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brbsoulnomming · 2 months

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Static

Steve's never certain if he hates walking through the crowds after a match or not. Sometimes, when he walks back to his flat, all bloody and bruised and exhausted, the press of so many other people feels oppressive. Sometimes he wants nothing more than to pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist, that he's in a little bubble of his own space and nothing can touch him. But sometimes, even though there's an edge of pain in every step, the bustle of people reminds him of why he does this, reminds him of everyone he's trying to protect and everything he wants to be able to keep on going exactly as it is.

Today is not a hates day.

Today the crowds feel warm and full of energy, and he basks in it, lets the feel of so much life wash over him.

Today he buys sunflowers at his favorite florist, listening to the soft hum of bees he can hear in the back of their shop. Today he asks if they have any honey, tucks a bottle of it into his pocket and sucks on a piece of the soft, sticky candy that Mrs. Anderson makes from it. The augment he keeps for show chimes softly in his ear, alerting him that funds have been withdrawn from his arena account. He doesn't know how much, but it doesn't matter. He trusts Mrs. Anderson enough not to rip him off, and anyway, he makes more than enough from his fights to get anything he wants.

It'd be enough to get out of this place ten times over, if the credits Creel gave his gladiators were good anywhere else but the citydome he runs.

Mrs. Anderson wraps up his flowers for him, and Steve gives her a warm smile when she gives him an extra one for his girl.

He can't remember if she thinks his girl is Robin, or Nancy, or Max, or Erica, or El, but it doesn't really matter.

They're all his girls, and he'd do absolutely anything at all to give them the world.

He settles the bouquet under his arms, counts the flowers - there's enough to give each of them two, but he knows he won't see them in person any time soon.

It's been quiet enough that he might have suggested a meet up, but there's… something that stops him. Steve doesn't know what it is, can't put words to what he's picked up on, but it settles heavy in the pit of his stomach. He's learned the hard way to listen to it.

They can't risk it.

Static blares in his mind as he opens his communication link, feeling out for who's listening in and smiling to himself when he senses El.

El's favorites are sunflowers, same as him. They're Max's favorites, too, but only because he knows they remind her of El.

‘Sunflowers!’ El says immediately, delighted.

‘Fresh cut,’ he tells her. ‘Want to smell?’

Her presence is suddenly much stronger in his mind, and he dutifully leans in to pull in a deep breath, holds it for a few moments, then lets the honey candy in his mouth settle right over his tongue.

There's a pleased little sigh, a soft touch of gratitude, then she withdraws.

‘When's your next match?’ Lucas asks.

‘In two days,’ Steve replies.

There's no response, not even a wordless one, but Steve knows Lucas well enough to tell that he's disappointed. Two days isn't enough time for him to sneak out, let alone have a Creel sanctioned vacation.

‘It's not the same without you here.’ Dustin's voice is colored with disappointment, too, and Steve can feel the sharpness of what he isn't saying.

‘I know, buddy. I miss you guys, too.’

He wishes he could tell them that it wouldn't be much longer. Steve's got plenty on Henry Creel, more than enough to have made this mission a success already, but they're never going to get an opportunity like this again.

He needs to stay as long as possible.

‘I'll ask for a vacation after my next couple of matches. How did your collaboration with Suzie go?’

Steve listens to the Party over the comm links for a little while longer, just to keep his own longing for home at bay, until he gets out of the busy part of the citydome and has to say goodbye.

His head goes silent as he closes his comm link, and he's alone once more - aside from the ever present trace of Robin, all wrapped up in his neural pathways that are more circuits than synapses these days, but she doesn't count. She's as much a part of him as his own thoughts are.

Tension prickles at the back of his neck when he picks up on footsteps approaching, more purposeful than anyone else passing by. Sure enough, someone falls into step with him, and his head jerks over - then relaxes.

“My liege,” Munson greets, throwing a grin at him.

Steve rolls his eyes. “What do you want?”

He didn't think it was possible, but Munson's smile widens even more.

“To celebrate!” he announces, arms spread as though gesturing to the wide expanse of celebratory pleasures to be had around them.

Which are exactly none, considering Steve'd already passed the pleasure district. He raises one eyebrow to convey just that.

Munson is undeterred.

“Come on, your Majesty,” he cajoles. “Look at you! First time in weeks that a gladiator walked away from a match with barely a scratch on them! Surely such a transcendent performance from the King is worthy of deigning to mingle with the Freak?”

Steve's going to say yes, he already knows he is, but he makes him wait a little longer, making a big show of sighing and crossing his arms and looking him up and down.

It's then that he sees it.

If Steve was everything he was pretending to be and nothing more, he never would have picked up on anything. There's nothing in Munson's demeanor that is any different from the handful of other times they've caught up with each other for a drink after a match.

It's only because his scans pick up so much more that he detects the unsteady beat of Munson's heart, how he holds himself ready the same way he does in the arena.

And the gun tucked in the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

Right.

Looks like he's out of time here, then.

If Steve's honest, he's a little surprised that it's Munson. The rivalry between the Freak and the King is all for show in the arena - not like it is between him and Billy Hargrove or between Munson and Jason “the Prophet” Carver.

If Steve's even more honest, he's disappointed, in more ways than he can spend time sorting through right now.

“Fine,” he says, letting himself sound long suffering. “Where are we going? I'll swing by home to drop these off and meet you there.”

Something tense but otherwise unreadable flickers behind Munson's eyes, and Steve wonders if he's been ordered not to allow him to leave his sight. He doesn't have a choice, though - it's a reasonable request, exactly what Steve would have said if he hadn't caught on, and his only other option is -

“Allow me to accompany you,” Munson says, bowing low in a show of gallantry.

It's a risk.

Steve's never let another gladiator come to his flat before, and there's very little chance that he'd let Munson come now, even if he didn't realize what Munson's true intentions were. He wonders what the back up plan is if he says no, wonders if Munson will do it right here in the open.

“Why?” Steve asks, unable to stop himself from pushing, even though he knows it's a bad idea.

Munson peeks up from his bow, flutters his lashes, all playful exaggeration. “And risk you backing out and abandoning the likes of little ole me?”

“Never backed out before after I've said yes,” Steve points out, digging in. Pushing harder. “Unless you have a reason for inviting yourself over? Maybe a different kind of celebration in mind?”

Munson tips his head back down, but Steve's scanner can pick up the way he swallows, harsh and rough. “Yeah.” It's flat and hollow, and it immediately sounds wrong to Steve's ears. “Yeah, maybe I had something different in mind.”

That's -

Not what Steve was expecting.

Would he, Steve wonders? Would Munson play that card, even though he clearly doesn't want to, even though he kind of sounds like he hates himself a little for it?

“Hey,” Steve says, unbidden. “I'm just messing with you, man. It's fine, you can come with me to drop them off.”

Steve might be well aware that he's going to have to kill Munson, but he doesn't want to be cruel about it.

Munson straightens, his usual smile back on his face, and he checks his shoulder into Steve's hard enough that it stings a little. “Asshole,” he says.

“You're the one who hangs out with me,” Steve replies.

The crowd thins even more as they move into the residential blocks. They're not going in the direction of Steve's flat - but they are going in a direction that he could live in, and it's not like Munson knows where he actually stays. It's not like Munson knows that Steve's already activated his comm link and told the Party his cover's been blown, and that he has to get out of the citydome tonight.

“Hey, Munson?” Steve asks, slowing to a stop.

Munson hums, looking over at him with a brow raised in question.

Steve pulls the extra sunflower that Mrs. Anderson had given him free from the bouquet, tucks it into the front pocket of Munson's jacket.

“I really am sorry about before, I shouldn't have messed with you like that,” he says.

He's sorry about a lot more than that, but this is what he's got.

Munson's lips twist down, and he sighs as he pushes Steve's hands away - though he leaves the sunflower there.

“Steve,” he says, soft and filled with something like regret.

Nothing follows it.

There's a beat where they look at each other, and Steve thinks -

And then there's the sound of harsh laughter, boots dropping onto the ground as someone swings down from one of the platforms overhead.

“King Steve,” Hargrove drawls. “Sweet on the Freak. You're really making it easy to knock you off that throne, aren't you?”

Shit.

Steve's in worse trouble than he thought.

He steps back automatically, shooting a betrayed little look over at Munson - it's one thing for Munson to be planning on killing him, it's another for him to lead Hargrove to him.

But Munson looks surprised, and then furious, and Steve realizes -

Hargrove isn't here for Steve. Or at least, not just for Steve.

“I told Creel you couldn't do it,” Hargrove tells Munson, voice conversational. “You're all bark and no bite, aren't you?”

“Get the fuck out of here, Hargrove,” Munson says tersely, teeth gritted.

“No can do, Junior,” Hargrove replies. “I have to clean up your mess.”

“You set me up,” Munson bites out. “This was never going to be a fair chance, was it?”

Hargrove shrugs, unconcerned. “You want me to drag you back to Creel to explain yourself, or should I just put you out of your misery here?”

The thing is, Steve thinks Munson would have done it before Hargrove showed up. Steve and Munson are friends, maybe, but loyalty to other gladiators only goes so far, and Creel keeps them all under a heavy thumb. It wouldn't have been anything personal - it would have been just what Munson had to do to survive in this place.

The thing is, Steve knows he would have put a bullet in Munson's brain right here. It would have destroyed a piece of him to do it, he can acknowledge that now, but he would have done it without hesitation if it meant keeping the resistance in general - and the Party in specific - safe.

The thing is, even if Hargrove does kill Steve - even if Munson kills Steve, even if he manages to kill Hargrove before he can report back to Creel - Munson is finished, now. Unfair or not, he's failed the test. There's no going back, not if Creel doesn't trust him, and Steve knows Munson's smart enough to have realized that.

The thing is, if Creel suspected Munson enough to have Hargrove follow him to make sure he got the job done, there must be a reason why, and Steve wants to know it.

‘Change of plans,’ he tells Robin, even though he can already feel her at the back of his mind like fingertips ghosting through his hair, downloading his memories until she's caught up. She already knows exactly what he's going to do.

The piece of him that would have died with Eddie Munson finally settles into place, the circuitry that makes up more of him than he usually lets on humming softly in his veins as it adjusts to account for it.

Steve swings around to stand in front of Eddie, and plants his feet.

“If you want him,” he says, and he can hear the echo of it through the static of his communication link, calm and determined.

Steve's never felt more steady than he does when he's standing between a looming threat and one of the people who've become part of the very core of him.

“You'll have to go through me.”

Hargrove sneers at him. “You can barely hold your own against me in the arena.”

“The arena’s all show.” Steve laughs, a little mean. “You think I'm sitting here with prototype Harrington augments and all they've got is what you've seen?”

He's not sure why he's keeping up the pretense that he's nothing more than what he seems. If Creel is sending people to kill him, he has to know Steve's part of the Party. But it's ingrained in him, somehow, to protect them until his last breath, whether it's artificial or not.

The question makes Hargrove scoff, and Steve swings at him.

Hargrove lets it hit, laughs at him again with blood dripping from his mouth, and then -

They've fought in the arena, before. Not often, because they're brutal with each other, and because Creel knows their matches always draw a massive crowd and likes to drag out the tension, keep the audience wanting more.

This is nothing like that.

Despite their brutality, there's an element of safety in arena matches. The punishment for killing one of Creel's gladiators is harsh and swift, and so they're almost never in any real danger.

This is - Steve can see the hatred in Hargrove's eyes, same as he always does, but now there's intent, now Hargrove's own augments have been let loose, and there's more power behind every punch than Steve's ever felt before.

Steve's starting to think the only way he can beat Hargrove is to really let himself go, and it makes his heart quicken, makes the dread in his chest coil tighter and tighter - makes Robin even more present in his mind, makes her whisper ‘you have to, it's okay, I'm here, I won't let you lose yourself,’ -

Until a shot rings out, clipping Hargrove on the shoulder.

It's not that Steve forgot Eddie.

It's just that he kind of assumed that Eddie would run off after Steve took his first swing at Hargrove. It'd been part of the reason that he pulled Hargrove's attention onto himself in the first place.

The expression on Hargrove's face says that he'd assumed the same thing, and he shoots a venomous look over at Eddie.

“Who's cleaning up messes now?” Eddie asks.

Hargrove snarls, drawing his own gun on Eddie, and -

Steve's too close for Eddie to get a clear shot at Hargrove, and by now he's starting to think that Eddie won't take the shot if it means he'll have to shoot through Steve, but he knows damn well Hargrove won't have the same reservations.

‘Robin,’ Steve says, even though she's already there, flooding his mind until she's all he can feel.

He can't lose himself when he does this if he's so much her that they can't separate each other out.

Steve lets go.

