#Tales from the wasteland series

[anxietymuffin]

Tales from the Wasteland: Chicken Soup for the War Veterans Soul

[damienkarras73]

An essay on Furiosa, the politics of the Wasteland, Arthurian literature and realistic vs. formalistic CGI

Mad Max: Fury Road absolutely enraptured me when it came out nearly a decade ago, and I will cop to seeing it four times at the theatre. For me (and many others who saw the light of George Miller) it set new standards for action filmmaking, storytelling and worldbuilding, and I could pop in its Blu Ray at any time and never get tired of it. Perhaps not surprisingly, I was deeply apprehensive about the announced prequel for Fury Road's actual main character, Furiosa, even if Miller was still writing and directing. We didn't need backstory for Furiosa—hell, Fury Road is told in such a way that NOTHING in it requires explicit backstory. And since it focuses on the Yung Furiosa, it meant Charlize Theron couldn't return with another career-defining performance. Plus, look at all that CGI in the trailer, it can't be as good as Fury Road.

Turns out I was silly to doubt George Miller, M.D., A.O., writer and director of Babe: Pig in the City and Happy Feet One & Two.

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga is excellent, and I needn't have worried about it not being as good as Fury Road because it is not remotely trying to be Fury Road. Fury Road is a lean, mean machine with no fat on it, nothing extraneous, operating with constant forward momentum and only occasionally letting up to let you breathe a little; Furiosa is a classical epic, sprawling in scope, scale and structure, and more than happy to let the audience simmer in a quiet, almost painfully still moment. If its opening spoken word sequence by that Gandalf of the Wastes himself, the First History Man, didn't already clue you in, it unfolds like something out of myth, a tale told over and over again and whose possible embellishments are called attention to in the dialogue itself. Where Fury Road scratched the action nerd itch in my head like you wouldn't believe, Furiosa was the equivalent of Miller giving the undulating folds of my English major brain a deep tissue massage. That's great! I, for one, love when sequels/prequels endeavour to be fundamentally different movies from what they're succeeding/preceding, operating in different modes, formats and even genres, and more filmmakers should aim for it when building on an existing series.

This movie has been on my mind so much in the past week that I've ended up dedicating several cognitive processes to keeping track of all of the different ponderings it's spawned. Thankfully, Furiosa is divided into chapters (fun fact: putting chapter cards in your movie is a quick way to my heart), so it only seems fitting that I break up all of these cascading thoughts accordingly.

1. The Pole of Inaccessibility

Furiosa herself actually isn't the protagonist for the first chapter of her own movie, instead occupying the role of a (very crafty and resourceful) damsel in distress for those initial 30-40 minutes. The real hero of the opening act, which plays out like a game of cat and mouse, is Furiosa's mother Mary Jabassa, who rides out into the wasteland first on horseback and then astride a motorcycle to track down the band of raiders that has stolen away her daughter. Mary's brought to life by Miller and Nico Lathouris' economical writing and a magnetic performance by newcomer Charlee Fraser, who radiates so much screen presence in such relatively little time and with one of those instant "who is SHE??" faces. She doesn't have many lines, but who needs them when Fraser can convey volumes about Mary with just a flash of her eyes or the effortless way she swaps out one of her motorcycle's wheels for another. To be quite candid, I'm not sure of the last time I fell in love with a character so quickly.

You notice a neat aesthetic contrast between mother and daughter in retrospect: Mary Jabassa darts into the desert barefoot, clad in a simple yet elegant dress, her wolf cut immaculate, only briefly disguising herself with the ugly armour of a raider she just sniped, and when she attacks it's almost with grace, like some Greek goddess set loose in the post-apocalyptic Aussie outback with just her wits and a bolt-action rifle; we track Furiosa's growth over the years by how much of her initially conventional beauty she has shed, quite literally in one case (hair buzzed, severed arm augmented with a chunky mechanical prosthesis, smeared in grease and dirt from head to toe, growling her lines at a lower octave), and by how she loses her mother's graceful approach to movement and violence, eventually carrying herself like a blunt instrument. Yet I have zero doubt the former raised the latter, both angels of different feathers but with the same steel and resolve. Of fucking course this woman is Furiosa's mother, and in the short time we know her we quickly understand exactly why Furiosa has the drive and morals she does without needing to resort to didactic exposition.

Anyway, I was tearing up by the end of the first chapter. Great start!

2. Lessons from the Wasteland

Most movies—most stories, really—don't actually tell the entire narrative from A to Z. Perhaps the real meat of the thing is found from H to T, and A-G or U-Z are unnecessary for conveying the key narrative and themes. So many prequels fail by insisting on telling the A-G part of the story, explaining how the hero earned a certain nickname or met their memorable sidekick—but if that stuff was actually interesting, they likely would have included it in the original work. The greatest thing a prequel can actually do is recontextualize, putting iconic characters or moments in a new light, allowing you to appreciate them from a different angle. All of season 2 of Fargo serves to explain why Molly Solverson's dad is appropriately wary when Lorne Malvo enters his diner for a SINGLE SCENE in the show's first season. David's arc from the Alien prequels Prometheus and Covenant—polarizing as those entries are—adds another layer to why Ash is so protective of the creature in the first movie. Andor gives you a sense of what it's like for a normal, non-Jedi person to live under the boot of the Empire and why so many of them would join up with the Rebel Alliance—or why they would desire to wear that boot, or even just crave the chance to lick it.

Furiosa is one of those rare great prequels because it makes us take a step back and consider the established world with a little more nuance, even if it's still all so absurd. In Fury Road, Immortan Joe is an awesome, endlessly quotable villain, completely irredeemable, and basically a cartoon. He works perfectly as the antagonist of that breakneck, Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote-ass movie, but if you step outside of its adrenaline-pumping narrative for even a moment you risk questioning why nobody in the Citadel or its surrounding settlements has risen up against him before. Hell, why would Furiosa even work for him to begin with? But then you see Dementus and company tear-assing around the wasteland, seizing settlements and running them into the ground, and you realize Joe and his consortium offer something that Dementus reasonably can't: stability—granted, an unwavering, unchangeable stability weighted in favour of Joe's own brutal caste system, but stability nonetheless. It really makes you wonder, how badly does a guy have to suck to make IMMORTAN JOE of all people look like a sane, competent and reasonable ruler by comparison?!?

…and then they open the door to the vault where he keeps his wives, and in a flash you're reminded just how awful Joe is and why Furiosa will risk her life to help some of these women flee from him years later. This new context enriches Joe and makes it more believable that he could maintain power for so long, but it doesn't make him any less of a monster, and it says a lot about Furiosa's hate for Dementus that she could grit her teeth and work for this sick old tyrant.

3. The Stowaway

Here's another wild bit of trivia about this movie: you don't actually see top-billed actress Anya Taylor-Joy pop up on screen until roughly halfway through, once Furiosa is in her late teens/early twenties. Up until this point she's been played by Alyla Browne, who through the use of some seamless and honestly really impressive CGI has been given Anya's distinctive bug eyes [complimentary]. It's one of those bold choices that really works because Miller commits to it so hard, though it does make me wish Browne's name was up on the poster next to Taylor-Joy's.

Speaking of CGI, I should talk about what seems to be a sticking point for quite a few people: if there's been one consistent criticism of Furiosa so far, it's that it doesn't look nearly as practical or grounded as Fury Road, with more obvious greenscreen and compositing, and what previously would've been physical stunt performers and pyrotechnics have been replaced with their digital equivalents for many shots. Simply put, it doesn't look as real! For a lot of people, that practicality was one of Fury Road's primary draws, so I won't try to quibble if they're let down by Furiosa's overt artificiality, but to be honest I'm actually quite fine with it. It helps that this visual discrepancy doesn't sneak up on you but is incredibly apparent right from the aerial zoom-down into Australia in the very first scene, so I didn't feel misled or duped.

Fury Road never asks you to suspend your disbelief because it all looks so believable; Furiosa jovially prods you to suspend that disbelief from the get-go and tune into it on a different wavelength. It's a classical epic, and like the classical epics of the 1950s and 60s it has a lot of actors standing in front of what clearly are matte paintings. It feels right! We're not watching fact, we're watching myth. I'm willing to concede there might be a little bit of post-hoc rationalization on my part because I simply love this movie so much, but I'm not holding the effects in Furiosa to the same standard as those in Fury Road because I simply don't believe Miller and his crew are attempting to replicate that approach. Without the extensive CGI, we don't get that impressive long, panning take where a stranded Furiosa scans the empty, dust-and-sun-scoured wasteland (75% Sergio Leone, 25% Andrei Tarkovsky), or the Octoboss and his parasailing goons. For the sake of intellectual exercise I did try imagining them filming the Octoboss/war rig sequence with the same immersive practical approach they used for Fury Road's stunts, however I just kept picturing dead stunt performers, so perhaps the tradeoff was worth it!

4. Homeward

Around the same time we meet the Taylor-Joy-pilled Furiosa in Chapter 3, we're introduced to Praetorian Jack, the chief driver for the convoys running between the Citadel and its allied settlements. Jack's played by Tom Burke, who pulled off a very good Orson Welles in Mank! and who I should really check out in The Souvenir one of these days. He's also a cool dude! Here are some facts about Praetorian Jack:

He's decked out in road leathers with a pauldron stitched to one shoulder

He's stoic and wary, but still more or less personable and can carry on a conversation

Professes to a certain cynicism, to quote Special Agent Albert Rosenfield, but ultimately has a capacity for kindness and will do the right thing

Shoots a gun real good

Can drive like nobody's business

So in other words, Jack is Mad Max. But also, no, he clearly isn't! He looks and dresses like Mad Max (particularly Mel Gibson's) and does a lot of the same things "Mad" Max Rockatansky does, but he's also very explicitly a distinct character. It's a choice that seems inexplicable and perhaps even lazy on its face, except this is a George Miller movie, so of course this parallel is extremely purposeful. Miller has gone on record saying he avoids any kind of strict chronology or continuity for his Mad Max movies, compared to the rigid canons for Star Trek and Star Wars, and bless him for doing so. It's more fun viewing each Mad Max entry as a new revision or elaboration on a story being told again and again generations after the fall, mutating in style, structure and focus with every iteration, becoming less grounded as its core narrative is passed from elder to youth, community to community, genre to genre, until it becomes myth. (At least, my English major brain thinks it's more fun.) In fact there's actually something Arthurian to it, where at first King Arthur was mentioned in several Welsh legends before Geoffrey of Monmouth crafted an actual narrative around him, then Chrétien de Troyes added elements like Lancelot and infused the stories with more romance, and then with Le Morte d'Arthur Thomas Malory whipped the whole cycle together into one volume, which T.H. White would chop and screw and deconstruct with The Once and Future King centuries later.

All this to say: maybe Praetorian Jack looks and sounds and acts like Max because he sorta kinda basically is, being just one of many men driving back and forth across the wasteland, lending a hand on occasion, who'll be conflated into a single, legendary "Mad Max" at some point down the line in a different History Man's retelling of Furiosa's odyssey. Sometimes that Max rips across the desert in his V8 Interceptor, other times driving a big rig. Perhaps there's a dog tagging along and/or a scraggly and at first aggravating ally played by Bruce Spence or Nicholas Hoult. Usually he has a shotgun. But so long as you aren't trying to kill him, he'll help you out.

5. Beyond Vengeance

The Mad Max movies have incredibly iconic villains—Immortan Joe! Toecutter! the Lord Humongous!—but they are exactly that, capital V Villains devoid of humanizing qualities who you can't wait to watch bad things happen to. Furiosa appears to continue this trend by giving us a villain who in fact has a mustache long enough that he could reasonably twirl it if he so wanted, but ironically Dementus ends up being the most layered antagonist in the entire series, even moreso than the late Tina Turner's comparatively benevolent Aunty Entity from Beyond Thunderdome. And because he's played by Chris Hemsworth, whose comedic delivery rivals his stupidly handsome looks, you lock in every time he's on screen.

Something so fascinating about Dementus is that, for a main antagonist, he's NOT all-powerful, and in fact quite the opposite: he's more conman than warlord, looking for the next hustle, the next gullible crowd he can preach to and dupe—though never for long. For all his bluster, at every turn he finds himself in way over his head and writing cheques he can't cash, and this self-induced Sisyphean torment makes him riveting to watch. You're tempted to pity Dementus but it's also quite difficult to spare sympathy for someone who's so quick to channel their rage and hurt and ego into thoughtless, burn-it-all-down destruction. When you're not laughing at him, you're hating his guts, and it's indisputably the best work of Chris Hemsworth's career.

It's in this final chapter that everything naturally comes to a head: Furiosa's final evolution into the character we meet at the start of Fury Road, the predictable toppling of Dementus' precariously built house of cards, and the mythmaking that has been teased since the very first scene becoming diagetic text, the last of which allows the movie to thoroughly explore the themes of vengeance it's been building to. A brief war begins, is summarized and is over in the span of roughly a minute, and on its face it's a baffling narrative choice that most other filmmakers would have botched. But our man Miller's smart enough to recognize that the result of this war is the most foregone of conclusions if you've been paying even the slightest bit of attention, so he effectively brushes past it to get to the emotional heart of the climax and an incredible "Oh shit!" payoff that cements Miller as one of mainstream cinema's greatest sickos.

Fury Road remains the greatest Mad Max film, but Furiosa might be the best thing George Miller has ever made. If not his magnum opus, it does at least feel like his dissertation, and it makes me wish Warner Bros. puts enough trust in him despite Furiosa's poor box office performance that he's able to make The Wasteland. Absolutely ridiculous that a man just short of his 80th birthday was able to pull this off, and with it I feel confident calling him one of my favourite directors.

[fxtalitygod]

Wasteland. Prologue

Synopsis: Two unwilling participants in a peculiar arrangement. What are the chances they can actually form a bond?

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

Genre: Angst (eventual fluff), mature, suggestive, arranged marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Slowburn

Warnings: Dark Themes/topics, misogynistic themes, toxic household, mentions of night terrors, betrothal since birth, swearing/language, implications of pregnancy

A/N: I returned with a new series after a month's break. This is considered a sequel/spinoff to my prior series, Survival, a Historical AU with Trueform! Sukuna x Fem!reader; however, it is not required to read that story to understand this one. Taglist rules still apply to be added to the taglist for this series. With that...I introduce, Wasteland!

Word Count: 6k

•JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• Prologue ↠ Chapter 1

Marriage is a beautiful ceremony in which two hearts become bound as one for eternity—at least, that is how all the storybooks tell it. When you were introduced to the concept of marriage, you were more than excited to be met with your one true love and have your fairytale ending.

That little fantasy you conjured in your head did not last long.

The moment you showed interest, your parents quickly told you that you had a husband waiting, a boy you had never met nor heard the name of. From what you could understand, he was from an influential family with significant influence and riches—it seemed desirable enough for a little girl of age five. Still, for some reason, it brought you a discomfort you could not name.

Since your birth, you had been assigned a suitor. You were not old enough yet to understand, but the notion that you were married off the second you left your mother's womb was a sickening thought. That the miracle of your birth was not the first thought on everyone's mind, but rather how they could put you to use to get ahead in their society.

None of the tales you had read mentioned your true love being assigned to you. You questioned your parents on the matter, and all they could say was that they were silly stories and that this was your responsibility to the family. Even as a young girl, you knew the situation was peculiar; the nauseating sensation you had received was proof enough, but you didn’t argue because you wanted nothing more than to satisfy your family.

The thought of a happy marriage was stripped from you instantly, but that did not rid you of ambitions for other things. There was always something new to hyper-fixate on: your future.

You wanted a job, a career, and a jujutsu sorcerer seemed desirable enough; it was a job. You knew very little about being a shaman, but seeing it as a typical career choice among your family members, it looked more than desirable. You remember running up to your mother and father and mentioning it to them, begging them to teach you, but the only response you got was faces of disgust.

You remember your brother being there, your fraternal twin, beaming with joy when he thought his sister would join him in his studies and training, but that smile was wiped away quickly at your mother’s following words.

“You are a lady, Y/n, and a betrothed one at that. Do you really think it appropriate for a lady such as yourself to run off into battle and come home bloodied and bruised to her husband? Do you think it is fair that your husband would have to come and see that nothing is set for his return after a hard day of work?”

That’s the day you realized that your family was traditional. The woman was meant to cook, clean, and give her clan heirs. The husband was intended to pursue exciting adventures and come home to dinner on the table with a breedable wife at the ready. Nothing more, nothing less. You were a lamb for slaughter. Nevertheless, being the naïve little girl you were, you wanted nothing but to please your family and responded with a weak…

“No, ma’am.”

“Good, I want to hear nothing more of the matter.”

That night, you wept in your pillow, wondering if you’d ever had a choice in your life if you would ever have a choice in your life. From the day you were born, it had seemed that everything had been set out for you—a life plan written by your parents. The situation upset you greatly, and although your mind was not mature enough to think that deeply, you knew you did not like the pang in your heart when your mother addressed you.

The next morning you had seemingly gotten over the situation, going on with your pre-planned life and doing as you were told. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into a year. A year had gone by and you still had not met this boy and sometimes you wondered if he was even real or if your parents were just telling you that to keep you in line. Why were you marrying someone who did not exist?

That was until that very afternoon when you unexpectedly caught a glimpse of the boy in question. You didn’t catch much, but he looked of your age and had snow-white hair. You hadn’t seen it yourself, but your mother had commented on his gorgeous blue eyes. Before your presence could be known, your caretaker had ushered you into a different room to continue your studies on etiquette.

For the entirety of that lesson, you could not focus—you were too curious. Who was that boy? What did he truly look like? What was his name? Was he truly the one you were going to marry? You had your suspicions, but you weren’t certain, and you would be damned to ask your parents. If they had wanted you to meet the child, they would have introduced the two of you already, right?

That afternoon, you could not help but be in your head until your brother approached you with a grin. You two loved to be around each other, and any chance you guys got to meet with one another, you both would hop on the opportunity. The young sorcerer would tell you about all the new things he had learned that day despite being told to keep that information out of your reach, the reasoning being that young ladies such as yourself wish not to hear such boyish stories; however, your sibling knew that was not the case for you, that was obvious enough seeing how your face would light up when he told you about his day.

Every story you were told made you desire your own studies in the subject, despite knowing your parents would never allow it. You restrained your urge, settling for what had already been planned. However, life had a different agenda for you.

