#they're all dumbasses your honor
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leslutdepointedulac · 11 months ago
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Loustat literally every other book:
Louis: never ever leave me. If you leave me I'll never talk to you ever again, I just wouldn't cope. I'll hate you forever and ever if you leave me
Lestat: of course, I wouldn't dream of it. Promise me you'll never leave me either
Louis: obviously, I can't bear to be without you
Louis (literally 2 minutes later): yeah, no. I'm over it. I've kind of had enough of you now ngl. Bye bitch!
(Louis and Lestat reunite sometime later)
Louis: *gasp* Lestat, babe, I've missed you sooooooo much. Why did you leave me, that was so fucking rude of you. You promised you'd never go!
Lestat (knows full well Louis' a hypocritical lying bitch): i'm so sorry, can you ever forgive me? It'll never happen again I promise, my moon, my stars, my reason for being, I love you sm
Louis: i love more my darling dumbass, my sunshine on a rainy day, obviously I forgive you, just don't let it happen again okay. I'll simply pass away otherwise
Lestat: never ever
(Louis proceeds to leave again. And so the never-ending cycle continues 😒)
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denebolablack · 1 year ago
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Tony: *To Bucky* You cannot shoot every single person I've dated that you don't like!
Bucky: *Raises an eyebrow*
Tony: Okay, you technically can, but you shouldn't. Come on, Steve! Help me out here!
Steve: *Amused* Idk babe, you always tell him to use his free will, and that's exactly what he is doing.
Tony: *Frustrated* I'm so done with both of you, absolutely done.
Bucky: Don't say that doll *Pushes the genius into his lap* I'll behave if you spend some quality time with us, ¿hm?
Tony: *Squints* I feel like I'm being blackmailed but I'll allow it just because you're hot.
Steve: *Hugs the pair of brunettes* Oh so you are with us just because we're hot?
Tony: Right now? Yes. Now shut up and kiss me cuz I'm still mad at you.
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abiiliify · 5 months ago
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my na'vi oc's (nari & vakama)
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sobredunia · 1 year ago
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Behold. My masterpiece
@rottenkadaver @sansxfuckyou-deactivated20230515 @blacklightsys @beetroot-merchant @ashs-hellhole @h3xt0r @helloidkwhatimdoing-0 @imflyingfish
@bree-sae this is what I needed the sprites for lol
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blueclearcloud · 2 years ago
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I just am really not okay right now. My baby (Suletta Mercury) is sad and broken so i have lost all hope and happiness.
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sentfromwolves · 2 years ago
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Having late night thoughts about arguably the oldest OC that I still carry with me always makes me deeply emotional. I can’t say for certain the exact age I was when I drew the archaic and arguably very poor design that would be Grey for the first time - not more than fourteen, and probably younger than that, but I’ve tucked away a lot of my life before twenty in a box that collects dust in the back of my mind.
It’s interesting to reminisce on: I remember very strangely specific details. He was missing two toes, and most notably his eye, and of course because I was a ridiculously poor artist at the time, he looked more like a stick than a man. So many things about him have changed as I have, and for all I will never shut about Wren being one of the closest characters to my heart, I feel like Grey carries a piece of my soul.
There’s something very near and emotional for me about the revelation of Grey being a trans man. It might be dramatic to say it this way, but it never felt like a decision I made: rather, I checked in on his presence in the back of my mind one day and the the understanding was there. That might sound like a silly way to put it, but that really is how it felt.
In the same way that I struggled for years to even understand how to start addressing the layers of unacknowledged gender dysphoria I was dealing with and come to terms with my own identity, Grey was always a character equally at war with the world around him in a constant fight to try and understand himself within it, pushing constantly against the pressures of society and his own dysphoria within it. There’s huge catharsis piece of all of this for me to have a character that’s traveled with me all this way and grown so much as I have. Weird to say that I’m so deeply grateful for his existence, but it’s true. 
anyways 💦
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soysaucevictim · 9 months ago
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I still can't deal with the FWSA trashbin dive, man.
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All I can get
Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember, week 5
Prompts: Impact & Full Rated: E
Words: 1,130
Tags: Pre S4; Fuck buddies; Angry sex; Spanking; Dirty talk; Top Eddie, Power bottom Steve; They're in denial, your honor
Notes: Y'all liked the pre S4 fuck buddies from the July microfic so much, so have some more.
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“Y'know what is weird?” Eddie asks. Steve doesn’t reply, just pushes him down onto the bed, pausing only briefly to shuck off his pants and shoes before he dives after him. The mattress bounces under his weight, ridiculously thick and soft, and Eddie needs to bite back a snort as he shuffles up, reclining against the plush headboard. Fucking rich people. 
He's not even sure whose house this is. Hagan's? Is it Hagan's? Is he gonna fuck Steve Harrington in Mr. and Mrs. Hagan's bedroom while their ugly dumbass of a son runs around downstairs, looking for the king like a court jester out of a job? 
He doesn’t get to ponder the hilarity of that thought, because Steve is shoving greedy fingers inside of his pants to pull out his rapidly swelling cock. Steve himself is fully hard already, leaking over Eddie’s thigh and stomach as he crawls into his lap, and Eddie’s attention snaps back to the present as if pulled on a rubber band.
“The thing that's weird,” he repeats, one hand cupping Steve’s bare ass and giving a tight squeeze, “is that I used to think you didn't remember these little run-ins of ours. After all, you're always drunk and high off your ass at these parties. Aren't you, honey?” 
Steve doesn’t grace him with an answer. Instead he rolls his hips, making their naked cocks rub together, sending white-hot sparks of pure want sizzling straight into Eddie’s blood. Eddie grins, shifting the position of his hand, delighting in the little gasp he gets when he spreads Steve wide open. His fingers slip inside with a wet, slick sound, all the way to the first knuckle, and Steve's hips stutter. 
“But you do,” Eddie smiles, reveling in the needy, high-pitched keen he gets when he pulls his fingers out again. “You do remember. Why else would you come and find me every single time? Why else would you come prepared?” 
“Shut up,” Steve mutters, and impales himself on Eddie’s cock, bottoming out in one smooth movement. Warm and tight and perfect, like he was made for this. Eddie likes to think he was. 
“Aw, but why?” he asks, hands finding Steve's hips, nails digging into the thin layer of skin over bones, deep enough to leave marks that will stay for days. The traces of his touch branded into Steve’s flesh. Steve bites his bottom lip, and it quivers with his soundless whine. “Why, Stevie, are you ashamed of me? I’m wounded.” 
Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, grinding himself up and down on Eddie’s cock, chasing his relief with quick, practiced movements. Something coils inside Eddie’s abdomen, something dark and dangerous and mean. Following a sudden impulse, he takes aim, letting his palm connect with Steve’s ass with an audible slap. 
Steve gasps and flinches, almost toppling off Eddie’s lap in his surprise. For a second or two, they both stare at each other, wide-eyed and speechless, and Eddie begins to think that he may have made a horrible mistake. Then, he sees the way Steve is blushing, dark pink and pretty all the way from his collarbone to the bridge of his nose. Sees the way his cock has jumped to attention, flushed and leaking precum. His face splits into a grin so wide it’s almost painful. 
