#they're simple sets though so it's like 60$

[moondirti]

sorry to the soft simon lovers but i am fixating on the idea of him being too abrasive for greater society. no, hear me out. he can't be normal after what he’s been through. after what he's done.

cw: dead dove. sadism. inferred sexism and stalking. punitive harassment. idk guys he's gross. 18+ MDNI

he's just a little too odd, grim, ugly, cruel, rude. he stares too long and makes jokes that strike the wrong chord in most. he's into things that are not as sexual as they are humiliating to his partners, and can not be satisfied by any relationship his therapist would deem as healthy. even physically, he's torn in all the wrong places. his scars aren’t rugged but almost painful to look at. his hands are huge and calloused and 60 grit sandpaper against soft skin. his nose is crooked. his hair is shorn short. he has a mean smile, watery eyes.

the one thing keeping him from being completely ostracised is the flag on his arm, the one he fights for. but it's like putting a tarp over some horrible, disfigured mess – you can still see the general shape of it underneath. most shrug it off as fine, go figure. you teach a soldier to kill and they cope by being killers. it's funny because simon's issues began way before he enlisted – he spoors it back to conception, when his father gave him a part of himself that can never be scoured clean. the military is just where he resides to conceal the stink of miasma he'll never rid of. piss over piss. putting a reason to the barbarity.

for a while, it's enough. he sticks to the corners. for all his sadism, he's not keen on subjecting the general public to his complications. he's smart enough to separate good from what makes him feel good. he only interacts with others like him – price, mostly, who's better at playing pretend but has issues that bury their roots just as deep. or maybe he's able to see simon for what he really is, and the novelty of not having to bite his tongue is enough to form a gossamer bridge of friendship. he sleeps with masochists who don't know what's good for them, all of them men (though it never pays when they're into what he's inflicting). in between missions, he'll disappear to his shitty apartment that he pays for in cash and drink himself to oblivion as he scrolls through a deprecating XXX site.

if he gets inebriated enough, he'll open up tinder and swipe through the birds advertising themselves, as if he were the holy arbitrator of what's attractive. safe because he made it so that no one would match with him; his profile is blank. no bio, no age. Riley as his first name and a picture of a shutterstock german shepherd because having one photo was a requirement.

the lifestyle probably exacerbates his problems.

maybe that's why he reaches a point of no return when he gets a text late one night. he doesn't give his number to anyone, so the only app it could be from–

your dog's cute. what's his name?

it's to his sloshed astonishment that someone swiped right on him. not even him, but a barebones, dodgy profile he curated to keep everyone at arms length when he chooses to indulge in his destructive habits. you're cute too, suspiciously darling and a whole open book – five pictures, a colourful description and your city of residence. you cannot be short of options, certainly not enough to drive you to a point of desperation, so there's no mistaking what this is.

you're setting up a little pet project. something to bat at like a cat does a ball of yarn, with no intention to commit or ever see him in real life. perhaps you chose him because there’s nowhere to go but up. or because his disinterest seems glaringly obvious, and a simple risk assessment told you that you wouldn't suffer an obsessive stalker if you ever chose to ghost him.

unfortunately for you, that couldn't be further from the truth. that simple question is enough to push him over the edge.

he's tired of holding back.

[romanticoms]

everything i said i knew, i didn't (come through)

lando norris x fem!reader → tags: wc 2.2k, pure smut, fan(?) x athlete, no use of y/n (thankfully) not proofread, 5am.

author's note: this set us back by like 60 years.. i won't elaborate on why it's so bad. (my excuse is that i only write resident evil fanfics :3)

it's about a week or so into the new season, which has everyone evidently excited, some more so than others, much like you, you could only ever dream of watching the races in real time, it's a given that you're on vacation a little too near to what could be considered a hotspot for drivers alike.

drivers were practically saran wrapped in black coats, heading from the hotel lobby straight up to their respective rooms,

you were just a simple thing, minding your own business, it'd be rude to even try to look for any one of the drivers, that's class a asshole behaviour, as much as you were willing to look for any of them, it's not like it's in your cards to find a driver on their one special night's rest, let alone build up the courage and ask any one of them for their signatures.

to your surprise, word on the street says something about mclaren's drivers promoting a new sponsor of theirs, it won't hurt to snag a picture or two, especially now that there are fans posting about it,

you arrive at the ballroom, not too big not too small, reasonable enough not to squint to look at either one of the two, but you were fairly distanced away from the two, a crowd lies in between you and the two, hell, if someone had to point you out from the crows it'd probably take hours, not for lando though, his eyes had been on you since the moment you'd been there, probably longer? only he knows, but it takes you a questionable amount of time to even realize who exactly he was staring at, you shrug off the possible feeling of the fact that he was actually staring at you, don't get your hopes up, that's what you agreed on since the start anyways.

