a/n: this story is all over the place oops. also i am a million years too late to make a story about the end of the prophecy and the doors of death but i did and i love leo.
fandom: percy jackson
summary: everyone is the main character of their own story, but sometimes, it’s the side characters that deserve the spotlight—even if they don’t think that way themselves. (leo valdez on self-loathing, sacrifices, and theatre references.)
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Act I
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The stage is set.
(Seven half-bloods shall answer the call.)
The actors are in position aboard the Argo II. Each of them has their lines in the script memorized, ready to sail among the clouds.
(To storm or fire, the world must fall.)
Behind them, the lights flicker on to reveal the stage to the rest of the world. The audience, demigods and mortals alike, holds its breath in anticipation.
(An oath to keep with a final breath.)
Hushed whispers backstage signal the start of the performance, a quest to prevent Gaea from rising. To prevent the world from falling.
(And foes bear arms at the Doors of Death.)
With a swoop, the curtains draw open.
.
“Everyone is the main character of their own story,” Leo mutters to himself, “even me.”
And then he laughs bitterly because yeah, right. It sounds like a desperate lie even to his own ears, like something he’d only say to himself to make it feel as if he had a role to play in this whole-saving-the-world business.
The audience isn’t here for him, he grumbles, of course they aren’t here to watch him, not when there are so many other—better—performances to see. Practice makes perfect, they say, so why isn’t he improving? Why isn’t he making any progress? It’s never seems to be enough, and fuck, he just wants someone to tell him that he isn’t a hopeless cause. Because he’s trying, isn’t he?
Gods, he’s trying his best.
These days, he feels cold, distant, which is ridiculous; it’s all ridiculous because he’s holding a fireball in his hands but he can’t feel its warmth at all. It’s hot and he’s sweating and there are red sparks dancing on his fingertips, but Leo feels nothing except for the temperature that seems to suddenly dip below zero as he shivers alone in the room. Cold. Not like he can fully control the fire, anyway.
So ridiculous.
He waves the fire away with a flick of his wrist.
His flame burns out.
(Or maybe it had never been lit in the first place.)
.
The voice inside his head asks, Are you sure you want to do this?
Yes, Leo answers back.
He walks onto the stage, mind full of false confidence and heart full of doubt.
.
The theatre room is packed with people scattered all around, hushed whispers anticipating a great performance, popcorn dropped carelessly on the floor. Countless eyes stare at him, smiling, smiling, how long until the smiles slip off their faces?
His heart plays a requiem of regret. They expect great things from him, one of the seven; save the world, Leo Valdez, they whisper into his ears, put your life on the line for the quest, for the gods, for the demigods, for the mortals. The greater good.
So many fucking expectations.
Leo takes the microphone in his hands, stares right back at the audience, and pretends that his voice doesn’t waver when he opens his mouth to speak.
.
The director calls out cut. It sure doesn’t take long for him to be ushered off the stage.
Just like that, Leo’s time is up.
“You’re bright, Leo—blindingly bright. Like a spotlight on full power. It’s too much. Your performance was good, but unfortunately it’s not what we’re looking for right now.”
Some shitty euphemism for saying that he’s been rejected. But they’re not wrong.
Because that’s the thing with spotlights: they, themselves, glow brightly in the dark theatre room, but it’s the people who stand under the spotlight that get the applause in the end.
.
Leo wants desperately to believe that he has a greater purpose in the world and that the Fates have planned out something heroic for him, he wants to be more; auditions for a bigger role but ultimately doesn’t get casted. Given a substitute part instead.
Should’ve known he isn’t good enough.
(Why does he even try?)
And suddenly, it’s suffocating and no amount of cheesy, cliché jokes can help him break out of this tense atmosphere because he doesn’t belong here, he knows, doesn’t belong under the same spotlight as everyone else—and he just want to leave. But also really, really wants to stay.
Wants to stay more than anything.
To earn his place on the stage.
It’s selfish and he’s undeserving. Leo’s the one who can light a flame in his hand, but it’s Jason who truly soars among the stars, the stars of the show, and it’s Piper who is part of the main cast, gets all the good lines, and Percy and Annabeth and Hazel and Frank, but never Leo.
Never Leo.
His role is small and disposable. The odd one out. The one who connects more with machines than living, breathing people, for gods’ sake. The seventh wheel.
When he looks at his friends, Leo can see everything he’s not. They have sincere smiles and honest laughs and everything about them is so genuine it hurts. It hurts because Leo is fake, fake, a fraud and a goddamn liar and there’s nothing genuine about him at all, really. He’s just good at pretending, putting on masks, because avoiding difficult subjects is infinitely easier than telling the truth. It’s so easy.
He’s an actor who can’t act. An actor who’s too good at acting; manages to fool himself sometimes, even.
But not his friends. His friends are real and he would give up his life for any of them, in a heartbeat, but never, never can he allow them to do the same for him. Main characters don’t die—can’t die—and it’s up to the side characters to make sure of that.
So Leo Valdez lets go of the microphone, moves to his place at the back of the stage, and hands over the spotlight that was never really his to begin with.
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Act II
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It’s his turn to make the dramatic exit.
Usually, gut-wrenching feelings and warnings about the near future come to demigods in the form of dreams, but Leo just feels it this time, feels a wave of panic and dread flooding throughout his entire being. A good ten minutes have passed since the seven have reunited with Nico and it’s been ten minutes too long of happiness for half-bloods like them. They are demigods and their luck is never this good.
Leo’s brown eyes dart around quickly, flickering all over the surroundings, preparing for… something. Something like the ground crumbling, breaking apart, cracking right beneath Percy and Annabeth’s feet, which he realizes almost too late, that it’s happening right now. He makes the decision then, although it’s more of an instinct rather than a thought-out idea. In this particular story, in this legend-in-the-making that they are currently weaving, the son of Poseidon and the daughter of Athena are main characters who can’t die—who aren’t allowed to die.
The plot has to move forward, and there’s no denying that it’s easier for someone who has always been on the sidelines to be disposed of. The show must go on, as they say.
It’s Leo’s turn to make the dramatic exit.
He dives forward, shoving Percy and Annabeth out of the way just in time before the ground fully gives away. But he isn’t done: he turns around, unstrapping his tool belt and tossing it up, knowing the others are going to need it more than him now. And just before he is out of sight completely, he flashes a pose—because he’ll be damned if he isn’t going out Valdez-style.
“Complete the quest!” His last words. He’s had more than enough screen time in this story, but he feels that, on his deathbed that is rapidly approaching him from below, he has the right to be a little bit selfish with his final request. “… and don’t forget about me,” he whispers to the air.
He is the boy who understands machines more than humans, Repair Boy, one of the seven. He is Leo Valdez, Bad Boy Supreme, and he thinks that maybe, just for a second, he stood under the spotlight after all.
The Doors close.
On the surface, Jason weeps silent tears and Piper sobs and Percy and Annabeth hold onto each other, faces grim, hands shaking, knees week, not yet fully registering what happened as they watch the boy who willingly exchanged his fate with theirs disappear—
—because even if they don’t always get the spotlight, and don’t have the biggest roles to play, the side characters in a story are still irreplaceable. And they will be missed.
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The End
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Leo is the main character of this story, of his story, he realizes too late long after he has fallen into Tartarus. The rest of them will continue on, move forward, drive the plot, but he’s done his part. Leo isn’t in the next scene, or the one after that, and it’s time for him to step off the stage permanently.
He shuts his eyes. The lights fade away. The camera stops rolling.
And in the dark, the curtains finally draw together.
a/n: i’m going to pretend that it hasn’t been months since i last came on tumblr
fandom: hunter x hunter
summary:they used to be four and wild and untouchable. they used to be four and now they are three; only three, and what have they become? (kurapika is dead and he brings the world down with him.)
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There are three people in the blindingly white room. There are three people and one body.
Killua joins Gon and Leorio around the hospital bed, where the shell of their former friend lies unmoving. The blond’s eyes are a staggering contrast to the rest of the room—scarlet red on pure white. Later, when they have calmed down, Leorio will run a hand over the Kurta’s face, gently shutting his eyelids so that he looks more at peace. Even later, in a week’s time, the three of them will gather again, all dressed in black, sorrowful expressions never leaving their face, and they will try their hardest not to break down at Kurapika’s funeral. But right now, they have not gotten over the initial shock of the boy’s current state.
Kurapika is dead.
They used to be four and wild and untouchable. Gathered together in the company of moonlit smiles, gazing at the galaxy above with a child-like innocence, a lifetime of laughter to keep the sadder, darker thoughts at bay because they were together and it was enough. Joined tightly by what some may call Fate, but to them, it was simply Life and the universe had been kind, once, a long time ago.
They used to be four but now they are three. Only three, and what have they become?
Leorio had always thought that he would be the first one to go; being the oldest, he doesn’t think he can forgive himself for letting any of the boys pass on before him. Because at merely nineteen-years-old, that’s what Kurapika was: still just a boy.
They had all met at the Hunter Exam as four strangers brought together from all across the country by intertwined threads, by mere coincidence. First, Gon, Kurapika, and Leorio coming together to ride out the storm on the ship, then not long after, Killua joining them on his skateboard, and Leorio knew that they would become more than just fellow participants.
Gon, happy cheerful Gon, has never truly learned the language of grief. Instead, the tears spilling out of his eyes are hot, full of rage. He grits his teeth, hands clenching tightly on the bedsheets, seething at every living thing on the earth as the sorrow in his heart translates itself into anger because how dare they? How fucking dare they?
Ringing in his ears, he can still hear the light chuckles that make up Kurapika’s laugh. It always started off soft, as if it were a secret hidden from the world and only a select few could share the blond’s joy, but eventually it would increase in volume and Gon thinks that might be what he misses the most. The happiness.
Kurapika has died and Gon is bawling and Leorio is biting back tears and Killua—
Killua isn’t even sure what his own emotions are at the moment. Maybe he feels sadness, as he undoubtedly should. Maybe he feels angry for letting the Phantom Troupe get to a precious friend.
Maybe he doesn’t feel anything at all.
“K-Killua, are you okay?” Gon places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, sniffling up his own anguish. The island boy is unable to control his feelings and it comes out in a rush of raw emotions in the purest form.
The ex-assassin nods. He’s okay, he thinks. And that’s the problem.
He’s not supposed to be okay after finding out that his friend died.
The white-haired boy stares down at the body blanketed in white and clenches his fists by his sides, retreating inside himself because this is how he copes, how he’s always coped. He wants to think that some part of him is grieving—wants so badly to believe that he isn’t just a hollow shell that doesn’t have any emotions.
He blinks and wishes that he would cry. Looking over at Gon and Leorio, whose eyes both glisten with waterfalls of tears, he wonders why he can’t empathize with their sentiments. He wonders why he can’t be human too.
The truth is that he never got to know the Kurta all that well. Back when Killua was twelve and Kurapika was seventeen, they were both struggling with their own issues; avenging a whole clan and coming to acknowledge that one’s upbringing was flawed doesn’t leave much time for the two of them to socialize and actually spend time bonding and building relationships.