“In fact,” he says, “I think you shouldn’t be shy about it. I think you should let everyone hear.” 
He isn’t sure which he likes more: The look of panicked anticipation on Steve’s face just before the second hit lands, or the barely stifled moan he lets out when it does. The force of the impact makes him rock forward in Eddie’s lap, and he clenches around him, taking him even deeper than before. 
“I think,” Eddie says, and slaps him again, so hard he can feel Steve’s ass bounce with it, “you should let everyone hear how much you enjoy it when I fill you up with my cock. I think everyone should hear you moan and whimper and cry like a needy little whore.” 
He punctuates his words with another series of slaps. They echo in the silent bedroom, drowning out the sounds of the party downstairs, and with every single one, Steve grinds himself a little deeper, stuffing himself a little fuller. His eyes are glassy with unshed tears, his bottom lip puffy and swollen from biting down on it, but not once does he cry out. 
“Shame,” Eddie quips, digging his fingers into the skin of Steve’s ass again, nails sinking right into the sensitive, abused flesh, and Steve fucking keens, slumping forward and bracketing his arms against the headboard for support. “If everyone knew, we could just stop this little game of hide and seek, y’know. I could just sit down there, and sell my goods, and keep you in my lap all night, like the pretty little slut you-” 
“I said shut up,” Steve breathes, and crushes their mouths together. The kiss is as harsh and bruising as Eddie’s hits, Steve’s teeth digging into his lips, Steve’s tongue filling his mouth, allowing him no room to breathe or break away. Not like he’d want to. 
Eddie’s climax hits him with a suddenness that surprises even himself, making starbursts of light erupt behind his closed eyelids as he screams into that warm, wet mouth and spills deep inside Steve’s body. Steve moans into the kiss, grabbing Eddie’s hand to roughly guide it to his own twitching cock. Two or three hard pumps are all it takes for him to follow suit, painting Eddie’s chest and stomach in thick, white ropes. They stay where they are for a few moments, ragged breaths mingling in the thin sliver of space between them, while they both come down and Eddie’s cock slowly goes limp inside of Steve. 
Then, without a word, Steve rolls off the bed. As he bends down to retrieve his pants off the floor, Eddie can see the imprint of his own hand on his ass, bright red and angry. 
“You might wanna spend the rest of the night standing up,” he can’t help but say as Steve makes his way to the door. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone the reason if you don’t.” 
Steve pauses on the threshold just long enough to shoot him a withering look. 
“Please. Like anyone would believe you.” 
He has a point, Eddie muses as he cleans himself up with the box of tissues on the nightstand and puts himself back together. King Steve? With a freak like him? Yeah, fat fucking chance! 
In the bedroom mirror, his reflection grins back at him, lips puffy and swollen. Ah, well. They’ll both remember it happened, he made sure of that. 
He'll take all he can get. 
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More smutty September
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Okay, this is my first time doing this, but I need to say this, to the people who claim Sasuke's a bad clan leader, or that Fugaku and Mikoto would've accepted his relationship with Sakura had the clan survived, you're all idiots and I am not sorry for saying that.
I don't watch or read Boruto as I don't consider anything past chapter 695 as canon, but I'm still going to get this out of the way first. Sasuke never wanted to marry that bitch Sakura, he never wanted a kid with her or whatever. This man is the victim of a state-sanctioned genocide, torture, and humiliation at hands of his own brother whom he loved dearly and admired, and it was all done on orders of the state after decades of systemic segregation, oppression, prejudice, and discrimination. Sasuke was forced to relive the massacre over a million times in the Tsukuyomi and went through this twice once when he was 7 and again when he was 12 or 13, with the latter experience putting him in a coma following Itachi breaking his wrist and ribs, and this nearly killed him had Tsunade not helped him (literally the ONLY good thing she did in the series). If anyone here in the real world experienced this, they'd either be dead or in some kind of mental hospital. The point is that they would be mentally destroyed, and they'd barely be able to function in society. Regular depression already fucks people up as is, and Sasuke went something no one should ever have to go through and it's a miracle he's still able to function as is.
Sasuke also repeatedly to Sakura to fuck off and leave him alone. That bitch repeatedly pestered and harassed him for years, emotionally wearing him down until he agreed to hump and dump her ass once. This bitch emotionally abused this poor guy, so it's no surprise he not only didn't want shit to do with her or her sithspawn of a daughter. This guy wasn't emotionally or mentally stable after what Itachi did to him at 7, and he hasn't been since. Hell, it's said in one of the databooks that Sasuke originally wanted a normal life with family and friends, but Itachi ruined it with his torture sessions. Those of you shitting on Sasuke for not being a good clan leader for not communicating with Sakura or Sarada or something, don't use your heads, those two dumbasses aren't even Uchiha.
Now, onto the other part of my argument, neither Fugaku nor Mikoto would've accepted Sakura being in a potential partner for Sasuke had the Uchiha survived, however, before I start this portion let me admit that this will be hard for me to properly articulate and so I apologize in advance so with that said let's get into this.
Putting aside how shitty and lackluster of an individual Sakura herself is, she also offers or brings nothing to the table.
As other people have so beautifully said before, the Uchiha are one of the oldest and strongest clans in the series. Their lineage goes back thousands of years, dating back to the time of Hagoromo, who himself was considered a myth by the public in the present. Because of this, there's a great deal of prestige, honor, pride, and recognition that comes with their bloodlines' age. Not only that, but the Uchiha are more distinct and well-known than any other clan in the series. The Uchiha are the ONLY clan to possess distinctly potent and voluminous chakra, and because of this, they're only ones who possess and wield one of the most powerful and coveted kekkei genkai in the series the sharingan. This stems from them being the ONLY clan to have inherited the potent chakra and dojutsu of the Shinju.
The Uchiha have their own clan specific culture, mores, values, beliefs, and traditions strictly unique to themselves, for example, the clans' crest can only be worn by the members of the clan who've demonstrated mastery over their signature fireball katon jutsu and as Fugaku says to Sasuke it represents the will of those with fans who manipulate fire, use or mastery over this jutsu also makes that Uchiha a fully fledged member of the clan.
The Uchiha were known and feared throughout the world for their strength, prowess, and renown as a battle clan, so much so that other villages had rules when facing off against them. Every time someone saw or confronted Sasuke, they always brought up his lineage with reverence and fear. Two Kumo shinobi saw him and Taka carrying Bee away, and while they considered rescuing Bee, they immediately changed their minds upon seeing the Uchiha crest on Sasuke's back and instead reported to Ae about what happened. A whole crowd of wealthy patrons showed up at the Chunin Exams to see the last Uchiha battle it out, and that's why Sasuke wasn't disqualified for showing up late to his battle with Gaara during the Exams. During the Warring States Period, the Uchiha were virtually unstoppable with only the Senju due to their jutsu variety and their chieftain the freak Hashirama Senju rivaling them.
Taking all of this into account, there's no reason for a distinguished clan/bloodline like the Uchiha to take an outsider like Sakura into their midst and spoil the bloodline. Bloodline purity is a thing in the real world and persists to this very day. It's actually considered to be a huge transgression for members of distinguished clans, families, and lines to bring outsiders in and spoil their bloodlines by marrying them to the point that they're cast out and probably disowned to the highest caliber for doing it.
