#minor saint spoilers

[fbatcat]

Hey guys did you know that I'm the 1# saint fan

[bloodiegawz]

[slams you against the floor] ASCEND ASCEND ASCEND

[arsonistfriday]

Mmm time to feed the SOS and Saint community :)

[Please don't like if you won't reblog]

[vounoura]

is it ever stated what / who Fel actually is?

[runawaycarouselhorse]

[Saint Rosalind - Review]

[CW the manga contains opics such as murder (of children, elders, animals, etc.), gore, drinking, suicide, character death.

This review contains minor spoilers (I described one chapter's murder and motivation in detail as an example.)]

I haven't been so engrossed in reading something in a while. I have trouble starting things, even when I love them, or picking up after I left of, but I simply couldn't stop reading Saint Rosalind until I finished it within two days!

Also, the art is absolutely adorable and a delight! Very delicate and pretty, the 70's art is beautiful. You can see how the artist in her additional prequel chapter published in 2017 (explaining the first murder which was never shown in detail in the story, which the author regretted) has much more details in hair and clothes, but lacks those thick tapering to thin lines her style had in 1973, often characteristic of mangaka in the start of their career that many mangaka grow unable to draw as they get older and it becomes more painful to do those little flicks of the wrist... the anatomy was always a little loose in the 70's chapters, but the 2017 one tries to pair larger, but more detailed faces, with still highly stylized and very small hands, and it looks jarring on the adult characters. Proportions are off. Rosalind is still adorable. The lines feel rougher, but I'll chalk it up to the artist's age!

It's a very interesting horrror manga, rather gory for the shoujo demographic... about an eight year old child.

She's not the victim, she's the perpetrator of these violent crimes. She's also bizarrely innocent about these, either acting innocent and heartless (like J.M. Barrie's description of children in Peter Pan) where she kills people simply because she wants to add more treasures to her collection, believing them rightly hers when they're promised to her... she has very simple black and white morality and thinks she's good because she never lies (many a time, she justifies killing ot hers for lying to her or once, for bullying her, lying to her, and forcing her to lie!)...

Sometimes, she even seems to operate under typical shoujo heroine logic, in her own mind, where she's doing good deeds as she touches the lives of those she meets... like when she meets a sad little girl whose mother's out every night and only drinks and sleeps when she's at home (very much an addict, running away from her own life), she feels so sorry for the little girl who keeps a pillow bound to a chair, with a book propped up in its "lap" pretending it's a mother who stays with her and reads to her and lets her hug her... so, Rosalind, saddened and touched by the girl's plight, tries to make it reality, by elaborately murdering the girl's mother, then dragging her corpse, tying it to the chair, in the same way the pillow had been, and placing the book in her lap, leaving while thinking to herself, how happy the girl will be to have a mother who will always be with her!

(I'm hardly spoiling, by the way, she kills like three people in the first two chapters alone. She has a very high kill count. )

She's very clever and resourceful and brutal in how she kills, but her logic is simple, childlike, and while she absolutely can be harsh, vindictive, and angry when hurt, bullied, or witnessing some kind of injustice she feels she needs to correct, so kills intentionally, she just as often seems to kill people accidentally, not realizing what she's doing isn't helping... she's a very strange, interesting character!

(Also, both old women Rosalind crosses paths with are a hoot! The wolf-crier granny who begs to rejoin her husband in death and Madame Royale who hates her greedy children and keeps altering her will just to mess with them. Great personalities.)

Even with everything she's done, I couldn't help but cry at the end and the author did too... you'll cry for her family and perhaps for Rosalind herself. The author noted many interpreted her very differently. Innocent in her ignorance, evil in her cunning, or a bit of both...

[explorevenus]

dessert before dinner ♡ gale dekarios x f!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors DNI or i will call the cops and also ur mom

word count - 4.3k

description - domestic life with you has turned gale into a big softie, in more ways than one-- he's already got the dad bod, why wait for the baby to match?

aka dad bod malewife gale wants to knock u up :3

tags/warnings - dad bod gale w mild self esteem issues at the beginning but he gets over it, technically bg3 spoilers ig (takes place post-game), food mentions, praise, p in v, creampie, breeding kink but fluffy cus gale is sappy, inappropriate use of the Weave, inappropriate use of mage hand

a/n - this piece was commissioned by my LOVELY LOVELY SWEET BABY ANGEL @d10nyx WHO DESERVES EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD AND MORE AND IS SUCH A FUCKIN SAINT FOR BEING SO PATIENT FOR THIS ;n; pls go check out her work i adore her so bad

also just as a note b4 i get One Billion Asks about it for posting this-- i am not abandoning 'something permanent' nor am i abandoning writing for resident evil just bc i am posting one singular bg3 fic !!!!!!!!!! might seem obvious but i just wanted to get ahead of it bc i'm paranoid and have seen it happen to other ppl ;~;

my masterlist ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

Life post-Netherbrain softened Gale Dekarios in many ways. 

Some of the most obvious ways included the relief of tension that came with no longer bearing the weight of the world on his back, ridding himself of the curse that plagued so many of his living years, and finally being able to settle down back home in Waterdeep. 

But if you asked Gale, the one thing that softened him the most was you. You, you, you. Ever since the moment you tugged him out of that collapsing portal, everything Gale did was for you, and by the looks of it, that wouldn’t be changing anytime soon. 

Stability was something Gale hadn’t had in a long time, and while he wouldn’t exactly call running around Faerun fighting deities and monsters and people alike ‘stability,’ he could at the very least find that stability in you. Every battle, every brutal journey through the swamp or the Astral Plane or the wreckage of Baldur’s Gate, you were right there with him. 

And now you were home. 

Home had long since become anywhere with you, of course, but now you were really home, back in Waterdeep with Gale and his family and his beloved Tara, and what’s more, you had his last name. You were truly his and he was truly yours, in every possible sense. With his days spent teaching the art of illusion magic to the next generation of hopeful mages and his evenings spent returning home to his precious wife, Gale wasn’t sure it would be scientifically possible for him to be any happier, let alone any more fortunate. 

Gale was in the kitchen preparing dinner when you returned home, having spent the afternoon handling a few errands and wandering about the city. It always came as a delight for him to see you exploring his hometown in the same ways he did growing up, discovering all the neat little oddities and secrets that lay beneath the unassuming surface. 

He turned over his shoulder to face you at the sound of the door creaking open and then clicking shut, a smitten grin tugging at his face already. The sight of his beloved would never cease to fluster him, after all. 

“There she is,” Your handsome wizard greeted warmly, “The lovely and– might I say, stunningly beautiful– Princess of Waterdeep.” 

Just like that, you were blushing too, approaching to wrap your arms around him at the waist from behind, pressing a sweet kiss to his shoulder, affectionately roaming every inch of him you could get your hands on with a gentle touch. 

Yes, life post-Netherbrain softened Gale Dekarios in many ways, and his figure was no exception.

It was no secret Gale had an appreciation for the little indulgences in life, like rich wine and too many sweets, alarm clocks shut off when they really shouldn’t be, cozy bedding and plush furniture and hearty ‘marry me’ dinners. But, luxuries like that were rather few and far between when the two of you were on the road, and long days of traveling by foot and fighting to survive made for great exercise at the time. 

Suffice it to say, having a stable home and living without being under the constant threat of death meant you weren’t quite as active as you used to be. With time, his cheeks filled out a little more, and his clothes became a bit snug as lean muscle gave way to plush flesh. His skin glowed. He looked relaxed and nourished, he looked healthy, and you couldn’t get enough of him if you tried. 

Your wandering hands did make him a little timid in the moment, however– he hadn’t put on a concerning amount of extra padding by any means, but still, this new look was taking some getting used to. 

“Quite alright, my love?” Gale asked with a soft laugh as your hands came to rest at his hips, your kisses trailing up the side of his neck. His skin was glowing warm beneath your attention. 

“Mhm,” You hummed innocently, nodding, your hands sliding forward to feel along the delicate roundness of his belly through his shirt. “I just missed you today, dearest, and you look so delightful. I have half a mind to talk you into dessert before dinner, hm?” 

Your beloved husband was well and truly burning up now, stuttering over whatever he had going on the stove and very much considering abandoning it in favor of bending you over the countertop, but something made him hesitate. 

With a bashful laugh, as though he were trying to play it off, Gale replied, “Right, well, I suppose I could use the exercise.” 

Your brows furrowed with confusion and you glanced up at him over his shoulder, trying to read his expression. He said that so casually, like he didn’t think anything of it, and it broke your heart a little bit. 

“For all it may be worth, I think you look divine,” You said, face straight and meaning every word of it. Even if Gale was trying to laugh it off, it wasn’t a joke to you. Quietly, you added, “I would argue a bit of fluff suits you well, my darling.” 

Thankfully Gale tended to be rather easily convinced by you. 

His posture relaxed a little bit, and now the laugh that puffed out from between his lips was noticeably more genuine. “Perhaps it’s about time we put ‘a bit of fluff’ on you. I fear my mother will lose her head soon if I don’t.” 

You tilted your head and narrowed your eyes with playful curiosity. “Your mother? And what concern is that of hers, hm?”

“Only the same concern of every mother, dearest,” He grinned as though it were obvious, “Grandbabies.” 

This response of his gave you pause. Gale’s mother hadn’t exactly been quiet about her desire for grandchildren since the day you met her, but she’d never gone too far, never pestered you to the point of being uncomfortable, and never made it out to be particularly urgent– you wondered if perhaps she’d been less patient on the topic with Gale. 

Your pause had a lot less to do with the pressure to please his mother and a lot more to do with the undeniable fact that the thought of Gale fucking a baby into you made your knees go weak. You weren’t even sure you were breathing for a moment, until it occurred to you that you’d been quiet for too long and any further hesitation to respond could be taken the wrong way. 

Clearing your throat softly, you continued the playful banter, “I think my earlier suggestion stands to remedy that concern as well, no? Dessert before dinner?” 