You were nine when it first occurred…you could not remember what had happened, but what you knew was that you had woken up in the middle of the night, your breath heavy with tears streaming down your face as you had awoken from a nightmare that you could no longer picture. Your room was in complete disarray as if thieves had ransacked it. For a moment, you thought that could have been the case, but then you noticed nothing had been stolen?

It took you a minute, but you eventually noticed your brother standing at your door, a shocked look in his eyes. Your parents were quick to join him before mimicking the same expression. You did not know what was going on, and it caused you to break down unexpectedly. You had no idea why you were crying; everything was just so overwhelming, and you could not help but be upset.

Your parents did not move a muscle, almost as if they were afraid to do so, but not your twin. Without hesitation, seeing your emotional display, your sibling came over and embraced you, trying to calm you down.

“It’s okay, Y/n, you’re okay, I’m right here.”

You managed to calm your beating heart and breathing, your tear ducts now only secreting a couple of tears at a time versus the well before; however, you felt like crying again after looking to see your mother’s disgusted face. You almost let out the emotions again, but that was until you saw your father’s face. The man held no face of disgust yet nor sympathy or pride—his face held intrigue.

You didn’t know whether to be scared or relieved at that moment, so you reassured your brother that you were okay and that he could return to his bedroom. The boy was hesitant upon viewing your puffy features, but once he saw your gentle smile, he caved and allowed you your space. The boy stood, walking toward the door slowly as he looked at you, seeing your smile of reassurance, causing him to smile in return.

Your sibling walked out into the hallway, but not without a second glance at your figure, as if he were making sure that you wouldn’t change your mind, before walking off to his room. Your smile dropped when he vanished from sight, pitifully looking up to your upbringers only to be met with their cold expressions.

“You will not speak a word of this to anyone, you hear me, young lady,” your mother sternly instructed, pointing a firm finger in your direction.

You only nodded, holding back the sobs you were longing to let out. With one last warning glance, your mother made her way to her bedroom with your father; however, her face seemed less cold and almost fearful when she thought you could no longer see her. Did she fear you? You didn’t want that, quite the opposite— you did not want her to fear you; you wanted her to be proud of you. Why was this happening? What was happening?

You became overwhelmed, and in mere seconds, your liquid emotion appeared. You sobbed aloud before realizing you could stir the others in the home, quickly reaching for your pillow to stifle the sound.

Why could you not have been blessed like your brother, endowed with the features of a boy? He did not have an arranged marriage, he did not have to attend etiquette lessons, and he did not have to fear disappointing anybody. Everyone was proud of him solely because he was a boy. You could not think of any other reason; he was a boy, and that made him blessed, blessed enough to not elicit such a reaction from your upbringers.

That following morning, you treated the situation like nothing had happened, even though it lingered in your mind. Even if you wanted to talk about the matter or express your distraughtness from what happened, today was not the day to do so. Your family was having a "get-together," for lack of a better term. Your clan had branched out to multiple areas of the world. On every quarter and special occasion, they would come to your home to be in the presence of one another, informing each other of endeavors and discussing political matters that you would only understand later in life. However, there was one thing you understood about...

Your marriage.

Given past gatherings you had attended, it is the pinnacle of conversation. You were being married into the strongest clan, which followed by marrying the entirety of the family into the clan, meaning that your successful unity was vital for the gain of your family name. You were happy to do it so as long as you could satisfy those you considered loved ones. Even if you were unwilling to sacrifice that decision, you had no real say– you were only nine.

But why focus on that dreary subject when that was not what excited you about these gatherings? Your aunt was coming this time, and from what she told you previously, she had a surprise in store for you. To say that you had a strong relationship with her would be an understatement; if not for the fact that she had business in another continent, the two of you would be tied at the hip. You remember a moment when strangers believed you were mother and daughter from how the two of you interacted. She seemed to be the only one in the family, aside from your twin, who did not seem to care about your marital circumstance– she cared about you and your well-being.

The day could not have gone by any slower as you fiddled in anticipation of the nightly activities you were about to initiate. When the time finally came, you quickly prepared for the occasion. People began trickling in slowly, but as time went on, it was as if the floodgates had opened. People poured in; some people you recognized, and others you didn't. They were the least of your problems. You were looking for your aunt, but she had yet to show up in your line of sight; however, there was a glimpse of someone who had caught your attention, but you were quick to brush it off when you heard footsteps behind you. Before you could react, you were lifted from the ground with a yelp of surprise before being pulled into an embrace.

"There is my, Little Munchki- oh my goodness you’re getting too big for this!" The familiar voice huffed, still putting you in a better position to withstand your newfound weight from growing so much.

You could not help but laugh and return her embrace, "I missed you, Aunty!"

She pulled away for a moment, touching her forehead to yours.

"I missed you too, Y/n."

Your innocent eyes looked around the room, making sure no prying ears were around before motioning yourself toward your aunt's ears, your voice in a low whisper.

"What is the surprise?"

The woman chuckled, putting you back on the ground. She was still crouching down to your level to whisper in turn.

"Now, it would not be much of a surprise if I revealed it just yet. Just be patient, and all will be revealed in due time."

You sighed in disappointment, only to get your hair ruffled by the older lady. There was an attempt to hold your frown, but your stoic expression could only last for so long before bursting out laughing from the light touches of fingers rapidly attacking your midsection. Your aunt always knew how to put a smile on your face.

"Y/n!"

The moment stopped instantly as your mother approached, your sister standing close at her side. You hardly ever acknowledged the younger girl as she was not very present in your life. If your brother was a rare occurrence to interact with, your little sister was in your presence once in a blue moon. You had nothing against the girl as she was delightful to be around when you were in each others vacinity, but you hardly knew her and could not figure out how to talk to her.

"Stop that unladylike behavior; it is not very becoming, especially with the important company this evening."

You tilted your head, confused, as nothing seemed different from past occasions. You looked at your sister for hints but noticed that her typical, pleasant nature was replaced by a gloom you could not name. Was she alright? Had something happened? Maybe she was just not feeling well. A stomach bug, perhaps?

Before you could even speak to the little girl to ask if she was okay, you paused in advance, hearing your mother's tone change from the stern woman she was to someone you hardly recognized.

"Gojo-sama! I am so glad you were able to make it to this occasion. I hope everything has been comfortable for you."

Her voice was so high-pitched it hurt your ears to listen. The frequency was that of a dog whistle. You were relieved when it was over, only to hear your sister follow in turn with her even pitchier voice.

"Hello, Gojo-san! I'm (L/n) Akiko, but you can call me Akiko."

Her eyes were so bright they could put the stars to shame. Did she know this boy? No, certainly not; she only just introduced herself. Maybe he was important; his dad seemed influential.

You had expected the boy to be polite in turn, but he only “tsked” before rolling his eyes, looking up at his father and mother as if begging to leave. You were scowling in your mind at his behavior, but you dared not show it in fear of punishment. It would displease your family if you returned such impolite actions to the young male.

"Is this her, the one you have been informing me of? She is quite beautiful." The man smiled, silently greeting himself to Akiko.

"Oh, uh no, Gojo-sama. That is my youngest child, though only by a couple years. This is her, our pride and joy, Y/n."

You could see her hold back an expression when elaborating on you as the pride and joy, but you could not tell why. You didn’t think much of it, thinking it not of importance. Maybe she just swallowed a bug or smelt something off.

"Oh, dear...." The man stared at you in shock. You could not tell if it was bad or good shock, and it was starting to scare you. Out of panic, you bowed, afraid that you were showing impoliteness by not offering a greeting. It was silent, causing you more anxiety, before the man chuckled softly.

"Oh, my dear, there is no need for such formalities now. I apologize for staring; it was rude of me. I was only stunned by your striking beauty."

His comment caused you to become flustered, unable to come up with a coherent reply. You stood there like a deer in headlights, but your aunt gave you a slight nudge before you could go off and embrace yourself any further. You looked up at her only to see her clear her throat and flick her eyes toward the man who had made such a nice comment. Questions lingered in her mind momentarily before catching on to her hint.

"Thank you for the kind praise, Gojo-sama." You responded bashfully before bowing again.

Cough "introduce yourself" cough

"M-my name is (L/n) (Y/n), but you may call me (Y/n) if you would like." The introduction was spouted out so quickly you could hardly believe anyone could understand what you said.

You heard a soft laugh, but this time, it was not the man but the mother standing beside the boy. You looked at her and noticed she was a lovely lady. If God were a woman, you were sure that woman looked like God. She was absolutely stunning.

"Now, that was a very ecstatic introduction; I believe it is only fair that you give one in return, don't you think, Satoru."

The boy seemed surprised, looking up at his mother as if she had betrayed him. She only responded with an expression that urged him to continue with his greeting.

"Hi, I am Gojo Satoru, but it's best to call me Satoru." He did not seem panicky but rather bored. It was as if he could not loath anything more than to speak with you.

The woman sighed, shrugging her shoulders as it seemed that was the best she would get from her son.

"Well, seeing the young lady marrying our little man is certainly a delight."

The world seemed to freeze for not just you but for Satoru as well. This was the boy you were supposed to marry?! But he was so...tactless. He was nothing like your mother had described him. She claimed he would be like the prince charming from your old books, but it seems that was all a ploy to make him seem somewhat desirable to you, not that it really worked; however, it did make the impact of the circumstance lighter for you.

This is not what you had expected, and he seemed to feel the same way.

Before anyone could say anything, you heard your father call out to the family.

"If I can get everyone's attention to my sister, she has an announcement she wants to make."

The room set eyes on your aunt, but even she seemed taken aback but it left as quickly as it came, collecting her composure and smiling.

"Yes, first off, I would like to thank my brother for hosting this occasion. It is always lovely to be surrounded by familiar faces. I wanted to announce that I am pregnant, and for the sake of my family, I will be staying here in Kyoto."

The room filled with surprised gasps before erupting into a symphony of cheers and congratulations. You were also excited, but then you wondered if that was your aunt's surprise. Surely not. She made it seem so secretive. You lightly tugged on her clothing, giving her an inquisitive look, but she only responded with her index finger to her lips. Being the cooperative niece you were, you only nodded.

You watched as everyone crowded toward your aunt, well, almost everyone. You noticed your mother did not seem to be joining in on the celebration, nor did your father, though unlike your mother, your father did not seem unhappy but somewhat nervous. Your family truly confused you. As much as you wanted to enjoy the evening with your aunt, you did not want to deal with the overwhelming crowd around her, so you spotted your brother and ran toward him, opting to play with him, seeing that everyone was preoccupied. You had expected your sister to join, but it looked like she had rather be glued to your mother's side instead of playing with the two of you. You shrugged it off and enjoyed the rest of your evening.

The night had died, and everyone went home except for your aunt, as arrangements were made for her to stay at the estate. You said your goodbyes to the family before returning to the Gojo family. It felt tense as their son kept staring at you as if you had grown a third eye in the middle of your forehead, but his mother quickly stopped the behavior before gesturing for him to properly say goodbye. You both bowed and bid farewell before watching the adults do the same. Both parties seemed rather pleased, and you wondered why. Maybe it had something to do with your betrothal, but it was not like it was any surprise, was it?

"Psst"

You turned to see your aunt, gesturing you to follow her into a nearby hallway. No one was paying attention to your presence, so you quietly slipped out of the conversation that hadn't even involved you in the first place and snuck into the gardens with your relative.

"Are you going to show me the surprise now?"

"Patience, patience, my dear," she laughed, "The short answer is yes, but you need to give me a moment."

"But I-"

"No talking back, missy; now close your eyes."

"Wh-"

"Ah, ah, ah, no questions, and close your eyes. No. Peaking."

You followed her instructions this time, closing your eyes and folding your hands in your lap. It only took a few seconds before you felt something shoved into your palms. The best way you could describe it was that the trinket was cold and hard. It had some texture, but it was not overly lumpy.

"Now, open them."

You opened your lids and looked down to your lap, revealing a delicate-looking ring nestled in your hands. It was beautiful, and the jewels that adorned it even more so.

"Is this my engagement ring?"

Your aunt laughed, "No, sweety, it's just a family heirloom. Passed down from my mother and her mother before her."

"It's beautiful," you stared at it in awe, running your finger across the delicate item.

"In exchange for this ring, I want you to make me a promise."

"Okay!"

"Now, don't be so hasty, little one, I haven't even told you what it is yet."

You nodded in response, waiting to hear her following words.

"When this baby is born, I want you to treat and care for her as her older sister. You will love and protect her just as I protect and love you. Promise me you will do this for her.

"But she would be my cousin. How can I love her and protect her like my sister? Is it even a girl?"

"Boy, aren't you inquisitive," your relative chuckled.

"Whatever you would do for your brother, do for her? I don't know if it is a girl yet, but something tells me this child will be. So, do you promise?"

You paused for a moment, thinking over her words before making eye contact with the woman and nodding your head.

"I promise."

She smiled, hugging you before pulling away, looking at the ring.

"Why did you think it was an engagement ring?" she asked amusingly.

"Well, I met the Gojo boy for the first time today, and I thought that this ring was supposed to...I don't know, show that we're going to be married."

You heard the woman sigh, taking the ring from your palm and examining it. "Well, I am pretty sure an engagement ring is supposed to fit your first try, and from the looks of this one, it might take you a couple of years to grow into it." She paused a hesitance in her eye, before bringing her attention back to you. "Do you want to be married, Y/n?"

Her question was confusing, and you were not sure if you could give the correct answer, so you said what you had been saying for years, though you never understood the reasoning for this question.

"Yes, it will make everyone happy, so I am happy."

"Well, what if everyone else's opinion did not matter? Do you still think you would want to get married?

Your aunt had expected a hesitance, but you were all too quick to respond with:

"Yes."

"Would you still want to get married with Satoru?"

That was a better question; it made your heart race and caused you to sweat. You did not understand this reaction, but it was unpleasant.

"I don't know."

Another sigh.

"Y/n, I-" another moment of hesitance, "I know you feel like you need to marry Satoru to make everyone happy, but I do not want you to think of it that way. I want you to marry him out of necessity. Not for everyone else but yourself. You do not have to love him, but you need to rely on him because, in the end, you will be looking out for one another. Who knows, maybe you will grow to like him, maybe not as a lover but as a friend. For your sake, I want you to make me one more promise. Promise me you will marry him, not for everyone else, but for your safety."

You had no idea what she was talking about, but the desperation in her eyes scared you. It was as if she knew something you did not. You had so many questions, but you refrained. Your aunt had never asked anything of you until this day, and unlike everyone else, she cared about your well-being and everyone else's other than herself—her previous request proved that.

"I promise."

Another hug before leaving the garden. Hands were held as she brought you to your room for bed. Tonight would be a blissful night, a restful night, and you could not wait to indulge in it.

"AHHHHHHHH"

Another nightmare.

You awoke to your belongings on the floor, the state of your room appearing as if a tornado had blown through it. Tears were streaming down your face, and before you could adequately think, you began to feel around the bed. Feeling cold metal, you quickly grabbed the ring you had been sleeping with under your pillow, clutching it to your chest.

Your brother was the first to arrive, clinging to you the moment he reached your bed. He petted your hair and tried soothing you with words of reassurance. This was the second night in a row. Why was this happening? You just wished it would not happen again. Your parents could be seen at your doorway, standing there motionless as they looked at the state of your personal dwelling area. Then they looked at you with fear. It frightened you all the more; however, you found a sliver of comfort when your aunt pushed herself into the room, pausing momentarily at the condition. But it only lasted a second as she focused on you.

She quickly pulled you into her chest, keeping in mind your brother as she also brought him into the embrace. She held you close as soft sobs left your throat. She soothingly shushed you as she rocked you in her embrace. She let go of your form once your cries subsided into sniffles and choked apologies.

"Do not ever apologize for this. It is not your fault," the woman said, wiping the stray years from your cheek and offering a warm smile. "Would you like me to stay the night with you?"

You were ready to say yes, but you caught a glance at your parent's disapproving expressions.

"No, I am alright."

"Y/n, this is the second time this has happened; it would be good for Aunty to stay. I could stay, too."

"What do you mean second time?"

Your brother looked at your aunt, opening his mouth to speak before being interrupted by your mother.

"This episode happened the previous night. It was nothing but a nightmare."

"Nothing but a-" Your aunt swallowed her words before looking at you. "Try to settle back into bed, and I'll be back to stay the night with you."

"But I-"

"Do not worry; your brother can stay with you. Just try going back to sleep for now."

You did not argue, and neither did your twin. He pulled you down onto the mattress and held you close as he tried the comforting methods your aunt had performed. You would be lying if you said it was not working. You tried to force yourself to stay awake in fear of having another terror, in fear of harming your twin, but it only took a few minutes until you fell back into slumber

You woke up from the feeling of a parched throat. You found yourself wanting to move from your spot, but your brother clung to you even tighter the moment you tried. You sighed, turning your head to look at your nightstand only to be pleasantly surprised by the glass of water sitting there, but where did it come fro-

"Why wouldn't you say something?! Everyone was here tonight. There was plenty of support. Fucking Christ, I WAS HERE!"

"Your crude language is not very becoming of you, but if you must know, it was no one's concern...especially you; we handled the situation."

"None of my concern?! Do you need a reminder of why it is my concern, or would you rather spare your pride? Last time I checked, you only came into this family when you married my brother, so you have no right to tell me this is not my concern."

"Look, there is nothing we can do but suppress it. We'll start giving her sedatives so she can sleep through these episodes."

"You have to be kidding me! You're going to drug her?! I might have a better idea; why don't you teach her how to control it?!"

"You do not know the damage it will cause if she goes around with this unstable ability."

"The only reason it is unstable is because you two have been focusing on ONE of the children. Would it really be so bad to just have her train with him? Did you guys go broke or something and are not telling anyone?"

"How dare you! We are financially stable."

"I love how you would rather feel insulted by your financial status than the actual problem at hand. Also, how cute it is to use the word we. When did you start contributing?"

"I'm the one who was able to set her up with the Gojo boy."

"How so, sister?"

"I talked to a few people. Originally, the Zenin wanted her, but the Gojo clan swopped in when that child was born with a deal that we could not refuse."

"You sold her?!"

"Gods, no! I made it known that we were looking for a suitor. I did not expect anyone to throw money at me. The Zenin certainly did, but the Gojo clan gave a better offer: a chance to sit at their table and have at least someone in this family bear the name of a Gojo."

"Well, I highly doubt they will be pleased once they figure out that you planned to let this fester."

"They won't find out because we don't plan to show or tell them of this situation. As I said, we will suppress these unpredictable abilities and be done with the matter. It should be easy enough; she is young and unaware of these episodes."

