#//... may have forgotten about this one oops sorry!

[signedkoko]

Hello! May I request a romantic scenario with Husk and a gn!reader? The reader is a worker at the hotel and does like Husk, but knows Angel feels the same, so they try to push their feelings aside because Angel is their friend. They confess their feelings for Husk in a letter, intending to keep it hidden, except they accidentally give him the letter instead of the envelope full of money that they owe him for the drinks.

Thank you for taking the time to read this and happy holidays! :)

Husk X Reader [Romantic]

In which you accidentally confess your feelings to your crush, Husk.

One of the ways you heard people could vent their feelings to others was by writing it all in a letter and giving it to them

In practice, one of the hardest parts about telling others your more personal thoughts was doing it face to face, so penning it down and slipping it under the door made that easier

You figured you could do something like that, except rather than hand it over, you'd keep it to yourself

So after confessing your deepest emotions about how you'd fallen for him, you signed the letter off to Husk and tucked it deep into your journal, where it'd likely never see the light of day

While keeping things so childish to yourself rather than confessing may seem silly, you knew it'd hurt your friend who had told you many times of their feelings for Husk

Angel Dust trusted you, and who were you to take someone he had finally come to love away from him?

Though, whenever Angel spoke to you about the future they imagined with Husk, you always found yourself silent, like your mood was suddenly crushed by stacks of lead

With another night wrapped up at the bar to celebrate some recent successes and milestones in the hotel, you'd forgotten to pay your tab and tucked into your room to rest

Not that it was uncommon, Husk knew where to find you if he needed it

Nevertheless, you knew your usual and kept note by placing what you usually owed into an envelope with his name on it, and slipped it into your bag without much thought

Later in the day, when you found yourself heading out the door for an appointment, you quickly swooped to the counter with the payment in mind

" So sorry about last night, I have everything I owe right in here somewhere- "

" Ah whatever, it's already been handled. On the house. "

Husk was shuffling a deck of cards in his hands as he spoke, seeming to avoid eye contact

Nevertheless, you insisted on paying him, and slammed the envelope you'd felt around for on the bar

" Oops! I accidentally left my dues on the bar! I gotta go! "

Rushing out the door, you never turned back despite his protests

It was only later, when you were finishing up at your appointment and picking up a quick refreshment to bring back that you pulled out your wallet, which had the very envelope you made this morning stuck between it

Oh no.

Hurriedly ploughing through your bag, you were terrified to see your journal was empty of any letter

Oh god, no.

The rush back to the hotel was like no other

When you finally shot the doors open, the bar was empty, nothing but a closed sign hanging from one of the bottle racks

Your next stop was Husk's room, which you took a moment to compose yourself before knocking

" There's no lock on the door. Just come in. "

Relaxing on the bed was no other than the winged demon, drinking from a bottle with his eyes closed

On the nightstand, your letter was wide open, pages sprawled on top of the envelope

" Husk? "

When he heard your voice, he shot straight up, wiping his mouth and hiding the bottle behind his wings

" Shit, hey. I didn't expect you to be here so soon. "

The silence was drawn out

" Listen, I really gotta give it to ya, your handwriting is really nice- "

" Just forget any of it okay? It's a stupid joke. "

" I don't think jokes have tear stains embedded in the paper. "

Begrudgingly, you shut the door behind you, exhaling a deep sigh with hands pushing into your forehead

" Oh calm down. Is the idea of datin' me really that bad? So what! We go on a few dates, I tell you I love you back, yada yada. "

He was extremely nonchalant about the topic as he continued on about your new relationship with him

" Wait. You…Want to date me? "

You pointed at yourself, to which he chuckled and rolled his eyes

" I dont give free drinks to people I don't like. "

Author's Note - This was kind of long I am so sorry I got too into it!! I may as well have written a oneshot but also I am lazy so here this is 🖤 Thank you for requesting!

[hanlimz]

[midnight thoughts: jungwon + the sublime]

synopsis: after an arduous battle, jungwon isn't sure if he's going to make it, but he has to say something before he goes. pairing: yang jungwon x gn!reader genre/warnings: spiderwon!au, angst with happy ending / mentions of blood, discussions of death, overall angsty themes but no one actually dies!, lots of confessions of love, and weird inclusion of "the sublime" bc we talked abt it in my eng class, also NOT proofread :,) wc: ~2.4k (haha OOPS) a/n: heyyyy how yall doin :))))) this has been sitting in my drafts forEVER ... and i finished it at 1am b4 my first day of school so be warned for inconsistencies / i liked the first half of this drabble but the second half is not my fave ,, so sorry that i couldn't do you justice spiderwon

yang jungwon never believed in the concept of the sublime. that uncanny mixture of overwhelming fear and unsettling fascination never managed to make an impression on him. especially in his line of work, jungwon is firm in his notion of death: when the time comes, a vast blackness will consume him; the void will leech away his life, and he will cease to exist. there will be no theatrics, no white light, no booming voice or angel song—only a comforting emptiness welcoming him into the dark.

now, however, jungwon lies alone in a familiar back alley; the tips of his fingers are numb from the amount of blood he's lost, and he can hardly lift his head up from the brick wall it's resting on. the palms of his hands are stained a deep crimson as he attempts to stop the river of red spilling from his thigh. jungwon admires the eerily beautiful way in which the body lets go; glinting in the dim street lights, his wounds glitter like rubies in a summer sunset. at this point, succumbing to his injuries seems inevitable, and jungwon thinks there may be some truth to be found in sublimity.

but, he's not ready to die. not yet—not with so many things left undone, so many things left unsaid.

with the little strength he has left, jungwon reaches for his backpack hidden in the nook behind the dumpster. he pulls out his phone and dials a number number he knows by heart; his cold fingers fumble over the screen, and he curses his current lack of dexterity. eventually, though, the machine begins to ring. the sound grates on his ears as he waits with bated breath for you to pick up.

"hello?" you croak, your question laden with sleep, "who is it?"

a breathy chuckle escapes jungwon's lips. he had forgotten how late it was, how you mentioned earlier that you had a calulus exam tomorrow, and just how gorgeous you sounded when you were tired. "sorry, [y/n] ... didn't mean to wake you," jungwon sighs, "just wanted to hear your voice."

"won, seriously?" you scoff, "this couldn't have waited 'til tomorrow? i mean, it's—it's two in the morning ... i was literally just dreaming about acing that calc test."

a dopey grin fastens itself to jungwon's lips as he wills his eyes to stay open. if he falls asleep, he knows there's a possibility that he won't get back up; so, he indulges for a bit, listening to your fatigued grumbling and smiling like an idiot. "honestly, m'not sure if tomorrow's in my cards, [y/n]," he admits, trying to hide how labored his breaths are becoming, "'nd i jus' wanted to hear you one last time."

"yang jungwon, what the hell are you—" jungwon knows exactly when you realize he's in trouble. he knows exactly when you realize he's not messing with you. the abrupt pause, the hitch in your breath, the way you inhale through your teeth—it's almost too obvious. "oh fuck," you continue, "oh shit ... won, where are you? are you hurt? what can i do to help?"

jungwon coughs out a laugh, "'m in the alley off jackson ave, 'nd i think i've bled on every piece of old furniture back here, if that says anything."

your breathing is frantic. jungwon listens to the sound of rustling clothes and the occasional thud of your foot as it hits your bed frame. you're cursing and mumbling and unravelling at the seams, searching for whatever you can that might help you help jungwon. out loud, you go through a list: gauze, neosporin, saline.

"am i missing anything?" you ask, not expecting a response.

"bandages?" jungwon replies.

"bandages!" you exclaim, "i almost forgot the fucking bandages?" there's more noise on the other side of the phone, and jungwon doesn't let himself relax until he hears your window crack open. metal clangs as you rush down the fire escape; he wills the beating of his heart to match the tempo of your feet against the steps. jungwon wills himself to stay alive. and, it's almost as though you can read his mind through the phone. "don't you dare fall asleep, yang jungwon. talk to me about something—anything—just don't fall asleep."

he racks his brain for a topic of conversation; the nerves building in his stomach as he anticipates next week's orgo exam, the cat he rescued from a tree in queensbridge park earlier today, the new thai restaurant that opened up near his apartment building. options race through his mind, but all of jungwon's thoughts lead back to you.

"i love you," jungwon says, abrupt yet resolute.

"oh god." you suck in an incredulous gasp, "you're delirious. this is—"

"i'm not delirious," he interrupts, voice hauntingly clear. "i know what i'm saying. and, i'm saying that i love you, [y/n] [l/n]."

for a moment, the line crackles with a thick, viscous silence that seeps through the grainy static; it's heavy, almost too real, and jungwon listens to the sound of your shoes slamming against the pavement until you speak again. "okay," you sigh, something unreadable swimming behind your words, "keep talking to me, jungwon."

jungwon takes in a deep breath before speaking again. his whole body is cold now, and if it weren't for the weakness spreading throughout his veins, he's positive his teeth would be chattering. inhaling the concoction of gasoline fumes, freshly dumped trash, and frigid, autumn air, jungwon feels the chill of the reaper creeping up the length of his spine. its spindly fingers beckon him into that same darkness he was once so sure of, once so okay with. but, jungwon can't let himself give in to its temptation. after all, he has someone waiting for him.

"you give me this feeling," jungwon declares in an inexplicable moment of lucidity, "'nd i dunno how to explain it. it's—it's like ... i look at you, and you pull me in. an invisible string, maybe? fate? true love? i'm—i have no idea what to call it. you always make me want to know more, even though i've known you forever. since we were kids, [y/n]—i've felt like this for years. and, i'm sorry. i'm sorry for not telling you earlier, for not telling you when i told you about the whole spiderman thing.

"i'm such an idiot for making you worry. someone who loves you shouldn't do that to you, i shouldn't do that to you. and, god [y/n]—i love you so much. you're this force of nature, you know? drawing me in, even though it's dangerous. and, even though i'm terrified of what the consequences might be, i love you so much that i'm afraid to die without saying it at least once.

"i'm—i'm so sorry for being so stupid, because—" jungwon whispers with a shaky voice, teetering on the edge of consciousness, "i love you, [y/n]. i love you."

jungwon's hearing is fading in and out, and his vision is growing blurry; but, the sounds of your footsteps accompanied by the incessant drone of his phone keeps him from slipping into that overwhelming darkness. you take in a sharp breath, and his head lolls in your direction. jungwon's lips are molded into a mindless, faraway smile; his eyes are misted over, foggy with both pain and fatigue. he's not all there, but he still manages to be cheerful. it astounds you.

rushing over to begin applying all the first aid supplies you managed to stuff into your backpack. wound-wash, gauze, bandage, wound-wash, gauze, bandage, wound-wash gauze bandage, wound-washgauzebandage. the sheer amount of blood that has been leeched from his body makes you dizzy; your head is spinning as you try to calculate just how many pints would be equal to what you've just sopped up. glancing up at your best friend (crush? lover?) you see that his eyes have drooped shut. his skin is pallid, his lips are pale, his neck is craned at an awkward angle as it rests on his shoulder. and, your heart stops because you didn't get to say it back.

"no. no, no, no ... won—jungwon, wake up!" a storm brews in your stomach. it starts as a mellow rain pattering against the lining of your intestines, then becomes a raging tempest as it bubbles up and out of your throat. "please, please, please! i got here in time, i swear—i never cared about the stupid, fucking calc test! i cared about you, i care about you! and, i'm here now, so you can't leave. you can't leave me."

an inhuman shriek claws through your lips, ricocheting against the brick walls that seem to be caving in around you; the weight of the world crashes into your frail shoulders, threatening to crush you. as you inch even closer to jungwon's shrouded figure, your pants are soaked through with a crude mixture of blood and rainwater. you reach out for him and cup his cheek with a trembling hand, and part of you swears his skin is still warm to the touch.

but, hope has no place here.

instead, you cradle his head and heave his body to rest against yours. he is astonishingly heavy; you can feel his muscles ripple beneath the tips of your fingers, but you're already convinced. your best friend is dead. slowly, the cement will absorb his heat, and he will grow cold. as the morning draws nigh, you will be forced to put his mask back on and leave him for someone else to find. then, the news articles will pour in, and the city will have stolen not only his life, but his death as well. tears are wetting his scalp as you bury your nose into his sweat-caked hair. you're gripping at his suit so hard you think the threads might snap, and the throbbing in your head is nothing compared to the agony in your heart.

the wailing doesn't stop until, in your peripherals, you see his finger twitch. sucking a staggering breath through his nose, jungwon cracks open a tired eye to gaze up at you. "i would—" he coughs out with a wince, "i would never leave you."

in your stupor, his voice doesn't register first. his mouth moves, but no sound escapes him; then, the words play over again in your mind while his lips remain closed. seconds melt into minutes, and you float away from your body. a numbness overtakes you as you stare at the scene before you from about five feet away; your fingers are still clutching at the suit fibers, the pajamas you chose earlier tonight are now saturated with blood, and jungwon is breathing. jungwon is breathing. jungwon is breathing.

snapping back into yourself, you place a weak hand on his chest. steadily, certainly—it rises and falls; the beating of his heart, though shallow and slow, thrums beneath your palm. shifting your stare to his face, you are greeted once again by a familiar, wry smile. jungwon is alive. despite all odds, the boy you love is alive; and, try as you might, you can't really help yourself.

"[y/n]?" he croaks, quirking the eyebrow above his less swollen eye, "can you hear—"

"i love you, too."

the utterance dangles precariously in the frigid midnight air. jungwon's lack of response causes your stomach to churn until he relexes further into your frame, huffing out a pained laugh. he lets himself rest for a moment, relishing in the warmth he manages to leech from your skin. "it wasn't ... wasn't supp—supposed to happen like this, you know?" jungwon protests, voice catching on his fatigue and discomfort. "i ... had everything planned—planned out."

"won, you don't—"

baring his teeth, he lifts a hand to hold the one you kept on his chest and barrels through your objection. "i was gonna take you to the met ... gonna take you for a pic—a picnic in central park." jungwon sputters, pressing his forehead against your upper arm, "then, we would swing ... back to your apartment. 'nd, i was gonna tell—tell you. tell you about how i feel."

still supporting his neck with your arm, you move to take his face in your palm once more. jungwon's gaze is sharper than it was just minutes ago—more focused, more alert. the emotions swirling in those deep pools of raw umber are more multitudinous than the stars they reflect. gratitude, torment, joy, defeat, love. bridging the gap that had separated the two of you for so long, you stop just shy of his lips. a dynamic heat emanates from them; jungwon is practically vibrating under your touch, living and breathing.

"are you okay?" you ask, "is this okay?"

jungwon answers by pushing himself up—closing the distance, sharing your breath, connecting your souls. salt and iron dance on his tongue as your tears mingle with his blood. it's a hypnotizing concoction—one that threatens to send him reeling, one that threatens to have him spinning out with no hope of return. fireworks explode behind his eyelids, a myriad of bright reds and vibrant oranges blinds him, and jungwon uses what is left of his strength to grip your wrist; he grounds himself and allows his lungs to burn as he breathes you in.

after a while, however, your parting is instinctual as the lack of oxygen forces you apart—two bodies trying to preserve themselves long enough to meet again. with a labored sigh, jungwon slumps backwards and tucks his chin to catch your gaze. in that moment, he finds himself frozen; his essence is suspended motionless, positively bewitched by you. in the silence, where all he can sense is you, jungwon embraces the ever-present warmth that has flourished within him. it floods his being with a terrifyingly powerful adoration for you. it is nothing like he has ever felt before, and though he is brave enough to confess, this extent of his love for you—it scares him.

however, as your skin glows in the light of the moon and your eyes pool with the desire for a future with him, jungwon digs his feet in and roots your love deep within his heart. he refuses to let this fear grow in its place; instead, he vows to nurture it, to care for it, to protect it. as he lies in your arms, jungwon rejects the sublime once more and chooses for himself.

"i love you, [y/n]," he whispers into your palm.

the world seems to go quiet as it listens for your response.

"i love you, too, jungwon."

[spncvr]

scott street | remus lupin

summary: You return to your childhood home. Remus, your past love, unexpectedly returns. (based on the song scott street if that wasn’t obvious)

pairing: rockstar!remus lupin x fem!reader (3rd person oops sorry)

warnings: is this.... angst?? idk but hurt/comfort!! no use of y/n bc i cannot write that and not die a little, and my terrible english i'm sure i mixed all the tenses up here guys sorry im tryinggg,, this is lowk cheesy as hell i feel like... LMAO

a/n: i was sick so i didn't go to school tdy but i wrote this banger oneshot (its 2,4k words can u belive?? longest thing ive ever written in english)

masterlist

Walking Scott Street, feeling like a stranger

With an open heart, open container

THE SUN SUNK behind the many leaves which hung lazily on the branches. Through the old sheer curtains, the breeze blows faint whispers. The room is tinged with a familiar feeling; as if the concrete used that constructed this house is laced with memories from the past. The memories all flooded back like tides in a vast ocean, rolling back and forth as they brought back recollections of days gone by.

This was where she had grown up. The small backyard, the one with grass that had used to touch her ankles, was where she had first learned how to do a cartwheel. The bed, unchanged since she had left, felt almost ancient. She remembered the time she had faked a headache to skip school and had spent the whole day in it; back then the bed had felt like the only place she had wanted to live in. 

This was where she fell in love. So much in love, that she could not seem to pinpoint the exact moment she had ever fallen out of it. Maybe she never did. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore, at least.

The room’s walls are bare, and the old, washed-out wall once covered with posters of her favourite rock bands, no longer stands amongst the antique wallpaper. But his pictures were there. Their pictures. It seemed as though they were taunting her as it was propped up on the small table beside her bed. She picked one of them up, one that had stood out to her the most, and gazed at it.

She grew up without wealth. That was clear from the photo, where her top was much too big for her. Maybe it was her father’s; she can’t remember. But that hadn’t mattered to him. He had his arms around her shoulders and a smile on his lips akin to those she’d seen of him on posters and TV screens. She missed when he’d shown it just for her to see.

I’ve got a stack of mail and a tall can.It’s a shower beer, it’s a payment plan.

She tries to remember the moment or event that had taken place where they had taken the picture. And she almost forgets. It caused her to quickly put the picture back down, and a loud thud resonated between the calm sounds of home.

How could she forget? She felt like she was losing too much of herself. The part of herself that had lived here, one that had loved so freely and so openly, was slipping away so incredibly quickly—and suddenly she understood why her mother had cried when she chose a university so far off. She had almost forgotten a part of herself—a version of herself, that she seemed to have missed the most.

She sits down on the edge of the bed, still close to the picture she had put back down, only to look at it again, this time from afar. 

Of course, she remembers this moment. It had been her birthday, and he had taunted her mercilessly, telling her how she was just as old and frail as he was since she had always made fun of him for having his birthday at the start of the year and hers so close to the end. This may have contributed to the small roll of her eyes in the photo, but she was unable to control the grin that had painted itself on her lips. She can’t remember the last time she’d been so happy. Joking about being so incredibly old while being so young. She’d have given everything to be seventeen again if it meant being seventeen with him. 

Behind the picture, she had been staring at, was another one. And this time, she didn’t forget because, try as she might, she couldn’t.

She can’t seem to let go of the memory of the first time he kissed her, after a gig, a small one that he held with his mates at a pub not that far from here. She remembers how his skin was alight with adrenaline, and his gaze piercing. She couldn’t forget the moment when he told her that she had always been the one he loved not long after the picture, somewhere outside the pub, where the crisp chilly November breeze did not win against his palm that rested against her cheek.

Not long after, when he had brought her back to his, when he had kissed her silly. When she had realized that she really loved him too, and when the realization had hit her so hard, she had to loop her arms around his neck to keep herself upright, when there was only quiet in the house and all that could be heard was her gentle laughter and his sweet nothings, he had whispered in her ear so quietly, almost as if it were a secret, I would have been content to love you from a distance.

There, they were eighteen, fresh out of school and without the slightest idea where they’d go next. She had occasionally pondered what would have happened if they had more time, if they hadn’t both been so foolish, or, if they had both recognized how much it was they felt for one another sooner. But doing so would have made the parting even more painful than it already was. That was something she didn’t like to imagine.

She sighs and leaves the room. She needed to breathe.

Do you feel ashamed, When you hear my name?

ADMITTEDLY, REMUS DIDN'T think he’d ever come back. To Wales, yes, of course, it was his country (now more than ever). But not to this house. Not to her house. He couldn’t ever think straight, not when he knew that she was out there somewhere forgetting every minute detail about their past, and not when the love she’d once felt for him had long gone. But here he stands. 

He’s overthinking this. She probably isn’t even home.

She’s always told him when they were young that she wanted to leave.

One day, she had whispered to him in the darkness, when they were six, her favourite stuffed animal tightly tucked between her arms, one day, we’ll be far away. Remus can’t remember whatever caused her to tell him this at such a young age, with such strong conviction. He thinks it was probably something silly—a classmate’s admonition that some activities were simply reserved for boys. Or maybe it was because her parents had refused to let her get ice cream after she’d finished all of her green vegetables (all that suffering for nothing, really). But the mindset had continued to stick in her mind; an ember of determination that refused to fade away.

One day, she says again, when she’s thirteen because her teacher had failed her in her first ever physics exam, one day this won’t matter. I’ll go. I’ll leave. She had said it so firmly and so surely that it scares him sometimes. Because, really, they’ve never been anywhere but here—so sometimes, he asks his mirror, pretending that she’s staring back at him: What if it’s just the same? What if it’s just as bad?

One day, she says again, when she’s seventeen because she has been looking at universities far off and away from Wales. He’d watch her as she’d stare at the campus pictures on the brochures their school had offered and study the student’s bright wide smiles, and sometimes, he wondered if she ever pictures herself in those hallways, with a group of new friends—she’d be the smart one, the witty one. Sometimes, Remus wondered if she ever pictured him with her as she told him with the biggest smile on her face: One day, I’ll be there. Anytime soon.

She’s never liked it here. That much was always clear to Remus. Her books were the sole bright spot in her otherwise (as she put it) bleak existence. Always arranged in a way that only she could fully understand within the small bookshelf she had bought for herself with her first paycheck when she was saving up for Uni. Often, he wondered if she had brought them with her when she had left or whether she had left them here. No longer feeling the drag of her fingertips against its words. Abandoned by its only reader. 

And for a while, he had thought that he’d given her another reason to love the place they’d always called home. But he left her. So why, then, would she ever choose to stay? Books could only last for so long.