What he does know about Kurapika is that his friend was kind and compassionate and definitely the most level-headed out of all of them. He remembers the two of them both finding peace with each other, away from the ever-eventful lives of Hunters and the heated moments that would arise when Gon ate just a little too much candy and Leorio would get into one of his moods and yell at the clouds with a fist raised high.
At some point in their journey, they had undeniably become a family. The oldest, passionate Leorio, hot-headed Leorio, understood that their time together was limited the most. The feeling of loss and helplessness as he stands on the sidelines as a loved one passes on is not foreign to the aspiring doctor. The others are brothers to him and he will never regret pulling up a blanket around their sleeping forms when he is the last to fall asleep because the younger boys wear themselves out far too quickly.
Gon and Killua had formed an instant friendship through a bond that seemed to transcend lifetimes the moment they met. Best friends loyal to each other through and through, who fought like siblings, who sacrificed themselves for each other like lovers. Bright, sparkling Gon who could become friends with even the most unwilling of strangers, excited to explore the world not to follow in his father’s footsteps, but to experience everything and anything through his own eyes. And his counterpart, Killua, sweet-toothed Killua who was much like a child in many ways, who has gone through too much for his twelve years, fixated in a place between young and far too old. His body held a map of scars and bruises, old and new, that stained his pale skin, and even more that stained his mind.
They are all boys, stronger than any of them have a need to be; weaker, too.
Leorio, Gon, and Killua cling onto each other because they are the aftermaths. They are all they have left now.
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They used to be four and now they are three and they are broken.
They don’t believe that they will ever be fixed again.
.
“You will become a respectable doctor one day, Leorio. Believe in yourself.”
“If there’s anything bothering you, Killua, I’m always here to listen.”
“Gon, even if you never catch up to your father, you will still have a family here with us.”
Looking back, had they ever even thanked him for always being there?
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Killua Zoldyck exits the room first. All those years of training could never have prepared him for the heart-wrenching pain he feels at this moment. His footsteps are silent as he makes his way down the hall; it’s what he’s used to doing, what his instinct orders his body to do, and yet, isn’t he also supposed to be numb to death too? The heart really isn’t something one can train, he understands now. It’s just another thing Illumi was wrong about; just another thing Kurapika has taught him.
Gon Freecss watches and watches and watches until he can’t look any longer. His feet carry him out of the hospital, unable to shake the daunting image of a lifeless boy lying alone in stark white sheets, who used to mean so much, who means even more now. He does not greet the receptionist on his way out like he normally would; doesn’t think that he can go back to his usual routine now that the world has flipped over in the most unsettling way.
Leorio Paladiknight stays by the Kurta’s side the longest, but eventually, he too turns to leave. He walks out of the hospital room, head pointed to the floor, hands in his pockets, feet dragging along the checkered tiles. The building has become suffocating, the heavy air slowly draining the life out of him with every breath. The nurses stop to talk to him on his way out, whispered inquiries about something he doesn’t bother to listen to, and he keeps his eyes closed because he doesn’t want to look at anyone, because he doesn’t want to lose the image of his dead friend in his mind. Each step forward feels like moving backwards and what is there waiting for him in the future if not Kurapika?
The three remaining Hunters each go their separate ways. Once, they held hands around a glowing sun, travelling on winged feet to a faraway destination where their only worry would be how far they’d have to reach out to go on their next adventure. They made promises of staying in touch no matter how the circumstances disconnected them because friendships only fall apart if one lets it.
They had still been children then.
They are not children anymore. Growing up has unmasked the brutality of reality, leaving scars to be painted over tender skin and untainted beliefs and naïve dreams and wishes of forever.
They are not children anymore and they should have known that this is how their once tightly knitted knots would come undone.
Without glancing back, they leave the room that holds scarlet red eyes on pure white sheets.
I just love the myth of Persephone, i mean the real, original version of it, because it’s not like she got kidnapped, no, this bitch was la-de-da-ing in a meadow and she just happened to find an entrance to the Underworld and she was like “Imma check this out”. And she just wanders into the Underworld and discovers that hey this place ain’t too bad.
Meanwhile Hades is in the background “????? UM??? PRETTY GIRL??? WHY ARE YOU HERE?????? YOU AREN’T DEAD???”
And Persephone (who was originally called Kore just a little fyi) just looked at him and said “I like it here. I’m staying.”
And Hades kinda just went with it, until Demeter started throwing the temper tantrum of the millenium upstairs and Zeus had to intervene because this shit was getting out of hand and its actually his job to be admistrator of justice. Which considering the shit he gets up to is kinda histerical but that’s another story there.
And basically Persephone wasn’t a prisoner or kidnap victim at all she just really loved the Underworld and her (eventual) husband, and the Greeks feared her arguably more than her husband because Hades could be reasoned with but Persephone was the one laying the smack down on sinners, and really, who wouldn’t be at least a little scared of someone who’s name means something along the lines of “the destroyer”
Basically, Persephone is amazing and everbody needs to get on her level
What she means: While i loved how happy Nico was in Trials of Apollo, I find it strange how Nico miraculously recovered from all the undiagnosed and mental health issues he was suffering in Blood of Olympus, like depression and probably PTSD. It was implied in the Trials of Apollo that he felt was feeling completely content with his life with no professional help when in fact it usually takes therapy and/or medication to get over problems like that. the fact that being Will’s boyfriend was what cured him is also problematic because it implies that getting a boyfriends or girlfriend can fix mental illnesses and that you need a relationship to be happy.
ahhhh okay so reading trials of apollo has caused my feelings to resurface
nico and will are happy now together, and i’m happy for them too (especially nico because that kid deserves some love - he’s earned it) but where was the progression? i mean, it’s been a while since the war, but i wanted to see their relationship grow? not just the fact that they’re dating now??
like, i admit that their bickering is cute
but
they went from 0-100 so fast lmao and the time skip is kinda just lazy writing at this point
Summary: Killua is an assassin who takes lives and Mariko is an information broker who offers him hers because she knows too much. (“Live,” he tells the girl. And he’s aware of how ironic it sounds, because he himself has just killed someone without a second thought.)
A/N: loosely based on Izaya Orihara’s character from Durararra!! a different take on the information broker life, because all that information can seriously break a person. also, lots of character death. and Killua chose to stay as the heir.
HOW DID THIS STORY BECOME SO LONG.
Moonlight is Killua’s guide as he maneuvers himself through the silent streets of Yorknew City. The silky, pearl-coloured blanket that falls down like a curtain over the buildings is dim to normal eyes, but for a trained assassin, it illuminates more than enough.
Eighteen-year-old Killua, eyes sharp and claws extended, tracks his prey with ease, completely in his comfort zone of the night. Most of the time, he ends the lives of his targets in their sleep, just coming and going, leaving others to find a corpse in the morning. But occasionally, information leaks or they realize that they’re being targeted (because even they themselves are aware of how much of a douche they have been to others), so they run. It’s a useless, futile attempt to prolong their inevitable doom—because once a Zoldyck is involved, you’re pretty much done for, so there’s really no use resisting—but they still try to escape anyway.
The whole thing is tedious, but also kind of exhilarating, Killua admits. Because, hey, what’s the harm in having a little fun while on the job?
His target this time is a businessman—it usually is. Tonpa is a rather large man; one of those people who you can tell is wealthy just by looking at them because it’s obvious that they have more than enough to eat every day, all dressed up prettily in a suit and tie. He did something to piss off a rival company, something bad enough that caused the other company to send an assassin after him. Killua isn’t exactly sure what history these two have with each other, but that isn’t his job; his job is simply to kill.
The white-haired boy cuts through streets and freely ignores the traffic lights because when Killua runs, the human eye can hardly keep up and it’s not like he’d let himself get hit by a car, anyway. He’s inhumanly fast and it’s a joke if Tonpa thinks that he can honestly get away; after all, each of his bodyguards are already out of the game.
Killua intercepts the businessman in an alleyway from the opposite side, coming up right in front of him. Facial expressions like the one Tonpa is showing right now are what Killua lives for.
The kill is quick and clean. Killua slices the man’s head with one swift movement, a gesture used more to silence Tonpa before he can scream than to complete the job. (Because the screams still haunt Killua sometimes, in the middle of the night when he wakes up in cold sweat. Despite his reputation, the white-haired assassin is still a boy somewhere deep down.)
There is no stalling for time. No toying with his opponent. No unnecessary actions, no time wasted; with a swing of his hand, Killua shakes the blood off his fingers and retracts his claws while Tonpa’s head thumps to the floor.
The job is done. The money is secured.
Killua turns to leave when he spots movement in the shadows behind Tonpa’s body. He freezes and immediately, his hand is outstretched in front of him again, preparing for an attack.
“Who’s there?” His voice is guarded, cautious, sharp alerted eyes darting all around.
The question is met with an agonizing silence. In the background, a single car rushes by, leaving behind a world of smoke and discreetness and an eerie quietness that begins to chip away at his anxiety.
He watches the shadow shift and move forward, into the dim light that illuminates the narrow alleyway. His teal blue orbs scan the person, searching for weapons in their hands or pockets that could pose a threat, when he notices the curve of the person’s body and their feminine way of walking.
It’s a girl, he confirms when she comes to a stop just inches in front of Tonpa’s dead body, a few cautions metres away from the assassin.
“Who are you?” He asks, hoping that she has the right answers; he’s really not in the mood to murder an innocent bystander today. “Why are you here?”
She stares at him, brown eyes looking directly into teal ones, unblinking and not the least bit frightened. A breeze blows by, simultaneously brushing through the girl’s hair in gentle flutters and spreading the toxic scent of blood from the detached head. Killua gets a strong waft of the iron and he’s sure the girl smells it too, but she maintains her silence, not screaming or running like any other person would.
Her eyes flicker down at the body on the floor for a second before returning her attention back to Killua. In a voice that’s soft and hollow but crisp and clear at the same time, she whispers two words:
“Kill me.”
(Killua thinks he must have misheard because no one goes to an assassin to die; they only come to him to get someone else killed so that they can live longer.)
The girl’s gaze is steady but Killua hears the unintentional quiver in her voice when she speaks and catches the slight twitch of her lips that tells him, no, she doesn’t really want to die—not yet.
“Why?” A perfectly reasonable question. The white-haired boy asks this with a frown stretching over his lips. He’s already decided: he may be an assassin, a murderer, yes, but he refuses to kill this girl who has seemingly given up on life. In his line of work, he has seen countless people, young and old alike, who have begged to live a few more days, a few more minutes, and would give anything to be in her position. (But, of course, he kills them anyway because that’s what he is paid to do.)
He knows that what he does isn’t justice of any kind, but usually his targets have done something to, maybe not deserve their deaths, but definitely to be punished. And from what he knows so far, this girl who looks to be around his age hasn’t done anything in need of consequences—especially not from a Zoldyck.
“It doesn’t matter why,” she replies; her voice soft and still not any louder than a whisper. “I want you to kill me.” Tiredly, she closes her eyes, as if she really has no more energy to walk on this earth anymore. She is almost pleading. “You just killed that man, Tonpa, right? Doing the same for me should be easy.”
