#sorry for posting 2 thirst posts in a row

[t-hirstreview]

[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 ©

[cartridgeconverter]

After taking up a lot of space in today's stream talking about Met 2023 DG, I thought I'd make a post talking about my thoughts while experiencing it (4 months after the fact!) and how it was :v

Going into it, I wasn't at all familiar with the text and had only briefly skimmed the synopsis. I also hadn't heard any of the music before, and didn't know much about opera at all. Still don't! I was basically going into the show completely blind, and that definitely affected most of my interpretations of the characters.

Okay, first of all the subtitles at the Met were Really Nice; each seat has a display in front but the text is only visible from one angle so the light isn't distracting. I spent a while figuring this out during the show which probably wasn't the best idea.

From the highest row of seats, the set looks really puny and small. The tall grey buildings were supposed to be imposing, but it didn't really work.

I was also sleepy during the first half of Act 1 and the theatre was very pleasantly dark. But I'm pretty sure I was awake through the whole thing.

I remember guessing exactly which characters were going to be my favorites while reading the synopsis before the show started.

I thought the overture was too long and repetitive. I've seen the light now, I promise.

At the beginning of the show I had a hard time telling some characters apart, specifically Anna and Elvira. The monochrome costumes didn't help very much, but eventually I figured it out.

We went on closing night so Ying Fang and Alexander Tsymbalyuk weren't there. But I didn't pay too much attention to those bits at the time.

I'm sure the first bit was fine. This is when I was especially sleepy.

I got bored a little bit after Giovinette. This short attention span is probably why I like some characters (Anna, Ottavio, Zerlina) more than others (specifically Elvira, I was bored through most of her plotline (sorry Elvira fans) (although I don't think she was played in a particularly compelling way in this prod anyway) (but then again I don't really care so maybe no Elvira is interesting to me))

Or sai was lovely, Dalla sua pace was lovely. At this point it really cemented in my mind that Anna and Ottavio were going to be my favorites.

I thought Batti batti was a liiiittle weird at first, but I understood it more and more as the song went on.

I really liked Presto presto in particular, but I don't listen to it that much anymore. I should do that

Act 1 finale was meh. I didn't like the mannequins wearing masquerade outfits as they clashed really bad with the monochrome set and were just ugly overall. I also didn't like the fact that everyone was just standing there pointing guns at DG while not moving or trying to stop him at all. I was also really thirsty and was just waiting for intermission.

At intermission I talked with my friend who was also there and we both agreed that Ottavio was absolutely wonderful and that there should be more characters like that in the world.

Regarding that, I will take a moment to say that if I have ever expressed an opinion, theatre related or otherwise, that you dislike or disagree with, it is Ben Bliss's fault. And not mine at all. (joke)

Another thing about the Met: it has very nice water fountains. My thirst was fully satiated. It was very nice.

Now having a favorite character to dedicate my tumblr posts to for the rest of time, I spent the first half of act 2... waiting for him to come back. Sorry, Elvira.

I liked the mandolin in Deh vieni! It was fun! String instruments >>>

My friend and I both found Vedrai as a concept to be kind of silly (positive implication)

Il mio tesoro was probably really good but I don't remember anything in the moment. But I really liked it; I remember I was trying to find a recording of the song after the show

I was confused that the Commendatore wasn't a real statue and was just a dead guy.

Non mi dir was probably also really good, but same thing re: tesoro

The finale was (obviously) one of the most memorable parts of the night. I liked the part where they quoted all the different songs, even if I only recognized Non piu andrai. I was confused about DG playing with his food, but found it kind of funny. I Don't Remember L'ultima prova.

After spending a lot of time being unimpressed with the scenery, I found the part where the buildings turned around, trapping DG with the Commendatore to be FREAKING AWESOME and a really creative use of the set.

Or che tutti I'm sure was fine. Everyone clapped when Leporello said that he was going to find a better master. They translated "ritiro" as "convent".

The little bit of music after the epilogue, when the characters ran off in different directions to do their own thing, was really cute.

So much of the parts of the show that I did/did not enjoy were based on how I was feeling (tired/bored/thirsty) while watching it. Because of this, I only started to appreciate some parts after understanding the show more. (ESPECIALLY Mi tradi and both of Zerlina's arias) Please don't take it personally if I was disinterested during your favorite part. Maybe if you send me enough recordings of idk Ah chi mi dice mai I will like it (joke)

also ottavio best boy I stand by this and pointedly refuse to examine my biases

[readingandwritingandreading]

The Day Before You ~ Part 5

My Blurb: Ugh, this part got away from me. And I spent way too long editing the header but happy thirst trap to all of you. *drool* As always if you didn’t write it don’t post it anywhere. And if anyone is interested in being added to my lil tag list feel free to message me!

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Summary: Forced into an awkward dance with a stranger at Sheamus’s wedding, Ridge doesn’t think he’ll ever see her again until she turns up at a show a few months later with Sheamus’s wife and he gets a second chance.

Pairing: Ridge Holland x OFC Lyssa Hutchinson

Warnings: Ridge in a white shirt, slight violence against a female (grabbing), cursing, the promise of things to come

Tagging: @pioched​​ @snarkandsarcasmftw​  @moxskitten​  @pikapuff-316​

Read First: The Day Before You Masterlist 

Also Check Out: Main Masterlist 

I smiled and rolled over when I felt the bed dip. It didn’t matter how quiet Ridge was, he was too big to not cause me to roll into the middle when he tried to slide in behind me. “Sorry love, I was trying not to wake you.” he pressed a kiss to my forehead when I snuggled into his chest. 

“Mmmm, I forgive you.” I kissed the spot on his chest I could reach, reveling in his warmth. It had become a weekly occurrence since the first time he had stayed the night a few weeks ago. If he could make it back to town on the weekend, he spent the night with me. It was quickly becoming addicting, the warmth and comfort of being wrapped up in him at night. After the first time he’d gotten back in town at 2:00 in the morning I had even given him a key. “It makes more sense than you waking me up early.” I had insisted when he looked stunned. 

“I could just go back to my place.” Ridge had grinned but added the key to his keyring. 

“But it saves on my heating bill if you are here.” I winked back, “plus I know you like my place better.” I had received a grilling from Claire at work when I told her about it. She didn’t understand how I wasn’t “banging him like a screen door in a hurricane”. I didn’t have a good answer, our relationship seemed like it was progressing so naturally I didn’t want to jinx it. Not saying I hadn’t thought about it, after watching their episode of Celtic Warrior Workouts I was pretty sure I understood how men felt when they watched porn. I took a cold shower and still had a date with my vibrator that night. He wasn’t immune either, there had been multiple times I caught him staring at me, eyes dark or I had felt the evidence pressed against me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I made it back to town with just enough time to run by my place, shower and change before heading to Lyssa’s apartment. She ran from the bathroom when I closed the door after letting myself in. She looked relieved as she finished putting her earring in. “I was worried you weren’t going to make it!” she kissed me then stood back, “do I want to know how fast you were going?” 

I grinned, pulling her in for another, slower kiss before answering. “You do not, I told you I would be here.” Twirling her around I added, “you look lovely”. She blushed like I knew she would, smoothing the strapless black dress down before reaching for her heels. 

“You don’t look too shabby yourself.” she eyed the black pants and white dress shirt I had chosen, already tempted to roll the sleeves up to my elbows. I bowed and held out my arm, grinning when she grabbed it and let me escort her out the door. 

The wedding was held at a lavish estate out of town. Lyssa had told me that her friend was wealthy but I wasn’t prepared for the sheer opulence when we were directed to the area for the ceremony. It was indoors but the floor to ceiling windows and flowers everywhere made it seem like it was outside. Rows of white chairs were split down the middle and we were led to the bride’s section, Lyssa greeted people as we sat but stayed glued to my side. I could tell she was nervous, I just wasn't sure what was causing it until she stiffened and quickly turned towards me, intently reading the wedding program. Over her head I caught sight of her ex-boyfriend. I'd seen him in pictures but they didn’t manage to fully capture the level of fuckboy that radiated off of him. I draped my arm over Lyssa’s shoulders, pleased when she relaxed and leaned in to me. 

It was a simple ceremony, Lyssa had told me she usually cried at weddings so I was prepared when I heard her first sniffle. She giggled when I handed her the small pack of tissues I had stuck in my pocket. 

After the ceremony we were directed across the grounds to an enormous ball room. Waiters carried around trays of champagne and finger foods. “I told you they were loaded.” Lyssa smiled, “Let’s find our table.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ok, ok, I desperately have to use the bathroom.” I pulled Ridge off the dance floor, trying to catch my breath. “And I need another drink.” After dinner, toasts and all the other wedding traditions, Ridge had rolled up his sleeves and dragged me onto the dance floor. For a big guy he was a smooth dancer, spinning me around for slow songs and nailing every move of the cha cha slide. He had handled being introduced to everyone, greeting them with handshakes and I could tell he liked when I called him my boyfriend. 

“I’ll grab some drinks and meet you at our table, I think we can finally get some cake now.” he looked over to where the enormous cake was finally being dished out. It had been so delicately made the servers were having a hard time not sending it crashing to the ground. 

I laughed, pecking him on the cheek before turning towards the restrooms. I had just opened the door to see if Ridge had been able to snag some cake when I was greeted to a squeal from a friend I hadn’t seen in awhile. “Lyssa! It’s been so long!” 

“Valerie! It’s good to see you!” I wrapped her in a hug. “How are you? And the little one?”

“She’s growing like a weed. I couldn’t be happier. But what about you? I heard you and Astaire broke things off?” She gave me a sympathetic smile.

I laughed, clearly Astaire had been trying to keep the fact that I left him under wraps. “I caught him in bed with another woman.” 

“I hadn’t heard that, but he always was a bit of an asshole. No offense.” she added when I raised an eyebrow at her. 

“None taken, I'm much happier now.” I shrugged, my mind drifting to just how much happier Ridge made me than Astaire ever did. 

“I saw your new man, he looks like a step up. I’m happy for you.” my response was cut off by her phone ringing and her giving me an apologetic wave mouthing “babysitter”. 

I waved her off and headed back to the ballroom. Tucking my lipstick back into my purse, I turned the corner and smacked directly into someone. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking where…” I trailed off to find Astaire grinning down at me. 

“You always were a handsy one.” he winked, clearly expecting me to laugh. I raised an eyebrow and moved to walk around him but he cut me off, stepping in front of me. “Wait, I haven’t gotten to talk to you all night.” 

I stared at him a moment before replying, “I have nothing to talk to you about. I have to get back to my date.” 

“The caveman? Isn’t he a wrestler or something?” he scoffed and I felt my anger growing. Astaire looked so much smaller than I remembered. I wasn’t sure if it was just my brain comparing him to Ridge or my opinion of him falling so far.  

“Ridge is a professional wrestler with WWE. He works hard for what he has. Unlike you.” I sneered. Pushing past him, shocked when he grabbed my wrist swinging me back to face him. “Let go of me.” 

“Not until we talk, I know we ended badly, mistakes were made on both sides but I think we should give it another shot. You’ve had your rebound toy.” Astaire held tight to my wrist despite my attempts to free it. He was nowhere near as strong as Ridge but he was stronger than me and unlike with Ridge, I didn’t feel safe.

“Let go of me” I repeated, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. “Mistakes were all on your side, my only mistake was not realizing what an asshole you were before I came home from work early.” I tried again to free my wrist but he held firm. 

Whatever Astaire was about to say was cut off when he looked over my shoulder and froze, paling significantly. I grinned, I didn’t need to turn to know that 6 ½ feet of solid muscle was coming up behind me. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Having secured cake, drinks and a quick chat with the DJ I returned to our table but Alyssa wasn’t there. Frowning, I headed towards the hallway where the restrooms were. Turning the corner my blood immediately boiled when I heard the tremor in Alyssa’s voice and saw her trying to pull her arm free. Astaire saw me right when he was about to reply and I grinned at the way he paled as I stalked towards them.

“I believe she told you to let her go.” It was almost a growl but I didn’t care, I wanted to scare the little tosser. Lyssa visibly relaxed when he dropped her hand and I gently wrapped my arm around her waist pulling her towards me. She came willingly, glaring at Astaire. “Are you alright?” my question was directed at her but I was still glaring at her ex. She nodded, turning to give me a reassuring smile. 

“This conversation doesn’t concern you.” I was surprised when Astaire puffed his chest and challenged me, I was easily twice his size. 

“If you’re hurting a woman, especially my woman, then it concerns me. I’m not a fan of bullies.” I took a threatening step towards him, smirking when he visibly flinched and took a step back. “If you ever touch her again, I’ll break your fucking hand. This is your one and only warning.” 

He looked like he was going to say something else but thought better of it, shooting another glare at Lyssa who was pressed against my chest trying to contain a giggle, he turned and walked away. I watched him until he disappeared before pulling Lyssa’s wrist up to inspect the damage, scowling when I saw the fingerprint bruises already forming on her skin. 

“I’m ok, I promise.” she whispered, watching my face. 

I pressed a kiss to her bruised skin before replying, “come on, I got you a piece of cake with lots of icing.” She grinned wildly and linked her hand in mine pulling me towards our table. 

We had just finished the cake when the DJ announced the next song had been a special request and winked at me. Lyssa looked suspicious when I dragged her onto the dance floor, but she relaxed and smiled when she recognized the song. It was the one we had first danced to at Sheamus & Isabella’s wedding. I pulled her close, one arm around her waist the other bringing her hand to my lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. 

“You remembered our song?” she gushed. I was pleased she thought of it as our song as well. 

“How could I forget? The night you were forced to dance with me was one of the best of my life.” I whispered in her ear as we turned around the floor. 

She looked at me like she was about to cry but bit her lip and smiled. “This is why I love you.” she shook her head then froze, realizing what she had said. “Oh my gosh, I'm sorry, that slipped out, forget I said anything.” 

She was rambling but I had also frozen when the words left her lips, my heart definitely skipping a beat or two. She loved me? I shook myself mentally realizing she was staring at me with a terrified look on her face. I pulled her closer, catching her lips in a deep kiss. 

“Don’t ask me to forget that cor meum, I’ve been in love with you since the day we met.” I broke our kiss, pulling back just enough to whisper against her lips.

A tear fell from her eye and I wiped it away with my thumb, trailing it across her lips. The music changed then to another faster song and she pulled me off the dance floor. “I’m ready to go home now.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ridge unlocked my door with one hand, his other supporting me clinging to his back. He had given me a piggyback ride from the car up to my apartment when I pitifully complained about my feet hurting. Once inside he set me down gently and I groaned, finally taking the shoes off and tossing them to the corner. 

“Thank you for carrying me,” I grabbed his shirt collar with both hands, tugging him down for a kiss and then pulling him into my room the same way. I had made a decision on the drive home from the wedding while he held my hand in the car, his thumb grazing my knuckles and pressing kisses to my wrist at red lights. I was definitely in love with him, he was sweet, kind, considerate and his protective streak turned me on. I shivered remembering the growl in his already low voice when he saved me from Astaire. And he looked so damn good in the simple white shirt, stretched tight over his chest and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Which was saying something, I saw him half naked in the ring regularly. Reaching my room I turned, pulling my hair away from my neck. “Can you unzip me?” 

His hand was warm when he grabbed the top of the zipper, his knuckles grazing my spine as he pulled it down slowly. I felt more than heard his exhale across my neck when he reached the bottom, tracing the top of my lace panties. With a groan he stepped back and I barely held in a whimper at the loss of his hands. I turned to see his hands clenched at his side, eyes lifted to the ceiling. “Ridge?” 

“I have to go, I'll call you tomorrow.” I held my dress up with one hand and grabbed his arm with my other. 

“You’re not staying?” I tried to keep the quiver out of my voice, I swear I did, but if he wanted to leave right after we had admitted our feelings and when I had finally decided to take the next step I was going to pout. 

“I can’t, not tonight, after this..” he trailed off waving his hand between us. “I don’t trust myself to stop when you want me to.” 

I almost sagged in relief. He did want me, he was just trying to be a gentleman, my heart recognized what a sweet gesture that was and fell a little more in love with him. My vagina on the other hand was sick of this and wanted her man. That’s the only explanation I had for the step I took next. I let go of my dress letting it slide down my body and pool at my feet. “What if I don’t want you to stop?” 

[argylemnwrites]

Fight or Flight - Chapter 25: Parting

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~3300

Rating: R (language only)

Summary: Two months since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: Different perspective than I’ve written before, but an important character for us to check in with at this point, I feel. This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

Bertrand heard many voices around him, but he honestly couldn’t begin to process a single word that was being uttered. People were moving about the courtroom, everyone seemed to be talking at once, but he couldn’t hear anything in particular. All he could do was sit there in shock.

This was a disaster. An unmitigated, complete, and horrifying disaster. He’d lost his title. He’d failed, not only in protecting the good name of House Beaumont, but in preventing his father’s machinations to wrest power for himself.

He knew his father was a harsh man, a man who prided himself on the reputation of House Beaumont, even if he did expect others to carry the burden of maintaining that reputation more than he would ever be willing to do. And Bertrand knew he wasn’t a loving or caring man at the end of the day. But still, there were things you simply did not do as a gentleman. Lines that should never be crossed. And staging a coup for the sole purpose of gaining more control and influence was not the action of a gentleman.

Liam had been a good king - a man who cared about his citizens. And while yes, his actions in regards to the Auvernese king and queen had been probably too passive given what was at stake for Cordonia, the fact remained that his motives were just and appropriate. Same with Lady Riley and her family. While Bertrand would never understand some of the choices she made, both as a duchess and as a parent, he knew that both her and Drake had no self-serving ambitions politically, and that they’d only agreed to raise Her Regency as heir to help out not only their friend, but their country.

