient. He hurries up to the desk, grabs a spare ID card, and throws it around his neck, heading back to the restricted wing.

This time, he's ready. He scans the ID and the door opens with a satisfying click. He slips inside before anyone can see him. The restricted wing is dimly lit and eerily silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of machines. He searches everywhere for Larkin, looking at every bed, ducking his head into every private room, but he’s nowhere to be found.

Eventually, a doctor walks up to him, a questioning look on their face. “Excuse me, can I help you?”

Seonghwa’s heart jolts but he tries to temper down his panic. Confidence is key. “I’m looking for Mr. Ashwell.”

They activate their eyeglass, and, after a moment, confusion crosses their features. “Hm, it doesn’t look like we have a patient here by that name.”

“What do you mean? I was just told that he was in the restricted wing.”

“I’m sorry, but there must be some sort of mistake. I can go talk to my supervisor and see if we can get this all cleared up for you.”

Seonghwa shakes his head. He shouldn’t press his luck any further. “No, no, don’t bother. It’s fine. Thank you for your help.”

Feeling defeated, he leaves the infirmary, dropping the ID card on the floor near the reception desk to make it look as if someone had just misplaced it. He feels a prickling sensation of unease as he walks out into the crisp night air. The base is nearly deserted at this hour, save for the on-duty guards standing watch and a few people prepping for early morning drills. He pulls his collar up against the bite of cold and heads back to his quarters.

It all seems too suspicious: Hongjoong is AWOL, Larkin is sick with some mystery flu yet missing from the infirmary… Something is going on. It can’t be a coincidence.

The next day offers no respite from Seonghwa’s worries. General Nightingale sends out an announcement to everyone’s aurvox—Larkin is dead. The news hits him hard, knocking the breath out of him. He can hardly make sense of it. The illness, as far as he’s aware, hadn’t killed anyone. Why now?

He can’t stand not having any answers, so he goes to the one person he knows who should. His father. Soohyuk’s position as a Speaker means he has access to information few others possess, or at least that’s what he always boasts. Normally, Seonghwa would avoid his father at all costs, and the idea of depending on him for any kind of help doesn’t sit well with him. But he can look past his father’s misgivings for something this important.

He finds his father nursing a glass of whiskey in his study, the amber liquid catching the light in a way that makes it seem to glow. Soohyuk raises an eyebrow at his entrance.

“Seonghwa. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Dad. I need answers. About this flu. About Hongjoong. You have to know something.”

Soohyuk looks at him thoughtfully as he takes another sip of his drink. He doesn’t say anything for a long minute, and Seonghwa fights the urge to squirm under his gaze.

“I know a lot of things,” he finally says. “But that doesn’t mean I can share all of them.”

“Someone is dead! If you know something, you should feel obligated to do something about it!”

“The world is full of death. There’s nothing I, or anyone else, can do about that.”

His father’s cold response sends a chill down his spine—Seonghwa can’t believe how callous he is. But he can also tell that he is trying to avoid something.

“There’s something more going on, isn’t there?” he asks.

Soohyuk puts down his glass, standing up and brushing invisible specks of dust off of his pants. “I think we’re done here.”

Something inside Seonghwa snaps. He walks up to his father, getting in his face. “Stop! Stop treating me like a useless child! I am a soldier, a member of the Vanguard Elite squad—tell me what you know!”

Soohyuk finally loses it, pure rage slipping past his mask of indifference. He grabs Seonghwa by the collar, slamming him against the wall and knocking the wind out of him. “Fine. You want answers? You’re right. There is something big happening. Something that I cannot tell you about. Maybe if you got the commendation instead of your friend, you’d be able to be a part of this.”

“I’m your son! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“You are not my son. A child of mine would never be so weak.”

With that, he lets Seonghwa go, leaving the room without sparing him so much as a second glance. Seonghwa falls to his knees, gasping for breath. His back throbs from where he hit the wall, and he’s certain that there will be a nasty bruise there come morning.

For a moment, just one moment, he considers letting it all go and falling back into the role of an obedient soldier and son. But after everything that has happened, he can’t. Determined, he returns to his room and starts to pack.

He waits for an opportunity, and it comes in the form of a mission in the Outer Sector. The job is a simple one, something about discontented citizens and potential rebellion. It’s the Vanguard’s job to make sure nothing goes awry. But that’s not what he’s there for. Not this time.

With the rest of his squad distracted with their orders, he slips away from the group, putting his stealth training to good use. He sticks to alleyways and small, unlit streets, moving farther toward the outside of the Sector. The buildings become more and more dilapidated, some even missing parts of their walls or roofs. He feels like he never truly realized just how stark of a difference there is between the comfortability he grew up in and the harsh reality of those not as lucky. But his eyes are open to it now.

There’s something wrong in the Symposium. Something wrong with everything he has ever known. And if he doesn’t try to get to the bottom of it, who will?

He takes some materials out of his pack and, after some careful manipulation, creates what he hopes is a realistic looking fight scene. Signs of a struggle, torn clothing, even his Nexus ID thrown haphazardly on the ground. All that’s missing…

Seonghwa cuts open his palm, letting out a hiss. He clenches and unclenches his fist, encouraging more blood flow. He smears it on the clothes, on the ground, until enough of him has been left behind to paint a convincing picture. He knows this is it. There’s no going back from this, not after what he’s just done. Not that he wants to. He feels oddly free, despite the pain throbbing in his hand and the uncertainty of his future.

Bandaging the cut, he starts moving again. He knows there’s one place he can go where no one would ever think to look for him. The Scrapyard. A place for all of the Symposium and Inner Sector’s trash, broken technology and rusted metal. He thinks most of the upper class has forgotten that it even exists. He knows he has to be careful there, since it is a place home to scavengers and outlaws—people hardened by years of living in the underbelly of society. But he also knows it is a place where it is easy to disappear, to start anew.

Pulling his hood up over his face, he steps past the threshold, a small entrance hidden by piles of discarded machinery and rubble. As he moves deeper inside, scrap turns into ramshackle buildings. Surprisingly, it’s not nearly as dismal as he imagined. There's a strange charm to the place, with twinkling string lights hung between stacks of old cargo containers, casting everything in a warm glow. He stumbles upon an open area where a market bustles with activity, despite the late. Even some children run by, chasing a dilapidated automaton that zips through the dust.

As he ventures further, he finds himself at a makeshift bar, crafted from old metal panels and street signs. The bartender is a burly man with a wild mane of hair and a scar over his left eye.

"You’re new here,” he observes, wiping down a cracked glass. "Name's Brio. What can I get ya?”

“How about a place to stay?”

He gives a hearty laugh and looks Seonghwa up and down. "Ain't much for lodgin' here, pal. The 'yard ain't exactly a popular vacation spot. But there's always someplace to squeeze in if you ain't picky.”