"Just teach her how to use and control it!"

"IT ISN'T FIT FOR A WOMAN OF THE STATUS SHE IS GOING TO ACHIEVE!"

"Excuse me..."

"Trust me, if I had a say, I would have had my younger one marry into the Gojo clan, but that girl was born first, and we had already accepted the offer."

"So because you married her off, you aren't going to let her fulfill her potential?!"

"Enough! I am tired of this bickering. The damage has been done, and we will all live with it. I wish to rest and move on with our lives. Besides, it is not good for the baby for you to be getting all riled up, my sister."

"Do not start acting like you're the clan head; that has yet to happen. As a matter of fact, didn't Father refuse to give you the title? Do not start getting cocky, brother. The man is still alive whether we like it or not, and if he finds out about your little secret, he'll damn you for it."

"..."

"Well, it is a good thing he'll never find out."

The room went silent, and you could hear something break. Footsteps began to approach your door, and because you were afraid of getting caught, you closed your eyes and pretended to sleep. The door opened, and you felt the bed shift as your aunt slowly settled onto the mattress.

"Cowards," she muttered.

Silence lingered for a few minutes before feeling fingers running along your scalp. The woman hummed a familiar tune while scratching your scalp. The song seemed familiar, but you could not recall where or when you heard it last. Where had you listened to this song?

It was a calming hum, but it did not stop the feeling deep in your chest and the rush of your mind from what you had overheard.

You initially thought your gender was a curse, and in a way, it was; however, there were plenty of females in your family who served their ambitions without the fear of submission, and your aunt was one of them. You were being held behind because of that arrogant and impolite boy who attended the gathering. Your marriage was a curse, restraining you from your most substantial potential. At this moment, you detested that you were getting married, despite your previous beliefs and fantasies of such an occasion, especially because, of all people, it was Gojo Satoru. His name was like a curse on your future, but as much as you wanted to hate him for it, you had to recognize he was just as much a victim as you. There was no intention to retaliate against the arrangements made because, as reluctant as you were, you still wanted to please those you cared for. The promise you made to your aunt playing a prominent factor. You would instead be ostracized than to disappoint the woman you looked up to.

However, as you drifted back into sleep, you had a pent-up emotion you could not name. For your sanity, you whispered something in your mind that you would never think to say aloud and did not truly mean. You were a kid struggling to manage this burning feeling, so instead of lashing out, you pinned it on something...or rather, someone.

I hate Gojo Satoru.

[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 ©

[yuujispinkhair]

Heat Tolerance

A business trip to a desert planet with a certain annoying business partner leads to a heated fight and to a heated fuck.

Pairing: Sampo x Reader (female) Genre: smut + fluff Word Count: 3k Warnings: 18+, smut, teasing, fuckbuddies, a bit of hate-fucking, some playful fighting, creampie, overstimulation, squirting. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

Part three of my Heatwave Summer Series

A business trip to another planet to retrieve a relic set. It sounded like no big deal. Nice even. A change of climate, a little adventure. What could go wrong? You should have known better.

The moment a certain tall, blue-haired mercenary offered to accompany you, you should have run. But of course, Sampo Koski always has been your weakness, hasn't he? You never were able to say no to him, as much as you hate to admit that. And so you let him wrap you in his tales about how he knew so much about this faraway planet and how you could benefit from his knowledge and negotiation skills.

Long story short, you said yes, and now you deeply regret it.

"Why do you always have to get us into trouble, you idiot?"

You groan and send a death glare to the blue-haired man sitting across from you on the dusty floor of an abandoned souvenir shop in a shabby side street of Nailscrap Town. Sweat is running down your back and trickling down between your breasts. The heat is making your head spin, and it's getting harder and harder to breathe. Especially here in this cramped little space where you are currently forced to hide from the authorities.

A lopsided grin meets you, and an outrageously nonchalant shrug,

"Aww, don't be so hard on me, sweetheart! I told you it was just a misunderstanding."

"You stole a brooch out of the Wasteland Museum! What is there to be misunderstood about this?"

Sampo sighs dramatically and rolls his pretty green eyes as he runs his long fingers through his sweaty blue hair, brushing it out of his face, only for it to fall back immediately,

"I told you, I have no idea how it ended up in my bag. It must have fallen into it when I walked past the display case. Is it my fault that they didn't fix it correctly? They probably do that on purpose so they can chase innocent tourists through their dirty city!"

You draw in a deep breath and force yourself to count to ten before you exhale it slowly. Black spots dance before your eyes. The heat is almost unbearable.

Of course, you had expected high temperatures on a desert planet. Of course, you had done your research beforehand. But it couldn't prepare you for just how intense the heat feels. And it's even worse here in this cramped little space in the middle of the concrete jungle of this city.

But this isn't just about tolerating the heat. This is mostly about tolerating this idiot by your side. He tags along like some puppy, following you as if you are his owner, and he is waggling his tail and begging for your attention.

Yes, sure, the two of you have a history. You met years ago via some shady business, and yes, you ended up in his room above the bar that night, bouncing on his gorgeous cock until the sun rose. And yes, you have met many times over the years, and yes, it almost always leads to sex.

So yes, maybe you and Sampo Koski are business partners with certain benefits, if you can call it that. And maybe you think his face is nice to look at and that his cock is pretty talented.

But that doesn't mean you want him to follow you everywhere and drag you into his drama. Your head already hurts from the heat, and that idiot's incessant chattering and his ridiculous excuses only make it worse.

The extreme temperatures on this desert planet are enough to grate on your nerves. You don't need the additional trouble that is Sampo Koski!

You glare at him, barking at him that he should shut up. But he only gives you that infuriating, dazzling smile. His long fingers wander to his vest, and you blink as you watch those skilled fingers opening the buttons, revealing more and more of Sampo's skin.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? Taking off my clothes, of course. Maybe you didn't realize it yet, but it's a bit hot in here."

Sampo slips out of his vest and pulls the sleeveless shirt he wore underneath over his head, leaving him shirtless, only in his tight pants and leather gloves.

You gulp hard, coughing a little because your throat feels too dry all of a sudden. Sweat is glistening on Sampo's defined pecs, and his abs flex suddenly as he laughs that infuriating laugh.

"Are you checking me out, princess?"

His voice is teasing, seductive. You huff, hands balling into fists, pissed off at yourself for falling for his cheap tactics.

"Don't flatter yourself, Koski. I am delirious because of the heat, so forgive me for accidentally looking your way."

It’s stupid. You are being childish, and you know it. But this is how it always goes when Sampo Koski is near you, and you don't know how to stop it.

But he is right. Maybe taking off some clothes is a good idea. You take off your shirt, leaving you in your bra top. You let your head fall back against the counter you are leaning against, eyes fixing Sampo with a challenging glare. But his green-eyed gaze is busy traveling unashamedly over your half-exposed breasts.

A grin lifts the corners of your lips,

"Like what you see, Koski?"

Finally, those bright green eyes meet yours, but they don't show any sign of remorse. Sampo chuckles and has the nerve to wink at you,

"Of course I do."

"You really have no shame."

You shake your head and sigh.

How long have you been hiding here? Maybe you should check if the coast is clear. You get up from the dirty floor and lean over the counter, squinting your eyes, trying to peek through the dirty window. You flinch when you see a group of police officers passing the small shop. You step back quickly from the window...

... and almost scream out loud when you crash into something hard. Or someone. Sampo must have gotten up without you realizing it and is standing behind you now. Way too close.

His tall, firm body is pressing against you, his hot breath is ghosting over your neck, his teasing voice directly in your ear,

"Aww, do you want to be in my arms so I can keep you safe, sweetheart? Don't worry. Sampo Koski is here to the rescue."

You hiss and push him away, glaring at him.

"Get away from me, idiot. You are in my way."

Sampo draws in a sharp breath. He clutches his toned naked chest, looking at you with his pretty green eyes opened comically wide in fake shock. Always so dramatic.

"I am shocked! How can you say this to me? Me, your loyal companion on every planet! Your fair business partner! Your friend! Your lover! You rip my heart out, princess!"

"Oh yeah, do you mean the fair business partner who got me into this shitty situation? I could have already spent the last two hours looking for that relic! But now, thanks to you, I am trapped here, waiting until we can escape or get thrown into jail."

Sampo sighs dramatically. His long black lashes flutter innocently around those ridiculously green eyes, his stupid, pretty face settles into a pout.

"Aww, well, I could make it up to you. Sampo Koski isn't someone who leaves his customers unsatisfied."

You are about to ask him how exactly he thinks he can make it up to you, when he steps closer again. Before you know it, Sampo has you pinned against the dusty counter, and his tall body is pressing against your back again.

Large hands land on your hips, sprawling over them, so Sampo's fingertips brush teasingly over your lower tummy, dangerously close to a part of your body a normal business partner has no business touching.

Your pussy flutters in interest, heat pulsing in your clit.

You hate yourself for it, but you instantly press your ass against him, biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning when you feel the familiar hardness of Sampo's large bulge rub against your ass.

Why do the two of you always end up like that? Why does every argument lead to sex? Why does he make you so wet when he infuriates you so much? And why does he get so hard from bickering with you? Why do the two of you get so horny for each other anytime you meet?

But you don't have time to worry about that because Sampo's hot mouth is on your neck, leaving hot, wet kisses on your skin, and his hands yank on your bra top, pulling it down. You gasp softly when your tits spill out, instantly getting cupped by Sampo's large hands. The leather of his fingerless gloves feels soft against your heated flesh. His fingers expertly tease your stiff nipples, making you embarrassingly wet for him.

He is grinding his clothed erection against your ass, gasping loudly against your neck, whining something about how good he can make you feel.

You can't take it anymore. You push down your shorts hastily, followed by your panties, before you bend over the counter to offer yourself to him. Your naked ass up in the air, leaning over so Sampo gets a good view of your swollen, wet pussy lips.

You look over your shoulder at Sampo, whose mouth is hanging open and whose heavy-lidded green eyes are staring at that wet place between your legs.

You roll your eyes exasperatedly and give your right ass cheek a firm slap, pulling him out of his daze.

"Come on, pretty boy! I thought you wanted to make it up to me! Get your cock out!"

Your voice sounds annoyed and commanding, but your face feels hot, and your heart is beating way too fast as you watch him pushing down his pants, freeing his large cock, which stands rock-hard for you, long and pretty with a slight curve, and a glistening wet light pink tip.

There are rumors that Sampo used to work in other fields before he became a mercenary. Rumors about certain red light district establishments. And you wouldn't be surprised if those rumors are true. Sampo is a gorgeous man with the most gorgeous cock you have ever seen. And even though you act as if it isn't so, he knows how to use that pretty cock.

So it's no wonder your pussy longs for him, betraying you and creaming up even more just at the sight of him.

A lazy smile spreads over his face, and he wraps a hand around that gorgeous cock, slowly stroking it, making fat drops of pre-cum trickle out of the pretty tip. You unconsciously lick your lips at the sight, and Sampo's smile grows.

"Awww, see, I knew you liked me!"

He sounds cocky, but his voice is too husky, giving away how horny he is for you.

You roll your eyes,

"Oh, shut up. Just bend me over this counter and fuck me already!"

He is behind you again in a split second, velvety wet cock rubbing teasingly over your ass cheeks, smearing his pre over your heated skin. Sampo laughs that stupid, annoying laugh before it turns into a shaky whine when his swollen cockhead slips between your cheeks and into your tight wet heat, stretching open your creamy cunt around his pretty tip.

"Ah... always such a pleasure to do business with you, sweetheart."

He practically sobs as he tries to go slow, only fucking you with his cockhead for a few seconds, making your nails dig into the counter, and a low growl escape your mouth at getting teased like that.

But luckily, Sampo can't keep up his little teasing game any longer, and instead, his long fingers tighten their hold on your hips, and Sampo snaps his hips, burying his long hard cock deep inside you, moaning loudly as your hot cunt twitches around him.

You hiss, pressing back against him, loving the slight burn of getting taken so suddenly, urging Sampo on to give you more.

He's panting loudly as he presses his tall body against you, one gloved hand landing in your hair and pushing your face down onto the dusty countertop, bending you so prettily over the former shop counter.

And then Sampo does that thing with his cock. The one where he humps your pussy for real now with those deep, harsh thrusts that always go so deep that you see stars. He is leaning over you, so much taller than you, caging you in, making your head spin from the feeling of being under him and getting fucked for real, hard and fast.

It's a nasty fuck, hot and needy in the middle of this dirty abandoned shop. Both of you grunt softly, pushing your over-heated bodies hornily against each other. Sampo's sweat is dripping down on your back from the tips of his blue hair. His long fingers are slippery on your skin, where they sprawl over your hip.

"F...fuckkk..ah ah..too hot..."

He sounds so pretty like that, all whiny and desperate. It makes your pussy throb around him. But you chuckle softly,

"I thought you could stand the heat, sweetheart?"

"Sampo Koski isn't affected by the hot weather. Only by you and your hot pussy."

"Simp," you say as you smile and press your ass needily against him and clench said pussy around his long cock, eliciting another whiny moan from him.

"Tease," he whimpers in your ear and rolls his hips against yours, burying his hard length even deeper in your hot cunt.

"Ya grip me so greedily with that cute pussy. Wanna milk my poor cock dry, huh princess?"

He groans, low and horny, as he pushes himself into a standing position again, grabbing your hips with both hands, drilling his long cock even harder and faster into you, filling the small room with the nasty noises of his cock fucking into your soaking wet cunt.

"Oh shut up, idiot. And I am still mad at you for getting us into this situation in the first place."

But you smile while you say it, and maybe you moan a little when he grabs your hair to pull you into a standing position. You reach behind you to grab a handful of his hair that’s damp from the sweat and tug on it to pull his face down to your level. Sampo definitely moans when you bring his lips to yours, and your tongues meet in an open-mouthed, heated, sloppy kiss that makes spit run down your chin.

You can feel his firm, lean muscles press against your back, the defined pecs and taut abs that are slippery from sweat but feel so good against your naked skin. And his lips are so soft, tongue expertly stroking yours with hungry deep licks, while that pretty cock works its magic and fucks you with deep fast thrusts that make even more heat coil deep inside your belly.

He licks your bottom lip when you pull away from the kiss, grinning at you, green eyes heavy-lidded and full of lust.

"Just admit that my cock makes it all worth it."

"Hmm, nah, you have to earn the praise first. You didn't even make me cum yet, baby."

"Ok, your wish is my command, sweetheart."

You moan softly when Sampo's fingers find your puffy clit, rubbing it in slow circles, flicking his thumb over it, twirling it gently between two fingers, making you mewl and your hips buck uncontrollably. Even more heat is spreading through your body, starting in your toes and wandering up all the way to your cheeks.

You close your eyes and slump against Sampo, knowing he is strong enough to hold you. Your breath comes out in harsh, loud pants and needy, soft mewls as you let him pamper your pussy. Fucking you with his pretty cock, and rubbing your clit with his expert fingers.

"Sampo...ah fuck...!"

He makes you cum so hard on his cock, the heat almost unbearable, your orgasm crashing over you in such stormy waves that you can only tremble wildly in his arms, your cunt clenching hard on his long hard cock, not able to hide the intensity of your orgasm from him.

He fucks you through it, his long cock prodding your sweet spot over and over again, prolonging your orgasm until you are sobbing. And he doesn't stop after that.

Sampo keeps you on his cock, your twitching cunt stuffed with his hard length. The fingers of his left hand dig into your hip while the other hand continues to rub your clit furiously.

A feral-sounding cry escapes your lips, and you instinctively try to push his hand away. But it's a half-hearted attempt, and Sampo chuckles softly.

"Uh uh, princess, stay right here. You said I have to earn the praise. Sampo Koski takes those things seriously. What kind of business partner would I be if I didn't?"

"Fuckkk, Sampo..."

Your clit pulses hotly as his fingers flick over it unrelentingly. It's almost too much. But you let him continue. It feels so good. The pleasure is so intense, bordering on painful, but you can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. Only a little more, only one more orgasm...only...

In the end, he rubs two more out of you, overstimulating you so much that you sob his name. You're on your tiptoes, your pussy tensing up around his long cock as you can't hold back anymore and squirt all over him, bathing his pretty cock and taut balls in your juices before your creamy mess drips onto the dirty floor.

You are still trembling and mewling when Sampo's arms tighten around you, and he rams his long cock deep into you. He moans in your ear, a loud, needy sound that makes your spent cunt twitch around him again.

He cums so hard that you can feel his pretty cock throb inside you as he pumps your pussy full with several thick spurts, adding his hot cum to your already sticky wet mess.

He slowly pulls out afterward, both of you panting heavily. Your legs shake, and you steady yourself hastily on the counter, pulling a face as your mind clears again from the horny daze you have been in the last minutes.

And, of course, Sampo's annoying, teasing voice fills the room,

"I think I fulfilled your order. Never seen you squirt so much, darling. Maybe we should run more often from the authorities if it turns you on so much."

You huff and turn around to glare at him but can't stop an affectionate grin from tugging at the corners of your lips when you look at Sampo's pretty face,

"I hate you so much."

Glowing green eyes meet yours, glittering with amusement, and Sampo leans down, one hand cupping your cheek, his lips hovering over yours, voice dripping with that teasing tone again,

"Aww, no you don't. And I can always fuck you once more if you need more convincing. We probably have to stay here for a while longer anyways."

AHAHAHAH he drives me insane!! It was so much fun to write this!! I know he would annoy me and at the same time make me want to fuck him. Those are simple facts and I am not ashamed to admit it lmaooo.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed our little trip to the desert planet with this blue-haired idiot!! Please let me know what you think.

Comments and reblogs would be super sweet!!

[spookypete-94]

Nightmare's Wasteland

Chapter 1- Devil's Playground

Been on a Handmaid's Tale kick as of late. Made me wonder how Simon would be in this situation. I have always loved this series and the power behind it. The books are amazing (Margaret Atwood, wonderful, wonderful, author) and so is the tv series on Hulu. It is just the concept being used, will not involve places, names and/or characters of The Handmaid's Tale.

Small series. Reader is a female character in a dystopian world where the ability to conceive is limited to a small percentage of people. Reader is of that percentage and is assigned to Simon to provide a child to a declining population. She learns how live with him and survive, while he learns about her life prior before being delivered to hell. Def a darker read, MDNI.

CW and heads up- Reader is female in this, also has tattoos. Leave it to the imagination, only one described for now. Also language (we know how i love language)

If Simon Riley could be described as anything from a word in history, Warlord would be listed at the very top. Warrior. Solider. In reality, it’s all the same. Pick whatever word in that branch of that tree, and he fits it.

