#she was working with incomplete data

[pedulum-chronometry]

Shoutout to the Bi to Ace pipeline! ✌️

[muniimyg]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . pov!jk . ۫ ꣑ৎ . — [ 6 . ] green eyed boy

series m.list // taglist unavailable

friends to ???

slow burn

slight jealousy vibes, (ft jaemin,, everyone say hi to jaemin), misa is suspicious

note: jus vibes lol

//

misa has a theory.

she doesn’t say it out loud—not in so many words—but you feel it in the way she keeps watching you. like she’s collecting data.. which is probably why you’re currently slumped over a too-bright brunch table, nursing a hangover, while she bats her lashes across from you with jin beside her and a stranger sitting in the seat misa very intentionally didn’t let you choose.

he’s cute, sure. 

he has kind eyes and a nice voice. he tells you he works in design, and you nod politely while trying not to throw up your mimosa. misa keeps shooting you encouraging glances. it’s subtle, but it’s there—the way she leans in when the guy asks about your weekend, like she’s waiting to see if you’ll say jungkook’s name.

you don’t.

you barely get two sips into your drink before the bell over the café door jingles.

you don’t look up.you don’t have to.

you hear him first—his laugh, low and familiar. then, a second voice:

“damn. she is on a date.”

when you do look, jungkook’s already halfway to your table, a bottle of painkillers in hand. he drops it in front of you casually, like he just remembered.

“figured you’d forget,” he says, not even glancing at misa’s new recruit. “you always forget when you drink tequila.”

your headache pulses in time with your heartbeat… most of all, you hate how much softer it feels just having him here.

“you’re welcome, by the way,” misa says, narrowing her eyes as jungkook slides into the seat beside you. “for the company.”

“oh, we came for the show,” taehyung says as he drops into a chair. hoseok follows, grinning, mouthing hot girl brunch at you like a curse. meanwhile, jungkook just shrugs. there’s not much written on his face and it irks misa. although, she misses the way his arm brushes yours when he leans back. 

“so this is the guy you’ve been dodging for a month?”

you shoot misa a look. she blinks innocently.

jin tries not to laugh into his juice.

“he’s nice,” you say, which isn’t untrue. just… incomplete.

you try to listen while the guy talks—he’s telling jungkook something about his job, asking about you, the normal things. but your head is throbbing and your coffee tastes wrong. you grimace after the first sip and set it back down.

jungkook notices.

without a word, he nudges his drink toward you and pulls yours toward him instead. when you blink at him, he doesn’t even look up.

“no hot coffee after a night out,” he says. “makes you nauseous.”

“right,” you murmur. you try not to feel anything about that.

the guy across from you is still smiling, still trying. he’s sweet. 

you feel kind of bad. but when your food arrives and you reach for your hashbrowns, jungkook plucks them off your plate and swaps them with the fruit bowl from his.

“what the heck,” you say, mouth half-full. “i need that grease.”

he finally looks at you then—really looks. eyes still tired from the night before, hair tucked into a hoodie like he couldn’t be bothered to brush it.

“you’ll feel sick all day,” he says, quiet. “eat your fruit.”

you pout. “you owe me hashbrowns.”

he shrugs. “sure. okay.”

misa stares at both of you like she’s trying to read subtitles only she can see. when you glance at her, she’s already looking away.

the brunch lasts forever.

people finish their food. someone brings up a new movie. you feel jungkook’s knee bump yours once, then again. you don’t move. eventually, everyone makes plans to watch a movie. you opt out due to your hangover. jungkook doesn’t say anything and misa slumps as his silence confuses her more than it confuses you. once the bill is paid and everyone is getting their outerwear on, he offers to walk you home.

there’s a beat.

you glance at jungkook.

he doesn’t say anything right away. just leans back in his chair and looks at you like he already knows the answer.

“i can drive her.”

your breath catches. misa’s eyes ping between the two of you like she’s watching a tennis match. her face lights up, loving the way jungkook stepped in. what will he do next? confess? have a jealous fit? will his brown eyes turn green? 

you blink at him. 

and before you even realize it, you’re declining jungkook’s offer.

maybe it’s because everyone is watching. maybe it’s because you don’t want to embarrass jaemin… and maybe—quietly, selfishly—it’s because jungkook is still jungkook.

“i think i’ll walk,” you say, carefully. “fresh air sounds nice.”

there’s a brief pause. not long enough to be awkward, but long enough for jungkook to hear what you don’t say.

with that, jaemin says his goodbyes kindly, shaking hands with jin, thanking misa. he even tells the others it was nice to meet them, and it doesn’t come off as forced. you offer a small smile when he gently places a hand on the small of your back as you move to leave.

he shakes jungkook’s hand last. and jungkook—because he’s jungkook—gives nothing away. his expression is unreadable, his grip firm and short.

you don’t look back.

not at him. not at misa.

and that, misa thinks, that should be the end of it. either way, she wins, right? she set you up with someone… 

but something makes her glance toward jungkook.

he’s still in his seat. doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. there’s no shift in his body. no clench of the jaw. no sigh. nothing notable.except—

his eyes.

they’re still on the door.

they linger.

misa swallows, suddenly uncertain.

all this time—every glance, every quiet moment, every excuse to stand next to each other, the way jungkook always knew when to step in, to tease, to pull you aside—had it been… something?

or was she just imagining it?

she chews the inside of her cheek. watches jungkook finally look away, lift his glass like nothing happened.

defeated, misa sighs.

her theory?

inconclusive.

still—something pulls at her.

if there’s something between you and jungkook, it’s not a fire. not yet.

it’s sunlight. low and steady. the kind that settles into your skin before you realize it’s been too long.

misa’s not sure what scares her more—that you don’t feel it yet or that you do.

a sunburn. 

as jaemin walks you home, you realize he’s actually pretty charming. he’s funny in ways you didn’t expect him to be. it’s not enough to get you to laugh, but he earns a few chuckles out of you. jaemin is simple and clear. once you two reach your place, you give him a tight hug. 

jaemin leaves with a wave and a ‘text me sometime,’ which you probably won’t.

… and he knows that too. 

you sigh, feeling a weight being lifted off your shoulders the minute he turns the corner and is out of sight. for a moment, you think that’s it—until you spot the car parked across the street from your building.

jungkook’s leaning against the driver’s side door like he’s anchoring himself there—hoodie up, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. he looks up as you approach, eyes meeting yours through the low light, and something in his expression falters. 

just for a second.

you stop in front of him.

his posture doesn’t change, but the way he looks at you does—he takes you in like he’s been holding his breath. like maybe he regrets letting you walk away at all. then he straightens, slow, steps forward like he’s moving through water. his hands find your waist—tentative, warm. not a grab. just a quiet hold, like he’s trying to steady himself. 

or maybe you.

“how was your walk?” he asks, voice low and strained.

your lip quirks. “good. lacked the beach view and some romantic music playing in the background, but hey… there’s always next time, right?”

his grip tightens just slightly. not enough to hurt, just enough to say something. his eyes flicker—not quite a glare, but not relaxed either.

“you want romantic now?”

his tone is light, but it doesn’t sound like a joke. it sounds like something sharp, buried in softness. 

you roll your eyes, deflecting the tension like it’s second nature. “wasn’t aware i had options.”

that lands. 

his jaw ticks.

you almost miss it.

the silence stretches thin between you. neither of you move. but after a moment or two, you finally step back, and he lets you go—reluctantly. his hands drop to his sides, fingers twitching like they don’t know what to do now.

you walk toward your door. you don’t look back.

he follows anyway.

you glance over your shoulder, voice quiet. “what are you doing here?”

you expect a smirk, a joke, something stupid and evasive… but jungkook just stands there, blinking like you hit him in the chest.

a moment passes and it’s filled with silence. you turn to face him fully. 

lifting his head, he looks at you like he’s trying to figure it out himself. like he didn’t plan to be here. like he saw you walk away with someone else and followed without thinking. like his body made the decision before his brain could stop it.

and you—god, you don’t know what to do with him like this. with this version of him. unsure. unscripted. undone, almost.

he exhales through his nose. runs a hand over his mouth.

“i wasn’t crazy about him taking you home. didn’t know what it meant to you.”

you stare. for a split second, you swear his brown eyes turn green.

you push it. you push him—your green eyed boy.

“what does it matter if it means something to me?”

“it matters.”

“and this?”

you pause.

“what about this?”

“you.”

“what about me?” jungkook tilts his head at you, trying to play it off as confusion... but he isn't confused. at least, not right now.

your fingers tighten around your keys as you unlock the door. holding it open, you ask him;

“what does this mean to you?”

[5ummit]

AO3 Ship Stats: Year In Bad Data

You may have seen this AO3 Year In Review.

It hasn’t crossed my tumblr dash but it sure is circulating on twitter with 3.5M views, 10K likes, 17K retweets and counting. Normally this would be great! I love data and charts and comparisons!

Except this data is GARBAGE and belongs in the TRASH.

I first noticed something fishy when I realized that Steve/Bucky – the 5th largest ship on AO3 by total fic count – wasn’t on this Top 100 list anywhere. I know Marvel’s popularity has fallen in recent years, but not that much. Especially considering some of the other ships that made it on the list. You mean to tell me a femslash HP ship (Mary MacDonald/Lily Potter) in which one half of the pairing was so minor I had to look up her name because she was only mentioned once in a single flashback scene beat fandom juggernaut Stucky? I call bullshit.

Now obviously jumping to conclusions based on gut instinct alone is horrible practice... but it is a good place to start. So let’s look at the actual numbers and discover why this entire dataset sits on a throne of lies.

Here are the results of filtering the Steve/Bucky tag for all works created between Jan 1, 2023 and Dec 31, 2023:

Not only would that place Steve/Bucky at #23 on this list, if the other counts are correct (hint: they're not), it’s also well above the 1520-new-work cutoff of the #100 spot. So how the fuck is it not on the list? Let’s check out the author’s FAQ to see if there’s some important factor we’re missing.

The first thing you’ll probably notice in the FAQ is that the data is being scraped from publicly available works. That means anything privated and only accessible to logged-in users isn’t counted. This is Sin #1. Already the data is inaccurate because we’re not actually counting all of the published fics, but the bots needed to do data collection on this scale can't easily scrape privated fics so I kinda get it. We’ll roll with this for now and see if it at least makes the numbers make more sense:

Nope. Logging out only reduced the total by a couple hundred. Even if one were to choose the most restrictive possible definition of "new works" and filter out all crossovers and incomplete fics, Steve/Bucky would still have a yearly total of 2,305. Yet the list claims their total is somewhere below 1,500? What the fuck is going on here?

Let’s look at another ship for comparison. This time one that’s very recent and popular enough to make it on the list so we have an actual reference value for comparison: Nick/Charlie (Heartstopper). According to the list, this ship sits at #34 this year with a total of 2630 new works. But what’s AO3 say?

Off by a hundred or so but the values are much closer at least!

If we dig further into the FAQ though we discover Sin #2 (and the most egregious): the counting method. The yearly fic counts are NOT determined by filtering for a certain time period, they’re determined by simply taking a snapshot of the total number of fics in a ship tag at the end of the year and subtracting the previous end-of-year total. For example, if you check a ship tag on Jan 1, 2023 and it has 10,000 fics and check it again on Jan 1, 2024 and it now has 12,000 fics, the difference (2,000) would be the number of "new works" on this chart.

At first glance this subtraction method might seem like a perfectly valid way to count fics, and it’s certainly the easiest way, but it can and did have major consequences to the point of making the entire dataset functionally meaningless. Why? If any older works are deleted or privated, every single one of those will be subtracted from the current year fic count. And to make the problem even worse, beginning at the end of last year there was a big scare about AI scraping fics from AO3, which caused hundreds, if not thousands, of users to lock down their fics or delete them.

The magnitude of this fuck up may not be immediately obvious so let’s look at an example to see how this works in practice.

Say we have two ships. Ship A is more than a decade old with a large fanbase. Ship B is only a couple years old but gaining traction. On Jan 1, 2023, Ship A had a catalog of 50,000 fics and ship B had 5,000. Both ships have 3,000 new works published in 2023. However, 4% of the older works in each fandom were either privated or deleted during that same time (this percentage is was just chosen to make the math easy but it’s close to reality).

Ship A: 50,000 x 4% = 2,000 removed works Ship B: 5,000 x 4% = 200 removed works

Ship A: 3,000 - 2,000 = 1,000 "new" works Ship B: 3,000 - 200 = 2,800 "new" works

This gives Ship A a net gain of 1,000 and Ship B a net gain of 2,800 despite both fandoms producing the exact same number of new works that year. And neither one of these reported counts are the actual new works count (3,000). THIS explains the drastic difference in ranking between a ship like Steve/Bucky and Nick/Charlie.

How is this a useful measure of anything? You can't draw any conclusions about the current size and popularity of a fandom based on this data.

With this system, not only is the reported "new works" count incorrect, the older, larger fandom will always be punished and it’s count disproportionately reduced simply for the sin of being an older, larger fandom. This example doesn’t even take into account that people are going to be way more likely to delete an old fic they're no longer proud of in a fandom they no longer care about than a fic that was just written, so the deletion percentage for the older fandom should theoretically be even larger in comparison.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the author of this "study" KNEW the data was tainted and chose to present it as meaningful anyway. You will only find this if you click through to the FAQ and read about the author’s methodology, something 99.99% of people will NOT do (and even those who do may not understand the true significance of this problem):

The author may try to argue their post states that the tags "which had the greatest gain in total public fanworks” are shown on the chart, which makes it not a lie, but a error on the viewer’s part in not interpreting their data correctly. This is bullshit. Their chart CLEARLY titles the fic count column “New Works” which it explicitly is NOT, by their own admission! It should be titled “Net Gain in Works” or something similar.