“I’m not picky.”

“I find that pretty hard to believe, lookin’ at ya. You seem like the Inner Sector type.” Brio squints at him. "On the run from something or someone, are we?"

“I just need a place to lay low for awhile, that’s all.” Seonghwa raises an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

Brio grins at him, showcasing his missing front teeth. “Not at all, kid. Welcome to the Scrapyard.”

Somewhere, a stolen letter sits in a locked drawer.

To: Hwa

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cherryfennec · 18 days

Note

hot take: the bosses in super paper mario permanently damaged any chance of the game ever getting rpg mechanics, it would make the rpg mechanics feel cheap and the bosses feel boring, especially super dimentio

abandoning the flippage and making the game be fully 3d like sm64 would be a good move though

Super Paper Mario stands out in the Paper Mario games especially because of the fact that the bosses aren't turn based. The fact that they mixed RPG and platformer elements was interesting, in the end some of them hit while some miss.

The bossess definitely have quite a lot of charm from being in full motion and not locked to turns, you get to see personality through movement like O'Chunks being a little slow to react, Dimentio and Mr.L being hard to catch and Bleck taking advantage of the background. A few that especially benefit are: Fracktails entire battle, Mimi climbing the ceiling midfight (and also her and Dimentio being able to flip after you), Brobot L-type or even Super Dimentio like you mentioned.

Despite this I have to admit that some fights might feel underwhelming gameplay wise. Getting personality is awesome but if it's at the expense of difficulty or unfun mechanics then it might be better to not push it. Especially with the problem of BIG open spaces. Chapter 4-4 boss room is super open and super empty which feels a little anticlimactic while Mimis boss room is super small and has little wiggle room. Mimi was in fact harder than Mr.L just because of the fact i couldn't jump or evade her as easily.

This doesn't mean that everything should be crammed into a small area but it is a little cheesy seeing the AI struggle to attack you in the few ways it can. (again with Mr.L, he makes mighty leaps in this large room and with how slow he descends and predictable the landing spot is you can just. walk under.)

When it comes to making it 3D sm64 style it would be conceptually interesting but personally? I think it should remain paper style. A story like this would be difficult and very time consuming to execute in the mainline 3D Super Mario style, especially considering the time it released in. The main focus here was clearly the lore and dialogue which a lot of people agree is the best thing about it. It's cut like a story book, which ties with being Paper Mario, and the idea that these characters are already doomed by the narrative.

But that's an entirely different discussion so I won't delve deeper or else we'll be here much longer.

If I could personally offer any changes to SPM it would be:

The timer on the FLIP ability sucks, either extend or remove completely. I want to see all these beautiful assets and bosses in 3D which are already fully programed but the timer is actively discouraging me from doing so because of the damage penalty. "Mario is getting nauseous that's why he can't stay there long" is a cool in-universe explanation but it's not fun gameplay wise.

Personal design nitpick but some areas could use some retouches. What do you mean you associated the colour of the Pure Heart to the worlds palette only in 4 Chapters? What about the rest? Please keep going!!

Increase the difficulty a little (aka make the AI somewhat smarter). Personality and struggle is what makes a character memorable in games. (really big detour but for example take Malenia from Elden Ring, she has lore that is optional to learn and yet theres a big chance you'll remember her anyway because she's a super hard boss)

This ones more of a 'what if' but I've been trying to imagine for a while the possibility of: normally everything is 3D/with depth like the other Paper Mario games and when you FLIP it becomes 2D (basically reversing the effect). I know this ruins Fracktail and would require more work with sculpting the environments but I like the thought of the hub being 3D. If not that at least add more assets to the environment when you flip. A lot of the time every tree and rock is in 2D while 3D is just so empty. Also consider just for a moment how little people FLIP during bosses and areas, probably forgetting they even can, and missing out on these cool models. Either that or they're aware that when they do FLIP they won't see anything because the cameras obscured by a wall (looking at you chapter 4).

In conclusion I think this take has stable ground and in the end I agree to an extent! There are some rather specific cases that I feel would work better in a turn based system but overall a lot of them are good as they are!

Making the game like sm64 sounds fun but could be difficult to execute without loosing any of the beautiful charm the Paper Mario format/style provides to it's stories.

#spm #super paper mario #askbox

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lewis-winters · 8 months

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The whole Web-Nix-Buck thing is very "Recognition Through The Other (Derogatory)" and its great. Also they're all from different schools so that rivalry plays into it, which is funny considering a) Nix couldn't give less of a shit about Stanford, b) Buck's the only one who cares about college football, and c) nobody else watching this can tell the difference anyway. - Nathan

ONCE AGAIN MY FAVORITE RED HEAD YOU ARE SO CORRECT!! it's recognition!! it's self-loathing!! it's competition!!!! it's a study in shame!! not to speculate, but i have a feeling a part of them feels that particular middle class guilt at their upbringing, especially when surrounded by enlisted men who have had to fight tooth and nail for everything that they have!! and these 3 all have it, it's just each one disagreed with how the others managed it or grappled with it in order to either fit in or blend in.

and like. you are ALSO so correct about the schools thing-- it's so funny because they went to college for WILDLY different things and different reasons, and so their contempt for each other being fueled by simple rivalry of ivy leagues (which is largely borne in football and sports-- of which neither web nor nix care about, but buck's whole life is built around) is simply SO FUCKING FUNNY.

Web cares about schooling AND was probably talked into like. legacy enrolments and some such-- he's the type to have gone to harvard because, yeah ok it's prestigious and his parents would have LOVED to brag about it to their friends, but also the course work actually has merit and the curriculum makes the most sense and the job opportunities in the end would be a lot and the chances of getting accepted into academe is high--

meanwhile, buck chose to go to UCLA for the football program + his pre-law, and then later took post grad in Loyola Law and became a really successful lawyer so he clearly chose very carefully!!

MEANWHILE, nix chose yale because. well. his granddaddy went to yale, his daddy went to yale, so i guess he should too? nixon legacy, amirite? even if he didn't want it or want to be associated with it or even if he actually chose to go to yale for any substantial reason. the fact that he maybe didn't go back after the war (idk his wiki page says he was just there for 2 years but of course that's not the best resource) just goes to show how little it actually meant to him.

these 3 went to these big ivy league colleges for varying reasons AND YET the idea of them refusing to admit that they find each other annoying bc they are mirrors of each other that they see their worst traits in, and instead hiding behind the idea of rivalrly between differing ivy league schools all but one of them has any business in caring about in makes me laugh so fucking hard. it is the single most 20-something, middle to rich class, white male bullshit i have ever heard it is SO fucking funny i can't. get your shit together, pls. it's embarrassing for the rest of us!!