To be able to be such a thing, he had to turn off all things that made him human. No love, no happiness, no peace. It left him in a world without a wife, no children, family gone- left him a long time ago at the cost of his area of expertise.

When the world started to end, and he was too damaged to try to defend and protect it anymore, he was assigned a life. A home. He was given a civilian life… followed by excuses of this was his “reward”. Laughable to him really, this was far from what he wanted. Instead, he was given a different duty and told to provide children for the next generation. Children of strong genetics. Hope to be provided of his strength and wit…Honestly, he’d rather be out on the frontlines again. His duty would be better served there, being a ghost, THE Ghost, was what he did best. Specter in the line of work, no one ever saw him coming. Start to unravel and show how broken you are though, and they send you back to try to be part of the what’s “normal” life now.

Here he sat, in large empty house. A staff provided for all things to run it. Only exception it was barren of all the things that made it a home. Photographs, knickknacks, but more importantly a wife and children. It had been pressed on him to find a wife, but as he explained to his overhead he just wasn’t interested. Apparently, they could turn a blind eye to that, but he still was required to add to the population. He was a fertile, and it was his duty after all. The answer to a wife, was a temporary live in. One he was only expected to lay with during ovulation.

The idea filled him with dread, but not a soul got to have a say in this world of what was going to happen. The government was too strong for its own good now and he was too deep in it. All from being its war dog, and now given his bone and told to go home.

Simon’s inner turmoil was rudely interrupted as one of the house staff knocked on his office door. “Mr. Riley? They are all here, waiting downstairs in the foyer.”

A heavy sigh left him before he called back out, “Will be down in a few.”

Swallowing the rest of his bourbon, he set the glass down on his desk twirling it a few times by the rim with his large finger.

Now or never.

Encroaching downstairs, he saw a gathering of about four people. All dressed in black, one with a hood pulled all the way up hiding their face.

That would be you.

If you could be described as anything, it would be: Not made for this world. Your heart was soft, but the desire to live your own life once again thrived inside. A weed that couldn't quite be pulled out. The ache hurt that soft heart of yours. Children had always been a thought on your mind but deemed not good enough to be a wife from past choices of your old life, you were pushed into the service of bearing them for others. “Good enough to be bred, not good enough to be wed.” As you had been told. To be in the service, it was required of you to learn what was lady like. Quiet, barely there. Don’t fight back and don’t speak your mind. Make yourself small, don’t get in the way. Don’t agree? Great. Here is your issued beating and punishment. Take it on the cheek and turn it for the next one.

Those who could not bear children, were put into hard labor. Running a house, in home cook, cleaning maid, you name it. If you wouldn’t comply to meet the new standards, you were shipped off to work in the mines or sent to death. Funny a world so eagerly wanting to make life was so quick to snuff it out.

Never once you would think your life would be like this. All those freedoms taken and stripped from you. What you would give to have your old life back. Be able to sleep in. Go outside and to the stores when you wished. A fucking latte? What you would give for any of that now. All of that taken for granted...

Passing through the requirements made you fit for duty. Issued your new place of residency, to meet your new Master and Lady. Only this place didn’t have a Lady. The Master so much of a brute of a man to never take one, was rumor you had heard. It scared you. A man that clearly couldn't even be gentle enough to have a wife. Maybe that was why they picked this place for you first, to make you fearful of the new world. More submission.

Standing in the entryway, heavy boots could be heard on the bare wood. You wanted to look up at your new Master but deemed it best to keep your head down and eyes on the floor. Make yourself small. Lady Like. Pressing your hands tightly together in your front, fingers laced together in a way to try to compose yourself. In the old world you might have twiddled your thumbs together, but in this new one not even that would be acceptable.

“Mr. Riley,” your Governess spoke with fake pleasantry, “We apologize for rising you from your office. We are early after all.”

On time. He was late. This was her way of trying to stroke his ego, all while of pointing out the time to him. Only made her look dumb.

Not even a reply, just a grunt. His boots finally appearing at the bottom of the steps. The place you had been looking but now diverting your eyes further down. You noticed his boots were perfect and polished, the black shining from the light in the room. It looked like military attire.

“Today is a happy day, this is your new Chamber Maid.”

The term made your face hot, red. Your life you had before… and now reduced to a “Chamber Maid”?

What the fuck.

Your black hood being wrenched down so your new Master could look down upon you startled you.

Carefully, you glanced up. Your heart had hit the bottom of your stomach seeing a man with dirty blonde colored hair shaved down in military fashion. Matched the idea of his boots. His nose crooked from being broken by at least once… or a few times. A scar that ran across his mouth to the bottom of his nose on his cheek. Brown eyes burned down into your wide orbs while he all but sneered down at you. Here, you were certain the devil was standing before you. Handsome and scary all at once.

“Introduce yourself, don’t be rude,” Your Governess nudged into you roughly with her elbow.

New manners that had just been taught, returned to you. A small curtsey before him, careful with your legs as your head ducked down and standing back up fully. It was executed beautifully. Quietly, you gave your name. Instead of him giving you his, he grunted once more. You knew his name already, why waste his time with all this fake bullshit was his thought.

“Your room is upstairs; the staff will show you around.” His voice a deep threatening rumble.

This was all you got? Your living quarters? Your heart fractured. Not even worth being shown around by the man that was supposed to impregnate you. You could drop to your knees and cry right here if able. Lady like. You must not show any emotion, any thought behind your beautiful eyes. Just a breedable doll is all you were now.

A hand wrapping around your arm and tugging you along made your attention divert. The staff. An older woman, “My name’s Kate. Come with me.”  Mr. Riley had already started his way upstairs, your Governess and other hierarchy leaving. This felt so strange to you enough as it is, but to have an abrupt goodbye made you feel like an adopted animal.

“Is there really no wife?” you whispered to her. Is he really a brute? Was the question you wanted to ask.

“No, no wife, but Mr. Riley is really not hard to live with,” she whispered back.

He might not be, but you felt your circumstances would be different.

A quick show around the large house ended with your room. It wasn’t bad in size. A full-sized bed shoved up against the wall with a window and rocking chair provided. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was there for an eventual baby, one that you would rock to sleep.

Starting with trying to settle in, you unpacked your clothes. Or rather uniforms. Because you had “sinned” in your past life, your uniform is a long black dress with long sleeves. Because you had tattoos scattered across places, you were to cover them. The only time your uniform was to be off was when you were alone. Even when you were to lay with your Master, the dress would remain on, both of you to be fully clothed. Still with your clothes, you felt naked at the idea. Stripped of any dignity.

Settled in, you had found Kate once more and helped her with her house duties and making supper. Idle hands were the devil’s workshop or some shit like that.

“You’re to sit at the table with him.” Kate whispered, nodding to the direction of the dining room. "Requested you himself."

Nervous, you smoothed out your dress, pressing away any crumbs from making supper. Looking back up at her, she nodded in a silent reply of asking her If you looked appropriate.

Quietly, you made our way into the dining room a large table that could have sat an army before you, Mr. Riley already sitting at the end of it. Even though the table was so large, a chair was all the way at the other end. Unsure of what exactly to do, you stood in front of the door with your hands interlocked together again.

“Well go on, sit,” Mr. Riley said gesturing to the end of the table.

“Yes, Mr. Riley,” you said meekly quickly walking to the end of the table to sit down.

One by one, the house staff filed in carrying the food and placing it on the table, making you both a plate as they did. The plate placed before you was steaming, filled across the circumference. Been a long time since you had a home cooked meal.

“Heard you had a helping hand with the meal tonight.” He said cutting into his piece of fried chicken.

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“Not expected of you.”

Your tongue wanted to fire back, wanted to cut him from the knees down. Would rather that then what is expected of me. But instead, you were quiet, choosing to eat instead.

It stayed silent like that through the rest of dinner besides clanking of dishes and silverware. Mr. Riley getting up and going to his office after he had cleared his plate, leaving you alone to finish yours. Made you wonder if he lived in that room.

Deciding to get up you helped Kate with clearing the rest of the kitchen and cleaning up from dinner. Most of it taken care of you told Kate to step out and take a break willing to finish the dishes. Having a task at hand to focus on now was helpful. The feeling of walking into the twilight zone curbed with getting food off dishes.

The calm you had felt left seeing a large man move into the kitchen. The only large man here. Looking over your shoulder you watched him get into the fridge pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher.

“Told you we have help for that.”

“I told her to go take a break.”

“ Y’ sure you should give orders like that? Do you have the authority to do so?”

Shit. You had insulted him in his own home on the first fucking day. What a good start.

“I didn’t mean it like that-" but you were abruptly pushed forward further against the sink by him. Your breath was caught. You wanted to turn around but couldn’t. Expecting a strike, you flinched inward, but instead three large fingers grab carefully at your collar tugging it down, his thumb sweeping against the back of your neck.

“Skull and cross bones, huh?” He asked.

He was referring to the tattoo on the back of your neck. Some how he had caught it, even with the ugly collar on your dress.

“Was my very first one.”

“And that’s what you picked?” Was he bantering with you?

“I picked it out at a rock concert.”

“That the type of girl you are then? The one that gives breaks and gets skull tattoos?”

You were unable to find an answer. It seemed rhetorical anyway.

“Asked you question.”

Fuck.

“Appears to be that way, yeah.”

Cheeky.

He chuckled, swiping his thumb across it once more before giving you a light shove against the sink from his hand that held your hip. No longer where you terrified. It all almost seemed playful in nature.

“Tomorrow, Kate does the dishes. I can’t have her slacking.”

“Yes, Mr. Riley.”

Standing there feeling dumb, you closed your eyes at feeling his rough hand on your neck over and over again. Mind eye picturing what he looked while he was behind you. Perhaps he wouldn’t be too hard to get along with after all.

Simon "Ghost" Riley Masterlist

Nightmare's Wasteland Masterlist

Next

[ornii]

Greetings,could i request Lucy Maclean x Male reader?,Thanks

Funny enough I was gonna do a short series on it anyway. Cause God Damn Ella Purcell takes the cake in beauty. So here’s—

The Wasteland Love Guide #1

Part 1: The Couriers Eye

Love, Betrayal, and tale as old as time.

Dim lit, you awoke in the rank scent of a sewer. The cold concrete against your back you felt a beating pain in your face. You sat up, the beating pain was too much to bear and you felt your face, and you felt, something in your.. eye. “Fuck..” you mumbled, pushing yourself up you looked around, it was too dim to make out anything specific, adding blindness only made it worse.

You literally had to shake off the potential concussion and walked along the concrete wall to a large exit, stumbling out you felt sand in your palms and and fingernails. Stumbling out into the sandy beach you looked around for any form of help. It was nearly endless sand, besides a few rundown houses. You walk your way towards it, trying to remember the last day of your life to recall what Happened, but nothing came to mind. Pushing a door open into a rundown place you spotted a furnace. Somehow the water was running.

You cleaned up your face and painfully washed the blood off your face. Breaking up old floorboards and wood you tossed it into the furnace to start a fire. Giving you minimal light you checked your body for any open wounds or cuts. None you can see thankfully. Sitting down near the fire you calm yourself and relax, and try to sleep off the pain. Nightmares echo and scream in your head, and in the last moments of your nightmare, you could remember one face.

Moldaver.

Your eyes open to a face, of a woman trying to see if you were still alive, panic kicks in and you push her away and reached for a weapon, a baseball bat. You cocked back and gripped the handle ready to swing, before you could, the barrel of a syringe gun was right at your neck. You had no idea just what it could have and taking the risk of acid or drugs shot into you would be bad. The moment was silent, only the cracking fire illuminating both of you. You clenched the bats grip hard, and you spoke sternly.

“I don’t have anything you want… why are you here?” You asked.

“I just wanted to see if you were alive. You, don’t look so good.” She responded, you noticed what she was wearing, a vault suit. It’s a dumb question but it was the only question you could muster. “You a vault dweller?” You said in disbelief, she dusts herself off, and actually stood up to shake your hand.

“Yes! I’m Lucy.” She smiled, you still in disbelief and probably losing blood, slowly put the bat down and shook her hand. “Are you here alone? I just need help looking for my Father.”

“Why are you.. telling me all this? I can’t even think straight.” You sit back down, holding your head.

“It’s probably hard to think straight with metal in your eye.” She said, and knelt down in front of you.

“You seem a bit, hurt.. but you also know your way around the place. I can help you with your eye if you can help me.” Lucy offered a deal you probably don’t have the luxury to deny. “Fine..” you relented. “How bad is it?” You asked her, Lucy leaned in to look at your eye, you saw her made a face that you didn’t particularly like.

“What?” You said.

“Damage mostly to the eye itself, your cornea is probably intact!” She said with hope for whatever reason, “thanks? Can you just take the metal out?” You replied. Lucy nods and begins to unravel her pack of shit she had. Small tweezers and bandage gauze. What proceeded was pain beyond belief as you tried to keep your eye open as Lucy, as gently as possible pulled shrapnel from it.

“MOTHER OF—“ you catch yourself before you can scream and bite your tongue.

“Sorry! Medical wasn’t my best, mine are nothing compared to my dad.” She drones on, and as the pain slowly began to subside you were interested. “You know… I always thought Vault dwellers were nutjubs for running into a hole in the ground but, fuck maybe I was wrong.” You admit, Lucy finishes your operation and patches your eye with gauze. “Our Mission is to repopulate the United States of course, it’s what we’re all supposed to do, to be a part of a better tomorrow.” Lucy said it as if it’s some slogan.

“Right..” you shrugged. And put the eyepatch on, but it’s just makeshift string with a patch of cloth. “I gotta ask you… besides wanting to find your dad, why help me? People don’t do this in the wasteland.”

“Well because it’s the Golden Rule.” She smiles, which made you, somehow happy. You smiled, but gave her a bit of brutal honesty. “You seem like a nice lady.”

“Why thank you—“

“So you’ll die a very horrible death.” You add in, and she tries to stay positive but looks a bit stunned by it. “Being a good person is gonna get you killed. The Wasteland doesn’t abide by the “Golden Rule” you aren’t gonna survive out there.” You warned her, but that dumbfounded look on her face.

“I really appreciate your concern for me, but I can’t.. a group of raiders went to our vault and, did a lot of bad things, I have to get my dad back.”

“A group of raiders… to our vault.. bad things.” You quickly came to the realization of just what happened. It seems That she went with the plan. You saw the hopeful look in Lucy’s eyes and, it made you feel hope in a world full of such evil. Were you, falling in love? Or is this her Lady Killer perk activating. You smiled, and hit your Idiot Savant perk and nodded.

“I’d be a real bastard if I just let you deal with all of this alone. Mind if I tag along?” You said, Lucy happily obliges.

“Of course! The more the merrier as they say!” Lucy turns and walks off, you shake your head and smile, following her.

“She’s gonna get herself killed.”

[oswildin]

The Good Kind (President Loki x GN!Reader)

Summary: You and Loki are rivals. Then why did he never harm you? Why did he never truly want you dead? Loki is complicated, but underneath it all… Perhaps he was more simple than you expected. (Enemies to Lovers vibe, slow burn, kinda angsty?)

Rating: SFW, All ages

Warnings: Mentions of blood, stab wound

A/N: Okay, this took me far too long to finish. Don’t know if I’m completely satisfied but I just cannot give anymore brain power to this idea lmao. Probably would’ve worked better as a fic series but like I just can’t mentally give that! Hope you enjoy!

Surviving in the void was… Well, how do you think surviving in the void was?

Cruel, harsh, dangerous…

You get the idea.

But it was especially difficult when you had rivals. In a place where everything came to die, still there was time for such things. It all seemed rather futile and pointless… But… Perhaps it made the days go by a little faster - or ‘void days’ anyway. Funnily enough, time moved differently at the end of time.

One of the most common variants found in the Void were Loki’s. Truly, take a walk for a few minutes and eventually you’d come across one. But the problem with encountering a Loki is trying to figure out whether they were the ‘good kind’ or the ‘bad kind’.

Now, of course, that was a generalisation. An easy way to box them in your mind. You weren’t naive, you understood the nuisances of Loki’s, you lived with four of them.

They found you when they were out searching for supplies in the wasteland, and you were thankful they did. If they hadn’t, Alioth would’ve devoured you or worse… Someone else may have found you. Cassandra was someone who most Loki’s - if not all - stayed well away from. They weren’t stupid. In fact, there was a tale that one Loki was brave, or foolish, enough to try and face her… And well… Let’s just say, it wasn’t him who told the tale.

(Dead. He was dead.)

No, Loki’s tended to keep their fighting amongst themselves. It would be comical if you hadn’t witnessed their hostility and attempts at backstabbing first hand. Surely they could see how ridiculous and ironic it was? Even at the end of time, Loki’s were fighting against their greatest enemy…

Themselves.

The group you had been taken in by were just grateful to have someone who wasn’t a Loki variant around. You brought some sense of order to their self-created chaos. The older variant was the most visibly exasperated most of the time, and you could hardly blame him. You felt exasperated too and that was without the factor of constantly arguing with yourself.

Aside from Alioth, pirates and the general savages of the void, your groups biggest rival was another group of Loki’s, lead by the variant who was known as ‘The President’. A title that you always refused to use. Even with the child, you never called him ‘King’ or ‘My Liege’. Although, he didn’t seem to mind so much, knowing you had no interest in acquiring the throne or any interest is the chaotic politics of the void. It all seemed rather pointless in such a place. Or maybe that was the real problem, that unlike the world you came from, trying to implement any form of order or system seemed like a moot point, especially when so many fought over wanting control over the wasteland.

You were currently sat on the edge of the manhole, your boots resting on the ladder. You knew not to go far, and being in such a position allowed you to warn the others of any danger and make your own quick retreat back inside your hideout. You sighed, the breeze brushing your skin as you enjoyed a moment of peace - or at least what you considered ‘peace’ in the void. However, you quickly spotted an approaching figure in the near distance, walking over a grassy mound as your eyes narrowed.

Your hand moved to rest on the hilt of your dagger in your belt, a precaution, ready to defend yourself if need be. However, you relaxed slightly as you realised it was the one who you refused to address as ‘The President’. He was alone, and he hadn’t seen you yet. You pursed your lips, thinking for a moment before shifting, turning your body so you could push yourself to stand on the grass, quietly closing the manhole cover. The last thing you needed was him finding your newest hideout spot after he discovered and recked your last one.