Even if it were correctly titled though, the general public would not understand the difference, would interpret the numbers as new works anyway (because net gain is functionally meaningless as we've just discovered), and would base conclusions on their incorrect assumptions. There’s no getting around that… other than doing the counts correctly in the first place. This would be a much larger task but I strongly believe you shouldn’t take on a project like this if you can’t do it right.

To sum up, just because someone put a lot of work into gathering data and making a nice color-coded chart, doesn’t mean the data is GOOD or VALUABLE.

[orellazalonia]

Unexpected Outlook

Summary: The Avengers launch a mission to raid a known base of the organization you now work with and discuss over what they found.

Word Count: 1.7k+

A/N: A little shorter since it’s Father’s Day, but I also wanted to add more weight to the previous chapter and progress the story.

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

Preparations moved fast. Too fast, maybe.

Steve didn’t like that they were running with incomplete information, but the longer they waited, the deeper this organization could dig itself into global systems. And the more time you had to assist them, whether willingly or not.

Still, it didn’t sit right. None of it did.

Bruce pulled the files. Natasha studied known locations. Sam monitored chatter. Bucky cleaned his weapons with a look in his eyes like he wanted answers he didn’t have the right to ask.

Yet no one brought up your name again. At least, not directly. But it hovered beneath everything.

The way Bucky checked each plan twice. The way Natasha’s jaw twitched when she reviewed footage. Even the way Steve hesitated before calling it an official mission.

The woman Bucky liked didn’t voice objections anymore. She simply kept a kind, quiet distance, like someone watching friends argue over a lost cause.

And within a week, the op was set.

Steve gave the greenlight with his jaw tight and eyes harder than usual. The mission was clear: infiltrate a suspected communications hub. A nondescript, rural compound masked as a grain storage facility. Satellite data showed encrypted signals routing through it over the last month, signals that matched ones the Avengers used internally.

Which meant either someone was watching. Or someone had been taught how.

They went in with a small team. Just Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Bucky. No need for Hulk or Thor; this wasn’t a battering ram job. It was a retrieval and disrupt operation. Quiet and clean.

Or so they thought.

The quinjet landed half a mile out, under cover of dense fog rolling over the hills. The forest beyond the compound was eerily still like it had been holding its breath since before dawn.

“They want us to find this,” Natasha muttered, brushing a branch aside as they crept through the trees.

Steve didn’t argue. His shield was strapped to his arm, but he hadn’t raised it once.

They reached the clearing. The compound was just as expected. Gray concrete, flat roof, minimal security fencing, and a gravel path leading to two entrances. No guards. No movement. Even the air felt… hollow.

Sam scanned the building with a handheld sensor. “No heat signatures. Not even a rat.”

“Too clean,” Bucky said, voice low.

They breached the back door.

Inside, it was dark but not ruined. Every surface was wiped. Consoles powered down. Not destroyed, removed. Carefully like a move-out rather than an attack. Upon investigating further, files had been cleared, drawers emptied, and chairs pushed in with bland desks.

Whoever had been here knew exactly when to leave.

Steve turned in a slow circle, taking it in.

“This was active,” He said. “Days ago.”

“Hours, maybe,” Natasha said, crouching beside a desk. She tapped the edge, there was a faint spot where something electronic had been sitting. Someone had worked here… and then vanished.

Sam stepped into the central control room. There was only one thing left behind: a monitor left switched on, flickering a soft blue light in the dimness.

A single message scrolled across the screen.

Too late, Captain.

That was it. There wasn’t any long monologues. No other mocking comments. Not even a signature or sign-off present. Just a cold fact. Steve stared at it like he could will it to change. Bucky stood a step behind him, arms folded, expression unreadable.

“I don’t like this,” Sam muttered.

Natasha approached a wall panel and pried it open effortlessly. Inside, wires had been sliced. Intentionally. However, there were no explosives. No traps could be seen anywhere either. It was all just… closure.

“They stripped this place surgically,” She said. “No fingerprints, no traces. It’s like they wanted us to know they were here… but not who they are.”

Steve closed the monitor with a clenched jaw. “This wasn’t a base. It was a decoy.”

“No,” Bucky said suddenly. His voice was soft but steady. “It was a base. It just outlived its usefulness.”

They all turned toward him. He looked at the empty room, the missing equipment, and the quiet hallways. Then, to the message. And for a moment, something shifted in his eyes. Guilt, maybe or something deeper.

“They planned for this,” He murmured. “Someone told them exactly how we’d come.”

No one responded, but no one needed to. Because they were all thinking it.

-

The debrief room was thick with a heavy silence, the kind that pressed down harder than shouting. Ghost-blue blueprints and photos of the abandoned compound still flickered on the monitors, reminders of how quickly their plan had unraveled. Notes about the missing equipment and the chilling message on the screen scrolled slowly, marking everything they should have anticipated.

Steve hadn’t sat once since they returned. He stood rigid at the head of the table, hands braced on his hips, and a deep furrow like it was etched there permanently. Sam had stopped pacing but his leg bounced nervously, jaw clenched tight. Natasha’s fingers tapped against her thigh in a rhythm so steady it barely seemed voluntary.

Only Bucky remained perfectly still, arms crossed, and eyes locked on the screen across the room. He said very little since they’d left the empty compound since that message haunted him.

Too late, Captain.

The words weren’t just text; they carried a weight, a deliberate coldness that dug into Bucky’s mind. Whoever had left it knew him. Not just the soldier, but his moves, his instincts. And worse, their enemy had used the knowledge you once held to outmaneuver them.

The memory played on loop in his mind. Not just the words but the feel of them. The calculation in them. Whoever was behind that terminal… knew him. Not just facts. His patterns.

And maybe worse than that, they’d used your knowledge to do it. They probably used you to do it.

The door hissed open.

She stepped in with her usual soft elegance, cradling a fresh cup of tea between her hands like she had no idea anything had gone wrong. Dressed casual, warm, and comfortable. Like she belonged. Like she didn’t feel the same tension that pulled everyone else taut. The one you used to be jealous of had sat out for the mission after all.

“Oh,” She said lightly. “You’re all back already.”

Her tone wasn’t mocking. If anything, it was gently surprised, as if she’d simply walked into a meeting that ended early. Steve didn’t answer right away. Neither did the others.

She blinked, smile sweet and expectant, like someone unaware they were intruding. “Was it a short mission?”

“We were too late,” Steve said flatly, straightening.

Her brows lifted, and she crossed to the table, setting the tea down. “Really? That’s unfortunate. I thought it was just one of those cleanup things. You all make those look so easy.”

Sam looked over, jaw tight. “They cleaned up, alright. Took every last trace of themselves. Left us a polite message, too.”

“They knew how we’d approach,” Natasha added with her arms crossed now. “Like they knew our pattern. Our flow. They stripped the place within hours of our arrival window.”

“Hmm.” She tapped a fingernail against the ceramic. “That’s strange. Maybe they had inside intel?”

“No,” Steve spoke, narrowing his eyes. “Not unless someone studied us long before they left.”

“Oh.” She blinked, tilting her head. “So… do you think your old administrator friend told them?”

Bucky stiffened.

Natasha’s voice was sharper now, eyes narrowing. “She’s not our anything.”

That seemed to amuse her. She let out a light laugh, the kind meant to dissolve tension, not that anyone was asking for it. “Well, you’re not wrong,” She smiled. “ She didn’t really fit in here anyways, did she?”

Bruce, who had been mostly quiet, looked up sharply. “She worked here for over two years.”

She didn’t seem phased. There was no malice on her face actually. Just soft confidence.

“I guess I didn’t think she’d be important,” She sighed simply. “Kind of kept to herself. I always assumed she’d move on.”

Sam stood, voice tight. “She did. Straight into the hands of the people trying to tear us apart.”

Her smile faltered just a touch. “I didn’t mean—look, I’m sure she was… sweet. I just don’t see how it helps to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want to be here. Don’t you think she made her choice?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t know that yet.”

“I mean, sure,” She said gently, “But if she’s really that dangerous, wouldn’t you have noticed before she left? You didn’t even realize she was gone until weeks later, right?”

Bucky shifted slightly. The burn in his chest deepened. Not from her words exactly, but from how true they rang.

They hadn’t noticed. They hadn’t looked.

The woman moved closer to Bucky, noticing his subtle distress as she rested her hand lightly on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I just worry about you,” She confessed softly, smiling up at him. “You’re all stretched so thin already. I’d hate to see you waste energy chasing ghosts.”

Her hand lingered. But Bucky’s jaw clenched, and for once, he didn’t lean into her touch.

“She’s not a ghost,” He muttered. “She’s a mirror. Of everything we missed.”

Her expression flickered for barely a moment. Then the sweet smile returned.

“Well, if you have to go after her,” She brushed her hand away, her expression turning more solemn. A hint of pity evident, “I hope you’re prepared for what you find. Sometimes people change… and not always in ways you can fix. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

She reached for her tea again, her fingers wrapping around the cup like it was an anchor.

“And if you do decide to keep going after her, well.” She gave a gentle little laugh, looking around with open, innocent eyes. “I hope it goes well. I really mean that. And if you need my help at all… just let me know. I’m always happy to support the team.”

The door hissed softly behind her as she walked out, quiet heels tapping against the floor in steady, graceful rhythm.

The rest of the team stood in silence for a few long seconds, each lost in their own storm of thoughts.

Steve broke it first.

“We move forward. We stop that organization before it spreads deeper.”

“And if she’s helping them willingly?” Sam asked, his voice low.

Steve hesitated.

So, Bucky answered instead.

“Then we stop her, too.”

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox @stell404 @wingstoyourdreams @seventeen-x @mahimagi @viktor-enjoyer @vicmc624 @msbyjackal @winchestert101 @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[ohnoitsz1m]

The G-Man conversation lacks nuance, and I feel. I think some of you guys are a little too defensive.

TLDR at the bottom

So for starters. Let's just get this out of the way, there's no objective morality, you can call a character evil all you like but that's just your metric of what is evil. An interdinensional weirdguy from space probably doesn't consider himself evil or even care about how you may view him. Because he's operating on a completely separate sense of morality. For this reason I feel it's stupid to act like G-Man can only be either benevolent or malevolent.

You guys are judging G-Man based on incomplete data with a sense of morality he doesn't operate by. You don't know what his end goal is, you don't know that he cares for the characters, you don't know what the extent of his power is, and you don't know who he serves.

The G-Man is not here fighting for the little guy (humanity). He played an active role in instigating the Resonance Cascade. He threatens his "employees" with death and manipulates them by threatening their loved one's lives and he clearly doesn't mind letting someone die if they're not useful to him, especially if they're actively impeding his goals.

G-Man uses cruel methods to keep his employees under his control, and can be outwardly malicious when he wants to be.

I don't think G-Man smiling during his talk with Alyx was out of any warmth, it looked more like amusement or condescension when you put it in context. He used Eli's death as a way to trick and kidnap Alyx. He was never going to give her a Combine-free Earth, he's serving a larger goal that you can't see. The Combine are a small part, when the Combine are gone it's likely G-Man will still be fucking with people on Earth because that's not the end of his job.

It's perfectly fine to assume G-Man feels something for humans. But likely only certain ones. And not humanity as a whole. G-Man feels some kind of kinship with Adrian Shephard and likely Gordon Freeman as well in their shared ability to survive against all odds, and G-Man state that he saw some promise in Alyx Vance when she was younger, but that doesn't mean he cares for them in the way a lot of people are saying. They're not his kids, they're tools, they're bargaining chips and contingency plans that he pulls out when he needs them. G-Man's goal, even if it is to the benefit of humans is fairly impersonal. I think he does get personally invested in his employees to be fair, but like. It's like betting on horseracing or fantasy football brackets. It's about the end goal, not so much the in between.

G-Man is an antagonist, because he is an active threat to the protagonists and plays a crucial part in the story's inciting incident. G-Man may not be outwardly evil or doing shit just to fuck with people but he is still hurting people.

G-Man helping humanity is likely not even about humanity, ultimately. It's about his job and the goals of his employers. Any benefit humans derrive from it is incidental. G-Man does not go out of his way to actually help anyone. He saves Gordon because he still needs him, and he saves Alyx because he still needs her. This is not kindness, it's transactional. If Gordon refuses to assist the G-Man, he's threatened and punished for it.

TLDR

Because we are playing on the side of humanity, he's an antagonist, sorry. That's how antagonists work. It's not about morality, it's about how characters interact with eachother and the world. You guys are doing some Sisyphus shit trying to pin him down as good or evil.

[squicky-fannish-discourse]

Sequel to this and prequel to the entire AU.

MASTER POST OF THIS AU

After Hiromi realized that it wasn't an ordinary beyblade, and she started to have strange dreams of "Incomplete Suzaku," she consulted Daitenji Kaichou.