What was Father’s goal here in the long term? While his thirst for power was apparent, Bertrand couldn’t fathom how he saw it ending. Even if Father won the Conclave and managed to install himself as Cordonia’s king, he would likely face significant opposition. A civil war, headed by Lady Olivia and the citizens of Lythikos, would not be outside the realms of possibility. Was the mere allure of the potential power worth that gamble? That seemed inconceivable, but if the past weeks had shown him anything, it was that plenty of situations he would have never predicted as possible could come to fruition.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, drawing him out of his spiraling thoughts. Savannah had moved from the first row of seats to stand next to him. She looked concerned, her brow furrowed and her lips pressed tightly together. He glanced at her delicate hand on his shoulder, her nails perfectly manicured, the same pale pink as the tweed suit she was wearing. She looked perfect, the way a duchess should at a legal battle, but that title was no longer hers.

Looking down, he took in her other hand, clutching Bartie’s hand tightly. All he’d wanted was the chance to spend more time with his family, but he’d gotten complacent. He’d given his father an apple, and he’d taken the whole apple tree. How had they gotten here, to this point, where everything felt like it was falling apart?

“I’m so sorry.” He shook his head as he glanced up to look Savannah in the eye.

She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I know you fought as hard as you could. But, we should probably get going before…” Savannah trailed off, looking over his head.

Bertrand turned, taking in his father walking across the aisle towards them. He stood and spun to face him, shielding his wife and son in the process. He didn’t think that his father would try anything within the confines of the High Court itself, but Kiara’s warning to Savannah about how he was likely scheming and planning around Bartie had him a bit on guard. “What do you want, Father?”

Father raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Come now, Bertrand. I know you must be feeling somewhat burned, but this was for the best.”

“How was this for the best?”

Father shook his head. “Your loyalty is admirable, I suppose. But you shouldn’t let those feelings cloud your vision.”

“Father, if you think for one second-” Bertrand started, but Savannah nudged him in the back, cutting him off.

“Maybe this would be better to discuss at home?’ she asked, nodding towards Adelaide, Madeleine, Hakim, and Kiara, all of whom were standing just a few meters away. “This is a family matter, after all.”

“Of course, my dear!” Father gave a smile to Savannah that made Bertrand’s toes curl in his loafers. He clearly had plans for Bartie, and thought that Savannah might be amenable to that discussion. “In fact, why don’t we ride back to Ramsford together? I would love to spend some time with my grandson. I feel like I barely see him these days.”

“No, that’s quite alright,” said Bertrand, watching Savannah clutch Bartie’s hand a little tighter at that statement. “Maxwell is fetching the car for us.”

“But there is no need to-”

“We’ll continue this conversation at home.” And with that, Bertrand reached back and grabbed Savannah’s hand, tugging her along, out of the courthouse. They needed to get moving, get to the airport, get Bartie to safety. Spending even one more moment with Father seemed too dangerous to risk.

“Slow down, Bert,” Savannah said as they started down the front steps. “He can’t keep up.”

Bertrand paused for just a moment, taking a deep breath. As Savannah scooped Bartie into her arms, reporters swooped in around them. 

“Lord Beaumont, how does it feel to lose a title?”

“Why didn’t you return your father’s title to him once he recovered?”

“Will you still be opposed to Duke Beamont’s bid for the Conclave?”

“What are your thoughts on today’s events when it comes to Mr. Rys’ campaign chances?”

“Why did you think you were entitled to keep your father’s title?”

“Any words for the citizens of Ramsford?”

All Bertrand could do was shake his head, repeating “No comment” over and over as a barrage of questions, ranging from the cruel to the sympathetic, were shouted at him. He wove his way through the throng of journalists, clutching Savannah’s hand as firmly as he could muster, not wanting to be separated in this mass of people. At some point, Bartie started crying, no doubt overwhelmed and overstimulated by the crowd surrounding them, but eventually, they broke free. There was Maxwell, standing next to the car. He raced over to them, helping to shield Bartie from the cameras and microphones. Once they were safely behind the closed doors of the vehicle, Maxwell darted around to the driver’s seat. They’d agreed not to use a driver today, not risking anyone informing Father of their plans to meet Bianca at the airport. 

It was a tense ride. Neither Bertrand or Maxwell said anything. Instead, the car filled with Bartie’s cries from the back seat as Savannah tried to explain to him what was about to happen.

“So, you’re going to take a trip with Grandma, okay?”

“To the ranch?”

“Exactly! And you’re going to get to help her take care of all the animals. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“And Mommy will help too?”

Bertrand could practically picture the pained expression on Savannah’s face. He couldn’t bear to watch. Hearing this conversation was tortuous enough.

“No, sweetie. Mommy isn’t going on this trip.”

“Daddy?”

“No, this trip will just be for Bartie and Grandma.” Savannah’s voice cracked slightly before she was drowned out by a scream from Bartie.

“No!!!! Mommy come too!”

“Bartie, it’s a special trip for just you and Grandma. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

She was trying so desperately, but Bartie was now in the midst of a full-blown meltdown, screaming “No!” repeatedly at the top of his lungs. Out of the corner of his eye, Bertrand noticed Maxwell wincing, but he said nothing, almost acting as if he was unable to hear the toddler panicking in the backseat.

Bartie just kept sobbing, hiccuping as he struggled to catch his breath, but somehow still finding the air to continue to yell out “No!” by the time they pulled into short-term parking at the airport. As Maxwell went to the trunk to grab Bartie’s bag, Bertrand took a steadying breath, then climbed out of the passenger seat and into the backseat with his wife and son.

“Bartie, look at me. We’re going to see if Mommy can take the trip with you and Grandma. Is that alright, son?”

He watched as his son sucked in a couple shuddering breaths, tears pouring down his face. He opened up his mouth again, presumably to keep screaming, so Bertrand tried again to soothe him.

“We’re going to try and get Mommy a ticket, too. A trip for Bartie, Mommy, and Grandma. Does that sound better?”

Bartie sniffled and tucked his head against Savannah’s shoulder. Bertrand wasn’t sure if he was calmed by the thought of getting to stay with his mother, or if he’d mainly just worn himself out completely during the ride, but at least his son didn’t appear to be miserable anymore. He might have failed in his duty to his country, but providing his child with a chance for happiness had to count for something.

“Bertrand, are you sure?” Savannah asked, drawing his eyes to hers. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

Bertrand just nodded. “He needs his mother. You should be with him.”

“But your father-”

He placed a hand on Savannah’s knee, and gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “He is going to follow whatever course of action he has planned. I’m not sure what else I can do to prevent it at this point. While I will always appreciate your support, dear, I know that our son needs you more than I do.”

Savannah blinked a couple of times before leaning over and kissing his cheek. “Thank you, Bertie.” She smiled at him, then moved as if to exit the car, but as she slid towards the door, she paused suddenly. “Why don’t you come as well?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you come with us to Texas?”

“I… I couldn’t possibly.”

“Why not?”

“I need to stay here and…” Bertrand trailed off, his mind racing as he tried to figure out why Savannah’s suggestion was impossible. But instead of his typical list of duties, his mind remained blank. The truth was, he didn’t have any duties anymore. He wasn’t a duke. He was just the son of a traitor, unlikely to be welcome in his own home once Father learned that he had sent Bartie off to a foreign country for his protection.

Still, it seemed wrong to flee. With all the upheaval and turmoil Cordonia would be facing over the upcoming months, could he really just leave? Would that make him a coward? Didn’t he have a duty to stay?

“I… Cordonia is just… and I need to-”

Savannah placed her hand on top of his on the seat, her touch mercifully interrupting his nonsensical ramblings. “You did all you could for our country, and I know you want to do more. But at the end of the day, I’m not sure what else you can do to fight your father. The High Court ruled in his favor.

“What good is staying here going to do? You don’t have a vote at the Conclave. The social season will be going on hiatus soon anyway - the apple harvest is coming quickly. Why not come with us and be with your family?”

Bertrand swallowed, trying to break up the lump in his throat. “I can’t let anyone else down, Savannah. I just can’t.”

She threaded her fingers through his and gave his hand a tight squeeze. “You aren’t letting anyone down, Bertie. And anyone that thinks that putting your family first is a problem can go pound sand, alright?”

All Bertrand could do was nod. Maybe she was right, or maybe he was just too spent and run ragged to fight her on this. The one thing he knew, though, was that her suggestion sounded more appealing than anything had in weeks, even if he would be spending the upcoming months trying to avoid upsetting Leona.

They climbed out of the car together and moved around to the rear. “So, a bit of a change of plans,” said Savannah, reclaiming his hand.

Maxwell glanced up from the trunk. “Did I make the right call in packing for three?”

Savannah let out a chuckle and nodded, leaving Bertrand wondering how Maxwell could have possibly predicted that they would make this decision. 

As if he could read his mind, Maxwell said, “By the time this is over, I’m gonna be the expert at knowing when my siblings are making a run for it with their kids. I had a bit more warning this time, so I have everyone’s passports and some basics all packed.”

Savannah dropped his hand and stepped forward, giving Maxwell a hug with one arm, Bartie still wrapped up in her other. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you, Maxwell.”

Maxwell glanced over Savannah’s shoulder at Bertrand, so he gave his brother a nod. He hoped that Maxwell knew that his gratitude was genuine. Bertrand knew he was hard on him at times, but Maxwell had an uncanny ability to come through for those he loved in the end. Maxwell just nodded back, his gaze steady and sure.

“Alright, my man. Are you ready to take a trip with Mommy and Daddy?” Maxwell asked Bartie as Savannah pulled back, reaching up to give him a high five. Bartie nodded, but clung to Savannah tightly, clearly still upset about the earlier conversation. After a few seconds, Maxwell just ruffled his hair before he turned and started pulling bags out of the trunk.

“Okay, here’s your luggage, and here are your passports,” he said, passing Bertrand a stack of three blue passports with the Cordonian crest. “Now technically, you guys aren’t breaking any laws, but…”

“But what?” asked Savannah, swinging one of the bags over her free shoulder.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past Dad to try and track you guys down, harass you, that sort of thing. Realistically, he’s gonna know where you're heading, but he has no legal authority to follow you or anything. Still, it probably isn’t wise to stick with the family cell plan, you know?”

Bertrand snorted. “Are you suggesting that we purchase burner phones like we’re drug dealers or common criminals?”

Maxwell just shrugged, then pulled two cell phones out of his pocket. “I dunno if those are the only types of people who need burners. I’ve found having one pretty handy over the past couple of months.”

The implications of his statement, the impact of seeing his brother holding one cell phone he’d seen countless times and one he’d never seen washed over him. He’d been so caught up in everything unfolding with Father, he’d never stopped to wonder if Maxwell had been in contact with Lady Riley and her family.

“You have been in touch with them! How are they? Are they okay?” The questions spilled from Savannah, her eyes wide and desperate.

“They’re as okay as they can be, given the whole, you know, fugitive thing. I’ve got them staying somewhere safe. I wanted to tell you but I-”

“No, I get it. I’m just glad to hear they’re okay.” Savannah gave Maxwell another hug, her eyes glistening just slightly in the setting sun.

“They are. Bridget even took her first steps two days ago.”

Savannah let out a sigh as she brought her hand to her mouth. “Can I… I mean, if we get burners, would it be okay for us-”

“-to call them? Yeah, I think it would be. Just text me your new numbers to my burner so I can warn them to expect your calls. They don’t answer for unknown numbers in case it’s someone trying to track them.” With that, Maxwell handed Bertrand a piece of paper with three phone numbers on it. “Top one’s my burner, next is Drake’s, then Riley’s. Only use these numbers from your new phones, though. We can’t risk any overlap, okay?”

Savannah nodded aggressively, and Bertrand tucked the sheet of paper carefully into his wallet. He’d been so focused on his legal fight with Father, he’d never even thought to ask Savannah how she felt about her brother or how she was holding up. Based on her reaction, it had clearly been weighing on her, but she’d never let him see it, probably not wanting to add to his burdens. He would have to make sure she had as much of a chance to talk to Drake as she wanted once they got settled in Texas. He could help her mother and aunt around the ranch, take care of Bartie, do everything he could to give her that uninterrupted time. It was the least he could do, after all she had done for him.

He helped Maxwell unload the last of the suitcases, but Maxwell stopped him from pulling out the final bag. “Actually, that one’s mine.”

Bertrand frowned. “Are you joining us?”

Maxwell shook his head. “Nah, I’m gonna stay in Cordonia. But I don’t really feel like Dad’s gonna be super welcoming when I roll in all by myself, so I’m gonna go crash with Hana at Valtoria, at least for a little bit. Leave on my own terms before he banishes me or something.”

“You can come with us, Maxwell. I’m sure Mom and Aunt Lee won’t mind.”

He just continued to shake his head. “Thanks, but I’m good. I want to be there for Liam when it all unfolds.”

A wave of guilt started to crest in Bertrand’s stomach, which Maxwell must have sensed, because he spun to face him fully. “Just as a friend. We’ve both done what we can as members of the nobility. That’s all out of our hands now, okay? You are fine going to Texas.”

Bertrand paused for a moment, then nodded, wrapping his brother in a tight hug. “Thank you, Maxwell. I truly mean it,” he muttered before pulling back and clearing his throat.

Maxwell gave him a warm smile. “I know you do. Now go, Bianca should be waiting for you inside. I warned her last week that she might have some company on the flight, so go get your tickets!”

A few last hugs were exchanged, but all too soon, it was time to head in. It was strange. Just a couple of months ago, Bertrand was planning on making this trip for leisure  not worried at all that he was leaving his father to carry on the duties of the Duke of Ramsford while he partook in a family vacation. Now, he was in a similar position, except the fear and anxiety over the circumstances had increased exponentially.

Was he really making the right call, fleeing to the United States in the midst of everything? As they walked toward the departures entrance, he glanced back, wondering if he should send Savannah and Bartie on their own. But he saw Maxwell still standing there, and when he caught sight of him glancing back, Maxwell nodded deeply and mouthed, “Go.”

Bertrand didn’t know if this was the proper and honorable course of action or not. Maybe a better gentleman would stay and see things through to the end. But for all his failures as a duke, he knew that he could at least do right by his wife and child. And if that was the only solace he could take at this point, he knew that leaving with them might be his only chance to do right. He couldn’t serve his king or his country the way he wanted, but at least he could serve his family.

Perma: @mom2000aggie @octobereighth @kingliam2019 @lovingchoices14

TRR/TRH: @iplaydrake @princessleac1 @twinkleallnight @gkittylove99 @ladyangel70 @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @sirbeepsalot @iaminlovewithtrr @forallthatitsworth @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @hedgehogs-dilemmas

Drake/MC: @debramcg1106 @walkerdrakewalker @petiteboheme @mskaneko

FoF: @burnsoslow​

[meltwonu]

| 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔦 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 |     [Chapter 2]

pairing; fratboy!wonwoo x reader

this chapter’s notes; fratboy!wonwoo, dom!wonwoo, some soft ‘woo too, restraints, panties as a gag, dirty talk, degradation, name calling, oral(fem receiving), cum eating, sir!kink. My god it has been a week, a WEEK i tell you 🥲 Ldfkjdf I hope the lot of you are taking a big deep breath this weekend and doing something to relax or doing some self care cuz baby we all need it!💕 Treat yourself to something good! Take that nap! Buy that album! Get that coffee! I’ll try to bust out some thirst posts this weekend(i think we all deserve some, eh?🥴) should tumb1r not hate my blog and as usual, inbox round up tomorrow! 💕💕 For now, de-stress with ch 2 of UIMY, and have a great weekend! I love you!! 💕💕💕💕

chapters; 1 - 2 - x - x - x

You only get about 4 hours of sleep, if you’re being honest.

You won’t tell when asked because quite frankly, you’re a little embarrassed at how giddy you are to see Wonwoo today. You eagerly attend your morning class - panties already wet and mouth watering with the fantasies playing out in your head throughout the entire lecture.

“Hey, study buddy!”

Minghao slings an arm around your shoulder just as you turn to make a beeline towards the library, almost directing you into a different direction. “Where you headed off to? You wanna grab lunch?” Shit.

In the time that Wonwoo was gone, you’d spent a lot of time hanging out with other people trying to fill in the gap where, normally, you’d be spending underneath Wonwoo.

“I, um…” Going to get lunch with Minghao was one of the things that had become a normal thing after your morning classes and you hadn’t had the chance to tell him that your ‘usual’ schedule was back. “I--I’m gonna go study at the library for a bit! I’m really sorry! Can we go another day?” You pout at him which quickly melts off of your face when he shoots you a knowing smile.

“Gonna go ‘study’ Wonwoo-hyung, huh?”

Minghao lets you go - telling you to let him know when you weren’t busy.

You all but tear the front door open once you reach the familiar library; sheepish smile when it makes more noise than you anticipate.

“Careful, wouldn’t want you to pay the price of breaking the door.”

Wonwoo smirks at you from behind the receptionist table; familiar and warm when you step closer to the counter. “Maybe I do? What do you know?” You quip back, cheeks warm and head fuzzy at the sight of Wonwoo back in his usual sweater vest and slacks.

He leans in closer to you over the countertop, gesturing to you to lean in close as well. His lips ghost across the shell of your ear as goosebumps rise on your skin and shivers roll down your spine and the familiar thrum of arousal pours over your body.

“I know you were probably thinking about me all morning, sweetheart. Thinking of all the things I’d do to you.” Wonwoo chuckles under his breath, “Your panties are probably already soaked, hmm? Like my good little slut always ready to take my cock.”