What you didn’t know was that Gale had been thinking about this a lot more often than he was letting on. Sure, the pestering of his baby-crazy relatives was one factor, but more than anything, the safety and security he’d felt in the year since you’d married had him throwing himself into the romantics of domesticity with abandon. When you first met, he never imagined such a future would be possible for him. The chaos and uncertainty that came along with defeating the Absolute brought death far closer than most people would see the other side of, and yet you made it. 

Against all odds, hand-in-hand, you still made it. And every night since your wedding, as you tucked into bed alongside one another, he dreamt of you glowing with the radiance of motherhood. He didn’t want to pressure you– after everything that had happened, it felt like a lot to ask of you to also bear his child, like that might be pushing his luck… though you had all but just confirmed your interest with that last remark, and that didn’t make it past him. 

Gale turned off the stove so as not to burn the masterpiece he’d been cooking before turning around to face you, his broad hands coming up to cradle your face. The look he gave you was intensely romantic and almost vulnerable, his eyes gazing deep down into your own as he asked, “My darling, do you know how long I’ve yearned to make you a mother?” 

Your heart was hammering now, warmth creeping up your cheeks as you found yourself unable to break eye contact, not that you wanted to anyway. Bashfully, your hands came to rest upon his soft shoulders, feeling his own heart pulsing away in his chest, his cheeks going rosy with the same warmth. There was always a certain synchronicity between you and Gale. 

Voice lowering to a near whisper, the emotion behind your words just as strong, you replied, “How long?” 

The look he gave you was tender and reverent. Your husband clicked his tongue and smiled at the floor before cupping your jaw in his two strong hands, meeting your eyes once again. Tone rich with sincerity, he began, “Back in the Grove, seeing you with all the little Tieflings… a lot of people would have disregarded them as scoundrels, but not you, my darling. 

“You embraced their mischief– not only embraced it, but nurtured it. Refined it. You treated them with patience and respect, and you didn’t look down upon them, you kneeled to their level. At every turn, you protected them, but you never patronized them. You learned just as much from them as they learned from you.” 

He paused for a moment, thumbs stroking over your flushed cheeks, his own skin burning just as hot. Pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, Gale continued, “I’m sure you can imagine how that sent off the train of thought. For the longest time, I bit it back. It felt like a pipe dream, and I didn’t want to kid myself– I’ve done enough of that for two lifetimes. But then the Netherbrain fell, the Absolute released her iron grip on the commonwealth of Faerun, and what’s more, you accepted my hand in marriage. 

“The first morning I woke up next to you in the safety of our marital bed, it didn’t feel like such a distant reality anymore. There you were right before me, and in my mind’s eye, you were bathed in the golden glow of dawn and fertility, your nightgown clinging to your divine, ripening figure. Ever since that moment, the image of you with child has dominated my every waking thought. I crave it like the sweetest wine, my heart, to see you become plump and radiant with motherhood.” 

Leave it to Gale to so easily render you weak in the knees with his poetics. The way he described it, you could see it too. You could see the silk of your nightgown becoming snug around your middle as your belly would come to rise like pastry, you could see the vein in Gale’s brow tense while he would struggle to put a crib together. You could see your grocery lists growing to include nappies and baby food, you could see a space at the dining table occupied by a high chair. 

He was right, it didn’t feel distant at all. It felt so close you could taste it, the veil between this reality and that one now paper thin, like a cobweb you could just blow away. 

Before you could think up a response, he was speaking again, his tone delicate and low, “Just imagine it, dearest. A child born of you and I would have the purest connection to the Weave imaginable, and you would make a gorgeous mother… You know I adore you always, but I must confess, I’m not sure I would be able to leave you be, seeing you like that. It might just require the strength of a thousand men to pry me away.” 

You puffed out a laugh, your face and the tips of your ears burning with bashfulness. Leaning forward to hide your face away in his soft chest, you teased, “So it wasn’t your mother who put you up to this?” 

“Ah, I’m afraid not, my darling,” He cracked a grin, planting a smooch to the crown of your head. “At least not entirely. This was a hole I dug the both of us into largely on my own, I’ll admit.” 

His hands slid down to rest upon your hips, and for a moment, you just held each other like that. It felt cozy, it felt comfortable, like time itself had paused around you. In all your days, no one but Gale could make you feel like that so consistently. You almost wondered if there might be some subtle illusion magic at play in moments like these, but you knew all too well that Gale’s charm had very little to do with the Weave– he was just like that, and you were all the more fortunate for it. 

Gale’s hold on your hips tightened in an affectionate squeeze before his arms were snaking around you, one at your lower back and one where your thighs met your bottom. He lifted you from your feet and spun you around to face the other way, propping you up on the countertop in one smooth movement, the tightening front of his pants nestled right up against the crotch of your underwear through your dress. 

Your breath hitched in your throat at the feeling, and he didn’t make it any easier for you to remember how to breathe when his next move was to stoop his head down and smother your throat with languid kisses. 

“Gale,” You gasped, hips rutting forward to knock into his own, your head spinning as the distinct outline of his arousal grinded right up against your clit. “Gods above, you’re going to be the death of me…” 

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest at your accusation, his teeth nipping playfully at your pulse point before he spoke against your skin, “Always a flair for dramatics with you, my beloved bride… though if that should turn out to be true, then you’d die how you lived; ravished, revered and adored by your most loyal wizard.” 

Just as soon as he’d put you there, Gale was plucking you up from the countertop again, and while it was your immediate assumption that he was going to carry you off to the bedroom, it would seem he didn't even have the patience for that. Your back hit the dining table with a gentle thud, though the ever mindful wizard braced the back of your head gracefully with an oven mitt just in time. 

You dissolved into a fit of squirms, giggles, and quiet yelps as his lips and teeth met your neck in a display of needy attention, his fingertips crackling with magic as they found their way up beneath the skirt of your dress. Grip printing into your hips, he dragged you back until your clothed cunt was flush with his bulge again, and the electric shock of pleasure that rang through you in response threatened to knock the wind out of you. 

Gale wouldn't, you thought to yourself, surely he wouldn't enchant his-- 

He tilted your chin up with his knuckle, a brutally smug grin plastered on his rosy face as your eyes met again. "Are you with me, dearest?" His thumb came forward to stroke over the plush of your bottom lip, almost pulling it into a pout himself. 

"Yeah," You shivered, nodding without even really thinking about it. You couldn't even bring yourself to poke fun at him for that like you might have otherwise. "Did you--" 

"Shh," Gale cooed, untying the laces of his trousers to relieve some of the pressure before he folded over you and rolled his hips forward again, caging you between the table and his warm, plush frame. The barrier between you was lesser now, and you felt it immediately.

He was radiating the Weave, delicate strands seeping through the thin fabric of your undergarments to kiss, lick, and tingle over your flesh. The sensation wasn't completely foreign-- taking a master wizard as a partner and lover for life naturally lent itself to inappropriate use of the arcane-- but no two intimate encounters with him were ever alike. Sometimes it made you wonder just how many of those hours he spent locked away in his tower were giving him ideas. 

In hardly any time at all you could feel yourself soaking through your panties, your hips rutting forward to chase him and your mind slipping away into a helpless little puddle of mush, and he had barely even touched you yet. It was all by design, of course-- he didn't want to get too cocky and risk wasting a drop of himself that could otherwise be getting you pregnant. 

Discarding his shirt and dragging your panties down with shaking hands, Gale groaned at the sight of your arousal, the extent of it. You were right drooling between your legs, pussy glistening with the very same juices that drenched and clung to your underwear. He couldn't help but dip two fingers between your silky folds to collect your nectar for himself. As soon as it hit his tongue he felt like he couldn't breathe. Your taste was creamy and sweet like icing, a flavor he wouldn't ever tire of even if it was the only thing he could ever have again. He could devour you for a lifetime and still hunger for eternity. 

"You're going to grow so beautifully," He said lowly, eyes half-lidded and his pupils blown wide as saucers. In you he saw nothing but the future. One hand shoving his pants and briefs down his thighs and the other planting itself upon your stomach, his cock sprang up to kiss the plump flesh of his own belly as he continued, "I will thank the divines for the remainder of my life that I should have the pleasure of watching you ripen with our fruit." 

You could have cried. Your bottom lip did wobble a little bit as you gazed up at him, choking up, and he stooped down to kiss you immediately. 

"None of that," He mumbled against your lips, dragging his stiff, weeping cock through your folds to keep you good and dizzy, every contact of his skin against yours still buzzing with the arcane. "I have you, okay? I have you. I love you. You're alright." 

Nodding in response, feeling the tears dry up right then and there, your lips parted in preparation to respond but all that came out was a deep, pleasured cry. Gale was sinking into your hole like he was made for you, stretching you open with slow, delicate thrusts, his breath heavy and lustful in your ear. 

Stuffing you full of himself until the head of him was threatening to kiss your cervix, Gale stilled for a moment, nipping at the shell of your ear before kissing your cheek affectionately and checking in with you, "Feeling good, my darling?" 

"Mhm," You nodded, and as soon as your approval registered to him, he began to move. 

Bliss. Pure and uncut bliss. That quiet little hum of approval quickly melted into staggered breaths and mewls, your hands finding purchase in kneading at the dough of his waist. You really couldn't get over how well the extra weight suited him, how perfectly it softened his edges and padded out the warmest parts of his physique. He was made for a body like this, a little bit round and squishy and sweet. You wanted to swallow him in one bite. 

Every stroke of his cock inside you felt like true euphoria, crackles and tingles of pleasure radiating outward from each and every nerve ending, and he felt it too. You could tell by the look on his face, the way his mouth hung open with deep, wanton moans, the way he shivered and stuttered with damn near every thrust. 

"G-Gale," You cried out, nails printing into his flesh as you tried to tug him down to you. 

Typically he would have obliged you without hesitation, but Gale had other plans at the moment. Bracing himself against the fine oak wood to the right side of your head, his other hand gripped at your thigh and angled your leg up with ease. Before you could register what he was about to do, he was already doing it. 

Folding you into a half mating press, he drove into you deep, the Weave sinking into your bloodstream with a staggering intensity that nearly made you scream. 