Just knock, he curses to himself. Say hello to her parents. Tell them that you wanted to see how they were doing. 

And just when he’s about to finally get it over with, the door opens.

And she’s there.

She looks different. Hair cut short and brushed neatly. Her clothes fit her nicely. It feels kind of jarring. He doesn’t really know what to expect. He’d been half-expecting to see the girl who had her hair always tied up in a ponytail that didn’t do much, with the amount of hair that was always falling out of it or the girl who wore oversized band shirts that belonged to her father, along with the sneakers she’d been using ever since her feet had stopped growing—the girl who was so full of life it felt nearly impossible not to love her. It was silly, really. Of course, she’d changed. It’s been four years. 

“Remus?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowing, “What’re you doing here?”

He opens his mouth and closes it again. What was he doing here?

“I’m—” he starts but pauses for a while to come up with an answer, “I didn’t know you still lived here.”

“I don’t,” she says, plainly.

“Oh.” he breathes, she’s always been forward, “Well, I’m here for holiday.”

“Yeah . . . yeah me too.”

He rocks on the heels of his foot back and forth, “I just— wanted to know how your parents are doing.”

She purses her lips, “Oh. Well, Dad’s doing alright, I bought him a bunch of LPs—some of them yours, actually. And Mum’s still trying to get used to me being back here. She’s cooked a thousand meals.”

“That’s good to know,” he nods, smiling, because sometimes, she has no idea the effect she has on people. “I’m glad they’re alright.”

“How’ve you been?” she inquires, “Heard you’re not doing too bad in your band thing.”

He laughs softly, “It’s been alright.”

She smiles, for the first time he’s talked to her, and shakes her head softly, “Modest as always. Send the lads my love.”

“I missed you,” he tells her. And it spills from his tongue so quickly, before he could even think about it. She needed to know, somehow, that he couldn’t shake her off his mind. He played for her, wrote for her and of her. And sometimes, when he woke up in the middle of the night he swears he could feel her shadow brush his hand, he hoped and prayed to whatever God that was making him feel so incredibly homesick, that she’d been listening to the songs he’d written.

He could only hope that she’d understand the undertone of his words.

She looks at him with this look that seems to pierce through time, reaching back into the past, unwanting to let go. Then, there was this beat of silence; one long enough for him to hear everything that had been left unsaid.

She looks at him, her honey-laced lips slightly parted. “Do you want to come in?” She sounds hesitant as she steps aside, letting him through.

He nods as he follows her in.

The house felt achingly familiar, yet everything felt and seemed different. The walls were the same colour, and the couch that had always looked somewhat old still stood in the exact same place it had four years ago, with new cushions adorning it. The air felt thicker. She always had that effect on him, he supposes.

“Tea?” she offers, a smile playing on her lips, as she leads him into the kitchen.

“Always,” he replies, trying to keep his voice steady.

She turns her back to him to make tea and he feels like he’s missing her all over again. He’s watching her move, taking the tea kettle and suddenly he’s sixteen again, when he’d brought James, Sirius and Pete here because they’d had run into trouble with the police—well, admittedly, it was just James and Sirius, but the four boys had never failed to stick together—and the first thing she’d asked them when she saw all four of them at her doorstep late at night is if they’d like some tea.

“How long are you staying?” she asks, back still turned. “A few weeks,” he says, “Got a bit of a break before the next tour.”

When she handed him a cup, he noticed how even her arms and the tips of her fingers had changed. She looks good, beautiful. 

“So, how’s life been?” she asks, taking a sip.

“Busy,” he replies, “Touring, recording, writing. It’s a lot, but it’s what I love.”

“I’ve been listening to your music,” she admits when he sips her tea. It’s exactly how he likes it. “It’s good, Remus. Really good.”

Remus looks down at his shoes, “Thank you,” then, “I’m sorry.”

She frowns, “What for?” “For leaving,” his voice, barely a whisper, “for everything.”

“Oh, Remus,” she sighs as she puts her cup down on the kitchen counter, “no, you had to go. It was your dream—I mean, look at you. You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’ve missed you,” he says again. Because she had smiled at him the same way she did all those years ago in that pub.

And this time, she says it back.

They spent the rest of the day talking and, at times reminiscing, catching up on their lives, and it felt like no time had passed, like they were the same two kids who had believed in forever. As the sky turned dark, and the light from the lamp in the living room spilt against the floors of her house, she had looked at him—that same look she had always given him five, six years ago before asked him, quietly:

“Will you stay?”

Remus smiles, his heart full, “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Anyway, don’t be a stranger

likes and reblogs r appriciated! <3 also i just learned what a taglist is,, so lmk if u wanna be included in my remus one :D

[onlyseokmins]

$$60 billion (part 1) • l.s.m.

How did a legendary bounty promised for turning in the wasteland's most infamous outlaw transform into a sick, little inside betting joke amongst your traveling companions? Though you have no idea why they're doing it… you sure as hell don't want that very same gunslinger comrade worth sixty billion double dollars to know anything about it either — but oops — looks like he already does! Damn you and your temper, some unhelpful lip-loosening alcohol, and one no-good, sorry excuse of a preacher you sometimes think of as a friend.

Pairing: outlaw!lee seokmin x fem!reader Genres: eventual smut (minors dni!), trigun!au action!au, apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic!au, space western!au, slight enemies to comrades to ??? !au, angst, fluff, they're dumbasses your honor 🙏 Warnings: swearing, blood, death, gore, guns, injuries, destruction, mentions of knives, weapons, violence, creepy monsters and creatures, ptsd, moral ambiguities, dark topics tbh, smoking, unsettling space western things, slight body horror and hints at altered dna, weird religious cults, mentions of eating/food, alcohol, threats, bets among friends, platonic (but not really) nakedness, reader is operating on a short fuse bc I believe u have to be built different for this universe, their communication is abt to be as poor as the plant life 💀 Seungcheol kinda his own warning imho, biggest apology to chan, and we all love seok sm bc he sings abt total slaughter 🙇🏻‍♀️ WC: 19.5k of 32.7k | Part 2 | Read on AO3 A/N: this is for the Now that's 90's - A Seventeen collab and loosely based off/inspired by the Trigun anime/manga! You do not need to know it as I manipulated a whole lot of elements for my own narrative but beware of various spoilers if you do go ahead and check out the series after reading!! I feel like the boys may seem ooc but I had a lot of fun putting this together 😌 Thank you Summer and Isa for hosting this collab and your utmost patience in me finally writing my piece! I hope everyone enjoys this and please check out the other writers in this amazing collab ❤️let me know your thoughts and feel free to ask any questions regarding this au's intricacies!!

Everyone wanted Lee Seokmin. 

The cities' great militaries. Bounty hunters. Bandits on the roads. Criminals escaping death row. Prowling pirate gangs. His twin brother. You. 

Though you reckoned your "want" for him was a bit… different from others. Well, at least you hope so, goddamn it. 

You shiver. 

At first, you wanted him just like the mass majority would one day as well — dead. The deed swiftly carried out with a silver pistol aimed at his temple.

Besides, your blood-thirst began before the destruction of July. Unlike most, who angrily shake their fists at the gaping crater on the fifth moon in the spirit of pure vengeance. Yes, the tragic incident of the great city that upped the bounty dangling over his head like a noose to a sixty billion double dollars reward. But Little Ivywood was the first of many places that would end up reduced to ruins after Lee Seokmin set foot there.

Wiped off the map. Wiped from history. Wiped from existence. But never forgotten. Especially not by the small town's only known survivor — you.

Your earliest memories contain little about the events that led up to being left on the doorstep of Little Ivywood's unofficial orphanage. How could they when you were just a baby? One swaddled in a ratty cloth weighted down by a rusted pistol. There was just one simple hint to your past — scribbled nearly illegible on a torn piece of paper dotted with blood — and could only be what the nuns had to assume was your name.

At least that's how Sister Meryl relayed the tale whenever asked, her hands clasped tightly together in praise and gratitude to the Saint that delivered you to them unharmed. The irony, considering Sister Lucia always looks like she'll faint just like the day she opened the convent's side door. It wasn't an easy sight to see or recall, the image of a wailing infant mouthing on the empty muzzle of a gun.

Neither versions of your origin story could be that far off thanks to the scar marring your left hand and the gun held tightly in your right. You've had both for as long as you can remember. And as you grew and changed, so did they.

The scar shrunk and faded through the years, seemingly forgotten amongst a myriad of other markings littered across your skin. Over time, the pistol's rusted parts were repaired or replaced and soon, its shine and character returned. Restored to its former glory while forging a new beginning ahead with a different owner.

But there were two things that stayed constant throughout your years at the orphanage. The first was your birth name. Not even the nuns, who generally loved bestowing scriptural monikers as if they were granting rich titles to unnamed orphans, tried to change yours. The second was a person who you still refuse to call by his baptismal name — Chan.

He helped you, became an assistant of sorts. Originally just some snot-nosed, beanpole of a fellow orphan you didn't really pay much attention to. A scared kid who cried way too loudly even after you'd even taken the time to demonstrate that the gun was safe after he'd been the one continuously pestering to see it. Very much to Sister Constance's chagrin, since it all went down in the middle of confessional time.

But curiosity eventually overturned the initial fear.

Lucky, because by acquiring bravery, Chan could discover his innate talent for gunsmithing. Lanky, noodle arms transformed into well-formed, sinewy muscles. The soft baby skin of his hands roughened with callouses as he whittled away near the convent's underground furnace. He'd spend hours down there, returning with sweat, grime, and charcoal smudged all over his skin after melting together the random metal objects found by digging beneath the basement's unfinished floor.

The Sisters disliked dirt and grime all over the children and tracked through the doors. But it was hard to keep clean out in the middle of a sandy desert. Complaints dwindled thanks to the fellow orphans who would stop their mischief to watch Chan work. And as time passed, his shoulders broadened further, his voice began to deepen, his dark hair grew longer, and those brown eyes started to sparkle with something different from simple, fleeting passion — it was a dream.

The excitable boy would tell you all about it under the stars. Late into the nights when you searched for what had to be remnants of Earthen materials from the Big Fall, he'd chatter on and on.

"Once we're actual adults," — free from the guardianship requirement provided from the orphanage — "we're gonna leave Lil Ivywood behind and explore the great wastelands of Gunsmoke!"

You snort at the ridiculousness of such an idea. "And how do you think we'll survive?"

"Easy-peasy, I'm gonna build a bunch of guns and we're gonna end up so rich. And famous!"

"Yeah, sure. Throw a couple double dollars at the worms, I'm sure they'll let us pass with no problem."

Not one to be deterred by your eternal sarcasm, Chan shakes his head."Nah, that's where you come in. Didn't think I'd let you freeload, right?"

He stands and stretches both of his arms straight out, the ones your roommate had started to gush over. Hands clasped together like Sister Meryl's always do before prayer time and then extending both pointer fingers into a mock handgun, out into the distant sand dunes one rarely dares to stray.

"You gotta be a sharpshooter to not let my hard work go to waste!"

You lazily take aim next to him, handling the freshly restored pistol with uncharacteristic gentleness. While it might officially be yours, it's also Chan's baby.

"Mm-hm, me and my killer skills."

And then you both dissolve into laughter.

It was such a pipe dream and yet; it didn't seem utterly impossible. There were little moments you let yourself imagine it, too — just until the suns peep their heads above the horizon. There was no way you could defend yourself — let alone another person — from the dangers of the desert or it would've been something you'd attempted years ago.

But when Chan spoke of his plans under the glow of the orbiting full moons, confidently mapping an adventure through an area he's never been to or seen before, and dreamed — he easily pulled you under his spell too. It was contagious, exciting, addicting, and most of all — it could really be… possible.

An armory of grade-A weapons. The bank account overflowing with double dollars. Endless boxes of bullets and the refined skills to shoot them; you were the force to be reckoned with and a protector of those who couldn't do it for themselves.

"Do you think… we could really succeed?" you ask one night, running a finger along the familiar engravings on your gun's grip panel.

Chan's grin was as shiny as the circular metal shell he was carving into. You refuse to look his way because of how infectious it could be. Plus, the main reason it was so stinking bright was due to this being the first time you verbally entertained his ideas.

"Oh-ho-ho, doubt my capabilities?"

"Obviously."

If offended — he was not — by the instant agreement, there was no sign of it. Instead, he focused back onto his handicraft, knowing you would eventually spill your true thoughts if he was patient.

There was no rush tonight after all. A star-filled expanse of black blanketed across the sky — one he hoped would never change to blue.

"More like… it's just going to be so risky!"

"And that's why you'll be the —"

"But I've never even held a gun before!" You spot Chan pointedly direct the corner of his gaze to where your hands rest, causing you to flinch them away from the weapon and wave around haphazardly as your cheeks heat. "I mean, like, to shoot! Sister Lucia always says it'd be too dangerous."

"Sister Lucia thinks water that doesn't flow directly out of the holy grail is dangerous."

"Technically, that's true."

"Oh god, she's got you thinkin' the same, too!"

"But she'd probably rather swear by the Saint than ever let me get any bullets…" The thought alone of the devout nun saying the Savior's name in vain makes both of you smirk but yours falls just as quick as it came. "And we're going to need those if we ever want to leave Little Ivywood."

"Well —"

"And I… I'd have to kill things! People, too. I don't know if I can do that, I —"

" — Think fast!"

It's his turn to interrupt, chipper voice ever optimistic as he tosses the finished trinket your way. Thankfully, your reflexes work fast enough to catch it nimbly in time. The oval is hot to the touch after hovering over searing flames and despite its small size, weighs down your right palm as you glance over its etchings.

Satisfied, Chan takes that as his cue to walk toward the nook that shields you from the roaring heat of the furnace. Squatting down so he's eye-level with your knees, he brushes back his tangled mess of hair with one hand and taps knowingly at the barrel of the pistol with the other.

"There's no reason to kill anyone or anything."

"But this can hurt people… I could hurt people."

"You've had this ever since you were a baby and never harmed anyone with it."

"It's… it's never been loaded or…"

"Doesn't need to be. If you smacked someone with it, they'd surely feel that hit." He snickers, tone bordering on the edge of cockiness. "I would know, considering the sturdy and valuable materials used for repairs."

You roll your eyes and mutter, "Show-off," but it lacks true malice behind it.

"And even so," Chan takes one of his hands and pats the back of your free one, unintentionally right over the spot where your scar lies. "You've hurt no one before. Not even me, who annoys you the most!"

"About time you finally realized how merciful I am."

He says your name in earnest, remaining uncharacteristically serious and lays your intertwined hands on top of the gun before squeezing tightly. "Both this and you don't have to kill a single thing or person — ever — if that's not what you want to do. You can aim for non-vital points, shoot up in the air… Bullets or no bullets, just the sight of a weapon alone can be enough of a deterrent for most."

Chewing hesitantly on your lower lip, you let his words sink in and he continues.

"The fact you're aware of the hundreds of risks when handling a weapon like this means you'll be even more cautious when using it. I trust you, so trust in yourself."

Warmth spreads from your interlocked hands and through your entire body like you're wrapped in another one of his sweet hugs, culminating into tears threatening to spill past your lash line. Chan believed in you and though you'd never admit it aloud, it meant the world to you.

"When did you grow up so much?" you tease, letting out an exhale you didn't realize was being held.

"Aw, c'mon! I've been taller than you for months now!"

"Keep dreamin' if it makes you feel better."

Though Chan sasses back by sticking his tongue out, he lets you ruffle his sweaty bangs despite receiving a slightly bruised forehead in return because you forget about the new gift in your hand. Plotting an escape, he stands and pulls you up with him, joined by your clasped hands.

"We should probably head back. Sister Constance's likely gonna ask us to check the Plant before morning mass and you don't want her to catch you dozing off again."

"Last I recall, you were the one she caught napping!"

"But you have the most demerits this week."

"And whose fault is that?!"

Quick as lightning, he nudges you with enough strength to catch you off guard and destabilize your balance. Then he tears away, calling over his shoulder, "Snooze and ya lose!"

"Ugh, this is exactly why — you never play fair!"

Regathering your bearings at record speed, you dash right after Chan. The boy's raucous laughter echoes in your own lungs and you swear the stars twinkle brighter in the nighttime sky. You overtake him right before reaching the convent's door — the same one you were left on — and clutch at his arm before he can reach past to open it.

"Hey… thanks."

He grins all goofy. Chan's well aware you mean much more than that, but he opts to flick your forehead rather than give you grief over it. "Yeah, yeah. I do so much for you, you know?"

"Mm-hm."

"So it's about time to finally pick a name I can carve onto that bad boy. If you don't, I'll put mine there." He nods to your gun excitedly, then points to the oval. "Oh, and I'll make a chain for that soon. Did you decide what you'll put inside?"

"Questions, questions, demands, demands." You wave him off and open the door with a yawn. "I'll think of one. And yeah, you know that Earthen gadget we found? Gonna cut out those papers and put them in there before sleeping."

Once while digging for materials, you had stumbled across a square object that wasn't completely destroyed, unlike many others. After a few experiments of messing with the random knobs and buttons, you determined it could mimic whatever was directly in front of the clear coated lenses. And later — much to your amusement and amazement — it printed out the image on thick, shiny squares.

Fascinating little things those Earthlings created!

You'd luckily put the last few sheets left in the machine to good use. Experimenting with the surrounding scenery that blurrily featured some of Ivywood's buildings, then one of Chan, and finally wrangled a frame that captured both of you together.

"Do you think you'll be able to stabilize it?"

Your tentative question makes him look toward the large, bulbous structure that houses the Plant. The power source Little Ivywood depended upon.

He sports a cheery grin. "Won't know 'til I've tried!"

"Ever considered too much confidence might be a bad thing?"

"If you're jealous, just say so. But with you by my side, there's nothing we can't accomplish together!" He bounces excitedly on his heels. "Besides, I forgot to mention…" Beckoning you with a hand to come closer, you lean in, curious. "I've become quite the master at bargaining. There won't be a single worm who'll refuse a double dollar from the great Chan!"

"What did you do?"

"What haven't I done?"

"You're the worst. Like to ever exist."

"The absolute best, you mean 'cause there'll be no reason for you to waste any bullets or fear cutting a single lifespan short!"

"Goodnight, Chan."

"You mean 'thank you so much, what would I ever do without you, Chan!' but whatever! You can make it up to me tomorrow!"

But tomorrow never came.

Or rather — daybreak arrived in the unrecognizable form of rapid gunfire and screams of terror. The buildings rattled, trembled, and shook from the onslaught just like the people cowering in fear within them.

The dust stirred up in the chapel's hall after a wall unexpectedly collapsed causes you to cough. Amidst the chaos and panic, you spare a glance over your shoulder to see Sister Meryl, who strides confidently to the altar.

She stands with poise and purpose in front of the marbled stone. Steadfast and unwavering in strength because of her faith alone, even as the grand statue of the Saint starts crumbling down with the ceiling tiles falling around it.

It's a visual you're not likely to forget, carved deep into your memory before you flee with the rest. Sister Lucia is flustered as usual, ushering everyone as fast as she can near the grand oak doors that lead out to where additional shouting can be heard and only more pandemonium must await outside.

You're struck with the damning realization.

The gods — they have completely abandoned humankind.

"That would be ten demerits any other day," Sister Constance voice abruptly snaps, "fortunately for you, now is not the time for such things."

It's astonishing how even at this moment, the nun remains on high alert for 'troublemakers'. Her sharp-nailed fingers latch around your wrist as she breezes by — much too similar to when you've been dragged off to detention. And as if that's what's happening, your heels plant firmly in the ground and obstinately tug her back a step.

"What about Sister Meryl? We can't just leave!"

"If you knew what was good for you, you'll obediently obey me. But if you knew that, you'd recognize faithfulness will guide her and the rest of us to safety."

"Nothing guarantees —"

"Those who do not devote themselves truthfully will never understand. Should the Saint deem Sister Meryl's sacrifice to be in vain, then she has failed not only the Holy Bishop and our sacred bonds, but you — one she unnecessarily dotes on — as well."

You want to argue and protest as Sister Constance yanks you forward. But the faint tremors you feel despite the tight grip of her hand and the tensed jawline of the woman whose stoic face is normally unbreakable makes you pause.

She's shaken. She's unsure. She's wavering.

Sister Constance doubts.

And something about that thrills you. Terrifyingly so.

The shock of it all is as startling as the pale sunlight blinding your eyes when the chapel's heavy doors finally get thrown open. Grains of sand swirl through Little Ivywood, diluting the usual brightness of the glowing orbs in the sky and their powerful rays.

A sandstorm brews on the horizon.

That's the least of your worries, though. Blood stains the soil where shrapnel grazed tender flesh. Fellow orphans scream and cry out from their wounds as they struggle to get away from the captors attempting to drag them to the center of town.

With a chill, you alarmingly realize who they're trying to escape from. Women in black and white robes don a wild, crazed look on their faces. The ones who have raised and cared for parentless children throughout many years and tended to every need they could within their means.

The Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood.

Sister Constance turns and you jump. Both at the horrors of the present and a reminder of how many times a quick movement of hers led to the sharp pain of a switch or ruler tearing into skin. An eerie sound of laughter rings out and your blood runs cold, eyes darting left and right for the source.

And then through the dust particles, looms the sinister silhouette of a figure in a long trench coat flapping in the wind. Spiked hair sticks straight up, retaining its menacing style despite the powerful wind gusts and emphasizing an already impressive height. You gulp, swearing there's a flash of metal followed by a fanged smirk that glints dangerously as Sister Constance tugs you closer to the terrifying shadow beast shrouded by sand swirling in the air.

A declaration of your given name — stern and cold. "Know that your purpose is being fulfilled, that you are serving the great —"

And then comes a shout of your name, this time from someone desperate and panicked. You're yanked forward and then suddenly catapulted backward, grunting at the impact of your body slamming against someone else's.

"You need to go! You need to get out of here!"

"Chan?!"

He clings to you, shifting so his back is to the nun only a few paces past the corner he dashed around for safety and to stall for time. Throwing a cautious look over his shoulder before whispering urgently, "Go! And don't look back!"

"What about you?"

"Don't mind me." The smooth leather of a satchel presses against your palm. "Get movin'!"

"But —"

"Seriously," the boy shoves you forward with a not-so-gentle push. You gape at the audacity and he waves his hand, like he's shooing away a pesky flying worm. Rude. "Please! I'll be right behind you but —"

An eruption of nearby gunfire and a series of high-pitched shing!-like noises interrupt him. He glances again over his shoulder. You cautiously step forward and his head whips back to let out a hiss.