“Daitenji-Kaichou?” “Yes, Hiromi?” “What are the results from the cops?” “Ah yes, Clearance for things from that island—yes you may see the notes. But Hiromi, we’re definitely keeping it a top secret. Please do not let anyone else know about it.” “Not even the team?” “They need clearance.” “What kind of background check would you do on them, though?” “Haha, I mean—It’s really our council deciding if you can get access. You’re a reliable girl and you probably won’t put it to any underhanded use.” “Oh! Yes."

"Can't imagine what you'd want it for though, Hiromi." From the island, they confiscated data, things that could be used against the Bladebreakers—more data on the bitbeasts. Cyber bit-beasts of other kinds. Hiromi specifically took a journal, some diagrams, some maps, and a tape recorder in an envelope, and it all belonged to a deceased researcher. The maps had notes littered all over it. See, all of this goes haywire after Brooklyn and Takao destroy the BEGA tower, and also all of the research material also gets destroyed… Except for whatever Hiromi took. PPB at some point took the cyber bitbeasts. And no one from BBA required it what was taken back from her, since now it’s no one’s business. BBA doesn’t really exist as a research facility one year after, and they are slowly rebuilding. Hiromi spent her free time painstakingly translating a russian’s scientist’s journal on the matter to Japanese.

She didn’t tell Kyoujyu or Takao or anyone, because he already told her to put this Suzaku beyblade back wherever she found it. Well, she wasn't sure how to, from the little she'd translated.

They'd be upset at her for irresponsibly using this beyblade.

Maybe... she should... tell them after all...

.

Journal Entry

Should this journal fall into anyone else’s hands—consider me a dead man. Alchemy made men believe they could transmute materials to gold or find the elixir of life. You can directly "create" bit-beasts through alchemy. After all, Rasputin created Black Suzaku with his primitive understanding of alchemy and he plunged Russia into chaos. We can do the same with science and chemistry. Alchemy is, after all, the crude predecessor of modern day chemistry. In the previous place I worked was doing a project to create clones of Suzaku, because the client wanted us to create an ultimate bit-beast to capture other bit beasts, but it ultimately fell through. Client got arrested. We fled. After it, I fled—and found employment elsewhere, and I took some notes and some failed clones with me. These failed clones are created from the former Black Suzaku, after Kai Hiwatari used it and abandoned it. But he was the last person capable of handling this powerful beyblade. I’m attempting to create a new form of Suzaku using these failed clones as a base... with our understanding of science, and hopefully, this will be the bit-beast which will rival the actual Suzaku. We’ll attempt to create it from the “ashes of Black Suzaku.” This Suzaku will have the DNA of both Suzakus. Will it be stronger? The strongest? . . .

In Hiromi's dream, she takes a step forward towards the thrashing bird bit beast.

"What do you... what do you want?!" she asked, as she caught flames.

"I..." It screeched. "I just want to be whole."

She was engulfed in flames.

"I'm too weak."

And she woke up, and parts of her comforter were scorched. The beyblade glinted on her night-stand.

[beantoeboxstories]

Peer Review (FF7 Fic)

Dear Mr. Hojo,

I would like to thank you for submitting your study, "How Much Mako Before It Croaks?" to the Gaia Journal of Biological Science for publication. I would also like to extend my deepest condolences. I truly hope that your university can swiftly locate your missing classmates soon and I cannot imagine how difficult things must be right now. Unfortunately, I must inform you that we are unable to consider your paper for publication at this time. Though I applaud your ambition I'm afraid there are several issues with your submission that render it ineligible for further peer review.

Firstly, your hypothesis. Or rather, the lack of one. You appear to have simply written "Inject frogs with mako until they explode." Mr. Hojo, this is not a hypothesis. It is a foregone conclusion. Secondly, your sample size is three subjects with no control group. Even if you did have a properly structured hypothesis I very much doubt you could prove or disprove anything with so paltry a sample size. Additionally, although you seem to value, in your words, "beautiful data" you aren't exactly clear about what it is you are measuring, either. You seem to think of "data" as some kind of abstract concept, a magical buzzword far removed from any actual math. An no, marking the number of extra limbs your subjects may have sprouted does not count.

Also, I assure you that sending the last living sample along with your paper was quite unnecessary. Please do think upon the mess involved with shipping such a sample the next time you are tempted to apply and, for all our sakes, reconsider. It was our administrative assistant who had the pleasure of opening your package, as she does with all our mail, and the janitorial staff was quite peeved with us over both the mess made of the box itself and the way she subsequently lost her lunch.

We received several letters of resignation the very next day, hers included. So please, do us a service and keep our hiring budget in mind next time you apply for publication?

Kind regards,

Dr. Stephen P. Wilworth,

Editor for the Gaia Journal of Biological Science

P.S. You could have at least included air holes.

Dear Dr. Hojo,

I confess that I am surprised to hear from you so soon after your last endeavor. Congratulations are certainly in order. Not only have you earned your doctorate, but to earn a position under such an esteemed scientist as Professor Ghast!

As to the matter of your submission, please forgive me. I have read it over and though the methodology is much improved I'm afraid it feels a little, shall we say, incomplete. In fact, I recall running into dear Ghast at a conference naught but a month or two ago and, wouldn't you know, he also mentioned this very same JENOVA specimen outlined in your paper. Although I do find his claims of it being an Ancient dubious at best. He is an excellent researcher but perhaps a bit prone to flights of fancy. Well, there is no shame in having one's hypothesis disproved. That is, after all, the way of science.

Perhaps you could help me with a hypothesis of my own? You see, although I know for a fact that you are working under Professor Ghast on this JENOVA project I do not see his name, nor those of any other collaborators, credited within your paper. Maybe you can guess at the hypothesis I have come up with? But no, surely a newly minted PHD such as yourself wouldn't be so crass. You have a smart head on your shoulders and graduated at the top of your class, so I can only assume that there has been some mistake. Especially since Ghast told me himself that he did not plan to speak much about the project, nor publish anything, for "security reasons."

So, then, let us say that this little mistake never happened, shall we? Far be it for me to cut short such a promising future before it even buds.

Kind regards,

Dr. Stephen P. Wilworth,

Editor for the Gaia Journal of Biological Science

Dear Dr. Hojo,

I found your last letter to be frightfully unprofessional. There was no need to level such insults at myself nor the nighttime pursuits of my dear, departed mother. So you can imagine my surprise when I found a new manila envelope on my desk this morning with your name scrawled on the return address. I honestly thought that you had given up on submitting to our illustrious publication in light of our last few tete-a-tetes.

Let it never be said that I give up easily. No, I girded every milliliter of my resolve and dutifully read through your new masterpiece despite my misgivings. The result?

Sir. These are crimes.

Actual crimes.

I admit that when you first said that you were infusing an foetus in vivo I thought to myself, "Ah, good old Dr. Hojo has returned to his roots! Smashing incompatible things together with the wild abandon of a five year old!" And I was relieved, for at least you were predictable.

It was only when I got to the interview with the mother that I realized you meant that you were experimenting on a human foetus. Apologies for this egregious oversight, for many foeti are difficult to distinguish in the early stages of development. My mistake.

I have directed my staff to contact your employer Mr. Shinra, Professor Ghast, and any and all authorities that they can think of. With luck, this letter will not even reach you as you will already be languishing within the darkest, most hellish cell that Shinra may possess.

Regards,

Dr. Stephen P. Wilworth,

Editor for the Gaia Journal of Biological Science

Dear Dr. Hojo,

How are you? Or rather, how are you not in prison? Did my letters never reach Mr. Shinra, or is the man as ethically bankrupt as yourself? It is strange, though, that I have not heard from Professor Ghast. I know him to be an upstanding man of the finest character.

I have lost another administrative assistant. She took one look at the stains on the butcher paper enclosing your most recent work and quit on the spot. She was, perhaps, the smartest of us here in the office for doing so and I envy her such wisdom. I admit that I cannot turn away from your macabre studies. To do so feels like I would be turning a blind eye to an atrocity.

The photos you included are vile. I have not been able to eat or sleep since I first laid eyes on them. You killed this man, didn't you. But then are the pictures out of order? He begins as a corpse, yet the ones further on show him moving, screaming, twisting. Your paper does not clear this up. It keeps skipping around and appears to be interspersed with what I can only describe as mysanthropic ravings.

I once believed there was a natural justice in this world, you know, but by your hands you have revealed that to be a fiction. Well, I may have no legal authority but I can promise you one thing: your papers will never be published. But don't worry, you will most certainly be known. I will make it my personal mission to ensure that every journal on Gaia knows of your sickness. You will become an exile from the halls of learning, a persona non grata in the eyes of science save as a cautionary tale for med students. We will give you what you want in the worst possible way.

Regards,

Dr. Stephen P. Wilworth,

Editor for the Gaia Journal of Biological Science

Welcome, readers, to the new Shinra Electric Company Journal of Science, formerly the Gaia Journal of Biological Science! Do not worry, although this journal may have a new name you can expect the same caliber of standards as always. Nothing will change in that regard!

All this means is that we have a few more resources at our disposal, which will include not only higher quality content but also a faster publication schedule! Starting now the SECJS will be publishing weekly, not monthly.

We have a very special surprise for you for this first issue. Our very own, newly-appointed Director of Research and Development, Professor Hojo, has graced us with one of his latest studies on mako-stone brain implants in project "SPW." So stay tuned! We think you will find it well worth it.

Dr. Kratus Fine

Editor for the Shinra Electric Company Journal of Science

[aparticularbandit]

it is important to me that you understand that:

junko has no luck (and when she does, it's bad luck)

nagito has fantastic luck, but it always comes at a cost - for every moment of good luck, there is also a moment of bad luck; the higher the good luck he wants, the greater the sacrifice of bad luck he needs first (see case 5)

izuru has luck with no cost, which makes his luck better than nagito's; he's the inverse of junko, but his luck is downloaded, fake, contrived (like the rest of his talent is)

this must be combined with:

junko can calculate and anticipate anything provided she has access to the right dataset (the better she knows someone/something, the better she can manipulate them/it - this extends to talent as well; the more data she has on how someone's talent functions, the better she can imitate it, which is why she can't imitate ryota's animation as completely in the way that she wants (different talents have different rates in terms of how much she needs to analyze them, though))

nagito can deduce but he cannot mimic; he dabbles in manipulation, but he is much more of a servant to someone else's goals, which means his analysis is always in service to someone else (kyoko is similar but not quite the same; kyoko can get to the point of deducing fast enough to prevent things, which is a lot more similar to junko's analysis, just used in a different way; kyoko's more straight forward than junko is, which is why deduce and not analyze)

izuru's analysis functions the same as junko's does, except that he doesn't need to analyze someone else's talent to mimic it; he has had talent downloaded straight into him like neo in the matrix; if he wants more talents than the ones he already has, he's gonna need them downloaded again, probably

as a result:

junko's weakness is luck and incomplete data sets; an incomplete (or wrong) data set leads to a miscalculation, and when something relies on luck and cannot be precalculated or predicted, then junko falls. she relies hard on her analysis, which gives her a blind spot. (junko, however, is aware of this. that's why she has both nagito and izuru on deck; in the hope calculation that their luck, correctly used, will allow her to predict things that happen by chance as well)

nagito's weakness is his reliance on his luck. he believes in his luck. his luck will take care of him. he can't control how it works, and he can't control how the bad luck will happen or who it will happen to, but he doesn't need to analyze something for his luck to get him out of it (and the smaller the chance that something will happen, the more likely it will happen to him; his luck works on an inverse to everyone else's, basically, so what's the point of predicting things on what is most likely to happen when, for him, it will probably be the other way around)

izuru could cover his incomplete data sets with his luck, but tends to rely so completely on his luck to cover his ass that he stops analyzing and leaves himself open there - he should be the strongest of the two, but really tends to leave him with more weaknesses until he figures out how to use the two in conjunction; something junko has figured out but cannot do because her luck is not her own

[bardic-tales]

Day 3 | Diana Ravenscroft | Day 5

31 days of FF 7 Headcanons: Day 4: Perspective on SOLDIER

Today’s prompt digs into how our OCs feel about SOLDIER, and for Diana Ravenscroft, it’s not admiration, envy, or even hatred. It’s analysis. Raised in the mechanized heart of Junon and shaped by Shinra’s cold ambition, Diana never saw SOLDIERs as people to idolize. They were experiments in motion: proof of concept rather than paragons of valor.

Her story doesn’t revolve around the glory of wielding a sword, but the power of creating the one who does. Diana didn’t want to join SOLDIER. She wanted to surpass it. Read on to see how one woman’s obsession with genetic perfection turned the mythology of SOLDIER into a cautionary footnote in her larger, much darker legacy.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Abuse, body horror, child death, dehumanization, experimentation, medical trauma, mental instability, mortality, obsessive behavior, power imbalances, psychological manipulation, religious themes, self-experimentation, state violence, torture, unethical science

To Diana Ravenscroft, SOLDIER was never a military unit. It was a living, breathing experiment. From a young age, growing up in the Junon, Diana witnessed the militarization of science firsthand. SOLDIERs weren’t heroes in her eyes. They were data points. Subjects. Proof that Shinra’s experiments could break the boundaries of biology. While others looked up to SOLDIER as paragons of strength, Diana was fascinated by what made them possible, not who they were. Admiration? No. Fascination? Absolutely. SOLDIER was a prototype. Humanity’s first real attempt at evolution by force.