His filthy, whispered words are enough for you to whimper quietly - eyes downcast as you only lean in closer. “Y-yes… Wonwoo, p-please, I--”

Wonwoo leans away from you and you find yourself letting go of a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“You’ll have to wait. I need to file these late slips and sort these books.”

There’s a teasing smile on his face as he watches your lips part in shock. “But you can do that, right? Be patient?”

No.

“I--y-yes...” 

You pick a table far from the others as you watch Wonwoo roll the cart with books into another row of bookshelves.

It felt a little odd to you now that you thought about it - waiting so patiently for Wonwoo when you were used to him caging you in against a bookshelf with his fingers knuckle deep inside of your cunt or even just tugging you straight away into an empty study room on days when neither of you could wait to get your clothes off.

There was a certain softness that he seemed to show with you now; one that you appreciated and made you feel things that you’d never felt in any relationship before.

Wonwoo would admit he wasn’t always good with showing his emotions with other people.

“He only shows it sometimes,” Jeonghan had said, “Usually to his hyungs and usually when he wants something.”

Which was true.

He struggled with letting his guard down and a lot of the time felt shy about voicing his emotions.

But with you, he felt differently. He wanted to show you that he was capable of letting his guard down and capable of showing you the affection and care that you deserved - even if the relationship the two of you had started was only physical at first. The time away from you only proved to him that he definitely cared about you more than he had initially thought too.

While his semester abroad was entertaining and educational, he found himself thinking about you often in the midst of his excavations and lectures. Wondering about what you were doing and who you were with; if you really thought about him as often as you had messaged him so.

“Um, excuse me?”

“O-oh, huh?”

He’s pulled from his thoughts just as another student steps in front of him in the aisle of books. “Sorry, I don’t remember where this book is from. Is it okay if I just give it to you?”

“Sure.”

It takes twenty more minutes of you pretending to study before Wonwoo’s legs step into your periphery.

You open your mouth to speak but Wonwoo is quicker.

“Miss, I’m sorry, but I need to speak to you regarding some books you failed to return.”

You try to hide the wide smile on your face when Wonwoo leads you down the familiar, lonesome side of the library.

“I’ll have you step into this room, miss.”

“Wonwoo, there’s literally nobody here…” Chuckling, you step into the empty, cleaned room that Wonwoo had painstakingly made sure was dusted before you came. “Unless we’re roleplaying, ‘cause then, I’m sorry, sir…”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, locking the door behind him before easily walking you backwards until the backs of your thighs hit the desk.

“You should be sorry, sweetheart. First, slamming the doors earlier and now overdue books? Tsk, when will you learn.” He easily slips into character, fingertips already ghosting against the exposed skin of your thighs before playing with the hem of your short skirt.

“How are you going to pay back what you owe, hmm? The damages might be irreparable.” He drags his hand up and under the flimsy material; appreciating the way your legs part a little more for him. A quiet moan floats past your lips just as his fingertips press gently into the growing wet patch of your panties.

“Already wet, too? Why exactly is that, sweetheart?”

“A-ah, ‘c-cause I want--want you to fuck me, s-sir… Been thinking a-about it all day… Just--just like you said...” You clench around emptiness, already impatient now that he had his hands on you.

“You have, huh? I bet you played with yourself last night, didn’t you? Fingered your slutty ‘lil hole and filled it up with a toy just to prep yourself for me.”

“Y-yes, sir…” Your guilty eyes avoid Wonwoo’s stern gaze, “I’m s-sorry… I--I couldn’t, ah, wait... Just t-talking to you, yesterday, I....”

Wonwoo’s fingers press hard against you, immediately rubbing your clit through your soaked panties as you mewl and lean into his warm chest.

“P-please… punish m-me…”

You can only whine around the fabric stuffed in your mouth; hands tied behind your back with Wonwoo’s belt keeping them bound.

Your body jerks against the small desk as Wonwoo fucks you from behind in the small enclosed space you were used to and a certain warmth pours over you knowing that nothing really had changed since he’d left.

“Shit, I really missed cumming inside your tight lil’ pussy and making you walk home with my cum dripping down your legs.” There’s a soft chuckle under his breath; cock curving right into your g-spot as you whine and squirm underneath him.

“Bet you missed it too, huh? Getting home and fingering your filthy ‘lil cunt, fucking my cum deeper inside of you ‘cause you couldn’t get enough of me. Fuck, and when you’d send me pictures of your cute ‘lil fingers covered in my cum…”

Wonwoo smirks at your back, placing a hand on your bound arms as he uses it for leverage to fuck you deeper and harder.

“I’m back for good now though, sweetheart. Let’s see what else your cute cock starved body can take.”

You can only moan back in return - spit soaking into the wet fabric in your mouth as Wonwoo only fucks you harder. “God, your cunt is so fuckin’ perfect. Made to take my cock.” When you clamp down onto his cock tighter is when Wonwoo realizes he misses hearing your voice - chuckling softly as he leans over your trembling body.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson, huh, sweetheart?”

He reaches around, tugging the soaking material from between your lips and placing it next to your head before he straightens back up. “Ngh… I, ah, s-sir…” You turn your head to the side, watching the wall as your body jerks atop the desk. “P-please… I--I wanna see y-you, hah, when y-your fuh--fuck me…”

A soft blush coats Wonwoo’s cheeks as he halts his movements. 

He clears his throat, pulling his cock out of you before stepping back and giving you space to readjust yourself. And with your arms still bound, you struggle slightly but manage.

This time, you sit atop the desk, spreading your legs wide for Wonwoo who licks his lips at the sight of your slightly mussed hair, blown out pupils and soaked cunt.

“That’s my good ‘lil slut.”

He positions himself between your legs, wrapping a hand around his cock and rubbing the head on your sensitive clit as you whimper. He circles the nub with the head of his cock, teasing you and himself as you squirm. “I take it you’ll be at the party tomorrow night, right?” His question catches you slightly off guard as you nod shakily.

“Good. ‘Cause I got you a present that I want to give to you tomorrow.”

“O-okay…”

Wonwoo sinks his cock back into you; cock curving into you perfectly as you cry out in return. “O-oh, god, s-sir--Wonwoo, I--fuck…” A choked sob bubbles up your throat at the feeling of him starting a harsh and quick pace, just how you liked it. “Mmh, my t-toys don’t feel as, hah, g-good as you… Fuck, you feel s-so good inside me…”

You wrap your legs around his waist, digging your heels into the small of his back to push him in closer to yourself. “Use m-me like I’m your little cumslut...” The desperation sets in; tears freely falling from your eyes as the urge to cum on his cock becomes unbearable from the hellish months without him.

“Please, p-please… Harder, fuck me harder! I n-need it!”

He grins, knowing just how you felt but keeping his composure as he doubles his pace. “So fuckin’ desperate for me, sweetheart. You sound so pretty begging for me. Is that what you sounded like when you were touching yourself too? Begging for me all night long?”

“Y-yes, fuck! Ngh, fucking my ‘lil holes with my t-toys all night j-just to be satisfied… Oh, god, Wonwoo!”

You can’t stop yourself from cumming - toes curling and thighs shaking as your walls flutter around his cock. Wonwoo only fucks you harder as soft growls fall from his own lips.

“Fuck, I missed this, missed you. Missed your tight ‘lil cunt cumming around my cock, sweetheart.” He mumbles soft praises to you, although you can barely hear it in the midst of your orgasm; ears ringing and head feeling hazy at the intensity.

Wonwoo fares no better - cock throbbing inside your warm walls as his orgasm hits him hard only after a few more quick snaps of his hips.

Your bound arms behind you do little to keep your tired body upright atop the table but you do your best as he rides out his high. “Mmh, I can feel y-you cumming inside me… Fuck, it feels soooo gooood.” Drool pools in your mouth at the feeling of his cock throbbing inside of you for the first time in months and you mentally tell yourself to never let Wonwoo disappear for that long of time ever again.

“Ah, I feel so f-full…” Whining, you squirm as he continues to thrust into you, fucking his cum deeper into your pussy as you throw your head back at the fullness and wetness you feel. “Oh… Wonwoo…”

He lets out a deep breath before he slowly starts to pull out of you - cock covered in his cum and your wetness as he watches his cum drip from your spent hole. You slowly unhook your quivering thighs from around his waist as he steps back slightly.

“I--oh--”

You watch as he drops down to his knees, face right in front of your dripping cunt before he leans in.

“Oh, Wonwoo--” His tongue peeks out, lapping at your soaked folds before he drags it down and starts licking up the cum. “Fuck, oh, fuck…!”

Wonwoo dips his tongue into your hole, teasing you as your legs tremble and you try your hardest to not clamp your thighs around his head between your legs. You start to fight your restraints; fingertips wanting to thread through his hair as you grind against his skilled tongue.

 He licks up more of the cum before dragging his tongue up to your overly sensitive clit; rubbing soft, slow circles on the nub until you’re a whining mess above him.

“A-ah, I--I can’t, mmh, ‘m too sen--sensitive, sir…”

He takes his as his cue to stand from his position, standing quietly before leaning over you. He threads a hand through your hair, tilting your head up and kissing you on the lips as you melt into his gentle touch.

Your eyes flutter shut at his soft kiss, lips parting slightly for him as he uses his tongue to push cum into your waiting mouth.

The kiss turns hot and heavy as he moves the salty, sticky substance from his mouth to yours - lips covered in a combination of your wetness and his cum when he pulls away.

“So pretty for me, sweetheart.”

When the two of you are somewhat cleaned up and ready to leave, Wonwoo stops you before you can get your hand on the doorknob.

“Hey, you okay?”

You shoot him a confused look, head tilted slightly at the bespectacled male that only looks mildly disheveled. “Um… y-yeah? Why?” His hand on your wrist makes your heart do backflips in your chest as he looks you over once more.

“I should’ve had some water for you and done proper aftercare since it’s been a while. I might've hurt you? Are your wrists okay? I can--”

“Whoa, hey, slow down! You’re, like, freaking out, ‘Woo.”

A pale blush coats his cheeks, “Sorry, I’m just trying to… be more… Expressive? I don’t know. It’s been a while. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He laughs lightly, somewhat embarrassed himself. “I don’t want to be weird but, y’know. I want to take care of you properly, sweetheart.”

“I--yeah, I understand! But I’m fine, I promise!” You beam up at him - happiness evident in your eyes and your smile. “Thank you… for making an effort, Wonwoo.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” 

[shorkbrian]

Okay hear me out and bear with my dumbass unrealistic thirst for a sec; imagine a real life reader who was obsessed with our anime character shinsou! She eventually gets over him, gets a real boyfriend, removes all those dumb poster, body pillows and photos of him. Only to get pounded on the mattress in the middle of the night by an angry shinsou who was watching everything behind a screen ✍️( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)💅 This is so unrealistic I'm so sorry—

This was supposed to be a Drabble but man? idek anymore what am I doing everything I do SUXXs lol 

(also you aren’t a dumbass lol that's MY job)

Okay wait but what if it wasn’t Anime Character! Shinsou but instead was like, Famous Instagrammer! Shinsou   👀

Like maybe he’s a model or does dance covers on youtube and has quite a few (2+ mil) followers. Dude’s got merch, t-shirts and photo cards and even a special edition body pillow (that you were lucky enough to buy before it sold out).

You follow him for years, from the time you were in middle school to now, watching his career, tuning into every instagram live and watching every story and following every fan account.

Freshman in college, you send him a message on instagram, A picture of you with a body pillow with his face plastered on it. You tell him how big of a fan you were, how you loved each picture that he released, you’ve been following him since day one and are so proud of how hard he worked to get where he is today.

Of course, nothing comes of it - you don’t think Shinsou even read it, but that almost has an appeal, doesn’t it? He’d never notice you, never know how obsessed you were with him back in high school, wouldn’t tease you for liking him so much. He was unattainable, an ideal so out of reach that you could safely idolize and love and imagine being with. You would never have to worry about the stress of him being in your life, whether to tell him about your giant crush or suffer through each day pining after someone who knew of your love, but didn’t love you back.

You were just another faceless fan in the crowd.

How do you know Shinsou doesn’t know who you are?

When he was first up-and-coming, he checked every account that followed him, excited to meet people that liked him, praised him for his talent, admired his hard work and commitment.

For some reason, you stood out to him, supporting him behind your screen. He noticed every comment you left on his posts, looked to see if you liked each picture, asked his agents if anyone with your name had bought his merch.

Eventually he made a burner account to follow you back, find you on snapchat, facebook; any social media of yours he could get his hands on.

Just as you were a fan of him, he was a fan of you.

But how were you supposed to know?

For some reason, Shinsou could never get himself to reach out to you. Shoot you a message and thank you for your unwavering love and support. And by the time he built up the courage, he was too big and too popular that his management wouldn’t let him respond to individual fans.

So Shinsou watched.

He learned how to track IP addresses and hack into a phone (it was harder than he thought), all for you. He wrote down your address and took note of the apps you had on your phone, eventually learned how to access your camera on your laptop and would check in on you whenever he could during his busy schedule.

For as much as you watched him, he watched you.

And it wasn’t creepy, how could it be? He wasn’t doing anything wrong, or bad. His life was broadcasted for everyone to see, and since you loved him so much, you wouldn’t mind your idol getting a glimpse into your life.

Sometimes he would sit down between shoots, pull out his phone to watch you in your college classes, typing away diligently on your laptop as you too notes, face scrunched in concentration.

If you left your laptop open at night on your desk, Shinsou would check in and see you curled around his body pillow, squeeze his own pillow tighter (if only it was you) in return.

He learned so much about you. But as the years went by, Shinsou found himself featured less and less in your life.

The pictures plastered on yours walls were slowly removed, replaced with pictures of you with your friends, out doing normal stuff that Shinsou wished he was able to do. His management would never let him go hang out at diners, or go to concerts unless it was some endorsement. You got to do all the things Shinsou couldn’t

You slowly stopped leaving comments on his post, you didn’t buy his merch anymore. Worst of all, you got rid of the body pillow and replaced it with an actual boyfriend.

Shinsou was hurt. You were supposed to love him, not some stupid classmate of yours. Shinsou had to watch as the two of you cuddled close to watch a movie on your laptop, sharing popcorn and buttery kisses.

It made him ache inside.

His biggest fan had replaced him.

One night he checked in to see you had left your laptop open on your desk again, giving him a perfect front row seat to you.... and your boyfriend...... having sex.

Shinsou snapped.

He still had your address - you had never moved out of your hometown. It was just a few hours from his next photoshoot, so he started planning.

He was going to make you his fan again, whether you liked it or not.

You were only allowed to support him, to love him.

Shinsou was going to make sure you didn’t forget.

[pearlcaddy]

Hi! Sorry if this sounds creepy but I was scrolling through your tumblr and read somewhere something along the lines of you not being worried about jatp being renewed or something (maybe i miss read?? probably it was like 2 am). BUT if I'm right, can you explain? because I'm SUPER worried and getting more worried by the second.

I did say that!

Here’s why I’m not worried about Julie and the Phantoms not being renewed yet:

(below the cut--sorry if you weren’t looking for a long monologue!)

So to preface this, I don’t have any ~secret intel~. This is all me reading the tea leaves based on my experience of the industry and my knowledge as a Scholar™.

1. I’ve never been fussed about Netflix not renewing JatP quickly, because they’ve reversed decisions about renewals in 2020. (Fans of The Society and I Am Not Okay With This, I feel for you.) The pandemic has disrupted a lot of TV production norms. So I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s an internal shift at Netflix to be more cautious about (at least publicly) announcing that they’ve greenlit another season until they’re sure that they can produce it. If they renew too early and then have to walk it back, it would create fan backlash and expense that they’d rather avoid.

2. Part of the reason Netflix reversed renewal decisions last year was because of the impact of covid on production, and a show whose lead actor is a minor will be feeling that even more. Hence Owen’s joke about how Madison should “hurry up and turn 18”—minors can’t be on set as long as adult actors, and those restrictions can make production schedules very difficult to manage under the best of circumstances. Some of the pandemic-related safety measures put in place on TV sets require productions to operate more slowly, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Netflix is waiting for fewer of those safety measures to be necessary before they can film a series that has minors in lead roles. I assume that part of the delay in announcing a next season is that they’re waiting to figure out whether/when it will be practical to go into production.

3. Allegedly, the second season is already being developed. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything—plenty of series develop future seasons without getting renewed—but it does mean that there is enough optimism that the production team has deemed it worth their while to invest time in developing the second season.

4. The fact that Netflix is using JatP actors to promote their other properties like The Prom indicates that they think these actors have the status to attract audience members. And that’s kind of unusual—Netflix tends to let its recommendation algorithms do the promotional work for them, but in this case, they clearly think that these actors have enough appeal for that kind of promotional outreach to be worth it.

5. Speaking of promotion, remember this Instagram post that we all laughed at for being a blatant thirst trap?

That’s not an ad that’s aimed at eight-year-olds. And that’s actually really good news. Netflix’s recommendation algorithms are based around taste communities, which are basically groups of viewers who like certain kinds of content. (For example, some of the obvious taste communities for JatP are “musicals” and “magical TV.”) The series that Netflix values the most are series that are watched by viewers from multiple different taste communities.

Officially, Netflix doesn’t collect demographic information like age, but a taste community like “magical TV” is specifically for kids shows. JatP is mostly listed in kids mode altgenres (altgenres being the name for those ridiculously specific genre rows.) Netflix was anticipating that JatP would be limited in its appeal to a younger demographic.

But Luke’s arms? Netflix recognizes that, in reality, the series is not just being watched by kids. They’ve been shifting how they promote the show, cutting different trailers that appeal more to adults and using social media to target Thirsty Adults™. (Obviously, not all adults are thirsting for Luke’s arms, and you don’t need to be an adult to thirst for Luke’s arms, but that kind of promotion has an assumed audience that slants older.) Which means that a couple months of viewing data has told Netflix that this series has appeal beyond the taste communities that they initially assumed it had. And that’s makes it very attractive for renewal.