There is a pause as the world seems to hold its breath before Killua nods slowly. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right.” Walking up to her, he makes a slicing gesture with his hands over her neck. His claws are still hidden, but he doesn’t need them to create a threatening presence. “I could chop off your head easily, in one swift action, just like our friend Tonpa over there. Your life would be over before you knew it.”
The girl looks like she’s preparing to breathe her last breath; the assassin circles around the girl before stepping back to face her. “But I won’t.”
He watches her face turn into one of surprise. If he looks hard enough, there’s also a mixture of disappointment and desperateness and something along the lines of regret, but there is also hope hidden somewhere on her facial features.
“Live,” he tells the girl. And he’s aware of how ironic it sounds, because he himself has just taken a life without a second thought.
The assassin turns around and walks away, leaving her with that departing message and disappearing back into the shadows of his natural element. The girl’s next sentence follows him all the way out of town, ghostly whispers swirling around him in the form of words he can’t seem to forget.
“One day, I’m going to die—and you, Killua, are going to be the one to kill me.”
.
This time, his target is a woman. Pampered and spoiled with an extremely troublesome Nen ability, Killua knows that it is only a matter of time before someone sends him a request to end the life of Neon Nostrade.
As he walks up the stairs of the Nostrade household, Killua speculates on how such a wealthy family can have such weak bodyguards. The men scattered on the floor below him, lying limp, were of no challenge to the aspiring assassin heir at all; he was able to breeze through them, brush them aside with a single flick of his hand, and they could just barely keep up with his speed.
When the white-haired boy reaches the last step of the stairs, he welcomes the feeling of another presence with him in the hallway and rests his arm casually on the glamorously dazzling golden railing, one leg crossed over the other. Maybe he’ll actually get a real fight out of this person. He keeps his expression well-guarded, but allows something resembling a smirk to spread over his lips.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Killua gestures to the pile of corpses on the main floor. “I don’t think you want to end up like them.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he adds, “And yes, I know that you’re there, so you can stop hiding now.”
An older man steps out from the shadows. His face is framed with blond hair, crimson red eyes staring directly at Killua from underneath his bangs with the clear intent to kill. In his hands, he holds twin daggers that glisten under the dim lighting of chandeliers hanging on the ceiling. Metal chains are wrapped around his fingers, looping all the way up his arm.
Kurta Clan, the name comes to Killua after he takes a second to really observe the man’s unusual eyes, so this is the rumoured lone survivor… Kurapika.
“I will protect Neon Nostrade,” conviction oozes out of Kurapika’s words. If the hard look he is sending Killua’s way and his calm exterior isn’t evidence enough, then it is the way he speaks with confidence that convinces the assassin that the blond is different from all those other people he faced downstairs. This man is skilled. Stronger.
But not strong enough.
(Never strong enough. Killua almost feels bad for him; in another life, they could have even been friends, perhaps.)
Killua lunges at his opponent, pushing off the railing behind him, claws aimed to strike at the blond’s neck. Speed has always been something the assassin prides himself in, and with the boost of Nen at his feet, it is almost as if he just appeared in front of Kurapika. The bodyguard raises his hands, moving purely on instinct at this point, and manages to block the lethal jab to his throat with only thick, sturdy chains between Killua’s sharp nails and his exposed flesh, before twisting around his arm to follow up with a swipe of his blade.
The white-haired boy jumps back immediately, retaliating, and wipes a drop of blood off his left cheek with the back of his hand. The slash is shallow, having barely even grazed him, but Killua scrawls nonetheless, eyes narrowed. He had planned to finish this with one move.
“Interesting use of those chains,” the assassin mutters bitterly. Kurapika tucks away his daggers in his belt, looking as if he has already won.
Killua glares at the older man. He doesn’t like being looked down upon. This fight isn’t over yet; the wound on his cheek isn’t even half as painful as a mere papercut, so why—?
Running his hand over his injured skin, Killua puts a finger that is now coated with his blood in his mouth and licks it. A familiar, tingling sensation lingers all over the surface of his tongue, and he barks out a laugh. So that’s what it is. “Poison?” He guesses, one eyebrow raised. “You decided to poison me?”
“It will spread all over your body soon enough. You will be fully paralyzed.” The blond almost looks smug. “I suggest you turn back now while you can still move and give up on this mission.”
In one fluid movement, Killua reaches into his pocket and whips out an electric blue yo-yo. It spirals toward the bodyguard, all fifty kilograms of metal hitting Kurapika straight in the chest before he even registers what is happening. The yo-yo returns to its owner after creating a small hole in the older man’s body. Kurapika falls to the floor instantly.
Killua doesn’t even spare a glance in his opponent’s direction as he walks past the last Kurta survivor into Neon’s bedroom. ”Poison won’t work on me,” he calls out to the lifeless body in the hallway, shaking his head at how naïve the blond was. “And now… I guess your clan is officially dead.”
Standing over his target’s bed, Killua steadies his hand over the girl’s neck. It’s a wonder how she hasn’t woken up yet from all the noise earlier. He raises his arm, prepared to slash down in a quick, clean movement so that her death won’t be painful at least, but his hand freezes just inches above the girl’s vital point.
He flings the blanket off the bed. Brown hair. Dark eyes. Thin lips. Body shivering, clearly not asleep. “Who are you?” He asks the stranger in Neon Nostrade’s bed.
The girl sits up slowly and looks the assassin in the eyes. “Why did you stop, Killua? Why won’t you kill me?”
“You…” The white-haired boy recalls that night he chased Tonpa down the streets of Meteor City. This is her: the girl who had begged him to take her life, standing right in front of Tonpa’s detached head, completely unaffected by the horrible stench of blood. The girl he had rejected. And yet, he doesn’t even know her name. “How did you know that I was going to be here?”
“If I tell you, will you kill me after?”
He should, Killua knows. This girl found out too much about him already, about the Zoldycks and even who his next targets will be. She knows so much about him when he still can’t even match her face with a name.
The white-haired boy doesn’t understand why he hasn’t killed her yet himself—maybe it’s reverse psychology: the more she begs him to end her life, the less he wants to do it. She came to him with the strangest proposal he has ever heard and it has messed with his mind; where is the ruthless assassin his big brother Illumi trained for all these years? He’s taken numerous lives, and yet, he isn’t willing to add this girl to his body count. (Why?)
Killua sighs, already knowing that he won’t do as the girl asks him despite logic proving otherwise. “Where is Neon Nostrade?” Changing tactics. Focusing on a different subject, hoping to distract himself from his weakness. (Running away. Coward.)
The girl stares back at him, unwavering. “I’ll tell you, only if you promise to kill me after.”
Killua growls, kicking the bed frame in frustration. He’s angry—at how much a stranger is affecting him, at how this girl managed to track him. At himself. “Okay, fine!” He needs to punch someone—or kill someone. “Let me finish my mission first, then I’ll come back for you, if you really want to die that badly.”
He hasn’t forgotten his job. (The job always comes first.)
“She’s in the bedroom down the hall.” The girl looks unbelievably relieved.
A few minutes later, Neon Nostrade is put to eternal sleep, Killua is out the window, and the girl he promised to kill slumps to the ground, still very much alive.
.
“That took you a while, Kil,” Illumi is there to greet the white-haired assassin when he returns from his mission. “I didn’t think it would be that difficult for you to deal with the Nostrade family.”
Killua looks away, trying his best to sound nonchalant. “I got caught up in something for a few minutes. Nothing important.”
The older sibling is quiet for a moment, dark eyes observing the heir with an unreadable expression on his face. It’s a long moment before he finally speaks. “Well, you got the job done, so it’s fine. There’s been another request for you while you were away.” Illumi reaches into his pocket and flicks a piece of paper in his brother’s direction.
There is a name, a picture, and an address on the sheet. Mariko Sasaki. 36 Bayloke Street, Yorknew City. Killua doesn’t recognize the name or the address, but he can’t deny the fact that he has seen the person in the photo before—just tonight, in fact. He curses.
Perhaps she will get her wish after all.
.
The best way to describe Mariko Sasaki’s room, Killua thinks, is an organized mess.
Although the bed on the left side of the room is made nicely, blankets folded and bed sheets tucked in at the corners, there are about a dozen pillows scattered all over it. On the opposing walls, three desks are lined up in a row. Four computers share the surface of the first two desks, placed in front of a rolling chair, while the remaining table is split into two sections: one side for an abundance of notebooks, the other side occupied by a cluster of cellphones.
When Killua enters the girl’s bedroom on the second floor via the window that he pried open, he almost knocks over one of the monitors while launching himself into the building. He’s glad that he didn’t end up breaking anything though, because if Mariko is anything like his brother Milluki, she might have gone on a rampage if she sees her equipment damaged.
(Because knocking and simply waiting for someone to answer the front door would have been too easy and civilized for the white-haired boy. One unique perk of being an assassin is that he can make a dramatic entrance whenever he wants.)
There is a click at the bedroom door and Killua turns around to find himself face-to-face with his target.
“Are you finally here to kill me?”
There is no indication in her voice that she’s at all surprised to see him in her room uninvited.
No, Killua answers silently. He never had any intention of killing her.
“What are all these computers for?” He asks instead.
The girl raises an eyebrow. “So we’re going to do the interrogation-before-death thing, then? Alright,” she sighs. She’s not going to die tonight, she knows. She knows. “The computers are what I use for collecting information—um, illegal information, you could say. Sometimes, this includes hacking into large business corporations, depending on the request. Tracking a person’s online history, sending out viruses if necessary—that’s all done on these computers here.”
“And you’re being paid to do this?” Killua wonders what kind of job she has.
“Yeah,” the girl sucks in a breath, “I work as… an information broker. People come to me for, well, all kinds of things. Usually, it’s for blackmail. Actually, it’s always for blackmail. They want me to dig up some dirty secret their rival company has, or they’re just cautious and want to be prepared with hidden information at their disposal—that whole ‘knowledge is power’ mindset, you know. As long as they’re willing to pay, I’ll do basically anything they ask, and things have been going pretty well so far, considering the fact that I haven’t been caught yet.” She gives Killua a look that challenges him to comment on her morals, knowing that if he does, he’d just be a hypocrite.
Killua stays quiet, fully aware that he has no right to lecture her about this; after all, his line of work is pretty much the same: if the compensation matches the request, he will kill anyone he needs to. (Except her, a voice in his head whispers, to which he promptly replies with, Shut up.)
She seems satisfied with his silence and continues, “It’s hard, though. Having all this data swirling around my head every day, all these things I’m not supposed to know… I don’t think I can take it anymore. Some of the things I’ve learned, Killua, you won’t believe what people would do just to protect their own pride. The amount of innocent people who are affected by the poor decisions of big companies, like the one Tonpa worked for. It’s disgusting.
“And then, other people—angry people—started realizing that the information circling around had to come from somewhere. I knew that it was only a matter of time before they traced it back to me, and at that point, I figured I was dead, anyway. So I did some digging around. It took me to while to find, but I learned about a group of people who would kill anyone you wanted, as long as they received their payment.” She gives Killua a smile that he can’t quite read. “They were a group of assassins, a family business—the Zoldycks.”
From here, the white-haired boy could guess what went through her mind after that. She figured that since she was going to die either way, she wanted to do it on her own accord, before one of her angry clients got to her.