Diana never once considered joining SOLDIER herself. The idea was laughable. She was never interested in being a sword. She was the scalpel. And SOLDIER, for all their flair and might, were tools crafted by people like her. She knew the power didn’t reside in the hands of those who held the swords, but in those who created the monsters wielding them. Her ambition had always been to sit at the helm of creation, not follow orders. Besides, SOLDIERs were expendable. Diana understood from the beginning that behind the glamor of rank and title was a painful truth: once your usefulness ended, so did your life and usually ended in the company's coverups.

That belief only deepened when she began working under Professor Hojo, the very architect behind Sephiroth and the twisted brilliance of the SOLDIER program. Diana's obsession with the fusion of Jenova cells and mako energy made SOLDIER less an ideal and more a cautionary tale. What happened when you pushed too far without understanding the full consequences. The madness, the degradation, the loss of identity? These weren’t failures to her, and they were inevitable symptoms of incomplete science. SOLDIER was an unstable experiment that had succeeded just enough to justify itself, and failed just enough to damn its creators.

Her time spent analyzing Sephiroth, the golden child of the SOLDIER project, cemented her convictions. He was beautiful, terrifying, and utterly unsustainable. Diana viewed him and the other SOLDIERS not as people, but as living proof that perfection, when rushed and weaponized, always ends in collapse: degradation with Genesis and madness with Sephiroth. And yet, she admired the purity of his design.

In Sephiroth, she saw a glimpse of what humanity could become, if they shed their fragility and moral hesitation. SOLDIER was a blueprint, not an endpoint. Her own work, particularly with Bianca Moore, aimed to refine it, to evolve past its flaws, and to reach something immortal, something divine.

In the end, Diana’s perspective on SOLDIER is clinical, critical, and devoid of sentiment. She neither reveres them nor pities them. They were stepping stones on the path to something greater. Their suffering was unfortunate but necessary. Where others saw heroes or villains, Diana saw variables in a larger equation: one she was determined to solve.

To Diana, SOLDIER wasn't a legacy worth preserving, but a problem worth correcting. She would be the one to finish what Shinra started, but not with a blade, rather with blood, cells, and willpower forged into scientific truth.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @serenofroses

[magicswordszin]

Seedbed

An excellent chapter of Dancing to her Rhythms came out today describing the sensation of implantation from the side of the affini. I couldn’t help but wonder okay but how would that be different for Brunnaria and quickly threw this together to sate the brainworms.

This should be considered kind of a prequel to Bed of Roses, part of the what if Iya didn’t have the poison capsule scenario.

Brunnaria had tried not too look too closely at the thing before, the piece of herself that had been separated and cultivated to subsume and conquer, but now she couldn’t take her eyes off of it. She watched as it twitched and reached tendrils for her floret and Brun felt ashamed of the lack within her. She should be proud, excited, gleeful to entwine her self into her floret and expand her dominion of the universe. Instead, she felt twisting horror in her core. Was that really what she was? The true nature of her core was laid bare: a squirming parasite straining to consume. Yes, there was an instinctive hunger beginning to rear its head. Brun’s injectors were flexing and her flowers starting to produce pollen, but mostly she felt sick and uneasy.

“You can do this,” Néarcta said gently, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

A tendril brushed against Iya’s spinal column and overwhelming sparks of sensation cascaded through the air into Brunnaria’s core. She yelped and reached, stretching more tendrils into her floret in an action as reflexive as a kick in response to an impact to the patellar tendon. Then, she impulsively drew back; too little too late, she felt her implant squirming indecisively and her floret’s muscles twitched.

“Brun.” Néarcta said sharply.

It was already too much, and Brunnaria knew this was a tiny trickle compared to what she would be receiving with a full connection. She forced herself to relax, and for a moment focused on a vine-winding exercise. She loosened her control and, shivering, allowed her instincts to take over.

Distantly she observed, muttering the names of major neural landmarks as she wound herself into Iya Lapin’s mind. She’d known how this worked. She’d studied it, prepared to perform implantations for other affini, but never before had she so viscerally understood how much of her floret’s internal structure she was consuming and replacing, how even now in the earliest seconds of their union her floret was now more like an extension of Brunnaria than her own entity, how she would forever have a veto on every thought, every sensation, every way that the outside world would affect the mind of this precious sophont.

It felt good. There was pleasure happening. A hunger was being sated.

Something hit the ground with a thud.

Brun stopped bothering to identify which parts were terran and which were phytotech, stopped bothering to remember which bit did what. It wasn’t like her intellect had anything to do with this process. Her instincts knew exactly what to do. She could have done this in her sleep. Brunnaria didn’t really even need to be here for this.

So for a little while she wasn’t.

There was a groaning sound as the information started to slot together, and then she could see the whole of Iya Lapin, First Floret. That snapped her back to attention. Here was something she could do. Iya had been so scared that she would be destroyed by the process, but with this understanding Brunnaria could preserve her, protect her, and—

She became violently aware of how small and fragile a thing she was holding. Her haustorium was terrifyingly strong and a single tendril out of place would ruin everything. It felt incomplete, like a meal half-eaten, like she’d been edged halfway to orgasm, but she’d already done far, far too much. Brun smothered the part of herself that wanted more, it had been fed enough today and it could never truly be sated anyway.

There was still so much data flowing in, and her core slowly started to sort it, to adapt to it, and the curtain lifted somewhat. Brunnaria was a loose tangle in Néarcta’s lap. The older affini was running her talons through Brun’s vines.

“You did it. How does it feel?”

Mulch. Good, right? There was a pleasure coursing through her. But she didn’t really feel good. She felt different. She felt like she’d been transmuted into a wholly different organism. She felt like a caterpillar that had metamorphosed into a butterfly, except…except she still had the mind of the caterpillar. That wasn’t right somehow, being the same person when she was so different now.

“Different,” she settled on.

“You did a great job, Brun. I knew you would.”

Before Brun could answer she felt her haustorium twitch within her floret and she winced; she’d relaxed for a moment and immediately she’d tried to burrow deeper into Iya without even knowing what or where or why.

A great job. How the frost did Néarcta know? She hadn’t seen it. She hadn’t felt it. She was just trying to sooth Brunnaria. And the truth emerged within her mind: she’d done a terrible job. This was supposed to be joyful, ecstatic, a glorious union, and Brunnaria had mulched it up, and that’s why she felt so awful. She couldn’t say that, though. So instead, she curled tighter in Néarcta’s lap.

“She’s mine now. Forever.”

[bannock-freak]

heres what i got for the zetsubou billy the dyke fic so far btw. teruhashi enjoyers will know where i'm coming from.

Statistically speaking, a female serial killer is considered ‘anomalous’. Uncommon.

Rare.

This is despite the frankly lacking research into the subject.

What few of these women have risen to prominence tend to follow along certain trends. White. Average to high intelligence. Employed in health care. Whether their targets, their victims, are thus because of convenience or in a bid to seek attention further divides the statistics.

Statistics.

Numbers.

Pieces of data. Impersonal, unafraid, incomplete.

No, statistically speaking a woman is unlikely to become a serial killer.

It’s much more likely she’ll become a victim.

“I-I’m sorry,” Her breath rattled in her chest. 

It was dark. Her apartment wasn’t that far from the bus stop, but it was dark, and the street was cold, and though she could hear the faint hum of the television from the home next to her she knew, knew deep within her, that nobody would be coming to her aid.

They never had.

How could she deescalate this situation? How could she get out of this and still get home safely? The thought tore through her mind to just turn and run, but.

But the man was bigger than her. He had longer legs that could eat up the distance far easier. And in the off chance that she did make it home, the only thing that would do was lead this person straight there.

She put on her sweetest smile and hoped it didn’t tremble too much. “I. I’m flattered! But I’m sorry. I’m so b-busy with work, I. I don’t have time for a boyfriend right now.”

Did. Did she bow? To show polite deference, to seem kind? But that would take her eyes off the man and he-

He had a knife.

The memory of her parents' bloodied bodies pulsed through her mind's eye and she swallowed sharply. This was just the topper on a terrible day, wasn’t it. Only today the trial had ended and the man she’d seen kill her parents had been set free.

He’d been set free, and he’d been laughing.

She’d spent the train ride back to Kanto in a numb haze, a creeping misery slowly coming upon her as reality set in. 

She should have killed him. 

The thought settled onto her suddenly. She should have killed that vile man. Right outside the courthouse, she should have killed him. Pushed him into traffic, or stabbed his eye out with her high heel, or clubbed him to death with a rock. She should have killed him. It wouldn’t bring her parents back, but it would be justice that the law refused to serve no matter her eyewitness testimony.

She should have killed him when she had the chance.

Misa knew with sharp intuition that she wouldn’t have that chance ever again.

“I. I see.” The stranger’s shoulders slumped.

He was plain. Older than her by what looked like a wide margin. There was a ring on his finger.

Pathetic.

So pathetic, and yet-

Her eyes swung down to take in the large kitchen knife again. She slowly took a step back, praying the sound of her heel scraping the ground wouldn’t set him off. If she could just find a place to hide-

But then what.

Call the police?

She’d called the police once before. They’d promised her justice for the slaughter of her parents, then they’d botched the investigation and the man she’d seen do it had gone free. There was that, and the news reports. Women being stalked. Women going to the police to save them. Women being killed by their stalkers anyway. The general public shaking their heads in sympathy. If only the police had been able to do something sooner, then that beautiful life wouldn’t have been cut so tragically short. But alas, the law was the law, and their hands were tied. Stalking by itself was such a minor offense. Who would have thought it would turn into murder?

And then, if the murderer was caught at all, they’d get between five and ten years.

The man looked to the side, not so coincidentally the side whose hand held the knife. Misa could feel her hands shake, a cold sweat pooling rancid in her stomach.

“So you’re not interested in me,” The man’s voice was shaking too. “I see. I... see.”

Where was the justice in that?

Misa was going to die here tonight.

She swallowed and took another step back, her heart hammering in her chest, her hand reaching behind her to take a firm grasp of her skirt.

She could only hope it would be quick, that it wouldn’t be preceded first by the ultimate violation. Maybe, if she got lucky, if she got so lucky, she’d somehow be able to tear the knife from the stranger’s grip and stick it in him before he could put it in her.

Her parents’ killer hadn’t even gone to jail so surely she wouldn’t for defending herself, right?

But she had to make sure she killed him.

If she didn’t kill him, he’d only come back to attack her again.

Her entire body started to sing and her other hand grabbed her bag. It wasn’t very heavy, but if she could blind him, and then-and then make him trip or something, maybe she’d be able to get the knife when he fell.

She wouldn’t be overpowering him otherwise.

‘I have to make it look like an accident.’ A cool drop of sweat seared the skin of her throat. ‘I can’t make it look too deliberate.’

Her eyes flashed over his body, and landed on his neck. His throat. She’d go for his throat. If she got lucky-

Her parents' bodies, rended open, sacks of meat with gaping faces on their living room floor.

If she got so lucky-

The knife swung up and the man gripped it with both his hands. All the sizzling hope drained right out of her.

“Then I’ll kill you,” He cried, deranged, his eyes bulging and his teeth flashing in the low light. “And kill myself afterwards!”

He lunged for her. Misa felt herself scream. Just like before it all seemed to happen in slow motion. She threw up her hands.

There was a sound like a knife clattering to the ground, and then there was nothing. Nothing but ragged panting, and the sound of her own blood rushing through her ears. Misa slowly lowered her hands, wincing through them, and found a boggling sight.

The stranger stood in front of her, arms at his sides, swaying lightly back and forth like a buoy in shaky waters. His eyes were dazed, but he wasn’t even looking at her anymore. 

And then.

And then?

He turned and he walked away.

Misa gaped after him, then started and breathed a sharp gasp. What the hell was she doing just standing here, this was her chance!

She turned, and she ran.

Just in case, instead of going home she ran to the nearest convenience store, a 711 that was thankfully only a block away and required a right turn as opposed to a left. There, she pushed her way to the counter and wailed for the clerk to call the police.

Maybe they wouldn’t do anything. Maybe the man would still come after her and kill her - he clearly knew the area in which she lived.

But she could at least get the file started and hope that, should she die, a kind hearted detective who actually cared might look at a picture of her corpse and decide to do his best for her with the information she’d already given them.

Only it didn’t end up going that way.

“What?” Misa gasped, staring up at the officer in shock.

She was in the back of a cruiser, a blanket clutched tight around her shoulders, the door open and wagging in the wind. Above her, the officer nodded.

“It looks like a heart attack.”

Dead.

He was.

He was dead?

Misa didn’t know what to do with that. She swallowed tightly and looked at her knees. There was a tear in her dark stocking, a bandage on her knee. She’d tripped in her haste to get away.

‘What horrible luck.’ She thought, a tremble crawling through her. ‘Thank goodness.’

Maybe it wasn’t right to be thankful a man had died, and it was eerie to know she was probably the last person to see him alive, but. But thank goodness.

Thank goodness.

“Honestly it’s a bit of a strange coincidence. You should probably be grateful to him, really.”

Blankness shot through her. Slowly, Misa looked up at the officer. He was giving her a half-hearted, awkward smile.

She knew he was trying to be kind.

But.

“Grateful?” She asked in a shivering whisper.

The officer adjusted his cap and nodded, looking left. “Yeah. He gave you a, uh, a pretty perfect alibi actually. Just a little while ago, the man you say killed your parents - he died too.”

The officer looked at her, and there was a queerness in his eye. Almost a fear.