#ask #lewis nixon #david webster #buck compton #band of brothers #bob hcs #im very tipsy and had to read thru this 5 times to makes sure it mde sense #hopefully it does #mWAH NATHAN THANK YOU LABYU

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enaelyork · 8 months

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[Headcanon] Orson Krennic Past life ~

I've always felt frustrated that we don't know much about Krennic's past. So, as always, I felt compelled to think about it.

This is my point on view only, i'm so sorry. [Thats inclued Galen Erso's friendship]

🌔He did not come from a dysfunctional family. He grew up in a loving home where the constant anxiety of surviving hovered over their heads. He no longer counts the number of times he caught his parents calculating on the credits how they were going to make it through the month by hugging each other.

🌔I think Lexrul is an extremely poor planet where survival is difficult. Therefore, I am convinced that Krennic experienced extreme poverty. Although his parents both worked, their salaries were probably not enough to support them. He knows what it means to be hungry, deprived, sleepy and cold. I'm even sure he ended up on the street.

🌔It was in these extremely urgent situations that Krennic understood that he should not expect anything from others. That the problem with being on the wrong side of the line is that everyone around them is too and has a good excuse not to reach out to help them out. He comes to the conclusion that to succeed in life, he must first think about himself, his interests and no longer rely on anyone.

🌔He was always very smart and his parents quickly realized it. Living in such conditions pushes us to adapt quickly and well. They placed all their hopes in him when they sent him to take the entrance exams for Republic Futur Program. It was with this immense pressure on his shoulders and the deep conviction of being better than everyone that he grew up. Perhaps it was when he no longer believed in anything, when he and his family found themselves on the streets again, that he learned that he was accepted. It must have been a consecration that he perceived as a sign of destiny.

🌔Although he keeps in mind all the sacrifices his family made to get to this point. Krennic realizes that his life is light years away from that of adolescents his age and falls into all excesses. Money? Not a problem ! He is intelligent and cunning enough to blend in and manage to make enough friends to not worry about what he consumes. Its natural charm does the rest.

🌔The unlikely friendship he forms with the young Galen Erso is what is most authentic in his life. He won't admit it, but the way others taunted the math genius made him come to his defense. Galen will never know that if no one bothers him since he met Krennic it is because the latter obtained peace by beating a leader of the program in a clandestine betting game in a bar in Brentaal IV. (And maybe also by giving a few well-placed blows.)

🌔Everyone tries to see the best in the other. The complementarity of their relationship makes them a formidable duo. Galen often lectures Krennic on the way he acts and tries to restrain him when he is too impulsive. He teaches him to use his intelligence and his ability to bind people together while Orson teaches him how he must understand the world in which he lives and to sort out his parasitic thoughts.

🌔Galen's naivety and sensitivity touch him in a certain way. Sometimes he wants to preserve them, telling himself that he never had the chance to be able to do so in his life. Like a window open to a world that he will never know but that he can contemplate discreetly.

🌔Many people on the show wonder how a guy as quiet and shy as Galen Erso could be around the rambunctious and insufferable Orson Krennic. Galen, above all, thinks that no one sees what lies behind the ice cap that Krennic has erected around him and feels honored to be the only one to have a glimpse of it.

🌔Besides, he has already caught Krennic doing a good deed. Several times. It’s like a carefully kept secret that seals their deep friendship.

🌔Galen understands that Krennic is bluffing about his life and tries to help him discreetly. Not out of pity. But he believes that Krennic has proven enough to him that he has a good heart to strive to make his life better.

🌔From the moment he left the program to move up the ranks, he made sure his family didn't want for anything. He never mentions it, but his parents have had a solid roof over their heads since the day money stopped being an issue for Orson.

🌔He, more than any officer/employee of the Republic, is aware of how lucky he is to be where he is. He will not give up his place to anyone and will do everything possible to be worthy of this destiny that awaits him.

🌔Krennic wants to be first everywhere. All the time. He doesn't just want to be a part of things, he wants to be the best at everything he does. He probably only lives through the eyes of those who can bring him this prestige. He constantly needs reassurance about his performance because he is such a perfectionist that nothing ever satisfies him. I think that when you have fallen too far down the social ladder (and this is his case), the need to climb back up is no longer enough. You have to constantly be on top of the world and observe the universe from afar to feel safe.

🌔As a boss, Krennic is as much feared as he is appreciated. I am convinced (from my reading of Betrayal and the way Ronan describes it) that Krennic can be kind, fair and correct with his employees. He probably does it to put himself forward and obtain praise or for his performance. But whatever, the result is there.

#orson krennic #director krennic #star wars #galen erso #galennic #orson krennic headcanon #headcanon #star wars headcanon #rogue one #star wars rogue one #krennic headcanon #galactic empire #imperial stuff #krennic #krennic edit

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beevean · 2 years

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How does IDW Sonic fare as his own character?

One of the complaints that IDW fans have against IDW antis is that they focus too much on how faithful IDW Sonic is compared to Game Sonic. After all, he’s from an adaptation, he’s allowed to be different, right?

So this made me think. We should be fair, right? We should judge IDW Sonic as his own person, right? Let’s pretend IDW isn’t closely tied to the game series, let’s pretend we’re talking about an original character who just so happens to look like Sonic and have the same name. How does this Sonic fare?

Here’s an analysis of IDW Sonic without ever bringing the games up, not comparing him to his canon counterpart, but explaining why he was simply not written well as a character.

@colony-drop-program @aquillis-main @darklightheart @rollflasher

IDW Sonic’s most prominent trait, by far, is his strict adherence to his Principles: that is, that he’ll always give his enemies freedom and a second chance.

We don’t know why he decided to stick to these Principles. The most likely theory is that Eggman getting amnesia and developing a completely different personality convinced him that everyone can be good if they’re given the chance. Which doesn't make much sense and gives far too much importance to what boils down to brain damage, but okay.

The problem is, everytime Sonic applies his Principles, they either don’t work...

(Eggman looks pensive for a panel, but this moment is never brought up again)

... or they actively backfire, sometimes in a disastrous way.

He never succeeded so far.

Metal’s case is one of unique stupidity, clearly because Flynn needed a way to trigger the next plot - story before characters. Metal is still fast and has deadly claws. He hasn’t been reprogrammed. He stated a few issues prior that he’d burn the world to find Eggman. Why has Sonic suddenly decided that he would even be able to choose to abandon his primary objective? What did he think was going to happen?

Sonic himself acknowledges that his idea that “everyone has a little good in them” did nothing but harm.

And yet, he still sticks by his failing modus operandi, no matter what. Sonic doesn’t operate based on what works and what not. He’s the epitome of Honor before Reason.

Hell, Sonic eventually “realized” that freeing Metal was the right thing to do! Why?