But there is another option, that doesn’t involve death. Because, in essence, her work is similar to Milluki’s and Killua has always wanted to be able to gain information without having to worry about repaying a debt to his older pig of a brother.
“Well, what if I find you a new job… Mariko?”
The girl frowns. If she’s surprised that he knows her first name, she doesn’t show it. “The only thing I’m good at is computers.”
The assassin waves it off dismissively. “That’s fine. You’ll be gathering intel and hacking into security systems, if necessary, and any other geeky tech stuff that might be required.”
Mariko raises an eyebrow at the word geeky, but seems to consider the offer. “Who would I be working for?”
At this, Killua grins. “Me.”
.
The two of them make their way to Kukuroo Mountain, hand in hand, as newly formed partners and unexpected friends. Illumi is furious when he sees Killua’s target still alive—when he sees Killua with his target—and demands for an explanation, to which the white-haired boy calmly answers, “She’ll be helping me from now on.” He tries to step around his brother, but Illumi firmly blocks the path.
“This wasn’t your job, Kil.” Dark eyes stare down teal ones, a menacing aura flickering around them dangerously. “How are you going to inform your employer of this failure?”
“I’ll kill him,” Killua’s voice is steady, matter-of-fact. The look he gives Illumi is challenging and he squeezes Mariko’s hand reassuringly.
The next day, the man who wanted the information broker dead receives a surprise visit from the Zoldyck heir and a few seconds later, he slumps to the ground, lifeless.
After that, their true partnership begins. They start off with another request: the subject this time is a large corporate owner who goes by the name of Meruem. Recently, there are stories that he has been abusing his employees, and in fact, it’s one of the victims who sought out Killua for help.
“Be careful,” Mariko cautions him before he leaves, “This Meruem guy is said to have some pretty tough bodyguards.”
Killua nods his head to where the girl’s monitor displays footage from all security cameras in the corporate building. “I’ll be counting on you for that.”
And then he’s gone. Mariko takes a second to breathe; this will be her first assassination mission, and while she isn’t actually out in the field doing the physical work, she knows that she’s still part of the battle. The computer she left behind at her old house has been upgraded, which basically means that Killua waltzed into Milluki’s room one day, picked up one of his many desktops, and brought it back for her to use, brushing aside any concerns with, “He probably won’t even notice it’s gone.”
On the screen now, she can see that Killua has successfully infiltrated the building. She gives him directions, which he receives through the earpiece that’s connected to Mariko’s speakers—something else he took from Milluki, most likely. Her voice guides him directly to the first room on the top floor, and if the door marked “Meruem” isn’t enough to convince him that he’s in the right place, there are also three menacing bodyguards stationed in position in front of the door.
They sense him before he even has the chance to act. The large man with tanned skin standing closest to him sniffs the air, as if he can pick up the scent of an intruder. This alerts the other two, and the three of them all advance toward him together. They’re strong, Killua can tell, stronger than Kurapika or anyone else he’s encountered. For a second, he doubts his skills and contemplates running away, but then the earpiece buzzes to life.
“Get ready, Killua,” he hears Mariko clearly despite the static, and it’s all the motivation and reassurance he needs; he jumps out from around the corner, sparks flashing around him.
He hurls a lightning bolt in their direction and the bodyguards scatter, jumping aside to avoid the attack. However, the hallway is narrow, and so they cannot fully avoid the impact, but it’s not enough, not even close, because they’re distracted at best and hardly even phased. The one with eyes resembling a cat’s lunges forward, aiming at Killua’s right arm, and manages to make contact. Killua cries out in pain but the veil of electricity around him protects him from most of the damage.
In a matter of seconds, while the assassin checks to make sure his arm isn’t broken, the three bodyguards have surrounded him. His eyes narrow as he begins to walk back and forth, in a circle, until after images of himself appears. As his opponents are busy figuring out which one is the real thing, Killua plans to take them out one by one. Unfortunately, he should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.
“Youpi!” the blond calls out. The tanned man from before nods on his cue and sniffs again, pinpointing the assassin with ease, following only his sense of smell. He raises a fist, charging Nen to his hand, and Killua’s brain goes to overdrive as he panics and desperately tries to think of a way to avoid the punch.
He can’t. The other two bodyguards are blocking him from both sides and the space isn’t wide enough for him to run anywhere. It’s too late, anyway—the blow hits him in full force a minute later and he’s knocked back so hard that parts of the wall behind him chips off. Groaning, he lies there on the ground, head spinning. There are too many of them, he is thoroughly outnumbered and overpowered; he might be able to take on one of them, but three? The outcome is already evident.
Killua hears a gasp from the earpiece as he struggles to get back on his feet. “Oh my god, Killua, are you alright? You should get out of there! We can try again next time—they’re just too strong—you don’t have to force yourself—”
The white-haired boy smiles, despite everything, at Mariko’s flustered words. He thinks of how, if he abandons this mission now, he will only be regarded as a failure again when Illumi finds out, and how there has to be a way to defeat these inhumanly strong bodyguards, because he’s the Zoldyck heir and he didn’t go through all that training these past eighteen years just to be defeated here. And what has he gained over the years? Speed, yes, and his very own Nen ability, but those aren’t nearly as important compared to—tactics. Strategy. If he is outnumbered and overpowered, then he will outsmart them.
Killua steadies himself against the wall and tests out his muscles, moving his arms and legs to make sure that they’re still functioning. This is nothing compared to some of his past experiences.
He inhales. “Mariko,” he whispers at a volume he knows his opponents won’t be able to hear, “can you hack into the security system of the building and turn off the power?” Because how could he have forgotten? The girl has the entire office at her fingertips and she only has to type a few strokes on her keyboard to completely take over anything technology related.
Mariko slumps in relief at the sound of her partner’s voice. “I’m on it,” she replies. Sounds of tapping and fingertips hitting the keyboard fill the static between them, and exactly two minutes later, Meruem’s company is experiencing a black-out.
The assassin doesn’t waste any time. The instant they are surrounded by darkness, he knows that he has gained the advantage; while everyone else is struggling to see in the dark, Killua is already accustomed to carrying out missions at night. He pierces a clawed hand through Youpi first, aware that if the moment of surprise passes, the man would attack him again, solely following his keen sense of smell. Killua is satisfied to hear a thump as Youpi falls to the floor, his companions crying out, panicked.
His next target is the person who happens to be the closest to him: the slender, blond man to his right. It isn’t long before he joins Youpi as a corpse on the ground.
The remaining bodyguard is furious and, filled with rage at the death of her comrades, she lunges forward blindly. The sudden attack throws Killua off guard for a second before he strikes out at her in return, claws aimed for her throat. It takes him a while but eventually his hand connects with her skin and all three guards have been defeated. He’s surprised at how long his last opponent, the cat-eyed woman, was able to last, blocking his advances on pure instinct alone.
The three of them had been strong. Some of the strongest opponents he’s faced so far. But even though he’s panting from the fight and his damaged arm is stinging like crazy, Killua isn’t done yet—he still has to take out his target.
He can feel Meruem’s dark aura from out in the hallway; the killing intent is so fierce that it makes Killua shiver. There is definitely no way that the assassin can sneak up on the cooperate owner now that it’s obvious Meruem knows about an intruder in the building—the only question is why he hasn’t gone to check on his guards or made any indication of preparing for a fight.
The sight Killua sees when he flings open the office door open is not quite what he expected. A man, presumably Meruem himself if the pictures Killua has seen are accurate, sits behind a large wooden desk. In front of him is a girl with hair a similar shade to Killua’s pulled back into two pigtails by large, yellow hair ties and thick, thick eyebrows. She turns in the direction of the doorway at the sound of someone entering, but by the way she blinks, it’s as if she doesn’t see anything at all.
In between Meruem and the girl—a client, perhaps?—is what appears to be a Gungi board set up on the office table.
“Who are you?” The businessman demands. His Nen flares around the room threateningly and it’s one of the coldest feelings Killua has ever been exposed to, but he remains mute, eyes never leaving his target. He is injured and already worn out and his instincts are screaming at him to run. He doesn’t. Slowly, he shuts the door behind him and takes a step into the room. Tension holds still in the air.
The girl reaches out and picks up one of the black Gungi pieces. She’s relaxed, seemingly unaware of the silent battle between the two men. The piece in her hand is the Knight, and with a flick of her wrist, she places it down on the board, in the space directly in front of the opposing white King.
It’s a strange move. If anything, it seems like a defensive action which doesn’t make sense because a black Knight can’t possibly act as a shield for the white King. Meruem’s eyes flicker down at the board for a second, trying to decipher the girl’s decision.
Killua chooses this moment to strike. He moves quickly, materializing in front of his target, and thrusts a hand forward, sharp nails fully extended. He makes contact and pulls back. What he stabs, however, isn’t Meruem.
There is a second of complete silence as the world pauses for the tragedy before the corporate owner lets out an ear-piercing scream. “Komugi!” The girl falls on top of the Gungi board, staining the pieces in red. Meruem bends over her body, clasping her hands in his as he tries desperately to treat the wound. (She can’t be saved though, Killua thinks grimly, because when he lunged forward, he had been aiming for the heart.)
Komugi glances up to look at her partner and already, she can feel her energy fading. “I’m glad I got to be your Knight in my final moments, my King,” She heaves her final breath, coughing up blood. The girl forces a smile as her eyelids begin to close. “I end my turn.”
Meruem drops his head in despair. His eyes tear up and the world blurs over as he watches the Gungi player’s body go limp in front of him. She’s gone and he’s still here, and he doesn’t deserve to be here, he knows, doesn’t deserve to be alive—but he is. Even though he treats his employees poorly and forced Komugi to compete in games with him on the treat that he will fire her if she disobeys, she still gave up her life to save his.
He never asked her to be his Knight. He never wanted to be King.
Killua attacks again and this time, there is no Komugi to block the blow. Meruem feels his skin being torn apart, feels the world getting hazy, but there is a distinct lack of pain. Meruem is dying but he doesn’t feel anything except the sorrow he has for the girl in his arms.
He kisses Komugi’s forehead and his hands slip into hers easily. In their next life, if such a thing exists, he prays that he’ll get to meet her again, even if he is reborn as an ant and has to somehow kill the entire human race just to find her. And then, finally, he closes his eyes.
The assassin stands, watching the devastating scene. He’s killed many, many people before, but he has never ended a life by accident. No one has ever sacrificed themselves for a target like Komugi had done for Meruem just moments ago. It’s just another death, the white-haired boy tells himself, just another stilled heart out of who knows how many he’s witnessed, but he’d be lying if he says the Gungi player’s action doesn’t affect him.
“It’s okay,” Mariko’s voice vibrates in his ear, quivering a little bit, but soft and reassuring all the same. He almost forgot that she’s still there. “It’s okay, Killua. Come back home.”
He inhales a shaky breath and nods. It’s weird how he clings to her words like a lifeline and how he lets them soothe him, wash over him, and how, in the end, it’s okay because—he believes her.
Killua returns home safely to Mariko, they exchange high-fives, and then it’s on to the next mission.
.