Electricity flares under his skin, crackling and humming, and when he grabs Hargrove's hand it immediately shorts out his gun. It flows out - and out and out and out and out, overloading the circuitry of Hargrove’s augment and threatening to burn it through completely if it keeps going, and he needs to -

He needs to -

‘Stop.’

Steve can't tell if it's Robin's voice or his, but it doesn't matter.

It's enough to get him to pull himself back. He lets go of Hargrove, breathing heavily as he shuts himself down. Steve's expecting to have to fight with himself, with the way the power in him wants an outlet, but it simmers back down with little more than a whisper. It's easier than it's ever been before, and he can feel Robin's pride whispering through him.

Steve looks up, just in time to see Eddie pointing his gun at Hargrove.

“Don't,” Steve says, stepping between Eddie and Hargrove.

It isn't the same as when he stood between them last time.

For one, Billy Hargrove isn't exactly conscious. For another - Steve doesn't care about Hargrove himself, not the way every part of his being screamed at him to protect Eddie. The only reason Steve's standing here at all is for Max.

“He'll tell Creel,” Eddie says. “You know if he's still alive, if he gets back to him, we're finished.”

“We're finished here either way,” Steve points out. “And Billy Hargrove isn't our decision to make. It belongs to someone else.”

Eddie looks at him searchingly, for a long moment. “If not you, then who?”

It's a fair demand.

As far as the general public knows, as far as Henry Creel knows - the rivalry between Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington is as intimate as it is intense. Steve would be lying if he pretended like he didn't know that there was a fan favorite theory that there was something more behind their fights.

But it's never been true. Steve's only ever hated Hargrove for what he did to Lucas and Max.

“Come with me,” Steve says. “And I'll introduce you to her.”

Eddie's eyes are dark, unreadable.

Except -

Except.

Except Steve can read into them, can read hesitancy, longing, hope.

He reaches out, snags Eddie's hand, links their fingers together.

“Come with me,” Steve says again. “And I'll protect you.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, soft and almost surprised. “Okay.”

#steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fic #robin buckley #stobin #dustin henderson #pre steddie #cyberpunk au #but also kind of a gladiator au and a dystopian resistance au?#yeah i have no idea what this is #meant to be a one-shot but i might do a few more

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sparkleresthold · 5 months

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Brothers from another batch

#transformers g1 #megatron #starscream #shattered glass #so a friend of mine has this sg au that I'm totally not obsessed with #where basically the autobots won the war and Cybertron is a dystopian hellscape #Starscream and Megs are orphans and kinda get adopted by Soundwave #Screamer may or may not take his duty as an older brother way too seriously #maccadam #my art

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intotheelliwoods · 5 months

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Assorted drawings of myself and @manga-toons from the past few months!

First image is a collab, we both drew ourselves!

#lars posting #dystopian au #lmao.

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onionninjasstuff · 8 months

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Dystopian sona 👀

hmmmmmm

here we go, shittiest doc in the tmnt fandom multiverse

theyre not a real medical professional they just have a doctorate in shenanigans & clownery but anything goes in an apocalypse amaright

#dystopian au

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tasenwrobots · 8 months

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pls give us a dystopian persona >< !!

Click for better quality

Ok so my one is basically a sly shapeshifter from the army gone rogue. His entire battalion, which was basically his family, was wiped out by the enemy. So now, everything he sees as his enemy, he kills. But other then that, he's just a very funny n chaotic little fella, full of fuckery

@onionninjasstuff wanna team up >:] ?

#dystopian au #rottmnt fandom #rexdraws #asks and replies

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fantasyescapes17 · 9 months

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This is War (the Soldier I)

Lieutenant Colonel Lee Jihoon isn't sure exactly why he's fighting this war or if he's even on the right side. He only knows two things: one, his brother Joshua's death was not an accident; and two, the Empire has no shortage of dark secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Genre: dystopian!AU, war!AU

Warnings: Violence, war, general death and devastation, strong language, character deaths, sexual themes (no explicit smut, only implication), dark themes overall, slow burn and plot-heavy. There's nothing you wouldn't find in a typical dystopian YA novel, but its still not for the light-hearted.

Word Count: 10.7k+ [Won't lie, this is 10k words of pure plot and world build-up. The reader and half the important characters haven't even appeared yet, and the romance hasn't started. Buckle up, we're in for a long ride.]

Prologue + Masterlist

Marcet Sine Adversario Virtus.

The ancient Latin phrase was engraved on an imposing metal plaque underneath a large statue of the Empire's emblem.

A delicate golden rose with thorns.

Lieutenant Colonel Lee Jihoon sat at his desk directly in front of that rose statue. The statue was a permanent fixture in the cabins of all high-ranking military personnel stationed at Military Base 1. The golden rose and metal plaque served as a reminder to the cabin's visitors that they were not merely addressing Lieutenant Colonel Lee, but an esteemed officer of the Empire.

Military Base 1 was a staggering edifice. The walls and buildings were made of dark bullet-proof glass that soared into the skies, looming far above the crumbling tenements that formed the rest of the city. It was located in the heart of the Empire. An impenetrable fortress behind which the Empire’s loyal military officers strategized ways to protect their dwindling population.

Military Base 1 was the bedrock of the Empire. The harsh thorns which protected the delicate rose within.

“Sir? May I come in?”

Lieutenant Colonel Lee Jihoon looked up to find Captain Kwon standing hesitantly in the doorway of the cabin. The young Captain’s eyes lingered uncomfortably on the golden rose, before he briskly saluted his commanding officer.

Jihoon nodded.

“Come in, Captain Kwon. At ease.”

Captain Kwon Soonyoung entered. The cabin's walls were covered with military insignia and medals reflecting Lieutenant Colonel Lee’s numerous achievements. He had obtained many colourful laurels during his short but successful military career. While impressive, the laurels could not fully distract Soonyoung from the gaudy golden rose that glimmered threateningly behind Lee Jihoon’s unsmiling face.

“Here to report, sir.”

Jihoon nodded and stood. He had been sitting at his desk all morning, and his legs were beginning to feel stiff. There was no space to move around with that infernal rose statue taking up half of his cabin.

He leaned against the desk and looked at Captain Kwon.

“I heard there was some commotion in the barracks earlier. Any cause for concern?”

Captain Kwon bit his lip. “Not at all, sir. It was a minor tussle between some of the newer recruits. They, uh, snuck an illegally recorded copy of Vesta’s new film into the barracks. I had to confiscate it from them.”

Jihoon raised an eyebrow. “And where is the film now?”

Captain Kwon blushed. “Sir?”

“I hope you didn’t keep it.”

“I-sir-”

“Dispose of it immediately,” Lieutenant Colonel Lee ordered. His handsome face was unsmiling. “You may cancel training for today and let the men have the evening off. The Brigadier-General is hosting an unveiling party for the new unmanned combat vehicles- all the high-ranked officers will be occupied anyway.”

Captain Kwon smiled brightly. An evening off sounded excellent.

“Ah-yes, sir.”

“I don’t want to see you or the men putting themselves at risk for trifles. If they want to watch Vesta’s new film, tell them to pay money and watch it honestly in the theatre.”

“Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.”

The corner of Lieutenant Colonel Lee’s lips curved upward in a hint of a smile.

“What are you thanking me for?”

Captain Kwon cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I’d be lying if I said that Vesta’s films don’t go a long way to boost morale among the men, sir. She’s captured many hearts in the barracks. They would give up their lives for her, just as soon as they’d give up their lives for the Empire. Beautiful women are every man’s weakness.”

“Hopefully not every man,” Lieutenant Colonel Lee muttered.

Captain Kwon hesitated, worried that he had offended his commanding officer. It was difficult to predict how Lieutenant Colonel Lee would respond to any given statement. Jihoon was famously impulsive.

“Of course not, sir. I only meant to say-”

“You’re dismissed, Captain Kwon. Have a nice evening.”

“T-thank you, sir. You too, sir.”

Lieutenant Colonel Lee Jihoon leaned against his desk as he watched his subordinate leave. Then he closed his files and straightened his military uniform. He would have to meet the Brigadier-General for another night of drinking and raunchy entertainment, under the facade of unveiling newly designed unmanned combat vehicles.

What a criminal waste of time, Jihoon thought to himself, when there are so many more sinister things taking place in this very Military Base.

As Jihoon walked out of the cabin, he glanced back once more at the enormous thorned rose and the ancient Latin phrase. The symbols of the Empire.

Marcet Sine Adversario Virtus.

Or, in the modern tongue, valour withers without an adversary.

He smiled wryly at the foolishness of the Empire’s ancient motto. Evidently, the people in charge had been in a hurry to justify the war they were starting and had not considered one crucial possibility.

What if the Empire’s biggest adversary was not outside its walls?

What if it was hiding deep within?

—----------------------------------------------

Research Division 3 (or RD-3, as it was often abbreviated) was the military’s golden child.

Every few months, the scientists up at RD-3 designed a glamorous new weapon of warfare, which was unveiled and paraded around at a special display for high-ranking officers. Each new weapon brought the Empire a step closer to winning the war against the Invaders, so celebration was deemed appropriate.

In truth, the displays were simply an excuse for the commanding officers of Military Base 1 to gamble, drink and cavort with women.

Deep down, humans were all the same.

“Lieutenant Colonel Lee! You’re late, as always!” the Brigadier-General called out in his booming voice. The large older man was extremely drunk. His gray beard was stained from spilled wine, and he wrapped an arm around Jihoon in a friendly manner. The Brigadier-General had never had much regard for personal space. “How is it that you’re always the first to arrive at the military briefings, but you can never turn up to a party in time, eh?”

Jihoon forced his lips into a tight smile. “I apologise, sir. I had to finish my reports for the day.”

“Surely an unfiled report has never hurt anybody!”

“I’d rather not find out, sir.”

Lee Jihoon had acquired a reputation as a passionate and loyal young officer of the Empire. The Brigadier-General may have been a drunkard, but he was no idiot. The older man knew that Jihoon was destined for great things. It would not hurt to keep the promising young officer close as he climbed the ranks.

“Excellent work, Lieutenant Colonel Lee. Officers like you keep the Empire safe.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I know you don’t enjoy these unveiling parties but we must let RD-3 show off their little toys, eh? It’s the least we can do. But I know what will cheer you up! We have a special guest today, and she’s an absolute beauty. Come and have a look at her.”

Jihoon accepted the glass of wine offered to him and followed the Brigadier-General into the crowd of people.

The unveiling party was held in the ballroom of Military Base 1’s recreation wing. The enormous hall buzzed with high-ranking military officials, their wives and other entertainers. A group of scantily-clad dancers occupied the stage. A lady in red crooned into the microphone.

“Now, where did that pretty little thing go?” the Brigadier-General wondered.

Jihoon’s hawk eyes took three seconds to scan the room and spot what his superior officer was looking for. Near the back of the ballroom, a group of male officers were crowded around a beautiful young woman. She had a stunning smile, and batted her eyelashes prettily at the eager men surrounding her.

Jihoon sighed. He was unimpressed. “Sir, do you mean-”

“There she is!”

The Brigadier-General made a bee-line for the beautiful actress. Jihoon struggled to keep up. Some of the younger officers scattered at the sight of the Brigadier-General, but Vesta’s pretty eyes sparkled.

She gave the older man a sultry smile.

“Oh, Brigadier-General! I was beginning to wonder if you’d left me alone,” Vesta cooed. It was evident that she was not alone. There were half a dozen men around her, but the actress was an expert at flattering officers of rank.

The Brigadier-General grinned foolishly. “Never, my dear, never. I only stepped away to welcome Lieutenant Colonel Lee to the party. He’s a bit uptight, you see, and he needs some company at these gatherings. Lieutenant Colonel Lee, this is Vesta. Of course you recognize the most beautiful woman in the Empire.”

Jihoon barely glanced at the actress and nodded. “I am familiar with your work.”

Vesta giggled inspidly. “Oh, he’s so stiff!”

“Yes, Jihoon can be rather serious, but he’s a good man. Never mind him, darling. Tell us that lovely story about filming The Last Commander,” the Brigadier- General insisted.

Vesta began retelling an anecdote about how she had been moved to cry real tears in the climactic scene where her character’s husband was revealed to have died on the battlefield. The men listened, riveted.

Jihoon watched the actress disinterestedly for a few moments, before finishing his glass of wine and looking around in hopes of a refill.

He needed air.

There had been a time when Lieutenant Colonel Lee enjoyed gatherings like these. Early in his budding military career, he had felt it was an honour to be invited to a weapons unveiling. Now, Jihoon only wished there existed some alcohol or drug strong enough to make him forget the entirety of these events.

He sauntered outside.