Swallowing your cries with his own lips, Gale kissed you just about as deeply as he was fucking you, his facial hair scratching and tickling at your cheeks as his silky tongue slipped over your own. Every knock of his hips against your own had the dining table rattling too, the walls of your marital home ringing with the sounds of sex, the obscene squelching of your pussy sucking him in, the needy whines and moans slipping from you both. 

You felt like you were on fire in the best possible way. Every square inch of your body was alight with lust and magic, your legs hooked around his hips to draw him even closer. The two of you could fuse together and you would still want to get closer. 

Soon enough, your throbbing clit was met with the unexpected pressure of arcane fingertips, measured strokes of a figure-eight over your swollen bud that coaxed you higher and higher and higher until you felt like you were weightless there on that table, lifting from it, your lips only parting from his own as your head fell back against the oven mitt in a desperate gasp for breath. 

That breath was almost immediately followed by a broken cry of his name, the stimulation causing your greedy cunt to clench and pulse around him, again, by design. Sinking down on his elbow so he could speak directly into your ear, his cock stroking so deeply into you that it nearly felt like it was prodding at your lungs, Gale groaned, "That's it, pup, there you are... Such pretty noises from my good girl, my darling little wife..." 

"I love you, I love you, I--" 

Cutting you off with a kiss, Gale replied, "I love you more, and I'll give you as many babies as it takes to prove it."

Your vision went white, thighs wrenching tight around his hips as you plummeted over the edge unlike ever before. It felt like traveling through a lightning bolt, your spine arching up into a fine point, your stomach pressing up against his own as he emptied his load inside you, mage hand still circling your puffy clit. 

Ropes and ropes of creamy seed flooded your hole until you were stuffed to the brim, leaving behind that delicious pressure that came along with being stretched so full. Your bottom half felt heavy as you fought to catch your breath beneath him, tears leaking from your dewy eyes. 

"N-No more, no more with the mage hand," You stammered, sucking in a sharp breath as its thumb and forefinger took your clit in a delicate pinch. 

Another second or two passed in which he continued to have his fun before deciding you'd had enough. The stimulation to your bud slowly ceased, but as he withdrew his softening sex from you, you quickly realized you didn't feel any less full. 

Brows knitting together, you squirmed and struggled to sit up, watching Gale turn his back to dampen a washcloth before returning to you, gently wiping the sweat from your brow and the slick from your inner thighs, brushing your hair away from your face reverently. "Shh, shh. Just sit still for a moment longer, alright? Let me get you cleaned up." 

He continued his gentle work until you were refreshed and sparkling before scooping you up from the dining table like a princess in his arms, carrying you off to the bedroom to get you both changed. 

It was only as the two of you entered the room and you caught sight of yourself in the floor-length mirror that you realized Gale's mage hand was still very much at work, its thick middle and ring fingers plugging you up nicely. Not a drop was wasted with the diligent digits blocking the way. 

Gale helped you out of your dress and into a soft nightgown, and in your exhaustion you were ready to just crash into bed for the night. Curling up atop the covers as Gale changed into loungewear of his own, you were about to fall asleep right then and there when he woke you with a loving grin. 

"Huh?" You mumbled, reaching up to rub your eyes, and as his own raked over the image of your beautiful body, he couldn't stop thinking about the many ways it would come to develop over the next several months. 

"We still haven't eaten, my love." 

You groaned, burying your face back into the bedding stubbornly. "But I'm tired..." 

"You were the one who wanted dessert before dinner, sweetest," He teased. "We've had our dessert, and now it's time for dinner. Besides, I thought we agreed to fluff you up a bit?"

A bashful smile tugging at your cheeks, you narrowed your eyes at him playfully, huffing out, "Okay, okay, fine," reaching your arms out for him to carry you again, and you were so lucky he loved to baby you. 

Gale didn't hesitate to take you into his arms, your head nestled up against his chest as you returned to the kitchen together. He placed you gently down in a chair at the dining table before assessing what he'd left on the stove earlier. His 'masterpiece' was now ice cold and unappealing to him, and surely his darling wife deserved better than cold and unappealing. 

Turning over his shoulder to look at you, Gale asked you a question that you didn't think you'd ever hear him ask; "How about tavern food tonight?"

[pears-palette]

"Mural of the Martyr"

[ID in Alt]

I am so proud of this piece! I need to talk about my inspiration and symbolism (Warning: some manga spoilers ahead)

Several people have pointed out that Falin is often put on a pedestal, especially by Laios, Marcille, and Toshiro. The way they see her is almost saint-like; as if she could never do no wrong. This comes from a place of love, but it still puts pressure and unrealistic expectations on Falin. Due to the religious connotations, I styled this after murals of Saint Michael the Archangel.

Someone (I can't remember who, so if you know, lmk) pointed out that almost all the fan art of Falin focuses on her relationship with others or the emotions she inspires in others. For the most part, she is shown by herself in fan works only when she's a chimera. Which, I fully understand, Chimera Falin is cool as hell. But it is also the state where she lacks the most agency- literally changed into something else and under someone's control. That's why I wanted to do a piece that had her front and center, yet still lacking a face.

There's also the more minor symbolism; The winged lion looking down upon her, with wings framing the scene, the thistle- even if the transformation was unwilling, you could tell Falin still cared for Thistle. The honeysuckle ties into her memories of youth and her attempts to keep herself from starving. There is the claws of the griffin ready to tear into flesh, added because of how it was initially mistaken for Falin, and the themes of "eating something to honor them" + cannibalism, The middle being the rabbit stew that was such a trial of dedication to obtain and Falin's comfort yet downfall. The runes in the golden borders at the bottom are the same runes used in Marcille's resurrection spell for Falin.

If you've read this far, thank you! I love Dungeon Meshi and enjoy incorporating layered meanings into my art.

[year2000electronics]

BILL CIPHER IS STILL AN ADULT.

Book of Bill spoilers below (and the answer as to why I would even be saying this):

So one of the pages in the Book of Bill has been slightly contentious in the fandom, I’ve noticed. Some people have taken the “fact” on this page and run with it.

Now, obviously people who were already imagining him as such kinda took this and ran with it, as they were want to do, but I’ve seen other people who are just taking this statement as “canon confirmation” and as someone who’s seen TikTok run itself weary with fake discourse about character ages because “I looked it up and Google said [character] was 15”, we’ve gotta nip that in the bud.

1: IT’S A JOKE.

The rest of the interview has similarly misleading answers. The whole gag here is that he’s not being truthful. When the question implies he doesn’t know how to wear pants, he says “I resent that!” and shows a picture of him wearing pants wrong. When it asks him for anything to ‘plug’, he uses the wrong meaning of the word on purpose.

Even the structure of the question is based on a common joke trope. To give an example, a viral post on Tumblr has a photo of Barbie in a kitchen with a decapitated Ken in her fridge and the entire reblog chain is full of people going “OH MY GOD, BARBIE! …You seriously left raw meat to sit on your cutting board? The juices will seep into it!” You know, expressing a sentiment of outrage and then completely whiffing on what you’re “supposed” to be outraged about. That’s even why Bill states his age before he claims he’s a “preteen”. This is clearly meant to be a sort of sarcastic response to the question, not a sincere one.

2. BILL IS FREQUENTLY DEPICTED PARTICIPATING IN “ADULT” ACTIVITIES.

Let the record show that obviously you can do things like drink at a young age, it’s not as if Bill is some saint so he could be underage drinking, but I’m thinking of this in terms of what we as readers/watchers are shown. And typically, these actions are associated with adults.

First of all, Bill is depicted as being served alcohol at a professional establishment, drinking in private with Ford, and driving, as well as being right next to Pyronica while she flashes someone.

Second of all, multiple references to Bill using sexually-evocative language and even claiming to have banged your mom are present both in the book and other supplementary material (his Reddit AMA). I wholeheartedly believe Alex Hirsch and the crew would not be enthusiastically using charged language directed to a mostly-adult audience (The book has a ‘for older readers’ disclaimer!) which would specifically be read as coming from/being about a preteen.

I’ll call this 2.5 but regardless of how you read Bill and Ford’s dynamic in the book, Mabel still refers to Bill as being like ‘a needy ex’ and to ‘go crush on someone else’s uncle’. Even if that’s just Mabel’s read on it, it would be weird to make that joke about a “minor” and an adult!

TLDR: Bill Cipher is an adult, anyone taking a one-off gag, ignoring the other evidence against it, and using it as an excuse to harass people or claim anything about relationship dynamics that simply isn’t true is being obtuse and misleading on purpose, and it’s fine if you want to headcanon that he’s a minor, just please don’t push it on other peoples’ canon or try to imply that it’s something that’s been confirmed at all.

[mae-falling-in-may]

My Little Flower | The Darkling x Fem!Reader

I wrote this just after finishing the season 2 of Shadow And Bone, it broke me so like it's a bit of a comfort fic I guess ? Just the way Aleksander was possessive of Alina made me feel things and I'm sorry about this... just a few heads up, I'm no Alina hater (I love her) I just needed to add a bit of tension in this, and also this is the first time I fully write smut AND that I post it on the internet. I'm very self conscious about smut because huh, I'm not the best writer in the world and english is not my first language. I still do hope you'll like it, I had fun writing it !!

Pairing : The Darkling x Fem!Reader

Warnings : very light spoilers, SMUT, jealous reader, kinda possessive!dark!aleksander ? established relationship, claiming, oral sex (f receiving) unprotected sex (protect urselves pls), p in v sex, dom/sub dynamics, creampie, 18+ only MINORS DNI!!!

Summary : Aleksander comes back from the dead, you feel your heart drop when you see him, darker than ever, the scars on his face making you feel weak. He's determined to get the sun summoner, and you're scared that he's drifting from you, but he will show you who you belong to.

Words : 3k

He came back. The one who held you with just one finger, the one who could get you on your knees just with one word. General Kirigan, your General. Hearing what happened in the Fold with the sun summoner and him, broke you. Hell, you didn't know if what happened between you two meant something to him, but you would do anything to make him feel at least something.