After almost a year of working with the Zoldycks, Mariko Sasaki’s name is still circling around various rumours in the darker parts of businesses. She had created quite a name for herself prior to her first meeting with Killua and over the past few months, there have still been requests coming in for her to retrieve documents from security systems or hack into corporate databases. Normally, she declines these jobs because she is already fully occupied with assassination work, but this particular request manages to catch her attention.
“Have you heard of the Zodiacs?” She asks her partner, motioning to the email on her computer screen so that the white-haired boy can take a look.
He raises an eyebrow and leans in to scan the message. “You mean the ones in charge of the Hunters Association? Why would they be contacting you?”
She shrugs because, really, she doesn’t know. The email mentions Pariston Hill, a triple star Hunter who goes by the codename Rat. The image of him provided displays a blond man with brown eyes and a too-sweet, radiating smile that seems to sparkle off the page. He is dressed formally in a suit and tie and, partially due to the accusing tone in the email along with her own speculations, there’s just something about this man that doesn’t sit well with Mariko.
What surprises her the most, however, is the fact that Pariston, the current Vice Chairman of the Association, is being targeted by his superior, the Chairman, Cheadle Yorkshire.
“It says here,” Killua quickly looks over the request, “that Cheadle wants you to hack into Pariston’s computer to uncover everything he’s done over the past few months.”
The demand itself is perfectly normal for the kinds of jobs she took on when she was still an information broker, but the girl frowns now. Hacking into a highly protected account undiscovered is not an easy task and she has no doubt that Pariston’s computer will have a stronger security system than the average person’s. She ponders over the situation. “It’d be a lot easier if I could connect my laptop directly to Pariston’s so I can transfer the data and look more into it afterwards…” But, realistically, what are the chances of that happening?
Mariko finds it extremely tempting to refuse the offer. She’d have to go through a lot of trouble just to get in touch with the Vice Chairman’s computer and if she were to get caught, she’d be completely defenseless. Not to mention that he is a triple star hunter, the highest title anyone can obtain.
On the other hand, though, Cheadle, as the Chairman, currently holds a position that even surpasses Pariston’s. Angering someone of such powerful authority will also result in negative consequences. And the reward of over one million Jenny is admittedly doing a good job of bribing her.
None of her options seem particularly promising at the moment.
Beside her, Killua is watching her intensely. “You’re doing it again,” he says, frowning.
Mariko blinks. “Doing what?”
“Retreating into your thoughts. Trying to take everything on by yourself.” The assassin rests a hand gently on the girl’s shoulder—because, yes, even though his very same hands have killed, they are still capable of compassion. “You’re not alone anymore, remember?” Something resembling a smirk flitters across his lips. “You work for me now. Any decision you make has to be approved first; otherwise, I might just fire you,” he teases playfully, adding a light tone to the otherwise serious mood.
The girl’s shoulders relax visibly and she feigns hurt. “Fire me? But I’m your best employee!”
“My only employee.”
Mariko laughs and it’s like all the stress has left her body at once. Then, back to serious, she says, “I think I’m going to go.” She inhales, scanning the request once more, nodding. “I’m going to take the job.”
Killua leans back, hands in his pockets. “Alright, then I’m coming with you.” Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“No, you don’t have to—”
The assassin waves off her protests dismissively. “I want to.”
“But… why?” This job doesn’t require any physical fighting, much less any killing, and Mariko is pretty sure that hacking isn’t one of her partner’s strengths, no matter how talented of an individual he is. Plus, she’s confident in her abilities, even if she has to get into the Vice Chairman’s tightly secured system. It might take longer than usual, but she’s sure that she can do it.
“I’ll watch your back. You’re going to be in a building full of skilled Hunters and you’ll be vulnerable when you’re focusing on all the tech stuff.” He smirks. “And, well, you are my best employee.”
Mariko looks at the white-haired boy in front of her and almost feels like crying because, really, what did she do to deserve a friend like Killua? There’s an urge to hug him—and then there’s an even stronger urge to kiss him. She doesn’t do either of those.
And she doesn’t say thank you either but the message is there, echoing loudly off the silence in the room.
Killua smiles.
.
It turns out that entering the Hunter Association building is easier than expected.
When the receptionist asks for identification, Mariko hands her some cards she forged. There is a match to their fake names—Chieko and Kane for Mariko and Killua respectively—in the database because the information broker had hacked the system the day before and added in their entries.
The worker glances up at them and smiles pleasantly. “You guys are a little early for your meeting with Pariston Hill today, but feel free to wait for him in his room.” She gestures to their left. “It’s just down the hall over there. He should be arriving in a few minutes.”
They thank her and make their way to the indicated room, chatting idly about nothing in particular. It’s all pretend, anyway; just a show to put on for the security cameras that are undoubtedly monitoring the actions of everyone in the building. Of course, disabling the cameras in such a well-protected place would have been a challenge, but given some time, Mariko would have been able to do it. The only problem is that having even just one camera go blank would draw attention to them for sure.
Settling down in Pariston’s room, the girl looks around and takes in the space. In the middle is a rectangular table with a laptop attached to numerous cords sitting at the far end, a small plant off to the side, and a few bookshelves filled with more miscellaneous things than actual books—but none of that matters, really. Her eyes flicker to one corner of the room, where a single camera is stationed to see a full view of the room.
She takes a seat right beside the laptop so that she is facing the camera and motions Killua to join her. Pulling out her own computer, she turns it on and after a few seconds, gasps in surprise. “Oh, it’s out of battery.” She turns to her partner and tilts the device just enough for him to see the perfectly lit screen. “Do you think it’ll be okay if I borrow Pariston’s charger…?”
Killua seems to consider it before shrugging and playing along with her scheme. “It should be fine. I’m sure he’ll understand if we explain it to him.”
Mariko unplugs a cord and attaches it to her laptop, but it’s not the charger. A window pops up asking for a password in order to further access the information and the girl spends the next few minutes trying all kinds of different codes, typing things in rapid successions, in attempt to gain entry to the triple star Hunter’s data. She can hear the time ticking away on the obnoxiously loud clock behind her as she grits her teeth, wondering how long it’ll be before Pariston returns.
She feels a hand on her shoulder and pauses for a second to look up at Killua. His eyes are telling her to calm down, to believe in her own abilities, and she realizes that she’s far too anxious right now to be able to focus properly. Drawing in a deep breath, she tries again.
The clock is still ticking rhythmically but Mariko doesn’t hear it anymore. She’s immersed in the task, going through all the possibilities one by one. And then—
—she’s in.
Grinning, the girl reads the new text on the screen.
ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO TRANSFER THESE FILES?
She clicks YES and leans back, watching the documents move from Pariston’s laptop to her own.
Now, they wait.
.
With a coffee in one hand, Pariston Hill steps through the sliding doors of the Hunter Association’s building and greets the receptionist with a smile and a nod.
“Oh, Pariston!” the woman calls out to him just as he’s about to head deeper into the building. “Your clients are waiting for you in your room. I told them you would be returning shortly.”
The smile slides off the blond’s face as confusion takes over his features. “Clients?”
The receptionist nods. “A boy and a girl. They said their names were Chieko and Kane and that they had a meeting with you.”
Pariston thinks back to his schedule for the day and doesn’t remember anything about setting up a meeting. Did he forget? No, impossible, Beans recites his activities to him every morning in that annoyingly squeaky voice of his like it’s the bible; there’s no way that he would have zero recollection of it at all.
“Um,” Pariston blinks back into the present when the receptionist continues, “if you weren’t planning to meet them, I can get someone to ask them to leave.” She tries to keep her tone even, but talking to the pro Hunter has always made her nervous and she secretly wishes that she would be relieved of his presence soon.
“No, no; it’s alright,” the man takes a sip of his coffee, his usual smile back on his face when he sets the cup down. “I’ll take care of it myself. I was just heading to the room, anyway.”
He is sent off with a polite bow and he walks down the hallway humming softly. It seems like things are going to get interesting.
The sight Pariston sees when he arrives at the doorway of his office is two kids hunched over a laptop screen, and—is that a cord connecting to his own laptop?
With silent footsteps and a concealed presence, the triple star hunter walks up behind his unsuspecting guests and unleashes a blast of aura all at once, amused to see the kids jump at the overwhelming change in atmosphere.
He spares a glance at the glowing screen that currently shows his files being transferred at sixty percent. His eyes narrow but the corners of his lips turn up into a threatening smile. “Please excuse my poor punctuality… I wasn’t aware that I had a meeting planned for today. Now, how can I be of assistance to you… Chieko and Kane, was it?”
The two of them go wide-eyed and Pariston chuckles quietly to himself. They’re so cute. It’s almost a pity he has to kill them now that they’ve attempted to snoop through his belongings. Even the potential that they’ve seen something important is unacceptable.
The white-haired boy looks like he’s about to say something and make up some bullshit excuse about their actions but Pariston cuts him off before a word leaves his mouth.
“By the way,” the man drawls, “did you know that it’s protocol to have anyone who enters the Hunter Association building vaccinated, just in case they bring in a disease with them?” Pariston walks over to the bookshelf and picks up a clear bottle containing purple liquid that seems to resemble perfume. He coats a needle with the substance and twirls in between his fingers casually. “The rules are very strict, after all. Luckily for you, I happen to have a sample of the vaccine right here in case anyone manages to bypass the system.”
The boy and girl have no idea what he’s talking about, but they share a single thought when they exchange looks: screw the job; they need to get out of here.
Pariston looks up from the needle in his hand and locks eyes with his guests. In the next second, the Hunter has crossed the distance between them and appears behind them. He’s fast, already taking action before the assassin and information broker can even take a single step, and he stabs the tip of the needle into their arms. Pariston withdraws and jumps back just in time to avoid a swing from the white-haired boy.
Leaning against the desk, one leg crossing over the other, Pariston allows his aura to diminish. “Now, I believe this meeting is over,” he’s still smiling but his eyes narrow, indicating that if they still wish to challenge him, he will fight. “You will leave your laptop here and—”
Before he has a chance to finish, a blur of light flashes in front of him and his eyes are just barely able to follow the white-haired boy as he grabs his partner and jumps out the window. The blond blinks, now alone in the room. Interesting.
He doesn’t bother chasing after them. It’s not like they have much longer to live, anyway.
As he tidies up the mess left behind by the whirlwind that Killua created during his escape, Pariston’s expression turns serious, looking even more dangerous than before. Now, on to more important matters. Who could have sent those kids after him? He taps him chin in concentration. It’s doubtful that they are working alone considering the fact that he’s never seen either of them before, so they must have been hired to do the job. Pariston has a lot of enemies, many of whom would love to see him dead, but this had not been an assassination mission.
He thinks, perhaps, that this issue is a lot closer to home.
The blond grins. He’s going to have a long talk with Cheadle the next time he sees his fellow Zodiac member.
.
Killua is still carrying Mariko when he slows to a jog a decent distance away from the Hunter Association building. He inhales a deep breath, finally away from that tense, suffocating atmosphere back in Pariston’s room. The man’s aura had been insanely strong, choking them in a hold, and Killua’s never experienced being unable to move just by being exposed to a person’s Nen before.