Adjoining the ballroom was an outdoor platform that served as an enormous balcony and helipad. Men and women in white lab coats scurried around the sparkly new unmanned combat vehicle and prepared it for the display. The ‘vehicle’, with the words Aeris VII labelled on the side was actually a drone the size of a small helicopter, made entirely of bulletproof fibreglass.

Jihoon sighed. It looked exactly like all the other aerial combat vehicles the military already possessed.

“What’s so special about this one?” he asked a passing dark-haired scientist in a white coat who didn't appear busy.

The scientist blinked at Jihoon, his expression suddenly changing as he eyed Jihoon's military uniform and the pin on his shoulder signifying his rank.

“Sorry, sir?” the man asked.

“What is so special about this one? Didn’t RD-3 release an unmanned aerial combat vehicle three months ago? What does this one do better than the last?” Jihoon asked.

The scientist looked nervous. Jihoon suddenly realised that even though he was wearing a white coat, there was no patch on the scientist's chest signifying that he was an employee of RD-3. All the other white coats bore patches of either RD-2 or RD-3.

“Uh, I’m not-I’m not part of the design team for this. I was just observing,” explained the scientist carefully.

“What team are you a part of?”

The scientist’s eyes darted back and forth nervously. He seemed uncomfortable under Jihoon’s curious gaze. “I’m under Research Division 1, my apologies. The weapons are handled by RD-3…”

Something struck Jihoon as odd. He had never met anyone from Research Division 1 before. To be perfectly honest, he wasn’t even entirely sure what Research Division 1 did. Was the work highly confidential? It wasn't talked about as much as RD-3’s warfare weapons, or RD-2’s agricultural research. He suddenly remembered hearing about it long ago, from a familiar voice...

“What does Research Division 1-”

“Excuse me, I need to leave.”

The scientist hurried back inside the crowded ballroom and Jihoon stared after him, a sour taste in his mouth. Something was wrong about the way that scientist had been looking at him. Did he know Jihoon? Did he have reason to keep something from him? Jihoon wasn’t sure, but his interest had been piqued.

What did Research Division 1 do?

Where had Jihoon heard about it and why did the dark-haired scientist look familiar?

“Sir, can I help you?” another of the white-coated scientists asked. This woman had a large smile on her face and a patch on her chest that read RD-3. She looked far more welcoming than the previous man. “Are you curious about the new design for the unmanned aerial combat vehicle? We’d love to give you a briefing!”

Jihoon blinked and nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“The upgraded vehicle is more aerodynamic. It’s lighter, it can carry heavier missiles and it moves faster. We’ve also fixed some failures in the defensive capability of the bulletproof fibreglass. This one can withstand open fire for longer than the older models…”

Jihoon had lost interest.

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

At exactly 11 pm, the senior military officials gathered in the balcony of the ballroom to watch the new unmanned aerial combat vehicle soar spectacularly into the sky for the first time. Jihoon, uninterested in the theatrics of the display, quietly slipped out of the back of the building and into the dimly lit streets of Military Base 1.

A sleek black car with dark windows was parked at the end of the street. Opening the passenger side door swiftly, Jihoon slid into the back. There was a clicking noise behind him once he closed it.

The car doors had been locked.

“Cigarette?” Vesta offered. Her fingernails were painted a bold red, which contrasted with the plain white of the cigarette wrapper. A half-empty pack was lying on the seat between them. The car reeked of smoke.

This was clearly not her first cigarette of the evening.

Jihoon shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m trying to quit.”

Vesta raised an eyebrow. The pretty, innocent, simpering young lady from the party had disappeared. The actress now slouched carelessly against the leather seats. Her bare feet were crossed and planted on the backrest of the passenger seat in front of her.

She placed the cigarette between her painted lips.

“Mind if I smoke?” she asked, moving to light it before Jihoon could speak.

“Joshua didn’t like you smoking.”

“Joshua’s dead,” Vesta replied harshly as she dropped the lighter and took a long, shaky drag.

“He was worried about your health-”

“There are more disgusting substances entering my body on a daily basis than tobacco, for fuck’s sake. Cut me some slack,” Vesta snapped. She took another long drag before her face relaxed and she chuckled. “Great job pretending not to know me back there. I’m familiar with your work? You could have at least pretended to be a fan.”

Jihoon frowned. It was all he could think to say on such short notice. He hadn’t expected to see Vesta at the unveiling party, and there was no reason for him to be acquainted with a successful actress like her. At least, no reason that could be spoken about openly under the watchful eye of the Empire. They needed to appear to be perfect strangers in public.

Which wasn’t difficult because in truth, they were strangers.

Jihoon didn’t know Vesta's likes and dislikes, or what sort of a person she was. He knew nothing about her past or present life. All Jihoon knew was that they shared one simple thing.

Love, for a man who was now dead.

“How is it going?” Vesta asked. The dark tinted car windows were shut so the smoke she exhaled remained inside the car. It was suffocating. Jihoon glanced longingly at the cigarettes and closed his eyes.He had not had a cigarette since Joshua’s death. It had been four months and he wasn’t about to give in now.

“How is what going?” Jihoon wondered.

Vesta chuckled. “Your attempts to be transferred to the Border Forces. Is anyone taking you seriously or are they telling you to be a good little boy and wait? You can tell me. I have plenty of experience being patronised.”

“It’s not easy.”

“Nothing is easy in this place.”

Jihoon folded his arms across his chest and frowned. “It took two years before Joshua’s application to be transferred to the Border Forces was accepted by high command. I doubt they’ll accept mine anytime soon. I’m not as friendly with the high-ranking officers as Joshua was.”

“You’re not as friendly as Joshua was, period.”

Jihoon gave her a frustrated look. He was tired of her sharp words and unconcerned attitude. Vesta seemed to be treating Joshua’s death with a sense of carelessness that infuriated him. Couldn’t she at least pretend to care?

“Yes, thank you. I’m trying to find out the secret behind the death of a man that meant the world to me. I assumed from the fact that he sent you a similar letter that he meant something to you. Maybe I was wrong.”

Vesta lowered her eyes. “You’re not wrong.”

“So what is your problem?”

“My problem? My problem is that I’m tired of being in love with a man who’s dead, Jihoon. They don’t award you medals for that sort of loyalty. I’m in this shit alone because Lieutenant Colonel Joshua Hong thought it was a good idea to go chasing after something that he should have kept his fucking nose out of,” Vesta snapped.

Her eyes were red as she lifted the cigarette to her lips once more.

“Joshua really wouldn’t want you to keep smoking that-”

“Fuck you,” Vesta replied. She reached down and aggressively stubbed the half-finished cigarette into her ashtray, putting it out. “I don’t even want it anymore. Are you happy that you’ve taken away the one thing that actually makes me happy in this world, Lee Jihoon?”

Jihoon rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t take anything away. You put it out yourself.”

Vesta stared at him in disbelief. She felt a burning anger flow through her as she met Jihoon’s calm and judgemental eyes. Was this what Joshua had left her? After all his tall promises and romantic words he had gotten himself killed, leaving behind a dark secret and his insufferable younger half-brother to babysit?

“What are we doing, Jihoon?” she demanded.

“We’re trying to find out why Joshua had to die.”

“And then what? Even if Joshua was right, if there is some dark secret in Military Base 1 and he was killed because he knew too much… what next? We don’t have a plan. We don’t have support. How do you intend to exact revenge against whoever is responsible by yourself, Jihoon? You, and whose army?”

Jihoon bristled. “I have a battalion.”

Vesta laughed scornfully. “No. You don’t have a battalion. The Empire has a battalion that they put you in charge of, and they can take it away from you anytime they please.”

“Then we’ll build a new army. We’ll find someone with whom our interests align. There’s a whole world outside of Military Base 1. Rebel organisations, an enormous organised resistance underground. I’ve seen glimpses of it during peacekeeping missions. I know it exists. We could be a part of it,” Jihoon insisted heatedly.

“Why, though?”

“What?”

“Why would you join a resistance? What has the Empire ever done to you that you would rebel against it?” Vesta demanded.

“There’s definitely something happening. Joshua died less than a week after he left for the Border Forces-” Jihoon insisted.

“He died in the course of duty.”

“That’s what they say.”

“You have nothing that proves otherwise, Jihoon. Nothing. None of the high-ranking commanders of the Border Forces will speak to you. You don’t know what Joshua was investigating. All you have is a vaguely worded letter from a man who died after being transferred to the most dangerous division of the military. The Empire even awarded him a posthumous medal for bravery. I’m tired. I don’t know how much longer we should keep doing this.”

Jihoon clenched his fists. “I know this is difficult-”

“It’s impossible. Do you understand how helpless you are in this world? How helpless and alone we both are?”

“I have leads. Just trust me for a little longer. I need to find out why Joshua had to die, I know I can. I can find the people responsible and I need your help.”

Vesta and Jihoon stared at each other for a long moment. It was difficult to read the young woman; she was an actress, after all, and her words and expressions often changed so swiftly and erratically that it was hard to tell just where the actress ended and the real woman began. Jihoon had a feeling that he hadn’t even scratched the surface of whatever Vesta really was. Jihoon didn’t have the time, energy or inclination to dig below her abrasive personality.

But Joshua had trusted her.

So Jihoon had decided that he would trust her too.

“Fine,” Vesta replied, finally. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Do you know anything about Research Division 1? What sort of work do they do?” Jihoon wondered. “I remember Joshua mentioning it once, but I can’t remember what he said.”

“Research Division 1? Does that even exist?”

“If 2 and 3 exist then isn’t it logical to assume that RD-1 exists too? Is there anyone you can ask to learn something about that?” Jihoon asked. There were a lot of questions that would arouse suspicion coming from an officer of the military, but might sound harmless coming from a seemingly air-headed actress.

“I’m meeting Major-General Jung in his apartment tomorrow, I can ask him. Why do you want to know?”

“Just a hunch. See if he’ll say anything about the Border Forces too-”

“I’ve tried that before. The Major-General never talks about the Border Forces, even when he’s drunk. He sobers up as soon as I mention it and it’s unpleasant because things are a lot easier for me when he’s not sober,” Vesta replied firmly.

Jihoon groaned. “He knows something.”

“It’s no use to us if he won’t talk about it. Just because he's reluctant to reveal confidential military information doesn’t mean it’s anything to do with Joshua's death.”

“Can you search his personal office?”

“Do you want me to die?” Vesta snapped. “Because if your aim is to unite me with Joshua in heaven then that would be the perfect way to go about it. The Major-General’s home is filled with security officers at all times. He keeps himself well protected. The rebels would love to take a crack at the commander of the Internal Peacekeeping Forces.”

Jihoon sighed. “Never mind.”

“I’ll get in touch with you if I have anything to tell you, okay?”

“Fine, I get it.”

“Go back before they notice you’re missing from the weapons unveiling,” Vesta suggested. Jihoon nodded. He unlocked the car door and then glanced back at the actress. He cleared his throat.

“Take-uh, take care.”

Vesta smiled emotionlessly. “Sure. As soon as I find something worth taking care of.”

—---------------------------------------------

Once upon a time, the Empire had been a peaceful place.

Jihoon had grown up during those times but he could barely remember them. He had vague memories of his mother’s flower garden and the smell of her home-cooked pies. He had once gone to school. He had family and neighbours and friends. What had happened to them all? Jihoon wasn’t sure. He hadn’t seen any of them since the first Air Strikes.

Air Strike Zero was the starting of the War.

Jihoon remembered huddling in the basement of their small house with his mother and his half-brother Joshua, terrified and not understanding what was happening as the ground shook and explosives fell from the sky.

It was only three days later, when they emerged from their basement, cold and hungry, that they learned the truth.

The War had begun.

Joshua had never been one to sit still. Long before the military had declared mandatory conscription for all able-bodied men, Joshua signed up to fight. We have to protect ourselves, Joshua had said the night before he left. We are at War.

Jihoon had stayed home with his mother until he turned 18. But she had always been of fragile health, and a world at war was no place for her. The older woman's heart gave out and Jihoon had to bury her two weeks before his 18th birthday. Then he enlisted for the army and joined his brother in the ranks. Theirs was not the only family that had been torn apart by the War.

The War either killed you, or made a soldier out of you.

Jihoon chose to be a soldier.

—-------------------------------------------

Captain Kwon’s face was white.

“Sir, we seem to… um, we seem to be missing some items from the weapons storage, sir.”

Lieutenant Colonel Lee Jihoon snapped his head up to look at the trembling man in front of him.

His dark eyes narrowed dangerously.

“What?”

“Lieutenant Smith did inventory this morning and we’re missing some firearms from Storage Unit 7B,” Captain Kwon repeated. His heartbeat thudded wildly. Kwon Soonyoung dreaded delivering news to the Lieutenant Colonel. Having to deliver bad news to him was simply dreadful.

"And? Where are they?"