“Another heart attack.”

Her breath stalled out in her chest, and instead of air she was filled with something like light, her eyes widening slowly.

A heart attack. No. Two heart attacks.

Kira.

Kira, that myth that had been going around on the internet, the cause the populace had attributed to the sudden outbreak of lethal heart attacks among criminals. Kira was real.

Kira had saved her life.

Kira had given her parents justice.

Misa would never have the chance to kill the man that’d killed her parents, no, but Ken Inoue was still dead. He would never be able to hurt anyone else, ever again.

Kira.

Misa took in a trembling breath at last and shut her eyes, bowing her head and gathering the gritty blanket all the closer.

‘Thank you.’

The police drove her home. Filled with that lasting golden light, Misa walked her apartment in a daze. She ate. She showered. She changed. She went to bed.

The next day, utterly buoyant beyond anything she’d felt since the day she’d witnessed her parents murder, Misa bounced into a salon. Her hair still smelled like fragrant, upscale bleach when she was scouted for a modelling agency just two hours later.

Thanks to Kira, everything in her life was back on track. 

She would never have her parents again, no, but at least now they could rest peacefully.

Misa knew she would be eternally grateful. 

And not to that piece of shit stalker either, no matter how much an ignorant cop would insist otherwise.

~~~

“For the past two days, you’ve been followed by somebody.”

‘Ah.’

Light closed her eyes, neatly tucking away the way they’d so briefly widened outside her control.

‘I see.’

Honestly, it was about time. 

Still, it was annoying that it was bothering Ryuk. He had yet to prove himself overly unreasonable but she had the sense he could become as such if he wasn’t managed carefully. She flicked her golden brown hair over her shoulder, using the opportunity to give Ryuk a small nod.

“I understand.”

Still walking, she pulled her bag around and opened it, withdrawing a compact. Flicking it open, Light quickly angled it to catch the scenery behind her. A man in dark clothes, with dark hair, casually turned into the convenience store. Approximately 180 centimeters, attractive, possibly mixed race.

The mirror captured her faint smile as she turned it to regard her reflection, gingerly thumbing away a fleck of mascara before closing it and returning it to her bag.

Interesting. Had L turned to the Americans, perhaps?

She would have to be careful still, but she was relieved that so far things had panned out to her expectations. Light’s mistake killing that Lind L. Tailor had been rather embarrassing, but so far she’d managed to salvage her position. Hopefully Light could arrange things just so that it would be the police themselves who would deliver the true L into the spotlight, and from there her rule would be practically a promise.

‘There will be approximately fifty people under investigation,’ Light thought as she let herself in through the gate and then into her house. ‘I don’t expect surveillance will reveal me, but if I can figure out his name, that would be good insurance if it goes that way.’

She certainly didn’t want to kill him if she could help it. If the man who had been following her was an agent, likely FBI or something similar, then he could be of value serving her rule. 

‘Then again there’s so many conspiracies the Americans have about the FBI,’ Light thought as she sat at her desk, chin finding the grasp of her fingers. ‘Who’s to say how many therein are honest men and women who serve justice, and who among them are just there for the power.’

It was hard to remember sometimes, but not every police officer was her father. 

Light sighed and resisted the urge to rub her eyes. Damn the need for makeup. Her face was perfect without it, but a woman her age who refused to wear any could find herself quickly ostracized. That would hardly serve her purposes, nevermind her pride.

She caught her reflection in the darkness of the computer monitor. In it, she resembled little more than a typical hard working teenager. The man who had been following her, Light recalled the past few days per Ryuk’s timeline, would have seen nothing except that.

She looked into the mirror of her own eyes.

‘Light,’ She thought to herself, absently reaching out to touch her fingertips to the monitor. ‘Light Yagami.’

Seventeen years old, set to graduate highschool at the top of her class, at the top of many things. Her height at once intimidated idiot boys from talking to her and ensured single-handedly any pursuit of ballet would be a private one. She was well aware that people looked up to her, both literally and metaphorically.

The perfect woman. That was what some people sighed where they thought she couldn’t hear them. Smart. Beautiful. Athletic. Talented. Keen of social graces and charismatic. A good older sister, and a fine daughter any parent should be proud to have.

That was who she was.

Was.

Past tense.

But she was on her way to becoming something much, much more.

Light smiled and turned on the computer.

The Death Note had come into her life just a few months ago, and each day since then had brought with it a blessing. Though Ryuk said that he hadn’t chosen her, had only dropped the notebook randomly out of boredom, Light knew she was being called upon to follow her life’s path.

The existence of shinigami simply proved it. A shinigami required that a person had a finite amount of time on this earth, but further an amount that was predetermined. An amount that was judged by fate. 

This by itself proved the existence of destiny.

Light believed Ryuk, yes. But her and only her spotting the Death Note fluttering to the ground in a bath of sunlight, its creamy pale pages fluttering like pigeon wings, was no mere coincidence. 

The world was rotting - both sides of it, living and dead. It wasn’t hard at all to recall the broadcast she’d overheard on her walk home that fateful school day. Yet another woman murdered. Yet another man arrested. Whether or not he’d serve any meaningful time was to be determined. The police could only do so much after all. So often it had seemed to her that things would go so much smoother should there only be some divine intervention. The efforts of humanity could only stack up so high in the eyes of pure universal truth, and so often there were people who sought to muddy the waters to their own benefit.

Who sought to harm. To take advantage.

Her memory flashed to the image of a frightened woman, not much older than herself, surrounded by leering men on motorcycles. While provoking a very understandable fear, until physical contact was engaged or threats were uttered, the grounds for self-defense in that situation were dubious. There was nothing reasonable Light could have done to help. Had she inserted herself into the situation, it would have only escalated.

Typically, by the time it escalated into the physical, it was too late.

But.

This time, she’d had the Death Note. 

By the time the poor woman had begun to scream, the name of her second experiment had already been written down forty times.

To harm, to take advantage, yes.

To kill.

There had been a surge of emotion unlike that which she’d ever felt. It had, admittedly, taken Light some time to truly come around to the idea of harnessing the Death Note’s powers for the ultimate good of humanity. After all, she was killing people. Supposedly, killing people was wrong.

She’d asked her father once why, if killing was wrong, did Japan have the death penalty. She’d been perhaps five. It had taught her a good lesson.

Killing was wrong until you were the authority in charge. Then, and only then, did killing become justice.

Light had found sanctuary and zeal inside the thought that the owner of the terrible, otherworldly notebook would probably kill her, too, when they found her. Until then, she had to use her time wisely and take as many criminals down with her as possible. 

Light had been ready to sacrifice everything. She had done very good work in those five days.

And then Ryuk had told her that no, the notebook belonged to her from the second she’d laid hand upon it.

That could only mean one thing.

‘Little wonder why Tailor disturbed me so much,’ Light thought as she browsed her father’s servers. ‘Those accusations…’

The fool. Even though she’d confess to some relief that Tailor had turned out to be a death row inmate, to have been the one to draft that script, to call her a murderer? L truly must be a fool. Whoever the detective was, L could not be counted on to help create a utopia if that was what they truly thought.

The idea that L might be a woman was pondered over briefly, then ultimately discarded. While entirely possible, given the voice scrambling software and anonymity the detective used, it seemed unlikely.

Light knew exactly how difficult it was to be a female attempting to serve the law.

The thought twisted her lip, her heart thudding briefly in anger. She soothed it away habitually. She’d won her father’s respect through her work. She’d won over his coworkers, too. There wasn’t a single police officer in Tokyo who wasn’t aware of her capabilities, she was sure. There was little point in getting irritated over the past, even if her mother continued to lament her desired career path.

‘It would be cool if L was a woman, though.’ She thought as she clicked into another folder. 

A pity, given she’d no doubt have to kill them, but still very cool nonetheless.

No, the Death Note had called to her. The Death Note, and the godhood Light would reach through it - that ultimate authority was her destiny. There was nobody better for it. Not even L, hypocrite that they were. Fascinating, how L could put a man to death, on television no less, and call her a murderer simply because she was the guillotine blade - nevermind who put the man’s neck there to begin with. Fascinating, and infuriating, but perhaps, also, comforting. Such a thing required cooperation from the police, the government. It gave her faith those entities could be swayed, should she only be able to convince them. Such would certainly happen with time. It was only the beginning and her reputation was becoming mythic. Crime rates were already dropping. GLOBALLY. It filled her with fierce pride.

She’d make this world a better place or she’d die trying.

Such was the duty of an officer of the law, wasn’t it?

“Light.”

Hm? She raised her eyes, looking upon the grotesque countenance of her companion. Ryuk was certainly an interesting creature to look at - only vaguely humanoid in the overall coincidence of construction. She absently wondered whether or not shinigami had standards for beauty as humans did, and if that was so, where on that scale Ryuk fell.

How was a shinigami born?

How did a shinigami die?

These were questions that, infuriatingly, Ryuk did not know how to answer. Considering how bored he’d been, it was a little baffling how much he’d simultaneously taken so much for granted. How could you deconstruct a structure effectively if you didn’t know the ins and outs of its anatomy? Then again, perhaps Ryuk was simply not as optimistic as her. Could even shinigami learn helplessness?

But he did know some things.

“There are two key differences,” Ryuk said, holding up two very long fingers. “Between a shinigami and a human who use a Death Note.”

Just the two?

Fascinating.

“Do you know why the shinigami have to use the Death Note?” Ryuk asked.

Light couldn’t help her smile. Ryuk really was such a troll, of course she didn’t. “How should I know? You’re very talkative today, Ryuk.”

Ryuk explained.

The thing about eating years - that made sense. But the evolutionary biology that allowed it to happen?

The eyes?

That would have been a boon indeed, had it not come with such a hefty drawback. Light was fully aware of how easily kingdoms crumbled after their creators died. She needed as much time as possible to ensure that would not happen.

Still. It gave her an idea about how to lure her stalker out into the open. Light smiled at her computer. 

She had just such a worm to bait the hook with.

But first she had to test the limits of the Death Note’s capabilities. Her fingers, nails painted a sweet blushing pink, swept over its otherworldly surface. It almost hummed beneath her touch, the granular texture seeming to welcome her home.

Light opened the cover and got to work. In a fit of internal hilarity, she smiled.

‘I hope L appreciates the presents.’

~~~

There were things that were expected of Light. She’d discovered this early, and the way this defined the structure of the life she would lead. Social standards came with a hefty rule book, but while Light was nothing if not a perfectionist, there were rules that, plainly put, simply didn’t make sense to her.

Key among them was one tenet in particular.

Life wasn’t fair.

It should be.

To declare this, however, would gain the resulting derision of being called ‘naive’. This, too, didn’t make sense to Light. How was it naive to want equity? To want fairness? Society had so many rules, and so many of those rules had been created seemingly in answer to the idea of equality. Between the lines, however, it was a whole other ballgame.

Light had spent much of her time sorting through this puzzle and putting it together in a way that might both make sense, and exist in a way that she could live with.

Her parents had not appreciated this.

Their reaction made many things clear.

Light Yagami was allowed to be blisteringly intelligent, but she was not allowed to have opinions. Light Yagami was allowed to be stunningly beautiful, but only so she could marry, breed, and pass that beauty onto eventual children. Light Yagami could win medals for her athletics, so long as she didn’t care about them too much. Light Yagami could be interested in fairness, only as long as she didn’t upset the status-quo.

Light Yagami was allowed to be a person, but only sometimes. She was an eldest daughter first.

It was difficult to put into words, the way it felt as though her humanity and independence and pride were things she had to win. 

She was at once grateful and spiteful that this was a problem that Sayu didn’t seem to have. Tracking her little sister’s development had been eye-opening. Sayu seemed to have very little problem fitting into the mold society had seemingly designed for her. Intelligent, but not too much so. Pretty, but down to earth. Charismatic and popular, but interested in the things everybody was seemingly interested in.

Perhaps the lynchpin was that Sayu was more interested in Hideki Ryuuga than the idea of pursuing police work. Light had watched time and time again as Sayu’s crooning over actors and romcoms and magazines and pop music softened the line of their mother’s shoulders as though this behaviour was somehow reassuring. Those same shoulders would so often tense oh so subtly if Light did not do the same.

So, though Light did resent it, she did actually try to follow suit. She studied her classmates and gained popularity. She ensured the length and health of her hair and nails. She wore skirts that were short, but not too short - enough that her mother would tease her for trying to catch ‘the right boy's eye’ and her father, when he was home, would wince but laugh. She wore mascara that itched her eyes, and took note of popular makeup trends. When she grew taller than her female classmates, she let her hair grow out all the longer so her build wouldn’t diminish her femininity. All the while, she earned top grades.

In every way she could stomach, Light became a chameleon to best please her family.

It was a far reaching plan that, if it succeeded, could maybe convince some reciprocation of her effort - or so Light had hoped, eleven years old and unable to sleep on her front. If she did these things, maybe she would be allowed to become a police officer like her father. A detective. Maybe by the time she was old enough, the world would have changed enough, and her track record would speak for itself enough, that she too would become a police chief that people respected. Light would be able to help the world become a fairer, safer place.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

It involved a lot more scraping and clawing and bitter, teeth-clenched spite than she’d expected as a prepubescent but by the twelfth time she’d nailed the perp in a case, even her father had to admit that letting her mind go to waste would be a shameful use of resources. She’d been thirteen.