My little flower he called you, away from all curious glances. That was the nickname he gave to you, and you held it. You answered it, maybe he called you to have you by his side forever, only for his plans, maybe it was just all an act, but heck, you fell deeply. You fell so deep that nothing would ever make you betray him. You wanted to be with him until you'll be killed in the field, or even just died at his own hands. Whether it was love or a crazy obsession, seeing him alive made your heart much lighter than it was before. You clenched your fists, dangerously planting your nails in your own flesh to keep you from running to him.

His silhouette, his voice, his dark gaze, and his newfound scars, everything about him made your breath hitch. All you could think of right now while he was walking towards other grishas and you, were absolutely disgusting thoughts about how you would go under him to help him relieve himself. You unconsciously held your breath while he was walking towards you. He approached dangerously, all of your body was calling you to be at his service. You gasped for air when he spoke to you.

"My little flower." He whispered, really close to your face so no one could hear him talk. "I'm glad that my most precious Grisha is here." 

You didn't manage to form a proper sentence, you were just stuttering words, and Aleksander saw how you were so emotional. You could only whisper the words: "You're alive.", before bursting into tears. He gently took you into his arms and shushed you.

"It's okay, little flower. I am back, and I'll need you more than anything for what we'll accomplish. Come and join me after dinner please ?" You could only nod while letting your tears drop freely.

~

"I need the Little Saint, you need to locate her, quickly, I want every information you have on her or anyone who's with her, you hear me ?" The tension in the room was heavy, all you could do with your fellow Grishas was to answer "Yes, General." You all waited for him to dismiss every one of you, and with a flick of his hands, he did. They left the room, as you stayed and waited for anything that he could ask you to do. Anything. You heard him shift into his armchair, and when you let yourself stare at him, your mind raced.

She was the one that caused all of this, seeing your General in this state made your heart clench. If only she listened to him, or you had been her, your General wouldn't be suffering like that. A deep cough startled you and your gaze got on Aleksander again, he was sick. You rushed towards him, obviously worried. You kneeled before him, putting a hand on his back and the other one on his knee.

"My General, are you unwell? What happened there ?" The shakiness of your voice betrayed you. 

"Flower." He whispered. "I… It's my new power. The nichevo'ya, they're shadow creatures. They defend me when I'm in danger." He locked his eyes into yours, dark and full of fatigue. You felt him drifting off from you. An explosive wave of emotions passed through you when he looked at you. Was it worry? Hatred for the Sun Summoner? Jealousy? Or just everything that you felt for the General was crashing down deep into your being. You gulped, your mind going from one worry to another, then you asked him quietly.

"Is there anything I can do, my General ?" He lowered his head and waited a bit before answering. "I fear that I do not have a solution for my state right now, flower. I just need… The Sun Summoner, Alina…" He stopped himself, what for? You didn't know, but everything collapsed around you. He didn't need you, the nickname he gave you meant nothing. All you could do was make him feel a bit better about this. You'll bring him back Alina, you swore on your life that you'll do anything for him right? Then you'll do it, even though it will hurt more than you admitted. 

You stood up, he looked at you, confusion and worry in his eyes. You tried to compose yourself and explained.

"I swore on my life that I'll do anything for you, General, if you want the Sun Summoner, I'll bring her back to you, even if I have to die trying to." You waited for an answer, an approval, anything, he stayed silent. You finally turned to leave the room, the sound of your steps resonating on the walls. You didn't want to leave, you wanted to stay, but hell seeing him like that hurt. You were about to open the door and leave when he stopped you with his voice.

"Flower. Please." You heard him stand up, and slow steps coming towards you. "You're the only one that can help me right now. Are you rejecting me? Your General ?" You felt tears building up again, you didn't know how you could tell him how you feel, having him obsessing over his Little Saint was so painful. But did you really have your right to speak up about it? You were just a Grisha, like any other Grisha here, you weren't her, yet you wanted to be her. You faced him back, letting your tears drop freely over your cheeks.

"How could I reject you when I'm not even yours, General? I know you need her, and I know I'll never be her, I've accepted it. Let me accomplish this for you, my General." You sounded hurt, exhausted, and deeply in love. He was dangerously approaching you by now, and for the first time in months, or hell maybe even years, he spoke your name. Not calling you Flower, like he loved to, just your name. He whispered it, and it felt so good on his lips. He cupped your face with his hand softly making you look at him, he seemed hurt.

"You don't understand. Yes, she is the Sun Summoner, and yes, I need her for every reason I already told you. But, what she is not, and will never be, is my precious little Flower. And you know who this is right? You, you belong to me, and I belong to you. I'll never deny that I wished you were the Sun Summoner, so we could accomplish everything together." Even with this, you couldn't believe him, your mind repeated to you that you meant nothing to him and that you weren't her. Even with his hand on your cheek, you couldn't let yourself breathe for him.

"Please, General, don't make me hope for something that I'm unworthy of." Something seemed to snap inside him when he heard the word "unworthy". He abruptly put his arm around your waist and pushed your body towards him with his hand on your back. The hurt gaze he wore before turned into something different, into something frightening.

"Do not use this word to qualify yourself, my flower. You are way more than that. You're my most precious Grisha, my most precious ally, and my dear, dear, friend." His words were spilled like tasty poison, so dangerous but yet, so good. You couldn't help but whimper under his touch. You knew how Aleksander could be possessive, but you simply refused to let yourself believe you were in his catalog. 

Hearing you whimper satisfied him, he let a small smile creep on his face, and he slowly buried his face into your neck. "If you don't believe my words maybe I'll need to show you who you belong to, flower." He kissed your neck, making a path towards your jaw, then your lips. He made sure to dry your tears before kissing you, you sighed into him, your arms making their way to his shoulders. You felt helpless whenever he touched you like this, thinking of nothing more but to please him right now, in this room.

He broke the kiss that left you both breathless, he took a moment to look at you, your eyes, your face, lips, jaw, and neck, and he felt you burning for him. He loves the hold that he had on you. "To bed, without your clothes, please." Even if he would love ripping out your kefta from your body, to expose all of yourself to him, he couldn't, he already had to deal with the million layers of his outfit. So he just followed you to the bed, while you were removing your boots, then your kefta, and then everything that went under it. He was getting rid of his clothing too, but getting distracted by how beautiful you looked for him, his hands stopped doing what he originally wanted to do, and your voice interrupted the silence.

"Do you need help, General ?" You were almost fully naked in front of him, a wave of arousal went through his body, making wearing pants uncomfortable. He nodded at you first, then when you were getting rid of his first few layers of clothes he spoke again.

"Please flower, tonight, only call me by my name. Can you do that ?" You eagerly nodded while you were getting rid of his final upper layer, revealing his scarred torso to you. You let your fingers trail on some of them, wanting to kiss every bit of scars he had on his body. He smiled, loving your admiration and worship, he missed it. He took your wrists in his hand and smiled down at you. 

"I know how much you love to worship me, flower, but not yet, you'll do it when I pump my cock deep inside of you. Right now I want to have you at my mercy and show you who this beautiful body belongs to. You hear me ?" You nodded, unable to form more than one word because of his power over you.

"Words, flower." He removed the last bit of clothes that kept you from being naked, exposing you to him. You stuttered "Yes, I understand Aleksander.", that seemed to please him a lot. He pushed you onto the bed, making his way on top of you. He still had his pants on, enjoying the friction of the fabric when his cock was getting bigger with arousal.

"This time it will be me who worships you. I'm going to taste you and make you scream." You whimpered, while he was kissing your neck, making his way painfully slowly toward your breasts. He kissed them softly before trailing down to your stomach, then your hips. He guided you to open your legs for him and found his hands gripping the back of your thighs. He kissed the inside of your thigh before finally making his way to your perfect already wet cunt. You were this wet since the intense kiss you shared earlier, and the more you felt his touch, the more you would be needy for him. 

He first lapped your pussy, to take a taste out of it, then completely buried his face into it. You weren't ready, it's been so long since you felt any kind of pleasure down there, you gasped and moaned, already on the verge of screaming. And he was just getting started? You knew you were about to break under him. The obscene noises of him tasting all of you made your head spin. He was eating you out like he wouldn't be able to do it after. The tip of his nose was making friction with your clit, and his tongue inside of you. He groaned under you, you were delicious, and he would not get over how delicious you tasted. 

Your moans and the noises he made by tasting you filled the entire room. He was almost tongue-fucking you as you felt your release build-up. You struggled to align proper sentences, just letting out the same words, "Saints, please, Aleksander". He loved how his name sounded on your lips when you were about to come for him, but he would be sure to make you scream it. 

"I'm going to make you cum for me, flower. I want you to scream my name when you do. I don't care if anyone hears, they'll just know who you belong to. You're mine, flower."

He then sucked on your clit and took two fingers to pump them inside of you. You screamed at the newfound sensation of his fingers, and your back arched while you were begging for a release. You were so desperate for him and it made his cock ache under the layer of his pants. He wanted to stop right here and bury himself inside of you just to feel you come around him. He sucked your clit even harder and teased your folds with his fingers. His other hand squeezed your thigh as he felt you crumble under his touch. He knew you were close, you were already losing your mind, and the moans you let out were incoherent at this point. 

“I know you’re close, flower, cum for me.” You screamed his name while hanging onto the bed sheets. The heat of your orgasm flew all over your body, your back arched and your legs were trembling. The delicious feeling of your release was overwhelming, you soaked Aleksander’s face. He pulled out his fingers slowly and kissed one last time your clit, then your cunt. He straightened up so you could see his face better, his hair was a mess and he was panting. He crushed his lips onto yours hungrily, making you taste the mix of your juices and his spit. You moaned against him, your hands finding their way to his groin. You stroked the length of his cock through the fabric. You wished he was fully naked right now, so you could feel him completely. He hummed into your lips and helped you get rid of his pants.

He broke the kiss to fully remove his clothes, which was a relief to both of you. He felt uncomfortable with the hard-on he had since he had first kissed you. And you, you wanted to please him, to have the taste of his cock on your tongue, to suck him so good so he could not think about anything else but you. But you knew it wasn't part of the plan today. You saw his cock already so hard and ready to be buried inside you. You bit your lip at the thought of it, you haven't had anyone since he left for the Fold with Alina, and god you missed him.