Because Metal saved him one (1) time. Clearly the Metal Virus apocalypse was worth it. No need to think about his actions ever again.

But the real problem comes when his friends call him out on it. Obviously, the story paints them as strawmen that Sonic has to talk down in order to prove that he’s right. But Sonic... doesn’t come off as likeable. At best, he’ll ignore the worries and complaints of his close friends, refusing to admit he was every wrong even after seeing it with his own eyes...

(Tails warns him twice that it’s going to backfire. Sonic ignores him)

(Tails reiterates that Sonic didn’t think things through back then. Sonic brushes him off and even subtly places some of the responsibility on him, with a “well, achskually...” attitude. This is supposed to be his best friend and appreciated for his high intelligence.)

... but at worst, he can be downright nasty when it comes to defending himself.

Sonic made leverage on Shadow’s trauma, on the period of time where his memories got corrupted by Gerald to push him to villainy, as a gotcha. You can see in his smirk that he’s not making a logical point, he just wants to hit Shadow where it hurts. He’s pretty much saying “hey, remember that I could have killed you :) because you were a monster :) but I didn’t :) not yet :) because I’m so merciful :) be grateful i’m such a good guy :) and keep being nice :)”.

To put things in perspective, you know who else used Shadow's trauma to make him understand his perspective? Black Doom.

Espio here is being a strawman illogical, but anyone who can feel empathy can understand that this comes from a place of raw grief. He just saw his closest friends die and become monsters, and he’s lashing out - yes, he's hurting Sonic, but again, it doesn't come from malice, but pain.

Sonic could have comforted Espio and promised him that he’ll make things right. He could have apologized, not for not killing Mr. Tinker but for being a downright dumbass with Metal Sonic. He could have correctly insisted that Mr. Tinker was his own person and he did nothing to deserve death.

Instead he doubles down and twists his words to paint Espio as a merciless murderer. The problem is not that Mr. Tinker was innocent, the problem is that, well, everyone deserves a second chance! And Sonic will give it to everyone! Even Eggman! Because he’s clearly talking about him at this point.

Eggman rightfully points out how Sonic underestimated Metal. Sonic’s response? Doubling down and insisting that Eggman could “come around” and become like Mr. Tinker. Look at the phrasing too: “not until you get a clue”. He’s seriously waiting for it and urging Eggman to get a move on and rewrite his personality!

And again a few issues after! Sonic is so weird when it comes to Eggman! He says that Eggman “didn’t have a choice in staying reformed” - my pal, Eggman did not voluntarily renounce his evil ways and then was brainwashed into becoming evil, Mr. Tinker was the result of brain damage! He bonked his head too hard! Why are you basing your entire morality on this???

(Flynn is weird when it comes to amnesia, as shown by the short lived Mr. Needlemouse. Why would amnesia turn Sonic into Perpetual Bed Eyes? Whatever)

But yeah, it’s amazing how much Sonic cares about Eggman and believes in him. Especially after almost dooming the world and refusing to create an antidote out of spite - you'd think that would count as a Moral Event Horizon. Sonic is more forgiving to Eggman than he is about his friends.

But seriously, who calls themselves “compassionate”? Genuinely good people don’t praise themselves like this. Usually people who verbally insist that they’re so good and nice end up being anything like that. Just scroll for a few minutes down a pastel-themed blog on Tumblr.

And i'm not even getting into how callous he was towards Belle, a poor girl who was clearly not a threat and even helped them.

Very compassionate of him to immediately peg a strange robot (as in, one that doesn’t look like a Badnik at all - she’s made of wood, for starters) as a threat, keep attacking her even as she's not even trying to defend herself, and even being annoyed at the very thought of helping her and needing Tails to beg him to take her with them.

How is he more compassionate for Eggman and Metal? People who tried and almost succeeded to destroy the world? But a puppet girl is his limit? Why does it sound like Sonic is in love with Eggman and that's why he's so stupidly hopeful and defensive about him?

Sonic’s “compassion” is mindless and doesn’t seem to come from a genuine place, because not it’s not founded on logic, not only he didn't shown any to the innocent Belle when they met, but my man sure doesn’t seem to be that compassionate towards Surge.

Look at how self-righteous he comes off. Look at that smug smirk. Look at how he’s looking down on her. Look at how he frames it as “I want everyone to do...”, which is somewhat hypocritical to say when you’re talking about freedom.

(and if this is supposed to be from Surge’s perspective... well, it’s clever, I admit, but why the fuck are we watching this from Surge’s perspective and not Sonic, in the comic named after him? She’s not the protagonist)

Now, obviously it makes sense that Sonic is not buddy buddy with a crazy girl who started to attack him before even introducing herself. But considering how much he prides himself to be “compassionate” and “merciful”, he’s... oddly dismissive of her. She literally spelled out why she’s not interested in Sonic’s brand of freedom, because no one cares about her; Sonic just says “you’re not special”.

Then there’s Surge’s apparent death, which Sonic reacts to like this:

If Sonic didn’t speak, he would have come off as remorseful, which I like and would have emphasized Sonic’s conflicted feelings. But that speech bubble paints him as incredibly patronizing. Surge was obviously wrong and had to be stopped, but after Sonic made a whole deal about giving people freedom, why is he now judging Surge’s choice of not accepting Sonic’s mercy, especially after she explained why?

Why does Sonic believe so arrogantly that he can dispense freedom and choices? Who does he think he is?

And he did the same thing with Metal! First he says that he and Tails “gotta honor his decision” of leaving them. Then...

He gets angry at Metal for doing exactly what everyone knew was going to happen, and compares him with two radically different robots, one built over the memories of a kindhearted robot and another who betrayed Eggman because mistreated and cast aside. But it doesn’t matter! “I gave you a choice, Metal, but why didn’t you pick the one I wanted??”

You can’t pride himself on your stubborn decision to “give everyone a choice” and then get mad or judgey when they don’t act like you actually wanted them to. Why even giving them the illusion of freedom them? And again, who gave you the authority to act like this?

And when I think about it, it was the same with Eggman too! Sonic doesn’t really give him a choice! He wants him to become a person that he never was!

And finally... You know what all of this sounds like?

It sounds like Sonic doesn’t actually believe in his Principles. He just sticks to them because he sounds nice when he’s spouting them.

This makes me go back to the Metal scene. It makes no sense. Sonic should have known that it would be fruitless to ask Metal to leave Eggman’s side. Either he’s profoundly stupid... or he didn’t ask for Metal’s sake. He asked for Sonic’s own sake. To feel good about himself. To go all "well, I tried, not my fault people don't listen to me :V" and feel all superior. He did the same thing with Surge. It all comes down to wanting to feel good, important and superior. Oddly enough, it’s only Eggman that Sonic seems to genuinely believe he’s a good person at heart. because he’s in love

(of course the real reason is “lazy writing”, but I’m going with an in-universe perspective)

IDW Sonic is not a nice person. He’s stupid, doesn’t learn from his frequent mistakes, smug, rigid in his beliefs yet inconsistent, so sure that he’s always right, going on great speeches about how good and pure and merciful and compassionate he is yet barely backing that up, has quite the inflated opinion on his own importance, and is ready to put down anyone who dares to imply that he could be wrong, even using other people’s trauma to get what he wants. He’s a puritan.