a little after the event concludes, it's a slip past midnight but you still manage to shower the feeling of heavy crowds pushing you back and forth away, slipping into a racy nightdress, you're reminding yourself to make the best of a holiday, even if it means you have to sacrifice some comfort to look cute (even when nobody's looking), you finish off by tying a near slobbish knot that doesn't have you trying again, still buzzing with the idea that lando's been looking at you, as much as you're willing to deny it for the right reasons, it's true, looking back at the recordings on your phone and it's more apparent that he was taking quick glances at you and the crowd ahead of him, then you, back to the crowd, it's an endless cycle and it has you giggling to yourself, a fucking coincidence

a knock or two hits your door, it's faint but you're aware that it's bed time, room service at this time of the night? they changing your room due to booking fuck ups? you think of the possibilities on the short walk to the door, you peek through the peephole to find lando norris, at your door, smiling somewhat like an idiot.

meeting an f1 driver was certainly not on your "list of things that happened today" bingo card, let alone on the fact that he's here just to see you, it's too surreal it has you nearly weak at the knees.

the door, holy shit. opening the door, butter fingers, it's a generational curse, lando seems much more relaxed after seeing you, poor boy was probably scared he got the wrong room,

you turn to speak but he hushes you, a fucking finger to your lips and it already has you feeling butterflies, given your knees were weaker than gruel, he's had you in a trance, captivated to the point where you take a few steps back from the door until he allows himself in, he shuts the door softly, double— triple checking if they're locked, he turns to you, it's the glint in his eyes that show he owes you an explanation,

"sorry about that," he starts,

"what brings you here?" you ask out of pure concern, it shocks you (and others, probably) that lando would go out of his way for someone like you, it's cute, to a point.

"just needed an escapade," he sits himself on the edge of the bed, it's crazy that you have him here but there's no way in hell he's here for whatever your brain believes.

"well, if you really want to know," he clears his throat before speaking again, "i'm here to see you,"

"me? of all people, me?" you cough up, at this rate you won't stop beating yourself up over nothing, it's valid given the status difference between the two of you.

you're visibly surprised, and it amuses lando, well enough for him to take the first step.

"yes, you," he murmurs, standing as he speaks, his frame slightly overlooks yours, he's like a a shadow that's brighter than you, in any and every way, odd.

"i saw you at the event earlier, you'd be surprised to know how easy it is to play pretend with the concierge." he chuckles, you just stare at him with your arms crossed, like you're babysitting a kid.

"it's still shitty of me, i know, i know," he has both arms slightly up, you're turned to him, now you're sitting on the same bed as him and it smells like bergamot and a pang of tension.

a pang doesn't cut it, you stare deeply into his eyes as he does with yours, it's not long until you're letting out, it's messy, really.

catching onto how many times he's been chuckling in between kisses, it just gets hotter and hotter, he really is the sun much like they claim.

his arm is around your waist drawing you in closer to him, his free hand tangled in your hair, gently caressing your cheekbones.

he deepens the kiss, savoring the warm heat of your body against his. his hands move slowly down your back as he pulls you towards him, it's nearly dramatic, the way you two hit heavy on the bedframe while simultaneously continuing, like animals, it's evident from the pale moonlight watching over the two of you, he's ferocious, grasping onto either sides of your waist and down, bruising them evenly, he whines and bites his lip the moment you pull back, just briefly before he has you on your back, you feel the mattress dip as he gets closer to you, crooning in your neck, he whispers, "jesus, feels so fucking good,"

barely a minute, no, two minutes? three? you lost count, your mind is drifting elsewhere, questioning how lando could keep track of the time, (it's his job to do so, obviously) but his kisses just keep pulling you back to the situation at hand, he'll deal with the rest later, he's desperate to peel the layers of clothes stringing you two apart.

"come on, can't wait—" he mutters to himself, desperately undoing the final strap of your silk before tossing it somewhere to the side, he's careful to not rip a single thread,

if it weren't for anyone or anything suspecting your unexpected visitor this late at night, he'd make it his goal to get you to scream his name, he'll settle for what he can get now, the rest will come eventually.