6. JatP has been trending on Netflix, and even made a couple of top tens lists in different countries. That’s pretty unusual for kids shows on the service. Not unheard of, but it again speaks to JatP having a popularity beyond the obvious taste communities, and that popularity is precisely what Netflix values and precisely what makes it renew a series.

7. There’s miscellaneous other stuff as well, like the amount of BTS footage that’s being released to keep us invested in the show, and the fact that Kenny Ortega has a multi-year deal with Netflix. This doesn’t make his shows uncancellable by any means, but Netflix has invested millions of dollars into wooing him and they’re committed to working with him long-term.

tl;dr I assume that the delay in renewal is because they’re avoiding having to reverse a decision in case of production difficulties, but that they’re intending to renew the series.

I might be wrong, but either way, I’m personally happier with them not announcing a second season until they’re sure. Because a reversed renewal would break my heart more than waiting does.

[thedukeofhastingssexyrobe]

Just to get this of my chest: If I were the show writer, I’d make additional 2-3 episode of season 1. I feel like the ending is rushed. Also I’d do anything for additional episode of Saphne being utterly scandalous (pre and post marriage) LmMAOOO. Tbh, I’m mad because Simon dumped her after Daphne had “a revelation” the night before. Also: It’d be great if we had a sneak peak of “the help gossiping about the new duke and duchess”. Bcs lets be real they had front row view of the drama lolz

Nonnie l agree with everything you said about the ending, yes it was rushed !! l still can’t believe that this is a shondaland’ production....anyway l won’t talk about that ending because l feel like l’ve been talking about it for months and  l’ll end up ranting if l do lol. 

l’m here for scandalous saphne, l love a good messy dynamic lol. I would’ve killed for a cheating plot !!! 

Look at thirsty daphne, l didn’t add simon’s gif because l didn’t want to make a long post but the potential for a good cheating plot was there!!  THE THIRST WAS REAL !!!

Can you imagine if we had two episodes of a storyline similar to this: Simon don’t want to get married but he desires daphne, daphne wants simon but she also wants to get married. Since simon don’t want to get married she end up saying yes to the pince’ proposal. But because they can’t get over each other, they end up having an affair. 

l would’ve loved to see simon and daphne’s ridiculous excuses for sneaking around: daphne in the middle of the dance “sorry your highness l need to get my gown hemmed, I can walk, sit and move comfortably but l keep tripping on it because it’s too long”. Anthony” where were you simon”  “sorry l fell asleep in the park did l miss something ?”. lol

“the help gossiping about the new duke and duchess”. Yes yes yes we need this for season two!!!! We really want to hear them talking about the duchess and the duke’ high sex drive; @writers make this happen !!

Thanks for the ask nonnie

[verai-marcel]

I posted 658 times in 2021

98 posts created (15%)

560 posts reblogged (85%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 5.7 posts.

I added 955 tags in 2021

#arthur morgan - 286 posts

#rdr2 - 268 posts

#never ending thirst - 167 posts

#rdr2 fanart - 63 posts

#charles smith - 36 posts

#nsft - 33 posts

#self reblog - 30 posts

#verai answers - 26 posts

#red dead redemption 2 - 25 posts

#john marston - 21 posts

Longest Tag: 81 characters

#i remember being so proud that i could install the rf adapter cable all by myself

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Serendipitous Meetings (Arthur x GN!Reader, Modern AU, 18+)

Summary: You foolishly didn’t mark where you parked in the huge parking structure, and spend some time looking for your car. You run into a fellow who did the same thing, and things get ridiculously serendipitous from there.

Author’s Notes: How many tropes can I shove into this fic? Let’s face it, I just wanted to have Arthur fuck like the manly man that he is. Also going for gender neutral as much as possible, so all my readers who want a piece of Arthur can have him.

Tags: Arthur x GN!Reader, smut, light D/s tones, size kink, light spanking, neck grabbing, rough sex, dirty talk, modern AU

AO3 Link is here, li’l darlin’.

Word Count: 3764

--------------------

"Shit."

You let out a long suffering sigh as you looked around the packed parking structure. In your rush to meet your friends, you had forgotten to take a photo of where you parked. Now you stared at the large expanse of cars, racking your brain for at least a slight memory of how you got to the venue entrance from your car. 

Sticking your hand into your pocket, you gripped your phone for a moment before letting it go. You had already shooed your friends away, insisting you had parked nearby and could get to your spot no problem. Swallowing your pride, you started to search the rows for the off-white bucket of bolts you dared to call your car. 

After searching one floor, you trudged up the stairs to the next one, stopping a few steps past the landing to gaze upon the hundreds of cars before you. You faintly heard another set of steps coming down the stairwell, but you were so mired in your own despair that you didn't pay the sound any mind. 

"Shit," said a gravelly voice next to you. 

Glancing over, a very broad set of shoulders filled your view. Your eyes flicked over the red and black flannel shirt and blue jeans, with an almost hilariously large belt buckle. Then you looked up. 

Oh no. He was gorgeous, in a rugged, manly-man sort of way. That chiseled jaw, the five o’clock shadow, that thick neck… he was the kind of man who could probably pick you up and throw you over his shoulder with ease. You were so busy staring at him in tired awe that he finally noticed you.

A pair of turquoise eyes met yours. "Sorry," the man said. "Can't find my truck."

It took you half a second to remember to respond. Then you gave him an empathic half-grin. "I can't find my car either."

He pointed upstairs. "What's yer car look like? Maybe I saw it up there."

You shook your head. "It's just a generic off-white Toyota Corolla."

The man shrugged. "Oh. Well, sorry darlin', there's a bunch of those up there."

You sighed, lamenting the fact that your car was one of the most popular cars out on the road these days. You also secretly enjoyed him calling you darling with that accent of his. He sounded like he had just stepped out of a spaghetti western. 

"Maybe I saw your truck downstairs, if it stands out," you said, trying to be helpful. 

"It's a blue Chevy pick-up. Really old, like one o' them classic trucks, 'cept it ain't been cleaned up like the ones you see in a car show."

Your memory flashed with the image of a dirty blue truck in your apartment complex's garage. You stifled a laugh at the thought. You had always wondered who drove the old thing, since you had never seen its owner. 

"Nope, I didn't see a truck like that downstairs," you told him. 

"Oh. Well, guess we better start lookin'," he said. He looked at you for a moment, opened his mouth, then closed it again.

You waited.

“Maybe,” he finally said, “maybe we could look together? For a bit. Keep each other company.”

“Okay,” you said easily. Part of your brain screamed that it could be really easy for him to just pull you into his car, but you dismissed the voice in your head. He seemed alright; you had a good feeling about this guy.

The two of you took off towards the left side of the structure. Putting your remote under your chin and hoping it would actually increase its range, you hit the button on occasion. 

“Uh, what’re you doin’?” he asked, pointing at your remote.

See the full post

85 notes • Posted 2021-09-19 23:34:17 GMT

#4

Arthur giving reader beard burn on her thighs 😏

Oh oh oh, shall we get erotic up in here?

Never in your most erotic dreams did you imagine the scene before you. You hadn't dared to even conjure up the thought.

But now, between your legs, Arthur Morgan was kissing his way up your calf, then gently licking behind your knee, tickling you.

"Ar-Arthur," you stuttered, trying to move your leg away. His grip on your knees, however, kept you locked in place. He spread you open, exposing you to his thirsty gaze.

"Oh yes darlin'," he rumbled, rubbing his cheek along your inner thigh. "I've been dreamin' 'bout this."

He feasted on you like a man obsessed, his tongue exploring every bit of you, his lips closing around your sensitive parts so he could kiss and suck and nuzzle. Every once in a while, he'd move away to rub his face against the soft skin of your inner thighs, as if he was a tomcat, marking his territory.

Soon your skin became reddened and sensitive from his whiskers scratching against you.

"It burns," you moaned as Arthur rubbed his cheek against you for the tenth time.

"Sorry darlin'," he slurred, drunk on pleasuring you. "Lemme make it up to ya."

And with that he slowly licked your skin then blew gently on it, cooling you down and soothing you. At the same time, he slipped his fingers inside you and started to stroke you in time with your heartbeat.

It wasn't long before he pulled the most delicious climax from you, your channel clenching around his fingers, your nectar coating his fingers. He licked them slowly, savoring your flavor as he closed his eyes and sucked his fingers clean before opening his eyes to look at you with a simmering stare.

"Thanks for dessert, sweetheart."

87 notes • Posted 2021-01-08 05:19:05 GMT

#3

Instinct (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x F!Reader, Noir AU, 18+)

Summary: Four months after you start dating Arthur, he comes to you in the middle of the night, tired and bloody. What do you do when his more primal instincts come forward?

Author’s Notes: My dear @reddeaddufus, for all the beta reading you’ve done for me, thank you. I wasn’t expecting to write a sequel to this story, but for you, I’ll do it.

Tags: rough sex, man handling, size kink, dirty talk, medium honor Arthur, prone bone, doggy style, creampie

Word Count: 3040

AO3 Link is here, sweets.

--------------------

A loud thumping at your apartment door woke you with a jolt. With adrenaline surging through your veins, you slipped quietly out of bed and grabbed a frying pan from the kitchen as you made your way to the front door. The thumping had slowed, but was still louder than the pitter-pattering of the rain. Wondering who it could be this late at night, you peered through the peephole. In the inky darkness, you couldn't quite make out the large shadow that loomed in your view. 

You stepped back, wondering if you should just ignore it.

Through the sound of the rain, you could hear a familiar voice. "Darlin'?"

You gasped and quickly unlocked your door, fumbling with the locks in your haste. 

"Arthur!" you whispered harshly as you pulled him inside. 

"Lock the door, sweets," he rasped. Pulling off his jacket, he dragged himself to your dining table.

You did as he bade before turning on the lights, bathing the room in a soft amber glow. 

Arthur placed his wet jacket over the back of the chair before he slid down into the seat and let out a huge sigh. His pants were flecked with mud, and though the rain had drenched his clothes, it had not washed away the crimson splatters marring his white shirt.

“Are… are you alright?” you asked. Your voice was quiet, trembling with anxiety.

“I’m fine,” he said curtly. Then he looked at you, really looked at you, and his eyes softened. “Don’tchu worry darlin’. Most of the blood ain’t mine.”

The worried look remained on your face; he turned away, unable to say anything else.

You knew what he was thinking. He had been courting you for the past four months. You knew his life, what he did for a living. It wasn't like you had never seen him being the big scary enforcer; you had watched him save you, after all. 

But these last few months, you’ve also seen him as a kind, sweet gentleman. It was almost as if he had a split personality, and he hid his beast deep inside when he was with you. Whether in bed or otherwise, he treated you like a delicate doll and always touched you with the utmost reverence. Aside from the first time he took you to bed, he was tender and sweet.

However, you weren’t some wilting flower. You had seen Arthur at work, single-handedly tossing out trouble makers, lifting them up and chucking them outside as if they weighed nothing. 

And lately, his acts of violence in the name of protection have started to make you feel a bit… aroused. 

***

It started a couple weeks ago. One night, after singing backup for a few songs, you had taken a break at the bar. As you were sipping a glass of water, you noticed off to the side a few drunken men beginning to shove each other back and forth. 

Arthur had stomped up to them and barked at them to stop. When two of them didn't, he immediately put one into a headlock and casually walked him out the door. After flinging him outside like so much trash, he stalked back to the other man. His arms were flexing in his shirt as he walked, a deadly gleam in his eyes. 

The man had quickly backed down and left the bar. 

You, on the other hand, felt heated like the fires of hell and incredibly turned on by his predatory aura. You wanted to spread your legs for him and beg for him to dominate you. You could easily imagine him picking you up and carrying you over his shoulder, then taking you to the dressing room and locking the door behind him. In your fantasy, he sat you on the closest table before untying the halter top that kept your pencil dress from sliding down your body. He would make quick work of your strapless bra, freeing your breasts and cupping them in his big hands to tease your nipples until you whimpered in surrender. He'd slide your dress just far up enough to get at your panties, rip them open, and finger you until you came while panting his name. Then he'd free his massive cock from his pants and plunge inside of you, pumping his hips in wild abandon as the adrenaline from his previous fight made him no more than a seething whirlwind of lust and possession. 

In the midst of your heated reverie, you belatedly realized that Tilly had been trying to talk to you.

"You alright there? You're about to go back on stage with the others.” She tilted her head while looking at your face, noting the way your breath came out in quick, shallow puffs. “You want to sit this song out? I can let’em know you ain’t feelin’ well.”

Taking a deep breath, you smiled at Tilly. “I feel fine, just needed a moment to clear my head,” you lied. What you really needed was Arthur. But you had a job to do, so you finished your glass of water, and went back onstage to sing your heart out. Being a backup singer had its advantages: because the audience’s eyes were focused on the lead singer, you were free to stare as shamelessly at Arthur as you wanted. 

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96 notes • Posted 2021-10-31 15:59:09 GMT

#2

Sharing is Caring (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x F!Reader, Charles x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You and Arthur have been a pair for a few months, and he's fully aware that he claimed you when you were still getting to know everyone in camp. When he notices you and Charles talking together amicably, he gets an idea and can't let it go. He only hopes that you would be willing to go along with it. 

Author’s Notes: Been a while, huh? Just a random idea I had late one night, and it wouldn't leave my head. So in this fic, I’m thinking Arthur is incredibly proud of you, your beauty, your energy, your everything, and wants to show you off. He secretly gets off knowing that you chose to belong with him, and that he’s being such a great guy by letting you enjoy yourself with others. He could be a possessive and selfish man, but instead, being as giving as he is, gives to you what lesser men wouldn’t be able to handle: your freedom to indulge in some fantasies, and as a byproduct, some of his fantasies as well.

Tags: hotwifing, smut, dirty talk, rough sex, blow job, doggy style, paizuri, Charles x F!Reader, Arthur x F!Reader, unedited

AO3 Link is here, my friends.

Word Count: 3589

--------------------

Arthur took a short break after carrying around bales of hay for the horses to fondly watch his lady walk around camp, getting her own chores done. When she caught his eyes, she smiled brightly at him, just for him, and his heart leapt with joy. She had only been here a few months, but within the first week, he had made his move, uncharacteristically bold with the new gang member while she was still learning about everyone. Something about her made him nearly feral with desire.

Luckily, she had felt the same way about him. 

Now he watched as she turned her glowing smile to Charles, and he saw him nod his head to her, a gentle smile on his face in response. He would have been just as good of a partner to her, Arthur thought. He would have treated her kindly, worshipped her body just as he did—

A mental image came unbidden of her lying on the edge of a soft bed, her legs spread wide open, and Charles standing at the foot of the bed, taking her with strong, steady thrusts. He quickly shook his head of the thought, but although he turned back to his work, the idea percolated in the back of his mind. 

***

You had noticed Arthur acting a bit strangely these past couple of days. As you went about your daily routine, it seemed like he wanted to say something every time he managed to run into you, but he could only give you a simple touch on your arm and a shy smile before heading back to work. It was as if he was hiding something, and after being with him for the past few months, you had learned to read him a bit better, but you weren't even close to figuring out why he was being so dodgy lately.

You finally had enough and went to ask Charles. 

"You notice something strange about Arthur lately?" 

He looked at you, raising an eyebrow before he replied. "Does he keep looking like he wants to ask you something and then runs away?" 

"Yes!" you answered, glad that someone else had noticed. "Is he hiding something from me? Should I be concerned?" The pitch of your voice rose with every word as worry creased your features. 

"Don't worry wildflower," he said soothingly, "I'll talk to him."

You nodded, glad that Arthur had such a good friend. "Thank you."

He nodded and wandered away to look for Arthur, while you suddenly realized that he had called you by a pet name, like it was the most natural thing in the world for him. 

***

It was towards the end of the day when you saw both Arthur and Charles coming up to you. Arthur looked a bit chagrined while Charles just walked beside him with a sympathetic glance every now and again. They both stopped in front of you, and Arthur took off his hat. 

You were a bit wary because of the serious look on Arthur’s face. 

"Darlin'," Arthur started, but quickly became silent, staring at the ground for a few seconds, then glancing up at the sky as if he was praying for strength.

"Yes, Arthur? You know I'll listen to whatever it is you have to say. You'll suffer no judgement from me."

He smiled at your reassurance. "Then, would you be willin' to, um, come to the hotel. With both of us?" 

You can't say you were expecting that. Glancing over at Charles, you put two and two together. They must have talked about this before, and only now did Arthur have the courage to ask you such a thing. To be honest, before you had paired up with Arthur, you had imagined having a night with Charles, the mental images bringing heat to your cheeks. Even now, your eyes were drawn to those broad, muscular shoulders and those thick arms that could lift you with no problem. 

"Sure," you finally answered, much to Arthur’s relief. 

Charles looked satisfied and nudged Arthur with his elbow. "See? Nothing to worry about," he said before nodding towards you. "I'll see you both tonight."

He walked away to leave you and Arthur alone. You looked up at your lover, both excited and confused. He had never shown any interest in sharing you before; in fact, you hadn’t even thought of the idea yourself until they had brought it up. The question must have shown on your face, for Arthur stepped closer to you and took your hand. Looking around to make sure no one was around to notice, he took you further into the forest away from camp so he could talk without being interrupted. 

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129 notes • Posted 2021-02-27 05:25:16 GMT

#1

https://www.instagram.com/tv/CWg2yP2AsZU/?utm_medium=copy_link

John: *is talking*

Arthur: *interrupts* "He's drinkin' bud light, loser."