They’re safe now but the assassin’s grip on his partner only tightens because—they could have died.
“Are you okay?” He asks, but he doesn’t even need to hear Mariko’s reply when he sees blood trickling out of her mouth as she coughs so violently that her entire body convulses to know that no, she is not okay.
“P-poison,” the girl struggles to speak. “He poisoned the needle.”
No.
Killua instantly stops running. He can feel his hands starting to shake and he’s so angry with himself because he didn’t feel anything at the time so he had pushed the whole thing aside, focusing solely on their escape. The story about vaccinations had been complete bullshit. And despite being an information broker, Mariko is still just a normal human. And normal humans aren’t immune to poison.
“An—an antidote. We need to find an antidote,” Killua looks around frantically, but there’s nothing he can use to help the girl in his arms because the only one who can reverse this is Pariston and Pariston is all the way back in that building Killua fled from with too-tight security—and they’re running out of time. He doesn’t particularly want to face the blond hunter again either, if he’s being honest, but Mariko is dying and he needs to save her.
“Don’t go,” his partner rasps. The assassin glances down at her and somehow, even with poison inside her body, she is still able to figure out what he’s thinking without him having to voice the thoughts. “You do it too, you know? Retreating into your head and letting the panic take over. The answer this time is simple; do what you have to do.”
It takes all of Mariko’s strength to lift her head up at Killua. She feels the poison spreading throughout her body, her limbs going numb one by one. Despite everything, she laughs weakly. “I knew I would die because of a job as an information broker… but I’m glad that I got to experience being an assassin’s partner too. Thank you for hiring me.” Mariko smiles sincerely, but just the simple upward turn of her lips brings an aching sensation to her muscles. “Kill me, Killua,” her voice is barely a whisper, but it’s enough. She knows that the Zoldyck heard her.
Killua’s eyebrows furrow in sadness and there are tears flowing silently down his cheeks. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from sobbing. The situation reminds him of the first time she asked him to kill her, back in that alleyway in Yorknew City where he ended Tonpa’s life, and he wishes—he wishes so badly—that he could decline her request now like how he did before.
But death doesn’t take no as an answer, and certainly not twice. He knows that better than anyone.
“Kill me,” the girl repeats more urgently, begging now, just wanting the pain to end. “Please.”
Not that this would ever happen in canon, but if Percy and Annabeth got into a all-out-trying-to-kill-each-other fight, who do you think would win?
percy, hands down zero contest absolutely non-negotiable and non-debatable i will not listen to anyone say otherwise for a single second, it might be funny to make jokes about how annabeth can beat him up but like, guys. guys. come on. combat ability don’t count for shit when you can kill someone without even lifting your finger.
There was a tweet Rick did about how Annabeth wins their fights and how it’s usually not fair. And I’ve a lot to say about this. Annabeth is hella strong and an amazing soldier and strategist, but she is not a kid of the big three.
Percy is already too powerful at 12, making a god bleed without almost no training. What do you think he is capable at 16? 17? When he is stronger and he is in more control of his powers? He is probably way stronger than Annabeth, but he probably holds back a lot, add his powers to his strength? Annabeth doesn’t stand a chance of winning. Percy has been called the strongest demigod, the gods are afraid of his powers, there is also the fact that Percy is a wild card while fighting, you don’t know what he is gonna do, you don’t know what he is capable of doing because he always holds back. There is no way Annabeth can win a fair fight.
Summary: They are two souls occupying one body and it’s something that shouldn’t work, shouldn’t exist. But here they are, existing, and that’s what frightens people.
A/N: Fourth chapter. Quick note on Alluka’s gender - I believe that she’s a trans female so I will be using she/her pronouns.
Alluka is born defective.
At least, that’s what everyone tells her. There are constant hush-hush whispers circulating between the butlers when they think she isn’t listening. And then they smile at her like nothing’s wrong, like they’re her best friends, like they weren’t just calling her monster and freak behind her back. It makes her sick.
She isn’t stupid. She may not be able to conceal her presence as well as Illumi or provide technological support like Milluki or display Killua’s natural talent for assassination, but she isn’t stupid. She just wishes that people would stop treating her as if she is.
Though she’d take people spreading rumours about her over being treated like she isn’t even there any day. Because at one point, not just the butlers but her family members too, seems to have had enough of her. It’s better, they decide, to act like she doesn’t exist. Like her birth itself is a mistake.
“I don’t get why they’re locking us up, Nanika… what did we do wrong? Why do they hate us?”
Nanika never replies but it’s nice to know that she’s listening—it’s nice to know that there’s still someone who still listens to her.
Alluka spends the days going through the numerous toys in the room and having one-sided conversations with a person she’s never even seen before. She talks to Nanika every day, all the time, sometimes speaking out loud and sometimes just thinking thoughts. It doesn’t matter if the words leave her lips or not; Nanika always understands.
For the second youngest Zoldyck sibling, talking to Nanika is the most natural thing in the world.
And then, one day, many years later when it’s already far too late, realization hits her in full force. The reason why the butlers would act so cautious around her, why her mother and father and brothers all started to look at her with fear, why she ended up quarantined in a cell in the basement behind steel doors—it’s because she talks to Nanika.
No one else has a Nanika in them; it’s not normal. They are two souls occupying one body and it’s something that shouldn’t work, shouldn’t exist. But here they are, existing, and that’s what frightens people.
Alluka looks around the room she’s grown so accustomed to seeing. Countless stuffed animals are lined up perfectly in rows on the shelves at the back and on all the walls are crayon drawings from when she was younger and didn’t know any better. She checks herself in the mirror above her dresser and twirls in in well-made dress, avoiding the miscellaneous things scattered on the floor. It’s not so bad, she thinks.
In the end, she can’t bring herself to hate anyone.
.
Nanika rarely comes out anymore, and Alluka supposes that’s precisely what her family wants.
She’s not exactly sure what happens when she switches places with Nanika but almost every time, Nanika returns with tears in her dark eyes, looking as if she’s about to cry. Alluka tries her best to comfort her but Nanika always retreats to a corner and remains silent for the rest of the day. It makes Alluka sad.
So maybe, if they’re able to control who appears on the outside at will, then mother and father will allow them to go back to living in the main house, like before. Both of them are older now and understand things they never understood in the past, and Alluka has hope that if they behave themselves really well, it’ll be okay. They won’t be locked up anymore. It’ll be okay.
(Because even though they’re not alone and they have each other—it still gets lonely being isolated in their room all the time.)
They try it. Alluka gets Milluki’s attention by waving at the cameras installed into the room and he calls everyone else over. The Zoldycks are crowded in the second son’s bedroom, talking through speakers because they need to be careful and Alluka understands that they’re still scared. But that’s what this whole thing is for: to get the two parties to acknowledge each other and start over. After all, they are still family, right? (Right?)
Agreement finally settles after many hours of debate and lots of convincing from Killua’s end. Alluka doesn’t remember the last time the heavy metal doors of her room opened, but when they slide apart this time, she has never felt happier. The entire family stands tensely in front of her and she launches herself at her white-haired brother.
She looks at the rest of the Zoldycks and takes note on how they have all changed since she last saw them. It’s been years. Illumi has grown out his hair but his eyes are still as piercing as she recalls them to be; Milluki has definitely gained some weight, but the scowl on his face tells her that he’s still the exact same person; Killua is taller, and stronger, and he is undoubtedly the very brother who used to play with her when she was younger; and wait, who’s this?
The shortest member of the family has short, black hair and his dark purple eyes stare at Alluka almost hatefully. The kimono wrapped tightly around his body throws Alluka off for a moment—he didn’t used to wear one—but that thought is quickly pushed aside because, after all, she has a dress on herself. This must be Kalluto, the name comes to her and she feels herself getting excited because Kalluto had only been a baby before she got locked away and sometimes, she forgets that she isn’t the youngest sibling.
Alluka greets her family members one by one, bouncing from person to person, beyond enthusiastic. When she is done, she feels her mind getting hazy and—oh no—this is a sign that she’s about to be pulled back in. “Wait, Nanika, you can’t…” Alluka fights hard to stay conscious because they only just got out and they can’t screw up already.
There is just one condition to the deal she made with her parents and it is that before she is allowed to come out of her room, she has to promise not to switch places with Nanika—ever.
She had agreed, hoping that over time they would come realize that Nanika doesn’t mean any harm. They would prove Nanika’s innocence together, but not yet—this is too early. The timing is all wrong.
Nanika gives in eventually and reluctantly stays hidden, but the feeling of grief and sadness that Alluka gets from her breaks Alluka’s heart. It’s the right thing to do, she knows, because otherwise, they wouldn’t have a chance at all, but Alluka isn’t the only one who has been lonely this whole time.
Nanika just wants to interact with other people, too.
After that, Alluka has the time of her life. She doesn’t spend any time alone to make up for the lost time when she couldn’t be around her family in her cell. Wherever her siblings are, she would be there too.
The dark-haired girl can be found bouncing on Milluki’s bed, playing with his figurines like she would with her stuffed animals and when he yells furiously at her before kicking her out of his room, she would laugh—so that’s how it feels to get scolded by someone older. She then goes to find Illumi, cheerfully declaring that she also wants to train into a skilled assassin, and he looks at her emotionless for a few minutes before silently leading her to the Isolation Room.
The electrocutions burn her skin. She has never felt so much pain before and she cries, tears rolling down her face, but whatever she’s experiencing now is a hundred times better than the aching she endured by herself in the small room in the basement, no question. Clinging to her brother’s body to help her stand after the session is over, because her knees are weak and every muscle hurts, Alluka sobs, but not once does she complain.
And then—
And then, because she must be cursed, Nanika, who has been quiet all this time, wants out. She understands that Nanika must be feeling jealous since she has been getting so much attention the past few weeks while Nanika has been patiently waiting her turn.
They switch when they’re alone with a butler, Kasuga, one day. It’s completely random as it has always been, but Nanika said to wait until none of their family members were present, just in case.
And so, the requests begin.
“Kasuga-san,” Alluka reaches out both her arms as the butler leans forward to listen to the Zoldyck’s demands. “Give me your liver.”
Kasuga stammers, “Eh? Th-that’s, um…”
“No?” Alluka doesn’t feel like smiling but the grin never leaves her lips. She takes a step closer. “Then, Kasuga-san, give me your duodenum.”
Panic. “W-wait, Alluka-sama, let’s play a different game, okay?”
Alluka whines. “So you won’t do it?” A sigh, and she dreads what comes next, but asks anyway, because the woman needs to fulfill the requests in order for Nanika to come out. “Kasuga-san, give me your spine.”
The butler falls back, shaking. This girl is a monster. “P-please, Alluka-sama…”
“Then, Kasuga-san, how about giving me your brain?”
Kasuga is shocked into silence, fear written all over her eyes. Alluka frowns at the butler’s refusal. In the next second, a total of sixty-seven people, including Kasuga herself, are dead.
When mother and father find out about the accident, there are no negotiations this time. Alluka is thrown back into her cell, once again locked behind metal doors in the too-familiar room. She slumps against the wall and suddenly everything is blinding. No more playing in the sandbox with Killua, no more messing with Milluki’s figurines; she even misses the training lessons with Illumi. And she’ll never get a chance to really know her younger brother, Kalluto, either.