You made the decision to follow him, keeping a safe distance, your curiosity getting the better of you. It was rare you ever saw him without his little gang of followers. And something told you that something was amiss.

After a minute of following the variant, he came to a halt, spinning around as his icy eyes narrowed in on you. Shit. You quickly reached for your dagger, the metal making a slight noise as you removed it from your belt, seeing him conjuring his own dagger as you both began to stalk towards one another.

“Did you really think you could sneak up on me?” President Loki asked lowly, arrogance colouring his tone, that familiar sly glint in his eye.

“I wasn’t sneaking, I was following.” You replied, your own voice steady, your steps slowing as you both came to a stop, a few feet between you.

“Hm, either way-“ Loki raised his dagger, pointing the tip towards you. “You failed. You are rather bad at being inconspicuous.” He quipped, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“Why are you out here alone?” You ignored his comment, raising a curious brow. “Where’s your loyal possy?” Loki’s eyes narrowed further, darting around you both briefly to check for any sign of your own group, ensuring this wasn’t an ambush.

“They’re busy.” He simply stated, raising his chin as his gaze fell on you once more. “And what of yours?”

“Also busy.” You shrugged faintly, your fingers twitching around the hilt of your dagger. A tense moment of silence fell between you both before Loki lowered his dagger, satisfied it was safe to do so. Well, safe for now. With a flick of his wrist, the dagger disappeared in a green shimmer, allowing you to relax slightly.

“Do you have a death wish?” He asked, a hint of amusement on his features.

“In this place? Probably.” You said wryly, sheathing your dagger back into your belt as you let out a sigh. “Trouble in Loki paradise?” You asked, raising a brow. Loki’s jaw twitched faintly. “Oh dear, did one of your own try to backstab you?” You continued, voice filled with mock sympathy. “Even you can’t keep yourself in line it seems.”

“Watch your tongue, mortal.” Loki hissed, taking a step closer, his hands moving behind his back. “Or I won’t hesitate to cut it out.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Maybe it was because of how much of your time you spent surrounded by Loki’s, but any threat given had lost its effect after hearing so many of them. You folded your arms over your chest, tilting your head as you regarded him.

“Have you ever just… tried to talk it out? Instead of threatening your… followers?” You asked, making Loki blink before a breathy, mocking laugh left him.

“Threats invoke fear and fear makes others more… cooperative.” He replied smoothly, his own head tilting faintly. “Kings do not get their thrones by simply ‘talking’.”

“Maybe not, but Kings don’t get to keep their thrones without it.” You countered, the distant rumble of Alioth sounding through the air. Your eyes flickered over to the left, seeing the giant cloud monster lurking, searching for its next meal. Loki’s eyes lingered on your profile, a look of thought passing over his features before his gaze followed yours.

“I suggest you head back.” He muttered lowly, turning on his heel, facing away from you. “Before Alioth decides he fancies a rather defiant-tasting dinner.” You bit your lower lip lightly, knowing he was right. You looked back at him, seeing him beginning to walk away, continuing on his original path.

Good kind or bad kind? You were still figuring him out.

You’d had a few run-ins with him, and never once did he harm you. Never one did he even attempt to take you, use you as bait for the other Loki’s, or at all factor you into his schemes. It was confusing. Why? He had plenty of chances, this being one of them. Perhaps he just didn’t think you were worth his time. You were just a mortal after all, he had bigger fish to fry.

Unbeknownst to you, President Loki did indeed keep you alive for a reason… Probably the same reason as his fellow variants…

You weren’t a Loki.

Spending so long in the void with only himself, literally… Well, having someone who wasn’t him was… a strange comfort. He’d never admit it, of course. You were the potential of a different perspective, a different way of thinking, a different attitude. Even if you were just a mere mortal. But most mortals perished within the first few minutes of their arrival, and you… You survived. That was the only thing about you that was even remotely close to a Loki. Survival.

If he had stumbled across you when you first arrived, he was sure he would’ve killed you, or left you to Alioth. But his other variants had taken pity. But perhaps his way would’ve also been him taking pity, stopping you from being subjected to the harsh reality of the void. Maybe his cruelty would’ve been a kindness.

And maybe, he did hold a… tiny spec of respect for you. Not in the typical sense, but in twisted way. Perhaps he respected you, because you weren’t one of him. He didn’t even fully understand it himself. And he didn’t care to.

“You did what…?”

President Loki’s voice held a dangerous edge, his back straightening as he turned to look at the two fools before him. The two Loki variants shared a look of confusion at their leaders tone, clearly expecting him to be pleased with their actions. Loki took a slow step closer, his golden horns making him look even more intimidating as they glinted in the dim light of their hideout.

“Speak!” Loki’s voice barked, command lacing the simple word as one of the variants obeyed.

“W-we caught the mortal.” The woman Loki variant spoke, her blue eyes darting to her accomplice. “They were split from the others, and we saw an opportunity…” She paused. “For you, my liege.” She quickly added, brows furrowing faintly. Loki exhaled a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his hand moved to pinch to bridge of his nose. “We can use them to lure the others, ambush them!”

Another Loki variant walked past, holding an old chalice of wine in his hand as the President whirled around, smacking it from his hand, the cup clattering to the ground. He didn’t pay the innocent variants offence any mind, his hands moving to his hips, pushing back the hem of his blazer as they settled there.

“You beef-witted… Oafs!” Loki insulted them, irritation clear on his face as he whirled back around to face them. “You were sent to survey them! Not capture one of them!”

“We saw an opportunity for the upper hand and took it!” The other variant finally spoke, stepping forwards. “Which is more than you have been doing as of late.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he had made a mistake. But it was too late for apologies, Loki had summoned his dagger in a heartbeat, advancing on his idiotic variant, grabbing him by his makeshift armour. His dagger moved to press against the variants throat, his followers all pausing their chatter in the decrepit room as they watched with half amusement and half caution.

“You undermine me?” Loki growled, a snarl curling at his lip. “Your fierce leader? Your future King? The superior Loki?” He pressed the blade of the dagger closer to his variants neck, making his variant try and move his head further back, trying to put space between him and the cold metal.

Loki knew there had been whispers amongst his ranks, doubts about his leadership, his resolve for the throne… And he knew it wouldn’t be long before those whispers turned into action, a rebellion… And he couldn’t have that. No. He worked too hard to get here.

With a low sound of frustration, Loki pushed the variant back, the dagger disappearing in a flash of green. The variant took a breath, composing himself as he glared at his leader.

“If I hear any more treacherous words, any more doubt about my ability to lead us to victory…” Loki turned slowly, eyeing all of his followers, ensuring each one felt the gravity of his words. “And I’ll make sure Alioth is well fed.” He threatened, tense silence following. Satisfied he had made his point, he turned on his heel, stalking off towards the stock kept further inside the hideout, leaving his variants to stew over his warning.

Pushing aside the tatty curtain, Loki’s eyes fell upon you. You were sat on a crate, wrists and ankles bound with rope and tape over your mouth and you were… glaring at him. He could hardly blame you.

“Shoddy workmanship.” Loki remarked, raising a brow as he nodded towards the ropes, a hint of a smirk on his lips despite the lingering irritation. “I personally would’ve used magic, but some of my variants lack… finesse.” He added, letting out a short sigh before stepping through the curtain into the small room. It was filled with random scraps of metal and wood, cans of food and other items that could be useful to their survival.

Quite frankly, you were pissed.

Loki summoned his dagger once more, twirling casually between his fingers, his eyes narrowing. You eyed the dagger, feeling a hint of uncertainty creeping in. You had heard part of the disagreement that had just taken place, and couldn’t help but worry that… perhaps he would use this to his advantage now. He may as well, right? You were right there. Maybe he would use you to lure out the others or maybe he would just kill you, just to make a point to his doubters that he was still as fierce as he once was.

Silently, he stepped closer, your breaths quickening as you felt your heartbeat pound in your chest. He held your gaze, an unreadable expression on his face. He lifted the dagger, moving it towards you, making you squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the harm to befall you.

But instead…

You heard the sound of rope being sliced through, the slight tug of your wrists before they fell free. Your brows creased, confused as your eyes reopened, looking down to see the rope in your lap. Your wrists were in fact now free.

“I assume you’re capable of untying your ankles yourself.” Loki commented casually, as if he hadn’t just toyed with you, once again sending his dagger back into his pocket dimension. “I don’t want to get my trousers dirty.” He added wryly, gesturing towards the stone floor, well aware that his trousers were already rather tatty.

He was… letting you free? Or at least, free from your restraints?

You felt suspicion and skepticism rise as you reached up to remove the tape from your lips, pulling at it as the sound filled the small space before a ‘fuck’ left your lips at the sting of it pulling at your skin. You took a breath, throwing the tape aside with distain before leaning forwards to eagerly untie your ankles.

“Think of this as a… I scratch your back, you scratch mine situation.” Loki continued, stepping back to give you some space, his eyes flickering around the stock.

Of course, there was an angle. There always was with a Loki.

“I’d rather you just killed me.” You muttered with a huff, making Loki’s lips tug into a brief smile - one that was toothy and sly.

“You see… Not everything I do involves a threat.” He mused, leaning against a nearby rickety shelving unit. “It’s a fair bargain, is it not? Your freedom for a favour. A favour which I can call upon at any time.”

You kicked the rope from your boots, pushing yourself to stand, an ache in your muscles from the fight you’d tried to put up against his two lackeys. “And by favour you mean betrayal.” You said lowly, narrowing your eyes. “Let me guess… I rat out my group, help you scheme your way to the boys throne?” Loki averted his gaze for a second, giving you your answer. Scoffing, you shake your head in disbelief, beginning to move towards the tatty curtain, giving him your own answer.

Smirking, Loki pushed off of the rickety shelving unit, watching as you shoved the curtain aside, features frowning. “I take that as a ‘we have a deal’?” Loki called after you in amusement, hands moving to clasp behind his back. He swore he heard you mutter a ‘asshole’ under your breath as you disappeared from view, and it only made his smirk widen. After a second, he followed you out, heading back into the din of his followers, seeing them all watching you stride confidently away, unfazed by their eyes all watching you. Loki’s gaze flickered over his group, a scowl forming on his face.

“Let them go.” He ordered lowly, sending one last warning glance before turning on his heel and venturing further into the hideout, away from prying eyes. As soon as he disappeared, a few members of the group shared glances with one another, seemingly skeptical of their leaders decision to let you walk free… Only adding to their suspicions that, perhaps, their leader wasn’t as ruthless as he made them believe.

Loki lounged on his makeshift throne, his mind elsewhere as his variants chatted amongst themselves. He really did grow tired of his own company. It was the same routine over and over - bickering, fights, backstabbing… Maybe his brother had a point to be irritated by his antics. He was disrupted from his thoughts by three of his followers rushing into the hideout, the three he had sent to do a perimeter check. Loki straightened in his throne, eyes narrowing. Something was wrong.

“My Liege-“ One of them began, a little breathless. “We spotted a group of Cassandra’s ruffians.” They informed him, making Loki’s grip on the arms of his seat tighten, irritation flaring. How dare they trespass on his land? But what another one of them said next, only heightened his attention.

“The mortal was there.”

Loki didn’t need a name, he knew exactly who they were referring to… And much to his own surprise, his blood ran cold. You were capable, yes, you had survived this long in the void… But Cassandra’s lot… They were a whole other level of savage.

Loki pushed himself to his feet, the variants that were sat instantly following suit, awaiting orders. He took a sharp breath, trying to remain calm despite the tug of concern that nagged at him in his chest, still clinging to that composure and strength he knew his followers needed to see from him.

“Gather your weapons and secure the perimeter.” Loki ordered, his voice steady and commanding. “Ensure they do not find our hideout.” Loki stepped down the few steps, his shoes clicking on the stone floor as his followers did as he commanded, adjusting the cuff of his suit jacket - a habit he had when he was on edge or anxious. “If any of those savages get close, you strike.”

As his variants moved about the hideout, Loki strode towards the three who had brought the news, a determined look in his eye. Stopping before one of them, he leaned in, eyes boring into theirs. “Where was the mortal?” He asked lowly, his tone holding no room for arguments or questions. The female variant raised her chin slightly, glancing at the other two before meeting his gaze again.

Leaving his variants to secure their hideout, Loki traipsed through the wasteland of the void, determination sharpening his features. Why did he care? Why was he so determined to ensure you were unharmed? He let out a sound of frustration, irritated at his own mind for stirring such thoughts. Caring was a weakness, especially in a place like this, in his position. Yet, something about you stirred memories of a simpler time. A time before everything went… to shit. Memories of connection… Connection to his mother, his brother… His father. Everything in Loki’s life had been complicated, at least to him, but something about you was… simple. And even that managed to stir such complex emotions he hadn’t felt in… centuries.

“Useless.” Loki muttered under his breath, shaking his head faintly. “Mortals. Weak and feeble.” He tried to remind himself, yet his eyes continued to scan the land around him for any sign of you. Maybe letting you go to the chaos of the void would be a kindness… Even as that thought went through his mind, his heart - something rather dusty - tugged in discontent.

He couldn’t.

Movement caught the corner of his eye, his head snapping towards it as he prepared to summon his seidr, to protect his territory from the enemy. But his posture relaxed as he recognised the figure.

You.

And you were wounded.

His feet moved quicker than his head as he strode towards you, his brows creased. As he neared, he saw your hand clutching your side, seeing the scrapes and cuts on your face. You had survived. That familiar flicker of respect appeared in his chest at that fact.

“You’re resilient.” Loki called steadily. “I’ll give you that.” Your gaze lifted, eyes meeting his when he stopped a few feet away. You watched as his gaze drifted over you, clearly assessing your current state. You were hunched faintly, clearly in pain, and Loki mentally cursed himself before he drew closer, stopping right next to you. “Why do you insist on wandering alone?” He sighed, shaking his head.

“Why do you?” You quipped back, voice strained. Loki let out a sharp breath, pursing his lips. Of course, the answer was peace. A bit of solace from the chaos you both found yourselves surrounded by - Loki variants. Clicking his tongue, Loki’s slender fingers reached towards your hand at your side, prying it away so he could take a better look. His jaw tensed as he took in the damage, feeling a wave of anger at Cassandra’s savages for harming you.

“You’re losing blood.” He stated lowly, making you scoff. Loki sent a warning glare, but you missed it, busy trying to remain on your feet. “Come.” His hand fell from yours, allowing you to once again grip your side as he began to head in the opposite direction to his hideout. Your brows furrowed in confusion. Where was he going? “Hurry up.” Loki snapped. “Unless you truly do have a death wish.”

With a sigh, you began to follow, Loki making no move to slow down. Perhaps this was it. Perhaps he was going to lure you away, out of sight and finally finish you off. You stumbled slightly, wincing at the jolting action of your body, making Loki halt and whip round to look back at you. He saw the way your face scrunched in pain, noticing the exhaustion in your breaths. With a deep breath of his own, he headed back towards you.

Without saying a word, he moved to your side, an arm wrapping around your shoulders before he bent his knees, his other arm slipping behind your knees. You barely had time to register what was happening as he lifted you easily, holding you in his arms. Your eyes widened faintly, looking up at his face. He refused to meet your eyes, keeping his own ahead.

“Do try not to bleed on my suit.” He muttered lowly, continuing to walk once again.

This was a strange way to lead someone to their death…

Loki kicked open the rickety shack’s door, the wood creaking as he did so, stirring you from your half lulled state. He hadn’t taken you far, but it was definitely not his hideout you were at. Lifting your head from his shoulder, he walked you both inside, heading towards a tatty cot in the corner of the room as he set you down - a lot gentler than you had expected. Your brows furrowed, watching him as he straightened, still not meeting your gaze. He turned away from you, striding gracefully towards the other side of the room, giving you a chance to take in your new surroundings.

It was dimly lit, a shattered window being the only light source, dusty books were littered on the rickety furnishings along with a few odd trinkets and such. It was only when you noticed the familiar splash of emerald green of a blanket at the end of the cot that you realised…

This was his space. His own personal hideout… Away from prying eyes.

“Yes.” Loki finally spoke, breaking the silence. “This is my… personal haven.” He added wryly over his shoulder, finally turning to look at you. When your eyes finally landed on him again, you noticed the lack of his signature horns that usually sat upon his head, now set aside on the old, small writing desk. Without it, he looked less… sharp. His features weren’t accentuated by the shadows from his horns, now looking much softer. In his hands were medical supplies, bandages and gauze.

He was… offering help?

“Don’t look so surprised.” Loki quipped, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Even I need a break from myself from time to time.” He mused, raising a brow. Purposefully, he approached, his shoes making the wood beneath his feet creak with each step, before he placed the supplies on the cot beside you, elegantly lowering himself to kneel on one knee before you. You had yet to say a word, still taking in the situation you found yourself in.

“No one else knows about this place.” Loki continued, his voice calm. “And I’d like to keep it that way.” His eyes held yours for a moment, searching yours - it was almost a silent plea. Reaching for the gauze, he gestured for you to lift your leathers slightly, a hint of tentativeness in the request. He wasn’t used to patching up others. This was… new for him. Shifting on the cot, you twisted yourself slightly so he could access your side easier, your bloodied fingers slowly peeling the leather up, revealing the stab wound you have received. Thankfully, you had managed to angle yourself defensively during the scuffle, making the attacker miss anything vital, but leaving a rather nasty gash. Loki’s azure eyes flickered to the wound, his jaw tensing again, and you swore you saw a flicker of anger go through his gaze.

“It could be worse.” He uttered through gritted teeth, moving to carefully press the gauze against your wound, making you hiss, body tensing. Loki felt a flair of regret, but he knew it was necessary. “Bear in mind… I’m not a healer.” He murmured. Being this close to Loki, you could see every detail of his face - the faint scars, the flecks of green in his eyes, the lines around his brows and mouth. He looked… human. It was as if Loki could sense you staring, his eyes snapping up from his hands to meet yours. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare?”

“Sorry.” You found yourself muttering, finally speaking again, averting your gaze quickly. Loki’s lips tugged upwards briefly, eyes dropping back to his hands. After a few moments of silence, he spoke again.

“I didn’t say stop.”

You couldn’t help but let out a huff of amusement, which shifted into a wince. “Asshole.” You shook your head, missing the way Loki’s smirk widened into a quick grin. Within these walls, Loki could let his guard down - if only a little. This was his safe space, a place where he could hang up the role of fierce leader and trickster, just for a short while.

Gently, he pulled away the gauze, the material having soaked up some of the blood so he could see the wound clearer. “You’ll live.” He told you quietly, discarding the bloodied gauze to reach for another. “For now.” With a quiet sigh, he once again pressed the new gauze against your side.