I wanna briefly talk about Sakura herself and explain why neither Fugaku, Mikoto, or the rest of the clan wouldn't have accepted her into their midst.
As a shinobi, Sakura is a complete nobody. She has no feats, strengths, capabilities, skills, or whatever that her remotely capable.
Her chakra reserves ridiculously tiny, she can't even handle a trickle of biju chakra. Her skillset is a complete copy pasta of Tsunade's, her skills as a medical nin are surpassed by those of Tsunade, Hashirama, Kabuto and even Sasuke during the time he had Orochimaru's white snake abilities in his system and even after he lost that, as Sasuke's self-taught himself to funnel raiton through his body to avoid mortal injury which he's done during his battles against Deidara, Bee, and Danzo. Sakura hasn't improved on, reinvented, or created her own jutsus. Her super strength is just an extension of her byakugo. She's got no talent for genjutsu or handling vast amounts of chakra. Her speed and agility feats are nonexistent, and her intelligence feats are lackluster too.
Sakura also doesn't come from a distinguished clan or bloodline. Neither she nor her parents are civilians. Let me take this time to clarify that the hidden villages house NO civilians within their midst, the hidden villages are MILITARY powers, everyone within them are soldiers, it would be antithetical for these villages to house civilian populations within them as the civilians contribute nothing to the overall prosperity and function of the village as again these are military powers within the countries. Sakura and her parents are from a smaller or minor clan within the series.
Sakura also doesn't train or take her training seriously. Sasuke points this out to her in canon during the earliest chapters of the Chunin Exams arc, and Sakura still did jackshit about it, only finally taking her training seriously after Sasuke left Konoha for good and defected to Orochimaru. And since the Uchiha again are a battle clan and the most elite clan in canon, someone like Sakura ain't being allowed within a hundred feet of them.
As an individual, Sakura, as I said above, is very lackluster and shitty. This girl has petty self-esteem issues. She knows she's lacking in various departments and tries to compensate for this by latching onto others like a leech and using them for her self-worth, Ino was originally this before Sasuke unwittingly came along. She's very shallow and vain, too.
She knows absolutely nothing about Sasuke from minor things like whether or not he wore glasses, to serious things like him being an orphan, which is ridiculous since everyone else at the academy knew these details before they were made genins. She doesn't question or try to understand Sasuke or his motivations.
She's an asshole to pretty much anyone and everyone around her whenever Sasuke's not around in canon, including other women.
She broke off her years' worth of friendship with Ino over a boy who didn't know she existed and wanted nothing to do with her. She's also made numerous attempts to downgrade and put Ino down, despite the fact that Ino was the first person to treat her with kindness, helped her with her bullies, and was the first person to validate her. Ino was also the one to try and mend and patch up their relationship. Hell, Sakura wanted Sai to call Ino ugly and was pissed when he didn't.
During the War Arc, she disrespected Tsunade, her own mentor who turned her from a nobody to a decently capable medical shinobi.
She taped a picture of her in her thirties over a picture of Karin with Sasuke and spreads rumors to Sarada about other women, like Ino trying to take Sasuke away from her.
She frequently insults and assaults Naruto, and it isn't comedy relief as she does this even after he saves her or treats her nicely. She assaulted Sai for calling her ugly despite the poor guy being a slave and Sakura name calling Naruto on a regular basis. She also attacked Konohamaru before calling her an ugly bitch (which was based on his part lol). She was also pissy about his and Naruto's sexy jutsus only to act like a fan girl when he showed her hot naked dudes, like Sasuke. So she's a hypocrite.
And she doesn't care about her own parents, and actually disrespected them, Naruto's parents, and Sasuke's as well. She tried in canon to invalidate the importance and love Sasuke had for his parents and clan, and that's tremendously disrespectful. Hell, in Boruto, she repeatedly chased after Sasuke despite being pregnant with Sarada putting her at risk, discarded the umbilical cord, which is a serious taboo, wrecked her house when Sarada asked her a simple question or two about her father, Karin frequently sends Sarada gifts instead of Sakura.
The Uchiha as a whole care deeply about one another and all within their clan, and someone like Sakura, who's again vain, shallow, petty, selfish, disrespectful, and ignorant would NEVER be considered fit to join them.
Let's play a little game of What if? Because this is something I've thought about for a while.
Following Sasuke's successful usage and mastery of the Uchiha fireball katon in front of Fugaku who himself chooses to make Sasuke his heir, Hiruzen decided to not only personally meet with and apologize to Fugaku and the Uchiha for the false accusations and punishment over the 9-Tails attack, but he also grants the clan the rights and positions of power that they deserved from the beginning, even stepping down as hokage and letting Fugaku become hokage then and there, but Fugaku maintains his decision on Sasuke being the next clan head. If this scenario took place, there's no way in Hell Sakura's going to be anywhere near Sasuke. He would've been even more untouchable for her than he already was in canon. Sasuke was already very clan oriented and duty bound in canon. He was fervently loyal and devoted to his clan and cared deeply about what they and his family thought of him, outsiders be damned. Fugaku isn't allowing any of his children, especially his heir, to marry an outsider like Sakura. The Uchiha clan in its entirety wouldn't have accepted this either. There's no way they would've accepted their future chieftain marrying a non-Uchiha, and if they did accept it, they would've accepted someone of equal standing or prestige as them. Fugaku and Mikoto would've arranged a marriage for Sasuke, and he wouldn't have objected to that. After all, Sasuke was pulling out all the stops in canon to make his father happy, and he was already extremely close with Mikoto and was well liked and respected by the rest of the clan so marrying someone his parents picked out for him is something Sasuke's definitely doing.
Let's also not forget that Sasuke's extraordinary on all fronts, in terms of beauty, skill, strength, talent, and prodigiousness, all of this, and his chakra volume and potency are through the fucking roof even the standards of his own clan. Sasuke's Sharingan is the most powerful and potent within the series since or after Indra’s which is insane as only Indra inherited his fathers chakra.
Orochimaru and Obito both knew and explicitly stated that Sasuke's Sharingan and chakra were more powerful than Itachi's. In canon, Sasuke was supposed to be THE vessel for Orochimaru, the last one he'd EVER need. Obito's entire Infinite Tsukuyomi plan hinged on utilizing Sasuke at EMS and connecting him to the Gedo Statue, something Nagato, Konan, Zetsu, and no doubt Kisame knew all to well. Kabuto knew this, too, and he himself had his own plans for Sasuke. He blackmailed and helped Obito fight a war for Sasuke, and that war was fought to see who between them could get to Sasuke first. Everyone wanted Sasuke for one reason or another, either for his looks (Sasuke's the most good-looking character in the series), his talents and skills, and abilities everything. Madara, Tobirama, Orochimaru, Obito, Zetsu, Gai, Jiraiya, Cee, Darui, Bee, Mei, Hagoromo, Kurama, Karin, Jugo, Suigetsu, Kabuto, Kakashi, Hiruzen, Neji, Tenten, Deidara, Nagato, Konan, Kisame, and Fugaku (when Sasuke performed their clans rite of passage jutsu at the age of 6 only a week after being shown it once) all of them to varying degrees were aware and dumbstruck by Sasuke's gifts and many of them wanted him.