"Chan, what's —"

"Need to grab a few more things, see if any other idiots need help. Just… just get out of town, wait for me by the rocks if it'll make you feel better." He smiles, though it doesn't make those brown eyes of his sparkle like usual. "It'll… it'll all be okay."

You're uncertain and scared. But something about Chan's speaking powers have always made you believe in the impossible. So, you nod resolutely while taking the bag from him and warn, "Promise you'll be safe."

"You hate those kinds of things."

It's true. To you, promises were only made to be broken. And yet…

"… And somehow you've changed my mind before."

The bangs of carnage draw closer. Louder.

"Fine, just go. Please! And don't look back!"

Acquiescing to his pleas, you sprint toward where he pointed. Sitting like giant sentinels lays an outcrop of boulders bordering the western edge of Little Ivywood. The desert is only two paces away, expanding outward into a desolate plain filled with the undulating slopes of dunes. Picking a sizable rock to hide behind, you keep watch for Chan, cringing at the distant sound of gunshots still rapidly being fired.

What was that? What did you see? And what did you almost get dragged into?

What was going on?

Boom!

It's an ear-shattering noise that causes even the great stones around you to tremble from the explosion. A flare of light so bright leaves you no choice but to look away to protect your eyes, ducking behind the rocks as a shield.

When you recover after it dissipates to see what just happened — Little Ivywood is no more.

It's gone.

"No…"

The tiny town reduced to only rubble and ash. What once were rows of square buildings stacked on top of each other to divert the view of a relatively flat lay of the land are now parallel to its surroundings.

"No… no… no…"

Gone.

You don't think twice about running toward the wreckage. Chan is there. Chan has to be there!

"No!"

And most importantly, he has to be alright.

Broken piles of the shoddy architecture littering the landscape prevents you from traversing too far. Bile rises in your throat as you desperately scan for a sign — any sign — for Chan. For survivors. For anyone. Even the air is still, no longer rippling with irritable heat waves and heavy gusts of wind because the blast was strong enough to ward off nature itself and the incoming sandstorm.

For now.

And during the futile search, that's when you spot him. On his knees with his back to you, slouched over in the only clear space amidst the destruction. The tattered fabric of a cerise garment hangs off the man's broad shoulders and pools around his body like a puddle of blood. Reddish-brown bangs tinged with black hang limply as his chin curls further and further into his chest.

I don't understand, you vent to yourself after a couple ungraceful vaults and stumbling through the debris to get closer. This bastard got what he wanted, did what he wanted, and won! So, why is he acting like that? Who destroyed his town? His people?

Finally, you're a couple steps behind him. Thankful, at the very least, for whatever weird state this man is in because it grants you the opportunity to approach and press the cold steel of your pistol to the side of his temple.

"Don't. Move."

You hope it comes out as the threatening command you intend it to be. There's a tense beat of silence as you wait for his next move until you realize he's doing exactly what you demanded.

Then he chuckles. A choked out, watery sort of sound. Your hands start shaking even as they press the barrel harsher against his head.

"Go ahead and shoot."

"Answer me first." Your voice becomes as unsteady as the quakes in your body and you rasp out, "Why… why'd you do it?"

His head lifts and you flinch, but he takes no further action besides staring blankly ahead at the ruins. "I wish I could tell you but… I've been asking myself the same question."

"I — you…! You wreak hell and havoc upon a whole innocent town and… and you don't even know why?!"

"Pathetic, isn't it?" The man laughs again, without a shred of humor. A gloved hand reaches up to wrap around the weapon and you momentarily falter at the force of him leaning into it. The weight pushing it closer into his skull seems hard enough to leave a nasty imprint, as if that should be a main concern right now. "I'd simply like to know how I did it."

"I —"

"Not loaded," he sighs and drops his hand, twisting around to actually get a proper look at whoever was holding him at gunpoint.

You're taken aback by the intensity of death radiating in those dark brown irises that casually observe you through amber-colored, cracked lenses. Your arms fall down, dumbfounded at the stranger's unflinching behavior, the pistol bumping into your thigh. He lets out a "tsk" and then pulls something out of his pocket.

In his opposite palm, clad in a fingerless glove unlike the left, rests a conical golden object. Though you've never seen one in real life before, you think you know what it is. The shape matches the hollow outlines when Chan disassembled the chambers of your gun.

"A cartridge," he says and you blink. "A bullet," he clarifies upon noticing your confusion. Then the man smiles encouragingly. "Go on. Take it."

You're incredulous. "You're okay with handing that over to me?"

"It's what you want, right?" There's a wistful look on his face. "This place… it was your home."

"No," you're quick to refute, shocked at such an automatic response. Then admitting, "I don't even know what a home is."

Innocent town, my ass, is what you derisively admit inward and snort at yourself.

The convent itself was far from comforting. The other orphans with their bright grins when Saint Meryl sang lullabies on the nights you couldn't sleep — those were the kinds of things that made it bearable.

Guilt.

"I — I —"

It overwhelms your senses. Rattling up your entire nervous system and settling a cruel, cruel weight in your chest. You hunch over, chest heaving, and throat burning. There's a thump as your gun falls to the ground, its silvery sharp edges becoming distorted, warped, and blurred through a film of unshed tears in your widened eyes.

"Should've… It should've —"

"Hey, hey…"

"It should've been me!"

The man rises to his full height, brushing off his clothes before crouching down. A sturdy hand grips your shoulder and dutifully encourages your gasping upper body into an upright position. Gently, ever so fragile, he bops your forehead with his and you subconsciously lean against the unexpected support.

He's near enough to ground you to something solid. But distant enough for two strangers whose first meeting is one amidst a crumbling town's travesty. With his close presence comes the scent of gun smoke, though not as bitterly pungent and putrid as you recall from before. It's subtle and smokey, reminiscent of the fire that Chan once proudly stoked in his makeshift forge.

Your body shakes as the tears finally slip free.

"All lives are equally precious, one shouldn't be sacrificed for another."

"… How can… how can you say that so… easily?"

The death-come-over look in his eyes changes to something faraway. Like he's seeing something beyond the destruction surrounding both of you. Those amber lenses don't have to be cracked to draw attention to the fracturing despair radiating behind them.

Then, he shakes his head and shrugs. "Because you should live even when those dear to you are gone. This world is made of love and peace, after all."

Your crying abruptly pauses with the natural effort it takes to let out a scoff. Ignoring your utter scorn and disbelief, the man's gaze drifts to the pistol still on the ground. The tip of a steel-toed boot kicks it up into the air with a flourish, single-handedly catching it to inspect the weapon with practiced ease.

"Live because there's a reason you survived, even if you loathe every second of it. You'll feel like you don't deserve it. But persevere because you should. Because that's what they would've wanted and you keep them alive by living yourself. A burden? Maybe. Why spend such a cursed blessing only dwelling in regret when you can do so much more?"

He offers the gun back, its handle extended in your direction.

"If nothing else, live for yourself most importantly. Help show the world the love and peace it deserves. Even if it couldn't afford to gift it to you. That's what life is all about. The ticket to the future is always blank!" Pausing, he shrugs with a regret-filled smile on his face. "At least that's what I was taught… and what I think."

"… Awfully full of optimism for some dude who wiped out a full town and doesn't even know why."

"Name's Seokmin," he returns, now sporting a cheeky grin as you cautiously reach out for the pistol. Only to be outsmarted with a literal 'sleight-of-hand' and meeting the warmth of fingers and a gloved palm instead of the expectation of hard, cold, and familiar steel.

"Huh?"

"Lee Seokmin, to be precise! And it's a pleasure to meet 'cha! Erm, despite the… terrible circumstances." Seokmin jiggles the gun in front of you with his other hand, almost taunting you to reach for it again.

You don't.

"And what do you call this lovely lady?"

"Nothing."

"A shame. But not everyone cares to name things, 'specially if they don't hold any value." He finally tosses it back and you barely manage to catch it in time with a scowl.

"Just haven't decided."

"I see! Mine's Geranium."

"Oh, like… the flower?"

He visibly perks up at that even further, a radiant smile showcasing two pointy fangs. "You've heard of it?"

"Well," you scratch your cheek, "the, uh, sisters gave a girl that name because of her hair."

There's an uncomfortable pause as the dreadful realization you'll never see those brilliant ruby locks bounce because of her excitement again settles back into your stomach. You swallow, eyes roaming the stranger in front of you for a distraction.

"Um… you must really like the color… red."

Seokmin glances down at the tatters of his scarlet clothes and shrugs. "I guess. Though the one I saw was red, I've heard they come in different colors."

"You've seen a plant? Like a plant plant? A real one! You know — that grows out of the ground and transforms and all that? It doesn't, well…"

Vegetation was a rarely discussed concept. The only thing you knew came out of the poorly written history books in the dusty library's darkest corner. In the desert outskirts, you had a better chance of finding ancient Earth technology that might still be intact to share its plethora of knowledge about the old world humans left behind than hope to find whatever resources the big cities had access to.

"Mm, yeah, a long time ago. But say," he jovially waves the cartridge from before and it glints in the setting rays of the suns. "Would you care to hear this man's story before shooting him?"

And of course, you listened. What other choice did you have, you who lost everything at once? But even back then, something small and precious was planted in the barren depths of your heart. That was just the beginning. It would continue to grow, watered and tended to under the sunny smile of Lee Seokmin — the destroyer of cities and a very wanted man across the planet.

You leave that tiny bit out during the recitation of your past to the inquisitive pastor. Though something you'll regrettably find out later is he's already got you all figured out.

Bastard.

"… So, that's how I met the infamous Lee Seokmin and didn't end up killing him," you declare with a flourish and take a satisfied gulp of cheap beer picked up from some abandoned mart along the way out of Little Jersey.

Draining another bottle dry, you toss away the metal cap, close one eye, and peer through the narrow bottleneck like it's a telescope — albeit a very poor one.

Through the distorted glass stretch endless sand dunes as far as the eye can see. Stars glitter and sparkle amid the glow of the full moons in orbit, temporarily dimmed by a puff of the roguish's man's cigarette that wafts through the inky darkness.

You wonder if he'd be willing to share one.

"A shame," Seungcheol grumbles and offers a white stick from his pocket.

You take it eagerly only to see it's nothing but — a lollipop. The hard candy's become a strange gooey consistency thanks to melting in the desert heat all day and partially re-solidifying during the nighttime's chilly air.

It's stale too.

Fucker.

You let out a disdainful sniff but nod in agreement to his statement. "It is. But he promised me something. Then his bounty increased from a meager six million to sixty billion double dollars after destroying July, putting a hole in the moon, and all that. So… following him around has paid off."

"I guess," he shrugs, "guess I don't really care 'bout yer lil meet-cute story."

You gape at the audacity. "You're the one who fuckin' asked!"

"Well… figured we could bond, ya know? Orphans 'n all that cozy, feel-good shit."

"You know, not a single thing I've said thus far coud be classified as 'cute'."

"Uh-huh."

"And I never took you to be a sentimental fool."

"Hey, now —"

You hold up a hand. "'Thou shall not bear false witness'."

"As if ya even know what that means," Seungcheol retorts and flicks the ashy cigarette stub in your direction, the cross around his neck ironically reflecting in the moonlight. "Was gonna say, if anythin', I put the mental in sentimental, sweet'art."

Well, you certainly wouldn't argue with that point. "…What I do know is that you're doing this all. For him."

"'Ol Needle Noggin, eh?"

"Well… yeah. But he's only part of a bigger picture for you."

"… 'S none o' yer business, ya know? Best to know less."

Your eyes roll. "Sure. That's why you nearly got hit by our car 'cause you wore a suit into the desert and didn't bring a drop of water. All while hauling that stupid, big-ass cross around! And then you insist on joining us — try to scam us! — but hey," you put your hands up, "none of my business."

"Wasn't tryna scam —"

"Hella shady, man... Hella. fuckin'. shady." You're shocked you can see the man's eyes roll in a begrudging defeat behind his black sunglasses — at night, no less �� but you nudge him. "C'mon, just tell me! I bet it has to do with Hopeland, something… or someone back at that orphanage."

"Anyone told ya how irritatin' ya are?"

"Only the ones that are equally just as annoying!"

"Tch, woman." Seungcheol messes up the back of his black hair, mouth opening as he cracks his jaw. There's a pregnant pause. "… 'Han was… he was different. Ya wouldn't get it."

"Try me. Evidently you weren't listening very well, were you?" No surprise there. You retrieve the locket that takes refuge beneath your top, a familiar oval swinging from its long chain between the two of you. "Believe it or not, I do get it."

His eyes fixate on it like a pendulum, darting to your face, and then up to the sky. A crooked smile quirks up the corner of his mouth and he lets out a resigned sigh. "Ya really love 'im, don'tcha?"

You feel a funny sensation.

Akin to getting caught in a horde of flying worms and trying to squash down as many as you can. Your answer is hushed and Seungcheol snickers. Unbeknownst to the two of you that an additional pair of ears — assumed to be asleep — also catches your whispered reply.

"So, how much ya gonna pay for confessin'?" the pastor goads and lets out a startled yelp when you try to smash the hand-held bank he totes around that's shaped like a cathedral.

"Oh, go to hell, Choi!"

"Stare any longer and you'll no longer be needin' Sirocco." An amused snicker follows the relaxed drawl. "Bullets're 'bout to start flyin' outta those eyes 'stead of that gun o' yers."

You scowl at the dumb man seated next to you. "It's not like subtlety has ever been a strong suit of yours. But could you at least pay better attention to your surroundings?" A meager amount of golden liquid sloshes against the sides of the glass you pointedly wave around. "Or are you already too drunk to forget where we are?"

"Ain't no lightweight," Seungcheol brags with his fourth pint of the night in hand and a rapacious grin cockily tilting the empty lollipop stick in the corner of his mouth upward. "Can't say the same for the rest, though. Whiskey's stronger than a punch to the gut."

"… You would know. I'm sure it might just taste like water to some by now."

While it might initially elate most visitors to order as many rounds of the only available beverage on the menu as possible, the reality of the situation was much more grim. As if he can read your mind, the man clad in black, gray, and muted silvers flippantly reminds you of why your so-called merry band of travelers are even here.

"Needle Noggin said 'e fixed the Plant up just fine 'n dandy, so here's hopin' we get some clean bathwater t'night."

At those words, your gaze instinctively shoots back to where it focused earlier. Seungcheol snorts and drains his glass with a satisfactory sigh before poking more fun at you.

"Gonna put a hole through his head at this point."

"Not like that's anything new."

"Yeah, but rather than constantly laserin' holes through his skull, ya should be tryna convince him to fill yers up, instead. 'N not referrin' to that empty space behind yer forehead."

"I know exactly what you mean, you perverted freak."

That cracks Seungcheol up. "'N here I was thinkin' ya was gonna end up a nun servin' the Eye of Joshua!"

By now, you're well-accustomed to the hedonistic ways of the man who still keeps a leather band with a cross on it strapped across his Adam's apple, sewn into the cuffs of his black suit, and carries the hulking shape of one on his weary shoulders.

Unfazed, you fire back, "If they even let someone like you into the blessed and holy ranks, then any whore off the streets would be welcome to join."

It's a series of light-hearted jabs you both take in stride. The truth is much darker and deeper, but tonight serves as a tiny snapshot away from the normal weariness of day-to-day survival in Gunsmoke. Right now, you celebrate alongside the residents of Tonim what peace could really look like in the future.

Except you're on edge.

For a reason that's silly compared to the usual adrenaline rush of tracking down Plants nearing red status and defending the area, all the while trying to prevent the inevitable destruction and chaos to follow. Still, it's why you beckon the bartender over for another refill as a positively "tickled-pink" Seungcheol not-so-silently judges.

"Now who's staring?"

"'Kay, but's not with unbridled lust and — " He's cut off by a sharp kick to the side of his shin delivered by one of your heavy combat boots. "And feelin's," gets wheezed out before the pastor falls silent at your nasty scowl paired with Wonwoo's timely arrival.

The saloon owner and de facto authority in town approaches the two of you cautiously. It's no secret who you are, who you're with. What you do and the things that follow when you do what you do. And yet what you've done has saved the town and given its people — especially the younger folk — something that some of them have never experienced before.

Hope.

And that seems to be good enough proof for Wonwoo. Rumors may just be rumors, after all. None of you are like the reports relayed in a tinny voice through the virtually enhanced radios that are non-plant-powered — aka illustriously dubbed by their inventor as VERnons.

"… the Bloody Rain… follows… Lee… Humanoid Typhoon… armed… dangerous. Punisher… cross… machine gun… two unknown… likely… agents…. Bernardelli Insurance…"

The VERnon sitting behind the counter splutters out bits and pieces of information. He side-eyes the device awkwardly and starts fumbling with the buttons, trying to mumble over the static and monotonous voice.

"Can I pour you another drink?"

"Sure," you chuckle, pleased.

The bartender's well-intentioned efforts are fruitless which is to be expected. Only the creator, and those he personally taught, could truly modify the invention as pleased. A part of you hoped to find evidence Hansol had traveled this far but alas, he was probably still searching through the seven major cities for his beloved Milly before attempting to wander through the treacherous wastelands.

A brown, short-haired darling sneaks awe-filled glances at the two of you from the corner where a group of women around your age gather to chat. Seungcheol's the first to catch onto the admiring starry-eyed gaze and winks. Chuckling when a pudgy hand clings tighter to one of the lady's long skirt, using the fabric as a demure little shield against his effortless charisma.

You catch the tail-end of the interaction with the ghost of a smile. If there's one thing that can definitely soften Seungcheol's rough edges, it's children. You can't blame him, reminded of cheery voices and energetic footsteps pounding after your own through the convent's hallways.

The attractive woman wonders what's drawing the younger girl's attention and leans down to whisper in her ear. Gesturing in your direction, you watch as she nods encouragingly and offers a gentle smile, pushing the tiny brunette forward who readily toddles over. The gaps still waiting for pearly white teeth to grow in that shy smile on the little girl's face are endearingly winsome.

"'Lo, Wonu."

The bespectacled man starts, eyes wide as he peers over the counter and just manages to glimpse the top of her mousy brown tufts. "Is that you, Lina? You're not supposed to be here."

"Past yer bedtime, lil one?"

She huffs indignantly at the two men, hands on her hips. "I've once stayed up 'til four in the morning, mister!"

"Oh, Lina…"

"Besides, how can anyone of good standing sleep properly when there's heroes in town?"

"Huh, what a darlin' angel!"

You scoff at your comrade's words. "As if you've ever seen one."

"I do beg your pardon," Wonwoo scrambles to excuse the child's enthusiasm. "Looks like another talk is due with, uh, Sheryl."

"You're just jealous, Wonu. Sherry says they're heroes."

A chubby finger points at you and Seungcheol and the bartender clicks his tongue — partially in reproach and the other half out of embarrassment. The two of you hardly pay any attention to his reaction, seeming to not mind her boldness at all.

"That's right, sweet'art. And don'tchu forget now." In fact, a certain cross-wearing man revels in it. He rummages deep in his pocket and pulls out a lollipop with a flourish. "'N here's a lil magic gift for ya, princess."

You're one step faster, snatching it and unwrapping the candy with a quick inspection. At least it looks fresh and clean. Seungcheol snorts. Ignoring him, you crouch down and hand it to Lina with a gentle smile.

"Remember to be careful with what you take from strangers."

"I know! But you're heroes… and heroes are always good people! You would never hurt me!" Those blue-green eyes are certainly dazzling as she stares into yours, reminiscent of the clean water now filling the town's reservoir. "You're very pretty."

"That might be the highest compliment I've ever received."

"Pretty people don't hurt anyone either! Sherry's super pretty and she's the gentlest I know!"

A very pretty pastor himself snickers for multiple reasons. Meanwhile, Wonwoo laments with a tired sigh, "Dunno what that crazy woman's been teaching her, I swear…"

"You're not supposed to talk about people you like like that, Wonu!" Lina gives them both the stink eye but returns her attention to focus solely on you — Tonim's loveliest savior in her teal-eyed view. "Will I grow up to be as pretty as you?"

Ah, how your heart aches.

"Even prettier."

"I…" She gnaws on her lip, as if it does anything to hide how much her pleased grin glows. "I wanna be a hero, too!"

"Don't see why you wouldn't become one." To you, she already is — in all her innocent radiance and glory.

"Gotta grow big 'n strong first, missy."

"I am strong!"

"Don't doubt it. But wait 'til yer at least twice my age 'fore ya go swingin' at thugs."

She wrinkles her nose. "I'll be in the grave like Grammy if I wait that long, old man!"

Seungcheol guffaws at her unexpected remark and you hear the bartender beg, "Lina, please!" But you focus on all the brilliance in front of you — from precious unkempt locks to blue eyes full of fire and finally to the worn out, dust-covered shoes.

"Hopefully you'll never need a reason to be the hero, though. It's our duty to keep that from happening."

There's too much hidden meaning and brutal experience in your words for her to fully understand. The lull gives a certain pastor an opportunity to sidle back into the conversation, ready to get up to no good as always.

"Ya wanna meet the hero of all heroes, darlin'?"

"Choi —"

"Yeah!" Lina claps ecstatically.

"Go 'head 'n give 'er yer second key," he coaxes quietly with a shit-eating smirk.

"I swear!"

"C'mon… never like keepin' such a sweet gal waitin'!"

After a minute's hesitation, you begrudgingly agree and take it out.

"Thank ya. Now, got a lil mission for ya, Miss Hero-in-the-Makin'."

"Really?!"

Barely able to conceal her exuberance, she reverently takes the key like it's actual gold and not simply plated. Seungcheol ruffles her hair affectionately.

"Y'see the man in all purple?"

"Mhm, yeah! The one that looks like the night sky?"

"Yeah, give 'im it. Make sure to say it's from this pretty lady."

"Choi!"

"Talk to 'im too 'cause he'll love that. He's a real hero, y'know? Truest of 'em all."

"Yes, sir!"

"Attagirl."

Lina scurries off and you turn back to the counter with a sour glare directed at Seungcheol. "What was that all about?"

"Dunno, cute?"

"I'm really sorry about that all," Wonwoo apologetically interrupts with the offer of another refill which is readily accepted. "She… she's very excitable."

"No need for apologizin', man."

"Yeah, she's adorable. Is she yours?"