I can totally see @reddeadvoid drawing this, their art is fully in my mind with Arthur giving John shit about his beer choice. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

147 notes • Posted 2021-11-21 00:44:16 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[neuvistar]

꒰⠀ ⠀꒱⠀DINNER IS SERVED! OUR MAINS!

please make sure you’ve read the guidelines below.

꒰⠀⠀꒱ 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒? 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓? (𝐁𝐘𝐅)

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱⠀this blog is an 18+ multifandom blog, i interact with nsfw n sfw content but minors, ageless, and blank blogs dni. on here, i usually ramble about honkai star rail (hsr), genshin impact, jjk, and occasionally orv.

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱ i’m very lonely on here so please talk and interact w me despite me being shy as hell, i accept anons, name anons, etc! pls pls ask me! <3

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱⠀even though i don’t write these sort of things, i have zero issues with people aging up characters and what not. even though its not really my cup of tea, i really don’t mind so don’t worry !

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱ IMPORTANT. these are some of the reasons why i block certain people— you SPAMMED / SPAM-LIKED, a minor, you’ve made me uncomfortable, you abuse tags, or you’re a blank-blog. at-least decorate your account n put your age in your bio, geez

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱⠀PLEASE DO NOT. I REPEAT DO NOT SPAM-LIKE MY POSTS. listen, i understand if you’re just going through my masterlist or something but please don’t spam-like 5+ times in a row, this will result in a block.

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱ — i procrastinate often, and i have a life outside of tumblr. speaking of this, i have a very inconsistent posting schedule and sometimes i forget to answer asks, forget to do requests, and sometimes i’ll finish wips late. all i ask for you is your patience and don’t rush me

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱ — for mutuals, i can be very shy at times. so for this, please don’t ask to be mutuals unless i want to be mutuals first and all that, i don’t wanna get in awkward situations and i’m sure you don’t either ! feel free to send a few asks and maybe i’ll reconsider if we interact often.

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱ — speaking of mutuals, there are rare times where i break the mutual. i break the mutual if i feel uncomfortable but like i said, that’s rare. another thing to note ! sometimes i might accidentally break the mutual bc i don’t remember who u are :,) bc of change of users, etc! pls send me an ask 2 let me know so I can follow u back !

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱ — i post about all sorts of things ofc but sometimes i can get too carried away and spam too much. i’m aware this isn’t a problem for other people but this is just a heads up! (i talk A LOT)

꒰⠀⠀꒱ 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓. (𝐃𝐍𝐈)

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱⠀minors, ageless blogs, blank blogs, etc. you know it

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱⠀ZIONISTS, homophobic (transphobic, biphobic, lesbiphobic, etc etc), racist, ableist, a proshipper, ignorant, spread and send hate asks for no specific reason, a hater, or if you’re just a jerk in general, shooooo !

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱⠀please absolutely do NOT bring discourse or hate here. i will not entertain you with negativity so it’s no use talking about random bullcrap here. this is supposed to be a safe spot for me, my followers, moots etc. don’t ruin it !

꒰⠀⠀꒱ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒? 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄?

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱ please do keep in mind that i write requests if they pique my interest :,) i’m so sorry about that. furthermore, i have the right to decline a request, prompt, or thirst and all i ask is for mutual understanding regarding that.

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱ another thing i’m gonna add! i will ALSO write for other characters who HAVE a canon timeskip and are ADULTS in that timeskip :) i will say no to one’s who don’t though, please keep that in mind!

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱ fandoms i write for?: honkai star rail, genshin impact, jujutsu kaisen, blue lock, orv. i might write for more but this is it for now, send me requests + thirsts etc for characters in these fandoms i mentioned!

꒰⠀ ⭑ ꒱ what i write?: i write mostly fem!reader, and occasionally gn!reader. everything i write fall under fics (short or not, it really depends on how much i wanna write), drabbles, thirsts, you name it.

willing to write?: nsfw + sfw content, angst, fem!reader, anything related to pregnancies n babyfever (watch out for this, i talk about it often but not too often now, just watch out for it!) breeding kink, etc etc. i literally write almost about anything unless it goes against what i DON’T write.

not writing?: incest (step-cest or not idgaf i’m not writing it), male!reader, femdom reader (i’m terrible at writing these), non-con / dubcon, cnc, piss + scat, necrophilia, ageplay, p3dophilia, foot fetish, huge age gaps, any kind of violence, s3lf h4rm, anything related to blood, gore, foot fetish, aged up characters (again, i don’t have an issue on ppl who do), mental illnesses, k!dnapping, hardcore yandere content (hardcore meaning things that include murd3r, etc), daddy or mommy kink (unless if it’s gallagher or toji, sure LMAO), etc

[hamliet]

err did you really just say mutsuki hasn't hurt anyone besides himself?..he slaughtered cats, almost killed akira on rushima, was squad leader of 100 children encouraging them to slaughter on the streets, commanded the oggai to frame out where they screamed in pain & torment, tried to kill touka multiple times, enabled auras unhealthy thirst for revenge, had yoriko put on death row, Kuroiwa died trying to save her, he hit dragons eye so it went on a rampage, now trying to kill urie & saiko (1/2)

(2/2) Everyone might have had a chance to get Kaneki out and stop dragon before the 72 hors were up if mutsuki didn’t attack him. I love mutsuki too and I really want him to get help because he’s clearly not in a healthy state of mind after everything he’s been through but his actions have certainly hurt or affected a lot of people

*rolls my eyes*

Permanently, anon. As in, permanent consequences. I literally warned you in that rant that I was hyperbolizing so my advice is to learn not to take everything literally. He hasn’t hurt anyone besides his family–which he is too sick to be blamed for–permanently in terms of story consequences. I was talking literarily, not as if it was real life. Akira is alive. Yoriko is alive. Touka and baby are alive. Aura would have gone on revenge anyways. Urie and Saiko tried to hit him too.

Honestly? I’m not in the mood for this today. Please do something you enjoy instead of arguing over phrasing that was literally said to be hyperbolic in the post. Like honestly what were you trying to accomplish in sending me this? Do you want a pat on the back because you feel justified? Were you just mad I said Reddit annoys me? I also said to each their own and if people like it, good for them; those were my personal feelings. Like honestly what were you trying to accomplish? 

Edit: to be less mean. I’m sorry I’m kind of harsh in this, but this is not what I wanted to wake up to, and again, I wasn’t intending for any of what I said to be taken literally. 

[madmaddy-life]

So, I did this Q&A about Saints Row (about the Boss, aka BossOC or whatever). It’s not that... Good. I mean, I was answering freely, and some questions are not even answered properly, because - I have no idea what to say about it. Some got detailed (and pretty long) answer. Some are a bit repetitive in information... At some points I got lazy, so... Yeah.  If some of you are interesten in a huge wall of text - feel free to read this monstrousity. (sorry about no cut - for some reason for me it’s broken, and doesn’t OPEN the post, but rather just links back to the post with still CLOSED “read more”... I dunno, wtf man...)

1. Where did your character come from? What do they think of Stilwater?   Ion lived in a nearby small town (who cares about names?). One day  (he was almost twenty) he got up in the middle of the night, packed  most of his stuff in a backpack, got out of the window in the kitchen  and left his parents's home. Then he took the night bus to Stilwater  (I don't like the idea of Stilwater being mostly islands, because -  there's so much islands in the world, it's not that realystic. I know  it's a game design choice, but, ech. Continents man, continents.). He slept whole night and when he woke up - there was Stilwater. In  its whole glory... At first he didn't really liked it, just because the city he used to  live in, was different. But then got used to it, and soon felt like  it's the place he belongs to. Like home. 2. What is your character’s gender and sexual orientation? Did either of  those factors have an impact on their relationship with any homies,  or on their role within the Saints?   Ion is a male, and he's actually a bisexual (with preference for  males). This doesn't really affect anything, since Ion doesn't brings  this up in any way or conversation. He keeps his sexuality to  himself, unless he crushes directly on someone of the homies\ members  of the Saints (which usually doesn't happens. Because most of the  time he's too busy doing something. Plus, there's a little rule - no  relationships "at work"). And the other Saints - among those who know, and there's not that  many who knows, only the leutenants and Gat - don't care about that.  Pierce felt awkward about it, at first, but then got used to the  thought. Plus Ion reassured him that he "wouldn't date his whiny  ass". (It was insulting, but fair.)

3. What tattoos does your character have? Are they related to their  experiences as a Saint?   He's actually afraid of needles. Scared shitless. So he was dreading getting any tattoos for a really long time. Yet  after the space events he finally got one (after forty years of his  life), and a huge one too. Go big or go home, right? It's a tattoo of two wings starting on shoulder blades and going on  the arms... Cheesy a bit, bit in theme of the saints.

4. Describe your character’s appearance. What are their prominent  features? What appearance options do they use from the character  creator?   The distinctive feature about him is his hair and his nose. Apart  from that he's average looking guy. His hair have these few strands which always stand up, no matter how  much hair gel he uses (he uses. sometimes). Only if his hair are  completely soaked, then they lay flat. Topknot always stays, no  matter what, though Ion had few haircuts (a mallet till 20-21 y.o, a  messy undercut after the coma, and a simple haircut after that.) and  two times had his head completely shaved. (first time his dad forced  him to shave his head, because "you look like a fag, some sissy, not  a man. We have to fix that asap." (obviously Ion hated it, and was so  angry at his dad, he didn't talk to him for months). Second time he  got his head shaved by medics, while in a coma. They had to remove a  metal shard out of his head...).

His nose was broken at least four times. When he was a kid, his nose  was straight until he got into a fight over a boy he had a crush on.  (his nose was straight, but he is not. lol). Second time his nose got  broken when he picked up a fight with classmates, who badmouthed his  mother (classmates got their teeth removed by a collision with fists  and a leg of a chair...). Third time was by Maero. And fourth time...  Fourth time was stupid, he just faced an open door in the middle of  the night (no pun intended. Well... maybe a little)... Literally. He  smashed his face into a door... it was dark, okay?

5. What are your character’s taunt and compliment options? Do they issue  a universal gang sign for the Saints?   Is flipping off people really a taunt? But he does that. Makes an eye  contact and then gives the finger. The menace factor of this has a  huge range, which depends on how serious\angry Ion is about it. It  can be like a joke, when he smiles and flipps you off, or when he's  giving you the death look and flipps off with both hands. That means  that people are gonna die, if they wont run as fast as possible.

The compliments usually given in the form of gestures, as thumbs up,  and somehing like "good job". He rarely says compliments infront of  everyone, it's more like, if someone scored at something - he'll come  up to this person and tell them directly, that they did good and he's  proud of them. Ion doesn't really force anything on people, except couple of rules  which is :

1. Respect the Boss. (if you don't respect - you get your ass  kicked.)

2. Family goes first. (loyalty and devotion to each other and the  saints. If you value something else more and betray your family in  any way - you're dead, motherfucker...)

3. No one speaks thy name. (No one. Mostly because few people know  his name actually, and those who know are allowed to say it only in  private conversations, IF and only IF they've beend told so.)

So, Saints can greet each other however they want, dress in whatever  they want, basically do whatever they want, if they don't break the  rules. (and don't act too cocky...)

6. What voice option(s) did your character use? Were there any VA lines  that affected how you meta’d your character?   It's first voice in the SRTT (and in the SRIV I guess?). He has deep  voice, when he whispers it gets a bit husky.

7. How did your character meet the Saints? How old were they, and why  did they join?   As in the canon. He was walking by, minding his own businnes, and  got caught up in the gang rivalry. Actually got really scrapped by  some ricoched bullets, but was okay with getting involved in whole  gang thing. He was pissed off at the whole world, his parents (dad,  mostly), people in general, just left his hometown, was broke and  hungry. Plus he had this strong thirst for revenge, so fucking up the  gangs who got him shot - was really necessary. Ion was 20 years old, when he met Saints. And he got nothing else to  do. Being by himself and alone didn't really worked out for him, so  he decided to stay close to those who seemed to care about him and  his well being.

8. What were your character’s impressions of Canonization?  Since he was a problematic teen from the start, had anger issues  and picked up on any fights he could... He was okay with beating up  his new found peers.

9. Did your character set out to climb the top of the Saints’ ladder? How did your character react to the way Stilwater changed after their  coma?  Ion didn't really set up any goals, after getting in the Saints he  just did what he's been told to do, and actually was a little shy at  first. This was like way above his head. An adulthood he didn't  expected. (One night, he was laying in bed, looking up at the  ceiling, and then sudden realisation hit him. In what shit he got  himself into. But it was too late... Then, the feeling of being in  charge of everything was pleasing enough. He liked it, and became a  bit greedy about it...) Then he got blown up at the fucking boat. When he got out of the jail he was slightly weirded out by the  changes. That's because he did not yet grasped on the fact of how  much time he spent in a coma. The more time passed, the more freaked  out he became... Freaked out and pissed off. Everything changed but  he stayed the same, back in his own time.

10. Did your character ever feel betrayed by any former Saints after  waking from their coma? What did they think of the Saints who dropped  their flags? He was pissed. He was pissed at everything and everyone. But mostly  at himself - if only he weren't in a coma, Saints wouldn't gone to  shit... He didn't really blame those who gave up. The army without  the leader - is not really an army. He knows that. But that doesn't  mean he wasn't annoyed by the fact that he had to build everything  from the scratch and he felt like everyone abandoned him (except for  Gat, of course).

11. How good of a Boss is your character? How do they run the Saints? (If  your character is not the Boss, would they be a good Boss?)  When it comes to strategy - he's not that good, but most of the  time he works alone, or with the leutenants. So it's not really an  issue. He's actually pretty smart, though most of the time it doesn't  seem so, but it's a good thing - people underestimate him and his  abilities, and it doesn't work in their favor.

12. How well does your character fit in with the gang? Do they have any  friendships and/or rivalries apart from the Saints LTs?   He's the heart of it, and a big dad to everyone (except for the  Gat, who is like, another dad, but all about explosions and killing).  He's a big goof and sometimes even his comrades don't take him  seriously, which is... a stupid thing to do, because Ion most of the  time is serious about EVERYTHING. Even if he's doing a ridiculous  thing, and talking about it in a joking maner. (Like, if he calls to  everyone to  get all the gang, in the middle of the night and go to a  disney land - he's serious. If he says he's about to break someone's  hands - he will do exactly that. He means business at any time. In  crimes and friendly spending times.) He likes to hang out with all his buddies, when he feels like it. If  you're in the "family" - you're a friend, and you worth spending time  with. Ion usually acts friendly if he likes people, but doesn't exactly  trusts anyone who is not in the "family" circle. That being said - he  doesn't have any friends outside the Saints Row. Rivalries - a lot. Most of the gangs\criminals\politics - do not like  him, and some of them actively want him dead. But with no luck.

13. How did your character react to teaming up with Ultor? What projects  did they endorse or get involved with as part of the Saints-Ultor  media group? Hmmm...

14. What were your character’s impressions of Steelport? How well did  they adjust to being away from home?  "What the fuck with the statue?.." (about Magarac monument) Ion felt that the Steelport is a bit smaller for him, and at first it  was weird being there. And again, he had to start from the beginning.  He was a stranger and he didn't like the feeling of it. But as the  time passed, and city's gangs fell one after another - he felt more  and more at home. Because, yeah, another "home"\city conquered.

15. How did your character react to the way their enemies (like Kiki and  Zinyak) reminded them of their past failures? Did their accusations  bother them?  He fucking hates it. It's like poking a fresh fleshwound with a  knife, and twisting it inside. Outwardly he stays relatively calm,  but boils inside with rage. It takes a lot of effort for him, to not  snap and kill a person who's talking about it. It really bothers   him, because he feels responsible for deaths of his friends, and some  of them really fucked him up mentally.  (He had a crush on Lin, though  it faded really fast, and her death wasn't really upsetting. Though  he was mad when she died, because of how stupid it was, being caught  while trying to save the girl, and then SHE saves him instead and  dies... Aisha's death weren't that infuriating for him too, though they were  on good terms. He was upset and angered by the fact that it was aimed  at Johnny, and seing him being broken over Aisha's death was too much  to take. Carlos's death fucked him up the most. That one got him bad. After  his death he actually changed. He was in apathy for almost a month,  mourning his "little brother" and trying to get back to normal life -  which didn't happen. Then, after Shaundi called him - the switch has  flipped. Ion got out of the apathy to get revenge, and didn't stop  until the whole town was theirs. Then he slipped back to depression, and actually had to take meds, to  keep himself going. He continues to take meds till the SRIV.  Sometimes when he feels okay, he makes breaks in treatment, but it  ends up bad...)

16. Did your character Save Shaundi or Kill Killbane? Why?  Saved Shaundi. Because family goes first. And he couldn't bear  another friend's death.  He got to Killbane later.

17. What was your character’s presidency like? How did they campaign?  Troublesome. He's not exactly a president material, doesn't like to  sit and talk  to all these politics, it annoys him beoynd any reason.  If it wasn't for his pals - King, Keith, Pierce and Kinzie - he'd be  done with being president really fast. After some time he actually  got so frustrated, he started to sneak out of the White Crib, under  the nose of his bodyguards (those people piss him off badly), and out  in the city, to wreak some havoc and chill out (as he understands  chilling). Asha had to chase him down, (with Matt's help), to put him  back where he belongs. Ion was so upset and offended by that, he  didn't talk to both of them for a week. His campain was set up by Kinzie and King. Ion isn't good at  politics, but trusts them both. He also makes sure that all the  promises they made - are fullfilled.