Sasuke's skills with the sharingan, chakra, and Ninjutsu are beyond profound. He's genetically capable of awakening the EMS and the most unique rinnegan in Shinobi history.
In this alternate timeline, Sasuke's going to be trained to hell and back by not only Fugaku and everyone who he deems fit to train him. As he grows and matures Sasuke's parents and clan, ARE going to take notice of all of these aspects and gifts of his, and they're going to be especially picky about who his bride would be, as the next head of the Uchiha clan especially one like Sasuke with his looks, skills, talents, wealth, and prestige can't and won't marry just anyone especially without the consent of his parents and clan.
In this scenario, Sasuke's future wife would either be another Uchiha (the most logical conclusion) or someone else from another distinguished clan or bloodline. I see people mentioning Ino and Karin on this topic since their love for Sasuke while still being in part because of his beauty is still way more genuine than Sakura's. Karin was saved a few times by Sasuke, and he ultimately was the one who allowed to take control over her own future. She knew and understood Sasuke the most, and her relationship with Sasuke is the most erotic in canon.
Ino's love for Sasuke was described as tender by her father, and it was never about herself but how he brought her joy.
Frankly I don't object to either of them being with Sasuke, although I would like someone to help me understand how Ino from a bloodline perspective would be a good match for Sasuke as Karin is an Uzumaki and her clan has been around as long as the Uchiha so I can see why Fugaku and Mikoto would've accepted her as a future daughter-in-law, but Ino I feel like I'm missing something else or I'm just over thinking it in regards to her. Ino and Karin are also better individuals than Sakura and capable shinobi, their skills, abilities, and lives having nothing to do with Sasuke and instead being completely independent of him. Neither of them were pushy and respected Sasuke's boundaries to a better degree than Sakura.
This was a long-winded post, I know, but essentially, Sakura ain't ever hooking up with Sasuke at all, Fugaku and Mikoto ain't letting her anywhere near him.
Before I close this off, I want to ask anyone who reads this. Who else do you think Fugaku and Mikoto would've accepted as Sasuke's bride in the little what if I put above? Let me say I'm not a shipper, and like others, I find the Naruto fandom's obsession with shipping to be incredibly stupid and annoying. I am staunchly in the Pro Uchiha, Sasuke, Madara, Indra, Fugaku, and Mikoto camp, the Uchiha its members and lore, as well as the real world myths and lore used by Kishimoto to create them all capture me. But admittedly, I do agree with some people who agree that Karin and Ino would've been better partners, and that really had me thinking about who else Fugaku and the rest of the clan would've saw as fit to marry Sasuke and join the clan, so yeah I'm curious to know your thoughts and opinions on this topic as well, however, I do not agree with the Sasuke x Hinata ship, I want to shoot that down quickly, that shit ain't happening.
But again, this is a very long first post of mine on Tumblr, so yeah, thanks for reading.
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onlyseokmins · 7 months ago
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$$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.
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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!"
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"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.
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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."
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Part 2 | Read the whole thing on AO3
onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©
263 notes · View notes
aaizawashouta · 7 months ago
Text
Heatin' Up
pairing: frat!kiba x fem!reader
word count: 3.6k
summary: kiba and his famous beer pong partner finally do the dirty. (modern!au)
warnings: smut (18+, minors dni) oral f and m receiving, p in v, cream pie.
a/n: it's me, hi. this was long over due. i love them your honor.
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→ Wyd later? 
You could feel the disgust on your face. It never ceases to amaze you how much of a fuckboy he could be. No wonder he was in a frat. What did this make you? His booty call? Ugh, you’re the only one who would ever answer him on such short notice. Your nails tapped against your phone as you contemplated your answer.
→ Party @ the house 
→ Got your fav 
What did he think you are? Some schmuck? As if your favorite drink would be enough to pull you from the comfort of your room. But then you hear the giggling. Your roommates are never quiet, and you know their habits. Especially when you hear Shikamaru’s name dropped. Ino’s been trying to get into his pants for weeks. Sighing, you push your blankets off your lap, knowing you're in a losing situation.
The girls barge into your room, animatedly talking over one another. You get the jist, which you already knew. Sakura eyes you suspiciously when you don’t fight them on coming along. Ino’s already tearing into your closet. You pinch the side of your thigh to keep yourself from freaking out.
“We promise,” Ino says as she coats your lashes in mascara. “We won’t leave your side.”
It’s a lie, it always is. They always abandon you at some point. Not that it matters. Because there is one who always sniffs you out. You couldn’t hide from him even if you wanted to.
→ you comin? 
I’ll be there! Find me xoxo ←
It was a new world record. You’d lost sight of your roommates the moment you walked in. Not all that bummed about it, you headed to the kitchen. You had been promised your favorite drink. Gaara and Kankuro are stationed in the kitchen. Their only job is to make sure that the drinks stay clean. A shutter rushes over you as you think about how the house had been your freshman year. A hand rubs at your forearm, the pink and shiny scar a reminder of the hell that broke out that night. Grabbing your drink, Gaara pops the cap off for you, smiling as you take a much needed drink. The latter gives you a wink accompanied by a smirk. You flash them a smile before braving the rest of the party.
You hear him before you see him. Laughter and sharp words greet you when you step out into the backyard. There’s a bonfire, most of your friend group sits around it. Naruto and Kiba are bickering, both hotheaded and passionate about their beliefs. You can’t make out what it is exactly they're arguing about, you just hope it isn’t something stupid. Taking another swig of your drink, eyes cast down to watch your steps, a large hand wraps around your arm. You glance up to see Kiba. His large frame blocking out the light from the fire, but his grin still lights up his face. 
“There she is,”
“I told you I was coming.”
“Thought you got lost when your dumbass friends walked out here without you.”
Well, he’s not wrong is he? He had some faith in you, though, given he didn’t come hunt you down himself. But now that he has you, he isn’t letting you go. Time moves quickly whenever you’re with Kiba. One drink turns into two, and two into three. 
“Hey, the pong table is open!”
You yelp when you're yanked from your seat, tripping over your own feet as you're dragged back into the house. “Game face on, baby. We got a table to dominate.”
It’s never been like this intense before. Sweat drips down your neck. You’ve stripped down every layer while still remaining decent. Not everybody at this party needs to see you in your undies. Goosebumps breakout on your skin when a deep sigh comes from behind you. Nerves? Not a thing. Anxiety never seems to dig its claws in you. The only thing that ever sets you off is the impatient man behind you breathing down your neck.
This is the last shot of the game. The make or break of your winning sweep. You and Kiba always dominate the pong table, but tonight is something special. Or it could be. If only he’d take a step back and let you fucking breathe.
Slowly you turn, head tilting to clash gazes with familiar amusement. His brows shoot up into his headband, actually your headband – it’s your favorite color. He’s shirtless, when the hell did that happen? Probably started stripping down when you did. Jeans hanging low on his hips, the band of his underwear playing with the dark hair of his happy trail. His sneakers are toe to toe with your bare feet. It’s almost like a superstition. Or maybe because playing beer pong in high heels isn’t a smart idea. For you, anyway.