He went back once he was fully naked to kiss the corner of your lips. "I know what's on your mind, flower. You missed me, haven't you ?" He continued to kiss your cheek, your jaw, and your neck while placing himself between your legs. You felt him lightly stroke the tip of his cock on the opening of your pussy which made you moan. "Oh, Saints, yes I've missed you Aleksander." You felt him smile on your neck while caressing your body until his hands found your hips. He faced you once again and looked at you fondly with his dark eyes. 

He licked his lips, seeing you desperate for him, he knew you were about to beg for him to fuck you. He didn't even wait for you to say a word that he pumped into you. The feeling and the heat of his cock were oddly overwhelming, and you felt you could cum right here. "I'm gonna fuck you so good, my flower." You couldn't help but moan a please, to indicate that you needed him to move. He smiled and started to thrust into you painfully slowly. 

The rhythm he gave was making you feel every inch of his heat inside of you, you were almost trembling. But you wanted more, you begged once again and put your arms around his shoulders. "Please, Aleksander, I need more." Hearing his name falling through your lips while you were begging felt so good. He let out a curse and started to move into you harder and faster. Both of you loved being in each other's arms so you were on the verge of losing your minds.

The room was filled with your moans, the sound of both your skin slapping on each other, Aleksander's light panting while he was thrusting into you, and the obscene wet sounds of his cock going in and out of your soaked cunt. You wanted this moment to last forever, to have Aleksander all for yourself. The sound he made while fucking you was pushing you closer and closer to your release, and he felt it too. "Flower come on my cock with me please ?" You could only nod, overwhelmed by these sensations.

"I want to fill you up, love, can I ?" It was the first time he called you that, you couldn't even process the name you just wanted the both of you to cum. You almost screamed "Yes, please Aleksander.", you were so loud for him, so good to him, you'd never let him go. 

The wave of your orgasm reached you when his thrusts became erratic. Your cunt clenched around him as he finally got the release you seek. You felt his hot seed splashing into you, while he reached to kiss you again while filling you completely. You moaned against his mouth, enjoying everything he gave you. 

"You're mine, my little flower, mine only."

[megamindsecretlair]

Through the Fire

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (male receiving), size kink, all consensual. Praise kink, dirty talk. Mention of jail, drug use, guns, and violence. Angst. Established relationship. Spoilers for season 2 of Snowfall.

Summary: The night that Franklin shot Kevin, he made one stop before seeing his mom.

Word Count: 4,424k

A/N: Hello brainrot. Did I mention the brainrot? Because I have major brainrot. FX knew not to show them nasty ass sex scenes for him because I would be UNWELL. Anywhooo, I couldn't stop writing. This hurt me. I hope it both hurts you and makes you feral LOL. Thank you so much for the love on my first Franklin fic! Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: @planetblaque @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @henneseyhoe

The loud banging at your door made you nervous. No one knocked like that and it meant something good. It was either the police or some shit you didn’t want to deal with. You crept to the living room and looked out of the peephole. There was no one there.

The banging persisted and you turned to the sound, following the sound to your back door. You pulled aside the curtain on the door and saw Franklin looking over his shoulder. You opened the door.

“Franklin? What–?” 

Franklin pushed past you into your kitchen. Cold air from outside hit your exposed arms and legs from the shorts and tank top you wore. “He’s dead.” 

You closed the door behind Franklin and locked it behind him. The lights were still off thankfully and you peeked through the curtains, watching for anything suspicious. Though you didn’t know what you were looking for. 

Franklin paced the dark kitchen rubbing his hands and his breaths were shaky and stuttered. “Who’s dead, Franklin?” 

You’d never seen him like this. Franklin was the definition of cool and calm. Dread knotted in your stomach. ‘He’ could refer to anyone. You thought of Leon, Jerome, Kevin, Officer Wright. Naw. Franklin wouldn’t be this upset if it was that asshole Wright.

Franklin rubbed his head and you crossed the room. “Franklin, talk to me,” you said.

He was too agitated. He shook his head as he paced. “Is your moms home?” 

“She workin’ late. Franklin, you’re scaring me.” 

Franklin couldn’t take a full breath. In a minute, he was going to put a groove into the kitchen tile. “I told him! I told that muthafucka that somethin’ like this was gon happen. He didn’t wanna listen!” 

You stepped closer to Franklin and grabbed him by the shoulders so he would stop pacing. Your head spun watching him go back and forth like a ping pong ball. Franklin stopped but wouldn’t look you in the eye. 

“Tell me what’s going on, baby,” you said. You squeezed his shoulders. Franklin’s harsh breathing nearly echoed in the silent kitchen. Every sound was heightened and only served to put you more on edge. 

“Kevin…Kevin’s dead. Because of me,” Franklin said softly. His face crumpled and he dug his hands into his eyes. A choked gasp escaped him. You realized that he was crying. Your heart shattered as you pulled him into a hug. 

“What do you mean, Franklin?” He was saying words but it wasn’t making sense. You were no idiot. You knew what Franklin and his little friends were up to. You made him promise to leave that shit outside. So far, there haven't been any problems. 

Franklin shivered in your embrace, his crying quiet and soft. You hated this for him. There was so much you didn’t know, that you wanted to shake from him. You wanted to demand answers. You wanted to yell and scream. None of that would help the situation. You needed to be calm for his sake.

You rubbed Franklin’s back, soaking in the feel of him. He had to bend at an awkward angle in order to put his chin on your shoulder. Surely, it would start to hurt him. You pulled away and glanced at his face.

Franklin’s eyes were unfocused, seeing something in his mind’s eye that you had no idea of. Whatever it was, left his eyes wide. You hated that look in his eyes. You pulled him towards the living room. 

Franklin stopped and shook his head. He directed you towards your room in the back of the house. Bright light bathed your room and you cringed a bit at all of the girly shit. The Michael Jackson posters in your room. The comforter with flowers all over it. 

Franklin turned off the light. The sudden absence of light gave you a flash of a headache as your eyes adjusted. The moonlight hit your room in such a way that you could still see most of Franklin’s features but not much else. 

Franklin sat on the edge of your bed and pulled you next to him. You sat close to him and he put his head on your shoulder once more. You wrapped your arm around him and scratched his head idly. 

“Please, baby, I’m scared,” you whispered. 

“I shot Kevin. I thought…I shot him in the leg. He was gon be fine! Me and Leon had to leave him there,” Franklin told you. “We left him.” 

Franklin’s voice broke and you kissed his head, absorbing the information. Franklin shot Kevin? It didn’t make sense. It was so out of character for Franklin. You remembered all the conversations you and Franklin had about guns. About protecting himself. But as more of a scare tactic. You didn’t want him to get beat up like he did when he first started all of this. 

You shuddered remembering how hurt he was then. His face all swelled up and blood was sticking to his face. You told him then that you didn’t want something like that to ever happen again. You tolerated the guns because you knew he’d never use them unless he absolutely had to. 

“Tell me everything, Franklin,” you whispered against his skin. 

Franklin told you everything. About Kevin’s cousin still selling in Mexican territory. About the senseless murder. How Kevin screamed for the guy’s head no matter the cost to the business. Kevin wanted war and blood and violence. Franklin did what he could but he knew that if Kevin ever found out who did it, there would be no talking him down.

And that’s exactly what happened. Kevin betrayed Franklin. Sold the recipe to the Mexicans for the name of the man who murdered Kevin’s cousin. Kevin went to the park to kill the man in broad daylight, all the other people be damned. 

“There were kids there,” Franklin said and sniffed. “He didn’t care. What it would mean for us or for him.” 

“You did what you had to do, baby. I’m sorry. But if Kevin succeeded, you could be laying in a ditch somewhere,” you said. You knew your morals were messed up. But when it came to Franklin, nothing else mattered. You didn’t want that phone call. You dreaded it. You had enough nightmares about it to last you a lifetime. 

“He’s my best friend,” Franklin said. He buried his head in your shoulder. Warm, wet tears slid down onto your tank top. You held him and let him cry it out. You didn’t know how to help him. 

He needed some rest, truthfully. To sit with that he did. “Is that why you’re here? The cops are on you?” 

Franklin shrugged and told you the rest. About an agent being on scene. Leon drove away fast enough that he should be safe. But he didn’t want you hearing anything about him from the streets. It was too risky to call. Riskier still to make the trek here. 

You stayed across the street from him so it wasn’t entirely suspicious for him to be caught near here. Still. You wondered if he wouldn’t be safer in one of his properties. Something not tied to him. 

Your mind raced thinking of how to keep him safe. Franklin’s shoulders shook one last time and he wiped his face.

“I’m so tired,” he said. 

You scooted back in the bed and tugged on his arm. He kicked off his shoes and got into bed, placing his head on your stomach. He wrapped his arms around your middle and held on tightly. You stroked his head and kissed him periodically until his breathing evened out. He slept while your mind ran a mile a minute. 

So many emotions and thoughts ran through you. How safe was he with you? How exposed was he in the streets and all these drugs? What the hell was an agent doing at that park? Did someone see them? Their car? Franklin was the smartest man you knew. You knew that for every question you thought of, he likely already thought of the solution. Still. The worry gnawed on you like a dog with a bone. 

Time passed where you must have fallen asleep, because when you opened your eyes, Franklin was kissing your neck. 

“Franklin?” You asked groggily. What time was it? Felt late. The moon was still out. Your window was open and a light breeze ruffled the curtains. 

“I need to feel somethin’ other than…this,” he said. 

“You need rest. We gotta come up with a plan or…” 

“Please. Baby,” Franklin said and kissed you. He licked his lips and dived in for another kiss, longer and deeper this time. “You’re the only one who feels safe. Feel like home,” he said. He placed his forehead against yours and took a deep breath.

How could you deny him this? Outside was insane. Kevin was dead, there’s possible agents after him. On top of everything else…Franklin was constantly under stress. He took on so much responsibility. 

You nodded. You kissed his cheek and then the other one. Franklin leaned up and his palm came up to cradle your cheek. You kissed his palm. His thumb feathered across your cheek before pulling you close into a kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck and held him to you. 