Not by intention, of course. This is typically what happens with amateurish writers - think of Bella Swan from Twilight, a far worse person than Stephenie Meyer envisioned (scroll down to the “charaterization” section). It’s usually the byproduct of severe Protagonist Centered Morality, where the protagonist cannot be wrong because they’re the protagonist.

And this is why I can’t like IDW Sonic, even if I accept that he’s not the canon Sonic I was promised when the series started as a continuation from Forces. He’s not written well, and who is supposed to be simply a version of Sonic with “depth” and “moral conflicts” ended up being a frankly uncomfortable protagonist to follow.

#sonic the hedgehog #long post #fans don't look #idw sonic breakdown #idw sonic #tagging it as this because i would like other people to read it #not that you have to #but i hate strawmanning people and i sure hate when others do it #i'll stop after this i swear

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ecoamerica · 25 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

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evecolourshock · 1 year

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The premise behind this was a little thought that refused to leave me alone.

It's confirmed Dyson's "repaired" by Clu, and the rest of Tron's five-man squad (including in that count Tron and Dyson) are rectified.

It's never actually confirmed one way or the other HOW Dyson was repaired.

What if Dyson was rectified too?

....and then I wound up with a lot of feels, a drawing, and the bones of a fic. So. Here you go.

Tron hears Clu's taunts. Sees Dyson's wicked grin (red circuits, no grievous wound, some part of him's glad Dyson's okay but he's also worried because red circuits in his experience never mean anything good and last he knew Dyson's were still white and blue). He passes out (Flynn got away, he did his job as much as he could, the rest is up to the User).

He wakes, and sees the rest of his team attacked. Caged. Reprogrammed.

Things start making a sickening sort of sense.

It doesn't click until he sees how... sloppy Dyson's being. The torture hurts. The face of a friend (of his Dyson, his Lucky Dice-) twisted into a rictus grin he can only barely recognize hurts more. But something's not right, and Tron notices.

The restraints are too loose. The hand that holds the scalpel- the saw- the implement of the moment shakes. The expressions don't fit.

This is not his Dyson. This is someone else wearing Dyson's face and using his name.

This is a creature like the ones that now inhabit Reeve and Clax and Nord, shells of their former selves, but so much worse because Dyson - Lucky Dice, luck finally, horrifically, run out - is still in there.

He wants to escape, to take Dyson with him.

He never gets the chance. Not then, at least.

The transport explodes, almost takes Tron with it, and as much as he likes Cyrus he's not the snappy sassy little SIC Tron wants at his side.

Something goes wrong with Cyrus (a virus, something Tron can't fight, Dyson could but Dyson's not here-) and he regretfully has to seal Cy away. He doesn't want to, makes a promise to find a way to help Cyrus, so Cy can come home again.

Every avenue he tries fails. Tron... loses hope. What good is a hero, a Monitor, if he can't even help those closest to him?

And then a beta crashes into his life.

The kid is young. Reckless. An outright menace at the best of times.

He's snarky and sarcastic and not afraid to get right up in Tron's face and push back - even when Tron wishes he wouldn't.

He's a teenage Dyson, to borrow one of Flynn's many strange phrases.

Tron has to keep Dyson's name behind his teeth far too often. It would be an insult to both him and the kid - Beck, the scrappy Mechanic gives his name as, like it's a challenge - when they're two different people no matter how similar they are.

For the first time, the Renegade title has a proper successor (Dyson was his first, no matter what the twisted shadow of Cyrus says, and Tron tells Beck as such late one millicycle. Beck never feels the vicious jealousy and betrayal that should come with knowing he is not the first, because Tron tells him everything about his predecessors and highlights how different they all are - how Beck could never be a stand in, that he's earned the title and made it his own).

Tron allows himself to hope again.

Dyson corners him.

Or maybe he corners Dyson.

It's all blurry. He'll be concerned about that later.

But Beck is hurt, and Dyson is right there-

Tron just. Takes them both.

It takes more than he'd like to admit to subdue Dyson. Tron's scars have never burned the way they do right now, he's never been so exhausted as he is carrying one injured beta (his fault, he finds out later, and he's horrified) and one hacked, unconscious, adored little gremlin Program.

But he gets them home.

Beck goes straight into the healing chamber. He needs it more, Tron's own wounds will keep.

He doesn't even know where to start with Dyson.

His Lucky Dice's code is a mess.

Tron sighs, settles, and gets to work.

He can't save Reeve or Clax or Nord. Doesn't even know if they're still online, let alone where they'd be if they are.

But he can save Dyson. One Program.

It's a start.

Dyson wakes with a bitten off scream, and Tron abandons editing Dyson's disc in favour of hugging the frightened Monitor. He saves what he's done and re-docks the disc, and the vicious orange-red in Dyson's circuits retreats, leaving familiar white-blue in its wake.

He doesn't know who starts crying first - probably Dyson, but they're both crying within nanos of each other anyway.

Tron lies awake long after Dyson cries himself into recharge, curled around the (small, Dyson's tiny, and he only seems to have gotten smaller after Clu tortured him and Tron didn't know-) other Monitor. He makes a promise to the sleeping forms in his hideout, one wounded within and coiled up with him, one contained in a room that can't be found by someone who doesn't already know where it is, and the other still healing and dormant in the chamber.

Tron will see the Grid burn before anyone lays a hand on his Renegades again.

Years later (hundreds of cycles, his own code and circuits struggling against the orange and Clu threatening to consume him-), Tron keeps his promise.

The Occupation burns, and with it the oppression and horror it brought.

Three Renegades watch on, mourning the Program that taught and led and loved them, and promise his memory and each other they'll keep his name, symbol, and legacy alive.

#ow my heart #why do i do this to myself #ow ow ow the angst #grim does fics #ow holy fuck #non-rp stuff #many ows

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honey-minded-hivemind · 8 months

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I've done two Backstory!Posts so far, and so here is lucky number three from my current platonic yandere Marvel favorites! I hope everyone who has read the first two are enjoying them so far😊 For our lucky number three, we have Laura Kinney, a.k.a. Wolverine 2.0! I hope I write her well enough. I'll admit, I've seen her in X-Men Evolution, where she first appeared, and in the alternate timeline movie, Logan, based on the Old Man Logan comics. I know some from the comics, but haven't gotten into them much. Let's begin:

• Her life wasn't very friendly. She was meant to be a clone of the Wolverine, yet was born from his genetic code and from the womb of Sarah Kinney. Most of her life had been controlled by the Weapon X program, training her and torturing her to be what her father could not be: their perfect weapon. But she would eventually escape. She would get a chance to start a new life, one where she actually had a say in what she did, a chance to make her own choices; but, before it all, she had to survive through what could only be described as H*ll.