The bespectacled bartender stutters, almost dropping the glass he's handing to you. "That's, uh, that's my sister!"

"Ah, makes sense! Didn't mean to assume."

He flushes and turns away. But not without mumbling something about it being okay and your comrade groans.

"Reminder — ya get too drunk, 'm not dealin' with ya ass."

"Great, I don't want you near my ass."

"'S not what I meant!"

"Yeah, yeah."

Seungcheol downs another shot and you're quick to follow his lead once Wonwoo hands over another refill per your shared request. However, this time, the stoic man surprisingly lingers and awkwardly fiddles with his wire-rimmed frames, doing his very best to not let his eyes wander your scantily clad figure as your head tilts back to swallow the burning alcohol.

Meanwhile, the pastor's grin turns wolfish.

"So, uh, who are you, really?"

"Curious, eh?" You lean comfortably onto the counter, braced by your forearms and an alluring smile on your face for the handsome saloon owner. His gaze drifts down to your scar-covered hands which also happen to be placed conveniently underneath your breasts.

You'd once said the best disguise and toughest armor was none at all. And why not flaunt your assets — literally — and put them to good use. The desert is hot anyways!

Seungcheol and Seungkwan both called bullshit. Mingyu applauded you and waved his "I respect women's rights, wrongs, and all the above no matter what!" flag. Seokmin — already used to your behavior and attire — had nothing else to say other than his normal quips of, "As long as you're comfortable".

"Well, a-a beautiful woman like yourself has to have everyone wondering."

And you laughed in the face of your haters every time it worked.

"Just a bounty hunter."

Wonwoo nods at the casual answer, recalling the holster strapped around the plush of your thigh beneath short denim shorts. "Where from?"

"Well… around. My hometown was destroyed so…"

"Oh? Same here."

"Ah, camaraderie." You jab a thumb menacingly in the direction of the purple-cloaked figure and the life of tonight's celebration, currently animatedly chattering to Lina. "That's why I'm turning him in."

"He's…?"

"Yup, Lee Seokmin. Yes," you confirm with a smirk at the way Wonwoo's eyes bug out behind his glasses, "that one — the infamous humanoid typhoon. Don't worry, he won't hurt anything or anyone here."

"He's… uh, he's not quite what I expected."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"You must be pretty badass to reign him in. Heard he's giving what's left of the July regime officers a run for their double dollars."

"For sure. But it's thanks to the other two drunkards, really. Believe it or not, they're Bernardelli insurance agents. Raven-haired one's Seungkwan and the tall one is Mingyu. They're helping to monitor that whopping bounty of mine and prevent any more disasters from happening. Heard I might get a bump in value if I bring him in alive."

"Oh, well, it looks like it's working. And he seems… willing? To come with you?"

"The irony. Always been quite blasé about facing his doom."

"He's really a Plant engineer, too?"

"Of sorts," you huff at his visible confusion but wave your empty glass. "Can I get another?"

He's more than happy to accommodate and returns with two, sliding one over to Seungcheol with a cautious look at the person who seems the closest to you. "And this is…?"

"Pastor. Pleased to meet'cha."

"Oh! Really?"

"A surprising addition to the mix, yeah. But everyone needs to, like, pray sometimes." And under your breath, low enough so only a certain man can hear, "no matter how sketchy they are."

"Do you, hm, officiate weddings?"

The one in question quirks a thick eyebrow. "Ya lookin' to get hitched, boy?"

"M-maybe."

And Seungcheol feels wholly compelled to bless him silently from the bottom of his blackened heart with full sincerity, seeing as how the bespectacled man timidly peeks your way before his gaze darts elsewhere. "Sorry lad, charge 'bout a thousand double dollars minimum."

While the solitary bartender crashes back into the sad reality of capitalism, you jab your elbow into the pastor's ribcage. "Fuckin' scammer."

"Only the best of the best! Ya know, sixty billion's still on the table — 'n it better be callin' my name."

"No one even has sixty billion double dollars!"

"We have 'im." And he points back to where hoots and hollers erupt from the center table of the saloon.

Lina's returned to the woman she was with earlier — presumably her beloved Sherry — but that doesn't mean Seokmin's alone. There's so much disdain in your side-eye, spotting the busty violet-haired sweetheart his arm wraps around. After all, he's the worst kind of ladykiller.

And by that, you mean he absolutely sucks at flirting and can't get or keep a partner to save his life. Yet you're constantly stuck witnessing women, men, and attractive people of all kinds throw themselves at the good-looking man until he opens his mouth and they're put off by his clear lack of suaveness or strange little idiosyncrasies.

"Stop with the stupid bet, it's not happening. Nobody's going to be winning a thing."

"It's called usin' the damn 'magination, darlin'!"

"Which means you need to get better hobbies. You've corrupted my friends!"

"Hah! Them fools were already too invested in this 'fore I ever came along."

"Fill me up again?"

Intent on ignoring Seungcheol, you belatedly realize how aggressive your request comes across. You're also eager for something to help soothe ache in your chest. It comes and goes like a bad toothache — manageable enough to forget about the pain until it returns tenfold.

Thankfully, Wonwoo meekly complies with the back tips of his ears tinged red and Seungcheol barely manages to hide his extreme amount of mirth for the situation behind another glass. In the dim lighting, at certain angles, and with another shot of whiskey settling into your system, you conclude that the handsome saloon owner could certainly pass as Seokmin's brother and vice versa.

But you know the truth.

Familiar with the one who's all too identical to the infamous gunslinger, yet entirely different altogether. Irritation flares in your gut, prickling harsh enough that even the burn of alcohol fails to drown it out.

"I'm turning in for the night."

"Smartin' idea."

"Don't get too smashed."

"You should get smashed."

"Bye, Choi."

Tipsiness is a great excuse to bump purposely into him as you get off the stool. It's only thanks to his genetically enhanced metabolism that the pastor's able to stay upright. He grumbles something that's likely insulting, but standing upright causes you to realize you drank way too much. Everything spins or sways, including your body as you stumble up the stairs.

Somehow, you safely make it to the second level. Above the saloon is a hallway of small bedrooms that Wonwoo generously loans out to routine drunkards or stray travelers. It takes a few minutes of fumbling around but you finally find the lock that matches the first of its paired key and tumble face-first into (thankfully clean) bedsheets.

A hazy mix of drifting in and out of consciousness follows. It's not until the door clicks and there's an ominous creak of floorboards followed by a noticeable presence creeping up at your side that fully rouses you from the feverish dreams of gunfire, explosions, and loss that still plague your mind to this day.

You roll over, intending to assume both an offensive and defensive position against the nighttime visitor, but a hand lands on your shoulder before you can. Still sluggish, there's no way you could ever hope to outmatch the humanoid typhoon, even at your best.

"Hey, you."

It takes a bit for your eyes to adjust to the darkness after hearing his voice — and then there he is. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Seokmin greets you with a fond, megawatt grin. The thumb of his cybernetic prosthesis gently traces little circles over your bare skin. There's a faint hum and glow from its advanced tech mechanics, paired with moonbeams from the window, casting off an ethereal radiance.

"So, you're staying here tonight?"

"But of course, isn't that why you sent such a cute little cherub my way?"

Ah, Lina. You unwittingly smile, remembering how joyful she was to accomplish her mission.

Then your eyes close, nose wrinkling at the copious stench of mixed perfumes and alcohol he brought in and refusing to acknowledge what he says.

"You hella reek."

"Says the one who drank over seven shots."

"… That preacher's a fuckin' tattler. And a liar. And a total scammer. Don't fall for him, Seok."

"Now, what makes you think Seungcheol told me, hm?" He leans down almost nose-to-nose, enough to make yours scrunch even more at the buzzing feeling of how near he is. Your eyes open to squint at him and he winks. "Silly boy tried to mess with god again and max out his intake. Spoiler alert, he failed. Mingyu dragged him back to his room."

"You're the only one I know who can call Choi a 'silly boy'."

"'Cause that's what he is."

"And you need to stop acting like my babysitter!"

You shift away from his gorgeous face and he leans back to give you space, sporting a smug grin. "Then who would take care of you, mayfly?"

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

"Be nice to me and maybe I won't keep count on how many glasses you down next time," he teases. "But since I'm so kind and forgiving, would you like a nice, warm, relaxing bath?"

Well, it did sound wonderful. TMI, but cleanliness was a luxury when traveling the desert. Even more so when the places you arrived at had Plant issues. Luckily, Seokmin was more than capable of fixing them but even then, circumstances varied. Especially around the one known across Gunsmoke as mankind's first localized human disaster.

"Only if you get one, too."

It slips from your mouth without a thought. But you might as well have told Seokmin you'd gotten him a box full of doughnuts with how delightedly he clasps his hands together.

"As you wish, m'lady!"

And he treats you like one, scooping you up into his arms in a princess-style carry. At least tonight you're more willing to let him do as he wishes, especially when he discards the perfume-infused outerwear. Whiskey, sleepiness, and the smooth material of his undershirt keep you pliant and cuddly well after he'd snatched you off the bed.

Seokmin's already ten times stronger than even a human like Mingyu and his prosthesis only helps take further advantage of that fact. He easily deposits you on the edge of the tub. Normal routine would require untying the tight laces on your combat boots but since you'd kicked them off prior to resting, he skips to the next step.

Deft fingers make quick work unbuttoning your shorts, the prosthetic digits of his left hand then moving to loosen the straps that keep your top on. His other hand holds them together in a pseudo-knot to keep the material in place.

Honoring a sense of modesty, you suppose — even though you've seen each other unclothed before. But you melt into the secure press of his palm paired with the support of his chest against your back as he leans over to turn on the water.

"Let me know if it's a good temperature."

"M'kay."

"You're so agreeable when drunk!"

"And you're still just as annoying."

"Okay, okay," he relents. Amicably even.

Seokmin never enjoys butting heads like Seungcheol constantly does. Although another "mayfly," gets tacked on to the end of his playful yield in a mischievous tone because if there is one thing, it's that he can never tease you enough.

Brown eyes quietly trace the ink and scars that mark your skin, some disappearing or completely hidden beneath the parts that are covered. Finally, they land on the silver chain around your neck, only a breadth away from the tip of his fingers that suddenly twitch at how soft you feel beneath the calloused roughness of his own skin.

You let out a little sigh and it shakes him from his reverie, noticing the tub's filled up past your calves. Guiding one of your hands to where the locket lies beneath your clothes covering your chest, he stands. "Call me if you need anything or just want help getting out, m'lady."

"'Kay."

You're already stripping bare but Seokmin breezes out the door before you can blink. You sigh again and slip into the hot water, enjoying a soak to ease the heaviness you feel.

It's hard to understand this emotional turmoil. Knowing that you don't enjoy feeling this way, you make a false promise to not drink ever again, staying submerged in the water until your fingers wrinkle.

Maybe you fell asleep, maybe you didn't. There's a bathrobe laid on the sink when you're ready to get out that you don't remember from before but who knows. Who cares? It's cozy and you haven't felt this clean in a while.

"All yours," you lazily declare, stepping into the bedroom.

Seokmin perks up from where he casually sits cross-legged on the bed, fiddling with Geranium. A dopey smile lights up his face, gaze moving from the hefty nickel revolver and zoning in on you.

"All mine?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah," he repeats quieter, more to himself, "all mine…" But when you unconsciously shiver, his eyes flash and brows furrow. "C'mere, I warmed the bed up for you."

"Aren't you going to bathe?"

"Yep, so don't miss me too much, my dear mayfly!"

He accompanies it with a saucy wink and saunters into the bathroom, humming. You find yourself in a bit of a daze, head and cheeks holding onto the heat of the steam from your bath (and more). You change into a light tank and cotton shorts before sitting back down. As promised, where Seokmin rested was indeed warm and smells of faint gun smoke that always brings back memories.

"Total slaughter…!"

Splash!

"… Total slaughter…"

Splash!

"I won't leave… a single man alive."

Splash! Splash!

"La de da de dai~," echoes from the bathroom. "Genocide…"

Splash.

"La de da de duh," splash, splash, splash, "an ocean… of blood."

"Let's begin… the killing time."

Seokmin possessed a lovely melodic voice no matter how nonsensical or gruesome the words he sang. Your eyes close with relaxation as he continues into a different tune. Though the lyrics are definitely more hopeful this time, there's a heavy sense of underlying desolation despite the rapid, upbeat tone.

"So…" splash, "on the first evening," splash, "a pebble from somewhere out of nowhere drops upon the dreaming world…"

You think back to how he silently cried when he thought no one was looking after a young stowaway on the sandsteamer broke into the same nostalgic song. Your heart aches in empathy for the woman whose heroic sacrifice saved humankind but left behind irreparable damage to twins she adored.

Rem Saverem.

She was to Seokmin as what Saint Meryl was to you. But your fondness for the nun who dared to favor one random orphan above the other equally ordinary ones with an unprecedented amount of kindness paled in comparison to the devotion Seokmin exhibited for Rem. Her kindness, hope, and love for and of life didn't simply become Seokmin's philosophies — they were a true part of every fiber, woven into his very being.

He was peculiar. Hardheaded — or in Seungkwan's affectionate term: a hardass — when it came to nonviolence. A true pacifist. Even when enemies held him at gunpoint, allies turned their backs on him, and his choice to always save was at the very cost of his well being… Seokmin would choose to tear himself apart limb by limb before ever causing damage or letting harm come to another.

And even if he always chose the world and those living in it first before anything else, that's what you loved the most about him.

"What's got you making that face?"

You're quick to school whatever expression it might be. Your tongue feels fuzzy. You purse your lips as he lumbers closer, freshly dressed in a comfy white long-sleeved shirt and black sweats.

"What face?"

"You know, the one where something's weighing on your mind."

The bed frame dips and squeaks when he flops down to snuggle against you. Still-damp, reddish-brown bangs lay across your shoulder and dampen your skin. The chilled press of the gold hoop in his left earlobe raises bumps wherever it touches as he endearingly nuzzles you.

"There is."

"Tell me."

"You need to dry your hair properly."

"Do it for me."

"… This is on purpose, isn't it?"

Nevertheless, you take the unused towel around his neck and vigorously rub at his head. No complaints or protests defending his honor come from Seokmin. Just the usual little trills of contentment escape as he leans into your touch. Once you're satisfied the job's done well, he plucks the towel from your hands and you fix him with a stern look.

"Well, Seok? You gonna answer me?"

He curls in on his lanky frame, enough so to find room to plop his head pitifully onto your thighs and nuzzle the bare skin with his nose. "Not if you won't answer me first."

"You."

"Hm?"

"Was… thinking about you."

"Oh, really? Dreaming about how cool, dashing, handsome, and awesome I am?"

"… Yeah. I like you."

He chuckles, closing his eyes. More so at the feeling of your fingers idly playing with his strands of hair than seriously taking what you say. "I like you, too!"

"No, I mean," you jostle him harshly as you shift anxiously, tugging a little too hard at his roots. "Something's wrong with me."

"… Mhm yeah, you've been drinking."

"Goddamnit, Seok… that was like hours ago! But… what if… what if I'm in love with you?"

Your fingers retract like you've been caught red-handed stealing Mingyu's pudding and a millisecond later, Seokmin's head flies off your lap as he sits up to stare incredulously at you and can only gasp out one word, "What?"

It comes out more like a statement than a question. You've seen all kinds of emotions appear in those clear brown eyes of his. Emptiness. Excitement. Happiness. Fear. Loneliness. Mysteriousness. Pain. But now, you can hardly make sense of what turmoil is swimming in those murky depths.

"There's no way," he shakes his head — laughter high and brittle. "Fake", is what Seungcheol occasionally points out whenever he spies the gunslinger's smile. You've never believed him until now. "You're drunk."

Seokmin's been hurt before and you know that. It's why you wish for him to be nothing but happy, that there's some truth to the joy he constantly tries to radiate. Hoping some parts are really healing, that he's giving time to let the bloody wounds coagulate — if even just a little.

"It's me. I mean, I'm the one that's drunk," he reiterates, shaking his head.

"Why are you acting like that?"

"… Like what?"

Perhaps you were too hopeful.

"Like I'm making some sort of mistake. Like I'm wrong about this. About us."

And still under the influence of the too-damn-strong alcohol.

"It's… none of that, it's just…"

"You think I don't know what I'm talking about."

"Well, do you?" he fires back rather harshly, "'cause you're still wearing that thing and —"

You wince as his voice breaks off, palm instinctively flying to where the locket rests. "What the hell does that have to do with anything right now? I thought we were over this! Years ago!"

"Maybe you were since you continue to stubbornly follow me everywhere!"

"I'm not the only one!"

"Yeah, 'cause no one ever listens to me!"

"I always listen to you, Seok. Even if the words that come out of your mouth don't match how you actually feel —"

"You don't know how I feel!"

Silence.

Seokmin's chest heaves, wide eyes taking in how you immediately freeze. That look, oh, that look on your face could kill him and his body moves on auto-pilot to stand, directing his gaze to stare daggers into the floorboards. Begging them to rip off like a bandaid and shield him from your wrath.

The wood beneath his feet groans, shaking ever the slightest.

"You're right. How dare I?"

"Wait, mayfly… I —" he switches gears with a plea of your given name.

"And obviously, you have no fuckin' idea how I feel." Now it's your turn to let out a disingenuous chuckle, fake humor cracking under the pressure of sadness it's struggling to mask. "You think all I'm after is revenge more than the actual thought even crosses my mind. You put on this show that nothing bothers you, make assumptions that no one can keep up with you, that you can do it all on your own."

"No, that's not… that's not what I meant! You know how dangerous —"

You stumble ungracefully off the bed, flinching away when Seokmin's words break off as he automatically reaches out. For you. To support and for support.

Yet, it hurts all the more.

"But what do I even know? How can I, when you keep everyone at arm's length? It's like… it's like I don't even know who you are! Like you're someone else, someone I'll never get to understand…"

To others, it might not make sense, possibly the dumbest thing you could say — especially with the state you're in. But you know Seokmin, a fact he's subconsciously taken comfort in.

But you also know Seokmin. Which means you know the exact place to hit him where it hurts the most.

And suddenly, those words you say propel him back into a moment from the past, body free-falling in the sky.

Yelling. Crying. Screaming. Pleading.

Begging that exact phrase and being demanded of the same accusation. All from the one who's falling with him. Whose face mirrors his own, but couldn't be more different in that crucial and devastating moment.

His brother. His twin. His other half who was once his everything — now a total stranger from the person he thought he knew.

A fifty-year-old reunion that should've been a reconciliation, turned into a doomsday.

And for you, the once simple toothache pain is now overwhelming your full body and you refuse to let him see how it's dampened your cheeks. Especially when you hear the pained whisper of the name that escapes his mouth when you're the one that triggered those awful memories. Staggering to the door, you yank it open and he instinctually takes a step forward.

Don't leave me.

You hear the unspoken plea as clearly as if spoken aloud.

"Don't follow me," is what you hiss out instead, and just like when you first met, Seokmin obeys.

When Seungkwan makes room arrangements — if there is enough money to spare when needed and the options are available — he books everyone their own private space. More often than not though, he and Mingyu share a room and so do you and Seokmin.

Out of everyone in the group, you're the only one who is used to putting up with Seokmin's idiosyncrasies and the constant white noise of the cybernetic prosthetics's technology. You've rarely paid mind to having your own space unless Seokmin gets in one of those rare 150-year-old moods and wants some time by himself. Rare in nature, because he doesn't enjoy being left alone with his thoughts that threaten to consume him.

But he'll have to make due tonight. For the first time, you're extremely grateful for Seungkwan's pro-activeness.

You lock the door, crawl into a fresh cold bed, and wet a new pillow — one that lacks the comforting scent of gun smoke — with unshed tears.

For all his short-tempered and sassy mannerisms, Seungkwan is quite the worrywart. When the suns have peeked past the horizon and you're not already downstairs bullying Seungcheol, he's immediately knocking at your door and inquiring about your well-being. You assure him you're just hungover and he reluctantly leaves you be, likely picking up on how terrible you really do sound.

By high noon, Mingyu raps on the door next. He even sweetly offers to share his prized pudding in the hopes that you'll peek your head out. Though you appreciate it, you send him away, too — after reassuring the sensitive man you'll feel better after some rest.

Seungcheol doesn't miss the chance to be annoying times ten. He doesn't indulge in the effort of knocking, opting to make the floorboards squeal by pacing back and forth in front of the door. All the while, muttering this and that about "yer boy's like a pathetic dog and blah, blah, blah" until getting very kindly told to "fuck off!" and dragged back downstairs by a certain raven-haired insurance agent.

Even Seokmin checks in. Four times.

Once and then twice after you'd left and he'd figured out which room was yours. Then two more visits throughout the following day. He doesn't exactly make his presence known — but you know he knows you know he's out there.

If not by the distinct gait you've picked up on listening for after all this time, then by the hesitant thuds of combat boots lingering outside your door. Lost technology whirring with the action it takes to make a fist with his left hand, raising it up to the door and then back down again in self-inflicted defeat.

You refuse to see anyone, choosing to pity yourself first. Wallowing in your feelings and then sleeping as much of the heartache — and more so the hangover — away.

When the moons are visible in accordance to their nightly orbit, you get up to fuss with the mini VERnon in the room's corner. Nothing but static greets you. At the very least, the white noise is better than complete silence. By the time it's morning, you slowly awaken to the virtually enhanced radio trying to catch onto a faint signal. Enough to report the latest news in snippets with its mechanical voice.

"Beast… reported… Tonim town… !"

Your eyes fly open. Now is not the time to be wasting away. Donning a clean set of attire similar to what you wore into town — and with Sirocco strapped comfortingly to your thigh — you descend downstairs.

"Good morning!" Mingyu cheerfully greets with a delighted shout of your name and eagerly waves you over to sit next to him, waving around a promised cup of pudding. "Are you feeling better?"

"Mhm, thanks. Sorry about that, whiskey here sure is strong."

"'S one helluva killer," Seungcheol sulks across from you, still sporting a massive headache and looking worse than that one time Seungkwan hit him with the car.

"You're just weak."

"Wha'zat say 'bout you?"

"Since I can equally acknowledge both my strengths and weaknesses, that makes me infinitely stronger than you'll ever be."

Seungkwan wordlessly hands you a bowl and you graciously accept it. Next to the pastor sits Seokmin, unnaturally quiet. You don't even spare him a glance even though brown eyes burn into the side of your face until you glare his way.