“Are you going to throw?”
“Are you going to let me breathe?”
His grin takes on a wolfish form as he steps into your space. Always by your side, never more than an arms length away. If anyone knows how to push your buttons it’s Kiba. If there’s anyone who isn’t afraid of pushing your buttons, it’s Kiba. You’ve been giving him a lot of slack lately. No pushback for all the bullshit he throws your way. Your lips purse, lifting your foot you step on the toes of his shoes.
“Bro, what the fuck.”
“Back away, Inuzuka. Wouldn’t want to scuff up those kicks.”
Your lips twitch when he huffs out a humorless laugh. As if he’s surprised by your audacity. Kiba takes a step back, his jaw clenching when you refuse to pick up your foot. Yeah, the fucking audacity.
“You’re mean.”
“You’re messing up my game.”
“Are you even playing anymore?”
You look behind you with a sneer on your face. Naruto and Lee stand there – Lee literally vibrating from all the energy drinks he’s had. Naruto rolls his shoulders, pinning you and Kiba with a bored look.
“Why? Want me to kick your ass that bad, huh?”
The group watching laughs, causing you to smile. Naruto gives you the bird before pouting. Another swig of your drink down and your shoulders loosen. Warm hands land on your waist, lips brushing against your ear.
“Nothing but water, baby.”
 “This is the winning shot, what do I get if I make it?”
There isn’t a doubt you’ll make it. You’re gloating now. A wide grin eating up your face as you roll the ball through your fingers.
“When’d you turn into a scammer? That’s easy fucking money. Everyone here knows you’ll make the shot.”
“What are you willing to hand over, Kiba?”
He’s silent, debating. You quirk an eyebrow as you stare up at him over your shoulder, intrigued by the wheels turning in his head. He sighs, fingers digging into your sides. “Throw the damn ball.”
You can’t help but snort. It’s not rocket science, beer pong. It’s technique, all in the wrist. But don’t tell any of the meatheads that. God forbid you figured out how to beat the frat bros at their own game. Which you do every time you play. Taking a deep breath you position yourself, aiming. The hoots and hollers quiet down as you look from the red solo cup to Kiba. He’s beaming; smirk showing off a sharp fang. Slightly threatening, but boyish all the same. It’s a clean shot – you sink it without even looking.
The pride that flares in Kiba’s eyes sends heat through you. There isn’t a moment to think about it before he’s rushing you. In an instant you’re off your feet, a screech leaving you as you hastily wrap your arms around his neck. 
“Hell yeah, that’s my girl.”
Your teeth bite into your cheek to hold back your whimper. This isn’t the first time he’s said something like that. How easily he calls you pet names and claims you as his. He’s known you since you were a gap toothed little kid with knobby knees. The only one mean enough to put Kiba in his place when his mouth got away from him.
“Ki, you’re making me dizzy.”
He grumbles but lets you down. Not bothering to move away his chest brushing against your back with every breath. Not like you mind. You’ve never been one to shy away from Kiba. He invades your space, your mind, your dreams. 
“It’s not fair.” Naruto complains, downing another cup of cheap beer. “I want her as my partner in the next game.”
Kiba’s grip on your waist tightens when he looks over your shoulder towards the blond. “Over my dead fucking body. She’s mine.”
Snickering from beside you catches your attention. Ino and Sakura sit with their drinks trying to hide their smug looks. Oh yeah, you’ll never hear the end of it. They’ve been trying to set you and Kiba up for a while now. You don’t ever encourage their meddling, but you don’t put a stop to it either. Because there is a big part of you that wonders. It’s your little secret if the part that wonders happens late at night with your fingers buried deep between your legs. No one has to know. 
“What the fuck are you snickering for? Not like anyone wants you.”
The drink you’re holding gets slammed down on the table. Kiba pulls you into him as you choke on the liquid. You’re trying to breathe, but your laughter keeps bubbling up, making it hard. Large palms run up and down your spine, a soothing gesture. Finally gulping in some air you flash Kiba an appreciative smile.
He’s got a look in his eye, one you’ve never seen before. Goosebumps erupt across your skin. His gaze takes you in from head to toe; it’s predatory, wild. The hand he used to sooth you is now gripping the back of your neck. Kiba pulls you close, head tilted down, nose brushing against your own. You’ve got to fight to keep your eyes from fluttering closed. Warm breath ghosts over your parted lips, waiting. You nod, barely visible, but Kiba catches it. Warm lips meet yours. Firm against your own, but not demanding. He’s holding back, not wanting to put on a show. You gasp when his tongue lightly brushes against your bottom lip, and then he’s gone. Pulling away, leaving you only a small taste.
Clearing your throat you pick up your discarded items. “I need to pee.”
“Sure, babe. Let’s go.”
A huff leaves your lips as you follow after him. His large frame breaks through the sea of people, keeping you from getting knocked around. It gets a beat quieter when you hit the stairs. Less people, less chatter. Kiba bangs on the bathroom door, giving no time before ripping it open. Covering your mouth so the embarrassed couple doesn’t see you laughing. The poor girl has no time to adjust her skirt before Kiba is manhandling them out of the way. 
“Do your business.”
You wait a beat. “Get out.”
“Babe,”
“Kiba! I’m not peeing with you in here!”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
That makes your temper flare. “Don’t compare me to your one night stands. You’ve only seen me naked in your dreams, but even that is lacking.”
In a blink of an eye he’s got you shoved against the counter. Hand wrapped around your throat, lips brushing over yours as he speaks. “Only because you won’t give it up.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“You know me better than anybody. But sometimes, you’re so fucking blind it pisses me off.”
“I swear to god, Kiba, if you think you’re going to fuck me in this bathroom–” Your mouth snaps shut. You don’t even want to entertain that thought. But Kiba is grinning now, big and brilliant. A cat that got the cream. Makes you want to smack him.
“I knew it.” He whispers. “I knew you wanted me. Bet you touch that sweet pussy thinking of me, don’tcha sweetheart?”
No, absolutely not. You aren’t doing this. You manage to shove him away, a glare settling over your pretty features. You slam the bathroom door open ready to leave. You never really had to pee, you just needed a breather. Now here you are; stressed out and getting hornier by the second. But the chance to leave never comes. You never step out of the bathroom. Kiba takes this into his own hands –quite literally– and picks you up, tossing you over his shoulder.
“Fuck you, Inuzuka. Put me down!”
“Yeah, baby. That’s the plan.”
You can’t fight him. Can’t ignore the heat that spreads through you. Your thighs would be rubbing together if Kiba didn’t have a mean grip on them. So you hang there, blood rushing to your head as he enters his room. He tosses you on the bed, standing there staring at you with a hungry, desperate gaze while you get your bearings. 
Grabbing your ankle Kiba drags you down the bed, smacking your thigh to get your attention. “Let’s go, baby girl. On your knees.”
“What?”
Kiba raises a brow. “On. Your. Knees.”
“You want me on my knees for you? You first.”