Captain Kwon swallowed. “We’re investigating to find out how we could have lost them. There’s no sign of breaking or entering in the storage unit so it might have been somebody who knew the passcode or had access-”

“Captain Kwon.”

“Y-yes, sir?”

Jihoon stood up and slapped his palms on the desk, hard. His voice was enraged. “Do you think I give a flying fuck who it might have been? I want to know who it was!”

Captain Kwon swallowed. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. We’re working on that right now, sir.”

Jihoon pressed his fingertips to his temples. “How many weapons are we missing? What kind? Give me an estimate.”

“Primarily firearms. Lieutenant Smith has found 10 assault rifles, 12 semi-automatic rifles, 3 grenade launchers and a couple of pistols unaccounted for. We’re also doing an emergency inventory check of all the other Storage Units under our control to make sure this is the only storage unit that was targeted,” Captain Kwon rambled on. Perhaps if he kept talking rapidly, then Jihoon wouldn’t have time to yell at him. “There aren’t many soldiers with access to Storage Unit 7B in particular so it must have been someone who was on security duty at some point-”

Jihoon lifted a hand in the air and cut him off. “How many is a couple of pistols?”

Captain Kwon swallowed. “Thirty-five, sir.”

“Thirty-five?” Jihoon demanded. That amounted to a total of 60 deadly firearms. Sixty firearms was no small theft. It was enough to keep a small army going. A small army which was evidently not affiliated to the Empire, or they could have obtained the weapons without committing military treason.

Captain Kwon looked devastated. “Yes, sir.”

“You have two hours to find out who did this before I come down into the barracks and investigate the matter myself. This is likely the work of some rebel organization. That means we have traitors of the Empire here. Traitors. In my battalion. Do you understand the seriousness of this situation, Captain Kwon?”

“Yes sir, I do, sir.”

“Good.”

Captain Kwon shifted on his feet and then cleared his throat. If he was about to be put to death following a court martial then he really wanted to know sooner rather than later.

“Sir, are you… are you going to be reporting this matter to high command?”

Jihoon folded his arms across his chest. He had no intention of putting his own neck on the line this early. The Empire would not take high-grade weapons being stolen directly from Military Base 1 lightly.

There would be hell to pay if the culprit was not found.

“Let’s try to find who did this first. In the absence of anyone else to punish, Captain Kwon, high command may just decide that you and I will be held responsible. I would rather it didn’t come to that.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Find me the traitor. Now. Dismissed.”

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

Lieutenant Colonel Lee Jihoon carried his brother’s final letter tucked in the pocket of his military uniform at all times. The folded paper was worn out from having been read so often over the last four months, and every single word was precious to him.

Jihoon,

I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye before I left. My request to transfer to the Border Forces was accepted on extremely short notice. I leave tonight.

There is something I’ve been investigating. I’ve had my suspicions about the Empire for a long time, but I think I’ve finally found some evidence. I need to go to the Border to confirm my suspicions. When I return I’ll explain everything. If I’m right, then everything we know about our lives could be a lie.

I’m scared.

I hope I’m wrong. I really hope I’m wrong.

If I don’t return, that means the Major-General knows what I’ve found. Don’t trust anyone in the military, Jihoon. Especially not the high command. They don’t care about our lives. All they care about is themselves. They’ve done horrible things in the name of research and war and they’ll stop at nothing to protect their positions.

Tell Vesta I’m sorry. I wanted to help her but I think I ended up making her life worse. You would probably laugh, Jihoon. I wish I could see the incredulous look on your face when I tell you I fell in love with her. I’m sorry I couldn’t introduce her to you. Maybe, when I return, you can meet her and you’ll see how wonderful she is.

I want to make you both proud. I hope I can.

I love you. Stay safe

-Joshua.

Sometimes Jihoon wondered if his brother had intended to leave him in a state of complete agony. Could a more vague and incomprehensible letter exist? Why couldn’t Joshua have stopped to explain exactly what he was investigating? Life would have been easier even if Joshua had just gone to the Border without leaving a letter at all.

At least then, Jihoon could have believed that his brother had died bravely in the line of duty, as the Empire claimed.

Peace of mind can be more valuable than the truth.

Jihoon possessed neither.

“Sir? Your written communications have just come in,” a young officer on administrative duty entered the cabin and saluted Lieutenant Colonel Lee before placing a pile of envelopes on the desk. Jihoon quickly tucked the letter into his inner coat pocket and sat up.

“Thank you, Private. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jihoon looked at the envelopes. All of them were stamped and sealed with the Empire’s emblem; the golden rose with thorns. Most were non-urgent. Field reports, requests for leave and other routine mundane tasks relevant to the maintenance of his forces. There were a handful of invitations to social events being held by high-ranking officers.

Then Jihoon saw it.

The only envelope where the rose was hand-drawn instead of stamped with the official Empire stamp. The difference was slight and difficult to notice for an untrained eye, but Jihoon and Vesta had been communicating in this manner for long enough that he instantly knew the envelope was from her.

He tore it open.

Asked about RD-1. It's old- it existed even before the Air Strikes, but was shut down shortly after the War began for ethical reasons. Something about human experimentation. Major-General wouldn't elaborate. RD-1 hasn’t been operational for about a decade, so I don’t think it has anything to do with Joshua.

He also wouldn’t talk about the Border Forces. He never does.

I heard that the Major General is looking for some new personal security. He’s not allowed to take on-duty soldiers for his personal use, so he hires whoever he can find men from the disciplinary barracks- ones undergoing punishment for frivolous things. Do you have any men we can trust? If you could get them into the disciplinary barracks by tomorrow, then it’s likely they’ll be chosen. Make sure whoever you pick looks a little naive. The man doesn’t like his guards to be smarter than him.

Lots of concerns about rebel uprisings on the coast. Civilians aren’t complying with the food rationing laws and are hoarding their own farming and fishing produce.

I’ll be at the Brigadier-General’s wedding anniversary party this weekend. See you there.

Jihoon tore up the letter and reached into his drawer for a lighter. He no longer smoked, but the lighter was still useful for other things. Jihoon watched the sheet of paper curl into ashes on his desk while he tried to process the information.

How was it possible that RD-1 didn’t exist anymore? If it had been shut down and ceased operations years ago, who was the man in the white coat from the weapons unveiling party? He had clearly stated that she was with RD-1. Jihoon pressed his fingers against his temples and frowned. It seemed like the Empire had more secrets than anyone could have anticipated. Everywhere Jihoon looked, he found inconsistencies and strange rumours.

But never any solid evidence. Why?

The door to Jihoon’s cabin opened with a bang.

“Sir? Permission to enter, sir?” Captain Kwon demanded, lifting his arm in a salute. His eyes were shining and there was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Yes, Captain Kwon?”

“We’ve identified the man who stole the weapons, sir. The problem is… he’s already absconded.”

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

The men stood stiffly to attention.

“Our culprit is Private Lee Chan of the 7th Squad, sir,” Captain Kwon explained, while Jihoon paced up and down the cramped barracks. The soldiers froze in terror at the sight of the Lieutenant Colonel in their humble sleeping quarters.

One bed was conspicuously messy and unmade.

“How did he escape?” Jihoon demanded.

“He loaded all the firearms into a military transport vehicle and drove it out of Military Base 1 at 6 am this morning. The security personnel suspected nothing because Private Chan often drove military vehicles in his line of duty, sir. We’ve told the gate security forces to keep an eye out if he comes back and hand him over to military police immediately-”

“He’s not coming back.”

Captain Kwon bit his lip. “Sir?”

Jihoon glared at his subordinate officer, making no effort to hide his irritation. “He’s not coming back, Captain Kwon. A Private made off with military-grade firearms that he plans to deliver straight to the rebels in an act of treason and you think he’s going to come back? Why? To face a court-martial and public execution? Don’t be foolish. He'll have gone underground by now.”

Captain Kwon swallowed. “Sorry, sir.”

"And I suppose none of you noticed the blood leaking out of those blankets?"

There was a dark red stain seeping out of the crumpled blankets on Private Lee Chan's bed. Jihoon stepped forward and tugged at it. A bundle of rags absolutely drenched in blood fell onto the floor along with a solid object. It was a small, metal device the size of Jihoon's fingernail.

"He cut his identification tag out of his arm and left it right here," Jihoon hissed. "This took you all morning?"

Captain Kwon only trembled.

Lieutenant Colonel Lee Jihoon took a deep breath and then frowned at the other soldiers standing in the barracks. They were all members of the 7th Squad. Men who had been forced to enlist because of the Empire’s ongoing war. Men who would much rather be anywhere but here. They were young and wet behind the ears, Jihoon observed.

But Private Chan could never have managed something so brave and reckless alone.

There were more.

Jihoon intended to find them.

“How many of you were close to Private Chan?” Jihoon demanded. He looked around at all of the men, but their heads were lowered. They were avoiding eye contact with him. Was it fear? Or defiance? Lieutenant Colonel Lee tried to scan their faces but it was hard to tell the difference.

“Are you going to answer me or do you all want to be handed over to the military police?”

One of the men spoke up. “He-he was friendly with all of us, sir.”

Jihoon narrowed his eyes at the soldier who had spoken. He was of average height but his rounded face and soft features revealed that he was just a boy.

“Your name?”

The boy saluted. “Private Boo Seungkwan, sir.”

“Private Boo. I saw your name on the duty roster. Weren’t you in charge of locking up Storage Unit 7B after firing practice yesterday evening? That means you were the last person to see the stolen firearms before Private Chan got his hands on them.”

Private Boo Seungkwan hesitated. He seemed to regret having spoken. “Y-yes sir. But Private Chan was on security duty at the Storage Units from 11pm to 5 am, sir. I clocked out at 10:59 pm after Private Chan came to relieve me from my post. I haven’t seen him since then, sir.”

“And what did you do afterwards, Private Boo?”

Seungkwan’s steady gaze faltered. “Sir?”

“What did you do after Private Chan relieved you from duty at the Storage Units? Did you come straight back to the barracks for a good night’s rest?” Jihoon asked calmly. He watched as Seungkwan nervously exchanged glances with some of the other soldiers. They seemed to be frowning at him.

“Uh, no sir.”

“You didn’t return to the barracks? What did you do, then?”

“I-I went to watch a film, sir. I returned to the barracks quite late,” Seungkwan admitted.

“And what film was this?”

Boo Seungkwan’s ears turned pink. “Vesta’s new film, sir. The Last Commander. I-I’m a fan of hers.”

“So if I understand the situation,” Lieutenant Colonel Lee Jihoon said slowly and dangerously, “you were the last person to see the firearms intact other than the culprit himself. You were also the only soldier who didn’t return to the barracks in time last night because you went to watch a film.”

Seungkwan swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you aware that enlisted soldiers aren’t allowed to leave official duty for personal reasons or entertainment, unless granted permission by a Commissioned Officer? Did you have permission to go watch this film last night, Private Boo?”

“No, sir.”

Jihoon had heard enough. He turned to Captain Kwon, who was watching the exchange nervously.

“Well then. We’re done here. The abscondee, Private Chan, is a traitor to the Empire and we have sufficient evidence in the form of his bloody identification tag that somehow nobody here noticed. Captain Kwon, please report the criminal to the military police immediately and have him declared an enemy of the state. They will send out an investigation team to locate him as well as the firearms, so the matter is out of our hands now.”

Captain Kwon nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“As for Private Boo…” Jihoon glanced at the younger soldier. Seungkwan was standing with his fists clenched and sweat beaded on his forehead despite his attempts to look relaxed. “Private Boo will face six months locked up in the disciplinary barracks for taking leave to watch a film without permission.”

Boo Seungkwan blinked. “Sir?”

“Captain Kwon, come see me in my cabin in an hour. The rest of you are dismissed. Go back to training.”

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

Captain Kwon had always been punctual, so Jihoon was pleased to hear the young Captain's voice outside his cabin in exactly an hour.

“Sir. Captain Kwon here on your command, sir.”

Lieutenant Colonel Lee looked up calmly. His dark eyes focused on the young man who was saluting him from the doorway of his cabin. For a brief moment, Jihoon doubted himself. One wrong move could jeopardise everything. If Kwon Soonyoung was loyal to the Empire, then Jihoon’s entire career could be at risk.

But Lee Jihoon had reached his position in life and rank in the military by trusting his instincts.

He would simply have to trust them again.

“Enter, Captain Kwon.”

Soonyoung entered the cabin. Despite being a frequent visitor, he was once again momentarily flustered by the enormous statue of the Empire’s emblem. The golden rose was conspicuous. It took Soonyoung a few moments to refocus his soft eyes on the Lieutenant Colonel sitting at the desk in front of it.

“Sir.”

“Before we get down to business, Captain Kwon, do you have anything to say to me about the events of this morning?" Jihoon asked.