• Her bby is likely a calm sort of person. Someone who is unwavering in morals and firm in their choices. They could possibly be laid-back or out-going, maybe even really loud or really silent. But one way or another, they stay the same. They aren't wishy-washy, and they can rein in any problems or sort out any issue at hand. They bring order into chaos.

• These two could meet each other in a number of ways. They could meet each other in the Weapon X program, with the bby perhaps being a clone/child of another hero/villain. Maybe they meet at Professor Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters. Who knows, the bby could simply be someone who meets Laura at a park or aquarium. For this, though... I'll try to explore the idea of this bby being another type of clone/child from Weapon X... this makes the bby someone who understands Laura in a way others can't, except for a select few...

• And Laura is so glad that she wasn't alone... that there was someone who tried to help her, who didn't see her as a weapon...

• They had a new assignment for her. Something different than the others. It seems they wanted her to meet a new possible candidate for the program, one who was a mutant as well... She shoved down any emotions that tried to wriggle into her head. No. She can't show anything besides complete obedience.

• You weren't having a great day. The people who had you, the ones who ruined your life, were sending their top agent to see you. At least, you think it was an agent. They didn't give them a name, only a number: X-23. You felt dread, but swallowed it back. These people may have twisted you, trying to mold you into something they could control... but they weren't the only ones patient enough to play the long game...

• You let out a soft sigh from your nose. It may haunt you, it may hurt you, but you just have to wait a bit longer... You have a plan; you just have to wait for the right time. Too soon, and everything is lost. With that thought, you hear the door creak open to your cell.

• X-23 finally arrives to where she needs to be. A guard looms in front of the door, but once they see her, they stiffen. She can smell their fear, their disgust. But none of that matters. She is here to deal with her assignment. "I'm here to see X-31." It was hard to believe there were that many experiments... harder still to accept that she was alone here, the program's only working one... Maybe not for long...The guard nods, and opens the door. And behind it, facing them, is the newest candidate for the program.

• They aren't acting hostile. She watches their face, their stance, noting how best to dispatch them if they become trouble. They seem to study her as well. Cool, calculating eyes flick over her, studying her every move. Puzzlement seems to twitch across their face. They close their eyes, taking a deep breath, then open them once more. And just like that, they're back to collected. They nod once at her, the faintest trace of a smile peaking at their lips.

• This... is not what she expected. Is this one broken? She feels annoyance creeping up her spine, but resists it. She will not lose composure over this. All she is here to do is assess the next experiment. And if they happen to be weird, so be it. She isn't looking for punishment over something this small. With a huff, she turns around, leaving the room. She's seen what she needed to see.

• You watch as the girl leaves your cell, stalking out without a word said. You hear the lock click in the door, leaving you alone once again. These people... they had a child. Well, maybe not a tiny child, but that was someone who wasn't even an adult yet. What. The HECK? You take another deep breath, sliding down to sit on the floor. You knew this place was bad news, but apparently you weren't their first victim. A frown tugs at the corner of your mouth.

• X-23 works her way back to the lab, where she needs to update the scientists on her knowledge of X-31. As she reaches the lab, she sees one of the newer scientists pause to look at her with sharp, beady eyes. This one had been a problem for her since the moment they became a part of the program. They tended to find the most minute reasons to punish her, going far enough in some to leave her with a sense of trepidation every time they were in the same vicinity. They had it out for her, wanting to do everything in their power to exert their authority over her, having a new consequence for every small thing she did. Steeling herself, she enters.

• After the girl left, leaving you to your own devices, the guard had dragged you out. Turns out the people in charge wanted to test you themselves, not wanting to waste a moment. They lead you to a dark lab, where a few people dressed in lab coats are waiting for you... along with the girl... you keep a straight face, watching them with careful scrutiny. Two scientists who look like interns, so not major players... one is fiddling with equipment, ready to begin... one who's stoic and straight-backed, probably the one running this... and the one by the girl... their eyes... they're enjoying this... You can see how the girl's jaw is tense when that one is near, a clear sign that the scientist in question has hurt her before. You shouldn't risk anything... but... you think the two of you could do with one less evil scientist in this wicked place...

• X-23 listens as the scientists discuss the information she relayed to them. The one left in charge of X-31 pauses as a guard enters with the aforementioned experiment, bringing them over to be checked. You stay still, even as four of the scientists start to set up, even while the one who hurt her pats you down, noting every detail they see.

• You remain quiet as most of the others go back to their work, leaving you and the other victim to pay attention to the current scientist trying to examine you. You shiver as their hands touch you all over, turning your head and checking your limbs. You hear them mutter under their breath all the horrible things they have in store, how excited they are to have a second test subject... And while they are too busy man-handling you, close enough where no one can tell if you are touching them... you carefully slip something you had hidden on you into their pocket...

• X-23 sees what you did, and just as she plans to call you out... the scientist heading the experiment shouts. They yell for the guards to bar the exit, to not let anyone leave the room. She waits as she and the scientists are patted down, being searched for a flash drive that contains the plans they had for you, something that can't be allowed to fall into any rival organizations' hands...

• And they do find it, on the scientist who had hurt her, and had plans to hurt you... and even as the guards take that scientist away, preparing to dispose of them for this apparent betrayal...

• She keeps her mouth shut. She doesn't know why you did it... if you even meant to help her... but for now... she'll keep this information to herself... And she won't regret this decision... this was how she met you... and she planned to have your back the way you had her's back then...

#platonic yandere marvel x reader #platonic yandere #honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere wolverine #platonic yandere x-men #Backstory!Posts!

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hal-boy · 5 months

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(Venting)

God, okay. I tutor at my school. I am the first to admit that I had a very privileged upbringing when it comes to education: I went to a really good school and education was heavily valued in my family. I know it certainly isn't that way for everyone, and many schools are just... bad, with struggling kids and adults who can't meaningfully help them, many times on top of a kid's already-existing issues in their home life. On an intellectual level, I know that those places exist, and that some of those kids reach the college level (though oftentimes not without a lot of struggle), but it's very difficult to be talking to a fellow student and realize just how badly they've been failed by our education system. It's really fucking horrible.

Today was especially horrible, because I got my first tutoree who can't fucking read. She's a first semester freshman. Apparently she's been using screenreading software to read out the instructions for classwork and voice dictation to do her assignments, but this assignment involved reading from a pdf and the screenreader couldn't read anything. She literally couldn't even read the title of the paper (which was language which is used frequently in her discipline). I didn't realize at first but it quickly became clear she needed me to dictate the reading for her.