He’d worked on Sachiko.

Her mother had relented - somewhat. It was by and large unspoken, but Light knew for a fact that she was expected to still have children no matter her chosen career. Preferably two. A son first, and then a daughter. If Light failed to meet this expectation then her other achievements would suddenly mean very little.

She would become an embarrassment.

To say that it grated was an understatement. 

This was an emotion, however, that she tucked tightly away.

Light worked relentlessly to be the best. To be the perfect daughter. Things that had been difficult at first became as easy as breathing. Light was the shining star of the Yagami family and her school district.

For all the stress that had plagued her at first, the success actually became rather boring.

And then new challenges presented themselves.

Puberty. Or, more specifically, boys in puberty. Which brought her back around to the idea of children, and how best to please her own goals and her family at the same time.

When she was fifteen and turning down a boy for the fifth time that week (it was Wednesday), Light had decided upon her route of compromise. If she took care of herself, she would still be beautiful enough by the time she was twenty-two that she could likely get any man she preferred. The man in question would need to be intelligent enough they could communicate effectively, but not so intelligent that he couldn’t be swayed. He’d preferably be handsome enough that they wouldn’t look odd together, but also interested in keeping house because Light would really prefer to not give up her career. They would then adopt two children, preferably by the time she was twenty-five. This would disappoint her parents initially, but the social capital would soothe that over easily enough. After all, it was oh so admirable, oh so understandable, that a woman in her field would see disadvantaged children and strive to take them in. To give them a chance they’d otherwise not get. It’d help that Sayu would very likely have her own biological children, barring any unexpected fertility issues.

Maybe Light would even come to love her future children and husband, she’d sometimes hope for wistfully. It would probably make life easier. Even if she didn’t, though, she would do her best by them, financially and otherwise. Sex, for instance, would be an unfortunate but required hassle. When she realized this, Light added to her list of requirements. 

Her future husband would need to be experienced, preferably older than her so age would diminish his libido and he’d know enough to not hurt her. It would narrow the list further since this required the eventual partner to value virginity, but not to a feteshistic degree that might drive him to cheat on her and cause embarrassment. Light did waffle on this somewhat, fully aware that her refusal to be ‘easy’ would likely narrow down the pool to a potentially annoying extent. Sounding out her parents delicately over the course of a couple months decided the matter. Light was ultimately her father’s ‘little girl’ - her comfort was therefore paramount. While her mother would prefer she not make waves, Soichirou knew her well enough to trust her discretion. If it came down to it, she would have his support. Relieved, Light promptly, albeit internally, prioritized her own comfort.

Hell, maybe if she got exceptionally lucky, she could convince a gay man to accept her as his beard and then sex wouldn’t be an issue at all. It would require discretion and NDAs for his partner or partners, but it was an entertaining possibility.

This meant that Light could not afford to burn the bridges in her local area, or gain a reputation for being a ‘cold fish’ - whatever that meant. That would only drive suitors away or, worse, incite the urge to ‘teach her her place’.

This would mean she should start hunting when she was in university. She would flirt with the idea in highschool and attend a date every so often to seem approachable, but wouldn’t look seriously until after. She would be going to To-Oh of course, which could present a challenge in and of itself given the likely demographic of career oriented men, but Light was certain in her ability to be convincing and charismatic enough to sway a sucker, or a self-interested homosexual, to her point of view.

At present, Light felt reasonably proud of her forethought in this matter. Happily, her efforts would still advance her plans. 

‘The way it all seems to just slot into place so perfectly,’ Light smiled in pleasure. ‘So neatly, so satisfyingly… it’s surely a sign that this is meant to be.’

She was on the right path.

Her experiments with the Death Note had proven largely successful, and she still had a stalker.

Now all she needed was a patsy.

She looked at her phone. It was just a little after nine.

“A bit early…” She smiled and flicked open the phone. “But it should be fine. I think I have a few people in mind.”

“A few people?”

“Yep.” 

Light looked up at Ryuk as she held the phone to her ear, her other hand gently twirling the end of her long, thick braid. She widened her eyes just so, peering up at the monster from beneath her lashes as she flashed a coy smile.

“It may be hard to believe but I’m pretty popular, you know.”

Girls didn’t ask boys out on dates. Well, they could, but such a thing could be construed as too forward, too desperate, or even too masculine, to suit Light’s purposes. It was another of those things that didn’t really make sense to her, but that she abided by nonetheless. 

That didn’t mean she couldn’t steer someone around to it so they asked her out instead.

Light had chosen carefully.

Yamamoto was handsome enough with tousled dark hair, squared shoulders, a prominent profile, and glasses. Helpfully, he was also taller than Light’s unusual 179 centimeters, clearly gained by way of her father. She wore flats, of course, to maintain this. Wearing high heels as a woman of her height was seen as ‘brave’ and a declaration of confidence - however, Light wanted to seem demure, sweet, and potentially vulnerable for this exploit. Heels were therefore unsuitable, sadly.

His personality was also appropriate, decent even, and he had a very convenient weakness for Light’s eyes. 

Sometimes, even a few months in, it galled Light to think in this fashion. Using people’s emotions to further her own gains - it was a disgusting tactic.

But Light had promised herself that she would sacrifice anything she had to for the betterment of the world, even her own morals. This was something she had to do. Looking back on it in ten years, if Yamamoto had the full context of the situation, he would probably be fine with it.

It wasn’t like Yamamoto cared all that deeply about her anyway.

A deep, intimate place inside her clenched and before Light could wonder if anyone truly did, she forced herself to wave.

“Yamamoto! Hello,” She said as she trotted lightly to the bus stop. She gave him an upwards look through her eyelashes, enhanced with a judicious use of mascara and carefully applied falsies. Sweeping her hair behind her ear in a way she knew through long experience and study made it shimmer very nearly gold in this type of light, Light smiled.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”

Yamamoto obediently blushed, a crooked grin already on his mouth. He had, Light was pleased to note, made something of an effort in his dress. There were far too many boys out there who thought appropriate date wear included food stains.

It made Light internally shudder. Even if she had been born male, she was certain she’d never allow her standards to sink so low. How anyone could stand wearing that kind of mess - it was just another of those things that baffled her.

It was frustrating that so many of these social standards remained so ridiculous, but it was really just another sign of Light’s intelligence, she supposed. The world didn’t work in the way it ought because the bulk of the people in it were both greedy and short-sighted. Or even downright unintelligent. They were rotting.

Sometimes it was difficult not to begrudge especially the ones who had found themselves in charge enough to write the rules, but Light was here, now.

She would mend the way.

But, in the present, it did please her that Yamamoto hadn’t shown up with grease spots on his shirt.

“No, not at all. Uh. Here.”

He handed her a light pink paper bag with corded straps and a logo on the front that announced itself as some sort of sweets shop. Light took it and looked inside.

“I know you don’t eat many sweets, but you said Sayu likes madelains, right?”

Light was somewhat alarmed to feel a genuine smile steal across her face. At least it only made Yamamoto sparkle at her all the more when she gave it to him with a nod.

“She does, thank you so much.”

To reward his sentimentality, Light shuffled closer and linked her arm through his elbow, pressing in enough that he’d be able to smell her perfume. Subtle with faint traces of caramel, Light didn’t favour scents very much but found that this one's implication suited her colouration.

“She’ll really appreciate these.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Yamamoto rubbed the back of his neck and didn’t pull away. “You. You look really pretty today, Light.”

Light praised her ability to blush on command. “Thank you.”

It was still too early to look at him full on, Light decided, so continued to make do through her bangs and lashes.

“You said on the phone that you were having trouble with English, didn’t you? Maybe while we wait for the bus, I could help you?” She said, allowing herself a faintly mischievous look.

It worked. Immediately diverted from expecting his own compliment, Yamamoto laughed and waved his hand in denial. “No, no, Light, let’s not! I know you’re the top student in Japan, but let’s just hang out for a bit before we gotta deal with school work again, eh? It’s the weekend after all.”

Light breathed an airy chuckle into her knuckle. “Alright, if you say so. But don’t make me say I told you so since it’s due on Monday.”

“Everything is due on Monday. I swear, our teachers want to kill us. And then we still have to go to cram school…” Yamamoto sighed and shook his head. “I dunno. Everyone in our grade is so stressed and none of the adults seem to care. Sometimes I wish things were different.”

Then it seemed Yamamoto realized who he was talking to and he startled with a jerk, pasting on a thin smile that radiated worry as he looked down at her. “Well, everyone except you, Light. You’re as cool as they come!”

“Mmn.”

Light lifted her head, looking up into the blue of the Fall sky. Whether or not he realized it, Yamamoto’s stereotypical woes had really touched upon a lot of what she’d been thinking about these days.

“No,” She decided to say. “No, I wish it was different too.”

Yamamoto’s eyebrows practically kissed his hairline. “Really? You do?”

Light pasted on one of her cutest smiles, and even made sure to bounce so that her hair - loosed from its braid but crimped attractively for it - bounced with her. It was a motion that was designed to be charming but had to be carried off carefully, lest it make her chest bounce as well and distract from her face. Now wasn’t the time or place for that.

“Yes. That’s why I want to become a police officer so badly.”

She diverted her eyes to her shoes. Hm. There was a small scuff on the side of her boot. Unfortunate. “My parents would really rather I didn’t, but.”

Light looked back up at him but this time, looked Yamamoto directly in the eye. “I want to help the world change for the better.”

While this little declaration could potentially tie her to Kira, it was really just reinforcing what people already knew and supposed about her for one and.

Well.

For two, Light wanted to let Yamamoto know that his prayer hadn’t gone unheard.

At the end of the day, she was doing this for the people after all. Light certainly wouldn’t become a teacher, and she obviously wouldn’t be killing teachers who piled on too much homework - the thought was simultaneously ridiculous and a reason why she couldn’t trust the Death Note to people like Yamamoto. But once her rule was assured, once the world was safe from would be killers and rapists and burglers, maybe she could move on to benefit people in different ways. Systemically. There would always be the element who just wanted to watch the world burn, but for those whose actions may not have happened if they’d only had some more support…

Yes. Yes, this was a good idea. After all, if Kiichiro Osoreda had felt safe accessing health services, he may not have turned to marijuana, and therefore wouldn’t have ended up killing two people in order to support his addiction. Perhaps this was a simplistic view but if anything it merited research and studies once the time was right.

Yamamoto, at the end of the day, had committed no crimes. He was an innocent.

And therefore a perfect alibi.

Yamamoto’s eyes were round with awe and admiration behind his glasses. Then he smiled.

“That’s so you, Light.”

Light nudged into him playfully. “Maybe you should become a teacher, and that way we’ll have both spheres covered. We can change the world together!”

Yamamoto laughed. “Maybe you’re right!”

The stalker stepped into the bus shelter beside them. Light briefly gave thought to displaying discomfort at his presence, but just as soon dismissed it. The purpose of this endeavor was to find out the man’s name and affiliation. If he really was law enforcement like Light thought he was, hinting that he’d been tailing her would only make her suspicious to the average person.

Light was fascinating enough to attract stalkers, yes. She’d had a few in her time.

However.

Yes, best to simply do as she had been and continue pretending not to notice him.

The bus turned the corner in the distance and, above, Ryuk began to breathe his odd, raspy laugh. Light was almost tempted to join him.

The simple maneuver of getting on behind Yamamoto ensured Light got the aisle seat. Yamamoto’s chivalrous first instinct had been to usher her on first, but it thankfully didn’t become awkward. Light’s stalker took the seat behind them, as she knew he would.

They filled the time with chatter, low enough to be unobtrusive but present enough to make it look like they were friendly but not so intimate they could spend their time pleasantly in silence, such as the elderly couple ahead of them. Light found herself actually enjoying herself somewhat. Yes, she’d chosen correctly. Yamamoto was not unreasonable.

It was too bad there was no way he’d be getting into To-Oh. Based on what she knew of him and his present behaviour, feeling him out as a potential homemaker may have had potential. Of course, people often changed when they had commitment, sadly. 

It would be interesting to see how or if Yamamoto’s behaviour changed in the face of the upcoming trauma.

Light idly began to make a mental checklist of what he might do. He would likely attempt to protect her physically, for instance. His presence in the window seat would make it difficult to attack her pawn. Would he attempt to move her? A sound application of pressure from her pawn would certainly stopper that, should it come to pass…

The drive was peaceful. Sun glowed through the windows and the idle rumble of the engine decorated the low, polite conversation of the handful of people on the board. Looking in the driver’s rear view mirror from the corner of her eye, Light saw even he appeared to be smiling. Behind her, her stalker’s shoulders actually seemed to be relaxed, his eyes closed and a very faint trace of a smile decorating his attractive face.

He looked at peace.

Everybody did.

Ryuk’s laughter and her own building anticipation felt almost cruel but Light couldn’t deny the way her heart rate escalated the closer they got to that one, certain, bus stop.

‘I feel excited,’ Light realized out of the blue.

Yes. This feeling growing in her chest, it wasn’t only anticipation. It was excitement.

She couldn’t remember. The last time she’d felt something like this - she couldn’t remember. Tennis had gotten close until her parents kindly ‘suggested’ she quit to focus on her ‘slipping’ studies in view of highschool entrance exams, but even that, no, even that had nothing on this.

Light couldn’t help but trade a look with Ryuk, his large bulbous eyes lamplights italicizing this peculiar bubbling within her. Together, they smiled.

