An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
"No–!” Ranboo turns around, then catches themself. “It’s not– you weren’t wrong to think that. I think a lot about them, too. About whether anybody else made it out.”
You purse your lips. Sneeg died inches away from that exit. “Guess it’s too late to find out now.”
An unspoken agreement hangs heavy in the air between you. If your paths are ever to diverge, it won’t be here. Not yet.
Ranboo shrugs. “Maybe.”
---
Or, the aftermath of the grand finale, told from the perspective of the one who did not live to see it.
just uploaded the final chapter of this fic!! it's a gl!charlie character study that explores the immediate aftermath of ep 3 if he and ranboo had escaped :] hope yall enjoy
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
aand...it’s up! i hope you guys enjoy it!! i’ll probably be translating this to tumblr eventually it’s just. currently 2:30 am and im so tired skdfksdfksf
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“No–!” Ranboo turns around, then catches themself. “It’s not– you weren’t wrong to think that. I think a lot about them, too. About whether anybody else made it out.”
You purse your lips. Sneeg died inches away from that exit. “Guess it’s too late to find out now.”
An unspoken agreement hangs heavy in the air between you. If your paths are ever to diverge, it won’t be here. Not yet.
Ranboo shrugs. “Maybe.”
---
Or, the aftermath of the grand finale, told from the perspective of the one who did not live to see it.
wwwwwwwww got bored at work today and wrote a GinMado oneshot, platonic or shipping idrc how you interpret it i just wanted to write something nice for these two :V takes place VERY early fusion (the day after gingka and ryuga’s first fight), little bit of canon divergence but not too noticeable
The only thing that occupied the space between them was the sound of the clock on the wall and the gentle clicks and shuffles of her handiwork.
His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, one arm draped across his forehead and the other dangling off the side of the couch. Mindless fingers rubbed against one another, fidgeting impatiently. Everything in him told him he needed to get up already – there are so many more important things to be done and you’re just laying here, dammit – but his brain remained stubborn. He hadn’t even touched his food since last night.
He had just enough energy to turn his head towards the girl on the other side of the room. So focused...she probably hadn’t even noticed he had woken up already. Absent eyes laid to rest on the bey she was currently working on; every measurement, every adjustment perfectly exact.
How does she do it? He found himself wondering that from time to time, but even more so now than ever before. Ever the voice of reason, that Madoka. Her intricate understanding of Beyblade surpassed just about anyone he had ever known, and her ability to keep a level head in even the most stressful of situations was nothing short of admirable.
“What’s wrong?”
Madoka didn’t even look up from her work, but her words cut right through the silence and snapped him out of his daze. He blinked, stopping himself from flinching at her sudden words.
“...Nothing” was all he could manage. He turned back to face the ceiling. “I just woke up, that’s all.”
“You were looking at me funny.” Was he? Shit.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Madoka’s shoulders relaxed from their hunched-over position. Looking up almost annoyedly, she set the bey parts down and turned to her friend on the couch. Even through the lenses of her goggles, he could feel her staring him down.
“Look,” she leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, “I’m not gonna force you to talk if you don’t want to. But I am worried about you – all of us are.”
“Don’t worry about it, Madoka,” he said, mustering whatever confidence his energy would allow, “I’m okay now. We all got out of there just fine, right? There’s nothing to be concerned about, promise.”
“I disagree.”
His eyes darted back to meet hers in time to watch her remove her goggles. There was...something in those eyes. Worry? Pain?
“Gingka, you could’ve gotten seriously hurt back there,” her tone was much more stern now. “I don’t– I don’t know what came over you the other day, but seeing you like that, it…” – she paused, bit her lip, letting her eyes waver for just a moment – “...I’ve never felt so worried for someone before. And never in my life did I think I’d have to feel that way about you.”
...God. God, he really fucked up, didn’t he?
If he had just stayed calm; if he had just ignored his aggravating taunts; if he had just...stopped and thought about the situation before diving headfirst into things like he always fucking did – maybe he wouldn’t be laying on this couch right now. Maybe they wouldn’t be having this conversation at all. Maybe…
A chill ran up his spine. That was the angriest he had ever felt in his life. It...honestly kind of scared him, too.
But he remained silent. He didn’t know what to say, and even if he did, he had no energy left to say it. His non-dangling arm returned to his forehead, sliding down to shield his eyes from the ceiling lights. A deep breath filled his lungs and escaped through his nose.
The sound of a rolling chair sliding across the floor and footsteps caught his attention, and he felt Madoka’s presence draw closer to him. She sat herself down to meet his eye level.
Only the sensation of her head leaning on his shoulder brought him back to the present. His shielding arm flinched, moving aside to glance at his friend.
“You’re a great friend of mine, Gingka,” she muttered, not bothering to maintain eye contact. “I want you to know that it’s okay to ask for help sometimes. Your burdens are ours, too; there’s no need for you to go through all of this alone.”
A lump began to form in his throat. He chewed on the inside of his cheek in a feeble attempt to hold it back. Madoka was right about a lot of things: this, he supposed, was one of them.
His head tilted slightly to meet hers, and he let out a shaky sigh. “Thank you, Madoka,” he whispered.