18. What was your character’s nightmare simulation like?  Pretty much the "Pleasantville" shit. Where everyone's normal, and  HE'S normal. And forced into acting like a complete douchebag.  (Douchebag being a straight, lawful person, with a wife, not  swearing, not breaking stuff, wearing stupid clothes etc...) For him  it's a nightmare to be like his dad. His nightmare started in the morning, waking up, doing a routine and  going off to boring office work, then coming back home, and seeing as  along the way, all his friends die in accidents. But he couldn't  break out and try to help them, because he's in a hell of being  lawful person, who just looks at everything, and waits for the police  to act...

19. What did your character do after they killed Zinyak and took over his  empire?  For a long time - nothing. Like, really, nothing at all. They all  were chilling for a while, celebrating and fooling around, because  this whole deal was exausting. After that almost every member of the  crew underwent a wave of depression and homesickness. It affected  Matt and Pierce very bad - first kept to himself while desperately  seeking a way to bring the Earth back, second started to search  remains of human culture and bringing stuff on the ship, everything  that could be scavenged across the space. While it was possible to get back in time, because they had a time  machine - time traveling was prohibited by Kinzie, since she didn't  wanted to risk and play with fire in the face of the time paradoxes.  Even though she admitted that she'd gladly used it, to get back  everyone (especially Oleg). Ion fell into the apathy again, and since he got off his meds - none  existed on the ship, and surprisingly Zin's analogs wouldn't help (if  he'd actually asked for them, which he didn't. He never told anyone  about meds.) - he sinked into depression pretty deep. Drowning in  guilt. That lasted for a while, until Matt almost got himself braindead in  the simulation (he was researching if it'd be possible to execute one  plan he had, so he was re-playing and re-playing one scenario in the  simulation, till the computer system overloaded and went berserk...  He succeded though, to find a loophole. Couple of them, actually.). The news cheered everyone up, and Ion agreed to Matthew's  shenanigans... That's the whole AU story.

20. What major canonical changes did you apply to your character? Which mission-based DLCs (i.e. How the Saints Saved Christmas) are  canon for your character?  Hmm, not that much, I think. (Or a lot probably? Idk. I have a lot  of backstories and headcanons, so... ech?) None of the DLC's are canon. That being said - I'm pretty much okay  with aliens and sci-fi stuff, but all this "magical bullshit", while  it is funny, doesn't please me as a storyteller. (cuz, you know, pies  can have that much ingridients, until they become weird tasting.  Like, you can blend sci-fi and drama, or you can add drama to a  fantasy. But fantasy AND sci-fi??? No. Just... No. Magic and space  science don't work really well together, imho. That's just my own  preference. Still enjoy the "spinoffs" though. Like, Christmas DLC  was hilarious. As GOOH was hilarious too. When they started to SING,  I cracked and lost my shit laughing. But still, for me the best storylines were in SR2. It was the  strongest game out the shole series.)  (Though, maybe, I can "allow" the SRTT DLC's - with Kwilanna-Jenny  and that dork in glasses, who cloned Gat. Cuz that is sci-fi related,  and I do like Jenny (So does Ion. After all they were dating, until  she got into acting and set a priority to her career, and Ion got  annoyed by that.)

21. How did you structure the series’ timeline for your character?  Come on. That's like... Evil question. SR's timeline is SO FUCKED  UP, you either have to build your own ignoring the canon, OR you have  to somehow make the canon timeline work... So, withought saying lots and lots of dates\years, let's just... try  this... I'm going to base the timeline of a few factors which are  relevant to my Boss, and fit in logically with my headcanons. First  of - Boss's love to 80's songs. Then - Carlos's age and year of death  (he's 26, when he dies in 2007), and Matt Miller's age and "assumed"  year of birth (16(SRTT)-22(SRIV) 1998). So, Ion was born somewhere around 80s, he's one year older than  Carlos. In the 1998 Matt is born, Ion is 18. At age 20 Ion runs away  from home, soon after meets Julius and gets into the Saints. The  events of SR1 happen within a year or so, then six years of coma.  It's 2007 (Ion is 27, Carlos is 26 and soon dies, Matt is a 9 year  old kid.), the events of SR2 happen again within a year. Then another  7 years pass, bringing us to the SRTT, which happen in a 2014 (Ion is  34 y.o., Matt - 16.) Then, in a course of 6 years Ion and the Saints  get into the White house, and after that the invasion happens, and in  2020 the Earth is blown to pieces. (Ion is 40 years old, Matt - 22.). The age of other members of the Saints is like... I'll have to sit  down and either figure that out, or come up with something. Later.

22. What is the most memorable, uplifting/positive moment your character  experienced?

 He has quite a few memories he's fond of.

Running away from home was memorable, and all in all positive for  him.

One evening in Stilwater, at the old open-air cinema, when he and  Carlos were chilling together, looking at the sunset. 

Getting into serious relationship (for real, he fell in love pretty  hard for the first time in his life, and weren't rejected or dumped.  Because his previous crushes ended up just like that.).

Oh, and getting to drive the tank for the first time... That was  like... Christmas.

23. What is the most memorable, depressing/negative moment your character  experienced? Also quite a few.

When he got beaten up by a boy he liked. (That was like in  kindergarten. He's still salty about it.)

Carlos's death. (obviously. Because in Ion's eyes Carlos was his  younger brother, his family. He never had any siblings, so this bond  was very dear to him.)

When Matt got kidnapped and almost killed. (He still sees nightmares  about it. Well, he sees nigtmares about his "family" members on a  daily basis, but this one bothers him a lot.)

24. What is the weirdest/most embarrassing/most shocking thing your  character has done?  Embarrassing story - One time in Steelport, Ion was at old crib  (Shaundi's ex's flat, abandoned by everyone, cuz - there's like a lot  of nice houses out there, big cribs and skyscrapers. But Ion likes  tiny flats actually, so he stays there often.) sleeping till noon.  Naked. That's just how he is, don't ask. Someone rings at the  doorbell, Ion wakes up and goes to open the door. There's no one  there, but a suspicious box on the doorstep. Ion's confused. And as a  dork, he picks it up, to check what is it. Luckily, the box is  ticking pretty loud and then starts to ding... Ion realises his mistake and quickly abandones the flat. Through the  window. BOOM. Box explodes, leaving this jackass butt-naked on the  street, with burning flat, and no phone to call someone for help. So  he had to get to a nearest crib to at least get some clothes on. Now, he has nothing to be embarrassed - he has it all. BUT, the fact  that he's been half asleep and acted like a fool, and now had to walk  around in the nude - that was embarrassing. He's glad that he didn't  met anyone who knew him (like Pierce of Shaundi.) He didn't wanted to  explain this one..

Weird story - Almost everything he does is weird, on some level. But  this one weirded out Matt at least (he's pretty new to Ion's quirks,  so...). One day Ion just dissappeared from the White House, for a whole day,  and no one could find him, for some reason. Everyone were loosing  their minds, worrying and trying to find him, but with no luck. The next day he shows up at Matt's doorstep, very-very sick. His  throat is sore, he can't talk and has temperature, but grins happily.  Turns out he hijacked a chopper, flew all the way to Stilwater and  spent the whole day on the little lake on the hill (you know one,  near the open-air cinema), swiming and munching ice-cream. He had  like five jars in a mini fridge, some beer and an inflatable mattress  with him. He probably weirded out the locals the most though...

Shocking story - What isn't shocking about Ion? }XD

25. Has your character ever felt uncomfortable or disgusted with  something that occurred in the series?  Not really. He's okay with pretty much everything or he's angry at  it. Ion has high tolerance to violence\gore\whatnot, unless it's  affecting his friends.

26. What does being a Saint mean to your character? Does that definition  ever change for them during the series?  He always questions that. He's not sure really. It's like, they're  the Saints, because everything started at the church, but none of  them really is a saint. And definetely not him - he knows that, and  thinks that it's ironic...

27. What would your character have done if they hadn’t joined the Saints?  After dropping the college, if his dad didn't kicked his ass out into some military school (he would run away from there for sure), he probably ended up working with animals. Like in a petshop.

28. What is your character’s family like? How would they react to your  character being part or associated with the Saints?  His mom is a small, chubby woman, very religious and kind. She makes the best potato pies, goes in church, likes country music, loves her husband and her kid. (Ion is a kid. Even when he's in his fourty.) His dad is this tall, stubborn gray-haired man, always frowning. Always quiet. Always judging. Brr. He likes to watch guessing TV-shows, work in the garage. He never drinks. Doesn't smoke. Doesn't smile. Both of them are pretty close-minded. Though Ion's mom is more forgiving and understanding, she's soft. His dad is like a stone goat...  Since Ion ran away, they didn't actually knew what happened to him, and his mom searched for him, and reported to the police about dissapearance of her child (20 year old die-hard goof-off, but, hey, what do we know...) untill one day they saw him on TV. They found out he was in a gang after the Saints became a big deal, and... His mom was just happy that he's alive and looking well - "And he's in a suit, with a tie! He grew up so much!" His dad was dissapointed of course, disapproving and harshly, silently judging... As always.

29. What are your character’s weapons of choice? Car of choice?  Well, Ion likes all kind of weaponry - the more the better (the bigger - the cooler). Usually he has at least one pistol on him (but prefers dual weapons - pistols or uzi's). RPG is always a "must have", though it's too big to pull around... but if he has a chance to get his hands on a huge gun - he'll take the opportunity, be that an RPG, a minigun, or a flamethrower. Ion is a sucker for a muscle cars... Nuff said.

30. What super powers did your character favor the most in the  Simulation? What super power not in their arsenal did they wish they  had? Super jump and ability to glide. Everything else is least favourite, but useful in a fight. He likes to jump around and "fly" from a point A to a point B, and land all superhero-like. Such a show-off.}X ) He wishes that he had an ability to be invisible, but Matt made fun of him because of that... Well, he didn't "made fun of him" but more like, sarcastically mocked, explaining that, no matter how transparent Ion will be in the simulation, Matt always will see him as at least the information bits running through the code. "So, it will be pretty pointless, you see... invisible man. Haha." (Ion frowns)

31. Does your character ever sustain any major injuries or scars from  their work with the Saints?  Yeah, he has some scars. First of all, he has a little scar on left arm, from a ricocheit, when he first met Saints. Then second, he has this scar on his head - you can't see it, since he has a nice fluffy hair, but, if he had a shaved head... There's a scar starting behind his right ear and going on the back of the head. That's where the metal shard got stuck. Then, he has a scar on his right side of the body, from bullets. One slided merely touching him, other went through. He got shot by the brotherhood, when he was at Carlos's workplace - covered Carlos. He has lots and lots of small scars all over his body, but they're tiny - from ricocheit bullets\glass and metall shards and whatnot... Oh, well, and his nose was broken, as I said.

32. What activities does your character do when they’re not doing Saints  business? He sleeps. Sleeps, sits in the shower, eats or watches TV. Everything normal and mundane he does at his "free time". When he's feeling okay - he rather spends time with someone, doing whatever the person wants to do (he once spend whole day shopping with Shaundi and Pierce, they couldn't stop him after. The other day he tried to get Kinzie out of her hideout and they ended up at one of those Hi-tech exibitions. She was happy. Ion fell asleep at the couch.). Or if they're okay with what he offers - which can be anything from simple movie night, to a heavy weapon shooting range session - they'll do that. When he feels mentally ill, he'll spend his time sitting at some isolated place, far-far away from people, spacing out. He likes to stay at high place (like a hill or rooftops) and watch the day pass by. Sometimes he stays in his small flat and watches TV-series. You know he's at the bad place, when he watches three seasons in a row...

33. What radio stations or songs from the series does your character  listen to? Are there any non-series songs you attribute to your  character?  Ion loves - LOVES - the Mix radio station. All the 80s. All the 80s songs, all the old stuff. He knows all the lyrics, though he's not that good at singing or getting in a rhytm, it doesn't stop him. He also low key listens to the K12 and Gen-X, and likes dubstep, but he won't admit it, ever.

34. What diversions did your character like to do in Steelport and  Stilwater? Which ones did they avoid?  Everything that includes mayhem and destruction. Watching things go BOOM and explode to pieces is a favourite thing. Insurance fraud also was "fun". (Though one time he got his leg broken for real, and noticed it only on a next day when it got all swallen. It was a closed fracture, isn't that bad, but he had to wear a cast for two weeks. Ion is tough, and heals very quickly - his coma was a rare case of not getting well fast - everything else has to be a severe injury, to make him lay in bed for a long time...) He doesn't like races, even though he likes cars. He's "bad" at driving, and doens't like how smug all the racers are... Ion also felt uncomfotable during escort missions. The sounds are weird, man.

35. Describe your character’s fashion sense. Which shops in Stilwater  and/or Steelport did your characters visit the most?  When sport meets classic... His style is more casual. He's a big guy and sometimes has problems with getting a fitting clothes. He's almost 6'3" feet tall, and likes to wear loose clothing, or something that fits well, and doesn't hamper the movement. Otherwise he'll just rip it real fast... (So, any shop where clothes are big...)

36. Which restaurants in Stilwater did your character visit a lot? What  did they usually order? Freckle bitch's. Oh man, this guy... He's like a garbo eating machine - all the fast-food you can imagine, he'll eat and probably still be hungry. He has high metabolysm, and burns all the calories very fast, so he can handle all this greasy food and lots and lots of sugar...

37. Which crib in Stilwater was your character’s favorite? Which crib in  Steelport? A little flat at the Red Lights, the one in the basement and Shaundi's ex's flat.

38. Name the top three Saints your character got along with the most. Gat, Shaundi and Pierce. Old buddies, best friends. They're time-proof, and he knows them for a long time now. Even though he's on a good terms with most of the Saint's, if he'd be in trouble they're the ones he'll call for help first.

39. Name the top three Saints your character got along with the least.  Angel, Troy, and... ??? He just doesn't get them. Either doesn't understand, or gets annoyed by them pretty fast.

40. What shenanigans do your character and their homies get involved in  together? Many things. I can't even...

41. Which homies did your character call up as followers on a regular  basis? Which homies did they call the least, or not at all? Usually Ion doesn't call anyone. He likes to work alone, and doesn't want to risk anyone's lives. But if it's not dangerous, he'll call somebody... (Usually Gat or Oleg. Then Pierce or\and Shaundie.) In Steelport Simulation he liked to tease Matt and called him a lot, for whatever reason (though he knew how Matt felt about simulation after being trapped in there).  He never called Kinzie. Ion was okay with her being at home, and helping him from a distance, that was suitable for both of them.

42. Describe your character’s relationship with (asker inserts name here;  eg. Johnny, Viola) Johnny - it's that kind of relationship, when one of them can call the other in the middle of the night, to ask to meet them at the pier with a pocket of marshmallows and a flamethrower, right the fuck now - and they'll be there. Without questioning the sanity of the caller. Ion will tear apart everyone for Johnny, and Johnny will do the same for Ion. Both of them are there for each other, to either beat in some sense into or to support in the insanity.  Shaundi - she's like a little sister for Ion, and everytime she  makes some serious decisions, or acts tough, he gets all emotional and thinks that it's adorable. (And Shaundi tries to punch him, just to not show that she's glad that he's happy and proud of her.) Ion for her is a big dorky brother, though she knows that when he's near - she's safe. So it's like two siblings, who sometimes get on eachothers nerves.  Pierce - is both a party-starter and a party-pooper. And Ion actually likes it about Pierce, since he can be happy-go-lucky, and serious and strategic when needed. They can tease eachother about everything, but both know when to stop and not hurt the feelings. Sometimes they meet up to bitch about something to eachother and drink beer. Pierce likes that Ion listens to him (even though he makes this "oh, no, here we go again"-face, he actually takes him seriously), and Ion knows that Pierce can give a good advice. Occasionally.  (Others - if someone will ask about it, then I’ll add\write it down.)

43. Who (if anyone) did your character romance? If they romanced someone  (or multiple people) how did they get together? Matt. He fell for him really bad, after a while. They actually have met before Matt showed up on Kinzie's monitors.  Matt went out to work through some things and be alone for a while, he was at the little park, near the water, dressed all casual to not draw any attention. He was minding his own business, when he heard gunshots, yelling and cars crushing. Then Ion shows up, pulling a huge crowd of morningstar gang members after him. They're pissed as hell, shooting at him. Matt tries to hide behind a stone fence, to not get shot, he's horrified. When Ion ends up hiding behind the same fence, Matt is in terror and panic, he can't even say a word. He knows WHO this asshole with a pistol and a red shirt is. Ion has no idea who Matt is, he shoots back at morningstars and jokingly asks Matt about the weather. Matt is in an awe, can't speak and just shrugs. Then Ion asks him whether he can swim or not. After that he just grabs him and jumps in water, hiding under a bridge in a huge pipe. Matt is  in shock, and stays quiet till morningstar leave, and Ion helps him to get out on the shore. Ion then apologises, hijacks a car parked nearby and asks Matt if he needs a drive to safety, (Matt actively refuses, shaking his head) then he drives away. Why, for what reason Ion tried to "help" Matt get out of there - no one knows... After a long time on the ship, after Ion got pissed off at Matt and punched him, they both tried to stay away from each other. Matt was a bit scared of Ion - he always was - and after a beating he stayed at the loading dock of the ship, working on stuff and trying to avoid Ion at all costs. Ion felt guilty right after Matt refused his hug - he saw the fear in his eyes. After that he felt weird and guilty about everything, and seeked a way to apologise... At night he sneaked in the dock, and right in time - Matt tried to carry a heavy box, and almost got crushed under it. Luckily, Ion helped him to carry it, and word for word... He apologised. Thereafter Ion searched for any opportunity to spend some time with a geeky kid, he wasn't sure exactly WHY. But after some events in the simulation, it hit him. Matt suspected it, but he refused the thought and his own sympathy to the utmost. When Ion resqued him from Killbane, he gave up... That's the whole AU story.