“That sounds like a threat.” You murmured wryly, glancing at him. Loki met your gaze, letting your words hang in the air for a moment. It felt like there was a shift between you both, the underlying tension that had always been present bubbling to the surface. Ever so slightly, your breath hitched, suddenly feeling nervous - but not in the usual way the void elicited.

“No.” The word came from Loki’s lips, barely above a whisper, his head ever so faintly shaking. A pause. “It’s a promise.”

The statement was spoken with a softness that you hadn’t seen from Loki before, a level of acceptance. Loki was complicated, yet in these moments he felt… simple. No matter how reluctant he tried to appear, or how aloof and cold… Beneath it all, he did care… In his own way. And it showed, in his own way too. It wasn’t an outright confession, but it was as close as you would get… That he did have a reason for keeping you alive, for not harming you, for not wanting harm to befall you…

Finally, Loki tore his gaze away, feeling the weight of the moment in his chest. It became a little too much, a little too intense. But… it didn’t feel wrong. Delicately, he once again removed the gauze, reaching for a new one so he could finally wrap your wound.

“When you get back to your group, it will need properly cleaning.” Loki cleared his throat, voice clear once more. “And try to avoid any more sharp objects.” He added wryly, raising a brow and giving a pointed look. “It would be… a shame if my rival were to perish from such a boring form of death.” And just like that, your usual dynamic clicked back into place, making your lips curl into a faint smirk.

“I shall aim for something more adventurous next time.” You quipped, a softer edge to your voice.

The good kind.

He was definitely the good kind.

[clover-blossom]

*SNOWBAIRD* WIPS I AM LOVING

Invisible String by ravenpuff1956

Lucy sucks in a tight breath. She never expected to be dragged back. She didn’t think the Capitol wanted anything to do with her now that she’d won their little game.

Twelve Years by wertman25

Twelve years have passed since Lucy Gray Baird left Coriolanus Snow in the woods. Since then, she had remained a ghost while Coriolanus rose to power in the Capitol… but what happens when Lucy Gray returns and the two lovers meet again?

Other Side of the Coin by monkiseemonkido

AU where Lucy Gray and Snow run off together and make it to District 13. Snow is still his power hungry, ambitious self, but going back to the Capitol is not an option anymore. Especially once he realizes the truth about District 13 and what happened to his family fortune. 

To Where She Flew by madzdolin

When another rebellion comes sooner than anticipated, young Coriolanus Snow finds himself stranded in District 11 after a series of unfortunate events. While the stakes continue to rise in the world around him, Coriolanus finds himself faced with his own internal conflict when he encounters a hauntingly familiar face from his past- only to discover that she has absolutely no recollection of who he is.

The Ballad of Snow (Echoes of a Bird's Song) by fourteentrout

Vignettes of Snow’s life through his rise to (and fall from) power, and the memories that corner him in his moments of least control.

I am Singing Now While Rome Burns by southslates

In which Lucy Gray stays in the Capitol after the Games.

As the Driven Snow by Vacantcing

She comes to him at the best and worst of times, his little songbird. Coriolanus Snow and Lucy Gray through the cycle of the seasons.

How Coriolanus Snow Learned Compassion by cliffhangerqueen

A collection of emotions Lucy Gray taught Coriolanus Snow through her journey of the Hunger Games, and his fall of villainy in an alternative universe when Snow gets away with his lies, only to morph into something that resembled good at Lucy Gray's expense.

A Bird in the Hand by horrormoviebarbie

Coriolanus Snow and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Redemption Arc 

Songbirds, Snakes and Wedding Rings by celestscrystal

In which Coriolanus was never sent to district 12 and instead got away with a slap on the wrist. However, Lucy Gray would not be granted the same fate. In order to save her, Coriolanus marries her. Clashes ensue in a tale of enemies, passion, and lovers.

Blood of my Blood by loveshazel

A deep-dive and rewrite of TBOSAS that answers the question of what if Coriolanus's parents both lived to raise him? And what if that meant a worse fate for any and all involved...

All Your Wasteland Flowers by allbridgesburn

Lucy Gray Baird survives Coriolanus Snow. However, she's not the only one.

The Planet of Love by southslates

In which Coriolanus Snow never kills the Mayor's daughter, Sejanus Plinth dies of his own volition and officer training is moved to District Twelve.

What are you reading and loving?

[troutfur]

Rise of a Genre? - Ramblings on "Shifting Roots" (The Alliance Saga - Clouded Moon, book 1)

From a Warriors OC indie animated series to its retooling into an original fantasy story and now with the release of the first novel in a planned trilogy, Star Cat Studios' Clouded Moon has had quite the tumultous history. Having released December 23rd, 2024 and available not only on the author's Ko-Fi page but also on Amazon and Barnes and Noble, this seemingly not-quite-indie title is particularly interesting to me as a Warriors fanfiction author steeped in the rewrite side of the community.

Throughout my time in the fandom I have seen many rewrite projects grow more ambitious. Eventually many of these have diverged so significantly in terms of plot and especially worldbuilding to the point it made more sense to spin them off into original fantasy stories. Here in the Tumblr space, the word for this emerging genre is xenomoggy, a portmanteau of xenofiction (fiction written from the perspective of a non-human character) and moggy (an unremarkable non-pedigree domestic cat, feline counterpart of the word mutt).

Shifting Roots is far from the first ever Warriors fan project to have found new life as an original propety. In the videogame world, Cattails and its sequel Cattails: Wildwood Story precede it, having been developed on the basis of the fangame Warrior Cats: Untold Tales. However it IS, to my knowledge, the first ever comercially published xenomoggy novel.

I originally envisioned this post as a review of the book, but the more I wrote the more I found myself just rambling about my thoughts on the book. To concisely summarize my thoughts, this is a 6.5/10 book. Definitely above your standard Warriors book, a series which is a very consistent 5/10 read, but still somewhat missing the mark. Regardless, I'd recommend any Warriors fan to check it out and any aspiring author of xenomoggy fiction to study it in order to take advantage of its strengths and avoid its faults.

So, without further ado, my somewhat rambly thoughts on the book below. Beware of spoilers.

The Setting

Right away, Shifting Roots shows its origins as a Warriors OC story. Alliance Lake is very transparently just the Lake Territories featured from arc 2 of Warriors onwards. And the four cat colonies that live on its shores, Oak Colony, Marsh Colony, River Colony, and Field Colony, are very transparently just ThunderClan, ShadowClan, RiverClan, and WindClan respectively. The territories may have been spiced up a little, in particular River Colony's lush tropical paradise and waterfalls, but it's not substantially different.

What really sets this setting apart is the world beyond the colonies of the Alliance. Firstly there's no humans, and thus no cities, roads, cars, or anything of the sort to threaten our cast. This world is for the most part a scorched wasteland, known to the Alliance as the Unbound-Lands. Here, magic users fight for their life in the unforgiving environment.

According to the origin myths of The Alliance, the world is like that because magic users made it like that through reckless use of magic. According to the telling by Unbound cats, however, the source of this bounty is a spell The Alliance placed that seals away magic powers within Alliance territory and redirects it towards the land and the Captains of each colony.

The change of no humans alone is a huge paradigm shift. The core premise of Warriors has essentially always been "What would your cat be up to if they ran into the woods?" Thus, even as the series has introduced more and more fantastical elements, it has had to remain relatively grounded in terms of how much elements of human society these cats can have. Asking the reader to buy into all the other fantastical elements further ungrounds the setting and raises the bar of willing suspension of disbelief required.

Thus it strikes me as supremely odd how the society of the Alliance Lake colonies still sticks so close to the mold of Warriors. Keepers --equivalent to what in Warriors fandom we'd call a "permaqueen"-- and mentors --not the same as a mentor in Warriors, those are called teachers, these are rather their overseers-- are the only new formal jobs introduced. Politically the only rank added is that of envoy, cats that along with elders, herbalists, the second in command, and the captain form a ruling council and have a vote in colony matters. And in terms of material culture there is a mention of a bag once as well as mentions of torniquets and stitches, but not really anything extreme.

Additions to the material culture and division of labor in the Clans (e.g. tool use, crafts manufacturing, and cooking) are easily some of the most elaborate elements of Warriors rewrites and AUs I see around nowadays. Though I don't like them very much at all (at best I put up with them as a concession to the premise for the sake of an interesting story) because of how they clash with the intended feel of Warriors as a semi-grounded story, their ubiquity and popularity clearly shows I'm in the minority. Thus it feels unnecessarily austere from the authors to add so little when their world's premise alone bought them a wide latitude to make worldbuilding additions to their heart's content.

In terms of presenting the information to the reader, it can be argued that a lot of the legwork has already been made by the Warriors novels and given the primary audience for this book has already read them there's very little need to present the world beyond the additions.

I have to admit that as a Warriors reader, I greatly appreciated that we dove right into seeing daily life in the alliance without having to explicitly exposit it, and I particularly appreciated the fact the author did not insert an outsider protagonist to exposit it to. However, I'm not quite sure this set-up will be entirely intuitive to unfamiliar readers. Perhaps if the xenomoggy genre gains traction and some ground ground level tropes come to be accepted as standard in popular consciousness this will not be an issue for future writers.

With regards to introducing worldbuilding elements not familar to Warriors, althought the first few pages of the book with its maps and glossary of terms and list of characters and laws of the Alliance could be considered an info dump, the relevant parts are still introduced well in the text proper.

The Characters

The book follows a core cast of four characters, one from each of the colonies around Alliance Lake, Dawnfrost from Oak Colony, Wildfur from Marsh Colony, Wolfthorn from River Colony, and Spottedshadow from Field Colony. These four are established from early on to be a friend group going back to their adolescent days, as well as there being two sets of cross-Colony partners: Dawnfrost & Wolfthorn and Wildfur & Spottedshadow.

With the use of these relationships as drivers of the interpersonal conflicts for these characters, we once again see the fingerprints of Warriors. These are no bland repeats of forbidden love tropes seen in its source material, however.

The two mollies of the group, Dawnfrost and Spottedshadow, are an exploration of themes of ambition. The former is currently an envoy and leading candidate for Second in Command once Oak Colony's Captain, Elmtail, dies and his Second, Redleaf, assumes the position. The latter, however, is a mentor who rejected the position of envoy, precluding the possibility of ever becoming Second and thus abandoning previous ambitions for leadership, due to the realization of how it would affect her relationships outside Field Colony.

The two toms of the group, meanwhile, are an exploration of themes of social alienation. Wildfur is a social outcast in Marsh Colony and although his Captain seeks to integrate him by giving him responsibilities, such as the training of the new-claw Pool, he resents these attempts and longs to live in Field Colony, a dream he knows is impossible as it's Field Colony policy to only admit outsiders before adulthood. Wolfthorn, meawhile, is a tom that had previously ran away to wander the Unbound-Lands but returned due to homesickness, only to find that under Captain Rainfall's leadership his home colony has turned to a brutal dictatorship and no longer feels like home. Despite Dawnfrost's pleading for him to come live with her in Oak Colony and Wolfthorn's attempts to convince her to run back into the Unbound-Lands with him, they both know they are too attached to their home to ever leave.

Although the four of these are presented from the very first chapter as the protagonists, the point of view character jumps all over the place between characters of all four colonies and even to members of a group of cats from the Unbound-Lands they come to meet later in the story. Arguably, though, this story belongs more to Spottedshadow and her Field Colony friend turned political rival Goldenpelt. She is even the eponymous character of this trilogy as a whole, as when she ascends to leadership she comes to be known as Captain Spottedshadow the Clouded Moon.

Goldenpelt is a very fascinating character and foil to Spottedshadow. As her childhood friend who once dreamed of leading Field Colony alongside her not only as Captain and Second, but as mates, he holds bitterness and suspicion towards Wildfur and the rest of Spottedshadow's cross-Colony friend group for their role in her giving up her ambition. While she is optimistic about cross-colony cooperation he's distrustful and guarded, both attitudes being validated at different points in the story and driving their tension.

This is only amplified when following the deaths of Field Colony's Captain and Second, after he was left as the only envoy, the Spirits Beyond (which I don't think I have to mention are the StarClan equivalent, but just in case...) chose to appear to and bless Spottedshadow instead of Goldenpelt. When she decides to snub him further by appointing a new envoy to make into her Second for fear that him having the position would undermine her newfound power, their rift only grows.

I will say more about this in the plot section, but suffice to say I think that focus on these two as the primary or even solitary PoV characters could have helped to smooth out a very huge plot issue and really zeroed in what was the emotional core of this story. Interesting and compelling as the other characters and perspectives are I do feel very strongly the multi-PoV format was a misstep.

Plot

The plot follows a series of mysterious attacks on Marsh Colony and Oak Colony cats by an unidentified beast that doesn't even eat its victims. After failing to track down its den and suffering serious losses from Oak Colony, Marsh Colony, and Field Colony during an encounter in the heart of the Oak Colony base, the three colonies above agree to send a party into the Unbound-Lands to the presumed source of these attacks and to gather intelligence in how to face it. The questing party consists of our four protagonists (Wolfthorn sneaked out again, of course, as Captain Rainfall of River Colony refused to help) as well as the new-claw Pool from Marsh Colony, the ranger Shrewpelt from Oak Colony, and the ranger Goldenpelt from Field Colony.

After saving an Unbound-Lands wind mage while in the Unbound-Lands, and in gratitude being led to the rest of their group (called a gust), the group finds out that the creature in question is a bear and her cubs who has been using magic of their own to cloak their den. At this point Wolfthorn also fills them in on the Unbound-Lander's more accurate account of the origin myth of Alliance Lake. (As a side note, the bears can use magic because apparently whoever placed the enchantment that limits the magic of other cats within Alliance Lake territory didn't even know other creatures could wield it too. Thus they didn't cast to bind them as well.) Although the wind mages are unwilling at first to follow them back to Alliance Lake to help with their bear problem, as they don't want to give up their magic NOR die, as killing mages is the policy of the alliance, Captain Spottedshadow promises them sanctuary in Field Colony.

Once back in Alliance territory, the party finds out that River Colony has encroached on Field Colony territory in a bloody battle while Spottedshadow and Goldenpelt were absent. In a single scene, Goldenpelt rallies his group of supporters that believe he was cheated out of captainship and they are promptly and swiftly exiled.

This is where I pause and explain my big plot gripe. Though I definitely see where the author was going with regards to Goldenpelt resurrecting his claim to captainship following the revelation of what Spottedshadow's decision to go in the journey caused, it is very important to note this is right after the two of them had an "arc" in the Unbound-Lands to reconnect as best friends. (Arc is rather too generous. It was a bunch of set pieces not too unlike how Warriors travelling books are a series of loosely connected "quick time event" type scenes.) The immediate U-turn comes across as if their previous relationship development was completely wasted time as we are right back at square one just after it resolved.

If Goldenpelt had stayed in Field Colony and rallied his supporters while Spottedshadow was away OR the last 20% or so of the book that we were at by the time this one scene happened was dedicated to Goldenpelt regressing a bit more gradually, I think it would have been worth it. But both of these ideas I hold would work for the best if Goldenpelt and Spottedshadow were the sole PoVs instead of the constant jumping across so many characters. Capitalizing on these two as the emotional core of the story would have greatly elevated the book.

Anyway. After a disastrous Moonlight Meeting in which Oak Colony, Marsh Colony, and River Colony soundly reject Spottedshadow's plans to use the Unbound-Land mages to fight the bears, Spottedshadow takes it upon herself to break the echantment that binds the magic and which is located in the oak tree in the center of Moonlight Island. Oak Colony and Marsh Colony meanwhile set up bait and ambush the bears. Anticipating this move, Spottedshadow moves to bring unwanted reinforcements and with the help of the wind mages they manage to kill the mother bear and one cub, chosing the take mercy on the second cub and simply chasing it out of Alliance territory.

Thus, we end the book with a new status quo. Wildfur gets to live in Field Colony as the mate of Captain Spottedshadow. Dawnfrost is set to take leadership in Field Colony. Captain Hawkshell of Marsh Colony is frustrated in his attempt to take revenge on all the bears. Wolfthorn is being held prisoner in River Colony for his repeated violations of their curfew policy and suspicions of treasons. And in the Unbound-Lands a group of exiled River Colony would-be rebels hear of Goldenpelt and his supporters, who have taken to calling him Captain after a dream visit of the late Second of Field Colony, Forestleaf, that granted him a leader blessing.

I have all voiced all my plot complaints and I can only say that for the rest this is perfectly fine. I would have preferred for there to be more of a murder mystery element with regards to the bears rather than the answer being handed to our protagonists. But I can see why it wasn't and what we got is serviceable enough, really.

Conclusion

Shifting Roots is better than Warriors but not mind-blowingly good. I am certainly interested enough in continuing to read, but I can see how this would be a one and done for a lot of people. I do recommend it to other Warriors fans, if only because it's likely to be of interest and better than the usual Warriors book, and to aspiring xenomoggy writers I once again urge them to study it. But it's not exactly a read I would recommend outside this fandom. I personally think that for the moment we are still awaiting on the seminal classic of this genre.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hi! I was talking to some friends at work about possibly, some time in the future starting an RPG group with them. I asked what kind game they wanted and they asked for a game based on food and puzzles, influenced by currently popular media.

I’m not familiar with a game that is centered around both puzzles AND food. Can you offer any suggestions?

Thanks!

THEME: Food and Puzzles!

Hello friend, so I have a Dungeon Meshi recommendation post that was very poorly tagged, but I’ve fixed it now!

Not everything in this post is beginner friendly, but I’ve talked about these kinds of games a lot before, so I definitely recommend checking out the other links I have in this list, especially Cook & Hero and Wilderfeast. Now, on to the recommendations!

FOODIE’S, by Sam Bullock.

The world has ended. Only psychotic people are left limping through the devastation, trying to scrape by on whatever prepackaged and shelf stable food they can find picking through the wreckage. You are sick to death of eating this shit. You are a Foodie, and your tastes will be satisfied even if it kills you (and it probably will).

Become crazy wasteland chefs willing to fight and die for their next insane culinary creation. Kill raiders, hunt radfauna and escape the endless cycle of mediocre food.

This is a game that’s meant to be as radioactive and shocking as the apocalypse it’s set in. Use whatever you can around you to cook horrifying meals in an effort to make something more than edible. The game uses a system that adds and subtracts dice from your pool depending on traits that you (and your food) might have that make things slightly easier to do or less appealing to cook with. If you want a game that’s stomach-churning but only a few pages to read, maybe check out Foodie’s.