This, yes. This.

This was certainly interesting.

The bus pulled up to the sidewalk and gently slid to a stop. The doors opened.

Osoreda stepped on board.

‘I hope this entertains you, Ryuk,’ Light thought as she took in her unwitting pawn who would so shortly be dead. ‘As much as it will certainly entertain me.’

Fighting for humanity was so rewarding.

[allwormdiet]

Buzz 7.12

I'm sure all of this will blowwww over

Not a great sign that Grue's immediate response is to deny any connection to this, but it's not unexpected either.

I wonder how much of this for Tattletale is seeing a kid in torment, seeing a teenage "psychic" girl in torment, realizing that she read Coil wrong, wondering what else she's read Coil wrong on, realizing that this is going to fracture the team.

She might be some kinda culpable, but for now at least I'm willing to believe that Coil pulled one over on her.

And this is why. Coil would have very easily left enough of the data incomplete in order to keep her from suspecting what's up. The blackmail would've been a lot more simple of a conclusion to reach, and how he'd even known she was a precognitive is a wild quandary.

Speaking of the team's fracture.

I wonder if this is how Coil works. He gives you what you want, and then he smears you with the guilt of associating with him. Makes you realize you're dependent on him.

It still doesn't reflect great on Brian, though, that his first thought is looking out for for him and his and let the rest of them burn for all he cares. It's cold, and I don't know how much of that coldness is his default and how much of that coldness is what's been imparted by his old man.

And it doesn't take much for Taylor to poke holes in the argument, either. This isn't some distant problem he can write off as having nothing to do with him, he objectively played a role, however minor, in this girl being kidnapped and turned into a little drone.

Not entirely shocked that Bitch is apathetic, the only reason she'd care is if Dinah was a dog or had mattered to her previously. People aren't her bag unless they prove something to her.

Little disappointed in Alec, though. Would've thought that the whole "mind slave" thing would hit him the wrong way but I guess that's not what he worries about.

Also, Taylor, hon, you knew that all of these people were career criminals from a relatively young age, and you knew two of them were killers, even if there were mitigating circumstances. You can be appalled at the lack of concern for Dinah in particular but you chose to associate with them.

Honestly it's an outrageous gamble on Coil's part. If any of the more aggressive Undersiders had taken umbrage with that stunt I don't know if there's enough destiny in the world that would've prevented his skull meeting concrete.

And uhh, mm. Tattletale's not doing great on the morality thing either. "Better her than me," is that where she is?

Brian fucked this one. He only gets aggressive with the team when he's convinced that he has to, and I can't help but noticed that when "he has to" overlaps with when someone is bucking his authority.

Of course she'd thought about how to fight the Undersiders before this, when it was all just infiltration for the sake of the good guys. But now she's given up on that, genuinely wanting to have them as friends and teammates, and the possibility of having to take them down is more real than ever.

Fucking sucks, but that's what it is, huh.

Taylor turned down the option of just continuing to endure high school, because she couldn't stand the thought of being under that kind of pressure when she had other options.

She turned down being a hero because she realized she didn't want to be a traitor to the others, and because the heroes had done nothing but piss her off for the entire month she's been active as a cape.

She left home because she couldn't deal with her father, couldn't stand the idea of letting him in or telling him anything, choosing to push him away rather than speak to him about anything meaningful.

All these bridges burned and now she realizes she's adrift with people she suddenly cannot trust, with no direction for where to go next.

It's easy to call her shortsighted, maybe, but how the fuck could she have known?

This one hurts.

Mm. I dunno if Coil wouldn't force them to make that choice, is the thing. The Travelers would be easier, yeah, but he likes fucking with people.

Yeah, see, this arc gave Taylor just that little bit more data to wonder if this is a pattern for Brian, if she's been looking at him with rose-tinted glasses (yes) and whether he's a bad person (don't know, but my guess is "complicated").

The Empire's attack and the introduction of Dinah are only two data points, and from a more distanced perspective that might not be enough to judge how indicative that is of his morality, but Dinah is the hill that Taylor is willing to die on, and she can't distance herself from it. Not that I think she necessarily should, mind, but this is an extremely thorny dilemma that Coil very deliberately threw into the middle of the team to see what would happen.

Taylor "Careful" Hebert, everyone.

I'm glad at least someone is holding out the olive branch here. It kind of has to be Lisa, because Alec and Rachel don't give a shit and Brian is already on Taylor's shitlist rn, but still.

And yeah, obviously she's not going to be leaving for a while with what's coming, but they don't know that.

Heart's already broken, what's a few more pieces chipped off?

And of course, Murphy has a timing for the dramatic.

Yeah no kidding Tattletale isn't bothering to front with the smiles in this moment, this could kill them all, or frankly there's a nonzero chance it could do worse.

Because above all else, even as an outright felon who disrespects all authority, Taylor wants to be a good person.

...And I suspect Lisa knows that.

Current Thoughts

It's incredible, honestly, you'd think at some point the plot would stop accelerating somewhere along the line, but no, we're just cranking it up further and further.

The tensions between Taylor and the other Undersiders is so rough to read, she genuinely pinned a lot of her hopes on this friendship and now she's being let down, again, because she's the one who has a whole thing about trying to do what's right and their baggage involves... not that. Heartbreaking as per usual.

And then the fucking Endbringer. I'm gonna talk about it more in the Interlude but this is just another reason I want to kick Coil in the teeth, slimy fuck that he is. Moron rang the goddamn dinner bell for a localized apocalypse generator.

Let's hope nobody dies I give a shit about, I guess.

[uniasus]

Still thinking about Twisters (maybe i should buy a copy) but I love how Kate's arc was overcoming her fear to pursue her passions. And not like, fear of ridicule, but the very real trauma of getting it wrong had/will have disastrous results.

And it's not necessarily that what caused her trauma was her fault - tornadoes were unpredictable! She was working off of incomplete data! But rebuilding the confidence and relearning to love a previous passion is just so, so good.

[cruisingheightswithdragons]

Little Lilip facts n trivia

Like most Vorta, she has relatively weak eyesight, yet excellent hearing. Meanwhile, they are not immune to poisons, and they have an actual sense of taste. (both literally, and aesthetically)

They can play the guitar, and likes to play in bands in the holodeck. Actually, Lilip also plays the keyboard, drums, flute, and viola.

Has zero connection to the Dominion, including having no unyielding loyalty to the Founders due to the fact their Vorta genes were found incomplete and rather degraded, so a lot of the purposeful engineering was lost when they were revitalized.

On a similar note, she has a strong sense of smell similar to Caitians, given that those make up a decent chunk of her genetic coding.

Lilip was born in 2346. She was found by the Enterprise in 2366, and ended up moving to DS9 in 2371 to find out more about the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant, especially in the hopes of finding out more about her people.

By the time of the 2380s, Lilip ended up going off on her own in a small, one man ship about the size of a runabout. She travels around various spaceship wreckages and collects junk and cleans up debris to make space a bit less of a junkyard.

Her dearest friends are Data, Deanna, Geordi, Garak, Bashir, and Keiko!

Lilip is aroace, but people mistake them as having crushes or dating someone quite a lot due to how genuinely affectionate they are.

On another note though, Lilip’s optimistic personality is usually a mask they put on to hide how lonely and sad they truly are. Their affection is genuine, yes, but their mind is a bully.

Tends to drink rather excessively, and is prone to drunken panic attacks. They are not working on it.

Doesn’t sleep in her own quarters that much, and instead tries to sleep cuddled next to someone else in their quarters. Lilip has such a desperate need for physical contact, and being alone at night makes them anxious.

Afraid of heights, yet loves to climb all over people. There are only three people she refuses to climb— William Riker, Jake Sisko, and Julian Bashir. Tall bitches are too much for a 4’11” lemur cat.

As much of a sweet tooth she is, Lilip’s favorite food is actually Klingon Gagh of any variety!

Contrary to what one may think, Lilip isn’t an official Starfleet Officer. It is because they’re a great xenobiologist that they landed a role in the sciences department on the Enterprise. Their expertise in their studies made them rather valuable on DS9 to study the various species from the Gamma Quadrant, but again, they’re only a civilian. Their uniform and pip when they were on the Enterprise was a formality at most, and was abandoned in favor of a black turtleneck after a few years.

[sharpen-your-hatchet]

Take My Nirvana - Judy X FemV Fic

Desc: It's been over a year since V left Night City with the Aldecaldos. With Judy by her side, V's come to quite enjoy the "quiet life" that many of her past cohorts talked down upon. She's finished her merc life, and that suits her just fine. Unfortunately, even with 1000 miles between her and Night City - The merc life doesn't seem quite finished with her.

Rating: Mature Chapters: 3 (incomplete) Current Word Count: 9484

Chapter 1 on AO3

Or, you can start reading below:

Prologue: A year and 2 months. 

Roughly 425 days. 

10,200 hours give or take, if you want to be pedantic about it.

That’s how long it’s been since the craziest night of V’s life. An insane, explosive, life-altering  night. A night that changed everything - that fixed a problem thought unfixable; added a new problem perhaps inescapable, but did something that V thought impossible:

It gave her hope for the future.

10,200 hours since she stormed Arasaka, committed the biggest ‘Fuck you’ of the corporation’s history, and somehow made it out alive to tell the tale. It’s a story the people of Night City could’ve only ever dreamed of before; had only gotten a taste of during Johnny Silverhand’s golden hour.

But V’s story doesn’t end in Night City. She could’ve been a living legend - been the golden girl of The Afterlife, shrouded in glory… but see, that wasn’t what hope looked like to her anymore. She got to the big leagues like she and Jackie had said they would, but after all she went through, V had become disillusioned with it all. She had to leave; had to look for answers elsewhere. If not for herself, then for the people she met on her journey to the top. 

No, her hope looked a little bit more like a family of travellers, and a certain tattoo covered techie. So she left, with endless possibilities on the horizon. V breathed free for the first time, and she knew this was where she was meant to be. She just knew it would work out; it had to. 

Truth be told, it looked shaky for a moment… Months passed by and V was coughing up blood, and after four, she felt like a ghost in her own body. People looked at her that way too. It felt almost like she’d made a mistake. V thought she might die, but after everything that had happened, she decided she would be okay with it. After all, she had found a family, and someone who loved her more than anything. She could die with dignity, and not as another victim to Night City’s bullshit…

But in the end, death did not come for her. It didn’t come for any of them despite every situation they put themselves into. Hope - it seemed - had paid off. 

The Aldecaldos connections came through. A clan as historic as theirs has roots deeper than the oldest tree - and they found something: a real miracle of medicine. Truth is, the science that saved V is beyond her comprehending, even now whenever she opens up the shards to read the data.

What matters is that she made it… With a little help from her friends. 

And now her life is hers, and she intends to make it good. 

Chapter 1

It’s another new day.

V groans as the morning sun cracks through the blinds. It casts a harsh light across the room, dragging her mercilessly into the world of the waking. It’s a blessing to wake up; a gift to arise and not feel the shadow of death on her shoulder… but to be honest, V would’ve loved ten more minutes.

Alas, not even ‘happily ever after’ can be truly perfect. Gotta stay humble, after all. 

It’s a warm morning and as the world focuses around her, V can hear the idle chatter of the radio drifting into the bedroom. The hosts’ voices are calm, sharing news of no importance, and it fills the apartment with an easy ambience. V stretches, pulls herself up, and opens her eyes. She’s met with her and Judy’s bedroom, furniture askew and clothing discarded on the floor from their late night activities.

Remembering it now, V huffs out an amused exhale. She’ll have to make some time to tidy up; maybe throw on some laundry too. 

It’s funny. It’s been 6 months of living here; 8 months since the operation that ensured her longevity, and V still can’t believe that that’s her first concern upon waking - laundry…and whether the coffee in the kitchen is still warm.

How ridiculous. How normal. 

Yet, V would be lying if she said she disliked it. Better than waking up to gunfire and smoke. 

She pads quietly into the kitchen and beelines for the coffee jug on the side. It’s still warm - preem shit! 

V takes herself onto the apartment balcony and leans on the railings, looking across to the city that spills out in every direction. Seattle, with its unmistakable skyline, and notably less fucked reputation. It’s different here; V likes it. It feels familiar enough, without sucking her in. She and Judy live on the edge of the city, and it’s nice to look over it knowing that they’re both here because they want to be, and not because the city has some metaphoric chains holding them in place. It’s not as exciting maybe, but after the whirlwind of the last 14 months, V thinks she’s had enough excitement for her multiple lifetimes. 

V’s happy - happy in the way she thought Night City would make her. It’s hard to not compare her life now to when she was in NC, and think maybe some people would think it a waste… After all - quiet life or blaze of glory, right? But as she stands, watching the sun climb higher into the sky, a gentle breeze ruffling her hair, she realises something very important: 

She doesn’t fucking care what other people think of her legacy anymore.  

Now, that being said, V doesn’t believe this place is their forever home - Judy seems to agree on that fact too, thankfully. This is just a peaceful stopgap; a vacation from the bullshit. It’s needed; warranted, and well fucking earned. Fortunately, they have the time for it now. All the time in the world, in fact, so V’s more than happy to spend a few mornings slurping coffee and musing. 

V sips from her mug, a smug little smile on her face. A message ping from her holo tugs her away from her thoughts.

[Panam: Hey V, it looks like we’ll be in your neck of the woods soon. We should catch up.]