Nanika is crying because she just wanted to talk to her family and it’s all Alluka can do to curl herself in a ball, knees tucked into her chest, and murmur, “it’s okay, it’ll be okay” over and over again.
This time, however, even she knows that it’s not true.
Summary: Killua takes a good look at this stranger and almost doesn’t believe it when he registers who it is. “Elf Ears,” he snarls, the humiliating defeat from earlier still fresh in his mind. “What are you doing here?”
A/N: Third chapter. Killua’s chocolate obsession had to come from somewhere, right?
A long, long time ago, Killua would have said that he liked his family.
He still remembers the days when hanging out with big brother Illumi was more than just a torture session, and when he and Milluki could stay in the same room without exchanging insults every minute. The days when he had enough free time to cut paper dolls with Kalluto, an era before Alluka was locked away.
All that, however, is now nothing more than a faint memory in the back of Killua’s mind, buried deep underneath scars and bruises that have long since invaded his thoughts. It’s one of the few fond memories he still has of his siblings.
He recalls the turning point clearly. A single visit to Heaven’s Arena changed everything.
Illumi drops him off at the arena and registers him for his first fight. “I’ll come back to pick you up once you reach the two hundredth floor,” the older Zoldyck leads him to his hotel room with those final words before departing. Two years will pass before Killua sees his family again, though at the time, he was still arrogant and naïve, foolish enough to think that he could return to Kukuroo Mountain in only a week’s time.
The first fifty floors are a breeze. He barely even has to lift a finger because of how much they underestimate him since hey, he’s only a kid and there’s no way he can hope to win against someone three times his size. After his first fight, he is given a ticket that allows him to skip to the twentieth floor and, okay, he admits that as a child, he let this small moment of victory get to his head a bit too much.
Not long after, he faces Umori, one of the Amori brothers. Umori spends a good five minutes boasting about how he’s going to spend his prize money after he beats up his shrimp of an opponent. Killua waits patiently for him to finish his grand speech before sprinting forward and landing a solid kick to the teen’s face. Umori is instantly knocked out and the Zoldyck heir is well on his way to getting to the top of the tower.
It takes him about half a year to get to the hundredth floor, which is completely unacceptable and aggravates six-year-old Killua to no end. He needs to step it up a notch, he decides; Illumi would never have taken this long to defeat a few measly challengers. He’s going to finish all his battles quickly and then he’s going to go back home. At least, that’s the plan.
On the one hundred and thirty-seventh floor, he is defeated for the first time.
The person at the other side of the ring this time is a boy around his age with shaggy brown hair and long bangs that cover part of his face. He’s a fairly skinny kid with pointed ears and he stands with his arms rigid by his sides as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. Killua hasn’t even bothered to remember his name, though maybe they could have been friends considering the fact that he hasn’t seen anyone else as young as him once he passed the hundredth floor a while ago.
The brown-haired boy remains strangely quiet the entire time, unlike the others he’s faced, who all liked to inflate their own egos. Whatever, Killua rolls his eyes, stretching his arms as the referee counts down to one; his opponent will soon be unconscious on the floor anyway, so it doesn’t matter.
When the whistle blows signaling the start of their match, Killua leaps forward. He draws his hand back and releases a punch at the other boy, aiming directly for his stomach, when he realizes that he is only met with air. Two seconds is all he needs to retaliate, but it’s two seconds too slow; the elf-eared boy is right beside him, close, way too close, and before he knows it, his legs are swept out from under him in one fluid movement.
He lands with a thud on the ground. His instincts kick in as he uses the momentum to follow up with a backwards summersault to distance himself from Elf Ears. Dizziness fills his head but he shakes away the feeling of being disorientated, because he needs to focus. There is barely enough time to block a fist that is coming toward him and he slides back a couple of meters due to the impact.
The assassin’s eyes burns with rage. He charges straight again but feints to his left this time, cutting through the flesh of the brown-haired boy’s arm with a clawed hand. Elf Ears lets out a whimper in pain, but still manages to stay on his feet. Killua’s sharp nails seem to surprise him for a moment before he runs for the white-haired boy, and he is fast. With one arm limp and the other occupied to apply pressure to the wound, Elf Ears resorts to kicking, a fury of strikes assaulting his target at once. For the most part, Killua manages to dodge them, but one strong blow makes contact with his chest, and he can almost hear his ribs cracking.
After that, as the headache from earlier comes back in full force and his body is physically weakened due to all the damage he’s endured, everything becomes a blur. Elf Ears continues to attack him, because of course opponents won’t wait for him to clear his head, and Killua screams at his legs to move, damn it, move! but it’s no use. He receives hit after hit, punch followed by punch, and in minutes, his vision starts to fail him as the world dissolves into the darkness. At some point, he thinks he even coughed up blood.
He hears the high-pitched sound of the whistle again just as he falls to the floor and doesn’t even have the time to curse before he’s out cold.
The familiarity of his hotel room welcomes him when he awakes. There are bandages all over his body and it’s a struggle to sit up, the pain in his ribs increasing with every small movement he makes. It takes a few minutes for him to realize that he has company in the room and he’s more than a little startled when he hears a voice call out.
“Hey, you’re up. How do you feel?”
Killua blinks. The voice is soft and somehow sounds filled with emotion and monotone at the same time. He takes a good look at this stranger and almost doesn’t believe it when he registers who it is. “Elf Ears,” he snarls, the humiliating defeat from earlier still fresh in his mind. “What are you doing here?”
“I carried you back after the nurses fixed you up,” he offers a small smile. “You’re Killua, right? I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean to hurt you this much.” A pause, and then, “If you need anything, I can get it for you, since the doctors said you should stay in bed until you heal.”
“Go away,” the white-haired boy’s demand is cut off by a fit of coughs. “I don’t need your help.” When the boy remains silent in his seat, the assassin sends him a glare. “I said leave.”
Maybe he had articulated the words too strongly or maybe he let too much of his killing intent show, but Elf Ears flinches as the threat leaves Killua’s mouth. “O-okay… um, see you later, I guess…” He gets up to leave, and Killua only relaxes when he hears the sound of the door clicking shut.
They do see each other after that, too often for the assassin’s liking. Although they aren’t paired up in a tournament again, the occasional interactions in the hallway and at the dining area and even in the bathrooms are too much for him to handle. It’s beyond awkward, mostly because Elf Ears always gives Killua a smile and then Killua will proceed to return the polite gesture by ignoring him completely.
One day, when Killua is browsing through the store looking for ways to spend all the money he’s earned from previous fights, he notices Elf Ears come in and purchase a chocolate bar. He’s always thought that chocolates shaped into robots was kind of dumb and childish, but curiosity gets the better of him and he decides to get one too, after Elf Ears exits the shop.
He takes a bite into it, expecting just normal chocolate, but the way it melts on his tongue and the warm feeling of it settling in his stomach throws him off entirely. It’s delicious. So the next day, he goes back and orders the whole inventory of Robo-chocolates and ends up with boxes upon boxes of junk food in his room. He almost regrets it for a second, until he sees the confused and devastated look on Elf Ears’ face when the cashier tells him that they’re all sold out. Killua counts this a payback for the tournament.
The two of them go through these phases every day for almost a year. After a year passes, he gets a visit from Illumi, who brings him back home. Except it’s not really home anymore, is it? There were nights spent at the Heaven’s Arena where six-year-old Killua cried and cried to be taken away because being there was painful. Although he has many, many stitches as proof of his injuries, the pan isn’t like what he experienced back at Kukuroo Mountain; this is more emotional embarrassment. Humiliation. Shame.
A Zoldyck heir taking two whole years to make it to the two hundredth floor? Unacceptable.
At home, he is praised constantly by mother and always taken care of by the butlers. Outside though, in the Heaven’s Arena, he is just a kid. He hates the feeling of having unspoken expectations on his shoulders all the time, hates feeling incompetent and inferior, hates having to turn away from Elf Ears whenever they cross paths because assassins aren’t supposed to make friends. As he walks out of the building with Illumi, he squeezes his brother’s hand tightly, almost wishing that he could crush the bones and then just run away.
There was once a time in his life when Killua liked his family.
First paragraph of the actual fic: I judge the whole fic by the first words and I assume you do too so here it is
"Just a series or drabbles/headcanons/prompts": Someday I want to write an incredible 200k fic but for now have fun going through all the chapters trying to figure out which one is the one you actually want to read
"Will X be able to find love before Y happens?" And other questions: I read entirely too many YA novels
Quote from the actual fic: I watch entirely too many movie trailers
"Basically just an X fic with Y characters": I can probably write a good summary if I cared a little more
Song lyrics: I have no idea how summaries work and I'm trying to be like the people with poem quotes
Poem quotes: either the best thing you've ever read or 13-year old English literature purple prose there is no in-between
Lol I can't do summaries: I'm not entirely sure if I want you to read my fic
"Wtf is this" or other author questioning themselves: it's either porn or crack
Explicit rated fics: listen my man I know you're not gonna really read the summary just read the tags and decide if my sin is the sin for you
Paragraph of tags and one line summary: ok listen I can't do summaries but I've got this ok IVE GOT THIS
dictionary definition: fluff or angst here you go
Either a meme or a tumblr imagine your otp: I was bored and I had emotions about my ship you can have emotions about them too
Paragraph from the source the fic is from: I've basically written my headcanon and made it prettier
"I'm so sorry" or "I cried while writing this" : I was in a sad mood and I needed a healthy way to release these emotions so now y'all get to suffer
No summary: it's either porn or a small drabble and it all depends on the word count
Actual fic summary: *rocks back on old wheelchair* listen kid *smokes cigarette* I've seen and read a lot of things *blows smoke* and I know it's hard but there's still hope in this world ok? *looks into the distance* also you might wanna read the tags because the chances of gore and/or character death being in my fic have gone from 0 to 75
AlN: Inspired by another fic I read. If I find it again, I’ll be sure to add it in.
Killua Zoldyck is not handsome. Not in the least.
His eyes are a gentle mixture of blue and green that results in a beautiful teal colour, but they are hard and cold and menacing and they betray the gruesome thoughts that sometimes pass through his mind. As cynical orbs flicker around and narrow at anyone in his line of sight, it’s not hard to see that he doesn’t trust easily—doesn’t trust at all. He is always calculating, always analyzing, but never forgiving.
His face holds a controlled neutral expression most of the time, but when he smiles, there is a hint of insanity in the way his lips curl up as the madness inside of him leaks out for a moment. People are scared of him when he smiles, he can tell, even more so than when he stares into the eyes of his victim in complete, eerie silence.
He is pale—pale from so much time spent locked up in the dungeons of the Zoldyck mansion. It’s unhealthy, how little his is exposed to sunlight, but he doesn’t do anything about that because, well, he can’t, and assassins are only truly alive in the dark, anyway.
His clothing may be casual, but they are over worn and they, too, hide secrets. Fifty kilogram deadly yo-yos are stuffed deep inside the pockets of old, wrinkly shorts that have been with him through all the beatings he took. They’re washed, occasionally, but that isn’t nearly enough to mask the scratches and stains that have accumulated over the years.