You’d give him everything you had. You’d ground him in whatever way you were able. If he needed to kiss, you’d kiss. If he needed your hands on him, you’d do that too. If he needed a ride out town, then you’d find a way. 

Franklin kissed down your neck, to your chest. He kissed over the top of your tank top before yanking it higher and exposing your breasts. He played with them, rubbing it between his hands and pushing your breasts together. He kissed one and then the other, before flicking his tongue out.

You moaned and he wrapped his lips around your nipple. “Fuck,” you moaned. Each suckle of your nipple sent shivers right down to your pussy, making you contract and clench. Franklin blew his breath over the wet nipple and then moved on to the other one. 

You pulled at his shirt and pulled it over his head, exposing his chest. You ran your hands over the expanse of his body. He shivered at your touch on him. He grabbed your hand and kissed your palm, then your forearm, and the crook of your elbow. 

You leaned forward and kissed him, rising up. He followed you and you pushed at his shoulders until he laid down on your bed. He looked at you with a question in his eyes. 

You couldn’t help much when it came to his business. You didn’t want to be involved. Sticking your head in the sand wasn’t much better. But there was nothing you could do. You didn’t know shit about business. Not like Franklin. However, you knew this. You knew him. 

You knew that you could make him feel good and forget for a little while. To help him reset and think more clearly about all of this. 

You got off the bed and pulled at Franklin’s legs, moving him to the edge of the bed. You unzipped his pants and pulled both it and his boxers off. 

“Baby,” Franklin said. 

You put a finger on his lips and sank to your knees. Your bed was a little high for what you wanted to do. You stood back up and grabbed a pillow, putting it under your knees. It made you level with his thick, long dick. He was getting harder by the minute. 

You reached out and touched him. He hissed as he watched you. Studied you. It was like he was committing all of this to memory. You didn’t want it to be a memory. You were going to figure all of this shit out. He was going to stay safe. 

You kissed his thigh and watched his reaction. He smirked at you. “Don’t just play with it,” he said. 

Ignoring him, you stroked his dick and played with the precum beading on the tip. You kissed his balls and kissed a trail up his dick. Franklin sighed as he moved, leaning back on the bed on his elbows. 

You licked his dick and he twitched on the bed. You inhaled the musky scent of him. You fondled his balls, rolling one between your fingers nice and slow. His breathing picked up, little hisses of groans. 

“You are an evil woman,” he said with a chuckle. 

You giggled and sucked the head of his dick into your mouth. “Oh fuck,” Franklin said. You popped it back out with a loud smack.

You waited and looked at him. Franklin looked down at you and smirked. “C’mon baby,” he said. You grinned and gave in. Some other time, you could tease him all you wanted. He always paid back in kind, but for now, he needed this quick and easy release.

You sucked him back into your mouth, as many inches as you could fit. You started to bob your head, getting his dick nice and wet. You slobbered as you pleasured him. Franklin let fly a string of curses and moans, rolling his head back. 

His hand dug into your scalp and pulled your hair back. “Just like that. Fuck, just like that,” Franklin coached. You kept going, doing exactly what he wanted. Spit slipped out the side of your mouth and dripped down your chin. Franklin watched it slide and you could’ve sworn that his strokes increased. His thick dick nearly hit the back of your throat. 

Franklin’s moans grew frantic. He couldn’t move your head anymore, his hand slipping. You opened your eyes and watched his head fall back. His jaw went slack. A last, strangled moan escaped him before his dick pulsed and hot jets of cum shot down your throat. You swallowed and licked it all up. 

You moved your mouth off of him and kept stroking with your hand. He hissed and the look he gave you…it was ravenous. “Get that ass on this bed,” he said. 

You grinned and stood up, shimmying out of your shorts. Franklin moved to the front of the bed. He laid on his back and pulled you by the arms. You straddled him and looked down into his eyes. It was always strange to look down on him for once. His height always forced you to look up at him. 

To look up to his vision for the future. You spent plenty of time listening to him. He was like an old school Panther or activist the way he talked about the community. You’d follow him to the ends of the earth. 

Franklin ran his hands under your shirt to feel your skin. He caressed your lower back. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he rasped. 

You leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. You intended to give him all of the comfort you could. He quickly took over, kissing you deep and slow. You had all the time in the world to kiss him. Love on him. 

Franklin shifted and moved you. His dick pushed into your wet heat and you shared a groan. “Franklin,” you whispered.

“Love my name on your lips,” he said. He kissed you again. He didn’t move. The thickness of him pulsed and twitched inside of you. He was content to sit and kiss you. His tongue slipped inside. He kissed and sucked on your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth and releasing it. 

He licked your lips. Explored your mouth. Each pass of his tongue against yours made your pussy contract and arousal flood his dick. “Like that shit, don’t you?” He asked. 

You nodded. “Franklin, I love everything you do to me,” you said. You kissed him. “This right here? This is us. We’re the only things that matter,” you said. 

“I just wanna make you feel good, baby,” he said. 

“You make me feel so good,” you said. 

“Yeah? Let me hear it then,” he said. He started to move his hips, sliding you up and down on his dick.

“Oh, oh shit,” you said. It was like he pulled the words from you. He dick stretched you out but in this position, it was comfortable. Your thighs were on either side of him. Your hands braced on his shoulders as you looked into each other's eyes. 

There was still no sense of urgency. He moved slowly, pulling all the way out and then pushing back in and watching the way your eyes rolled. Your jaw would hang open, the breath stolen from your lips. 

His hands gripped your waist, almost bruising. It only turned you on more. His moans fueled your own. “Feel so good,” you moaned.

“Shit, baby. Grip that dick,” he said. His head rested against your headboard, his eyes rolling back with a smile on his face. You loved when he got like this. When he let himself be free and open. 

Your orgasm was building slowly but steadily. Climbing higher towards that delicious peak. “Franklin, please. Let me cum,” you begged. If he would go faster, you’d already be flying high. 

Your hands traveled up, cuddling him close. You buried your head into the crook of his neck. 

“Mm-uh, I wanna feel everything,” he said. 

He continued that slow, tortured pace. The sound of your lovemaking squelched in the silent house. There was just you and him. Joined. Connected. 

“Oh fuck, Franklin. That’s it,” you said. He managed to hit a spot deep inside of you. 

“Oh, I like that,” he said. He hit that spot, over and over. Your moans turned wild and crazy. You bit his shoulder as that peak neared. You bounced on his dick as he routinely hit your spot. 

“Oh fuck me,” you moaned. 

“Just like that, baby. So fuckin’ beautiful. Never letting you go. Never letting this pussy go.” 

You came on a loud curse, your legs shaking and your body going boneless. Franklin wrapped his strong arms around you and held you through it. “That’s it. Let it go,” he said as you talked you through it. 

When you were done, you panted and moved to get off of him. He shook his head, capturing your lips once again. His dick twitched inside of you. He kissed you and he leaned up, taking you with him.

He laid you onto your back, kissing you. Rubbing your back and your thighs. He hiked one leg up and over his hip. The other, he spread wide. Then he started to pound into you like a man possessed. 

His dick speared you over and over again. It robbed you of all thought. There was nothing but his dick hitting that spot again. 

“Mhmm, take that dick,” he whispered harshly. 

“Fr-Fra-” 

“Mm-uh, just keep taking that dick.” He moved your tank up, gripping onto your titty and licking your nipple. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck. Fuck me, baby,” you screamed. You were leaning on one elbow and your free hand pushed at his chest. You just needed your bearings. But your hand slipped on his sweaty chest. Moonlight caught some of it, making it glisten. 

“Mhmm, mhhm,” Franklin moaned. 

You slapped his chest. His dick kept sliding in and out, slick with your arousal. You looked into his eyes. There was so much love and lust there, shining through his eyes. He kept eye contact, never breaking pace, as he leaned forward and kissed you. 

“Who this shit belong to?” He asked.

“You, you, you,” you moaned. You were so close. Your moans and cries grew louder as your orgasm approached. 

“This pussy yours, baby. All yours,” you managed to croak out.

“All mine?” 

You could only manage a nod. Between his dick and your moans, you didn’t have time for anything else. 

He pinched your nipple and you gasped. It surprised the orgasm out of you. Wave after wave of pleasure suffused you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head while your vision blacked out. 

Franklin groaned and pumped you full of him. Spurts of cum shot into you, filling you to the brim. 

You collapsed together, panting and laughing at what you just experienced. He smacked kisses all over your sweat slick skin. 

“Thank you, baby,” he said in between kisses.

“You never have to thank me for that,” you said. 

“Yes, I do. My mama always told me to be thankful for what’s mine,” he said with a devilish smirk.

You smacked his shoulder and he laughed. He slid out of you and his cum came leaking out. You groaned at the feeling. He got up and disappeared down the hall and came back with a wet rag. He helped clean you up and then he slid into bed beside you and pulled you close.

You both grew quiet. You listened to the strong thump of his heart. You were halfway to sleep, cuddled into his side. 

“Baby?” Franklin asked.

“Hm?” You asked.

“Do you think I’m a monster?” He asked. 

You turned to face him. The moonlight cast shadows on his face so he was half in profile. He didn’t look at you, he stared out of the window. 

“You are the smartest, greatest man I know. You can never be a monster. Never.” 

“What kind of great man kill they own best friend?” He asked. 

“You didn’t know.” 

Franklin shook his head, refusing to meet your eyes. “There could’ve been a different way,” he said. 

“If there was, you would’ve found it. Things were moving too fast, like you said.” 

Franklin took a deep breath but he was retreating from you. You could tell. He was closing in on himself, locking away the sweet man you’ve come to know. The walls that you’d spent months pulling down were building back up. Brick by brick. 

“You’re not a monster, you have to believe that,” you said. You needed him to see. Before he disappeared completely behind those walls, you needed him to understand that crucial part. 

“I need to go,” he said. He didn’t move but it was like he didn’t hear you. Nothing you’d say would get through to him.

“Franklin, don’t. What if there are people looking for you?” 

“If they are, I don’t want to bring ‘em here. You’ve done enough for me. I love you,” he said. He kissed you, pouring unspeakable emotion into this kiss. It was unnameable. Something you could only feel in the tug of your soul. 