The stack of doughnuts on the plate in front of him remain untouched — minus the smudged icing on one that was likely from Seungcheol trying to swipe it. Evidently, Seokmin was in low spirits if he didn't want to consume his favorite desserts. But, he is still prideful enough to prevent anyone else from snatching the prized delicacy.

How typical.

An awkwardness ensues, charged with an underlying current of tension. A vein forms in Seungkwan's forehead from his blood pressure rising.

Its pulse matches the twitch in the corner of his fake smile as he attempts to make conversation, to which Mingyu — oblivious and happy-go-lucky as ever, bless his heart — replies enthusiastically. Seungcheol stares listlessly into space, twirling a lollipop around and around with his tongue. Next to him is a soul acting like a thunderstorm's personally pouring over him. Seokmin starts pitifully poking at his grand doughnut pile while you ferociously tear into a piece of bread like it's the last supper before swallowing.

"Soonyoung's coming."

Your unexpected, but welcomed, interruption ironically pauses Seungkwan's second diatribe about Hansol's calamitous ingenuity. If possible, the apprehension in the room intensifies tenfold.

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. "How'd you hear?"

"Tuned the VERnon last night."

"'Course you did."

"Something about the Beast and Tonim came through. Not for sure but…"

"It never hurts to be too prepared!"

"True, 'Gyu. 'N if Soonyoungie's gonna be there, ya know what that likely means…"

You nod in understanding at Seungcheol's implication. "The Crimsonnail."

Seokmin's jaw clenches at the name but it's the disgruntled pastor who continues speaking after a hearty and loud gulp of water. "'Course the Eye of Joshua's gonna send their best two. Soonyoungie's Hoon's eyes 'n ears for these kinda things."

"Or… it could be Jeonghan."

Your noncommittal remark receives Seungcheol's scathing glower. "Bet."

"It wouldn't be the first time," you shrug.

"There haven't been any notable disturbances and the ground's been stable. So hopefully their only goal is to simply antagonize us further."

Antagonize.

A funny word for such a twisted coin game between a hunter and the hunted. You can't and don't blame the younger Bernardelli agent — only you were privy to most of the true horrors Seokmin dealt with behind the scenes, Seungcheol a close second. And because of that, you were usually the one at his side before an encounter with Jihoon and the ever lingering threat and terror of said man's monstrous power.

But today, you get up from the table without so much as a glance in his direction. Only a parting command of "Let's regroup near the entrance at high noon," while Seungkwan and Mingyu exchange looks of minor distress.

The black-haired man in his hangover blues obnoxiously blows a raspberry as you leave.

Later, there are two solid knocks on the door as you get ready. You know who it is before the door swings open after your agreeable hum to enter. Many may be intimidated at the sight of the silver weapon in your gloved hands. Seungkwan and Mingyu make up half of the quartet who aren't.

They take a seat on the bed as you purse your lips at the reflection in the dusty mirror. Then you fuss with the strap for your gun. Satisfyingly re-securing it around your thigh before throwing a carmine trench coat over tight kevlar that covers almost every inch of skin possible.

"Surprised you didn't dye everything else black during a fit of rage."

Your lips curl upwards. "How on Gunsmoke would I manage that?"

"With the way you're acting, 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…' or so the saying goes."

"Really, 'Kwan?"

"I'm an avid supporter of women's rights and especially their wrongs."

"Sure you are."

"You would absolutely look dashing!"

"Thanks, Mingyu. Should've given my color scheme a little more consideration."

"But then you wouldn't have achieved such an infamous moniker. I mean, okay. Maybe the black plague killed tons of Earthlings eons ago but it doesn't have the same ring as 'Sirocco, the bloody rain that follows after the humanoid typhoon'…"

Seungkwan allegedly graduated at the top of his class, leave it to him to spew out all kinds of random facts that you know nothing about. You huff and adjust the brim of the large hat atop your head.

"All that does is make me cringe."

"Uh-huh, so what's making him act like that?"

"Who's acting like what?"

"Fine, keep playing dumb. Did you reject Seokmin or something?"

Mingyu gasps. Dramatically. Hands on cheeks and mouth open in a wide 'o' shape, puppy-dog eyes glistening with despair.

"There's no way!"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Uh-huh."

"Besides, nothing happened so don't think you're gonna wheedle out of me whether you're going to win that stupid bet you two have going with Choi."

"Eh, don't worry. I've been out of the running for a while now, unfortunately."

"The hell did you even throw for?"

He shoots you a deadpan look. "Guess who's aged eighty years watching the two of you dance around each other like dumbasses? Could've sworn you'd be married with a toma farm or a dozen little children by now."

"It's your own damn fault for falling victim to that pastor's salacious schemes. And it's not even remotely like that, so…"

"Someone just doesn't wanna give in."

You stomp your foot, frustration boiling over. "Ugh, I'm never drinking again!"

"Wait… No fucking way…!"

"Literally shut up, Boo."

"I mean Choi did bet you'd confess and you know… get intimate afterwards… if you were drunk so…"

"Oh, so that's why he was so damn pushy last night."

"Dirty cheater."

"You expect anything less from someone like him?"

A sigh. "No."

It's a well-known fact that Seungcheol would rather stoke the flames of hell than ever needlessly dabble with holy water as one might be expected to with his chosen career.

"But judging by both of your moods, evidently nothing happened." The raven-haired man really has the gall to look disappointed that no one won yet pleased Seungcheol didn't, and the gall to point out the obvious. "Anyways, what did you bet on, Mingyu?"

"Don't recall!"

"Figures." Seungkwan's face falls flat against his palm with a groan before dragging it wearily down his face. "Whatever, it's not like it's that serious. Seriously," he adds on, feeling the burn of your perpetual glower. "Don't let it weigh on your mind. We need you fully focused."

"And when have I ever been less than what's expected of me?" You hold up a hand. "Wait! Don't answer. But really, worry more about that idiot."

"Aw, see? You still care!"

"… About that sixty billion bounty, Mingyu? Yeah."

"Sure you do."

"And truthfully, I was talking about Choi, 'Kwan."

"Well, both of them always get into those zany headspaces!"

You shrug at the tall man's truthfulness. "They're both holding a lot of trauma and baggage."

"And you aren't?" Seungkwan snorts with sarcasm dripping from the dig.

"At least mine's manageable. And… hasn't threatened your lives yet."

"As far as we know."

"In fact, I think I've saved your 'so-very-untraumatized' lives more often than not. Stay with me and you'll both be okay."

They good-naturedly give you individual looks of disdain. Perfectly in sync when you accompany that last statement with a devilish smirk and a twirl that flares out your tail coat with a flourish. By no means are they incapable. Clumsy Mingyu can adeptly wield his massive concussion gun when it counts, of course, and Seungkwan stealthily hides several derringer 'throwaway' pistols under his white cloak that he can fire with deadly precision.

Nonetheless, they loyally flank to your side when Tonim's bell tower signifies the hour of high noon has struck. Seungcheol meets the three of you outside the door of the saloon, smoking a cigarette and one arm lazily draped over the Punisher — a terrifying machine gun mockingly designed in the burdening shape of a merciful cross.

You spot Seokmin up ahead. He's standing on the low border wall near the town's entrance, perched next to a pillar for back support with the heel of his boot propped up behind him. Decked out in the usual galaxy ensemble, purple fabric cut off at shoulder-length of the top left sleeve to allow free range of movement for his prosthesis. His hair's slightly gelled up for a more intimidating and dramatic flair and it almost makes you giggle.

But there's that stern gaze focused on the horizon, likely able to see far out into the distance through those amber lenses the human eye can't quite decipher. Despite such a hardened resolve, his head tilts slightly up toward the blue sky with a faint smile on his lips — an honoring appreciation for the beauty and wonder of life despite its inevitable horrors.

Seungcheol clicks his tongue to get your attention while Seungkwan and Mingyu keep walking ahead. "Spiky Hair thinks he's really gonna do it?"

"Won't stop until he's tried every last resort."

"Even if it kills 'im?"

"Even if it kills him."

"This damned situation 'cause of ya know who."

"Dokyeom. DK."

"Nah, nah. There's the asinine version, eh?"

"Absolute pain in my ass?"

He slaps his knee. "Ah, aye… good one! But nah, 's really stupid one, Deathly, uh, er…?"

"… Deadly Knives?"

"Pfft, yeah, 's that one. So, we gotta try 'n stop one genocidal brother from sweepin' out the whole human race 'n tryna convince greedy humans not to keep exploitin' 'em with the other. Back 'n forth again 'n again. I swear…'s only ever gonna be impossible."

"What makes you think it can't happen?"

He looks at you like you're stupid. Maybe you are. But what does that make him? "Both sides — humans versus DK — think they're right 'n too proud to think otherwise."

"So you don't think they'll settle for a compromise. Or at least try to see the other's viewpoint?"

"Hell naw. Ain't no compromisin' when both think they're justified in what they're doin'."

"Well, regardless — you joined a good cause, Choi. World could use a little more peace and love, don't you think?"

He grunts. "Lookit who's corrupted yer ideologies. Don'tcha know what destroyed Earth?"

"And do you know what saved humans? Kindness. Hope. Empathy. Compassion. Change. Making and being the difference. The good kind."

A long time ago, maybe in a different twist of fate, you might've staunchly agreed with Seungcheol. But despite it all, you've been somewhat changed — or like the pastor said, call it a corruption of sorts — by Seokmin's unwavering sense of positivity and kindness no matter how bleak the future.

You admired him. Truly.

"Un-fuckin'-'lievable."

Seungcheol shakes his head as if he's not gearing up, ready and raring to go as he stomps forward to join a fellow 'brother-in-arms'. The thought inwardly makes you smile with affection until you remember you're actually, in fact, mad at Seokmin.

A dust cloud stirs up on the horizon, steadily growing closer to where you stand.

"You're so full of goddamn self-flagellation."

The individual where all your ire is centered on jolts, doing a double-take at your sudden but familiar presence by his side approaching. Or maybe it was the mere fact you were talking to him again. A warm expression overtakes his facial features at the sense of calm that automatically relaxes the tension in his muscles as he looks down at you.

"Well then, hello to you too. Feeling better, mayfly?"

"… Remind me to never drink again."

"I told you —"

"Yeah, yeah." You wave away his nagging and step up on the wall to stand next to him. "Don't worry, I won't be making a mistake like that again."

"… Mistake?"

There's an edge to his tone. Searching. Sometimes you hate how perceptive Seokmin can be. Though he actively acts oblivious and carefree, it's usually a ploy to lower other's guard.

You wonder how long he's known.

So, you sigh. "I'm talking about drinking, of course. And… I wish I could say I forgot even if… I haven't. But it's fine, I know where I stand."

The latter part of your sentence trails off. It's true though. You do know — thankful you can even be next to Seokmin. You might not be with him but at the very least, your place will always be somewhere by his side. Affectionate flings may be sought elsewhere. But they're always temporary. In your heart of hearts, you know you're irreplaceable to him.

And that's going to have to be good enough for you.

The man in question scratches the back of his head. "It's not… it's not like that. I know I fucked up."

"Stop." You grip at his prosthetic, knowing despite how sensitive the sensors are, they won't be able to pick up how you slightly tremble. "It's okay. Really."

Who is it you're trying to reassure?

"Mayfly," Seokmin murmurs. "Look at me."

With the slightest hesitation, your gaze finally rises from its focal point centered on his boots and the stones beneath to meet dark brown eyes. The ache in the gunslinger's chest eases just a little. It's been far too long — a day, in actuality — since he's got to lose himself among the vibrant hues of your irises and he squeezes your free hand in gratitude.

"It's not okay, I want to talk to you. Sober. But…"

"I get it. Now's not the time for a heart-to-heart, especially not in front of your brother's henchmen."

You laugh, for real this time. The sight is breathtaking; it makes Seokmin's eyes crinkle, a fond smile to accompany his affection as he leans in closer to you to whisper a sweet, "Thank you."

Three sets of eyes try to make it very not obvious that they're very obviously totally not watching the overdue interaction with bated breath.

"Oh golly good, they've made up!"

"'Course they would."

"It's about time, I couldn't take the tension anymore."

"Don'tcha think it'll get worse once they start canoodlin'?"

"Good lord," Seungkwan groans, "perish the thought."

"What's wrong with a little love? Yay for love!"

"Well, I don't think they've made it that far yet. But we're getting there. Baby steps."

It would be a good cause for celebration, a resumption of last night's festivities. Unfortunately, the merry moment is cut short with a screech of brakes, signaling the arrival of Jihoon, DK's most elite performer in his unmerry band of henchmen.

Next to the feared Crimsonnail's suitcase sits Soonyoung the Beast. Silver strands peek out behind the unsettling, bug-like circular mask hiding his face. He casually waves, acting like the unnerving discovery behind the innocent, abandoned child — who went by Hoshi — was simply a facade initially put on around your group and not such a grand revelation.

Having sorted that out in the stomach of a giant flying worm serving as a hive mind for Gunsmoke's legion of its original inhabitants and swearing not to let your guard down again, all five of you remain on high alert.

Jihoon's steel-colored eyes flicker to Seungcheol. "Hello there, Undertaker. Or… should I say Judas?"

"Howdy dandy to ya too, ya son of a bitch," the pastor snarls, spitting his cigarette in their direction. Cursing under his breath when the distance and uselessness of the fizzling stub doesn't blow up the engine like he wishes it would.

"Now, now. You don't want to make me mad, do you?"

"Kinda wanna piss ya off as much as ya piss me off, yeah."

"Surely you know what —"

"He means nothing by it." You'd quickly abandoned your post next to Seokmin to place a hand on Seungcheol's taut shoulder. Boldly facing the blonde man's haughty expression with one that's hopefully placating enough on behalf of your comrade. "He's just grumpy because he's still hungover."

"Well, well… if it isn't the humanoid typhoon's little blood shower."

Ugh, you inwardly grimace, why the fuck does everyone have such unflattering nicknames for me?

"Still following him around, I see."

"'S a lot comin' from —"

" — Hasn't gotten rid of me yet!"

"… Seems it," Jihoon sniffs and cocks his head. "Similar to the dilemma I have with this persistent bug."

Soonyoung chortles, neck contorting at an unnatural angle to peer at the driver. "You love me."

"You're delusional."

"Why are you here?"

Seokmin's question comes sharp and pointed like a dagger, a far cry from his usual demeanor. His tone remains detached. Aloof. Vaguely accusatory. Unlike your harried action to cover for Seungcheol, you don't dare divert attention away from the gunslinger who stalks forward after elegantly hopping down from his perch. Despite an outwardly calm demeanor, there's an underlying urgency in his gait that's threatening to snap.

"For amusement. A show, if you will."

"One that's not even orchestrated by Joshua's freakish cult powers!"

Out of all the males surrounding you, you're not sure exactly who growls at the Beast's mere mention of the devil-like figurehead — in fact, it could've been all of them — but there's one noise that rings out above the din of it all.

Click!

You don't need super-hearing to pick up that telltale sound. Not when every person over the age of eighteen in Tonim has a cocked gun trained on each member of your ragtag gang.

"Uh, so… how many times is this?"

"One too fuckin' many," you answer Seungkwan with a petulant hiss and reluctantly mimic him by putting your hands up in the air.

Jihoon cackles. "And when will you fools ever learn?"

"'S my question, actually," the pastor nonchalantly calls over his shoulder, directed at the town's ringleader. "Didn't know ya had it in ya, boy."

You didn't think Wonwoo had it in him either, to be honest. But that's not something you were going to mention aloud with the shaky hold the bespectacled man has on the firearm waveringly aimed at his target — the one whose head is worth a 60 billion double dollars bounty, dead or alive.

"Felnarl. Jeneora Rock. Descartes. Dankin."

There's a faint twitch in one of Seokmin's eyebrows. Seungcheol rolls his eyes, sarcastically muttering under his breath an addition of location names, "Voldoor, Inepril, December, Lewiston…" and Mingyu joins in on the fun with a cheerful, "New Miami!"

Seungkwan watches warily and your jaw clenches. You can feel your teeth grind together in annoyance as Wonwoo's smarmy sneer grows smugger.

"And now, Tonim Town. What?" he jeers, seizing the chance to use the man's silence as a way to ridicule him. "Don't recognize what you've laid waste to? Must I bring up the big ones to jog your memory a little, like the city of July and Augusta or the hole in the fifth moon?"

"Why you —"

Enragement propels you a step forward, but the barrel swinging your way halts your next move mid-step. The sullen look on Wonwoo's face surprisingly holds no malice. He looks saddened, if anything, but you can't bring yourself to feel too much sympathy with the rifle he's now pointed toward you.

"You forgot one."

"Pardon?"

Seokmin's voice is hardly more than a whisper yet it rings out loud and clear amid the tense silence and stillness. "I said, you forgot one. There's not a name of any place or person I'd ever forget. I'm well aware of the ones you're talking about… and more. However, there's somewhere I won't ever forget that no one will ever know existed."

"… Huh?"

"Little Ivywood."

Wonwoo seems so taken aback and the pause unwittingly allows your eyes to drift over to meet Seokmin's brown ones. There are so many emotions conveyed in the sidelong glance — a mixture of regret-filled feelings yet ever so soft — and it lasts a second too long to snap the befuddled aggressor out of his reverie.

"Oh… I see." He pushes up his glasses, the lenses glinting in the pale sunlight like a typical anime villain. The long gun lowers to the ground the same time as he throws back his head to let out a bitter laugh. "So that's how it is! All you do is take and take and take, Lee. Destroy, destroy, destroy; again and again and again!"

"Aye, ole chap's gone off his rocker."

"You've made an ally out of a would-be, should-be enemy and think other victims with their pain and grief don't exist?!"

"Wow," Seungkwan wrinkles his nose in disgust, "yeah… he's gone completely insane."

Mingyu hums in agreement. "A little unhinged! Off the rocks! Unstable even! When can I knock him out?"

You'd love to give the gentle giant the go-ahead. Really. But even so…

"Damn you —"

"Stop it."

The townspeople's uncertainty and hesitance tells you all you need to know, especially when Wonwoo's hysteria leaves them even more perplexed. After years of handling a gun like a second arm, you can spot inexperience and fear of handling a dangerous weapon the second someone is near one. You lower your arms and step forward once more, confidence growing when he makes no move to threaten you further.

"You don't want this."

The corner of his mouth quirks upward, a rueful smile. "You know, I thought we really did share some camaraderie."

"We do."

"Yet you gallivant around with a monster like that?"

"He's not a monster."

"I should've known better, really, when the VERnons said you're the sirocco that follows after the humanoid typhoon. Heroes, my ass! I don't get it, how could you do that to others after what happened to you?"

To us?

It remains unspoken yet you can hear the intent of the accusingly barbed question. Two survivors of a wrecked hometown. Shared camaraderie hadn't been a lie. Even now as you meet the flickering fire in Wonwoo's eyes with a blazing flame in your own, all you can see is a reflection of your past and what you could've turned into in a possible future.

A cold gleam returns to his gaze as he takes your silence as defiance. Or maybe even shamelessness. "How could you turn a blind eye to such a bloody warpath of destruction when you know too well of the tragedy that's left behind?!"

"Isn't that what you're doing?"

"… Excuse me?"

"That's what all of you are doing right now," you declare loudly and some of Tonim's residents whose conscience stings have the decency to avert their eyes. Awareness of their actions seem to weigh down on them, guns lowering ever the slightest and the awkwardness encourages Seungkwan to speak up.

"We would've left peacefully tomorrow."

"But yer actions're gonna be the very cause of the destruction yer tryin' so damn hard to prevent."

"Because you took a bribe!"

There's a stilted, horrified, and collective gasp, so you try to remedy Mingyu's exclamation.

"It's because you let your malice sway you. Tell me, Jeon. What all did you lose?"

"My whole town. Then my parents. Almost my life and nearly Lina's too. My lover…"

"And your sense of self. Plus, the new life you've created here — and those things? Almost lost because of your own accord. Why would you destroy the few good things you're granted?"

Wonwoo's eyebrows scrunch as his face tenses. Your heart goes out to him despite everything, hoping to get your point across as you continue speaking.

"That doesn't negate the losses. The grief. The pain. It never goes away but… you can choose to clean out the wound, put some salve on it, and bandage it or let it fester and infect your body 'til it rots even your soul."

You can hear the shift in the sand as Seokmin approaches to stand next to you. He regards Wonwoo with a kind smile and the understanding, crescent-shaped squint of his eyes is like a punch to the other man's gut.

"…. I —"

" — It's your choice, Jeon. What did they offer you? Money? There are so many bets on July's militia lying about the payout. I mean, c'mon, there's no way a ruined city would have the funds."

"Yer Plant's no longer in red status, so ya won't need to barter no more."

"I'll throw in a better deal — let us go and I'll have Choi marry you and Sherry, free of charge."

His cheeks flush and you inwardly gloat, instincts right on the money. Seungcheol's jaw drops, absolutely flabbergasted, and the townsfolk exchange a few knowing snickers.

"If it's protection you need, we can figure that out too," Seokmin recovers and offers in a low voice. "And if Do — er, Knives — or his gang approached you with a deal, just know that they never hold up their end of the bargain."

"You're lucky you threatened us first. DK's side is a little too slash-happy and trigger-loving to resort to verbal methods. They're the ones you'd want to go after anyways, you see, this man and Knives are twins if you don't look close enough, they're eerily similar at the strangest moments. So the real story is that it's all just spiraled out of control."

"You mean…"

"I won't deny responsibility." Seokmin admits sternly. "It's true that I've wreaked devastation to many towns. Failed to save the people I swore to protect."

"But DK keeps forcing his hand to get Seok to join his genocidal cause. And every time he refuses to do so, his brother throws a tantrum and well, knives go flying everywhere. Literally."

"He's a little…" The gunslinger searches for the right word — and finding that there is none — cringes. "Dramatic."

You stare at him, aghast. "He cut your arm off!"

Wonwoo pales, swallows, and then grimaces, daring to ask, "So… I've had it wrong the whole time?"

"I guess not entirely." You shrug, also guilty as charged years ago. "And obviously not the first."

"And certainly not the last," Seungkwan pipes up.

The bespectacled man looks down at the ground. "I don't… I don't know… Do I even deserve this kind of treatment? This… mercy?"

"No."

With such a blunt answer, Seokmin's quick to protest with an admonishment of your name while Seungkwan and Mingyu suppress smiles at your straightforwardness. Seungcheol freely chuckles, lighting a cigarette.