Hands grab at you, hastily undoing your pants before tugging them along with the black thong you wore down your legs. Kiba never takes his eyes off you as he tosses the clothes over his shoulder. His fingers tangle with yours, dragging your hand down your body, drawing your fingers up and down the seam between your legs, a sign you take to spread them. He doesn’t have to give you any more direction. Eagerly you dip a finger in, building up a pace before adding another. Placing one hand on a bare thigh, he holds you open, pushing his shoulders in between to get closer to you. A satisfied groan leaves you when he kisses your thigh. His teeth scrape over the sensitive flesh, a laugh rumbling in his chest when he notices your hand moving faster and faster the closer he gets to your core.
“Kiba,” you’re begging. Needy, and desperate. 
His hand moves, expert fingers toying with your pert nipples. Back arching with each tug and twist. You’re mumbling–bite, bite, bite. With your own hand busy between your legs, Kiba pushes up on his elbows, licking a trail between the valley of your breasts before sucking one in his mouth. You whimper, hand now tangled in his hair, holding him tight as you push your tit into his mouth. He rolls it in his mouth, tongue flicking at it before sucking. Eyes wide, pupils blown out as he watches you teeter closer to the edge.
His hand trails down your stomach, fingers tracing over yours. A grunt escapes him when he realizes you’ve stopped moving it. He tsks at you, pulling himself away from your chest. “Don’t stop,” he commands, his hand gripping your now stilled hand and forcing your fingers back inside. No longer two deep, but three. He wants you stretched out and ready for him. He keeps his hand over yours, controlling the pace. ‘Come on sweetheart – fuck, like that.”
He watches you for a moment, before lowering himself back down. You jolt at the flat of his tongue running over your nipple. A low groan parting your lips when his teeth finally latch on to it. You’ve always been a sucker for pain. Especially with your nipples being as sensitive as they are. He could make you come just by playing with them alone. Dragging his teeth over the tender flesh, he flicks his tongue over it. How fast can he make you come like this? Applying more pressure to the hand between your legs, it's a race between your fingers and his tongue. 
“Kiba, fuck.” 
Your legs are trembling around him, your weight shifting back onto your toes. Chasing, chasing… Kiba bites down on your nipple, hard. You scream as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. You look so fucking pretty when your like this, basking in your orgasm glow.
Knowing that your legs are anything but steady, you roll off the bed, landing on all fours before crawling over to sit on your haunches before him. You look up at him expectantly, waiting for your next order. He smiles down at you. Hand cupping your cheek, thumb caressing your cheekbone, finding its way down to your bottom lip. He pulls on the tender flesh, watching as your lips part and your tongue automatically comes out. Waiting, hungry.
“Are you going to be nice?” You whine, scooting forward, wanting nothing more than the feel of his heavy cock on your tongue. “Good girl, baby. Take the whole thing.”
Both hands tangle in your hair. He doesn’t move an inch, letting you come to him. Your eyes prick with tears as he makes his way in. You love the stretch, no matter where it is. Slowly, slowly, you make until you're suffocating with his cock down your throat and your nose in his dark hair. 
“That’s it — fuck, stay right there.”
His thighs twitch when you hum around him. Your mouth is so soft and warm, he could come right now if he really wanted to. But that’s not what he wants, not what you want. All of this is just foreplay. Because nothing will compare to when he’s got his cock in you and you’re begging him to fill you up, to use you. He’s been dreaming of that for years. His eyes roam all over you as he steadies his breathing, taking in the lewd scene that’s all you. 
“You’re a goddamn daydream. You know that?”
Hand pushing on your head, you gag around him before quickly being pulled away. You brace yourself, letting him use your face for his pleasure. Tears stream down your cheeks, making your eyes sparkle. Cheeks hallowed, lips suctioning around him until he can’t take it anymore. Pulling himself out of your mouth, Kiba reaches down and wraps you up in arms only to turn and toss you on the bed. You’re pussy clenches around nothing when you see the feral look in his eyes. He’s grinning down at you, but it isn’t nice. He’s going to devour you whole. Crack open your ribs and feast on everything that you are, everything you have to offer. When he’s had his fill and he’s done, you’ll do nothing but say thank you. 
“Spread those legs. I want that cunt.”
It’s your favorite part, when he first enters you. That first stretch, the feel of his cock making its way into you. He doesn’t know it yet, but you need to feel how much it hurts. Maybe your as fucking feral as he is. 
He swiftly moves to his knees, a hand slides across your ass, slapping you just hard enough to leave a red handprint behind as he thrust deep, bottoming out. It’s a silent scream, no sound leaving you. He’s big, so big, and he’s filling you up to the brim. It hurts, and you’re loving every inch that stretches you out. Your knuckles turn white with each rough, hard thrust. He slides a hand up your stomach, between your breasts so his hand can wrap it around your throat. He loves watching you come undone around him, and he’ll never forget it either. Your cheeks are flushed, pupils blown with lust, and lips parted as each of your clipped breaths turn into whimpers. 
“Babe,” he grits, hand tightening, cutting off a little more air, “you feel so fucking good.”
You stare back at him, feel as he moves to kneel on one knee, the angle shifting somewhere deeper inside of you. His teeth dig into your skin again, this time leaving bruises behind. It makes you whine. He thrusts harder, rougher until your hand is shooting out above your head, keeping you from hitting the headboard. He’s fully claiming you. Cock punching into the deepest part of you. Your head is empty, high in euphoria only Kiba can provide you. Words are pouring out of you, but you couldn’t understand what you were trying to say even if you wanted to. Whatever it is he wants to hear. Whatever keeps him close, keeps him inside of you. You never thought you’d get to be like this. 
“Kiba, I–” you're cut off by a whimper when he reaches that hard to reach spot deep inside you. Over and over again, you feel it coming, your orgasm is going to come crashing down. You’re going to drown in it, and you don’t know if you’ll make it out unscathed.
“You going to come on my cock, baby?”
“Yes!  Please, please, Kiba. Don’t stop. More, more, holy fuck,”
You come on his cock like a tidal wave, and when you collapse against the bed, your body trembles, heaving desperately for air. Kiba groans, pulling you up until you’re flush against him. His lips meet yours in a messy kiss, bucking his hips harder until he’s chasing his high right over the ledge with you. 
“Good girl,” he praises, letting go of your throat. “Such a good girl for me.”
It’s quiet, apart from your labored breathing. Kiba’s thumb runs along your stomach where his hand rests. He’s laying halfway on you, head nuzzled into the crook of your neck. It’s a soft moment, one you don’t wish to break. But this time, you really do need to pee.
“Kiba,” he grumbles, digging deeper into the comfort you provide. “Ki, get up. I have to pee.”
He glances up at you, clearly fighting off a grin. “You gonna kick me out this time?”
“Kiba,” you warn.
“What? Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”
“Fucking, hell, Inuzuka.”
He chuckles, lifting his weight off you. He smiles at your glare. Quietly you get dressed. Your hair stacked up on your head in a messy bun. There’s no saving your makeup. You wince at your reflection, seeing your lipstick smeared all over your mouth. Calloused fingers grip your chin, lifting your face so he can mesh his lips with yours.
“You’re a vision, sweetheart.” he murmurs against your lips. “Don’t think this was a one time thing.”
Your head tilts. “Oh yeah? You addicted now?”
“Don’t be stupid. I’ve been addicted to you my whole fucking life.”
“Are you going soft on me?” 