“I love you. Stay here with me,” you said. 

Your mom would flip so you thought of places to hide him. Your mom usually came right in, checked on you, and then went to bed. All Franklin had to do was lay on the floor until then.

Franklin kissed your cheek and got up from the bed. He started pulling on his clothes. His face closed down. He was not the same, scared person that showed up earlier that night. He was distant. Walled off. A pillar or a statue now, immoveable. 

“Franklin, please,” you cried. 

You stood up as well. He pulled on his boxers and jeans. You grabbed his shirt and yanked. You got into a tug of war as Franklin pulled the shirt from your grasp. He leaned down and kissed you, his hand caressing your cheek. 

“I have to do this. I’ll see my mom and then I’ll get out of town for a bit,” he said. He tried to smile but it was too quick. Too fake. 

“I’ll come with you,” you said. You didn’t care what you had to tell people. He couldn’t do this. But once Franklin got something in his head, there was no turning back. There was no talking him down.

“No. You have to stay here. Your moms will kill me,” he said with another fake ass grin. You groaned and pulled your panties and shorts back on. Franklin kissed your cheek and left the room. You hopped on one foot, trying to pull your shorts up. One side got caught under your foot. You cleared it and pulled your shorts up and ran after him. Fuck him and his long ass legs.

“Franklin! Franklin, don’t!” You pulled at his arm and he swung it, knocking you loose. He left through the back door. You couldn’t call after him. You searched the ground for your shoes. Fuck! Why was everything so fucking hard to find in the dark? 

You slipped on a pair of flip flips and left the house but Franklin was nowhere to be found. You searched the dark backyard, looking for any sign of movement. You cursed softly and placed your hands on your head, rocking back and forth on your heels. 

You went back inside, headed towards the phone in the living room. You picked it up and the dial tone sounded. Movement out of the window caught your eye. You put the phone back on the receiver and moved towards the window.

You peeked out from behind the curtain and saw numerous cop cars rolling silently. Their lights were off. You followed them with your eyes. They stopped in front of your house, in front of Franklin’s mom’s house. There was a soft glow of light on the inside. 

“Franklin, no!” You went back to the phone, dialing the number. At that moment, the sirens sounded. Red and blue lights flooded your house, a swirling mix that only spelled danger. “Franklin,” you gasped.

You left your front door. The neighborhood left their front doors, heading outside in a mix of robes, rollers, and house slippers. Cold air slapped against your skin as you watched Franklin getting marched out of the front door by police officers. He was struggling and looked scared.

His mom called after him and yelled at the cops. You stood transfixed. This felt like it was happening to someone else. It felt like a television program. Any minute, it would turn to the commercial and leave this awful scene. 

Your chest caved in as Franklin looked at you from over the hood of the cop car. He mouthed, “I love you.”

You did the same thing back. He was shoved into the cop car and the door slammed. It made you jump. Burning hot tears streamed down your face. The streetlights and red and blues swam in your vision. 

You watched your future drive away and all you could do was stand there and watch.

Loved this? There's more! The Secret Franklin Saint Files

[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 ©

[tiagobarros1699]

SPOILERS WITCH REBOOT - VOL. 02

With volume 2 of the reboot we had the brief introduction of a new concept for the Guardians. Which are the five Elemental Dimensions that are linked to your powers. Personally, it's one of the things I I liked this second volume more and I hope it becomes something recurring.

A curious fact is that these dimensions REMIND ME A LOT of the Realities Marbles used in the FATE game and anime franchise (especially "Unlimited Blades Works") I don't know if it's just because I like the franchise and thought it fits or if there really was some inspiration in the concept.

The Five Dimensions:

Earth Dimension:

Water Dimension:

*Sad Brothers starts playing*

I thought this scene was beautiful, but as a fan of "Saint Seiya" I can't help but see Swan's hyoga remembering his mother.

Air Dimension:

*PEGASUS FANTASY starts playing*

This one is the most beautiful shot, but it is also a little different from what you imagine due to the power of air (SHE IS IN THE VACUUM OF SPACE)

But on the other hand, this makes a lot of sense: I think that Hay Lin's power is not just "air" but the very concept of "sky", "firmament" This would make a lot of sense if you think about the five layers of the atmosphere (Troposphere, Stratosphere, Mesosphere, Ionosphere and Exosphere) it's something complex to explain, but it makes a lot of sense in my head.

Finally, it is worth mentioning that we can see 3 constellations here: Scorpio, Equuleus or Cavalo Minor (I think) and Canis Minor!? (Making clear reference to Wuyi)

Fire Dimension:

"take off your sandals Taranee, for this ground is sacred"

My anime fan side is screaming here, this is the most similar to "Unlimited Blades Works" from FATE/Stay night.

Dimension of Emotion:

Kandrakar!?!?!?!??!

Small warning for those who haven't seen volume 2: Will's power is no longer "energy" but "emotion" (Now how you use emotions to fight I don't know)

[vounoura]

I really enjoy how much the choices you make affect companions tho, not just in opinions but in gameplay too, it's a really interesting way of bringing back the hardening mechanic

[daemonerik]

In a certain rerepeating universe... (Rezerofanweek final day)

Warning: some minor arc 9 spoilers at the very end (and obviously what comes before arc 9 lol)

-

“—Hey, test test… Seems to be working well enough.”

With the sound of the Man’s voice echoing across the entire Watergate City, all remaining citizens who were still wandering around ran towards their homes or shelters.

“Alright, so! Hello everyone! This is a message to the Sin Archbishops of the Witch Cult. And to make it clear, I am referring to you, Regulus Corneas, Sirius Romanée-Conti and Capella Emerada Lugunica.”

Moments after the broadcast ceased, the three incarnations of Sins—along with other unrecognizable cloaked figures—surrounded the city hall. Whether they were enraged or intrigued by the Man’s provocations, it didn’t matter. The trap had already sprung.

“I am aware of the reasons you have come to this city. I am also aware of the plans each of you have set to fulfill your desires and personally, so let’s just cut to the chase. The Silver Maiden, Tome of Wisdom and the Witch’s Bones are in my possession. If you don’t come the minute this message ends, I will incinerate the two latter, followed by me eloping with the Maiden away, never to be seen again.” A soft giggle akin to silver bells could be heard at the end of the Man’s ultimatum. 

Before the offended Greed had any chance to share his outrage and respond to the disrespect he was forced to suffer on the city hall, the Sword Saint came down like a lightning bolt and kicked Greed into the air; following him shortly right after. A clash between infinite power and immovable force began to echo across Priestella’s skies.

“This is not an empty threat; I couldn’t care less for these mcguffins even if I wanted to. So unless you come and stop me, your lives will keep being unfulfilled and everything you’ve done up to this would’ve been entirely pointless. I’d usually apologize for being so direct, but I think I’ve lied enough for multiple lifetimes.”

Not giving the other Sin Archbishops time to process what had happened, a beam made from the techniques of the Valkyrie, Finest Knight and Court Mage came down on Lust, tearing her form apart into little chunks of flesh. However, before the body could restore itself as it had for decades upon decades, the pavement on which she lay broke apart, sending what remained of her into the deep depths of the Watergate City. 

“Some of you might be thinking, ‘Who the hell does this guy think he is’. Well, to put it simply, I’m the one behind the demise of the White Whale, Great Rabbit and the one who personally slayed the Archbishop of Sloth.”

Enraged by all that had taken place, Wrath unleashed her chains to set the City Hall and all that surrounded it ablaze—only for the Sun Princess and her Yang blade to descend from the upper floor and intercept the twin strike, using the chains momentum to launch herself towards the Archbishop.

“I could list more and more, but in the end none of that matters. I’m aware enough to admit that at the end of the day, I’m not that special of a person. Like, if even a single Cultist Grunt got a good hit on me, I’d be dead within seconds. With cards like that I should’ve despaired eons ago… If I wasn’t constantly reminded by someone for whom I continue going on again and again. And unfortunately, I can’t remember a single moment where I was alone long enough for that not to be the case.”

Ignoring or not being aware of how their leaders were blind sided, the other Witch Cultists dashed towards the City Hall, showing not a single care for their empty lives. Unknown to them, Warriors of Lower and Higher standing were already waiting for their arrival—Mercenaries from across the West, Guardians of this very City and even a  Disgraced Knight that was forced to fight—they all cut the Cultists down for good.

“To all of you hiding in your homes or shelters, I’m sorry for putting the city at risk. If I could’ve taken this battle to anywhere besides Priestella, I would’ve. I really wish I could’ve. However…” 

While the likes of the Sword Demon and Former Sword Saint exchanged a dance reminiscent of the past, as well as the Failed Shield and Finest Knight proving their skill to the Former War God, the temperature surrounding the City Hall dropped by several tens of degrees. Seconds after, a beam of pure concentrated blue and white shot out of the upper floor directly towards the third district of Priestella. 

“None of you will die. I, Natsuki Subaru, promise that to all of you. So stay safe, be with those around you, and leave it all to me!”

Yet, instead of hitting the center of the district like anyone would expect, the beam of magic crashed into the Control Tower of the district, instantly freezing the entire structure to its very core… and any life that was within. Five seconds after the deed had passed, above the skies of the raging battlefield, Greed’s heart contorted as the Archbishop gasped  for air for the first time in centuries.

"So now, Witch Cult, stop wasting everyone's time. You have taken enough of mine.”

Not suffering from exhaustion or any drunk distractions, the Sword Demon let his blade convey all the love that had festered for 15 years and finally uttered  the words he had never been able to say. At the same time, the Failed Shield and Finest Knight managed to find an opening in the Former War God’s technique, proving their skill to the legendary warrior. Guided by the wind, their ashes spread across the battlefield and left this world.

“You hideous disgusting beasts that make me sick when looking at you,” 

Being kept in check by the Following Star, Lust was forced to regenerate over and over—while also dealing with advanced magics from the Court Mage above—not being given a chance to retaliate. In the end, thanks to the efforts of the Valkyrie, Blue and Great Merchant, the City Hall’s flooding mechanism activated, drowning the Archbishop with the same method that took another Witch in the past. Only by splitting herself into a nearly infinite number of microorganisms—that managed to pass right through the stone walls of the magically sealed waterlogged chamber—was Lust able to escape her watery prison and left the Watergate City.