And Wonwoo's face falls as remorse hits all over again.

"But," you smirk, "what have I told you?"

"Oh, ah… why destroy the few good things life grants me?"

"Good. You were listening. We might get along just fine, after all." You send him a teasing wink. "Camaraderie and all that be damned."

A sheepish look overtakes the man's previously hardened features. And suddenly he's laughing with his head thrown back like earlier, but this time it's with an unrestrained amount of joy. Relief. Hope.

"The ticket to the future is always blank, Wonwoo." Seokmin extends a hand and the other man takes it, the small grin on his face turning into a full-blown smile.

"Guns down, Tonim town. The rest of you, come on out! Let's celebrate!" He calls out to everyone, gesturing for your group to follow. "Drinks are on me to make up for this whole mess. I'm sorry for getting you all involved."

You turn around toward Seokmin, elation written all over your face that he readily mirrors. Just as you're about to grab his hand as he reaches out at the same time, there's a slow, loud handclap that sets off mental warning sirens blaring all over again.

"Conflict resolution. How very touching."

The velvety voice is deceivingly sweet. But beneath the dulcet tones lies a raw and wicked strength. It rings out clearly, even more so when the jubilant mood abruptly dies down as a new figure approaches.

"Aw, c'mon Joshie! Just when it was gettin' good!" Soonyoung whines and you belatedly realize you forgot all about the real enemies at the entrance gate, thinking they had grown bored and left.

"What about that was 'getting good'?"

The Beast huffs at Jihoon's surly attitude, more than likely pouting beneath his mask. "Was really lookin' forward to those free drinks…"

"We don't need drinks and we don't need you, Josh."

If there's one commonality between the adversary and your group, it's the shared disdain for the elegant-looking man dressed in all black fabrics with shiny leather buckles, and slicked-back locks to match.

"Hm. But I think you do."

Chilling ochre-colored eyes couldn't be bothered to look at you, drifting past you and Seokmin like you were nothing more than the grains of sand littering every surface on Gunsmoke. And like a marionette, your head automatically swivels to follow his line of sight, blood draining from your face when you realize what he's looking at.

Lina.

She breaks away from holding onto Sheryl's hand after they emerge from the saloon, bounding toward her brother with excitement all over her face. The arm that isn't supporting his firearm extends gallantly outward, ready to welcome her with a hug as he strolls to meet her halfway.

They're smiling at one another with so much adoration after the intensity from earlier. If you weren't fucking terrified, you'd wish Dokyeom was also there to see how pure a sibling relationship and affection should be.

Instead, your stomach lurches, and Seokmin hisses beside you. With your back turned, you can't see Joshua but you're sure he's smirking when Wonwoo's frame stiffens, body jerking as it moves beyond his control.

Hastily, he's cocking the rifle with expert ease and assuming the perfect position to fire it, something he previously displayed no knowledge on before. Wide eyes have no choice but to peer down the scope and he chokes at how it's unforgivingly aimed directly at his little sister.

She skids to a halt, ten paces away. Hesitant. Wary. Puzzled.

"… Wonu?"

It all plays out in slow motion as you reach for Sirocco, simultaneously screaming out to your friends to alert them and provide cover. Frantic panic swirls in the air like a sandstorm at the turn of events, but even more fear generates when the townspeople can do nothing but helplessly succumb to their limbs moving on their own too.

Despite every single effort and all of his muscles straining not to do it, Wonwoo's pointer finger on the trigger pulls back. It doesn't matter how much he struggles to fight for control, his body refuses to listen. Tears flow from his eyes even though he can't speak, can't yell, can't beg for forgiveness — the vehement sense of horror is the only thing able to overpower Joshua's terrifying control, leaking out a salty excess.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Three gunshots ring out at the same time. You fire right before Wonwoo does and Seokmin follows two seconds later. Not because his reaction time is slower. But because he could see and calculate where the bullet's headed after you changed its trajectory by shooting at Wonwoo's barrel.

It doesn't end there.

Seokmin is a half-step closer to Lina and can move at an inhumane speed, diving into a tuck-and-roll to reach her moments before the residents have no choice but to open fire too.

You know he's fast enough to dodge bullets at close range, but the staggered distance spread out among all of those present in the town's square works little for that insane advantage. Instead, the skilled combatant focuses all his attention on shielding Lina beneath the loose flaps of his impenetrable trench coat. She clings tightly to his leg, whimpering.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you."

Continuing to mutter reassurances, he pats her fluffy brown hair with an unshaking cybernetic palm while the other rapidly points his revolver upwards to deflect a bullet that might've been lucky enough to shatter the bridge of his glasses. Then doing the same to one at five o'clock on his right. He angles his body this way and that as if a puppeteer is yanking the strings connected to his limbs to the perverse beat of an unheard tune. The few he misses land harmlessly against the thick kevlar material you're all wearing.

Meanwhile, your steady hand supports the familiar weight of Sirocco. Muscle memory aids you with cocking the gun as you run. Aiming at the closest group of people near them and then — bang!, bang!, bang! — snipe off the barrels on their guns in rapid succession, rendering them useless.

From behind, something flies past your face and nicks the top of your ear — one of the few places unprotected by bulletproof material — causing you to hiss. Scowling over your shoulder, you squint in the direction it came from.

While a complete bastard, Seungcheol is also the most resourceful ray of hope in a shootout like this. The Punisher's automatic artillery relentlessly fires shot after shot, destroying old and weather-beaten guns like they're empty, crushable soda cans. It's faster too. The trigger-happy pastor twirls it around maniacally, taking only the slightest care to not actually kill anyone.

You're a hundred percent sure it's because of Joshua's disturbing power that allows him to reanimate corpses rather than Seokmin's "Thou shalt not kill" lecture and pacifist philosophies that keeps the supposed 'god-fearing' man from snuffing out anyone's life this time around. Despite the bullets whizzing around, you know he'll fare alright with that healing serum of his — just as long as he doesn't overdose on it.

Mingyu rushes over to stand back-to-back with the pastor, x-shaped claws firing out of his 'stun-gun' and immobilizing many of his targets with ease. You can't help but grimace though, wondering if they'll sustain more brain damage from Joshua's nefarious telepathy or a well-meaning concussion that leaves them unconscious and no longer posing a threat. A solid steel object flies past the brown-haired man's head, knocking down the mind-controlled person who was trying to sneak up on him using a blind spot.

"Ooh, thanks, Seungkwan!"

"Pay attention, you blockhead!"

An empty derringer lays at said blockhead's feet and Mingyu kicks it away with a childlike glee. A brand-new loaded pistol is already in Seungkwan's right hand even as he throws away the one in his left toward someone approaching Seungcheol. The young man's never empty-handed for long because with another flashy twirl from out of his cloak and a new handgun is cocked, aimed, and fired.

Despite the distance and conditions, all three work together like clockwork. Different shaped and sized cogs all interconnected to succeed without causing too much harm. And you know you must play your part as well, turning your attention back to the few townsfolk that remain.

"Seokmin, switch!"

It's not like he needs the heads-up. The way you'd both been inching closer to each other every time your gun's fired already issued the forewarning. It's like a subtle tango performed by two fierce allies surrounded by deadly enemies. If you didn't know better, it's similar to an intricate sword dance.

But you knew how dangerous it was to play with knives.

The swift transfer of Lina's warm little body into your arms is a welcome comfort. Seokmin sends you a dazzling smile, one full of confidence at a successful swap.

"Hey there, pretty girl," you coo and your gloved thumb wipes away one of the tear trails cutting through the dirt smudges on her face. "You are so, so, so brave and I'm so, so, so proud of you."

"He," she sniffles, "my… my… br-brother. W-Wonu!"

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, you turn her to face the other way. "Everything's going to fine. I promise. Now, run to Seungcheol. He'll keep you safe while the rest of us finish this."

Seungkwan and Mingyu had effectively disarmed everyone on their end and now worked on dragging the town's unconscious residents inside the saloon and attending to any wounds. The pastor stood guard near the entrance with his Punisher staked firmly into the sandy ground. Although empty of ammunition, the machine gun still served a purpose as a great defender with its imposing cross shape.

With the target assuredly safe — out of sight, out of mind — the control Joshua has over those remaining falters and starts to lose its effect. In the brief lull, Seokmin dashes ahead to deliver a flying kick that helpfully unsheathes the dagger hidden in the sole of his boots, demolishing one more firearm in someone's grip before it can be used again.

Bang!

Bang!

And with Sirocco's precision, the last two are destroyed as well. You match your comrade's grin and turn triumphantly to where the instigators still stand at the entrance.

There would be no casualties today. You and your comrades would make sure of that.

Joshua, stoic as ever, surveys the aftermath with an air of unbothered gracefulness. Jihoon fumes next to him. Panic spikes when Soonyoung can't be spotted at first until you spy him curled up in the car's front seat — asleep.

You fist bump Seokmin in high spirits. Then fearlessly meet a pair of deep orange eyes devoid of any emotion or warmth, a shift occurs in your smile. Confidence and satisfaction hone the corners of your mouth into a daring smirk and something about the bold taunt causes a rare flicker of humor to cross Joshua's lips. Whether it's scornful pity or simple mockery, you don't have time to figure it out because Jihoon snaps.

Nails.

Several of them fly through the air and their wielder's formidable namesake comes from the daunting color that makes the multitude of piercers look like thin streaks of blood against the pale blue sky. The spikes as long as spears are all fired from Jihoon's large suitcase-turned-crossbow that aims just shy of your left side.

Those steel eyes of his are as sharp as their color. The malice within them feels suffocating, so strong and heavy that it sucks all the breath straight out of your lungs. Only the pain from a nail grazing your cheek is enough to pull your attention away from drowning in the unnerving emotion and you put a hand up to the laceration to soothe the sting.

Wetness oozes from your skin, an unsettling feeling of sliminess accompanying the touch. Puzzled, your fingers retract and you ponder the sheer amount of red viscoelastic fluid coating them. There's so much of it pooling that droplets fall to the sand below while others dribble down past your wrist and under your sleeve, the stain blending right in with the fabric of your coat.

Drip.

"It's all your fault!"

Drip.

"Their blood is on your hands…"

Drip.

"Don't you feel guilty?"

Drip.

"Don't you feel responsible?"

Drip.

"Do you regret being the only one left to live?"

Drip.

Faces you know and voices you cannot recall overlap and echo. Unfamiliar frowning expressions and intonations you remember as once gentle now ridicule, belittle, and find every crack in your well-made armor. Insidious whispers weave inside, entangling themselves within the fragile support structures of your mind and very soul. They point and cackle to one another at such a sorry sight, only for you to realize you're angrily jabbing a pointer finger at your worthless reflection with those cursory words coming straight out of your own mouth.

Drip.

Your head turns robotically, like an early prototype of the lost technology Earthlings created. This time it's Sheryl who's the victim, helplessly well within the trajectory line of Jihoon's rage. Every muscle aches, weighed down by exhaustion. Your shoulder burns. Yet you still somehow find the strength within you to rush toward her, especially hearing Lina's desperate wail as she's held back by a grimacing Seungcheol.

Drip.

Like a comet, Seokmin blazes past. He skids to a stop, effectively shielding the woman right before impact. You're too slow to move. In fact, it feels like an out-of-body experience. As if you're nothing but a hologram inside the floating ship — an artificial intelligence projection with no other choice but to witness the horrors and observe tangible objects scuttle towards their inevitable doom without interference. You're left with no choice but to simply watch as the nails are propelled through the air with the intent to strike.

Drip.

Someone's screaming. Maybe it's you.

Drip.

The nails impale Seokmin without mercy. Strike after strike, they pierce straight through the material of his coat designed to repel only bullets and plunge deep within the muscles beneath his skin. One after the other. So many of them stick out of the man's backside like the skeletal bone formation for wings. He slumps to his knees, falling on top of a bewildered but unharmed Sheryl. When he only lays still with no further action, you're struck with the dreadful knowledge that he may never move again and it fills you with an unfathomable maelstrom of raw grief and anger.

Drip.

Suddenly, you're no longer drowning in invisible quicksand and can move freely again. There's zero hesitation in your now fluid movements — not even when the blond-haired man poises his crossbow directly at you this time. Pulling out the spare gun hidden near your hip, you blast the airborne spikes flying towards you without hesitation.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

More fall than you shoot. The anger, pain, and grief you wield is enough to tear them apart like they're nothing but worm larvae helplessly caught in a sandstorm. You stalk forward through the crimson ire that relentlessly strikes down, clearing a path that's littered with broken, twisted, and dented nails before resolutely aiming point-blank at Jihoon's forehead.

Click.

More people are screaming and the spiteful cacophony in your mind resumes. But your ears feel like they're filled with cotton and this time you're stuck underwater. Your chest rises and falls, trying and failing to collect yourself.

"… out of it!"

"Hyperventialing -"

"Goddamn it! Get ahold o'yerself, woman!"

The Crimsonnail sneers.

Your cheek stings.

The dissonance reminds you of the wound from before. But this time it feels like a sting, as if someone slapped you — albeit rather gently. Numb, you halt in place and cautiously raise your hand back to your surprisingly unmarred face. But rather than skin, you grasp onto something solid. Something familiar. Something kind. Something loving. Something safe. Something warm. Something that's yours — always has been and always will be.

Someone.

And then… you open your eyes — and find yourself staring directly into Seokmin's sparkling brown ones.

"Y-you're dead," you manage to choke out in disbelief and his eyes incredulously crinkle into half-moons at the statement to hide the tears brimming in them.

The soothing hand caressing your cheek moves to wrap around the barrel of the gun you're pressing to his forehead and he smiles disarmingly. As if what you just said was the funniest thing ever.

"I know, mayfly."

Part 2 | Read the whole thing on AO3

onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©

[lazywriters-blog]

SISTER's SUPPORT

Summary: A sister has gotta do what she gotta do. Slight dark undertones, implied stalking, very mild yandere behavior? But could be read as fluff or dark comedy, but questionable. Kinda dumb-

Why do I imagine Lynette being the pushy and bickering sister-in-law in support of her dear brother who hasn't cared to mention that you are partially still a stranger? And he hasn't gotten the chance to even introduce himself? But, he's a little shy and head over heels and implementing subtle tactics to bring you in.

"Do you care for a trick?"

You've heard it before, and though you never believed in magic or magicians you turned around to see the young man bowing his hat, a hand behind his back, and an elegant posture.

Magicians are but clever in deceiving and trickery, concealment, and whatnot. You could list a few more.

However, in favor of answering his voice, you speak up, "Oh no, thank you." The least you could do was smile and walk away, and you were going to until he stepped an inch and insisted, "Please just one trick?" he pleaded with his eyes this time.

You looked away, dealing with persistent people never went well in your case so you nodded, and he grinned big. Sighing and whining internally, you fold your arms and watch him reveal the insides of his hat, you've seen it done many times.

"Don't blink!" he playfully cautioned.

You dare not.

He examined you for a brief moment then pulled out a picture from the empty hat, and quickly handed it to you with a wide smile. You had been expecting a rose or something that symbolizes passion, or love. But not what you were seeing.

A hazy picture of black and white with a figure whose face resembled a ghost. It was an eerie sight to witness first thing in the morning.

"What... What is this?"

"Oh, did I hand you the wrong one?" he feigned innocence leaning over and taking a peek, "Oops!! My apologies, even magicians make mistakes!!" he exclaimed, stealing the picture out of her hand and replacing it with a ticket instead.

"As an apology, please accept this free ticket to my magic show this evening, I would love to see you there!" and then, he vanished into the alleyway.

You did not give much thought to the incident and went on your day, the ticket at the bottom of your pocket forgotten and missed. Cruel or sad may it be, you had no business being someplace you didn't want to.

It would have stopped there normally.

But it didn't...

"Oh!! Hello there!" It was his voice again you heard on the streets, he wasn't alone this time, "I must have freaked you out with my wrong trick, I figured that's why you didn't come to my show." Faking ignorance seemed harsh so you ceased your doing and glanced at the twins, you wanted it to be swift and stress-free.

"Not really, I was busy with work and I'm not a fan of crowds, Sorry I couldn't attend it." his sister had been staring long and fiercely, an odd sibling you assumed and acted, "I hear it was marvelous, the show you put up, people are still talking about it."

"You liar." That's the first thing you heard from his sister standing by his side, glaring and throwing knives into your chest, not literally but your heart did skip a few beats.

And strangely, it seemed to agitate the magician more than you. "Ha-ahaha! She just likes to tell jokes, don't mind her!"

"Oh... Uh, I see."

The conversation had turned sour, and none of you spoke a word or met eyes if it hadn't been for the young man, you would have been stuck in the silence for much longer.

"Um... We were heading to get dessert, you should come with us." he offered, friendly-toned and cautious of how he was being viewed, Despite the kind suggestion, you would rather decline than take harmless risks.

"Thanks... But--"

"Just shut up and come with us already. You have nothing to do tonight we know."

"Lynette!!"

If the earlier comment hadn't affected you, it did now. Sadly for you, his sister wasn't done yet and took a step forward to point an accusing finger at you, as if you had gone and killed someone dear to her and laughed it off in her face.

"Do you even know how sad my brother was when you didn't come to his show? You should be sorry for what you're doing to him! Why are you causing him pain?!"

Perhaps, asking for no trouble invited it instead.

"You torment him with your moody strikes! And you have the guts to ignore him! How dare you tear apart my brother's heart and act as if you're this kind lady who doesn't hurt-"

"Lynette!!!" Confusion couldn't dare to describe how you were feeling, the scene looked like a family quarrel, and you weren't even a part of it.

You felt like a wife scolded by her sister-in-law. Would saying anything work to quell the tension brewing in the air or even the eyes watching them? If you had to make a bet, the people were having the time of their lives watching the drama unveil.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure I follow... I've never really talked to your brother-"

"You're coming with us!!" The only thing left for her to do was drag you there herself, that would be humiliating.

"Alright."

You felt like a part of the family alright.

[rhinestonz]

☆ WITH A BRAT LIKE YOU ☆

These men know you too well. Well enough to know exactly what to do with your behavior. Exactly how to put you in your place. They know exactly what to do with a brat like you.

Toji x reader, Gojo x reader, Geto x reader , Nanami x reader. Throat fucking. Overstimulation. Spanking. Edging. Etc etc

☆Toji is the typa guy to have you on your knees drooling on his cock if you ever tick him off in any way , since you want to run your mouth, he’ll fill it for ya. And oh boy are you full. Your jaw achingly numb, stretching to fit his length. Tears running down your face as you struggle to breath through your nose. Pathetic whimpers sending waves of pleasure down his dick. Gosh he loves it when you cry, Nails digging into his thighs as a silent plea for him to let up. Begging him to not fuck your throat so deep, feeling his fat tip lodged down your esophagus. But of course he doesn’t ! Why would he ?This is what you get!

“Pretty mouths spouting nonsense all the time , I’m putting it to good use “

☆ If there’s one thing you don’t do with Gojo, it's to insult his status. You’ll be a blubbering mess under him in no time. You can act like it’s not what you want all you want , but he’s drilling his cock into you till you can only think of him. Till all you can do is whimper his name and strained sorrys. Doesn’t believe in edging , he’s ripping orgasm after orgasm out of you. Gotta make you feel more pleasure than anyone could ever give you. You need to know who your honored one is. Who’s the strongest here? It’s definitely not you the way your fucked out below him , legs shaking and arms giving out. Chanting his name like a prayer. 

“ You seem to have forgotten your fucking place.. lemme remind you “

☆ Nanami is a kind man , it takes a lot to push him off the edge. If you manage to .. CONGRATS!! YOUR THE BRATTIEST BITCH ON EARTH! As a reward you're getting bent over his lap while his large hands make your ass crimson. Yelping as he doesn’t have a pattern , you can’t brace yourself for what will come next. The cool metal of his watch being the only thing soothing you for the time being. And just to tease you and remind you of what you could have if you weren’t such a bitch , he runs his fingers along your clit to your hole. Making you squirm , wishing his fingers were just inside of you.. but little brats don’t get that luxury. 

“ if you were just good I might have fucked this pretty pussy” 

☆ Geto is cruel , though his smile may be gentler than the others. He’s just as bad if not worse than the others. Unlike Gojo , he doesn’t believe in letting you feel the immense pleasure of overstimulation. You don’t fucking deserve that. What you do deserve is to be denied what you want until he’s satisfied , till you're crying and begging him for a release. Till you're practicing sobbing like your dog died. Till the only thing you're thinking about is how to suck up to him enough to let you cum. However , this is a cruel man we’re talking about, he’ll give you a soft smile , coaxing you into thinking it’s finally time for your release only to pull his fingers out of you. 

“That’s it baby~ you gonna cum for me ?… oops looks like my fingers slipped “

[wannaeatramyeon]

Hellloooo,

May I request viral hit characters reacting to their s/o wearing something naughty? If not naughty, just wearing their clothes instead?

-Thank you <3 ‼️

Hi anon! Wew I'm so sorry. We are nearing the 3 month mark. How's your V Hit interest? Fading? 😅 Thanks for requesting and the thank you and heart is SO cute. Hmm. Let's go for wearing their clothes...All generally quite innocent.

HTF Boys reacting to you wearing their clothes: Munseong, Wangguk, Yeonwoo, Seongjun, Taehoon

G/N but assumes you're more petite than they are.

Kim Munseong

You have a habit of taking his tracksuit jacket.

At first he never used to think much of it. He had a two track mind: one on Bomi, the other on MMA.

And then Bomi became spoken for, and the track became singular.

You still continued to take his jackets. Talking, laughing along with him, as natural as anything. Because it was. He's grown used to it.

So much so, that whenever he sees you without his clothes on, he feels a pang. There's something missing that he can't quite put his finger on.

He watches you. Wondering why you look... off.

Then it hits him. You're not wearing his jacket.

In addition, his jackets just smell like him. Of deodorant and aftershave. Without your scent and his mingled together.

And here comes a double KO. His feelings, the second realisation, hits him full force too.

Han Wangguk

He handed over his hoodie when you said you were cold.

Maybe that wasn't the best idea (or perhaps it was) because the sight of you in his clothes. Chin tucked in at the collar, sleeves hanging over your hands, length reaching down to the top of your bare thighs.

This is really something else.

Wangguk blushes furiously. Thinks about you in his hoodie and nothing else. Chastises himself for his lewd thoughts but shit, he can't help it.

It's just so fucking sexy.

Oops - you've broken him.