44. Which gangs did your character hate the most? Which gangs did they  fear the most? Brotherhood and Luchadores. Ion both hated them the most and was a  bit afraid of. Not for himself, but for his "family". Both these  gangs mean business, and though Luchadores were less threatening,  Killbane somehow reminded Ion of Maero... Ion hates Maero. Ion hates  Killbane. He wants them both DEAD. If he could - he'd kill Maero  twice, or even three times. Same goes for Killbane.

45. Name a fanfic and/or fanart of your character that you are fond of  the most.  Well, I'm not sure if somebody wrote or drew Ion, except for me, so... Feel free to do so, if you want, it'd be nice to see\read. I didn't write anything about him (except this fucking huge Q&A list, haha), but I drew him a lot, and made some short comics about him. I'm quite fond of him in general.

46. What non-SR stuff did you draw inspiration from for your character? Not sure... Maybe my own experience with the world, relationships  and some dreams and wishes, fears maybe.

47. Who would you cast as your character if someone decided to make an  IRL movie out of Saints Row?  Ha... haha. Don't know. I'm not into action movies, and have no idea about actors and whatnot (Jack Nicholson is pretty cool, but he's not really "Ion-like", and he's what, hundred years old? Joking ofcourse. He's cool.). But IF there was a cartoon - full lenght, hand-drawn or 3D movie about the Saints - I'd watch the heck out of it.

48. Do you have any alternate universes or crossovers involving your  character? Yees, I do. A huge AU, where they got Earth back using science and  loopholes.

[kin0seok]

IAU(Idol Arts University)

this is the first fic I’ve ever written. I’m not a writer so don’t judge lol.

this is pretty much fluff, comedy and thirst, there won’t be any smut sorry. read if it you want. I’m writing this for my own enjoyment really, but some mutuals told me i should post it. 

SF9 X Pentagon X Laith & Kari (there will be other random idols thrown in here and there)

This a multi chapter fic and it’s gonna be hella long

The Main characters are fixed. their based off of me and my BFF

I’m Laith in the story btw. 

IAU is a somewhat Small Private Arts university. This is what happens when two boy crazy/Thirsty girls get thrown in the mix of it. 

                                    Chapter 1: This is Paradise

Laith had just stopped the moving truck in front of their new place when she looked at her bff Kari and said “Can you believe we just bought this place, what are we about to get ourselves into?”

“I honestly can���t, but it should be a fun adventure!” Kari replied, “And Dahlia said this place should be paradise for the two of us!”

“why do you think she would say that?” she looked at Laith with a slightly puzzled look before opening the door of the truck and hoping out.

Laith shrugged slightly while wondering the same thing to herself. She did find it odd that Dahlia said that, but then again she did know her and kari the best out of all of their friends. What exactly would be paradise to the two of them?

The two girls had decided it was time for something new in their lives, they were getting tired of the same old boring thing day in and day out, they were craving adventure. Adventure so happened to find them one day when their friend Dahlia offered to sell them her place and her business. She owned a cafe and dance & music studio near a private arts university, it had practice rooms for dancing and sound proof rooms for practicing music and also a few small recording studios. Dahlia thought it was perfect for the artsy town, there were already a few cafes in town and a couple of dance and music studios but she figured one with a cafe connected would be perfect for a place that was near the school. Plus there wasn’t a dance or music studio near the school, of course they probably had to have their own stuff in the university but it was a small university that opened only about 30 years ago and only had about 200 or so students. So Dahlia opened her business a few years ago and it was always frequented by the students of the university, so much so that the school decided to sign a contract with her to make it exclusive to the universities students.

Laith hopped out of the truck and looked around, the business was located a few blocks away from the school in a beautiful neighborhood of vintage brownstone houses. Laith had always wanted to live in a place like this, being a small town girl she wasn’t a big fan of cities so she never had the opportunity to live in a place like this before, but she decided it was time for something new and she’d seen pictures of Dahlia’s house and she absolutely loved it.

Kari came around to the side of the truck that Laith was standing on and looked at her watch. “ Where the hell is Dahlia? She said she’d meet us here at 9 a.m.”

“You know Dahlia.” Laith replied, “ When has she ever been on time for anything? Hell her mom even says she was late for her own birth!” “Shit you right.” Kari replied with a chuckle, their friend honestly was never on time for anything. It would have been better to tell her to meet them and hour earlier and have her actually show up on time.  

Just then a loud Harley Davidson motorcycle pulled up in front of the moving truck and a long legged brunette with pale skin and bright green eyes got off of it. “Sorry I’m late guys, trying to put a whole house's worth of things into storage is a bitch and a half!”

“It’s cool Dahlia, we were expecting it.” Laith said to her long time friend, “Don’t you think we know about your lack of time management?”

“My time management skills aren’t that bad! Anyways, come here and hug me you bitches, it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other!” Dahlia replied as she ran up to the two friends and embraced both of them.

The two girls embraced for a while, it had been almost 3 years since they’d seen each other. Of course there was facetime and the skype call here and there but they hadn’t all been in the same place at the same time for what seemed like an eternity. They had all been best friends since college, meeting when Laith and Dahlia were seniors and Karina had just entered their university as a freshman. They had met in a boring English Lit. class that Laith had needed to retake after failing for the 3rd time and Dahlia had decided to keep her company, and hopefully she could help her pass this time. They had both just happened to sit next to Kari who was sitting in a row of the lecture hall alone when their super attractive professor walked in and Laith looked at Dahlia and said “I might have to fail this shit for a 4th time!” to which Kari replied, “Bitch me too! I mean not for a 4th time cause this is my first time taking the class, but if he keeps teaching it there may be a 4th time.”

To that comment Laith replied “I’m Laith and this is Dahlia, we’re now best friends and you can’t object to it.” while extending her hand for a handshake.

“I’m totally cool with this!” Kari replied placing her hand in Laith’s and shaking it. There and then begin the crazy friendship that belonged to the 3 of them. They were practically the same person. Especially Laith and Kari, there was no separating them since that day.

“Sooo…. Are we just gonna stand out here hugging all day or what?” Kari finally asked. They’d been driving all day and now that they were here she was ready to move her stuff in and get things started.

“Oh!” Dahlia exclaimed, “I have to give you guys the keys and go over stuff for the business and studios with you guys before my flight in 4 hours!”

“God forbid you’re actually late for something again!” Laith replied sarcastically, “Though i’ve never known you to be late for a flight. I guess you’re only on time when it’s something you want to do.”

“I mean I could just totally keep the keys if you’re going to be a bitch” Dahlia looked to her and said as she began to dangle a set of keys in front of Laith’s face. “Behold the keys of paradise! I can totally keep them if that’s what you want.”

Laith grabbed the keys out of Dahlia’s hands. “The fuck you are, and anyways why do you keep calling this place paradise?”

“You’ll see.” Dahlia told her with a wink while she placed her arms around Kari’s Shoulders, “Anyways I’m going to take Kari inside the cafe and go over business stuff because I know how much you hate it. You can start moving boxes Ms. She-Hulk.” And With that Dahlia and Kari turned and proceeded to walk into the cafe.  

“Who the fuck are you calling a She-Hulk!” Laith yelled after her while walking to the back of the truck and opening it so she could start moving some boxes in. “I can’t help that I’m slightly strong.”

Looking into the truck Laith begin to survey what was inside and decided to move the boxes of unimportant non-breakable stuff first and save the rest for when Kari came back. She grabbed 2 somewhat heavy boxes filled with books and stacked them on top of eachother. After getting the boxes situated in her hands Laith realized that she couldn’t see over them, “Well shit.” she exclaimed to herself, “I probably should just bring in one at a time, but i don’t feel like taking multiple trips.” She stood there and thought for a moment before deciding. “Fuck it, We’ll do it live and the house is just right there. What could possibly go wrong.”

In Laith’s case a lot could go wrong in a short period of time. As she began to walk towards the house with the two boxes she forgot to account for the height of the curb as she stepped up. The tip of her shoe clipped the curb and being unable to stop herself she began to fall forward.

“OH FUCK!” She cried out as she prepared herself to faceplant in the worse way possible with the two boxes. Luckily for her a curious bystander had been watching her as she talked with herself about whether she should carry both the boxes in at once or just one at a time.

“Whoa!” The bystander said as he ran towards Laith and caught her and the boxes before they hit the ground. “Are you ok?”

Having closed her eyes in preparation for her untimely demise because of the street curb Laith slowly opened them upon realizing someone had saved her. “I’m totally good!” Laith replied to the stranger as she got herself upright. Bending down she lightly rubbed the ankle she had tripped with checking for any sore spots, the last thing she needed was an injury before her new life could begin.

“Luckily for me I’m pretty sturdy! I think my body was made strong because I”m so -.” Laith’s words were halted mid sentence as she finally looked up at the stranger and was met with one of the most handsome faces she’d ever seen.

“Holy shit… I mean thanks!” she said as she tried not to look anymore weird than she already did.

The boy was tall with perfectly tanned skin, a strong neck with a very attractive adams apple. Which led to a jawline almost sharp enough to kill a man, plump lips perfectly high cheekbones and attractive kind eyes.

“You must be one of the new owners of the cafe and studio!” He said to Laith While motioning behind him to the cafe, “Dahlia noona said that two of her friends had bought it from her!”

“Yes I am.” Was all Laith could say in response to the gorgeous guy that was standing in front of her. Most of her mental strength was being used try to get her face to not look like a deer that was about to be hit by a 1 ton truck. She wasn’t sure if she was succeeding because the gorgeous guy let out a light chuckle. God why was even his laugh hot as fuck Laith thought to herself.

The stranger stuck out his hand and offered it to Laith to shake, “I’m Hongseok. You are?...” he asked her while looking at her expectantly waiting for her to take the hand he offered.

Still feeling awestruck it took Laith a minute or two to realize that Hongseok was Introducing himself to her. “Oh! Sorry!” she exclaimed while taking his hand and shaking it, “I’m Laith. You know Dahlia?” she asked him.

“Yeah I”m a Junior at IAU. I come here all the time, our school set it up to where the students have exclusive rights to use the cafe and studios.”

“Oh yeah, Dahlia told me all about that! By the way, what does IAU mean?” Laith asked him, to be honest she wasn’t very familiar with the school. She new a few famous and actors came from the school but she’d never looked it up.

“Idol Arts University. It’s just a few blocks that way.” Hongseok said point to the direction in front of him, “Speaking of which I should go, I’m gonna be late for class! If you’re still moving stuff in when i’m finished with classes I’ll come and help you move the furniture and stuff in, how does that sound?”

“That sounds like the best thing ever” Laith replied trying not to seem like she was totally down for him to move anything and everything she owned, “I’m sure we’ll still be moving stuff in, if you haven’t noticed we have a lot of shit.”

Looking over into the truck Hongseok replied, “It seems like you do! Well Laith it was nice meeting, and I’ll be back later to help you move. I really gotta go though!” And with that the boy jogged off in the direction he sad the university was in.

Forgetting the two boxes she had planned on bringing into the house just moments ago Laith ran inside the cafe to go tell Kari what just happened. “BITCH! She was right!” she exclaimed.

“What the hell are you talking about Laith.” Kari replied looking at her friend curiously. Who was right?

“Dahlia was right! This place is paradise.” Laith as she begin to tell her friend about everything that just went down outside. “He’s Fucking gorgeous! I nearly needed a whole bottle of water just looking at him!”

“For real?!” Kari exclaimed with excitement, then suddenly sounding slightly dejected she said, “Damn, why did you have to meet him first?”

“Don’t worry.” Dahlia suddenly interjected, “There is more where that came from.” A grin suddenly appeared on her face. “I wasn’t lying when I said this place would be paradise for you two. I know what kind of boy crazy thirsty hoes you two are. Did you not look up what kind of school IAU is?”

“No…..” Kari responded looking at Dahlia with a look that clearly said ‘why would we possibly need to look that up?’

“It’s an all boys school, and all the boys that go there are that gorgeous.” Dahlia told them . Smiling even bigger as Kari and Laith looked at each other with wide eyes.

“If the way Laith Just described this Hongseok guy is true, then this place is fucking paradise!” Kari exclaimed suddenly feeling very excited

“Oh it is.” Dahlia said to them, “I hope you’re prepared for what you just walked in to.

“You bet your ass we are!” Laith excitedly said “Dahlia I’m now going to leave everything I own to you in my will.”

“Even that gorgeous black and red victorian dress?” Dahlia asked, she’d been eyeing that dress since Laith showed her the picture of it.

“No, everything but that, I’m getting buried in that.” Laith said. There was no way in hell Dahlia was getting her hands on that dress. And as the friends bantered back and for a while, neither Kari nor Laith knew what one hell of a ride this new adventure was going to be for them.

[profiile]

X

[dracox-serdriel]

Lament of the Asphodels - Chapter 30: Sisyphus, He Sat upon his Rock

Lament of the Asphodels

Title: Sisyphus, He Sat upon His Rock Author: Dracox Serdriel Artist: @liamjcnes Artwork: Post 1 | Post 2 Word count: 4,700 Rating: NC-17/Explicit (except on FF) Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, Graphic sexual content, Declaration/threats of sexual violence, Minor character death, Social stigmatization/abuse, Detailed descriptions of hopelessness/depression/inner turmoil, Descriptions of the effects of extreme phobias/social anxiety, including anthropophobia, thalassophobia/hydrophobia, and hylophobia/dendrophobia, Descriptions of shipwrecks and storms at sea

Read Lament of the Asphodels on FF, AO3, LJ, or start at the beginning on Tumblr. Written as part of @captainswanbigbang.

Chapter 30: Sisyphus, He Sat upon His Rock

Emma opened her eyes under a sky awash with stars with the soothing rhythm of the ever-moving water rippling beneath her. Her lips curled slightly as her hands grazed a familiar surface of coarse wood, and she reached out for the only missing piece that plundered this moment's perfection.

Where's Killian?

The thought struck a sobering block that ignited the shroud of complacency around her, and all at once, pain, hunger, and thirst set upon her as kites to carrion. Ropes tore at her raw and bleeding wrists, and chains burned against her ankles and bare feet. She struggled fruitlessly, her efforts blunted by her sapped strength. Panic descended upon her, for she had been bound and cast adrift, possibly days ago. And Killian was... Cora had said he was gone.

"You are awake," someone said.

The voice was soft and warm with a hint of caution, and though she never before had heard it, she felt the resonance of a shared past. It was a weak glimmer in the dark, but it was all she had to grasp. She yanked herself up into a sitting position and slumped against the stern.

The man in the rower's seat was smaller than she expected, though by no means slight nor short. In many ways, he was exactly average, with calloused hands and a weariness in his face that had nothing to do with his advanced age. His scalp was bald, safe for tufts of white hair over each ear. Despite the perceived connection, she recognized nothing of this man except his eyes. She had seen them somewhere before, certainly, but not him.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Who are you? Where am I?"

"I'm no one important," he replied. "And we are presently rowing not far from Stagrock Light."

"Why?"

"I'm sorry," he said. "But circumstances as they are, you can imagine the answer is... unpleasant. Let's talk about something else."

She sucked in a breath and shook her head, no. She was too tired, too beaten, too wounded to trade banter with someone who surely was one of her kidnappers.

"Tell me about your son," he suggested.

Fury erupted inside her at the thought of this man daring to threaten her child. She couldn't have contained it if she desired such a thing.

"If you even think about harming my son - "

He interrupted, "I would never do something so vile! I only meant to suggested a pleasant topic of conversation."

Emma was incensed and indignant, but even that did not stop her so-called 'superpower' from recognizing that he was, in fact, speaking the truth. Not just about never harming her son, but everything he said had been true.

She measured her breathing and resisted the urge to lash out at her captor. The silence extended, broken only by the gentle slap of oar against water, and, very slowly, her anger burned lower and lower, till it was naught but a simmering, smoking ember.

"He loves stories," she said, starting quietly. "Writing them, reading them... graphic novels used to be his favorite, but recently he started to really love the classics. I guess it happened before we went to Camelot, but after our trip there, all of a sudden he was making a trip to the library every other day. He never loses faith. He never stops believing. I don't know where he gets that kind of optimism. Not from me or his father... or his adoptive mother, either."

It was odd that the man hadn't batted an eye at that last statement, for it wasn't common practice in this realm for adopted children or orphans to meet their biological parents. She couldn't recall a single story about any such person even looking for blood relations.

"He sounds like a wonderful young man," he commented.

"He is," she replied. "Why do you care?"

"I have found that caring is the only real tonic for this world," he explained. "Caring, in the face of everything."

"What's your name?" she asked, not sure how else to steer the conversation.

The man's face broke into a wide smile, bright and true, that lit up the whole of his person, casting off several decades with the shadows.

"My lady, surely you know," he said jovially. "My name is Henry."

She started, not expecting to hear her own son's name, yet he had assumed that she had known already. There was no reason why. She had never met him before.

"Henry," she repeated as an idea dawned on her.

"Regina's father," he added. "Very pleased to meet you, Miss Swan."

"How - how do you know me?"

"You visited my grave," he replied. "And Cora told me of you, though she was too busy portraying you in a dark light to convey any truths."

"You know who... what Cora is?"

"Sadly, all too well."

"Then why help her?" she asked. "After all she's done?"

He gave her a morose smirk as he replied, "She may never have loved me, but she is the reason I have Regina. And despite herself, she did love our daughter. Besides, if it wasn't me, she would recruit someone else, and she would not do it kindly."

"Why are we rowing in circles around Stagrock Light?" she asked. "I don't care how unpleasant your answer is."

"Cora wants nothing more than to leave this place," he explained. "There is but one way for a soul to escape the Underworld."