Soonyoung paused. The question was loaded. The Lieutenant Colonel did not make small talk; there was almost certainly a right and a wrong answer to this question.

"I should have supervised the Storage Units more closely, sir."

Jihoon did not blink. "Hmm. Anything else?"

“I request you to reconsider the severity of Private Boo's punishment,” Captain Kwon added. He tried to speak confidently, but Jihoon's sharp and piercing gaze was terrifying. “Sir, I think it’s rather excessive. None of the other privates have been sentenced to six months imprisonment in the disciplinary barracks just for watching a film while they were off-duty.”

“Close the door, Captain.”

Soonyoung's lower lip trembled. “Sir?”

“Close the door and take a seat.”

Kwon Soonyoung obeyed. His hands were trembling so he clasped them together tightly in his lap. Jihoon’s dark gaze and unsmiling face did not help his racing heartbeat.

“Do you really think,” Jihoon began slowly and carefully, “that I sentenced Private Boo because he went to watch a film?”

Soonyoung was silent.

“I sentenced him because we both know that he didn’t watch a film last night. He helped Private Chan load sixty firearms from Storage Unit 7B into a military transport vehicle and then aided his escape from Military Base 1 while you watched. You're many things, Captain Kwon, but you're not incompetent. I don't believe that a lowly Private managed to hoodwink you. The only explanation is that they did this with your help."

Soonyoung's face was turning red. "Sir, with all due respect-"

Jihoon cut him off sharply. "You and Private Boo are not the only members from a rebel organisation in my battalion. I know there are others. I’ve been waiting for one of you fools to out yourselves for a while now.”

Captain Kwon's fists clenched. To Jihoon’s satisfaction, the young man did not look scared anymore. A look of steely determination had crossed his childlike face. Kwon Soonyoung was not as innocent as he tried to appear.

“With all due respect, Lieutenant Colonel Lee, you can’t prove any part of what you just said,” Soonyoung said stiffly.

“I have no interest in proving it. Even the suspicion of being affiliated to a rebel organisation is enough to have you court-martialed and executed. But I don’t want to do that, Captain Kwon. You’re not much use to me dead. I have something far more interesting for you to do.”

Soonyoung was silent.

“I see you’re afraid to open your mouth in case you incriminate yourself. That’s all right. I’m not going to interrogate you about your organization. Frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck what the rebels get up to. What I need is someone to spy on Major General Jung. He’s the commander of the Internal Peacekeeping Forces and the second most powerful man in the Empire. I’m sure your people have their eyes on him. Tell me. How much would information about the Major General’s private dealings and conversations be worth to your organisation?”

Soonyoung was silent but his eyes glimmered.

“I’m going to help you and Private Boo get into Major General Jung’s house,” Jihoon continued. “I can also help you communicate whatever information you manage to find to your rebel organization. I only need one thing. Everything you find will be reported to me first.”

Kwon Soonyoung’s hands were shaking. His soft eyes wavered in indecision before he suddenly looked boldly up at the Lieutenant Colonel.

“What’s in it for you?” he demanded.

Jihoon raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Why do you want us to do this? Clearly there’s some information that you want from Major General Jung. I need to know what your motivation is.”

“That is irrelevant.”

“I think it’s very relevant. You’re asking me to spy on the commanding officer of the Internal Peacekeeping Forces. If Private Boo and I get caught, then we die. Don’t we deserve to know why we’re putting ourselves at such a huge risk for you? What if you use this against me and my loved ones?”

Jihoon had assumed that Captain Kwon would be naive and easy to manipulate. Evidently that was not the case. The young officer was also brave. Jihoon leaned back in his chair, impressed. Soonyoung could handle entering the lion’s den. Jihoon had stumbled upon the right person for the task.

“Captain Kwon. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Empire’s emblem. The golden rose with thorns. What do you think it means?”

Soonyoung’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“What do you think the emblem with a golden rose and thorns symbolises?”

“Uh…” Soonyoung looked at the enormous statue of the emblem behind the Lieutenant Colonel’s head. It was beautiful but there was no mistaking the thorns that lay underneath it. Soonyoung had never stopped to think about its meaning. “Um. I suppose it means that you should stop and think before you pluck the rose because the thorns will prick you?” he guessed doubtfully.

Jihoon nodded. “Interesting.”

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know either,” Jihoon admitted. He sighed. “Let me put it this way, Captain Kwon. I’ve lost someone close to me. I need to know whether the Empire’s thorns merely failed to protect him, or whether they pricked him themselves.”

Soonyoung hesitated. He could see the pain behind Lieutenant Colonel Lee’s dark eyes. He had never imagined that such a high-ranking officer whom everyone feared could also be a victim of the Empire.

Then again, perhaps everyone was a victim of the Empire in some way.

Soonyoung took a deep breath. “I’ve lost people to the Empire too. My family back home struggled because of the new laws and all our land was taken away from us-”

Jihoon cut him off quickly. “I don’t care.”

Soonyoung blinked. “Oh.”

“I have no intention of exchanging childhood stories with you, Captain Kwon. I don’t want to be friends. I want information. Let’s talk about how you’re going to get it for me.”

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

A vast majority of the Empire's power resided in the hands of two men.

The military took pride in claiming that the Empire wasn’t an autocratic state like the destructive military dictatorships of the past. Instead, it had quickly created the concept of a high command. A pair of men who controlled the military, and as a result, the rest of the Empire.

Major-General Jung, commander of the Internal Peacekeeping Forces.

And Major-General Yang, commander of the Border Forces.

Together, these two men commanded the two primary functional divisions of the army. First, the Internal Peacekeeping Forces were tasked with ensuring the common folk obeyed the Empire's laws, while suppressing occasional violent rebel uprisings and keeping peace within the walls of the Empire.

Second, the Border Forces defended the Borders where the constant looming threat from the Invaders needed to be taken care of. The Borders was where the newly designed weapons and the bravest of soldiers were sent. Fighting at the Borders was no joke.

Every few weeks, fresh bodies were brought back from the Borders in caskets.

“I don’t understand your obsession with the Border Forces, Jihoon,” the Brigadier-General complained as he swallowed a large glass of wine. It was his anniversary party, and he hated talking about official business during celebrations. He wished Jihoon would relax and leave him alone. “Can’t we discuss this on Monday? It’s so dull to be talking about applications and transfers when one should be in a festive mood!”

Jihoon bowed his head. “I apologize, sir-”

“Have a glass of wine, eh? Here!”

“Yes-thank you, sir. I don’t mean to bother you. It’s just... I’ve heard rumours that the Borders are in need of more officers since the threat from the Invaders is steadily rising. The most recent exchange of hostilities at the Border four months ago left our forces crippled-”

The Brigadier-General's grey beard twitched in sympathy. “Ah, yes. Lieutenant Colonel Joshua Hong was one of the brave victims of that devastating attack. Your half-brother, correct? You’ve mentioned him before. My condolences.”

Jihoon clutched his wine. “Thank you, sir.”

“But you should know better than anyone how dangerous it is!” the Brigadier-General cried. “The Borders are treacherous and few return alive. The death toll increases with each passing month. There’s a reason the Empire limits the number of commanding officers we send there. One efficient attack by the Invaders is enough to wipe out entire battalions, and we can’t afford to lose too many at once.”

“I understand, sir, but-”

“We need brave officers like you here and alive, Jihoon. Internal peace and harmony is crucial for the efficiency of this war. The Internal Peacekeeping Forces are doing important work. Wars cannot be won unless the nation is unified from within.”

Jihoon pressed harder. “I’d rather fight at the Borders, sir. I don’t believe the Internal Peacekeeping Forces need me. Rebel uprisings will stop naturally once we can terminate the threat of the Invaders, and return the Empire to its former prosperity and glory.”

The Brigadier-General’s mouth twisted downward. “Do you believe that’s possible?”

“Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” the older man admitted grimly. He finished his entire glass of wine in one gulp and then patted Jihoon on the back in a friendly manner. His eyes were slightly unfocused due to the alcohol. “You have a lot of potential, Lieutenant Colonel. You’re a smart young man and I don’t want you to die yet. I’ll submit your application to go to the Borders, but you know the final authority on these matters is Major General Yang. All I can do is send your application onward.”

Jihoon nodded gratefully. At least it was a step in the right direction.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, are you done hounding me at my wedding anniversary party? Go get another drink, and find a pretty young lady to dance with! I can introduce you to a few if you’d like…”

Jihoon politely declined. He found a quiet corner to enjoy his glass of wine while the Brigadier-General left to greet his more important guests. The private anniversary party was smaller and humbler than some of the official military galas, but there were still a significant number of high-ranking officers and research officials present. Jihoon wished he was sociable enough to interact with them the way Joshua used to. But that had never been his style. He didn’t have many friends.

Jihoon wondered whether he should stay at the party until Vesta arrived, or leave since he had sufficiently interacted with the host. Jihoon didn’t have anything to say to Vesta. To be frank, he didn’t even enjoy her company. But there was a small and inexplicable comfort in talking to someone who missed Joshua just as much as he did, even if she had her own abrasive ways of handling her grief.

Perhaps it was too risky to keep meeting her.

Jihoon squeezed past the throng of guests and wondered how many more infernal parties and events like this he would have to attend before he found out the truth behind Joshua’s death. What dark secret was concealed in the midst of these studded military coats and sparkling wine glasses? What was so consequential that Lieutenant Colonel Joshua Hong had requested a transfer to the most dangerous, deadly division of the military in order to investigate it?

Jihoon had no idea how to find these answers.

He didn't even know where to look anymore.

Was this the end?

Would he never find out what had taken Joshua from him? Even if Jihoon’s application to transfer to the Border Forces was miraculously accepted, what would he do once he went there? He didn’t know what Joshua had been looking for, and it seemed that the man had confided his secrets in no one.

Yet, it seemed so surreal.

What had Joshua been trying to investigate by himself? Was it even possible that he had single-handedly unearthed some enormous conspiracy? With no outside help? Joshua had been secretive on occasion, yes, but Jihoon still couldn’t believe it. Perhaps Joshua had not told his lover because she had enough worries of her own. And perhaps he had even kept it a secret from his little brother to avoid putting him at risk. But surely he had confided in someone?

Someone?

Out of the corner of his eye, Jihoon saw the flash of a white coat.

It was him again; the same young scientist from the weapons unveiling party. His dark eyes had been watching Jihoon but he averted them the moment he realized he had been caught. Jihoon’s stomach clenched.

He had seen this scientist before. He had seen him multiple times, as a matter of fact, at almost every official celebration that took place in Military Base 1.

Why was this scientist always lingering around him?

The man turned to leave the room and Jihoon made an impulsive decision to follow him. He exited the Brigadier-General’s front hall and followed the man out of the penthouse apartment, and down multiple flights of stairs. The man kept glancing back at Jihoon but he wasn’t trying to get away.

In fact, he seemed to be leading Jihoon somewhere.

Jihoon followed the scientist onto the deserted street. He kept walking until he reached a small, cramped alleyway between two apartment buildings. Jihoon expected him to stop, but he kept going, kept walking and Jihoon began to doubt himself.

What was he doing? Why was he following a strange scientist into places that he didn’t know? There was a service pistol tucked into Jihoon's belt but he doubted that would be of much use if this man was leading him into some kind of a trap.

Finally, the man stopped and turned to face him.

“Lieutenant Colonel Lee Jihoon,” the scientist greeted calmly. His hands were clenched by his sides, and Jihoon could see his fists trembling.

“Who are you?” Jihoon demanded.

“My name is Junhui,” the man explained softly. “I used to be a researcher at Research Division 1. But that’s not important to you. The truth is…. I knew Lieutenant Colonel Joshua Hong. I was the last person to see him alive before he left for the Border.”

Jihoon felt numb.

—------------------------------------------

There was very little in the world that surprised Vesta.

It was late when she arrived at the Brigadier-General’s party, and even later by the time the infuriating old man would allow her to leave. She spent the entire evening smiling until her cheeks hurt and enduring the hungry gazes and wandering hands of the Brigadier-General’s friends.

When she returned to her car and saw Lee Jihoon sitting in the passenger seat, she did not blink an eye.

“I didn’t see you at the party,” she drawled, while lighting her cigarette. Jihoon looked pale. He had always been a handsome young man, but the haunted look Jihoon gave Vesta sent a chill down her spine for completely different reasons.

"Joshua was intercepting confidential documents from Major General Jung's personal office," Jihoon mumbled quietly.

Vesta blinked. It took her a few moments to process exactly what Jihoon was saying. Joshua? Stealing documents from the Major General? But Joshua had always seemed to like the Major General Jung. He had always been eager to gain the commander's admiration and even shared drinks with the older man multiple times after duty. Joshua had always been the one in charge of hauling the Major General's enormous drunken ass back home after parties…

Oh.