Or... that's what he thought. It's actually much worse when he gets the hoodie back from you.

Your scent, your perfume. He can't get enough.

And if he sleeps with it, so he can be reminded of you? Well that's only between him and his hoodie.

Ji Yeonwoo

You put on Yeonwoo's karate gi as a joke.

And maybe it was a little disrespectful the way you just casually wrapped it around you. You thought maybe Yeonwoo was pissed when he noticed. His mouth was hanging in shock and body frozen.

"Sorry," you grimace, sheepishly taking it off.

"No! Don't!" Yeonwoo clears his throat, cheeks dusting with pink, "...No it's fine. You can wear it."

Seeing you in his gi is combining his two absolute favourite things. It's a crossover he wasn't expecting.

His thoughts are innocent enough, it's more the idea of being able to have everything he wanted. Kyokushin karate and also you.

Yeonwoo stammers and blushes, not able to concentrate on anything else for the rest of the day. Not on his studies, not even on his training.

Because the idea of you by his side, joining him, is everything.

Baek Seongjun

You like to wear his haori casually around the apartment (when it's clean, of course).

It's something easy to grab and slip on. A cover up for when you're feeling like you need a light extra layer.

Especially for the morning after you've spent a night entangled in bed together.

The first time Seongjun sees you in his haori and little else, stepping into the kitchen for breakfast he has prepared-

His heart stops and stutters. Pauses mid movement to fully take in the sight of you in his haori, the traditional japanese attire, and little else.

Breakfast is forgotten about as he strides towards you, hands wandering over your body and lips on your skin in an instant.

Maybe he can convince you to wear a kimono next.

Seong Taehoon

You stole his jacket.

Taehoon should stop spoiling you so much. He only has himself to blame. He's very attached to his green bomber. It's his trademark.

"Hands off! Get your own-"

His eyes adjust and he fully takes in the sight. Oh.

Taehoon hates hates people touching what is his (only child syndrome huh) but you in his jacket - ok maybe that he could learn to share.

The way it drapes over you, large and oversized. Your hand tucked into the sleeves... It's fucking cute, ok. His stomach does little somersaults at the view. Shit. He doesn't even care how cringe he sounds, he loves it.

Like a megaphone telling everyone to back off, you're spoken for.

Still. Taehoon is Taehoon and he's a little shit to the end. He'll make you plead and beg a little for his jacket. Whine a bit about how cold you are or how comfortable it is.

He'll throw it at your head every time but preens when you slip it on.

And... bonus: Wedding bands

Taehoon never gave it much of a thought, never gave marriage much of a thought. If you wanted to, sure that's cool with him. No? That's fine too.

Once married though, there's something about wedding bands that he absolutely loves. The matching set, two halves of a whole.

He finds himself playing with yours a lot. Taking your hand in his. Spinning, touching it on your finger.

And when he can't play with it, he looks at it. Yours or his. It seems to always catch the light just right and he can't look away.

Quite simply, it makes him happy.

[etheries1015]

Malleus X reader- when you wish upon a star

Malleus looked down at you with kind eyes as he held out his wishing star, you taking a hesitant glance at the fae.

"Are you sure you want to give it to me? I don't particularly have a wish in mind," you shrugged. Malleus urged it into your hands before stating;

"Well, grim took yours and crowley did not allow you to have a second one, correct? I have no need for such a silly tradition. If I would like something, I can simply ask for it," Malleus said with endearment hinting in his voice. You sighed before finally agreeing, taking in a deep breath before closing your eyes and making your wish.

"I wish...that the people from my world can forget me." Malleus started at this, eyes widening in shock, while you stared blankly down into your hands only to see that the star had not glown to your wish. Chuckling in disappointment you handed the rock back to Malleus, who stared at you in bewilderment.

"It won't come true, anyways," you sighed, "Like Idia said, it reacts to body heat and traces of magic. And I'm...completely magicless. What a sick reminder, I can't even make a wish," you let out a shaky laugh with a melancholic look glinting in your eyes.

"Why do you wish to be forgotten, child of man?" Malleus finally inquired, "I'm sure anyone you knew from where you hail wouldn't want to forget you, surely." You couldn't meet his gaze, instead you placed your hands in your pockets before kicking a rock on the ground down the steps of ramshackle.

" It doesn't look like I will be able to go back anytime soon. It would be much less painful for them if they forgot me, If they havent already. I...am easily forgetable. Always have been, always will be..." You shook your head as another sigh escaped your trembling lips. "Sorry... I didnt mean to sully the mood-" you were interrupted by strong arms pulling you into an embrace. Malleus was hugging you tightly, using one hand to hold your head and the other to carefully hold the star.

"I wish..." He whispered after a moment of silence and hesitation, "I wish that I will never, ever forget you. I wish for all of your woes to resolve, and I wish that you will find a way home. I wish you can smile happily in your future, and I wish you can see just how important you are."

The star began to glow brightly, more brilliant than any of the other stars that had shined during the entire starsend event. You froze in place in the warmth of his arms, it didnt occur to you that tears bad begun to stream down your face. You held onto Malleus tightly, the fae stroking your hair comfortingly.

"I could never forget someone as kind as yourself, (y/n)," he said, "even when you inevitably find a way back home, I will forever remember you as the human who treated a fae such as myself as if I were just another student. You are far more important than you may realize, and I'm sure everyone that you left behind eagerly await your return." You couldn't bring yourself to find a response, you only shook your head and cried even harder.

He really knew how to make you feel special, even when it seems as if you can easily disappear into the shadows without anyone giving a second thought. Malleus Draconia....you too, shall not forget him.

~~

It was probably a bad idea for him to make so many wishes though. And with his immense amount of magical prowess, your intimate moment was quickly interrupted by the star shattering. Oops!

~~ end

A/n- I was thinking about a scenario about maybe Yuu using their wish for Malleus, wishing he would live a life that wasn't lonely or something like that. However...I felt like it would be a...cooler twist if we had insecure and lonely Yuu instead.

This was also thrown together on a whim. Not my best works but feel free to check out my master list for more content.

[bookshelf-dust]

Hi! I love your writing 🥹

I was wondering if I could request a fic where it’s readers first time in after school detention, and it’s over something dumb like being tardy too much ‘cause she’s a good noodle, but Billy is there! And he’s all cool and flirty and shit.

Literally anything you write will be amazing! Thank youuu for sharing your work 🙏

pink slips and bland gum.

billy hargrove x fem!henderson!reader

word count: 2,229

warnings: swearing, reader has anxiety, mentions of smoking, innuendos, tension/kinda pining/both reader and billy are smartasses—this is kinda enemies to lovers OOP (also sorry i got carried away)

a/n: hi my love!! thank you so very much for your request. it makes me so happy that you enjoy my writing! thank you for reading. it is a pleasure to share my mess with you. i really like this idea! i had a similar experience in school, minus the billy or interaction with a pretty boy at all. anyhow, i hope you like this!! i decided to make it a henderson!reader as a reason for the tardiness. i hope that’s okay! *big big squeezy hug* <333

————

“God fucking dammit, Dustin!”

Your breath leaves a puffy cloud of air in front of you where you sit in your car. It’s not warm yet. You would’ve gotten up to start it earlier, but you’d overslept some, which meant Dustin overslept too.

You usually banged on his door after pulling yourself out of bed, but what with finals, you’d been up late studying and forgotten to set your clock.

The palms of your hands met the leather of the steering wheel again, one slamming into the horn, again. You couldn’t bare to give one tiny shit at this point if you woke anyone in the neighborhood up.

Dustin had always been a mess in regards to getting ready for school, but it seemed that now you drove him, he was determined to make you late as well. When your mother drove the both of you, he was ever punctual. Now, not even a little bit.

When he did finally get in the car, he realized that you were actually furious with him, not saying one word the entire trip. Not to mention you realized about halfway there that you were actually going to be late, again, a wreck diverting traffic the complete wrong way to school. A wreck you could’ve avoid if Dustin had gotten his ass outside on time.

It was safe to say that by the time you got parked and into the building, only for your first period teacher to hold up her hand at your entrance—not even bothering to look up at you—a pink slip of paper in her fingers, you were downright pissed.

You flopped down into your seat, wood cold through your jeans, and looked at the slip while simultaneously retrieving your book from your bag. It was “silent reading time,” after all.

It was a detention slip. A fucking detention slip.

Not only were you angry at yourself for oversleeping, but also because Dustin just could not bother to help you out in the mornings, not only today, but almost every damn day the past month, and now you were paying the price.

You knew Dustin would get away with it on his end though. His first period was Mr. Clarke, and he loved Dustin so much it wouldn’t matter if he set fire to the classroom.

“Afternoon Detention, 3:30pm,” it read, a blank with your name scrawled on it and a blank for your teachers signature as well.

You rolled your eyes, reaching for your wallet to check for coins, because now you needed to use the fucking pay phone and call your mother considering you wouldn’t be able to take Dustin home this afternoon anymore.

————

Claudia Henderson was less than pleased to hear that you’d gotten after school detention, but you weren’t taking any of her shit after the morning you’d had.

You may have used language that was going to get you lectured, but in the end you told her to deal with Dustin and hung up.

The rest of the day drug on and on, your leg continually bouncing throughout each class. You could feel your anxiety the whole time, a dull ache, a pain that wouldn’t go away until you got through this.

You’d never had detention before.

Never in your entire academic career.

Frankly, you didn’t see any reason to misbehave and have to stay in the hellhole that was Hawkins High School any longer than you had to. Which is why you always behaved.

And the reason for your detention sentence hadn’t even been your fault.

The last bell rang, and instead of making your way out to the parking lot with the rest of the school, you walked the other way, down the hall to Mrs. Click’s classroom.

You’d had her your junior year for English class, and though that was your best and favorite subject, she’d made it miserable, never thinking you had any talent in you whatsoever regarding writing. Which, by the way, fucking hurt.

You turned into the room, standing in the short line of other kids who had to stay just like you did.

You handed her your slip and she assessed you over the frames of her glasses, like she knew you’d end up here.

“Take a seat anywhere you’d like. You may complete any classwork you have. You may not listen to music or do anything recreational. You will be released at five pm. No sooner, no later.”

You shooed you away with a flick of her hand, and you moved to find a desk.

There really weren’t a lot of kids in the room, only five or six, and they were all spread out, clearly not wanting to be next to each other.

You went for the back row like you did in any classroom, hoping you’d find solace there.

Only when you sat down did you hear the sound of heavy boots on the floor behind you, and upon glancing up, you found the one and only Billy Hargrove sliding into the seat next to you, dropping his bag on the desktop.

You didn’t know the boy extremely well by any means, but of course you knew who he was. You had a few classes with him, some of which required working in pairs—so you’d talked to him, but you weren’t best friends forever or anything.

You tried not to roll your eyes at Billy’s apparent inability to pick a seat not so close to you, occupying yourself with pulling out your few homework assignments for the night.

“What are you in for?”

When you turned your head, Billy was already looking at you; his head propped up by his hand, blinking all slow, batting those stupid long eyelashes at you, a slow smirk ticking up the corners of his mouth. His voice gravelly, words spoken lazily, keeping his voice down for fear of Mrs. Click’s acknowledgment.

He was a dream to look at—there was no denying that.

“Apparently being tardy one too many times is not very well received.”

You flipped open a notebook, looking for the notes you’d taken earlier in the day. Billy’s hand though, covered the words.

He was holding a pack of gum, offering you a stick. You didn’t chew gum often, but you weren’t going to turn it down when he was offering it to you.

“Thank you.”

“Mhm,” Billy hummed. “Why’ve you been late so much that you got written up for it?”

You turned to face him, eyeing Mrs. Click, who was reading and half dozing in her chair, oblivious to the boy with his walkman tucked into his waistband, hair covering his headphones.

“My brother. Dustin seems to be determined to make my mornings a living hell every since I started driving the both of us. He can never get ready on time or gets distracted by something. But if it were him who needed to be somewhere and I was running late, the fucking world would end.”

Billy was watching you intently as you spoke, hanging onto your every word. This was the most you’d ever conversed, what with you always paying attention in class and everything, so he was pretty damn happy that you were paying him any attention.

He laughed lightly after you finished. “My sister, Max, is the opposite. I think she’s punctual so that she can get away from me quicker.”

“I think they’re friends, Max and Dustin,” you told him. “Maybe they’re out to get us.”

Billy let out a breath of a laugh, smiling lightly at you.

It was then that the silence ensued.

The boy was quiet for a good while, eventually digging out his own homework, what looked to be math. The math class you shared with him. The same homework you were trying to do.

“Are you any good at this stuff?” You asked him shyly, pointing to the paper on your desk as he made eye contact with you. He was really good at that. Unnervingly so.

“What, math?”

You nodded, trying not to look at his hands while he flipped a pencil around in between his fingers.

“Not always, but the stuff we’re on now I’ve got. Why, you need help?” He wasn’t mean when he asked. He wasn’t picking on you. He was genuinely offering.

“Well I got most of it done in class today, but there’s these two problems I can’t figure out. I’ve always been bad at math though, so.”

“Math is hard, okay? And it doesn’t help that O’Donnell is shit at explaining either. Which ones are buggin’ you?”

“Three and seven. I’ve got the first two steps down, but after that I get lost. I think I’m dividing wrong maybe?”

Billy read over the question on his sheet and then moved his chair out to be closer to you. The close contact was making you burn.

“May I?” He held out his hand for your paper. You picked it up and gave it to him. His eyes scanned your writing, fingers trying not to smudge the graphite from your pencil.

He scooted even closer to you. The burning continued. You tried not to think about how good he smelled, even if it was mostly of cigarettes.

“Okay, here,” he gestured with his pen, “it’s the third step where you kinda trip up. You’ve just forgotten the negative sign that goes with the parenthesis.”

You looked at your notes, realizing you had indeed forgotten that. “Huh. That makes sense. Thank you, Billy. I’m sorry for bothering you with this.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll help you anytime you need.” And then he winked. Billy Hargrove winked at you and then went back to working on his own homework.

The rest of the afternoon droned on, but eventually the hour and a half was up. Your sentence had ended.

Billy shouldered his bag, and you had the urge to grab hold of his arm and squeeze. Shit. You needed to chill.

You made sure to give Mrs. Click a glare on the way out for how she treated you, and Billy caught it.

“That was brave. I’m kind of scared of her.”

You laughed, falling into step with him on the way out of the building.

“She’s a bitch. Made my English class last year living hell. It’s easier to be brave when I know I won’t have to be in close quarters with her.”

Billy laughed then, and it was probably the sweetest sound you’d ever heard, lazy and sweet. You could’ve bottled it.

You fished your keys out halfway through the door, and when you looked up, you noticed Billy was still chewing his gum. You’d spit your piece out on the way out of detention.

“There’s no way that gum still has any flavor left.”

He turned to look at you. “Wanna find out?”

You practically choked, but he reveled in it, moving on. “Walk you to your car? It is getting dark out early this time of year, you know.”

“Sure, Billy.”

The walk was short, but he was right on you the whole time, a comforting presence. You almost squealed when he caught your bag as it slipped from your shoulder, his warm hand brushing your arm.

It was when you arrived at the driver’s side door of your car that the both of you looked up, the street lights coming on all at once, the sun having set just enough to set them off. There was some romantic joke in there, you were sure of it.

“You never asked me,” Billy said. You raised a brow, confused as to where he was going with this.

“What I was in for,” he continued. “I was gonna make a joke about you being a goody two shoes or something, but then you were all nice and gorgeous and shit, so, you know. Here I am.”

Billy leaned in, setting a gentle hand on the roof of the car, just beside your head. You were starting to think that smartass smirk of his was ever present.

“Sorry,” you started, still feeling a little brave. “You were too busy flirting up a storm.” He tossed his head back, laughing, and you tracked the movement of his Adam’s apple. “So what were you in for, Hargrove?”

“Apparently smoking in the school hallways is not very well received.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why were you smoking in the halls then?”

“Honestly? Because I was having a shit day and I needed to calm down, so I kinda couldn’t make it outside.” He shrugged his shoulders, finding it easy to talk to you for some reason.

You nodded, understanding the need to get away sometimes—more often than not. You wondered how much more of him you could understand, if he were to reveal it to you.

“Well, I’m sure we could figure out another way for you to calm down that doesn’t involve cancer sticks.”

“Yeah?” Billy grinned. “You’ll have to help me out then, huh?”

“I guess so.”

You watched as he pulled a pen out of his own bag, gesturing for you to give him your hand. When you did, the tip of the pen was cold against your palm.

“My number,” Billy told you. “For when you need help with math homework, or if you want gum or something.”

“Or something.”

He capped the pen. “Yeah. Or something.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[snakegorl212006]

The “little things” they do  (Pomefiore)

--------------Epel--------------------------------------------- “Uug i can’t stand him” epel groans as he aggressively carves another apple “always nagging like he’s my mom or something.” he huffs as he finishes the final details “why do you stay with a man like that” epel mumbles. He and vil got into a heated argument again. Only god knows what they’re on about this time but it was way too early for any of that. “Well..maybe he’s just looking after us” i stated “sure sure, ‘taking care of us’. Do you truly believe that” he asked “well he has made sure i’ve eaten and have a healthy-ish sleep schedule” i replied “i wouldn't blame you for you thinking such things though” i mumbled as i leaned back on the apple tree. “Why do you always defend him… have you forgotten what has happened here” epel asked. His expression saddened “I’m not defending him entirely-. How about this? How about i ask him to lay off” i suggested “by yourself” epel asked “no it’s fine. You shouldn't” epel said as he picks up another apple “why. Don’t you want him to get off your back” I asked “yes but i don’t want you to go by yourself with him” epel replied “why not. Vil hasen’t-” “i don’t want you to die again ok gosh” he huffs angrily “epel.. Did you have a nightmare or something” i asked with a slight sigh “you don’t….I guess you can say it’s a nightmare” epel mumbled “do you want to tell me about it” i asked “.....you were hurt really bad.blood was everywhere and-” epel paused “I don’t want to talk about it anymore” he said. “Just don’t trust vil with anything. Don’t even dare.not even rook alright. Trust me. It’s for the best” epel said as he looked at me dead in my eyes “ok.. I won’t…. How about we made some dessert over with trey. I think he can make some apple pie.” i offered, which made him smile “gosh you’r the best. Always know how to make lil ole me happy” epel said as he grabs my hand “lets go then” epel adds as he drags me up and away to heartslabyul. Must be one nasty nightmare for him to act like that.

----------Rook--------------------------------------------------- “Bonsoir, mon cher” a voice spoke behind me, shocking me out of my skin “oop. Sorry i never meant to scare you” rook said “it’s fine just don’t do that again. Anyways what brings you here” i asked “I enjoy visiting the gardens in,the now, Savanaclaw wing. It brings me much nostalgic memories” he smiles “say may I be of aid. I also do enjoy a little garden work” Rook asked “well leona isn't going to do it so might as well. “Parfait! Je vous remercie, mon cher” he replied, kissing my hand before warding off somewhere else. I can never get used to his eccentricness. While planting some new plants that came in i came across something hard.I digged deeper to see something white…my stomach turns praying to anyone that this isen’t what i think it is “i suppose i made that one too shallow” Rook spoke which made me jump, tripping on the water hose making me fall. Rook grabbed that white thing and to my horror. It was a human femur “you know this place was the original garden Vil and i use to bury our victims to sustain the plants. We kinda stolen this from Roi de Fort and his crime schemes” rook said as he examines the bone “Don’t worry. You weren’t buried here. But if you desire it mon cher-” Rook stated as he look down at me “nonononononono. I'm fine. Just put that back i i need to go-” i replied then he laughs “you have that same reaction too~ ma parole, is this what you call daja vu. Not to worry. I’ll finish this from here” Rook reasured as he picks up the shovel and buries back the bone. I left for him to continue hiding that….”how many bodies are even on this property”

------------Vil------------------------------------------ “Vil, are you here” I asked as I entered the wing. Apparently he hasn't been himself lately even got epel concerned. Rook asked me to go have a chat with him. Make him feel better I suppose. “vil.Are you alright” I asked, waiting for some signs. When there was no answer I pulled out the necklace from my shirt and followed the vibrations. This leads me to his room. I knocked “vil. Is something wrong” i asked. The door opened to see vil looking less than himself. His hair all shriveled, eyeliner running down from his eyes overall he looks pitiful. “Is there anything i could do” i asked and he sighed “just….sit down” he said sounding more irritated. Did epel and him get into another argument? I entered his room to see a mess. But I ignored it and sat on the bed. Vil walks to the vanity and starts his nightly routine in silence. “You know. You look like someone i knew” Vil said as he brushed out his hair “you know i feel like this’ll be a common occurrence” i replied which made him smile a little “what were they like” i asked “Schön…” he smiled as he finished up. “What happened to them” I asked “oh, it was an accident…” he replied rather quickly “that’s all you need to know.” he said as he turns off the lights “if you wouldn't mind. Can you stay here tonight? I’ve been having trouble sleeping as of late. Perhaps you can keep me company.afterall you did come here to make me feel better” he asked. I thought about it and nod “nothing funny ok” I replied. He grabs my hand and lays down next to me. I took off my shoes and slept next to him.  I was awakened by a shift on the bed. I couldn't open my eyes or even move but all i heard was soft sobs as tears on my chest “i'm sorry... I’m so sorry…” I heard vil say “this won’t happen. Not again” he adds as he holds me tight “I promise.I will obtain that happily ever after you so desire. Things will return to normal….I promise” Vil mumbles more as I feel his grip tighten “I’m not letting you relive that nightmare...Not again…”

[jimmypesto]

in honor of boblin week being two weeks away, I wrote this little oneshot about them! ❤️ this one’s rated mature so read at your own risk, and don’t forget to participate in boblin week may 27th-31st :)

As she dashes by Bob to get to the register, the hem of Linda’s dress brushes his thigh.

“Oops! Sorry.” She says.

Bob only grunts in response. Today has been one problem after another, between burning the toast at breakfast and a cluster headache that started at noon.

Linda, as usual, is immune to his foul moods. She’s been singing all morning, so now Bob has a made up tune about lettuce in his head. Seconds after her dress hits him, his brain catches up with the oddity.

“Wait. Lin.”

Stopping on his way to the kitchen, he turns to the register where she’s standing.

“Do you have plans today? You only wear dresses when you’re going out.”