It’s a surprise - but a welcome one. It’s been a week or so since V’s heard anything from Panam. Although, it’s not without reason. They’re still close friends - family practically - but The Aldecaldos have been making themselves busy, strengthening their numbers and working wherever the wind carries them. They’ve been doing well; growing stronger by the day, and Panam is strong as ever too. In Saul’s unfortunate absence, she’s grown into a formidable leader – she’s even managed to put a slight lid on that hair trigger temper of hers, which is something V would’ve scoffed at, had you suggested it a year prior. 

The nomads haven’t travelled this far north in quite some time. Though, as the borders are tricky at the best of times, the opportunities are few and far between. If they’re visiting the area, V wants to make sure she doesn’t miss it.

[V: Sounds preem! Hit me up when you’re close by.]

As V closes the text thread, her attention draws to gentle footsteps behind her, followed by the weight of two arms snaking around her waist. She smiles, and hums as a pair of lips press a kiss to the nape of her neck. Just the person she’d been waiting for...

“Enjoying the view?” V asks, taking another sip from her cup.  

“Which one?” Comes Judy’s teasing reply. Her head settles over V’s shoulder as she cuddles closer.

V tilts her head, resting it against Judy. She doesn’t humour a reply: they both know Judy was not looking at the scenery. “You must’a been up early for work… how’s it goin’?” 

“Pretty nova, actually. These clients have way better taste than NC.”

“Ooh,” V drawls with an intrigued lilt. “Finally gettin’ a little more arthouse than smut?” 

Judy makes an affirming hum. “You bet. It’s real preem. Feels like these BD’s I’m making are something meaningful.” 

V can’t help but smile. This is the shit she lives for. For all the low blows the last year has thrown at them, you'd barely know by the way Judy carries herself nowadays. The spark in her shines bright. It’s something fierce; something V admires.

Admittedly, V still struggles to speak her feelings, so if someone was to ask about her achievements, causing the Arasaka shit-storm would be her first answer. Well, depending on who was asking, of course. She is technically a wanted criminal for that, after all. Truth is, getting Judy out of NC? Biggest fucking deal out there. Especially now V knows she can enjoy it to the fullest. 

V turns around, and pulls Judy into a proper embrace, planting a kiss to the top of the other woman’s head. “Your work’s always had meanin’, Jude.” 

“Sure, editing a BD of some poor choom getting pegged multiple times in a row was real impactful.” Judy replies, laughing against V’s chest.

“Somethin’ was impacting, that’s for sure.” V smirks. 

Judy leans back, playfully hitting V on the arm. “You gonk.” 

They laugh, curling against each other, the warm sun against V’s back making her feel more alive than ever. She kisses Judy softly, once, twice then lingers, teasing a third. Judy doesn’t seem to appreciate the tease, and pulls V in. Their lips meld together, and V is quick to bring her free hand to Judy’s jaw. They fawn over each other for a moment. One of Judy’s hands tangles in the fabric of V’s faded Samurai tank top, and she cuddles into the crook of V’s neck with a dreamy sigh. “And you, mi calabacita ? What’s on your agenda today?”

“Oh? Uhh,” V drawls, suddenly a little distracted. “I got some private investigation virtus to look at. Some bitchy corpo wants evidence her husband is screwin’ the nanny.” 

Judy hums amusedly. “You think he is?” 

“Nahh,” V dismisses, equally entertained. “Almost definitely hidin’ a glitter habit though. Pretty sure one glance at the footage she’s secretly recording will prove it.”  

Judy grimaces, “Woof, that virtu won’t be fun to scroll.” 

“I’ll be alright, got the best techie in the NUSA to keep me safe.” 

“Mm, is that so?” Judy smirks, closing the distance between them again. It’s heavier this time, as her grip in V’s shirt tightens. “Y’know… If you wanted to start thanking me early, I have some time before this edit’s due.” 

V draws in a breath as heat swells in the depth of her stomach. She likes the sound of that. She likes the sound of that a lot. She takes Judy’s hand and tugs her away from the railing, then back inside. They might have all the time in the world now, but there are still some things where V would rather not waste it, especially on mindless morning talk. 

V discards her coffee cup on the side. She eyes her laptop as she does, noting the 10+ emails sitting in her inbox… they can wait for a little while. Judy however, seems like she can’t wait at all. She pounces on V, pressing her against the kitchen counter with a searing kiss. Her hands are eager, dipping under V’s shirt, lightly scratching at her stomach. “Fuck, Jude,” V breaths out. 

“Arthouse or not, workin’ gets me worked up.” Judy replies firmly, as her lips trail down V’s jaw and neck. One of her hands comes to cup V’s breast. V swallows a gasp, bucking her hips gently, as she brings her own hands to the counter to hold herself steady. God, what this woman does to her… 

Unfortunately - despite being uncharacteristically kind to V as of late - fate still loves to find ways to subtly fuck with her… Just as Judy slides a leg between V’s own, a message pings onto her holo. The timing could not be worse. The notification tone dings directly through V’s cyberware, and she curses as the message UI creeps into her vision.

Fuck. Stupid Cyberware. Not Now.

V makes an intentional blink and her optics respond in kind. Her holo closes immediately, just in time for V to drink in the vision of Judy’s wicked smile before her thigh presses into the crotch of V’s shorts. It’s pure bliss - a slow drag of pressure that has V sensitive and whining for more. Luckily, Judy either doesn’t notice V’s distraction or pretends not to. She eyes V lustfully before her mouth is back on V’s neck and her thigh is brushing upwards again between V’s parted legs. 

“Shit,” V gasps, feeling herself tremble. “Can’t stand if you’re gonna keep this up.” 

Judy responds by tugging V across the room and planting them both on the couch. With zero respite, she’s on top, kissing, teasing, scratching – all the things that drive V wild. The throb between V’s legs only grows and grows. She needs more and she needs it now. And oh, is Judy willing to give… She pulls up V’s shirt and trails down V’s chest and stomach with kisses and gentle nips of her teeth. V’s entire body is thrumming. Every nerve feels like it’s firing a million times a minute, and she can’t help but moan as Judy’s lips kiss just below her navel, teasing where she’s about to head. 

“Judy, please…” V whines.

But then, as if the first time wasn’t cruel enough… another message ping. 

Then a second. 

A third. 

And fourth. 

Each appears in rapid succession; each more annoying than the last. Even though V is certain she closed the damn thing, the un-opened messages pop up regardless, lurking in her peripheral. V grumbles audibly this time. Judy flinches. She snaps upwards, concern furrowing into her brow. “Shit Val, everything okay?” she asks, glancing down at V’s stomach, now laden with bite marks. “Did I hurt you?”

V stares at her dumbly. She can still feel the ghost of Judy’s mouth so close to where she wanted it... 

Stupid. Fucking. Cyberware. 

V brings her hand to cup Judy’s chin. “Nah, you’re perfect Jude…” V says, looking sheepish. “‘My cyberware is buggin’ out. Holo is blowin’ up and refusin’ to stay closed.” 

“Chingada madre,” Judy mutters. “I swear if it’s Panam… After all the times she interrupted us before.” 

It’s a joke, but V can tell there’s a little bit of real frustration behind it. Judy’s right, after all… Travelling with the Aldecaldos was great but afforded them no privacy, so the least they deserve now is to be able to fuck on the couch in peace. V sits up slightly, navigating through the UI on her holo. She’s gotta deal with this quickly. Frankly, if Panam’s suddenly has a lot more to say, V will definitely be a little pissed off for the interruption. Who in their right mind sends 5 texts in a row?! 

V pats her chest and offers Judy an apologetic look. With a (playful) roll of her eyes, Judy settles against V. She’s annoyed, for certain, but clearly not deterred as her hands draw idle shapes against V’s skin. It almost makes V want to ignore the texts even longer, but with 5 already in the backlog, she doubts how long she’d get before another flurry arrives. 

Better get this over with.

She opens up her inbox and is met with… Well…

Whatever it is, it sure isn’t Panam. 

[???: Hello V.]

[???: It has been quite some time.]

[???: You are very hard to find nowadays.] 

[???: It is very important you do not ignore me.]

[???: I have a job for you.] 

V stares blankly. 

What the fuck? 

V doesn’t know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. A message about a gig? It feels weird; uncomfortable. It’s crazy to think just over a year ago she wouldn’t have blinked at the sight of this… but now it feels odd, like an intrusive hand reaching to her from a past life. Surely people know by now that she’s long gone? 

A number of emotions flicker through V’s mind - Confusion, annoyance, concern, but mostly V just wonders why?

Who would text her this? The feared merc she once was no longer exists.

She doesn’t know the sender either - there’s not a single clue to their identity. No texting quirks, no name, not even a holo ID picture. Just five sentences and the mysterious job they’ve yet to reveal. Something about it makes V’s blood run cold.

Judy notices the way V freezes. She sits back up, confusion lacing her expression. “What is it?” 

V shakes her head. She needs to keep it cool. “Nothin’,” she replies quietly. “Unknown number saying they got a job for me - A merc job.” She takes Judy’s hand in her own, and forces a smirk. “Don’t think they got the memo that I retired from the biz,” she adds, trying to lighten the mood. “And uh… relocated 1000 miles north.”

Judy offers an empathetic smile. “Looks like it got you spooked.”

V doesn’t want to admit it, but Judy’s read her like a book. The peace of the last 6 months has softened her, made her emotions slip out more than she’s ever allowed them to before… If V was to guess, she’d say that’s supposed to be a good thing, but it still catches her off guard. She pulls Judy back down into a cuddle. The other woman is warm and smells like home. “Nothin’ spooks me.” V lies.

Judy’s free hand continues to draw circles over V’s hip. The sexual tension is lost now, but the intimacy thankfully remains. “You gonna reply to ‘em?” Judy asks after a moment. 

V glances over to the message UI. Despite her apprehension and the initial concern, there’s a little spark of curiosity that tugs at her desperately. She doesn’t want to know but also feels compelled to grasp the mystery with both hands… But can she do that? Is that really an option? She looks then at Judy, then around their apartment. It doesn’t take any deep measure of thought for V to realise that - no, actually - she can’t do that. Not now. Simple curiosity is not an excuse to potentially throw away everything she’s worked so hard for; everything Judy built by her side. 

Merc V does not exist anymore. End of story. 

V deletes the messages without a second glance. “Nah,” she sights out. “We ain’t in Night City no more. They can find someone else.” 

She feels Judy smile against her skin. Then, there’s a gentle kiss pressed to the side of her neck. “Good.”

[tgrailwar-zero]

We are alright. But that…that was a mere glimpse of a glimpse of the White Titan. We have so so much work ahead of us to challenge that.

GIL: "Hm. So that's what happened… yeah, I don't envy you. Hopefully this'll give some perspective on why that fox's plan to fight the Titan is 'go nuclear'... I don't like it much, but she's that big of a threat. Hopefully you'll provide a better solution that'll save more lives."

GIL: "Don't mention it. It's from a waterpark… I'd recommend it… but there's not one on the Solar Cell. Yet."

GIL: "I'm fine, and the Valkyrie-- 'Ortlinde'-- retreated. It seems like whatever you did, she didn't like it much either. That, and it was probably a tactical move once the Berserker took out the other Valkyrie."

LANCELOT: "Uuoohh…"

GIL: "But, while you were out, I had a chance to check around. I'm not great with computers, but I could at least do some snooping."

He walked over to a console, beginning to poke around at some buttons. He had to get on his tip-toes in order to use it.

GIL: "Most of the data here was scrubbed... someone really didn't want us finding out anything. The most I could tell was that they were doing research on the Holy Sword. You know, Excalibur."

LANCELOT: "Aaaahhhrr…"

You watched as GIL continued to scroll through the data on the monitors. You could tell that most of it was missing or redacted. Someone had gotten to this before you, and made sure you didn't have much to work with.

GIL: "The Holy Sword worked because it was a product of the Planet. Something specifically made to protect the Earth from interstellar invaders. The most recent person deemed worthy in human history was--"

LANCELOT: "AAARRTHUUR!"

GIL: "Ow-ow-ow... so loud... but, yeah, King Arthur Pendragon. After that, the blade was returned to the fairies and hasn't re-emerged since, as far as I'm aware."

GIL: "But, the first time it supposedly manifested was when the White Titan attacked. A magnificent strike of light that obliterated the Titan, and allowed humanity and their gods to survive."

GIL: "However, it's not like anyone can just wield that power. So, while it seems like a lot of the technical details have been scrubbed, I can piece together a loose theory that they were trying to forge an 'exploitable Excalibur'. A holy sword that, rather than serving as a defense mechanism for the Planet, served as a super-weapon against. Leading me to my final discovery."

You watched as the boy poked at another one of the buttons, and strained his fingers a bit to reach a lever that he pulled, as a tube descended from the center of the room. It was filled with a viscous blue liquid, and in the center was a man… or, maybe a statue of a man?

LANCELOT: "Aaarr...thurrr...?"

He looked like someone out of a fairy tale. The man rested, suspended in the water. All color was absent from his body, his form resting in a monochromatic hue as it shifted in the tube. GIL walked next to you, looking over at the tube.

GIL: "It's an incomplete Saint Graph… or rather, it's a Spiritual Body that's been 'disconnected' from humanity. An empty shell. Think of it as… how about this-- scrubbed of data, like these consoles here. The frame remains, but the data is blank."