Forager’s Feast, by FUNONEGames.

Your old adventuring group retired, but you couldn't keep yourselves out of the action. And so, you opened a fine-dining establishment where you serve only the finest monster, locally caught and immaculately presented.

Each week after serving your exclusive clientele, you sit down to eat from the menu and tell tales.  Before long, reliving current and past adventures has you sharing deeply with your comrades.  

Roll on a series of d12 roll tables to determine what kind of adventurer you were, and what your role is within the restaurant that the group of you run together. Players take turns selecting a dish from the provided menu, and telling a story about how the group found the related monsters, the process of putting the dish together, and what heavy price they had to pay: an experience from their adventure that left a mark on who they are as a person.

Forager’s Feast is definitely the least focused on stats and mechanics, and more focused on storytelling happening within turns. You are provided with prompts and then asked to jump right in - great for groups who are really interested in storytelling, and much less focused on things like character abilities or hit points.

No Picnics in the Dungeon!, by Biscuit Fund Games.

Classic adventuring through megadungeons and catacombs distilled down to an easy-to-follow recipe: the comfort food of dungeon crawlers! 

Built on the robust Powered By the Apocalypse engine, No Picnics in the Dungeon! is an accessible, rewarding dungeon-crawling experience that’s easy to run and even easier to play. Create an adventuring party in minutes and descend through dungeons requiring a minimum of preparation. Find rare ingredients from the monsters you battle and the flora you find, and cobble them together into beneficial potions or hearty meals. Track down rare Curios, negotiate with the dungeon’s denizens, and come up with a recipe for a fantastic adventure.

The dungeons hide many secrets and many more delicacies within their walls for you and your friends to discover. Ah, dungeon picnics… there's truly nothing like them.

Combine your class and background to put together an adventurer right out of Dungeon Meshi. Powered by the Apocalypse games are very different from what you may expect in D&D, but I think they can be easier to learn because each character works similarly, and doing things is boiled down into moves, which typically involve rolling 2d6 and interpreting the results as either success, failure, or mixed. If you want to learn more about the PbtA school of games, you can check out my system overview, as well this advice on resources when learning how to play.

Death Cap Sauté, by Junk Food Games.

It’s the year 23XX and our world is now The Wasteland. The legendary, reclusive Shroomp Lord is hosting a new cooking competition and your restaurant has received an invitation! Can you survive through the challenges and cook your way to the top?

Death Cap Sauté is a GM-less TTRPG and dice game for 2 to 5 players and is meant to be played in a single session. Each player takes the role of 3 culinary team members representing their restaurant that has entered a deadly cooking competition. Make the best dishes and impress the judges to earn Shroomps. The restaurant with the most Shroomps at the end wins! 

Because Death Cap Sauté is GM-less, it requires everyone around the table to have some understanding of the rules; which means you could teach it as if you were teaching a board-game. The pdf includes a bunch of roll-tables for the competition, as well as hazards that show up in your attempts to make the best dish at the competition. Your characters each have mutations that lend them special powers, allowing you to do things like add or subtract values to your dice, or re-roll certain dice. This is also designed to be a one-shot, so if you want a goofy game that is low-commitment, this might be the game for you!

Delicious in Torchbearer, by Games by Corey.

Delicious in Torchbearer is a Delicious in Dungeon inspired supplement that adds a variety of cooking centred options to Torchbearer 2E. Ideally meant for use at character creation, these rules extend and increase the focus on cooking in the game.

This game is meant to be an add-on for Torchbearer, so I’d only recommend it for your first group if you really want to get up to your neck in the amount of game that’s here. Torchbearer uses a system called Burning Wheel, and much of its mechanics involve making tough decisions regarding your resources, in the hopes that you will be able to outlast your enemies. If you want puzzles, this game can definitely provide them; many of your choices will require your characters to think carefully about their resources and the best way to go about solving problems. Character progression is slow and painstaking; perfect for groups that are in it for the long haul, but for your first game, maybe not so much.

You might also want to check out…

The Laughing Kobold, by therabidbanana.

Bug Dish: Amouse Bouche, by Ryan Khan.

Spirited Cafe, by A Couple of Drakes.

Stewpot: Tales From A Fantasy Tavern, by Takuma Okada.

Consuming A God Recommendations

My Monster Recycling Rec Post

[anxietymuffin]

Tales from the Wasteland: Chicken Soup for the War Veterans Soul

New story just dropped!

Tales from the Wasteland series: following side stories that happen during the timeline of my main fo4 story. Like side quests!

[demifiendrsa]

Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance - Announce Trailer

Japanese version

Extended Cut

Extended Cut Japanese version

Special Program Spotlight

Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance will launch for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series X|S, PlayStation 4, Xbox One, Nintendo Switch, and PC (Steam, Microsoft Store) on June 21, 2024 worldwide. Pre-orders will open on February 27, 2024.

Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance is an enhanced version of Shin Megami Tensei V, which originally launched for Nintendo Switch in November 2021.

Title logo

Key visual

Overview

The latest title in the series, Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance allows players to enjoy the story of Shin Megami Tensei V in its entirety, with a new story path, untold in the original. Massively expanded with new areas, demons, and music, Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance features more accessible gameplay, an improved battle system, new demon experiences, and greater field exploration. Pre-orders for the Nintendo Switch family of systems (physical only), PlayStation 5, PlayStation 4, Steam, Xbox Series X|S, Xbox One and PC will begin on February 27, 2024. Details on digital pre-orders for Nintendo Switch will be announced at a later date. When a grisly murder scene in modern-day Tokyo blocks the protagonist’s walk home, an unplanned detour leaves him buried and unconscious. He finds himself in a wasteland ravaged by apocalypse now called Da’at. Before bloodthirsty demons can claim his life, a savior emerges, and they unite to become a mighty being, neither human nor demon: a Nahobino. Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance delivers a full-fledged RPG that can be enjoyed by existing and new fans. At the start of the game, players will choose between two paths: the story told in Shin Megami Tensei V, the Canon of Creation, or the brand-new Canon of Vengeance. This dramatic new tale of revenge introduces brand-new characters, an enigmatic cohort of demons called the Qadištu, a new dungeon and map to explore. Additionally, the original Shin Megami Tensei V battle system, demon merging and field exploration have been evolved and expanded in this newest entry in the series.

Further details

■ What is Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance?

Released in 2021, ATLUS’s renowned RPG Shin Megami Tensei V has sold more than one million copies worldwide.

This highly acclaimed game has evolved in every aspect, including the system and scenario, and will be available on multiple modern platforms!

At the beginning of the story, the player is presented between two routes. The story told in Shin Megami Tensei V, the Canon of Creation, and a brand-new route, Canon of Vengeance, a dramatic tale of revenge by the fallen.

The Canon of Vengeance follows the scenario of SMTV, but changes drastically from the latter half of the game. The outcome will be completely different. Enjoy the two divergent stories to your heart’s content.

The battle system, demon fusion, and field exploration have also evolved in depth with the addition of new elements. We are excited to deliver a full-fledged RPG that can be enjoyed by those who have already played SMTV, as well as those who are playing this series for the first time.

■ Story

Thou shalt be God—.

When a grisly murder scence in modern-day Tokyo blocks our protagonist’s walk home, an unplanned detour leaves him buried and unconscious. He awakens in a New Tokyo, a wasteland ravaged by apocalypse now called Da’at – but before bloodthirsty demons can claim his live, a savior emerges, and the two of them unite to become a mighty being, neither human nor demon: a Nahobino.

Revenge Awaits—.

Demons attack humans and seek to create a world of chaos.

Bethel, an organization that seeks to protect God’s order.

Caught up in the conflict between the two, while exploring Da’at, the protagonist meets and starts traveling with Yoko Hiromine.

Using magic, Yoko and the main character stand together on the front line.

The Qadistu, four female Demons stand in their way. “Found it, the Key of Resurrection…” A member of the Qadistu, Lilith calls protagonist the Key of Resurrection, and herself The Oppressed.

What is their purpose? A tale of revenge by the oppressed begins.

■ The Oppressed: The Qadistu

In the Canon of Vengeance, four female demons appear in front of the protagonist. Another story of creation told by new Demons.

■ Characters

Lilith (voiced by Katelyn Gault in English, Atsuko Tanaka in Japanese)

“I am Lilith of the Qadištu The one to restore the world to what it ought to be.”

A woman who is said to have been Adam’s first wife in the Old Testament. Later left Garden of Eden and turned into a demon.

Leader of the Qadištu. In order to achieve an unidentified goal, she stands in front of the protagonist.

Protagonist / Nahobino

A high school senior living in Tokyo. On his way back from school, he is involved in a tunnel collapse and wanders into an apocalyptic version of Tokyo, Da’at. His hobby is reading.

The protagonist fuses with Aogami and becomes a “Nahobino,” using this power to fight back demons.

The decision-making during the Nahobino state lies with the protagonist, and Aogami guides him with his voice.

Aogami (voiced by Damian Mills in English, Toshiyuki Morikawa in Japanese)

“Regardless of what may happen, rest assured that I will always protect you.”

A mysterious man who appears before the protagonist, who is being attacked by a demon in Da’at.

By taking the protagonist’s hand, he transforms into a condemned being, the Nahobino.

He seemingly participated in the war 18 years ago, but his memory of it has slipped away.

Yoko Hiromine (voiced by Erin Yvette in English, Chiwa Saitou in Japanese)

“With no one to save them, in the back of their mind, the victim desires only one thing: revenge against the assailant.”

She is a senior in high school at St. Marina Academy. Cool and somewhat mysterious.

She meets and works with the protagonist in Da’at. She has always possessed mysterious powers and was once called a “saint”. At the academy, she has been recognized for her power and learned exorcism magic. She also participates in the battles.

■ Over 270 Demons

In addition to existing demons, this title features more than 270 demons, including new demons newly drawn by the character designer Masayuki Doi. Enjoy an incredible demon experience!

■ Includes Shin Megami Tensei V Downloadable Content Demons and Quests!

The demons and quests that were available with Shin Megami Tensei V are included in this title as standard features! Experienced players are encouraged to try their hand at these challenging quests.

“A Goddess in Training”

“The Rage of a Queen”

“The Doctor’s Last Wish”

“Return of the True Demon”

■ Evolution in Depth!

Every system of Shin Megami Tensei V has been brushed up in detail and new elements have been added, including field exploration, demon conversations, battles, growth elements, and new demon experiences! Of course, with multiple endings—this is truly the definitive version of Shin Megami Tensei V.

Adding unique skills to all demons, new interactions with demons, and more… Many other new elements! Stay tuned for more information!

■ Additional Downloadable Content

Downloadable content featuring new demons will be distributed simultaneously on the release date.

Demon God Dagda from Shin Megami Tensei IV: Final and newly introduced is the demon Goddess Konohanasakuya, newly drawn by character designer Masayuki Doi!

Holy Will and Profane Dissent

When the protagonist goes to investigate a mysterious reaction, he meets Danu, the earth mother goddess, who claims to have come from a world that exists in another universe. Danu is apparently searching for his son, Dagda. The protagonist embarks on a search for Dagda with Danu. By completing the game, Dagda can be made an ally, and fusion will be unlocked.

Sakura Cinders of the East

Konohana Sakuya laments the turbulent world and searches for a hero who can pacify the world. She sees an image of a certain hero within the protagonist and challenges him. Winning the battle will allow you to make Konohana Sakuya your ally, and fusion will also be unlocked.

In addition, earning downloadable content that makes it easier to gain experience and in-game currency will be released at the same time.

[pinkanonwrites]

It’s You I Like

Vash/Reader, songfic, 1500+ words I don’t normally write Isekai stuff for Vash but this was too good an opportunity to pass up, and I ended up liking it a lot so maybe I’ll do more little drabbles with this specific isekai!reader

"Well, at least we managed to stock up on everything before we left."

“...”

“You said the next town was, what? About forty iles? Doubt we’ll make that tonight, but it’s not too bad considering.”

“...”

“So I can set up the sleeping bags if you want to get a fire going, how ‘bout that Vash? …Vash?”

“...Hm? Oh. Oh! Y-Yeah, no problem… Here, here’s this.” Even though Vash responded to you, his gaze hadn’t yet left the direction the two of you had just come from as his bag thumped into the sand next to you. Or rather, not so much came from as fled from. You were just about to make yourselves comfortable at the local inn for the evening when someone managed to recognize your red-coated traveling companion, and it wasn’t long before the entire town was hot on your tail. Miraculously, somehow, the two of you managed to escape the hailstorm of bullets completely unscathed and with all your meager travel gear intact, but now you found yourself far past the outskirts of the town and left to your own devices in the barren wasteland.

Not like you had any room to complain though. Considering your sudden and unorthodox appearance in one of your favorite series, you'd much rather cling to the familiar presence of Vash the Stampede than risk your luck bumming around any other town on this desolate rock. How fortunate were you to not only find the spiky protagonist, but also to have him listen to and believe your wildly unbelievable tale of woe. Mentioning the SEEDS ships helped, you supposed. Now wherever Vash went you had no choice but to follow.

Again, though. Definitely not a complaint.

Vash was still quiet as the two of you cobbled together your camping site at the base of a large outcropping rock. There was a small smile on his face, framed by the fire's amber glow. But even without having read the manga and watched the anime you could tell it wasn't a real one. It didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You were probably looking forward to an actual bed tonight, huh?" He joked, gaze never leaving the small fire. "Welcome to the life of an outlaw! I assure you, it's always this glamorous."

"It's no big deal! Camping's not bad either, at least when you have the sleeping bags."

He didn't look convinced by your words, but he nodded anyway, an uncomfortable silence falling between the two of you. You kicked your boots off and pulled your knees to your chest on top of your sleeping bag, watching the fire crackle.

"...Is it hard?"

"Hm?" When you glanced over to Vash he was finally looking your way, elbow propped up on his knee and his cheek resting in his palm. Despite the casual pose there was a melancholy behind his eyes, a deep remorse. "Is what?"

"Running around like this. I doubt you're used to it."

"It's… Well I won't lie to you, it isn't easy." Vash barked out a laugh at your brutally honest response. You pushed forward, unabated. "But honestly? I'm probably safer with you than I am anywhere else on this planet. I don't know any people, any places… The only thing I really know is you." A prickling heat began to crawl up the back of your neck at your openness, and you rested the side of your head down on your knees as if it would deter the sudden fluster. "I'm really lucky you found me."

That seemed to catch Vash off-guard, as he began to awkwardly fiddle with his cybernetic hand as his gaze flitted around. "That's, uh, I mean… you've got a pretty skewed idea of luck, I think. Heh…"

There was an awkwardness that fell in the next extended silence too, but it wasn't quite the same. It was a little softer around the edges, more vulnerable. Off to your side you could hear the soft clinking of Vash disassembling and cleaning his gun, bits and pieces placed carefully across his sleeping bag to make sure nothing was lost in the shuffle. As you stretched your legs out in front of you in a v-shape, you hummed softly to yourself as you watched the embers stir and crumble into the sand. 

"What song is that?" You glanced at Vash, biting back a chuckle at his furrowed expression, tongue peeking from his teeth as he stared down the empty chambers of his revolver with a cleaning pick and a look of intense focus.

"It's a children's song from home. It's from an old TV show, I think." You hummed the first line a little louder, just enough so Vash could hear the melody over the fire's crackle. You doubted he even knew what a "TV show" was, but he didn't seem too fazed by it.

"Do you like to sing?"

"I like it. I'm average, I think, but I always have fun when I'm singing." Out of the corner of your eye you could see Vash looking at you again. "Oh, absolutely not. Not gonna happen."

"Hey, I didn't even say anything!"

"You didn't have to! I could tell by your face! I'm not gonna sing, it's embarrassing."

"No it's not! Besides, you said you like it. And it's a song from Earth, too! I wanna hear it." He probably didn't even realize it, but he was flashing you those big, sad puppy-dog eyes that he didn't yet know you couldn't resist. You let out a small, irritated whine, hand finding the back of your neck and resting on the flushed skin there as you drew your gaze back to the crackling fire.

"...Fine. Just this once. And don't… Don't say anything weird."

"You got it!" You could see him salute out of the corner of your eye, and couldn't help the quiet snort of laughter that came from you in response. Dork. The quiet click-clack of him beginning to reassemble his firearm returned, so now was as good a time as ever, you supposed.

"It's you, I like."

There was a sharp tink! of Vash fumbling part of the barrel and it clattering down into the remaining pile of gun parts, but you were far too self-conscious to glance over and gauge his expression.

"It's not the things you wear. It's not the way you do your hair, but it's you I like."

You could feel him staring, but you kept your eyes locked on the low, rolling flames.

"The way you are right now, the way down deep inside you. Not the things that hide you…"

Stretching your foot out just a bit, you tapped next to the pile of gun parts sorted neatly on his sleeping bag.

"...Not your toys, they're just beside you."

He chuckled, so quietly that he probably didn't expect you to hear it. But you did, and it made your face positively burn. 

"But it's you, I like. Every part of you. Your skin, your eyes, your feelings, whether old or new."

You couldn't ignore Vash's continuous shifting around any longer, flicking your gaze over to him. He'd turned himself completely to face you, cross-legged, chin perched in his palm, a look in his eyes so soft it made your heart feel like it was thundering right up against your ribcage. Your voice wavered for just a note, but you pushed forward.

"I hope that you remember, even when you're feeling blue."

Blue, so blue, his deep cyan eyes finding yours and not flitting away, watching you so gently, yet so intently. Despite your embarrassment, you couldn't find it in yourself to look away either.

"That it's you, I like. You yourself, it's you…"

He seemed to lean in at your every word, like a sailor to a siren. You hardly found your singing to be enough to hypnotize like mermaids in old fairy tales, and yet here he was.

"It's you, I like."

With your song ended, the silence that stretched between you was only interspersed by the soft crackle of the fire. A sharp humiliation suddenly rushed through you, face burning hot at your own vulnerability. Seeming to blink his way out of a trance, Vash began to speak.

"That was-"

"GOODNIGHT VASH!" You yelped, quickly rolling over and burying yourself in your sleeping bag facing away from him, the edge of the fabric pulled all the way up to your nose. He didn't push, letting you curl up and wallow in your own embarrassment, the clicking of his continued gun reassembly peppering the background silence.

And then he began to hum. Quietly, carefully, he felt out the unfamiliar melody.

"It's you, I like."

You could hear the smile in his voice.