“You monsters that no one has ever loved or will ever care for in the future,”

Shrieking about the cruelness and misfortune the world had brought her, Wrath tried igniting the hearts of everyone present ablaze, yet the Sun Princess cut her off at every turn, scorching her every attempt. Disgusted by the Archbishop’s pathetic self, the Sun deemed her existence to have run its course. With a final slash, Wrath’s suffering burned away and left this world.

“You sad miserable people, where the more I learn about you, all I feel is pity.”

With his heart returned and no Silver Maiden to marry in sight, Greed thought of desperate ways to escape his looming fate. Yet even that wasn’t awarded to him. Beyond the sixth second of the Archbishop’s beating heart, the Sword Saint did as he was ordered. With a single punch, rupturing through flesh and bone, the Saint’s arm grabbed hold of the heart and with a single squeeze erased it from existence. Falling down from the heavens to the ash littered field, Greed’s words blew away and left this world.

“Come to me,”

Black Pendant in hand, the Man hadn’t bothered watching the spectacle unfold. With the sequence already perfected 7000 tries ago, his attention was aimed on what lay still ahead. Gazing at the helmet worn by the Following Star—who had emerged from the depths of the Watergate City—their eyes connected for just a moment, as the final act of the Battle for Priestella would commence.

“Your natural enemy!"

-

IITS FINALLY DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE11111111!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Originally i wanted this thing to be 5 times longer and have more focus on Al, along with it being for day 6... but realized I started too late. Hope this is fine enough. Might one day finish the full one shot and post on ao3

Anyway, SEASON 3 DROP IN LESS THAN 2 HOURS (from when i'm posting this)!!! EXCITEMENT!

[windblume-violet]

Matilda role analysis based on the latest event

THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR FLOOR IT! TO THE GOLDEN CITY. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

I have to start this off with definitions of archetypal roles in literature if only, to ease you into what I am trying to say: A Main Character is the player through whom the audience experiences the story first hand, a Protagonist is the prime mover of the plot, and a Hero is a combination of both Main Character and Protagonist.

With that in mind, I'd like to state: Matilda is a Main Character and Joe is the Protagonist. I could, of course, be convinced of Joe being of the Hero archetype—if only because we see his perspective in glimpses. Mercuria is considered none of them in my opinion though. In fact, I'd argue to say Mercuria simply plays a supportive role. She is not a side or minor role, but a supporting role. Integral to plot, but not the driving force itself.

The driving force has always been Joe after all. Whether it's when Legers sent Gio to gather information on Joe to get, "A slice of the New Age Market pie," or when he enters the local Foundation building to find his estranged sister Paulina. In fact, when he goes to the Foundation, he causes a chain reaction that leads our main character Matilda to take center stage in search of him. He makes plans and deals in the background, while having Mercuria defect to branch the gaps between Legers hand and his own.

Our eyes and ears are Matilda, and after a certain point what we know and see is from her perspective. From her perspective, we see Legers pressure Joe with Hollick's life. We see Joe lose favor unfairly through her eyes. We believe that the only people still on Joe's side is Pioneer, Catseye Wisen, and Matilda. We don't realize that Mercuria is releasing Legers from the Order of Enlightenment through easing his denial and grief of his dying twin brother. We don't see Joe making agreements in the background, and we certainly don't realize others had access to the Elysium through Joe's dealings. We only learn bits and pieces at the very end where it comes to a head. To the point I began considering Matilda and Matheus as narrative foils to one another. As both are outsiders to the New Age Market crew in varying ways.

In Matheus's case, he is a member of Manus Vindicatae running the Order of Enlightenment cult in the New Age Market. His goals were to drain followers of the cult of all their valuables, and turn them into mindless Manus Vindicatae followers. All of it was meant to be given in tribute to the Guiding One. While he did ensare many of the more vulnerable and gullible citizens within San Francisco's New Age Market area; he could not ensare Joe, Mercuria, Becket, Hollick, or Catseye Wisen. Their distrust of authority and outsiders prevented him from truly leaving the city in the wake of a tragedy. He was never one of them, nor could he ever truly steal anyone from the New Age Market's tightknit community.

Whereas for Matilda, she's from the Saint Pavlov Foundation, sent to capture Joe because he broke visitors confidentiality regulations. She starts off just as rocky as Matheus, but unlike Matheus, she earns the New Age Market crew's respect through her actions against the cult and Manus Vindicatae. Although, they do still keep at an arm's length in their plans. Matilda may have their respect in regards to her determination to help them, but they do not trust her succeed. Let alone get them back up from the Foundation. They believe they have to solve it themselves, and solving it exactly what they do. It is only in the epilogue that Joe lets her fully into the inner circle by giving her a badge representing the trust and respect she's earned from them.

In a way, Matilda proves to Joe that he can trust the Foundation to help through her willingness to sacrifice herself for his survival, and even at the behest of his pleas for her to do otherwise. Despite his attempts to prevent her sacrifice and his own likely demise, Matilda and Joe fall unconscious, unaware of what is to happen next. In those unseeing moments, Matilda's promises of Foundation backpack come to fruition. All of this convinces Joe to leave San Francisco's New Age Market to Legers to join the Foundation, and giving Matilda the badge that signifies her place within his community as his friend.

As the epilogue begins to shift, Joe's story as the Protagonist ends. Moving Matilda's role as the Main Character to slightly into the role of Hero, while she searches for the whereabouts of her mother. With that note, I am almost certain Matilda's will end up the Hero of a future patch. Her character arc is not yet over, just as it began in Mor Pankh and it will not end in San Francisco. I cannot wait to see where Bluepoch takes us with her as the game continues it's journey.

[niallhoranhasthat1thing]

I just finished watching All The Light We Cannot See and I need to rant cause I’m loosing my damn mind.

First off, they took the character names and minor plot points and created their own story with them so at that point just crest something else and if you cannot handle showing the nuance of Werner’s character then you are not the right person to adapt this.

This is going to be filled with spoilers so be warned now.

Werner is a German boy who lives in an orphanage with his younger sister and one day he stumbles upon a radio and falls in love with it. He fixes it and him and his sister Jutta start learning about science and what Germany is actually doing by listing to a French broadcast. Two boys in his orphanage join the Hitler youth and Werner scared for his and Juttas safety destroys the radio which leaves Jutta furious with him. But it’s already too late. His entire town knows how capable he is with a radio and the nazis come for him to put him in a school. Werner who is very much living in a fantasy world in his head believes he will go to this school and will learn and learn and learn and by the time his finishes the war will have been lost and he will never have to contribute to anything, he may even win a noble prize. Jutta still furious with him has this conversation with him

and that’s the last time she ever sees her brother. Werner leaves willingly and you as the reader understand why, you know that if he were to refuse but him and his sister would be killed. You understand it and you even justify it.

Once at the school he meets Frederick and you instantly don’t want to like any of those other boys because they’re not like Werner, he’s there without having a choice. But you learn that Frederick is there only because his father is a high ranked nazi and his mother is waiting for the Jew up above them to be taken away so they can get the top apartment and they made sure he got into the school despite not being able to pass the tests to get in. One night the boys at the school are sent outside in the cold winter to torture a prisoner with cold buckets of water. When it’s Werner’s turn, he does it despite not wanting to and you understand it. He doesn’t have a choice. He would be killed if he refused. Once it’s Fredericks turn he refuses to throw the water. He’s beat and beat and beat. Everyday he is beaten worse and worse until he gets brain damage. Frederick had a choice. He chose the possibility of dying over throwing away his morals. Werner didn’t do that. Because of that your views on Werner begin to change.

Werner ends up going into the field to find illegal radio broadcasts, and while he himself never kills anyone he is directly responsible for many deaths. He ends up being sent to Saint-Malo to find Marie-Laure and her uncle and tracks them down instantly and upon seeing her he decides he’s not going to turn them in. To speed this along Werner ends up saving her life during the siege and they spend a few hours together where in his head he creates this fantasy of them living happily ever after which is juxtaposed with Marie-Laure allowing this German boy to wear her uncles clothes but knowing damn well that he’s not going to be able to hide his German accent. They part ways with Marie-Laure not giving him a second thought because she only wants to go find her uncle. Werner ends up dying a few days later.

You then go over to Jutta who along with the other girls form the orphanage have been sent to Russia to help the war efforts and when Germany looses the Russians take it out on the German women. She learns of Werner’s death and it doesn’t phase her. You fast forward to the 70s and Jutta is a married math teacher with a son, who is so deeply embarrassed and ashamed of her brother. A German man shows up at her door once day with a bad of her brothers belongings and it takes her weeks to open it. Upon opening it she finds the very notebook she had sent Werner to remind him of who he was. She opens it and is reminded of her brother’s innocence and decides along with her son that she is going to go to France to find out what happened to Werner. Jutta eventually finds Marie-Laure and her first thought upon seeing her is that her brother hurt her. Through the conversation Jutta is finally able to mourn her brother and realizes that it’s a lot more than bad vs good. But Marie-Laure is still conflicted with her thoughts on the German boy who saved her life. He doesn’t fit on either sides of the war.

You then jump to 2014 where Marie-Laure finally comes to terms with her thoughts on Werner.

Jutta and Marie-Laure’s feelings on Werner are also the readers feelings on him. The show completely stripped those feelings away. Werner in the show is a perfect human being and everyone forgives him within minutes of meeting him. Marie-Laure even kisses him and then fears for his life and wants to sneak him out of the city and meet up later so that they can spend their lives together.

Werner is such a complex character who you are so desperately rooting for while also feeling completely torn on him. The show is not willing to crest that conversation and beats you over the head with how good of a person Werner is, they rip Juttas character apart in order to make Werner more likable.

I don’t understand how this was made the way it was, I’m honestly still in shock. I had to laugh multiple times through out watching. I knew this show was in trouble as soon as I seen it was only 4 episodes. I hope one day this book gets a second chance and is made by people who understand the material.