"A trade of souls," she said, cottoning on. "But we're in the Underworld, so how does that work? The spell you're talking about only works when cast in a realm of the living."

"Apparently, the spell can free her soul to leave in exchange for trapping another," he said. "Thereafter, can escape, so long as she finds the door."

"The door?" she repeated incredulously. "The Underworld has a door?"

"Door, portal, exist... something to that effect."

"That still doesn't explain why we're circling Stagrock."

Of course, speaking those words fueled a theory that made her silent. Her face must've betrayed the thought, for Henry held his tongue.

"Cora thinks it's here," she said. "The exit."

"She doesn't want you to escape through it before she completes the ritual," he confirmed quietly. "I considered facilitating your escape, but I fear we wouldn't get far. I can barely see beyond the boat."

"It's all right," she replied. "Now that Cora's found me, outrunning her isn't really an option."

Emma and Henry let a lapse of silence fall between them. At some point, sleep captured her, letting the rest of the dark hours pass in the blink of an eye. When she woke, she was bound in the center of the rowboat, which was moored to a dock. She fought to sit up, but she was pinned down somehow... almost certainly by magic.

It took her several minutes of desperate trying before she accepted that brute force would not be enough to free her. As she caught her breath, her ears sharpened, picking up on two voices carried by some combination of wind and water.

"Cora, please, I beg you to reconsider," Henry pleaded. "This is a dangerous risk."

"Darling, darling," Cora replied. "I'm touched by your concern, but we both know it's not for me."

"He lives for nothing but cruelty."

"All great rulers must be feared," she said. "Only the bravest, most brazen subject dare approach a leader like that. It weeds out the weak and others unsuited for the reward."

"That man could strike you down to ash!"

The sound of choking came across the water.

"He's not a man, he's a god!" Cora snapped.

There was a horrific crunch followed by a short, wicked chuckle. Emma's heart began to pound hard in her chest as an anticipation of dread crept up on her, washing over all of her faculties.

Magic - her magic - reared up inside her like an incensed serpent, ready to explode into action at her command, and she channeled everything inside of her, from sorrow to fury, into the power born of True Love. She cast away every thought until her sole obsession was freedom. Her bindings withered, frayed, and fell away, and the wind shifted, as if a nearby wall had been removed.

She went still and held her breath, straining her ears so she could hear anyone approaching. There was nothing but the wind, so she sat upright only to be hit by a wave of dizziness as black spots rolled through her vision. It was potent enough to stay her from standing in the gently-swaying boat, lest she topple into the salty sea for lack of balance.

As she waited for the spell to pass, she wondered after her deportment. She certainly seemed a sorry sight, if not for her bare feet and frayed garment, then for the tangled mess that had once been her hair. Her lips were chapped, and any skin that wasn't red or bleeding was horribly dry. She was so parched and ravenously hungry that she entertained slipping her captor for no reason other than to slake those needs that distracted her.

Distractions, however, remained a luxury she could not afford. For whatever reason, the magic binding her powers had waned, and while Cora was far from infallible, she rarely left things to chance. In all likelihood, the witch had set Emma free on purpose to draw her into the depths of whatever fiendish plan that unfolded in these very moments. Emma was ragged, injured, and without allies, and there was no upper hand to be had.

I cut off his head and banished his body from this realm.

The cruel monotone of Cora's words echoed in Emma's head, and her soul filled with the kind of wrath that collapses empires and valleys the highest mountain. Cora's curt statements, devoid of apology and concern, cut deep into the oldest, most wounded parts of Emma, drumming up the agony she concealed with half-truths and broken promises.

He would never stop trying to save you, to defend you...

Then her heart joined the fray, echoing the sentiments and the loss that she felt, and fury nested its foothold somewhere that no light ever dared touch. Cora murdered Killian because of his devotion and love, and she told Emma about it as if remarking on the weather or discussing something as bald and common as felling a tree. And then she delighted in the agony she inflicted.

I couldn't have that.

Had there ever been any element of her soul that dared resist the desire to destroy the evil witch who slew her love, it was surely snuffed out by those last remembered words. Killian died because Cora couldn't allow him to live, and as sure as she was Emma Swan, she swore that Cora's own words would damn her into whatever the next hell looked like.

She hadn't noticed the brewing storm that snuffed out the weak morning light, nor had she witnessed thick and heavy fog running across the water and enveloping the lighthouse. When she rose inside the tiny craft, she could see nothing in front of her, yet her feet knew instinctively where to go and how to step. With every step, her body tensed, and magic rose from the core of her soul to the surface. By the third step, she was a radiant warrior, illuminated with silver-red light that no light to which no light could ever compare.

She vaguely registered Henry's collapsed body leaning against the outer wall of the lighthouse, but as he was no threat to her, she ignored him entirely and continued to the main doorway, where Cora waited.

"I see you've found your magic," Cora said. "Well done. But I'm afraid it's come too late. There's nothing you can do to stop it now."

The smugness with which she spoke and her complete lack of fear merely contributed to Emma's rage, and though she knew of no spell that could kill nor had weapon to best the witch with, she had every intention of ripping her enemy to shreds and banishing her from this realm. Just as she did to Killian.

"I don't care," Emma replied.

Cora's face faltered for a moment, but she quickly reestablished her air of dignified control. A patronizing smirk spread across her face.

"Do you mean to kill me, Emma Swan?" she asked.

Emma closed her eyes and screamed, and with her voice came a violent rush of energy that was simultaneously fire, ice, and lightning.

There was a fraction of a moment, a fleeting flicker, where Cora realized her time had come and failed to school her features. It was but an instant, however, before the furious magic struck her and made any expression she may have worn meaningless. The blast casted her into the sky, and the fog and wind went with her, curling around her like a snack crushing vermin. As to Cora's survival or where she or her remains landed, no one could ever say, save for the fact that the fog traveled to the Northmost Point, to the great ice caps of Northedge.

Emma knew nothing of this, for the instant that she released the wrathful powers within, the will inside her crumbled. She had lost too much to lie to herself about the nature of her life, for being the Savior condemned her to a lifetime of sacrifices. Being born of True Love never meant that she had any hope of finding such a thing for herself, and when she did find it, she fought it. She resisted until it was too late to have, and then she followed that love into the Underworld on the foolish notion that all she need do was fight and good things would happen. She wondered in this moment if she had known this all along and deceived herself, that she could transmute her final act of self-destruction into an act of the heart. She was forced to concede that the possibility existed, and with that single admission, a thousand questions circled her like predators as every certainty she held became a doubt.

And it was too much for her to bare. Then even her condemned her, for the last thing she saw before defeat's maw closed around her was a horse suspended in the sky. That was impossible, even in the Underworld.

So she closed her eyes, and darkness took her.

Killian could not see the events that transpired beneath him, for riding a winged horse required an awkward position, lest his legs press against the wing joins. He didn't know why Pegasus returned to him after they parted ways on the beach, and he cared not for reasons any longer. What his eyes could not tell him, his heart translated all too clearly, and he knew Emma was in trouble. So he accepted his new companion's boon without preamble, and his only hope was that he would not soon regret the choice.

As they neared the lighthouse, a blurring roar of thunder crashed before them, and Pegasus flinched at the sound, rearing back and changing direction in a heartbeat. Before Killian could urge the steed to correct his course, however, a mist passed over them, moving with curious speed. Normally the touch of fog was cold and wet, but this seared and smarted as it rolled over them both. He grunted against his steed's back, but the stallion made no indication of ill feeling. Perhaps Pegasus was immune to such magic.

Then everything stopped, down to the wind and the waves. It was impossible, of course, for the tides were a force of nature that nothing could oppose. Yet his ears, which lacked nothing in ability, could discern no trace of them or the wind. He risked a glance down over Pegasus's shoulder and wing and discovered that his hearing did not betray him, for the world was absolutely still.

The lighthouse, encircled by a sea serpent that appeared chiseled from the same stone, stood alone in a motionless sea, and a figure radiated light that rivaled the sun and so bright was her luminosity that he forced himself to look away for fear of blindness. All this transpired the span of a second, though to him it seemed an infinity thereof.

Yet it did end. That was to say, everything was as it was supposed to be, as if nothing had ceased to begin with. Killian could no longer rightly feel the directions nor sense where they were, so disorienting was the surge of return, but Pegasus turned again, leaving his rider with hope that they had corrected course.

Heat flared against his skin, quickening into a flame that he could not ignore. His hook awkwardly dug out the fiery token in his possession, and the amber cube that Hippolyta had given to him shined with red and gray light. He cursed himself for piercing its edge, for it seemed as if it might spill out at any second, surely consuming steed and rider alike. He held it aloft on the desperate hope that they might land before it burst; otherwise, he would have to drop it into the sea.

There was a clattering of hooves as they landed atop Stagrock, and Killian, unprepared, felt his body ripple harshly, every muscle sore and throbbing. He patted Pegasus's great neck again and murmured his praise and thanks before dismounting, careful to keep the growing ember at arm's length.

"Thank you, Old Boy!" he said.

Then he raced down the lighthouse, falling more than climbing the latter, and he hardly cared that his already-strained body protested every jarring leap and every misstep. He couldn't risk the flame expanding anywhere but its true home, the beacon room, for it would surely consume even the stone on which he stood.

He didn't even descend into it; no, he opened the hatch, leaned in at the waist, and flicked the amber box from his hook, angling for the curving corner. He didn't wait to see if he had struck his mark, and it was a proper thing to do. No sooner had it touched the floor of the beacon room that the Unending Flame regained its full and glorious light and erupted into a blinding beacon. Its shine took several minutes to fade, for its brilliance always adjusted to the realm.

The immediate danger dealt with, Killian remembered his reason for return as well as the distressing fog that rolled through him on his journey here. Though his flesh begged for rest, he could not allow it. Emma was in danger.

He raced down the inner steps. He wondered if new stairs appeared to spite him, for it seemed as if they doubled in number since last he climbed them. He took them two at a time, yet still he felt himself moving at a snail's pace. He chose to leap over far too many in the basement, his back protesting at the violent landing, yet he continued as if he felt no pain.

The doorway still had no covering over them, so he saw Emma lying on the ground, only a few paces from a man he didn't recognize. Both were unconscious. So keen was his focus that he didn't register the scorch marks as he cross over them.

"Emma!" he shouted as he lifted her in his arms. "Emma! Can you hear me, love?"

His fingers felt a pulse, strong and true, but it failed to bring him any relief. She was alive but badly injured, and he was hardly in a good way. Could he safely bring her inside before his own body gave out?

"Emma, love," he said quietly. "Please, Emma... please."

She twitched in his arms, then shifted, as if to get comfortable. He hesitated, afraid to believe that she was coming around when all reality told him it was at best wishful thinking. But then her eyes fluttered opened, and the beautiful jade emeralds that she hid behind her lids appeared like they had done a hundred thousand times before.

"Killian," she mumbled.

She lifted her hand, and he grasped it in his own. Joy - true, unbounded joy - filled his heart, and he pulled her close to him, lifting her head so he could hold her properly.

Her eyes fell upon the battered doorway before her, and with a flick of her wrist, wood from the heaviest oak in all the realms collected like moths to a flame. Metalwork also appeared, and suddenly a new frame and door rested against the lighthouse, which glimmered as if restored to its youngest days.

"It's beautiful," he said quietly. "But save your strength, love."

He helped her to her feet as gently as possible, though for all his trouble, she was far steadier than he. She grabbed his collar and brought his lips down over hers, and her lips and tongue made him question who was the greater pirate. Together they collapsed against the outer wall before the door, panting and laughing.

"Who is he?" Killian asked, waving his hand at the man only a few paces from them.

"Nobody important," someone else answered.

And just like that, his joy vanished, for the speaker had a voice like ice and fire, cruel and uncaring. Killian pushed Emma behind him and reached for his cutlass before he realized it was not there.

"Tut, tut," the speaker said. "There's a time and place, and this isn't it."

The man who stepped out of the shadows - which was particularly disturbing as it was morning and there were no shadows from which to step - had the air of a gentleman. He had a suit of fine quality and matching Fedora held in hand. There was no doubt that he was royalty of some kind, it was in his air and manner but also in his face and hands.

"Hades," Emma said, stepping out so she was shoulder to shoulder with Killian.

"You recognize me?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"No," she replied. "But Cora called you, didn't she?"

"She summoned me," he replied.

"To what end?" Killian asked.

"Waste of time, really," he said. "She wanted to trade souls, but as you already know, that kind of thing can't happen. Not with our deal."

"Our deal?" Killian repeated.

"Ah, yes, Mister Jones, not you," Hades said. "Just me and Miss Swan here."

"You made a deal with Hades?" Killian asked her.

"Oh she made a deal," Hades spoke before she could. "A blood deal. It was a very bad idea. And I still can't see why she did it."

"Our deal said no interference," she said.

Truthfully, she could not remember the terms of their deal, but she imagined if no one could trade souls with her, other obvious safety measures must've been put in place.

"Technically, I can do whatever I want, with some minor restrictions," he bristled. "I'll admit it. I never thought you'd come this far. Too bad about Pegasus. Had that other lady not let you go, we could've counted that as number ten. But, alas, here you are, nine labors done with none to serve as your tenth."

"How can that be?" Killian asked. "This is the Underworld."

"I keep a clean house," Hades replied. "Besides, you had, what, eleven, twelve opportunities? I've lost count. If you haven't done ten yet, you never will."

"That's not what we agreed," Emma said.

"Hmmm," he commented. "I'm not here to stop you. Far from it. It serves me better if you succeed."

"Then help us succeed."

Hades smiled and blue flame erupted atop his head, and some part of him came to the surface before it burned out.

"You weren't the first," Hades began. "A long time ago, a venomous serpent bite a woman named Eurydice on her wedding day, and she died a few hours later. Her husband, Orpheus, couldn't accept her demise. He was a poet and musician, so what hope did he have in the Underworld, where only the greatest warriors hoped to survive?

"But his music... well, it was special. His music defeated the singing of the sirens, that's how beautiful it was. So he took up his lyre and played the sweetest melodies and cast Cerberus and every other guardian the Underworld has into a deep, deep sleep. He crept by the elm where ivory dreams cling and through the gates, then down, down, down... until he found her. But before they could leave, my judges captured them both and brought them to a tribune to decide their fates. Though truth be told, the decision was made before they were even discovery. More of a formality.

"And there Orpheus stood, in front of deities the likes of which he only knew by the praise in his songs, and he asks for an audience. It was granted, so he played his lyre, and the tune... I've never heard its rival nor its equal in all my long life. All the blessed saints of Apollo had not played half as well before or ever since. To call it beautiful would be blasphemy.

"Even so, it was only music, and no matter the depth of its majesty, it ended like all other music. Every judge recovered from the tune and cast it off, like it never happened. Deities are spoiled with all kinds of splendor, and even we can miss something of real value when we see it. I confess, I certainly did. To me he was just one more mortal trying to cheat his fare, and no matter his talent, he should be no exception.

"But then I looked up and saw something that I hadn't seen in all my alive. A long time before even Eurydice's death, there was a man named King Sisyphus, a cunning man. I'll spare you the details, but he earned a very special punishment in the Underworld. He was told he could escape, and all he had to do was to push a boulder up a steep hill. He wasn't told that Zeus himself enchanted that stone to roll back down the to the bottom before it ever reached the top. Sisyphus is a man of impossible imagination and intelligence doomed to an eternity of frustration and futility. In fact, his intellect is part of the reason that he continues to move that rock. Sisyphus believes - honestly believes - that his cunning will save him from this, even after all this time. He can't stop. Not because anyone is forcing him to keep going. Oh, no, that would hardly be punishment. No, he can't stop because he's too smart to stop. Yes, Zeus designed his punishment very well.

"By all accounts, Sisyphus's plight is unending, except for a single respite. The stories go that Orpheus descended into the Underworld and played music in memory of his wife Eurydice, and his tune was so profound that all the world, from the Underworld to Mount Olympus, fell silent that they may hear. But truly, the greatness of his playing can be found in nothing more than this: a man damned by deities and condemned by his own mind to the point of a hardened soul stilled his endless efforts and sat upon the rock, that he could listen to the music and indulge in a fleeting moment of tears.

"Never before had Sisyphus halted his work, let alone settle on the stone as if it weren't his to move. So while my wary ear and jaded heart couldn't accept the truth of Orpheus's music, I saw its power," Hades said.

He folded his hands, weaving his fingers together, placing his palms delicately over his suit. He seemed calm, collected, composed, hardly like a deity ready to lash out at those before him. Then he waved two fingers, and the unconscious man vanished.

"I let that man lead his wife out of the Underworld," Hades said quietly. "Not for winning a prize fight or seducing me. Not for charming me or presenting me with adequate tribute. No, I allowed it because Sisyphus, he sat upon his rock. Remember that."

Then Hades disappeared, leaving Emma and Killian clinging one another outside the freshly relit Beacon of Northedge.

End-of-chapter notes: In Greek myth, Sisyphus lived as the king of Ephyra, a cunning and crafty man whose avarice and deceit earned him a special punishment in Tartarus upon his final repose. Sisyphus was forced to push a huge boulder up a steep hill; unfortunately, Zeus enchanted the boulder to roll down to the bottom before it reached the top, forcing Sisyphus into an eternity of frustration and futility.

Many myths and legends describe Sisyphus's unending plight, which has but a single moment of respite. After Orpheus descended into the Underworld, he petitioned the gods with music in memory of his wife Eurydice, and what he played was of such profound beauty that all the world, from the Underworld to the heavens of Mount Olympus, fell silent. It was so moving that it even touched the hardened soul of Sisyphus, who stilled his endless efforts and sat upon his rock for a fleeting moment of tears.

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