She was clearly afraid I would tell the school and she was about to fucking leave my little office before I stopped her. I ended up helping her with the assignment because what the fuck else can I do?? The thing is, she is clearly trying her best and understands the subject she was talking about on a relatively deep level, she has B's apparently, she can be on the level expected by a college. She's put far more effort in to this semester than I have for probably my entire school career, and she WANTS to learn... but she cannot read anything but the smallest words.

So no, I was in no way about to tell the school that she needed help in this area because I didn't want her to get in trouble (at a normal school I am not sure if this would be trouble-worthy, but our disability office is staffed by the world's worst, cruelest, most vidictive "human beings" I've ever had the displeasure of sharing a planet with), but we (well, I) did some research and found an adult literacy program (thankfully very cheap!) near her home that she plans to attend. She lives out of state, so thankfully there's minimal chances for school admins to accidentally find out she's there. I sent the links I found to her email (with our personal accounts, so the school can't see) and I'm just hoping that she can pull through the semester and begin those literacy courses. Gave her my personal phone and said I would help any way I can. Told her to look into dyslexia, too, which she suspects she has.

I'm just... distraught. How the fuck did this happen? How do you have a kid who can't read, at all, and she makes it through high school? School hasn't always been done on computers, she had to have had worksheets or SOMETHING at some level where a teacher realized she couldn't read! She got into college, so her grades must have been okay. How did nobody notice?? Alternatively, how did people notice but nothing got done to help her?? I'm disgusted.

I need to lay down for a bit and have a good sob before I start looking up whoever the fuck is in charge on our edu system at the federal level and [this sentence has been discontinued as it violates tumblr ToS].

#talking tag

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dreaminae · 1 year

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Rage Room Rewrite

"Yeah. Well, thank you rage room." Olivia laughed, glancing around the messy room filled with shattered, glass, old furniture scraps, and broken junk.

"No, thank you," Spencer corrected her, knowing that he would not have found such a positive outlet for his feelings if not thanks to her innovative thinking. He spent days upset over Coach Baker and Jordan's secret, running himself ragged trying to process his frustrations. It seemed like nothing and no one could help him overcome his dilemma without it turning into a screaming match or pointless conversation where Spencer felt he wasn't being heard.

Jordan and Billy wanted him to understand the positive side of Coach B coming to GAU. Mama Grace believed Billy should stick around Crenshaw, but could not say that the opportunity to rebuild the GAU football program shouldn't appeal to Coach Baker. And while Spencer loved the idea of Billy being his head coach once more, he didn't need Billy as much as those boys in Crenshaw. Spencer got out, and with Billy at their side, more great athletes had a chance to do so as well. That was the bigger picture, and it pissed Spencer off that no one understood where he was coming from.

Then there was Olivia. She hadn't known about Billy's opportunity to coach at GAU until Spencer disclosed the news. However, she didn't jump to back her dad as soon as she heard, nor did she act like Spencer wasn't obliged to his feelings on the matter. No, Liv didn't take sides or shut Spencer down for being angry with anyone for dancing around the truth. She listened to him and his feelings on the topic, then gave her truthful advice. Knowing his temperament, Olivia willed Spencer to try to talk to her father again. And like any other time, Spencer would follow her advice because even after their breakup, Olivia had not stirred him in the wrong direction. He missed these sincere talks they shared. He could not confide in anyone as he did with Olivia. She was his best friend before anything else. And it was in moments like this that he found himself missing her the most.

"I needed this," Spencer admitted adoringly, gazing at those beautiful brown orbs he could stare into for hours at a time. He forced himself to look away before he found himself falling into old habits that these loving gazes use to lead to before the breakup.

"I needed this too," Olivia confessed when Spencer broke their gaze, hoping to regain his focus. Her shoulders slumped as she heavily sighed, feeling the weight of her emotions building, resisting the urge to close the small amount of space between them as Spencer met her eyes once more.

Gifting Spencer a halfhearted smile, she was rewarded when he smiled back as they enter a comfortable silence. "Look at that. It's finally happening." Spencer retorted encouragingly.

"What?" Olivia inquired, believing she missed what he caught on to.

"We're finally learning how to be friends again," Spencer replied, grinning as if this were their greatest accomplishment.

"Hmm..." Olivia hummed, nodding lightly internalizing his statement, trying to process that the guy she spent the afternoon putting the moves on was friend-zoning her.

"What's up?" Spencer questioned, sensing the tension switch between him and Olivia as her body tensed and her expression faltered.

"Can I be honest with you for a second?" Liv asked, biting her bottom lip nervously, desiring to work out the problems inside her mind.

"Always," Spencer insisted, his hand grazing her outer thigh, "Hey, look at me."

Swallowing her pride, Olivia finally glanced at him, her unease conveyed in her tense state. "Alright, so full transparency, I had ulterior motives for bringing you here today?" Liv confessed, rubbing her hands at her side, nervous to see how Spencer would react to her actions. "I wanted to help you work out your frustrations, but I also hoped to get you alone for a few hours. We hardly hang out as much as we use to, and when we do there are always other people around. Plus, now you have Alicia..." Olivia's voice dragged out, unsure where to go from there without sounding like a bitter ex.

"And you have Noah, so what's going on," Spencer grumbled defensively when Olivia dropped Alicia into the picture as if there was a problem.

"Noah is just a friend. A colleague at best, since that night I shut down any potential 'thing' we might've started." Olivia immediately revealed. "There was no point in leading him on when my heart wasn't really in it." She continued bravely, refusing to tear away from Spencer's confused gaze, as he remained unable to see where this was going.

"I'm sorry that I'm rambling," Olivia mumbled, rubbing her hands through her fallen bangs. "You spent all this time saying how you hate when people aren't honest with you. So I want to be honest with you about what's on my mind."

"I'm listening," Spencer assured Olivia that she had his undivided attention. "Say what you need to say."

Reaching for his hand that provided a comforting motion on her thigh, Olivia topped his with her own.

"My light never dims around you, Spencer." Olivia started off by rebutting his claim from the night he broke up with her. "Not even a flicker." She tried to help him see, tightening her hold on his hand.

"Liv..." Spencer interjected gently, finally understanding what her babbling from moments ago was building up to.

However, Olivia found herself on a steady roll and wasn't going to let anything else stop her from disclosing her truth.

"I don't want to learn to be friends again, because we're more than that." Olivia shut down his revelation of friendship from earlier. "And it was damn hard to get there." She added, mentally recollecting all the turmoil she went through before she was able to officially call Spencer hers.