He grins down at you. “Oh, baby. We’re just heatin’ up.”
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mothocean · 1 year ago
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Fuck it. Steampunk era new albion tumblr
⚙️ mcallisterindustries Follow
Today is the 40th anniversary of the death of my beloved mother, Annabel Mcallister, whose passion for science has inspired me since i was a young boy. Without her, the memory of her death aching in my heart, driving me to pursue a way to bring back those lost to time, Mcallister Industries wouldn't be where it is today. To honor her memory, we are holding a 30% sale on all new doll models, and a 1+1 deal on reanimating newly dead loved ones! Call 1-DOLL-800 to find out more about upcoming sales and order your loved one's new doll body today!
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💀 voodoopunk-official Follow
We're meeting again at the crossroads tonight!! Bring your doll-ay doll-ay spirit!
- Mod B
#voodoopunk #vote voodoopunk we dance with you on your graves
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💀 voodoopunk-official Follow 🔁 averagealbioncitizen Follow
🤵 averagealbioncitizen Follow
man can these dolls play literally anything else. i keep retuning my granny's radio but it always plays that elysian night song :(((
🔁 💀 voodoopunk-official Follow
You just don't get it like we do
- mod A
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🟥 redhairedbisexual Follow 🔁 redhairedbisexual
🟥 redhairedbisexual Follow
my bro died so i have to take over the family business now :(( anyway hmu if you need anything special iykyk 😜🤙💯
🔁 🟥 redhairedbisexual Follow
update: who tf keeps stealing our stock im gonna fucking bootleg doll you
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👑 aliceinfutureland Follow
made some progress today :) the angels will be proud
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🤖 doll34221543 Follow 🔁 doll356857543 Follow
🌠 newalbionmayor-official Follow
Elysium, the silent sighed lost lullaby...
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💀 voodoopunk-official Follow 🔁 bi-bye-byron Follow
🕶 destroy-da-dollz-deactivated
🔁 🎩 bi-bye-byron Follow
JASPERSWEEP
🔁 👯‍♀️ dykes4dolls Follow
What a self own lmao
🔁 💞 dollay-darling Follow
op did u really think people were gonna vote against the doll? On the voodoopunk website?
🔁 🕶 destroy-da-dollz-deactivated
'voodoopunk website' up my ass y'all let the power get to your head. You fucking rusty ass stoner cultists ain't gonna last here
🔁 💀 voodoopunk-official Follow
THEY DEACTIVATED HAHA GET REKT
- mod B
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🕶 crossroads-acolyte-deactivated
My dad's been really terrible lately... at least i have the dolls to comfort me
🔁 🕶 crossroads-acolyte-deactivated
Their song is so beautiful... if only i could join them...
🔁 🕶 crossroads-acolyte-deactivated
Elysium, the silent sighed lost lullaby
Elysian night
Read more
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🤵 averagealbioncitizen Follow 🔁 voodoopunk-official Follow
💀 voodoopunk-official Follow
With great agony, we announce the passing of one of our dear members. Mod A, also known as Acolyte Amelia, you will be missed.
- Mod B
🔁 🤵 averagealbioncitizen Follow
I KNEW THOSE DOLLS WERE PROBLEMATIC FROM THE START UGH... don't support the voodoopunks they're lying to you #killthedolls #antivoodoopunk
🔁 💀 voodoopunk-official Follow
Amelia didn't die because of the dolls dumbass you're just using her death as a means to further your stupid political agenda smh 🙄
- Mod B
🔁 🤵 averagealbioncitizen Follow
AND YOU AREN'T???
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🚫 destroy-da-dollz-remade Follow
I FUCKING TOLD YOU GUYS
#anti voodoopunk #kill the dolls #i fucking said it from the start but y'all didn't LISTEN
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🤵‍♀️ kate-the-nyarrator
can anyone even hear me
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adhd-coyote · 5 months ago
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Alright, since you all seemed to like my Mando'a rambling so much, here's a list of curses, insults, and threats in Mando'a. This is a combination of official words/phrases (grabbed from Mandocreator and this lovely dictionary by @/peltigaan), stuff I've come up with myself, and things that some wonderful people on the Oya Biatch Discord server <3 (You can find our dictionary here) I highly recommend checking out both linked dictionaries for all your Mando'a needs, they're both great
Chakaar - Thief/petty criminal (lit. Corpse robber) Chakaaryc - Rotten/lowlife Dar’manda - No longer a Mandalorian, someone who has abandoned their creed Demagolka - Monster, child abuser, someone who commits atrocities, a war criminal Di’kut - Idiot (lit. Someone who forgets to put their pants on) Di’kutla - Useless, stupid, worthless Dini - Lunatic Dini’la - Insane Gar ven'mar'eyi gar kyr'am pare - You will find your death waiting Ge’hut’uun - Not even notable enough to be called a coward Haar’chak - Damn it Hut’uun - Coward Kaysh mirsh solus- They’re an idiot (lit. Their brain cell is lonely.) Kaysh ru'hokaani kaysh videk - They have cut their own throat (They've fucked themself over) Ke’shab garast ti [item] - Go fuck yourself with a(n) [item] Kih’osik - Little shit Mir’sheb - Smartass Mir’osik - Shit for brains Mirsh’kyramud - Boring person (lit. brain killer) Mirshepar’la - Boring (lit. brain devouring) Nar’sheb - Shove it up your ass Najaat - Someone with no honor Ne shab’rud’ni - Don’t fuck with me Ner kal ven’isiri gar tal - My blade will taste your blood Ni cetar’narir kay’shebs - I'm going to shove my boot up their ass Ori’buyce, kih’kovid - All helmet, no head (Insult for a big ego) Or’dini - Moron/fool Osik - Shit Osi’kyr - Oh shit Os’ika - Little shit (affectionate) Osik’la - Shitty Osik’uram - Rude person/someone with no filter (lit. Shit mouth) Jagyc’kovid - Dickhead Jar’sheb - Dumbass Shab - Fuck Shabiir - To fuck up Shabla - Fucked up Shab’rudur - To fuck with Shabuir - Motherfucker (Or, by another interpretation, a bad parent) Shebs - Ass Sheb’palon - Asshole Sheb’urcyin - Ass-kisser Sheb’urcyir - To suck up/“to kiss ass” Skanah - Much-hated thing/person (Bitch/Asshole) Ke’soora, shab - Suck it, fucker Ke’soora ner jagyc - Suck my dick Usen’ye - Go away/Fuck off Utreekov - Fool, idiot (lit. emptyhead) Vaar’ika - Pipsqueak/runt [Item] lo’shebs’ul narit - You can shove your [item] up your ass
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spadecentral · 3 months ago
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🍪 Bet On the Teleportation | Ace Trappola & Deuce Spade
>> event: race for the cookie cup by @theolivetree123 >> a/n: i got so excited to write this and now im scared to post it, but also this fan event is so cool yall should go check it out!!!
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>> masterlist: twst >> summary: bets are stupid, but ace and deuce make one anyway >> reader prns: they/them >> warning(s): you are referred to as [name]
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When the eight of you land inside the video game that Ace and Deuce were just competing over, you sigh. It's a nightmare already to keep Grim from eating anything, but now with the giant candies it's going to be hellish.