So it had all been an act.

Vesta had occasionally wondered why Joshua was so eager to please the Major General, and why he hung around his superior officer despite the older man having the personality of a stinky wet rag…

Maybe she'd assumed that he did it in order to see her.

"What-what documents?" she asked hesitantly. "Did you find any of them? Where were they?"

Jihoon shook his head. "No. Someone told me."

"Someone?"

"This… this man came up to me. Junhui. A research scientist. He said he knew Joshua and that he was the last person to see him alive before he left for the Border," Jihoon explained.

"I've never heard of this name before. Junhui?" she demanded.

Jihoon bit his lip. "Yeah."

"Do you know who he is?"

"I'd never heard his name before today either," Jihoon admitted. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap. "But I had my suspicions, since he's been following me and trying to approach me for a while. He says that Joshua used to have drinks with the Major General and intercept his communications while the man was lying drunk in his office. He says… he says that Joshua made copies and hid some of the communications."

Vesta shook her head. "Hold on. Just stop for a moment. Who is this Junhui and how does he know so much about what Joshua was doing? Has Joshua ever mentioned him to you?"

Jihoon swallowed. "No."

"Joshua told me about you. And you said that he often talked about me. That's how you and I can trust each other. But he never told either of us about this Junhui. How can you trust him? Who the hell is he even?" Vesta demanded.

"He says Joshua saved his life."

Vesta blinked. "What?"

"When high command shut down Research Division 1 a decade ago because their human experimentation failed, they ordered for the subjects and the researchers to be killed. Junhui says Joshua was the military official on duty and saved Junhui's life by helping him escape and hide. He's been lurking around Military Base 1 in hiding and helping Joshua investigate the Empire ever since."

"Why would Joshua do that?"

Jihoon shrugged. "Because he's a good person?'

"It doesn't sound like something that can be explained away that simply. Are you telling me that this man is a fugitive?" Vesta demanded. Her eyes had gone wide in disbelief. "Are you telling me that the entire time we knew Joshua, he was harbouring a fugitive of the Empire? This man can't be sane. Why would Joshua risk everything to help some researcher hide?"

Jihoon's lower lip trembled. "But he knows so much about him."

"Like what?"

"Like everything," Jihoon replied. He took a deep and shaky breath. "Look. I'm confused too. I don't know what Joshua has been up to all these years-"

"Yeah, no shit-"

"But if there's even a hint of truth in what Junhui says, then we might find something. Listen. He says that Joshua used to steal confidential documents from Major General Jung's office. That means Joshua either took those documents or made copies."

"So? You didn't find anything in Joshua's belongings. And you searched his cabin yourself before they cleaned it out."

"Of course. Joshua would never risk getting caught with confidential documents in his possession. There's strict security outside the Major General's office. They check your uniform when you enter and again when you leave the office of any officer in high command. I know, because I went to Major General Jung's office many times to receive medals. They even check the linings of your coat."

"So how did Joshua get the documents out?"

"That's what I've been wondering. What if he didn't? What if he hid them right there in the Major General's office?"

Vesta stared at him.

"That's…"

"Something Joshua would do, right?"

"Yes," Vesta admitted hesitantly. Joshua had been clever at sneaking around and evading suspicion. Despite his seemingly trustworthy appearance, Joshua had been extremely cunning. The number of times he had managed to sneak Vesta into his personal quarters at the dead of night was evidence of his clever thinking. He would constantly come up with new and innovative ways to get her in without anybody noticing.

"We need to find those documents."

"How?"

"How else?" Jihoon asked grimly. There was no choice. "Through the only person on our side who has access to Major General Jung's office. Captain Kwon Soonyoung."

Vesta raised an eyebrow. "The Major-General's new personal security? I've seen him; I wondered if you planted him there. Is he loyal to you?"

Jihoon hesitated. "Not exactly. But he's not loyal to the Empire either. He's an undercover rebel."

Vesta leaned back and laughed. "Well, fuck. You do seem to find these strange people, Jihoon. Do you trust this Captain?"

"I have to. Will you help him?"

Vesta reached into her purse for some cigarettes and fumbled with the lighter before taking a deep breath and nodding.

"You're going to get me killed someday, Lee Jihoon."

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

Lieutenant Colonel Lee Jihoon paced the long corridor anxiously.

The Brigadier-General had sent for Jihoon to report to his cabin at once. Considering that the old man preferred to discuss even critically important military matters over alcohol and music, being summoned to the Brigadier-General's office in the middle of the day was highly unusual.

Jihoon wished he could be sure that it was good news.

The door to the office opened.

"Jihoon! Come in!"

Jihoon entered and promptly saluted the Brigadier-General. The senior officer had a much more luxurious and spacious cabin than Jihoon, but even the Brigadier-General could not be rid of the permanent fixture that was the Empire's conspicuous golden rose statue.

It glimmered brightly behind the Brigadier-General's wrinkled face.

"Sir, you called for me."

"I have some news for you, Lieutenant Colonel. It's about your transfer application to the Border Forces," the Brigadier-General began. He pulled out a pair of spindly glasses and squinted at the document on his desk.

Jihoon's heart leapt.

"Yes, sir?"

"It's been denied."

The disappointment on Jihoon's face was unconcealable. The Brigadier-General sighed and lowered his glasses with a frown.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant Colonel. You should have been a prime candidate. Perhaps that incident with the stolen firearms influenced Major General Yang's decision. You can always re-apply in six months."

A sense of despair was beginning to take over Jihoon, and he didn’t know how to stop it from consuming him.

Was this it? Was this the end of the road?

He had been hoping that he would receive some information from Captain Kwon or Vesta, but they had nothing to report from their espionage of Major General Jung except news about the increasing rebel activity near the coasts. It appeared that either Major-General Jung had nothing to hide, or he was simply too good at hiding it.

And now the Border Forces were shut to him for another six months.

The Brigadier-General seemed sympathetic.

"Never mind the Border Forces, Jihoon. I have a much more important task that I need you to do for me. If you can pull it off, it will certainly erase any black mark on your record from that unfortunate firearms robbery."

Jihoon nodded, although he had lost interest.

"Of course, Brigadier-General."

"What do you know about the rebel uprisings near the coast?"

Jihoon knew plenty; but none of it was from official sources so he had to feign innocence. The coastal regions were the only fertile agricultural lands in the Empire. Combined with the abundance of seafood, they were a primary geographical source of food for the rest of the Empire. If the worst of the rebel uprisings infiltrated the coast, the Empire could be faced with a devastating famine that would impact even Military Base 1.

"Not much, sir."

"The coastal folk have been uncooperative for a while, but the situation is worsening. These are not soldiers; they're farmers and fishermen and they can be controlled. But we have reason to believe they might join forces with some of the more dangerous rebels."

Jihoon nodded. "I suppose the rebels could use the farmers and fishermen as an opportunity to incite some violence."

"I need you to go on a peacekeeping mission to the coastal region."

Jihoon visibly flinched. The last thing he wanted to do was go thousands of miles away from the heart of the military that his half-brother had died investigating, to shush some poor farmers.

"Brigadier-General, I am sure you don't need someone like me to control some farmers and fishermen. I'd really like to re-apply to the Border Forces-"

"You need to wait six months to reapply."

"But surely-"

The Brigadier-General had already turned away from him.

"You leave tomorrow."

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

#seventeen scenarios #woozi scenarios #seventeen angst #woozi x reader #seventeen x reader #woozi angst #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen imagines #dystopian!au

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holylulusworld · 28 days

Text

A parted land (5)

Summary: Alphas are almost extinct, and omegas rule the new world.

Pairing: Nomad!(Alpha)Steve Rogers x Omega!Reader, Feral!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Characters: Stephen Strange

Warnings: dystopian world, language, a/b/o, Steve is smitten by you, mentions of extinction and death, a hint of fluff, possessive/protective Steve, scenting, feral Bucky

A/N: It's been a while, huh...

Divider @firefly-graphics

A brand-new land (4)

No man’s land masterlist

“Bucky?” You ask while keeping an eye on the alpha chained to the ground. “You know that man? How?”

“He’s…” Steve doesn’t know how to explain to you how much the man chained to the ground means to him. “I guess you know him as the Winter Soldier. But before all that, he was my best friend. James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Oh—OH! Sorry, I didn’t remember the name,” you crouch down to get a better look at Bucky. “I think I read an article about him some years back.”

“Buck, what happened,” Steve crouches down next to you, to make sure that Bucky doesn’t see him as a threat. “Can you hear me, my friend? It’s me, Steve.”

Bucky lifts his head. He sniffs in your direction and purrs low in his throat. His eyes glow scenting an omega after what feels like ages.

“Omega,” he growls. “OMEGA!”

“Y/N, maybe you should leave. I don’t think your presence will help—” Steve huffs when you slowly crawl toward his friend. “Y/N! What did I just say?”

“Your presence won’t help him,” you shush Steve. He’s a possessive and jealous alpha and doesn’t want to share you with his friend but this can’t be helped.

“Y/N…omega…” Steve licks his lips. “Be careful. He won’t remember that he used to belong to my pack and that he's my best friend.”

“Well, I’ll make him part of my pack then,” you scoot closer to Bucky. “I won’t hurt you.” You softly speak to the alpha who flinches when you lift your hand. “Hi there.”

“Omega,” Bucky snarls.

“Look at you,” you coo and carefully run your hand over his metal arm. “A strong and wild alpha right in front of me.”

Bucky tilts his head.

“What’s your name,” you move even closer, earning a snarl from Steve. “I’m Y/N, and you know the grumpy alpha watching us. It’s Stevie, your friend.”

“Stevie,” Bucky repeats. “Omega.”

“We won’t hurt you, Bucky,” you sit next to him to inhale his scent deeply. Just like Steve before, Bucky’s scent makes your toes curl, and you purr low in your throat.

“Fuck,” Steve curses loudly watching your reaction when you catch his friend’s scent. “Y/N, be careful.” He says again, afraid you will turn your back on him.

“What does a pretty alpha like you do in this cell?” You move closer again to run both of your hands over Bucky’s chest and up to his neck. “Don’t you want to join my pack?” You lean closer to whisper in his ear. “I wouldn’t mind having two alphas.”

Steve grits his teeth. He puffs his chest and snarls in your direction.

“Y/N.”

“Shush, Steve. He’s slowly relaxing,” you stop Steve from dragging you out of the room to show everyone he laid claim on you. He may be an alpha, but you have been the leader of a pack for longer than him.

Bucky allows you to touch his chest, he hums and watches you run your hands over his body.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks. “You’re my omega.”

“I think you got something wrong,” you look over your shoulder to size Steve up. “You’re part of my pack. My alpha. This doesn’t mean my pack cannot grow. Bucky needs a pack, and I’m the one in charge.”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest. He looks away and sniffs.

“Are you pouting?” you smirk at Steve. “Aw, you’re still my favorite alpha, okay. Why don't you come over here and allow Bucky to scent you too? Move slowly and lower your head. We don’t want him to lash out.”

“Captain Rogers, I don’t think this is a good idea. I needed months before he stopped snapping at me. He’s still a feral alpha. Your friend or not.”

“We need any help to rebuild this world or set your plan into motion. If we want to fix the mess our world is, we will need this alpha,” you snarl in Strange’s direction. You still don’t trust him. Maybe it’s because of his powers or the fact that you can’t scent him.

“Buck, it’s me,” Steve follows your order. He slowly moves toward you and his friend, head bowed to not scare or anger his friend. “Steve. You remember me, right? We are friends. No. We are family.”

Bucky breathes heavily. He grits his teeth and starts fighting the magic chains holding him in place. The alpha growls loudly and tugs at the restraints.

“OMEGA!” He gets impatient because you stopped touching him. “MINE!”

“She’s mine, Buck,” Steve growls, making you flinch. Great. That’s the last thing you need. A feral alpha versus Captain America. “MINE!”

“Miss,” Stranges claps his hands. You are suddenly outside the room, and the door is back in its place. “You need to stay away from them. They haven’t seen an omega in years. Your scent is driving them up the wall, and they will kill each other if you remain inside the room.”

“Dr. Strange,” you sigh and place your hand on his shoulder. “I know you had a hard time protecting this place and finding a way to undo the events leading up to this point. But I was the leader of a pack for longer than five minutes. Alphas and Omegas followed my lead. So, leave this to me.”

“They will hurt you or worse,” worry flashes in his eyes when he looks at you. “What if they team up to mate you? What if I can’t save you?”

You chuckle. “Doc, that wouldn’t be the worst way to go down.” You grab his hand, squeezing it tightly. "If this goes awry, I have a diary in my backpack. I noted the location of the survivors I met. Maybe it helps.”