Even then, Linda’s usual dresses don’t look like this one. They’re typically tight, accentuating her hips in a way that occasionally gets her free drinks. Today, the one she’s got on is light purple and flowy. It looks much comfier than the normal attire, granting room for her body to breathe.

It’s also short. Very short. If Bob was just her boss, and not also her husband, he’d probably have her change on the grounds that the dress isn’t workplace appropriate. As it stands, however, the risk of her flashing a glimpse of skin is too exciting a prospect to pass up.

“This old thing?” Linda asks. “It’s basically the only piece of clean clothing that still fits me! Everything good’s in the laundry. Blech.”

Bob nods. If he’d woken up on the right side of the bed this morning, it’s very possible that this would be of more interest to him. Today, he’s too grumpy to fully appreciate the way the fabric of Linda’s dress stops above her mid-thigh.

“I’m washing your lazy pants, too.” She adds. “And my good nightgown, so we’ll both be nice and cozy tonight!”

She leans over the counter, cheek resting in the palm of one hand, and smiles to herself about the comfy evening ahead of them. The pose is so typical for late afternoons in the restaurant that it almost goes unnoticed by Bob.

Almost. Most days, when Linda leans on the counter and sighs with boredom, her ass only serves as a minor distraction. It looks nice in jeans, great even, but she wears them so frequently that Bob’s become accustomed to it.

“Oh my God. Lin.” He says now, pure astonishment winning out over his bad mood.

Still bent forward, Linda only turns her head slightly. She’s reached a point in the day where a countdown begins in her head: one hour til the kids get home, three before dinner, and five before she finally gets to rest her eyes.

“Hm? What is it, Bobby?” She asks, exhausted.

He stares at her ass, surprised by just how much skin her dress is showing at this angle.

“Are you wearing a thong?” He wonders.

This makes Linda laugh. The sound is airy and exhausted, like she’s long since forgotten putting on anything sexy.

“I am, aren’t I?” She says wryly. “Yeah. Like I told you, Bob! Laundry day. All my regular underwear’s in the wash.”

All of Bob’s previous worries disappear, whizzing suddenly from his memory as though they never existed in the first place.

“Laundry day, right.”

He steps forward slightly, ready to grope her exposed skin. Something stops him at the last second, his heels falling back to the same place they started.

“Yup.” Linda says, words wrapped around a yawn. “You’d think more customers’d be comin’ on such a nice day! It’s all bright and sunny out.”

Bob just blinks. As the subject of her ass soars past him, he stands paralyzed staring at it. Somehow, eighteen years into marriage, Linda’s managing to fluster him without even trying.

“Bobby?” She asks, when a few seconds pass with no response. “I said it’s nice out, don’t you think? I’m surprised there aren’t more people around.”

Concerned by his silence, she stands up straight and turns to face him. With her dress hanging modestly again, Bob is able to produce a coherent sentence.

“Oh. The weather, yeah. It is nice. Uh…you know what else is nice?”

Slipping a hand beneath her dress, he gives her ass a squeeze. Linda laughs, finally catching on to the effect she’s having.

“Oh boy. Is that what’s got you all tongue-tied? It’s just underwear, Bobby!”

He squeezes again, a little in awe every time he touches her. Maybe he takes Linda for granted sometimes. Not about the big stuff, like parenting or being his business partner, but he’s been feeling sorry for himself all day and forgetting that the oldest pick-me-up in the book is right here at his fingertips.

“It’s not just underwear.” He argues, his thumb rubbing a circle on her ass. “It’s really…nice. Your ass looks like a big, juicy…sorry. I don’t know where I was going with that.”

As always, whatever charm he has crumbles in the face of Linda and her effortless hotness.

She crosses her arms, resting her back against the counter, and pokes a finger at Bob’s chest. The simple gesture flusters him enough that he draws his hand back.

“You feelin’ alright, Bobby?” She teases. “You’re lookin’ a little flushed there.”

When she points out the blush creeping up his neck, it only makes Bob go redder. He feels like he’s back in high school, hitting on a pretty cheerleader and getting rejected. Not that he ever actually did that, but it did cross his mind once or twice.

“I’m feeling good.” He says, injecting false confidence into his voice. “I’m so good. You think we should take a late lunch break? Close the restaurant for a while?”

As he speaks, he leans his face toward hers. Then, in a stroke of terrible timing, the bell above the entrance rings suddenly throughout the room. Bob startles.

Linda smirks, leaning in for a split second before ducking out of his way. Sidestepping him, she shrugs and walks backward in the direction of their customers.

“Welcome in!” She calls out, not breaking eye contact with Bob.

Then, in a whisper meant just for him, she tosses out one last teasing remark.

“Think I should pretend to drop my pen and bend over? Might get a big tip out of it.”

Bob’s mind goes completely blank. By the time he’s processed what Linda just said, she’s already halfway toward the group of men who have just come in.

Shooting one last smile at Bob, she flashes him a wink that says their conversation isn’t over yet.

[jacksdinonuggets]

Hey I got an idea for a fic.

How about Charlie asking Vaggie to let her preen her wings since she noticed they were a bit dirty and had some loose feathers. Vaggie lets her do it and since the feeling is very relaxing and calming she ends up regressing?

Here you go!

t’was about a week after the big battle between heaven and hell’s famous hazbin hotel. Everyone was still recovering from injuries, mental fatigue, and grief. Charlie was laying in bed with her girlfriend one morning. She was up before her, surprisingly. However, she came to realize that ever since she got her wings back, they would pop out whenever she would experience a big emotion. So the fact that they were out made Charlie frown. Had Vaggie suffered through another nightmare and didn’t wake her up? However, these concerned thoughts were distracted by the fact that vaggie’s wings were…filthy. There was dirt and rocks in them, and the feathers looked to be molting. She brushed her fingers through them and a couple fell out. Doing this caused Vaggie to stir awake.

“Oops, sorry, did i wake you?” Charlie asked. Vaggie yawned and sat up and stretched.

“No, no, It’s alright. I need to get up anyways,” She replied. Unconsciously, she itched part of her wing. She had been trying to hide how uncomfortable they were feeling mainly because she had a hard time preening by herself. When she was in heaven, they would have group preenings and it would be really nice and relaxing. Like getting a head massage.

“Hey, I had a question,” Charlie asked.

“Shoot” 

“Can I preen your wings? They just look really uncomfortable and itchy.” She winced to add to her concern for the wings.

“Uh, I guess so,” Vaggie answered. Charlie went over to grab the trash can, a sponge, and some wing oil. She would first do the normal preening and then do a little wipe down with a wet sponge, just to clean up all the nooks and crannies. Then she would apply the oil.

Vaggie sat at the foot of the bed while Charlie sat behind her. She started to brush her fingers through, pulling the loose feathers out as she did so and throwing them in the trash. It first startled vaggie but then it turned into relaxation. She had forgotten how good it felt.

As Charlie continued to preen, Vaggie was at ease. So much so that she had unknowingly slipped, due to the happy nostalgic feeling she was getting. She started to yearn for her raccoon plushy and went to go grab him.

“Hold on just a sec, I need to finish this, Hon” Charlie told her.

“Bu’ I wan my waccoon!” Vaggie whined. Charlie, sensing she was little, stopped what she was doing and stuck an arm under the bed and pulled out Randy the Raccoon.

“Here you go, baby. Now, I just need you to stay still for me, alright?” Charlie said.

“Mkay,” 

Vaggie petted her plush and cuddled it until Charlie was done preening. It was now time for the sponge bath. When Charlie ran the cold, damp sponge through her wings, she flinched.

“Is cold!” Vaggie whimpered.

“I know baby, but i gotta clean these. Then, we will put the oil on,” Charlie explained.

Before long, the sponge bath was over and it was time for the oil. Vaggie really wanted to lay down and have some tummy time or cuddle but Charlie still needed to apply the oil. She waited very patientl-

“Awe we done yet?” Vaggie had said for the thousandth time.

“No, sweetie, i still have the next wing to do.” Charlie told her once more. The girl was becoming restless, wanting to lay down or cuddle. 

Sighing, Charlie got up and dug through Vaggie’s little bag. She came back with a baby fidget cube and her pacifier. She clipped it to her little one’s shirt and handed her the cube. 

The sensory stim toy definitely bought Charlie a few more minutes. She may have rushed the other wing. But it was mainly so that Vaggie wouldn’t have a long time waiting. She applied the oil once drying it with a soft towel. Vaggie was still occupied with her fidget and managed to survive until she was done.

“All done, baby!” Charlie announced. Vaggie happily flapped her clean wings before making them disappear in their pocket dimension. She tackled Charlie into a cuddle attack. Charlie giggled and gently played with vaggie’s hair. They cuddled until it was eventually time for Charlie to start the day. Luckily, the hotel residents didn’t mind having a Little Vaggie tag along.

[ghostofskywalker]

Hello!

I was wondering if I could request the prompts "you're an idiot" and "shut up and kiss me already" with echo???

Thank you so much and I hope you have a good day/night!

hi! sorry this is like light years late but thank you for requesting!

words: 607

summary: You spend a quiet morning with the love of your life. 

Time Together

clone troopers masterlist || request a winter ficlet!

You never thought you would miss working for the GAR, but right now you were. You certainly weren’t nostalgic about the abysmal pay, the long hours, or the difficult tasks, but the routine was definitely something you wished could return. Now, running away with your lover and his brothers meant that you no longer had to sit and toil away at a datapad for a cause you were told to believe in, but you also really never got time away from everything else. If something attacked in the middle of the night, there was nothing you could do but get up and fight.

And even though nighttime ambushes didn’t actually happen all that often, morning like this were still incredibly rare. If you didn’t have the night shift, Echo did, and vice versa. You either went to sleep together and then woke up alone, or you were joined in the middle of the night and had to pull yourself away from warmth of his body when it was time for you to watch over the ship.

Now though, you were pleasantly surprised to still feel Echo’s presence beside you as you opened your eyes. The Marauder didn’t exactly let too much natural light into the sleeping chamber, but you could just tell that it was morning, and you found yourself snuggling closer to your boyfriend, inadvertently waking him up as well.

“Hmmmffff cyare,” he said, his voice gravelly from sleep. “What’s going on?”

You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him closer. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“What?”

“I want to stay here for a while.”

“And what if I don’t?” He was joking, you could tell that from the air of humor in his voice and the smile on his face. But it would be fun to mess with him a little.

“Then I guess you’re being kidnapped.”

“You think you could kidnap me in my own bed?”

All you did was snuggle closer. “Yeah, and it looks like so far I’ve been successful.”

You tilted your head up so you could see Echo’s face, and he rolled his eyes playfully at your comment. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

You just smiled. Considering just last night you had called him the same thing for not liking the fruit you considered your favorite, it was a fair tease. “Oh, just shut up and kiss me already.”

That was a request Echo was never going to refuse, and soon his lips had landed on yours. Your bodies were close and your hearts were closer, making this moment a serious contender for the most perfect one of all time.

Or, you did until a voice interrupted you. “You two couldn’t keep it under control until you were alone?”

Okay, maybe you had forgotten that some of the others were also sleeping in the other bunks at the time. It was Hunter who had spoken, and you turned around to see him staring down at you and Echo. He must have been coming back from watching the cockpit at night.

You looked apologetic. “Oops.”

Hunter snorted before shaking his head. You knew he was full of osik, so you weren’t too worried about anything past a little teasing. “Just go eat breakfast you two,” he said. “I’m too tired for this.”

Echo leaned closer to you and placed a soft kiss on your cheek. “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

You smiled as you kissed him quickly. “No it certainly doesn’t.”

You may not have gotten to spend all day in bed like you wanted to, but at least you get to spend more time with your cyare. 

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[aerialsquid]

FFXIV Write 2024 Day 16: Third-rate

"You're even going to Populares meetings now or something?"

"They make some good points. Representative leadership is important for pureblood Garleans too, and there's nothing treasonous about discussing ideas openly and fairly."

"You sound like one of their pamphlets."

Akitsu had spent a lot of time watching Victor, for reasons that were none of anyone's business. He could now see the slight changes in body language that said Victor was trying to politely rush someone out the door, the way his fingers tensed as he picked up a stylus and clasped it tight to his palm to calm himself. 

Akitsu also pretended to be cleaning the examination tables, falling into that quiet 'part of the furniture' routine that meant Garleans forgot you were in the room.

"Little puppy finally knots a woman and suddenly you're a whole different person? I'm only here for two days, don't leave me suffering alone here."

The other man, a full foot and a half taller than Victor with his sandy hair brushed and oiled back from his forehead to emphasize his third eye, leaned over Victor, their hands just barely touching.

"I'm a father now, Marcus. I have to be more responsible." Victor kept finding reasons not to look Marcus in the face as he rearranged his medical files. "I don't fool around like that anymore."

"Even papas get to have fun, you know. Come on, puppy. I know you still like your men dangerous." Marcus leaned in closer, whispering just loud enough that Akitsu could still hear. "I could put on a pair of horns for you, if that's what you like now."

Akitsu saw the flash of Victor's bared teeth reflected in the curve of a bedpan, the reflexive way Victor glanced at the back of Akitsu's head. Marcus may have forgotten Akitsu was here, but Victor clearly hadn't. "Can we not have this conversation here?" he offered, the steel in his voice changing to a wheedling plea.

Marcus grinned like a tiger. "Sure, sure. Let's go off somewhere alone and chat about it. I saw a broom closet down the hallway…"

Akitsu looked up to the big wire rack of supplies and sanitizing fluid. His lips pressed together, firm, before his fingers latched into the gaps in the rack and in a single smooth movement pulled the entire shelf down on his own head.

"Fuck!" The sound of crashing metal sent Marcus flinching so hard he nearly knocked Victor's desk over. 

Victor dropped his stylus and rushed to Akitsu's side, wide-eyed, already checking him over for injuries. "Oh shit, Ryuo–"

"Oops," said Akitsu flatly, from among the pile of wet metal.

"Sorry, I need to clean this up." Victor stacked the bedpans emphatically, muttering about how that shelf had been unsafe for weeks and he'd been telling them to replace it.

Marcus scowled. If he suspected anything, he didn't have the courage to let it spill from his lips, but his expression was dour as he left. "Yeah, yeah. We'll talk later."

Victor let out a soft breath as the door slammed behind Marcus. Akitsu did the same, but only when Victor wasn't looking.

"Sorry. Former colleague of mine from when I was stationed in Werlyt. I guess his unit was passing through. I'm sorry you had to - that wasn't really your. Uh."

"Not my business," Akitsu grunted. He went for the mop while Victor stacked up trays and pushed the shelf back into position.

"I don't do that sort of thing anymore, anyway. I can't now."

"Of course." 

"Not that - I don't mean with men. There's nothing wrong with that, you know. But not men who are…" Victor looked on the verge of swallowing his own tongue, which was probably the only thing that would stop him from babbling.

I know you like your men dangerous. 

Victor sat back on his knees, hands folded before him. "It would have to be someone I could trust. I can't take risks anymore, not with Tina around. I haven't since she was born."

"And there's no one here you trust?"

Victor's eyes went up to him, round and soft. Something about them seized Akitsu's heart and squeezed it tight like a fist around an egg, sending aching cracks shooting through it. Then Victor looked away and the sensation faded. 

"Well, you know how it is," Victor said. He did not elaborate on the statement. Akitsu felt he did not, in fact, know how it was, but continued mopping up the mess regardless.

Lying in his bunk later that night, still smelling faintly of rubbing alcohol, Akitsu still did not know how it was. If anything, he felt that he knew even less about how it was than he did earlier that morning. 

[charonarp]

You know what I'm surprised about? (this is D&D related, so if not interested, you can ignore :p)

Also, like...I talk about functions in Curse of Strahd and Tomb of Annihilation, sooo....yeah. No want spoils? You no read.

I'm honestly surprised that, when a character dies, the players aren't offered a choice on if they want to switch or not. Like, if they die, it's always "oop, you died, oh well. Make a new character", or whatever.

Personally, I don't like that very much. My reason being is that...well, players tend to like their characters! You can add so much depth and plot to a character if they have to go through some strange experience before coming back from the dead.

Tomb of Annihilation, for instance. That game is centered AROUND death, and people avoid it because of how challenging it is and the fact that once you're dead, you're dead. No magic can bring you back. Well...that place has an actually curse that, if you died before, you begin to rot. That can introduce a REAL CHARACTER CHANGE, but people tend to take that one rule so literally, that it drives people away...

Honestly, Curse of Strahd and Tomb of Annihilation, in my honest opinion, are very good settings to take this custom function and twist it into something horrific. I may have only DM'd once or twice, but if a player loves their character, and their death makes them sad, at least give them the choice of either moving on with a new PC, or to continue their own. That way there's no waste on potential story lines and gives you the chance to make things more dire for your players.

In Curse of Strahd, it's easier to do this because souls can't leave that place. So, the party could do a whole side thing to try to get their companion back to life, or the player could go through some type of ordeal with the devil Strahd himself, or some other entity that lurks within the mist of Barovia.

Tomb of Annihilation is tricky, and I've personally never got to play it myself. I've been wanting to play this game for YEARS (I want that damn ring so badly), but everyone refuses to DM or play that game because it's "difficult", and "dungeon crawly". The thing is, because that game is complex, people tend to not think about taking things into their own hands and changing it to their liking.

I think the main reason it's so complicated is because players (normally) start at LEVEL ONE, which is a fucking death wish ngl, and the setting is very tough on its players (as far as I'm aware), and it's stated that you can't bring people back from the dead. Well...why not change that up a bit? Perhaps magic can't bring them back, but something else could? You make a deal, you find some other source to bring them back, something that could work should that player want to keep going. Being revived from the dead already has its consequences in that setting, so I personally don't see any harm in this alternative.

Again, I've never played the setting. The curse only really works if the character is dead-dead, not knocked down making death saving throws and brought back before some final failure.

These are my personal thoughts on the function of death in games, and it's not just limited to these two settings. I'm a newbie DM, and this is honestly how I'd like to work with my players should one die in some manner, especially at lower levels. Just because they died doesn't mean they can't contribute in some way. Maybe, while the party works to bring them back, that one player is able to find some things that were otherwise blind to mortal lives, or they're able to still be with the party, just unable to interact with the physical world.

If a player loves their character, and wants to keep playing them, you shouldn't have to punish that player just because "it's part of the rules". DMs are storytellers, and you can make your own rules. It's stated in the playbook that rules are not absolute, but are guidelines, and I think that gets forgotten a lot by many DMs for various settings.

Sorry for the ramble, I just had a sudden longing to play ToA and got reminded as to why people I've asked to play it with have refused in the past. Honestly, it's the same reason people in the past have refused to DM CoS too! All because it's "too difficult".

Honestly, sounds like a personal issue to me, but I can understand if someone is intimidated by something that, by book, is complicated to mess with.

But hopefully...hopefully I'll get that beloved cursed ring...I love that thing so much-

[askbensolo]

Dark question, but have you ever hurt yourself intentionally (ranging anywhere from the too-common starving habit to other, more painful things)?

Well good evening to you too, anon! Geez!

Nah, nah, you can ask me that, it’s fine. We’re friends. You’ve seen me at my worst. Or…real close to it, anyway.

I mean…there’s like a range of self-harming behaviors, right? I think the way I took such awful care of myself between the ages of 15-17 counts. I can remember more than a few times that that stupid kid stayed awake all night on his holopad for reasons unknown, skipped dinner because he just “never got around to it,” spent whole Saturdays in bed without moving a muscle—

Wait, no, bad adult Ben. Remember what your therapist said about not beating up little Ben. That boy was way in over his head and unequipped to handle it and I should be nicer to him.

Anyway…I know what you’re really getting at with this question, and…no, I never did anything like that in the classical sense. I think the behaviors you’re thinking of are more common among adolescent girls—at least, that’s what I’ve heard. (Oh my Force. New fear unlocked. I should check in with my sister more often.)

But…wait, no, actually…yes, now that I think about it…no, yeah, I actually…I actually did do some things like that. But…only during my relationship with Snoke, which was a chapter of my life so nightmarish that I barely even register it as part of reality.

It’s hard to remember. Some of it I’ve suppressed. Some of it, I think he’s intentionally deleted from my memory. But…there were times when he told me I needed discipline, and there were times when I felt I had to punish myself… There were times when we’d do these…“exercises,” he called them, with the idea that enduring pain would strengthen me against it—at least, that’s what he always told me; who knows what reasons he may have had that he kept to himself—he’d put me through horrors…make me do things to myself…and then he would heal me afterward and praise me—I can hear his voice, the way he’d croon “good work, boy,” and I would curl up in his arms and cling to his robes and cry—but…then there were the times when I felt terrible about myself, and I’d do things to myself—the same kinds of things—but suddenly because he hadn’t told me to do them, that made it wrong, and then it wasn’t “good job,” it was “weak and simpering fool, don’t you know what you’re worth to me, you would dare damage my prize?” and I’d be crying and shaking like “sorry Leader sorry sorry sorry I’m so sorry please don’t hate me”—and then he drew himself up to his full height and fixed me with those icy blue eyes and said, “Clearly, you are a glutton for pain, child. Did I not promise to give you everything you wanted? Well, then, I will grant you what you so obviously wish”—and then he stretched his hand out toward me, my skin knitting itself back up together like magic, as I felt myself being hoisted up into the air—and then—and then—agony so white-hot it made me forget my own name—“Is it enough for you, Ben Solo?” in the tenderest, gentlest voice, like a sweet old grandfather offering candy to a little boy, and I was like, Ben Solo, Ben Solo, who is he, why does that name sound so familiar—and then the next thing I knew it was over and he was holding me, comforting me, and he whispered in my ear “excellent work,” and I was so confused, it didn’t make any sense, but I was too relieved and exhausted to question anything, so I just laid my head in the crook of his arm, and closed my eyes, and let him stroke my hair…

…Dang, that’s a new one. I’d…actually forgotten about that. That really happened? Yikes.

OOP WAIT my brain is shutting down suddenly. Freaking out. Abort abort abort! I’m not sixteen I’m not sixteen I’m twenty-three and Snoke is gone and I graduated college and live on Naboo and can overhead-press my bodyweight and I have an almost-sorta-girlfriend and an unfulfilling but decently-paying job and some really cool holonet friends…okay. Okay. Okay. I’m me. I made it. It’s okay.

So…uh…wow. All right. Gonna chuck that cute little memory back into the abyss. Thanks for that, Snokey-poo.

Yeah…I had a lot happen to me back in the day, but…that stuff’s all in the past now. And I prefer to let the past die.