Underneath his plain white T-shirt, his body is a map of scars and bruises and the places where Illumi and Milluki have chosen to punish him. A large cut spreads across his back, a memento from all the whippings he’s received; it once ripped apart his flesh and peeled off like a bad case of sunburn, and after all this time, although the injury has closed up and healed noticeably, the scar is still very much visible. It is inarguable that his Nen is powerful, but the only reason he is able to zap electricity from his fingertips is because of the torture he had to endure as a child.
(Sometimes, when Killua swallows, he can still taste a lingering sensation of the poisons he had been forced to inject into his body. It doesn’t affect him anymore, of course—it hasn’t affected him since he was ten—but it’s left a bitter taste in his mouth that he doubts will ever go away.
As a result, he doesn’t eat much anymore nowadays; he chooses not and it’s not like he needs to. He doesn’t sleep much either, because daytime is for him to put on an act and pretend that he’s normal while nighttime is when his usually numb body actually feels something.)
And his hands—oh, his hands. Callouses and swollen skin contaminate long, thin fingers. With a flick of his wrist, he is able to control his muscles and veins to form claws with nails as sharp as a blade. It’s these very hands that have plunged through numerous bodies, squeezed beating hearts until they burst, and taken so many lives that his palms will forever be stained in crimson blood, even after he so desperately tries to scrub it off with soap and water. A layer of dirt resides underneath his nails and it’s not pretty, so he hides them in his pockets where no one can see them—where he can’t see them.
And yet, young girls and older women alike still swoon over him, still allow themselves to be charmed by those murderous teal eyes and that malicious smile. It’s not that they don’t see the broken boy inside torn-up clothing; it’s just so easy to believe that he’s whoever he claims to be: a tourist who just happened to pass by, a hunter out to bring justice to the world… even though his blatant fabrications of reality couldn’t be further from the truth.
He has a way with words, but not like how Kurapika can calmly reassure others in a soothing tone or how Leorio is able to list off facts to help ease the situation. Every sound that comes out of Killua’s moth is different and meticulously planned. He can manipulate people into doing his bidding with sugar-sweet lies and empty promises, or he can have them running for their lives with threats and low growls and a few lethal strikes to prove that he means business. He can talk his way out of being a suspect for a murder case even when there is fresh blood on his hands and no one else is around for miles except the lifeless corpse on hard cement without breaking a sweat—not that he’d ever let himself be caught in the first place.
Somewhere deep inside, Killua knows that a part of him undeniably likes the assassinations, likes the thrill of chasing victims who make a futile attempt to prolong their life. He doesn’t know when it started, but recently, he’s been thinking of death as a solution. What better way to get rid of an annoying person than to silence them forever? It’ll only take a second, he justifies; a quick, fluid swipe of his hand and there will be a head rolling on the floor.
Being a good person is hard, he realizes. Having strong morals is hard.
Despite leaving his home on Kukuroo Mountain, separating himself from his upbringing, learning to feel alive and understanding what it means to preserve other lives, and meeting Gon, the purest person he’s ever encountered, he knows that there is no changing the intent to kill that grows inside of him. He will always be an assassin at heart.
So no, Killua Zoldyck isn’t handsome, not in the least, but if that’s what other people choose to believe, then he certainly won’t go out of his way to correct them. Deception is the first step in getting people to trust him.
And after all, as Illumi’s always said, assassins don’t need friends.
A daughter of Apollo who finds that anything she even briefly mentions wanting tends to show up on her bed within a week. New watercolors, candies, hairties. She suspects that one of the Hermes kids is doing it, but no one is willing to give them up.
It stops after Manhattan.
A son of Hermes is too shy to show his affection for a child of Apollo publicly, so instead he resigns to stealing little trinkets and leaving them for her. Fresh paints, sweets, hair bands. One of these days, he promises himself, he’ll gather his courage and admit his feelings.
Summary: Milluki still remembers the way those teal eyes—still soft, still so hopeful—stared back at him.
A/N: This is the second chapter. Link to the first chapter can be found at the end. If you guys have any ideas for Killua’s past, I’d love to hear it because I only have a vague concept right now!
Fat. Lazy. Computer geek. Filthy otaku.
No one understands Milluki.
He’s the only one who has a life, don’t they see that?
Kalluto is nothing put a puppet; a toy for their mother to use to pass the time. He is obedient to the point where Milluki wonders if the young Zoldyck even has a personality of his own. Being indifferent to anything thrown his way, willingly dressing up in girls’ clothing—Kalluto is a mindless doll. Whatever he is ordered to do will be done, a very different lifestyle than the one the second son leads; they are on different extremes of the same spectrum.
And Illumi—role model, big brother Illumi—is so devoted to assassinations that it’s ridiculous. He’s barely ever home, taking on a new job right after he’s just come back from one. Milluki doesn’t think he can live like that, just passing the days by, one kill after another. What a boring life. The thrill of plunging a hand into a person’s chest dies down rather quickly, which is why he prefers torture over the actual killing.
He especially enjoys whipping Killua. (Alright, so maybe he’s a bit of a sadist, but aren’t they all a little messed up on the inside? Being a Zoldyck does that to you.)
Killua: the genius, the prodigy, the heir to the family business despite being only the third child. The one everyone fusses over. Perfect Killua wins the attention of everyone in the family: mother fawns over him, father has high expectations of him, grandfather clearly favours him, Illumi goes to great lengths to train him, even Kalluto regards him with admiration… he’s just such a precious star, isn’t he? Milluki scowls.
But there are days, more days than Milluki will ever confess, when he can’t help but think that if Killua had been born before him, he would have looked up to the white-haired boy too. His skills, however difficult to admit, are well-polished and commendable, has been ever since a young age.
If you were to go past the appearances and forced pretenses, the two of them, Milluki and Killua, are very much alike. Maybe that’s why they got along so well in the past, when they were younger and more accepting; maybe that’s why they grew apart.
They’re both, to a degree, dishonest about their true feelings—always have been, still are to this day. The first time he is ordered to whip Killua, he could see the hurt and betrayal on the white-haired boy’s face. Dangling inches above the ground, hands tied up to metal chains, Killua is rendered helpless in the Isolation Room. Milluki still remembers the way those teal eyes—still soft, still so hopeful—stared back at him. He wants nothing more than to drop the torture weapon in his hands (because he is weak, mentally weak and will do anything to ensure that he isn’t at the receiving end of anger or disappointment), but big brother Illumi is there, and so are mama and papa and even grandpa Zeno.
So he flings the whip back. Then forward. And back. And forward.
“Harder,” they order him when Killua tries to endure the pain; harder until screams are drawn out of the eight-year-old’s moth and pleas fall to deaf ears.
Milluki ends up giving Killua scars. He gives his younger brother scars at the age of eight that take weeks to heal, and even then they aren’t completely gone. Throughout the entire session, Milluki’s face is blank, void of emotion, a practiced neutral expression all Zoldycks learn to master at one point or another.
He loses count of the amount of times he apologizes to Killua is his head (because he is not only weak but also a coward). He watches his brother go through the breaking point, when those teal eyes—not so soft anymore, not nearly as hopeful—turn hard and cold, filled with hatred toward Illumi and mama and papa and him.
Milluki watches his brother break, causes his brother to break, and after all these years, Killua still hasn’t forgiven him. He hasn’t entirely forgiven himself, either.
They don’t talk after that day. Killua doesn’t understand what Milluki had done to him, but Killua also understand exactly what Milluki had done to him, and things will never be the same between them anymore.
Eight-year-old Killua, eyes no longer soft, no longer hopeful, leaves Milluki and turns to Illumi.
For Milluki, it’s easier to allow himself to hate the Zoldyck heir. It’s Killua’s own fault for not being stronger and more resilient to high levels of pain. It had only been a few minutes of whippings (minutes that soon turn into hours, then days, then weeks) and it’s not his fault, not his fault if the white-haired boy couldn’t even withstand a few beatings.
For Milluki, it’s easier to hate the Zoldyck heir because the alternative would be to hate himself.
And it happens again and again and again. With each time that he whips Killua, his guilt lessens and it starts to feel good that he can take his anger out on something. It feels good and Milluki finds that with each torture session, he is becoming less and less merciful. He swings the whip with full force. He laughs to the sound of leather hitting bruised skin. He enjoys the helpless look on his brother’s battered up face and revels in the chocked out begging sounds echoing throughout the room.
When Killua stabs him and their mother right before he runs away from Zoldyck grounds, Kikyo is delighted but Milluki is furious. Torture subjects are not supposed to fight back.
Illumi asks him, on multiple occasions, whether he knows the whereabouts of Killua’s current location or if he is capable of finding it by doing whatever it is he does on the computer. He replies with a scowl and says no, of course not, why would I want anything to do with that brat, but when the dark-haired assassin leaves, Milluki does a quick search to see if Killua has checked into anything connected to the internet lately. He tracks his brother down and feels his blood boil when he realizes that Killua is happy now.
(But he also can’t mistake the feeling of relief when he sees that his brother has made friends—friends who will be there for him when Milluki isn’t, when Milluki can’t.)
And Illumi finds out where Killua is too, a few days later, because Illumi always finds out in the end, but Milluki is the only one who stays with the ex-assassin throughout everything, from his room, silently watching. He is plotting his revenge, thinking of even worse ways to torture Killua for whenever he sees him again, Milluki convinces himself, but deep down, he knows that there’s another reason he is watching the ex-assassin—one that he will never admit to himself.
The white-haired boy starts off at the Hunter Exam, then goes to the Heaven’s Arena, and it isn’t long after that that Milluki receives a phone call about Greed Island. There’s a second voice in the background on his brother’s end, worried-sounding, asking if Killua is sure that he wants to contact his family again, and Milluki can’t say that he isn’t surprised either. (Because Killua hates him and he hates Killua, he really, really despises Killua, but at the same time, a little part of his in undeniably glad that the ex-assassin called.)
They go through their usual banter over static phone lines but there’s less of an edge to both their voices this time, and Milluki thinks that maybe, maybe they’ve both grown out of their (admittedly stubborn) grudge toward each other. Time and distance apart has allowed them to view things from a different perspective. As the conversation nears its end, silence fills the line for a long minute until Killua breaks it with a “thanks” and it’s unexpected and it’s been so long since either of them have shown gratitude for each other that Milluki is almost shocked into replying with something nice, but then the line is cut and the otaku only frowns.
He has to remind himself that Killua isn’t actually thanking him; the white-haired boy is just glad he got information out of him so he won’t have to go through the effort of searching it up himself. All this doesn’t stop the wave of nostalgia that washes over Milluki, however, so he goes back to typing away at his computer and tries to forget how it had been with him and Killua in the past, before soft, teal eyes turned hard.
He crunches on a chip loudly, angrily. The only person who truly understands Millki is considered a traitor in his family, hates his guts, and is currently miles away exploring the world with friends, of all things, but maybe that’s not so bad. Maybe that’s better than having no one understand him at all.
Milluki heaves a sigh and moves on to polishing his figurines, content with just watching over his brother from behind the screen for now.