“Y/N don’t do this,” he tries to stop you, but you touch the door, and it disappears. “If you need me, just think my name.”

You nod and step inside the room, immediately catching both alphas' attention. They look your way, eyes glued to you as their chests heave up and down.

“We need to talk this out, guys,” you look over your shoulder at Strange. “Release him. If he attacks us, I’ll scream, and you can get us out like you did with me before.”

Strange nods and claps his hands. The door reappears, and the chains holding Bucky to the ground disappear. The alpha cocks his head. He looks at you, purring low in his throat.

You expect him to pounce on you and scent you, but he sits back on his heels, just watching you and Steve for a moment. He tilts his head, eyes zeroing in on Steve.

“St-“ you shriek when Bucky pounces on Steve, not you. You’re ready to help Steve but the feral alpha sniffs at Steve’s neck, growling low in his throat. “Steve.”

“Buck,” Steve tries not to give in to his instinct and pushes the alpha off him. He lies stiffly under his friend, allowing the alpha to scent him. “How have you been?”

“Guys, that’s not what I had in mind,” you chuckle nervously. “Is there something I should know? How close are you and Bucky?”

“We are friends. No – after all we’ve been through together, we are brothers,” Steve looks up at Bucky, a content smile on his lips. “He used to protect me when I was still the sick and small boy from Brooklyn.”

Bucky considers Steve’s words. He looks at you, eyes darkening as his eyes land on your marred mating gland. “OURS?” He asks, eyes searching Steve’s.

“Ours,” Steve confirms without missing a beat. “Only ours…”

More tags in reblog.

No man’s land

@undecidedsworld, @pono-pura-vida, @balloncinveronnie

#steve rogers #alpha!steve rogers #bucky barnes #alpha!bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stephen strange #a/b/o #dystopian au #no mans land (5)

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esprei · 2 months

Note

I would love to see more of that dystopia! Emmet stuff you did! Can you draw more of him???

AHHHH OMG YES OF COURSE! this is my favorite emmet that i've ever made ever so I will gladly draw him! :'D 💖💖💖 please enjoy him in his workshop/blacksmithing gear (aka he wears an apron and actually uses his goggles and gloves XD)

#submas #subway boss emmet #subway boss kudari #subway bosses #submas au #dystopian au #my art #anonymous #asks #for real he has my whole heart i love him ;-;#i did a ton more drawings of him that i'll post separately at a later time :D

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staticwither · 8 months

Text

Something silly for the dystopian au I’ve been seeing, an introduction of sorts.

wanted to wish @thegunnsara HAPPYYYY BIRTHDAYYYYY(◍˃̶ᗜ˂̶◍)ﾉ”. These were actually their own singular drawings but I turned it into a comic since I found out about your bday haha. Maybe I went overboard on this but your art has been such an inspiration I couldn’t help but continue to work on it even though I was already late. I hope you like it Ingunn :]

#staticwither art #dystopian au #artwork #sona

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secondjulia · 5 months

Text

Necessary but Stupid -> The StarvingArtist!Dream/Plasma AU You Didn't Request

UM. So. This was definitely just a weird little AU idea I had... definitely not while hooked up at csl daydreaming about Dream & Hob... that I was just going to dump in @gabessquishytum's Ask, as one does with weird little AU ideas. And then it kind of exploded. Into an actual story.

---Rated: G. Logistics in the tags. Ao3 link ---

There's no stopping the dark cloud that passes over Hob's head the moment he opens the door to the plasma center. But now he can smile brightly through it and let the storm blow quietly away. The dark memories this place holds still surface every time he walks in, but he's never once considered not going. Even though it's been ten years since Eleanor and the babe died of some rare blood condition that triggered childbirth complications, Hob's still there twice a week, every week, rain or shine.

He waves to the clerk at the desk. The security guard greets him with a comment about the latest football match, and Hob makes an appropriately pained, commiserating expression. He asks the technician taking his blood pressure how his honeymoon went — Côte d'Albâtre, right? — and Hob reminisces cheerily about his own trips to France.

Nobody’s ever exactly happy at the plasma center, but the sunny professor’s relentlessly friendly chatter brightens everyone’s day. All the staff know him by name, his surprisingly colorful stories can help pass the time on those long-line days, and his smile always lights up the room.

Sure, Hob can be kind of opinionated — like whenever he declares that death is stupid and nobody should have to die of preventable diseases! Everyone just goes along with it, and it’s so cruel! (Nobody actually disagrees, but he is very vocal about it.) The first time he said this — sitting hunched with downcast eyes, just weeks after his wife’s death — his voice was soft with hopelessness, and it cracked as he held back tears. But ten years later, when people ask him why he’s still doing this when he’s a tenured professor with a summer cottage and a retirement plan, Hob declares jovially that death is stupid! Nobody has to die when he can give them something they need from his own arms — it’s a renewable resource!

Hob, it cannot be said enough, brightens everyone's day — usually.

But not today. Not everyone's.

Dream cannot believe the insufferable words coming out of this man’s mouth. It's the first day Dream’s set foot in this particular center, and he already wants to go home.

But home is the problem. Dream's new apartment is much cheaper than the building that just evicted him, but this latest series of paintings are taking far longer to complete than he'd hoped. And also, the art world just fucking sucks. Dream can't fool himself. Even when the paintings are ready, it's unlikely they'll sell well enough or soon enough to plug the gaps in his income.

For years, Dream played the whole shitty-jobs roulette to support his art, but ever since he was kidnapped and spent years in a glass cage in a basement, he can’t even manage that. Seriously, try explaining that kind of resumé gap to a job interviewer. When he does manage to get work, it always goes bad fast. Dream wasn’t exactly totally undamaged before, but now he feels like he's all scars.

Dream is not here by choice. He cannot imagine who would be.

He'd gone to his old plasma center for years — till he was forced to move — in order to make ends meet. Today, he's here to fill in the glaring gap between the meager payment he got for a small watercolor last January, his savings, and a near-maxed-out credit card. (Nearly maxed out in the hasty scramble to get to a cheaper place to live. Moving was expensive. Funny how that works.) The plasma center is, in some ways, far preferable to many of the jobs he's had in the past, and it allows Dream to spend more time on his art. But it is absolutely unfathomable how anybody could pursue an eternity of this if they didn’t have to.

Dream keeps his head down avoiding the attention of the chatty professor. He stays quiet. His cold, bony hands are tucked into his long cardigan sleeves except for when he's chugging water, nearly by the gallon. He's about 2kg from the next weight class. Unfortunately, he's lost weight since his eviction, but if he could bump the scale a little higher, it would mean a higher draw — and a slightly higher payment. He's always cold these days, so the heavy sweater isn't a hardship, and the water fills up his stomach and supplements his inadequate lunch of oatmeal and stolen sugar packets.

The first time Dream meets Professor Hob’s eyes is when they’re sliding the needle into his arm and Dream has to turn his head away sharply. Dream was never afraid of needles — not until that night when someone (he later learned it was a twisted old cult leader named Burgess) stuck him with… something that knocked him out cold and he woke up in the basement. These days, although he's done this many times before, when the metal pricks his skin, Dream still lays frozen like an ice sculpture as his heart pounds against his chest.

He has sold his vintage leather jacket, his treasured collection of elegant handmade cloaks (there was a theatrical phase, it’s complicated), and most of his books (the shelves of his sparse apartment now hold only a few cheap volumes of blank paper for his sketches). But it wasn’t enough.

Burgess was years ago, but Dream's life still lies in ruins.

He does not like being here. But it seems that this — his body's materials, his very essence — is the only thing of value he has to offer the world. This most basic biological function, the blood pumping through his veins, is all anyone wants of him now.

So despite his fear, he lets them bleed him.

Hob is usually quiet when he’s hooked up to the machine. He'll chat in the line and in the lobby and at the vitals check, but on the donation floor, he politely minds his own business. Here, everyone retreats into their own world, usually scrolling on their phone or staring at the clock. People don't usually feel like talking when they’ve got a needle in their arm. And Hob’s an extrovert, not an asshole.

But today, the man beside him looks over, and Hob can’t wrench his eyes away. The man is thin and sheet white and his eyes are huge and watery over jutting cheekbones. His lips might be trembling.

“Alright there?” Hob asks kindly.

The man’s head twitches. It might be a nod.

Hob has seen people pass out here before. With the way this guy looks, Hob’s mildly shocked that anyone thought it was a good idea to drain him of vital fluids. But the people here know their business. His numbers must be under control, or else he wouldn’t’ve been allowed in.

Still, under control doesn’t necessarily mean ok.

So Hob gently keeps the conversation going with the man. Dream, he learns and his heart flutters at the name. He weirdly doesn’t seem bothered by Hob’s donation floor chatter (maybe because he's too bothered by the needle in his arm to notice anything else). Dream doesn’t even pull out a phone. He seems to hang on Hob’s every word of small talk.

“I can shut up if you’d life,” Hob offers when he realizes with a shock that he’s babbled through the entire first draw. “It just seemed like you needed some distraction.”

“Please.” Dream blushes slightly. Well, at least his skin is getting some blood. “Tell me about… your experiences. What… have you been doing?”

Huh?

What has he been doing? That’s vague.

But if anyone can find a way to fill a vague prompt, it’s Hob. So he chatters some more about the union organizing at his university and a ridiculous new scheduling system for the adjuncts — it’s like they’ve taken all the worst aspects of on-demand scheduling from the fast food industry and applied it to higher education for some incomprehensible reason. One of his colleagues had a class — and £2000 of pay — cancelled two days before term started. But not everything’s bad. Hob knows the students are planning a walkout next week, which he fully supports and has already adjusted his lessons to compensate for the lost time. Also, there’s a new pizza place on campus which is rather decent.

He really is just rambling.

But Dream seems to need it. He hasn’t looked down at his arm once, and Hob’s certain that’s for the best.

Dream has to admit that the insufferable professor has made the time go by a lot quicker. He’s shocked when they’re sliding the needle out of his arm, then wrapping his elbow up, and he’s free to go. He mumbles what he hopes is a polite goodbye to Hob, who is also finishing up, and then practically stumbles out into the rain.

He clutches his cardigan around him and pulls up his hood and plods away from the center. This place is closer to the new apartment than his previous plasma center, but it’s still a half hour hike home. The buses take even longer — his crappy apartment isn't exactly on a convenient route. But at least walking saves him a few quid.

“Hey!”

The voice makes Dream flinch. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a car slow down beside him, and his heart ratchets up in his chest. He doesn’t look over, only hunches deeper into his wet cardigan and walks faster.

“Hey, Dream!”

Oh.

Belatedly, Dream recognizes Hob’s voice. He finally looks up to see Hob looking out his car window and smiling despite the rain streaming onto his face.

“Looks like you could use a ride!” Hob jerks his head toward the passenger’s seat. “Hop in!”

Dream stares at the kindly professor. Who offers a stranger a ride in their car? Sure, Dream spent the last forty five minutes listening to every mundane detail of this guy's super normie professional life, but they still barely know each other! And if Hob actually knew Dream — a failed starving artist and all around fuckup, consistently two minutes away from homelessness — there’s no way he’d want to associate with him outside of the polite minimum of chatter at the center.

So what the fuck is Hob playing at?

“Come on, you’ll get soaked!” Hob prods.

Fear strikes Dream, and he recoils, stumbling away from the vehicle.

“Dream? You alright there?”

But Dream is already running, tearing off through the rain. He cuts through a shitty neglected park, climbs a fence and gets chased by a rottweiler through a closed off parking lot, and dashes across a highway — almost getting hit twice. He doesn’t stop running until he’s home.

Or, well, what passes for his home now.

Dream dries off, makes some tea, and grabs a sketchbook. His hand shakes as he doodles, but the process calms him and grounds his mind.

Then, as usual, after his fear begins to ebb, he feels stupid.

His mind replays the afternoon's events. Hob’s smile is brilliant in his memory. Though the initial snatches of overheard conversation were insufferable — not to mention incomprehensible — his recitation of the mundane details of life had been oddly calming. And, though Dream had perhaps not appreciated it in the moment, Hob had seemed genuinely concerned.

The more Dream thinks about it, the stupider he feels. Worse, he feels ashamed. How rude to run from Hob, who’d only wanted to help!

The scar tissue that has proliferated over Dream’s heart has truly damaged his ability to function among decent people. That night, he lays awake for a long time thinking about this. He should probably just never go back to the plasma center. He can’t imagine facing Hob after reacting so poorly to his kindness.

But the next day, after he scribbles up the month’s expenses and tries to make the math work, Dream realizes he has no choice.

The day after that, he’s plodding back to the plasma center.

The feelings of shame are almost overwhelming, and Dream slouches in with his head lowered, shoulders hunched, and eyes averted from everyone.