"It's not the things you wear."

Warmth blossomed in the pit of your chest, curling up around your heart and settling fluffy and light. He was a good singer as well, his lack of familiarity with the song the only thing slowing him down. But he continued, metal bits and parts snapping together under careful hands as he sang your song.

"It's not the way you do your hair…"

Eyelids dipping heavily, you let them slide shut, Vash's voice filling the empty wasteland and pooling low and sweet in your tired mind.

As sleep began to fog at the corners of your mind, you were completely oblivious to Vash's fond gaze upon your bundled-up form as you began to drift into unconsciousness.

"...but it's you, I like."

[illuminatedquill]

Story Summary: Takes place post-Ahsoka S1. Stranded on Peridea, Sabine, Ahsoka, and Huyang pass the time listening to tales of Ezra from the Noti, one of which reveals the origin of their mysterious starbird medallions.

Happy Birthday to the one and only @alphaofdarkness! Hope it was a good one this year and thank you for being such a lovely friend and super talented artist for our fandom.

It had been another long day of travel for the Noti convoy and their new protectors. In the week since Thrawn, his Imperial Remnant, and a stowaway Ezra had made the escape back to their home galaxy, things had since settled down back into a mundane routine.

As evening fell, the Noti prepared a feast to celebrate another safe journey. In middle of camp, a massive cauldron hovered over a fire, boiling with some delicious smelling stew. Ahsoka took a sniff, her stomach rumbling at the aromas drifting in her direction on the gentle night breeze. Folding her cloak over her body more snugly, she took mental stock of their journey so far.

The nomadic bandit clans that roamed the wastelands of Peridea were dangerous, despite their primitive weaponry. The Noti had no real way of defending themselves, outside of the rock-like shells that were an extension of their physicality. But Ezra's presence had clearly left a mark; the turtle people were resilient and clever, relying on their wits and ingenious solutions to avoid a head-on confrontation with their ancient enemy.

It probably also helped that they now had two Jedi to protect them, instead of one. Although two was admittedly a stretch since Sabine was in training. She had pulled off some amazing feats of the Force since her reunion with Ezra, but her ability to wield it fully was still erratic.

Ahsoka wasn't worried, however. They had nothing but time now and Sabine was a fast learner . . . once she actually started listening, that is.

Sitting on wooden stump that serviced comfortably as a seat, the smell of tonight's dinner wafted through the air; a thick, creamy seafood broth that was a Noti specialty, according to Huyang. The droid had been chatting constantly with the turtle folk in attempt to learn their native tongue to better learn about their culture and facilitate easier lines of communication in case of emergency. Ahsoka had been trying to learn the language herself but could still only understand it roughly and was still unable to speak it.

Huyang stood near the fire, observing the Noti cooking. His vocabulator emitted a strange series of chirps and clicking sounds to which the turtle people responded in kind. When they finished, Huyang's mechanical head turned to find Ahsoka. She waved at him from her spot on the rock, a few meters away.

He gave a thumbs up. She blinked at him and then - hesitantly - gave one in return.

Familiar footsteps came up behind her. "Seems like we'll actually be able to taste tonight's supper then," remarked Sabine.

Ahsoka smiled, turning to find her padawan squatting down to take in the scenery before her. Every night, the two of them would take turns patrolling the perimeter, ready to send an alarm in case of a late-night bandit attack. So far, the bandits didn't seem interested in the Noti throughout this latest journey.

In fact, they seemed eerily quiet. The Noti elders had said that it was unusual - but not uncommon - for the bandits to not be seen for quite some time. There was no centralized leadership among the bandit clans; they were all separate and distinct, sometimes warring amongst themselves.

Ahsoka hoped that was the case. She knew that her and Sabine were not the only ones on the planet: Baylan Skoll, a fallen Jedi, and his apprentice, Shin Hati were also here. Whether they were together or plotting separately, only one thing was sure: neither of them were up to anything good.

But that was a problem for another day. For tonight, she would focus on the present and enjoy a relaxing evening after a productive day with some good food.

"You think that's what Huyang's thumbs up was about?" Ahsoka asked.

Sabine shrugged. The Jedi noticed the glassy, vacant look in the young Mandalorian's eyes. Her body was physically present, but Ahsoka knew that Sabine's mind - and heart - were elsewhere.

With Ezra.

Despite her reassurances that Ezra had made it home, she knew the young woman remained worried about him. Her feelings for him still burned bright after their long-awaited reunion. If anything, Sabine's feeling had only intensified since then.

Ahsoka prodded her gently. "All quiet out there?"

"Nothing but the wind," Sabine replied. "Maybe some tumbleweeds."

"Good to know."

A small Noti came up beside them then, tugging at Sabine's sleeve. She blinked and focused on the little turtle alien. "Hey, Fred," she said politely. "What have you got there?"

"Fred?" Ahsoka was surprised that Sabine knew the Noti's name. "How did you know his name was Fred?"

Sabine grinned at her. "I called him Fred. Didn't seem to mind. Now it's his name. Simple."

The Jedi snorted. That was her padawan's casual slant on things, alright.

The Noti - Fred - produced from his ratty shirt an unfamiliar object. It was round, in the shape of a medallion, but not too large since it fit in his hand. It was carved from pale wood that was native to the trees that grew on Peridea and painted on it in dark orange hues was a symbol.

"Looks like the New Republic symbol," Ahsoka murmured. She turned to Sabine, about to ask for her guess -

And was hit with a wave of melancholy and regret through the Force. Sabine stared down at the little wooden medallion with sad eyes.

"Sabine?" asked Ahsoka. "What's wrong?"

For a long moment, she thought Sabine hadn't heard her. Then, quietly, she heard an answer, whisper soft: "Ezra made these."

Fred jumped excitedly at the mention of Ezra. "Ezra Bridger!" he squealed, pointing at the medallion and then at one of Sabine's shoulder pauldrons.

"Really? You're sure?"

"She is correct, Lady Tano," came Huyang's voice. He had made his way over to them, joining the discussion. "Master Bridger did indeed craft these medallions for the Noti."

Ahsoka looked at the droid and then back to Sabine. Suddenly Sabine's outburst of feelings made sense.

"It's not the New Republic symbol, is it," she said. "It's something else that looks similar to it."

Sabine sat down on the ground; head bowed in sudden grief. She didn't reply.

"It is Lady Wren's symbol," Huyang answered instead. "Her personal Starbird, if I'm not mistaken."

Sabine remained silent. Ahsoka frowned and asked, "Why did Ezra make these?"

Huyang turned and knelt in front of Fred, relaying the question in the Noti's language. Fred chittered something back, making exaggerated hand movements all the while.

Finally, Huyang finished the translation. "Fred says that the medallions are charms to ward off fear. The starbird symbol on them makes them brave."

That elicited a reaction from Sabine. A choked sound that was half-laughter, half-sob. "Of course he would," Ahsoka heard her mutter.

She poked her padawan. "Care to elaborate?"

Sabine looked up, eyes glistening. "There are no birds on Peridea," she explained, her voice rough with emotion. "He couldn't give them a feather."

Ahsoka glanced at Huyang. The droid merely shrugged.

"I'm not following," Ahsoka said.

Sabine was quiet for a moment, struggling to regain her composure. The Jedi waited patiently, knowing how difficult it was for her padawan. Anything regarding Ezra was always a touchy subject for Sabine.

The young woman took a deep breath and began to speak, her voice soft. "When we were younger - still traveling on the Ghost with everyone, that is - I told Ezra a story about the starbird once."

Fred sat in front of Sabine, stubbly legs crossed, looking enraptured. Ahsoka felt amused. Despite the language barrier, the Noti still seemed interested.

Ahsoka turned to Huyang. "Translate for Fred, if you don't mind?"

"Not at all, Lady Tano."

Sabine blinked. "You want me to tell the story?"

"Well," Ahsoka pointed out gently, "seems like you want to tell it, Sabine."

She cocked her head. "I don't understand."

"That's fine. Just keep telling the story. It sounds lovely."

Sabine sighed. "Another lesson, huh. Fine, have it your way."

Her expression turned thoughtful, and then she began telling the tale.

"A long time ago, the first space travelers learned the secrets of hyperspace. At least they could be free of the confines of their lonely planets and travel to far beyond. They built ships and flew them into the void between planets, in the hopes of seeing what the vast galaxy had to offer. But, very quickly, they became lost. The planets were so far away and there was nothing to mark the path; no guide to point the way forward or back in the endless, deep dark. "

Ahsoka smiled, enjoying the vivid imagery her padawan was invoking. She was a natural storyteller, whether Sabine believed it or not.

Sabine leaned forward; eyes sparkling as she continued the story.

"For you see, there were no stars back then. None existed, as they do on this evening, brightening up the night sky. All those people, lost in the dark, with no way to go home. They were scared. In the void of infinite space, they cried out for anyone - anything - to save them."

A couple more Noti had come over to join them now, forming a small circle around Sabine. Huyang continued to translate, his voice chattering away in the Noti's tongue.

"Then the starbirds came. From where, no one really knows. But they came through the darkness, their feathers shining so brightly. To the weary and scared travelers, they each offered a simple trade:

'Give me some of your fear and, in return, I will give you some of my courage.'

"The travelers agreed, awed by the majestic beauty of the starbirds - but even more awed at their generosity and compassion. And so, the trade was made, over and over again. Because fear is never gone forever, right? Again and again, they fell into fear. Again and again, the starbirds gave them courage. And that courage came in the form of a feather."

Sabine pointed up at the night sky. "Starbird feathers burn forever, did you know? Whenever the travelers became scared, the starbirds left a feather to light their way. And that's how the first stars came into being. Guiding lights to shine their way home."

Ahsoka reached out to Fred and lifted up his medallion. "He had no feathers to give," she said out loud, understanding dawning her on Sabine's earlier statement.

The young woman nodded, smiling. "No birds on Peridea. No feathers to give. So, Ezra did the next best thing; he gave them the image of a starbird."

Huyang interjected with a sudden question. "I had heard of an ancient Mandalorian saying: 'May the Starbird come for you.'"

"Yes," Sabine said. "It originated from that tale. My people used to say it as a form of well-wishes, when undertaking a long journey."

"My understanding, however, is that the phrase was intended as a curse," Huyang said.

Ahsoka watched her padawan's face darken for a moment. "It can be meant as one," Sabine admitted reluctantly. "In some of the other stories about starbirds, they were used as weapons to punish our enemies."

Her eyes flashed fiercely. "But I always held onto the belief that starbirds were creatures of hope. Not vengeance. That's why I chose them as my personal symbol."

Huyang nodded. "I see. I concur with you, Lady Wren. I prefer your version rather than the other ones."

"Ezra made these to give the Noti hope and courage," said Ahsoka. "He was thinking of you when doing so, Sabine."

Sabine looked away suddenly. "He was thinking of a myth. Stupid."

The Jedi raised a surprised eyebrow. "You don't really believe that."

"He should have been thinking of how to survive!" Sabine shouted. Suddenly, the turbulent feelings were back in full force. A dam, somewhere deep inside her padawan, was beginning to burst. "A starbird wouldn't save him. Couldn't save anybody. These little trinkets he made - "

She stopped short of saying whatever came next. Shaking her head roughly, she stood up abruptly and stalked off into the dark.

Ahsoka watched sadly, watching her go. Then, to her surprise, Fred came up to her.

"What is it?" she asked.

He brandished his medallion and then pointed at Sabine, walking off into the distance.

"She looked scared," came Huyang's remark.

Again, Fred pointed at his medallion, then at Sabine.

It clicked for Ahsoka what the Noti was trying to tell her.

She smiled.

_ _ _ _ _

Sabine sat down in the dirt, feeling miserable. All these feelings, with nowhere for them to go . . .

She sensed a presence - no, two - coming up behind her. There was a small rustle and then Fred appeared beside her.

Ahsoka was right behind him. She squatted down next to her.

"Talk to me," her master said gently.

Sabine blew out a breath. "I shouldn't have walked off like that. I'm sorry."

"I understand," Ahsoka said. "And there's nothing to apologize for. You were upset. Walking away is never a bad idea when feeling overwhelmed."

Sabine glanced at her. "Better than shooting or blowing something up, huh."

"Infinitely preferable," Ahsoka replied dryly. "You've made some progress in that regard, thankfully."

Sabine felt a wisp of a smile cross her lips for just a moment, before turning melancholy again. But the tangled ball of emotions in her chest had loosened, just slightly.

"It's about Ezra," she said.

"Oh, is it?" asked Ahsoka. "I couldn't have guessed."

The young woman gave the Jedi a sour look. "Huyang's statement about the ancient saying. It bothered me."

"'May the Starbird come for you,'" Ahsoka repeated. "How did it bother you?"

"I know Ezra was thinking about me when making these," Sabine confessed. "But I'm not a Starbird. I'm not brave like the stories are."

"You're scared," Ahsoka said.

Her padawan stared into the dark, tears glistening in her eyes. "So scared. Like I might be crushed to death from the weight of it."

"What scares you, Sabine?"

"I . . . I just got him back, you know? After all these years. And now he's gone again. And Thrawn's back, too, which is partly my fault." The tears slid silently down her cheeks, glinting like diamonds in the moon light.

"I know you said he'll be alright, that he made it home fine, and my head believes it but my heart - my heart doesn't. The blasted thing doesn't want me to be happy."

Ahsoka sat in silence for a few seconds, her heart aching for Sabine's misery. She had her burden of guilt for her padawan being stuck here on Peridea instead of going home with Ezra.

Finally, she said, "Can I tell you my own story about Ezra?"

Sabine sniffed. "Sure. Why not."

"Hera was teaching you both how to read star charts, right? While on Atollon base."

The young woman turned her head curiously, caught off guard by the sudden change in subject.

"Yeah, she was a real pain about those. Ended up being saving our lives a couple times, though." Sabine snorted. "As usual, Hera was right."

"Always wise to think that about her," Ahsoka acknowledged. "One night, I visited the base after during a recon mission for Commander Sato. I came upon Ezra in the hangar, studying some maps."

Sabine titled her head but said nothing. Ahsoka continued on.

"He and I chatted for a bit, catching up on what he had been up to. I asked him about the maps, trying to quiz him on any constellations or polestars he would use in case he was lost."

"And what did he answer?"

Ahsoka laughed and said, "He admitted that he didn't know any. He also said that he didn't need to know any of this."

Sabine smiled. "Of course he said that. What a goober."

"Ezra Bridger," agreed Fred.

"So, what was he going to do if he got lost, then?" Sabine asked, incredulous. "Spin his lightsaber and then head off in whichever direction it pointed?"

The Jedi gave Sabine a serious look suddenly. "Ezra said that if he ever got lost, he would just go find you. Or that you would find him."

Sabine went still.

As if on cue Fred reached out with his tiny hand, something grasped within it.

It was his starbird medallion. Sabine stared down at it, then at him.

"You may not believe in the myth, Sabine," Ahsoka said softly, "but Ezra did. And it came true. Because you made it so."

Fred nudged the medallion at the young woman. "What's he doing?" she asked.

"Well, you just admitted you are feeling scared," Ahsoka pointed out. "He wants to make a trade, it seems."

Sabine caught on. A small smile appeared. "Some of your courage, for some of my fear," she whispered, understanding the gesture.

"A good trade, I think. I would take up the offer."

Sabine reached out and took the starbird medallion gratefully. "May I?" she asked Fred.

He nodded excitedly. Sabine slipped it on, clasping the symbol tightly in her hand. She looked to Ahsoka.

"He's going to be okay," she said. "That's real."

"It will be," Ahsoka confirmed. "You'll find each other again. You did so before."

Sabine closed her eyes, breathing deep. "Okay. Okay, I can do that. I'll believe it."

She cracked open an eye to look at her master. "Not in the myth, though. I'll believe in him. And in myself."

Ahsoka shrugged. "You two make a good story, I always thought. Someday, younglings might speak of you both as legends someday."

"As role models, you mean? To inspire or to warn?" Sabine asked.

The Jedi grinned at her. "Up to you."

Sabine stood up. "Well, guess we'll have to survive to hear what those younglings think someday."

Her stomach grumbled then, loud as a horn. Ahsoka laughed; Fred clapped for some reason.

The young woman blushed and said, "Guess I should get some chow, then."

"Seems like it," Ahsoka said. "Save me a bowl?"

"Of course," said Sabine. "Oh, and Ahsoka?"

"Yes?"

She turned to bow deeply to her master's surprise. "Thank you."

"Anytime, my padawan."

Sabine flashed her a quick smile and jogged back to the camp for supper.

Ahsoka stood up, intending to follow - but not before whispering to Fred, "Thank you for the help. Your idea did much to give my friend some much needed cheering up."

The Noti patted her on the leg in response and then chittered back to her something in his tongue.

She frowned, concentrating, but understood the gist of what had been said.

Is she worried about Ezra Bridger?

"She is," said Ahsoka. "But she trusts that one day they will be reunited once again."

The Noti tilted his head. She wasn't sure if he understood her, until Fred spoke again.

Ezra Bridger always spoke of the Starbird that would come down from the sky to take him home. Is that where he went? Did the Starbird come for him?

Ahsoka looked to the camp, seeing Sabine standing next to the campfire, in line for the food. She could just make out the starbird medallion on her padawan's chest.

"Yes, Fred," Ahsoka replied. "She did."

[falloutfandomeventhub]

☢️ Fallout Haunted Wasteland ☢️

The world of Fallout can be a spooky place for those caught unawares. Share the frightening journeys your OCs, companions and favorite NPCs experience with the world! Everyone is invited to join and every game from the series is welcome! Whether you write, draw, screenshot, or cosplay, we want to see you participate.

Every other day has two prompts for inspiration, you can do either one or both, if you so choose! Use any medium you wish. Then tag your post with #HauntedWasteland23 !

☢️Prompts☢️

Oct 2 - Wasteland wonders or Fog

Oct  4 - Nothing but radio static or Urban legend

Oct  6 - It came from the mountains or Museum  

Oct  9 - The magical wanderer or Melody

Oct 11 - Tales around a campfire or Doppelganger

Oct  13 - Echoes out of time or Caves

Oct  16 - Bloody prints on Vault walls or Jinxed

Oct  18 - Atom divides all or Nightmares

Oct  20 - Carried into the night or Stormy

Oct  23 - Shadow in the subway or Road kill

Oct  25 - The hills have eyes or Neon lights

Oct  27 - Behind locked doors or Phantoms

Oct  30 -  The edge of tomorrow or dark books

☢️ Happy creating!! ☢️