"What did you do, Juice?" Ace is peeved at Deuce, despite neither of them doing anything to trigger this kind of glitch.
Idia shivers momentarily, but you think it's just a cold front running down his spine and disregard it.
"There is no way you're gonna blame this on me!" Deuce responds. "If anything, you did it! Did you see how hard you were gripping the joystick?"
"No I didn't, because all I could see was my racecar ahead of yours!"
"[Name], what do you think?" Ace huffs, turning over to you for an answer.
"Nuh uh," you say as you grip tightly onto Grim's wiggling body. "You two aren't dragging me into this, I told y'all not to make that bet."
"Okay your opinion is void now," Ace rolls his eyes.
"Stop looking for pity points when you know I'm right," Deuce crosses his arms. "And I was beating you, not the other way around."
"Mhm, that's not what the pixels on that stupid screen were showing me," Ace retaliates, the sass in his voice unimaginable.
"Can you two please make up so we can get out of here," you groan.
"There's no way I'm making up with the person who got us here!" Deuce frowned.
"I am not gonna just reconcile with this dumbass!" Ace practically shouted.
"There has to be a way for the two of you to duke it out here so we can get on with it," Silver finally speaks up, over the initial stupor of teleportation.
All of the sudden, horns sound.
"All rise for our ruler, King Candy!" a guard yelled.
Finally looking anywhere other than the red- and blue-haired boys, you finally take in your surroundings and clothes fully. Racing attire? you question to yourself as a royal-looking man comes into view.
"Strange people of far-away lands!" he yells out. "I hear your need for justice and wish to hand it to you. Your need for a true winner resounds well in my heart, and I therefore grant you my honor in racing to victory! You may gather two teams—since there are so many of you—and compete in a race! Then you will know who the real winner is!"
"See, there we go," Ace says.
"There is no way..." you can hear Idia mumbling in the back.
"Alright! Let's get to it!" Deuce calls out, his signature smirk plastered on his face.
You frown, knowing the competitive nature of the both of them would probably do more hurt than good in the the long run. But who are you to stop them, they're teenage boys for Seven's sakes.
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>> ace and deuce taglist: @tulipluvlettr | @strawberry-hyacinth | @oseathepebble | @wisteriainslumber
@villaim | @pastelmages | @xphantasmagoriax | @atlasnessie-archived | @divinesapph
@ze-maki-nin | @ezr4n | @l1vyatan | @savanaclaw1996 | @enigmatic-pers
@queerlordsimon | @kyraxiyn | @rayisalive | @monochromepalette | @she-wont-miss
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duskymrel · 9 months ago
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Part 4 of TWST as quotes from my friend group quotebook
Lines with a '^' in front of them are the things said by yours truly ❤
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^Ace: Eating frozen chicken nuggets in the kitchen at at 1:54 a.m.
Riddle: *turns on the light* What the fuck are you doing
^Ace: *freezes*
Ace and Riddle: *stare at each other for a bit in silence*
^Ace: *slowly shoves the rest of the frozen chicken nugget in his mouth and leaves the kitchen*
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^Lilia: I use my enhanced intelligence and wisdom to make only the most refined of sex jokes
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^Epel: Alright everyone place their bets on how long I'm gonna live
Ace: 16
^Epel, 3 months away from his 16th birthday: I like those odds
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Epel: Technically guys are always pregnant because they're always carrying children
^Deuce: Does that mean women are chickens because they always carry eggs
Ace: Yes
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Azul: I'm extorting people for money. Oh lord, I love extortion.
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^Floyd: It's called your sweet 16 because that's when your body is ripest and sweetest. It's the optimal time to feast on my flesh, as it tastes best.
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^Ruggie: Daddy chill
Leona: I ain't your daddy
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Cater: Hey guys look at my little goobie, the little Google woobie, the lil squiggly guy, the scrimblo!!!!! *sends picture of said goofie goobie woobie squiggle scrimblo*
Lilia: Nine eleven
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^Idia: I can't believe I just compared math to the Holocaust what's wrong with me
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Epel, referring ^Jack: Boob Jesus
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^Ace, admiring Silvers thighs: Dude, drop the leg routine.
Deuce: How many squats does he *do*???
^Sebek: His legs are ripped because he has to carry the weight of his trauma.
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^Ace: Megatron? More like MEGA DONG HAHA GOTTEM
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Riddle: babe no killing
Floyd: fine
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^Ace: Did you hear about what happened to Barry?:(
Jack: Huh?
^Ace: BARRY-ING DEEZ NUTS IN YOUR MOUTH HAHA GOTTEM
Jack: Never speak to me again
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Riddle: Finally something heterosexual
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^Ruggie: Do you think Yuu would smoke weed with me
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Ace: Why do all these dogs look like wolves that's cringe
^Jack: Maybe because they're descended from them dumbass
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^Jade: If you can dodge your responsibilities then surely you can dodge a dodgeball
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We're just silly your honor I swear don't send us to juvie. Also most of these ended up just being the first years because they're so chaotic 💀
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dumbass-duo-showdown · 4 months ago
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Dumbass duo showdown losers bracket round 1 battle 2
Ruffnutt & Tuffnut from how to train your dragon VS the doctor and Donna(aka Dr Donna) from dr who
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Propaganda
Ruffnut & Tuffnut
They tried to kill Hiccup so that their dragon(s?) could rescue him and stop feeling indebted to him and return to them. Technically it worked, depending on your point of view...? Long story short they're idiots and I love them with my whole heart
They're so stupid, I love them. Just so stupid. They can actually be pretty smart, but they actively CHOOSE to be stupid, and I love them for it. They're 100% fully self-aware (well, maybe less than 100%, but still-), they know they're stupid, and they delight in it- and delight even more in dragging other people into their stupidity. They get even worse when they're together, too, since they'll bounce terrible ideas off each other until things start to snowball into a terrible, terrible mess (and have I mentioned that I love them yet). They are, like, the epitome of this trope.
They are so silly and get up to so much stupid mischief! Even when they're not the focus of the episode, they often have a weird and silly b-plot that ends up stealing the show. Highlights of their weird exploits include trying (and in the end succeding) to build a boar pit at the gangs home base, spending an entire dragon rescue mission playing fashion critics, inventing ice cream and searching for Tuffnuts beloved lost pet chicken. They really care about each other, but they're also pretty stupid about it.
DR DONNA
Just. Watch the scene where they find each other again. The miming/lipreading through glass windows. It is absolute gold. But all of partners in crime is. Also, they literally merge together in the end, so they actually share a brain for a while
The miming scene in Partners in Crime
They are So Dumb!! Like yeah they’re smart and they solve all the cases and shit but like!! They are so so dumb oh my god! They had a whole charades convo while trying to hide while the villain was in the room watching it was hilarious. Every interaction between the two is like brain cells are actively being lost. They are idiots you’re honor! The doctor brings up all these alien invasions and Donna is like “wtf are you talking about mate”. Also Donna has to open a door by putting her hand in a hand scanner thing but it’s a scanner for aliens with only 3 fingers and she’s like “it won’t work! I have 5 fingers” and the doctor is like….. “you can just put your fingers together?????”
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