“Dream!” Hob’s voice is like a warm bubble bath. “Hope you got home alright.”

Dream can barely look at him, but Hob's smile is like a ray of sun on Dream’s face. There’s a cloud of concern shadowing his eyes, but he’s otherwise as cheery as ever.

“Forgive me. I…” Dream cannot explain.

“Look, I’m sorry. I totally overstepped,” Hob says. “I know I can be a bit much, and I shouldn’t’ve pushed.”

Dream cannot believe that Hob is apologizing to him.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Hob said gingerly, “was that your first time? It’s just you didn’t seem particularly pleased with the whole process. I thought I’d likely never see you in here again.”

“It was not. I have done this…” Too many times to count. “…frequently.” Dream finds the prospect of explaining the complexity of his situation too daunting. But he is touched by Hob’s concern. “I do not enjoy the process.”

Hob makes a sympathetic noise.

“But I did enjoy…” Dream pauses. What the fuck is he doing? Hob’s been kind enough to overlook his rudeness; Dream should just shut up and leave him alone. But maybe Dream has been alone too long, been too long without a sympathetic ear, because he keeps on mumbling, “I enjoyed hearing about your university. With the union… and the pizza… and everything.”

Impossibly, Hob brightens even further. “I could take you! The pizza really is delicious—Oh, shit, sorry, I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” The cloud of concern is back as he takes in Dream’s downcast gaze. “I’m being too much. Sorry, I didn't mean to push!”

“No, not at all. It sounds lovely. I just…” Dream shifts awkwardly. “They don’t exactly pay us enough here for going out.”

“Oh, I’ll get it!" Hob says with a wave of his hand. "It’s no problem. I’d love to take you out. You looked like you could’ve used a good meal after that last one. Have you at least eaten something so far today?” Hob tries to keep the worry out of his voice so he doesn’t sound like a mother hen. All the instructional materials are very explicit about not donating on an empty stomach, but he knows that people do what they have to.

“I have,” Dream says honestly. His lips twitch as he takes in Hob’s worried look. But Hob's smile, even suppressed, is a beautiful thing. “Really,” Dream stresses. “Oatmeal is cheap. I've had enough to be getting on with things. But later…”

“Great!” Hob’s heart flutters, but he stamps down the feeling. The memory of Dream running from him twists at his heart. He never wants to make him afraid again.

On the donation floor, they're next to each other again. And again Hob chatters happily about whatever he can think of to keep Dream distracted. It all seems to go well until they emerge together into the parking lot and Hob notices Dream tense as he glances at Hob’s car.

“We can hop on the bus, if you prefer,” Hob says. “The campus is just down the main line, and I've got extra passes.”

Dream blushes, and his shoulders hunch like he's ashamed. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“It’s nothing of the sort! It saves on gas and it's good for the planet!”

At the bus stop, Hob notices the way Dream’s gaze constantly flicks around his surroundings. Even when he looks down and hunches in on himself, his eyes remain alert, as if he's still hyperaware of every movement on his periphery. Hob wants so badly to reach out and comfort him and wipe away whatever has caused him to move through life with such fear, but he doesn't dare overstep.

Hob is glad that the pizza place is in the bustling, well-lit central food court. Dream's body relaxes somewhat, and that specific tension which Hob had notice in the parking lot doesn't return. Hob buys him a giant slice of spinach, mushroom, and feta and a sealed bottle of water, and Dream even cracks a smile.

“I apologize for my behavior,” Dream says as they find seats at a plastic table in the middle of the food court.

“No need," Hob says. "I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You were being kind, and I reacted… extremely.” Dream takes a deep breath and then a long sip of water.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Hob hastens to assure him, "about… whatever happened… if you don't want to."

Dream nods. He knows. Despite his annoyingly resurgent fear, he feels safe around Hob. So slowly, hesitantly, he begins to explain.

It’s an abbreviated form of the story. Dream avoids the details of how Burgess thought he could siphon the life force from vibrant young adults. How he'd drawn a whole following into his delusion, even though he'd ultimately kept Dream for himself. How (Dream had learned later) Burgess had boasted about having a fresh young man, the font of youth, trapped in his basement — and no one had done anything, whether because he was just a rich eccentric who could get away with a "joke" like that or because he'd paid enough people off. He didn't tell Hob how the elder Burgess hadn't ever been held accountable because he'd died before any of it had come to light, and the younger Burgess had fallen into a coma. A care worker had ultimately taken a wrong turn, stumbled into the basement, and that was how the police were finally called to Fawney Rig. But since no one was alive (or conscious) for a big, thrilling trial, the entire ordeal just fizzled quietly into the background.

It’s not the whole story. But it's enough.

Hob’s face grows progressively more horrified. He's abandoned his half-eaten pesto and prosciutto slice. It sits cold in front of him now. He feels sick.

“I make art,” Dream says into the silence. “It is not lucrative, but I can work when and how I wish. I have not… had a great deal of luck with traditional employment. Especially not since… those events.”

“Right. Of course." Hob's voice cracks over his words. For once, he's struggling to extract his usual chatter. "Can’t imagine anything’s easy after that.”

Hob doesn't touch the remainder of his pizza, but Dream polishes his off. He looks oddly relaxed now, as if, in the telling, some of the weight of the horrifying story has slid from his body.

“I’d love to see your art,” Hob says on the bus back to the plasma center parking lot. Belatedly, he cringes at the presumption, wondering if it's too much, knowing now that he really ought not to push his interest onto a bloody kidnap victim.

“I have a website,” Dream says, bringing it up on his phone and showing the address to Hob. Then he stands, though they're only about halfway back to the center. “This stop is closer to my home. I… Thank you. For the meal. And the kind ear. Perhaps… I will see you next Tuesday?”

“Of course,” Hob says, and a little bubble of happiness rises in his chest. “It’s Tuesday and Thursday for me until the schedule changes next term.”

Over the next few weeks, Hob isn’t always next to Dream on the donation floor. But he asks Dream to tell him about his latest project afterwards, so Dream has something to think about during the donation. And also so that it's not just Hob chattering away at their post-donation dinners. Which are happening regularly now. Sometimes they go for pizza, sometimes a good curry or a hefty shawarma; Hob introduces Dream to the pubs with the best (and biggest) burgers. He knows all the places to get a solid, filling dinner, not because he's concerned about getting his money's worth but because Hob just enjoys a good meal and he's more than happy to help put some meat on Dream's bones.

And get the artist to open up.

Slowly, Dream begins to do just that.

It starts to seem like Dream feels safe with Hob. When they're out, he stands close to Hob, as if comforted by his presence. His shoulders begin to straighten out, and he hunches less when they're together. Dream's gaze is still alert, but it rarely sinks to the floor now, and his eyes don't flick fearfully around so much when he's with Hob.

Three weeks after they meet, Dream lets Hob drive him home.

Two weeks after that, he invites Hob inside to see his current projects.

Hob knew Dream was a good artist from the first glimpse at his website, but seeing the bright canvases in person is just stunning. The glistening abstractions echo the swirling galaxies and deep, black voids of the universe. The colors blend in fantastic points of light or unearthly flames or brilliant streaks across the sky. The textures — flattened out in the photos — give an impression of looking into entire worlds. The brushstrokes are mountain ranges and deep ocean trenches and shaded valleys where, somehow, Hob can imagine entire populations living and thriving within the fibers of the canvas.

"The, erm… the university has spaces for community exhibits," Hob says, struggling to bring himself out of the captivating images as if wading out of a dream. How appropriate. "I could look into that, see if you could do a show. Maybe the Art Department could have you in for a lecture, too — you could talk about the real-life challenges of being an artist, the actual work involved, the practical—" Oh no. He's being too much again. "I mean, of course, you don't have to! I won't say anything without—"

Dream's arms are around Hob's shoulders before Hob can even turn away from the canvas. His wild, dark hair is tucked against Hob's cheek as Dream tightens his grip.

Hob's hands slowly move to Dream's back. He can't speak for a long moment. Instead, his hands gently rub against the thin material of Dream's shirt. Hob can feel the edges of his spine and ribcage, but Dream also feels softer than Hob would've imagined the first time he saw him, pale and shaking, weeks ago.

"Thank you," Dream murmurs. He steps back, and his gaze lowers, but now it's not filled with fear and sadness. He's smiling shyly. "If you could do that, I-I… would be grateful."

Hob can do that!

He's in Medieval History himself, but he's friends with half the Art History department due to overlapping lectures, the occasional historical consultation or spontaneous debate, and just being a friendly guy. And the Art History people know a few of the more curious, historically-aware Art people due to various collaborations and consultations on the evolution of modern styles and techniques and the socio-political contexts of artistic development.

Hob, with his talent for striking up conversation, takes less than a week to find several interested parties. And once he shows them Dream's work, everyone is extremely eager to invite the talented local artist to campus!

The next time Hob walks into the plasma center, Dream is already beaming. His smile is bright enough to singlehandedly banish the residual storm cloud that always follows Hob over the threshold.

"I hit the next weight class," Dream says. He leans subtly into Hob's side.

"Good on you!" Hob says, beaming right back. When he tells Dream about the interest in his work, Dream's arm snakes around his waist for a subtle but firm half-hug.

At Dream's first show (he's already scheduled in with both the Art and Art History Departments — the latter wants to address the reality of artist's lives across time — and, hell, Hob's even lobbying his own History Department to get Dream in as part of a series on creative work throughout history), Hob is enamored with one canvas he hasn't seen before. From a distance it's a dark oil-slick abstraction with iridescent slashes of green and blue, but up close, Hob can see the feathery edges of wings.

He cannot explain the sudden, confusing wave of sorrow-joy-awe it provokes deep in his chest.

"Departed souls," Dream says softly, coming up behind Hob, "come back as ravens. Or so it is believed by some."

Hob sniffs and tries to control the itch in his eyes as he turns toward Dream. "Oh?"

"I painted this one soon after I regained my freedom. It felt like a part of me had not survived the imprisonment. It was… necessary, perhaps, to lose something in order to regain my life, but it hurt nonetheless."

"Oh." Hob doesn't know what else to say, but he reaches out, gingerly wrapping an arm around Dream, waiting for any hint of refusal, but Dream turns into him and clutches him tight, and Hob's arms tighten around him in turn. "It's beautiful," he finally says, his words muffled against Dream's hair.

"I think now… maybe… some part of me that had not survived… has come back. In some form."

And Hob is gone. Tears leak down into Dream's hair. Hob clutches at him for support, but he can feel himself shaking, and now it's Dream rubbing soothing patterns into his back and tightening the embrace.

When they finally pull back, Dream wipes Hob's cheeks with his palm. He tilts his head in a silent question.

"Just… death," Hob says. "It's bloody stupid, isn't it? In all its forms. Necessary, maybe but stupid. I don't want any part of it."

Hob laughs at himself, as if the brash declaration itself is stupid.

But Dream only nods; he can see that there are deep forces moving beneath Hob's usually cheery exterior.

On the way home, he listens as Hob finally opens up about his wife and the unborn babe. After a decade, Hob says, the wound has closed up, he has "moved on" in all the ways one is supposed to move on, he has a new — and rather wonderful — life. But the scar will remain forever. It still hurts, but he's grateful for the life he had and the new one he's grown into.

"Shit," Hob says suddenly.

Dream looks around and realizes they haven't driven back to his own crappy apartment building.

"Sorry." Hob wipes his eyes. "I've blabbered so much, I wasn't paying attention. Driven myself right home."

"It's alright," Dream says. He peeks over at Hob shyly. "I've never seen your place."

Hob blinks at him for a moment — Dream's heart thuds against his throat — and then, despite the tear tracks still drying on his cheeks, Hob's face breaks into a brilliant smile.

"Are you hungry?" Hob asks. "I can actually cook quite well. It's not always pub food and pizza."

With perfect timing, Dream's stomach gives an almost painful rumble. "I'm starving."

Inside, Hob cooks a delectable dinner. Dream watches Hob move about the kitchen, chattering happily — he's already inviting Dream back over for brunch and maybe a Netflix marathon and Christmas. And Dream's mind is blossoming with new paintings, these ones bright with twining paths and colliding galaxies and shared dreams.

Hob is vaguely aware that he might be babbling into too much territory again, but when he sees Dream watching him with that dreamy sparkly in his eyes, his heart is just too full to care. As they eat together, he lets himself just be excited and not worry about reining himself in. Truly, he might not mind an eternity of this.

And Dream is thinking much the same thing.

#Apparently paid plasma donation is illegal in the UK & you can't donate 2x/week SO...#This is also the Dystopian AU where all the regulations have been axed sorry #+I don't know how buses work in the UK. This is how they work in my city :)#the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #fanfic #dreamling #my fanfic

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