The two sat there in silence for a long while; there was nothing left to say. He knew he had to speak to the others about this soon, but for now, he needed to recover. Having Madoka here with him – even if it was in total silence – was enough to make him feel safe.
[ prologue (you are here!) | chapter 1 ] / || read it on AO3! ||
The world beyond the Hermits' Isles is a dangerous place. Other than thousands of miles of wilderness and the monstrous Mobs of Grimm that lurk in its shadows, nothing exists beyond the safe haven of player-kind's last bastions of civilization. Huntsmen and Huntresses train to fight against the threats of the Outside world and protect the Isles -- and to Stress, knowing these two fundamental truths of the server would have been enough to keep her satisfied for a lifetime.
Winter, however, brings a change no amount of training could ever prepare her for. And what Stress discovers may place everything -- and everyone -- she loves on the line.
The first dusting of snow told of a change Stress knew she would never be ready for.
She sat, quiet, under the birch tree, idle fingers tracing the fibers of her cardigan sleeve. The campfire crackled in protest of the ice buoying about the air, smoke trail meandering through the tangle of branches above. The forest still glowed in the fiery reds and oranges of late autumn, but a thin veil of frost had already begun to creep its way onto the trembling leaves. Under the weight of the coming winter, Stress’s heart sank just as heavily.
“We don’t have to stay here, y’know,” something about the pit in her stomach compelled her to speak. Her words trembled against the breeze nipping at her skin, searching almost desperately for even an inkling of hope. “I- I can take you back. We’ll get you proper help, I swear it. We just- we can’t stay out here. Not with you like this.”
In the space between Stress’s seat and the campfire, lying on the torn wool of what was left of her tent, a pair of soft blue eyes trailed up to meet her. They darted back and forth, analyzing the Hermit sitting restlessly before her. The life in those eyes was fleeting, and both of them knew it.
The woman lying before Stress mustered the strength to shake her head, a small breath escaping her lips. In the quickly freezing air, the mist of what Stress dreaded to imagine was the woman’s fading soul joined the campfire’s trail into the indefinite sky.
“Don’t worry about me anymore, Stress,” whispered the woman. Even her voice sounded like it would give at any second. “We wouldn’t make it back in time, even if we tried.”
Stress opened her mouth in protest, but the words caught in the lump in her throat. She closed it, biting back the tears pricking at her eyes. Deep down, Stress knew how she felt meant nothing. She’d only just met this woman not hours before this – she didn’t even know her name – and death, in a world as dangerous as this, was nothing short of a punishing fact of life. Under normal circumstances, she would have allowed things to run its course, give the woman proper departure, and head home before she was next.
This, however, was anything but normal circumstances.
“You know,” the woman’s voice coaxed Stress back to reality, “I ventured out here because I was given a mission.”
The Hermit remained silent.
The woman continued. Her satin words wrapped around Stress, shielding her from the dusting snow if only for a moment. “I’d been told all my life that I had a duty to uphold, that my entire existence was dedicated to this one mission. Awful lot of responsibility for one girl, don’t you think?” A silky laugh strained to escape her throat. “But...I don’t think I’ll get the chance to see it through anymore.”
Stress pursed her lips. Her eyes stared ahead, not daring connect with the icy blue irises she knew were fixated on her. The hand that traced along the fuzz on her cardigan abruptly balled itself into a fist. She loathed the idea of sitting idly by as the world claimed another. Deliberately allowing this to happen – allowing herself to fail – pushed against every principle Stress adhered to out here. The woman was young, certainly younger than her...seeing her lying there, so frail and exhausted, felt completely and utterly wrong. Stress’s eyes squeezed shut, no longer bothering to hold back the tears that spilled over.
“You’re a Huntress, right?” Asked the woman. “I know that you have a mission, too.”
“And that mission is to help people,” Stress retorted, shifting from where she sat. “That includes you – I don’t care what you say.”
The blurry colors of a teary-eyed world didn’t prevent her from looking back at the woman lying before her. Without much thought, she reached out and placed a gentle hand on top of the woman’s own.
“...You know that’s not what I meant,” said the woman.
The tears on Stress’s face ran cold. "What?"
“I mean that you have a mission, Stress. I know that Huntsmen and Huntresses fight to protect player-kind and all, but what about you?” – The woman’s icy fingers wrapped around Stress’s and gave them a gentle squeeze. – “Why do you venture out here and put your life on the line for others? What is your true mission?”
Stress blinked. She racked her brain for an answer, but no words appeared in the already-jumbled mess of her mind. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again – then eventually closed. Stress shook her head and groaned, the tears already welling up again.
“Please…” she pleaded, stubborn – and frustrated – determination rising from behind her tears, “please, just...let me take you home.”
The woman turned her head away and stared at the treeline above them. Flecks of snow brushed against her face, nestling themselves within the blue-blonde strands of her hair. Her lips curled into a smile.
"You've got a fighting spirit," she whispered. "Treasure it.”
“What?”
“The world is such a scary place. There are things out here that are capable of doing the unthinkable. But you…”
The woman closed her eyes.
"...It's people like you who remind me of all the things worth fighting for."
The crackling of the campfire subsided to its lowest embers, and the fiery leaves above no longer quivered in the wake of the wandering smoke. Between silent tears, the woman’s hand went limp. And in that quiet moment, everything Stress knew about the world turned on its head.