She endured putting her feelings aside to watch him date her best friend, Layla. Only for Layla to manically break up with him during her depressive episode, thinking Spencer would be there waiting when she got better. Then the world spun when Spencer took a bullet for Liv, connecting them in a way that-- still to this day-- no one will ever understand. It was no wonder why Asher never stood a chance once Spencer finally realized he'd fallen for Olivia, and that the deep love was reciprocated. Then Olivia relapsed, yet Spencer was there at her side through it all. And like everything else, they overcame it. It seemed like they were always stronger than any obstacle put in front of them, and Olivia refused to believe that bond was torn apart by a simple article and trivial miscommunications. Not when they already learned from it and were both able to do better.

Hell no. Olivia thought to herself, anxiously biting her bottom lip in deep thought. They did not beat all those past complications only to take 20 steps backward into the friend zone.

"I want you back." Olivia summed up to an indifferent Spencer as he processed everything. "I want us back."

Spencer nodded, still unsure where that left them. "You shut me out, Liv. You ghosted me for weeks. What's changed since then?"

"I know what I want now." Olivia shrugged. "I admit, I walked away too easily that night of the Christmas party. I should have told you all of this when you told me how you felt during those six weeks we spent apart. But this goes both ways, Spencer. I only distanced myself from you because I thought that you needed space to deal with the Garrett situation. When you invited me to the party, I thought you were finally ready to mend fences and come together on how to best move past things. Do you not realize how blindsided I felt when you said you wanted to break up? I mean, damn, why did you even invite me over to begin with if you were going to pull the rug right from under me." Liv cried out, finally detailing the pain she felt from the Spencer giving up on them.

"I didn't mean for it to happen that way, Liv," Spencer swore, grazing the palm of his hand over Olivia's cheek where tears rolled."I spent weeks waiting for you to reach out, then I saw you around campus happy -- without me. I figured letting you go was the best I could do for you before we really hurt each other. I didn't mean to blindside you. When you didn't fight with me over the breakup, I started to believe that I did the right thing for both of us. Then everyone kept telling me I needed to move on, so I tried to. But you were still my main thought when I woke up, during my classes, on the field, when I hung out with the guys, and before I went to sleep. You were everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It was driving me crazy, in the beginning. Then I met Alicia, and we started to chill. Suddenly the pain became bearable. I had a distraction. Then my mom's wedding happened." Spencer noted, thinking back to those interesting events.

"We reconnected," Olivia recalled. "In layman's terms anyway." She added, remembering the night of passion they shared.

"We did," Spencer confirmed. "And I found you again at the reception, hoping we'd be on our way to having this type of discussion. But you shut me out -- again." Spencer huffed at the memory of her blunt response that afternoon.

Closure my ass. Spencer remembered thinking to himself after hearing Olivia's excuse for not wanting to hash things out that day.

"I was hurting, Spencer." Olivia sighed, unwavering. "Sure, we'd shared this amazing night together, but you were seeing some other girl while I was still in the mourning stage of our breakup. How do you think I felt knowing that while I was missing you, you were already out single, and ready to mingle?" She scoffed. "I mean the #SmashTour?" She groaned, making air quotes, causing Spencer to laugh. "What is so funny about that?" Olivia moaned, shoving at his side.

"First of all, that idea was all J.J.'s doing." Spencer gagged, regaining his balance from her push.

"Oh, was the fast little hoochie you were seen with all over IG J.J's doing too?" Olivia asked, shutting Spencer up real quick. "Didn't think so."

"C'mon, Liv. I didn't do anything with ole'girl." Spencer shrugged. "I even hit you up that same night, but only got as far as your voicemail."

"Sure, did." Olivia snubbed, her residual jealousy still evident. "My point is, you've spent all of this breakup doing things you thought I wanted you to do, right? You thought I was unhappy, so you let me go. I told you to be happy so you found a new girl. You saw me with some new guy and I thought it meant I was over you and ready to be friends again. This entire breakup was about me not voicing what I really wanted from the start, Spencer. Well, I want what I want; and I want you. It's not the best timing. Not the most romantic setting either. But it's the best I've got for now." Olivia concluded, desiring her best foot forward would show how serious she was about rekindling what they lost. "I know Alicia makes you happy and she's easygoing and things with her aren't complicated." Olivia begins to list all the reasons he probably would choose to stay with his new girl.

"Liv, slow down for a second, will you?" Spencer coaxed, sensing how far off she was beginning to go. "Listen to me for a moment. "You're right, Alicia is great. She makes me smile and we have a good time together."

"Just what I wanted to hear." Olivia sneered, no longer able to hold back her disdain for witnessing another woman in Spencer's life.

"Hold on, just listen." Spencer gently demanded. "Alicia is all those things you said, and probably more." He said, giving props where props were due. "But, Liv, Alicia tried every mechanism in her artillery to get me to open up about my problems with your dad and Jordan. No matter how hard she tried to make me feel better, I wouldn't budge. And it wasn't for a lack of trying. Believe me, I've tried to let her in. To reassure her that she was doing great and that I was happy to have her help. Problem is, she knows and I know that there are dynamics that she does not understand. Things at play in life that she probably will never understand the depths of. Then you showed up at my door, and in a matter of moments, you had me talking. Same thing with today. I can talk to you in a way that I can't do with anyone else. That's never going to change. And I can try to say it's because you're a good friend who understands me well, but it's more than that." He finally admitted, sculpting her face in his hands. "You mean more to me than that."

"And Alicia?" Olivia mumbled, on the verge of tears.

"She's a good person, who I really don't want to hurt." Spencer sighed in dismay. "But she deserves better than someone whose heart isn't all in it. And that is exactly what I'm going to tell her after."

"After what?" Liv's mumbled in a whisper as her eyes danced in direction of Spencer's lips.

He hadn't answered. Only brought her lips to his mouthwatering kiss.

Cupping her right hand around Spencer's neck, Liv lures him closer. Lightly nibbling his bottom lip, she is greeted with gentle laughter from Spencer's terrain. Weaving her manicured fingers around the nape of his neck, Olivia doddles on his skin as he deepens the kiss.

Devouring his mouth sweetly, Olivia reexplores him, after months of being deprived of his intimate affection. Dancing with his desirable tongue as he played tug-a-war with hers. Spencer's inner walls are moist and welcoming. Tingles spread on her like wildfire as dangerous, sultry desires swirled within her mind, signaling to Liv that it was time to stop. Drawing their lips together one last time, Liv nuzzled her nose to his, before gently breaking away.

"After that." Spencer finally responded, earning a playful eye roll from Olivia.

#olivia and spencer #spelivia #spencer and olivia #all american #olivia baker #spencer james #olivia x spencer #allamericanedit #all american season 5 #spelivia fanfiction #Spelivia 5x16 #All American 5x16 #All American 5x17

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