"there, there, sweetheart," he's coaxing you relentlessly, you're at ease, "where do you want me?" he looks up at you, you say nothing, slowly snatching his wrist to feel his calloused palm feel your stomach, he's knee deep in this, you're just made that way, made for him, "fuck, that's hot," lando hisses by your ear as he positions himself to box your frame.

"want me to be gentle, sweetheart? or rough, it's your call," he murmurs sweetly before softly nibbling at the lobe of your ear, peppering kisses from ear to neck, "rough," you choke out, "didn't hear you, sweetheart," he's teasing you and it feels worse than having pins and needles, "rough, please," you're crying out and he's heartlessly teasing you, barely met the guy and you know he's gonna make up for it, "atta girl," it's like you were sculpted for him, mind, voice and body.

he brings the incessant teasing to a mere halt when he motions you to get on top of him, feeling your cold but sweat glazed back pitted against his abs, feeling his cock swell against you, in heat of the moment, you mindlessly respond to him without even realising it, swirling your tongue on his middle and ring fingers, coating through and through before bringing it down to your aching pussy, his digits pressed up on your clit, he's really, really slow with his movements but you're not fighting it, you're not fighting for a quick stimulation, given the situation, the pace and timing are suited to your mind's liking, not like when you'd desperately stuff your fingers in your pussy to take your mind off the edge, you were sloppy n' straightforward with it, but lando, lando's a whole other topic that needs to be studied,

"this good for you, sweetheart? i can go a whole new mile for you if you need me to, just give me the word, i'll be more than happy to provide," he's whispering in your ear and it's making your stomach turn, unable to think and come up with anything, you come, cum all over his hands, all over nearly nothing, guilt washes you, barely pleased him and you're already selfishly doing this, lando's not even questioning a thing, he smirks against your shoulder and you feel it, he's silent but he doesn't even think twice before he continues, "good girl, such a good girl," he's consistently praising you, still at the same pace, maybe a little faster, you wouldn't know because of how it'd felt in the moment, lightheaded but in a good way, indefinitely, cloud nine? better than that, then you're hit with a second orgasm, this time your legs trash and you nearly give in before he stops briefly, you're gasping for air but you're desperate to finish, "no, please, don't stop," you pant in frustration, "hey, i'm not going anywhere," he's nonchalant about it, treating your desperation with utmost attention, he's careful with you, switching positions, he's up and facing you on the bed, slowly going over your waistline, then, he lines the throbbing red heat of his cock with your mound, slowly teasing you, pushing it up and down for a few seconds before slowly bottoming out, you push back in a pang of shock, not even a split second later it feels better than anything you figured he'd promise, locking your fingers with his, slow but rhythmic slaps fill the hollow sound of your once empty room, he dives forth, finds the crook of your neck, slowly sinking his teeth in, this one definitely does it for you, the third orgasm definitely jumps on the scale, feeling it ramp up to a solid twelve, you feel lando pick up the pace, "'m gonna cum, baby, n' it's gonna be all over you, n' you're gonna take it," evident from the grunts you hear in the back of your mind before you're picked back up into reality, he pulls out and you feel empty, yearning just a little more, nothing beats the view of seeing his essence take up certain areas of your belly, he watches as your breathing slowly regulates.

figuring you need a minute or two to cool off, he disappears into the bathroom without saying a word, you hear the water run and hit the cold floor, then you start to see steam fog up the mirror from the door, conveniently angled to the bed, lando pops back out to pick you up, bridal style at that, he's admiring every feature painted on your face, even the waterproof mascara he's managed to ruin, kicking the door shut with the back of his foot, he sets you in the bath tub where you're immediately soothed by it's warm embrace.

[onlyseokmins]

$$60 billion (part 1) • l.s.m.

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

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

Everyone wanted Lee Seokmin. 

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

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

You shiver. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But curiosity eventually overturned the initial fear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you both dissolve into laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Obviously."

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

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

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

"And that's why you'll be the —"

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

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

"Technically, that's true."

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

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

"Well —"

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

" — Think fast!"

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

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

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

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

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

"It's… it's never been loaded or…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But you have the most demerits this week."

"And whose fault is that?!"

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

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

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

"Hey… thanks."

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

"Mm-hm."

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

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

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

Fascinating little things those Earthlings created!

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What did you do?"

"What haven't I done?"

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

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

"Goodnight, Chan."

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

But tomorrow never came.

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

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

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

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

You're struck with the damning realization.

The gods — they have completely abandoned humankind.

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

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

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

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

"Nothing guarantees —"

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

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

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

Sister Constance doubts.

And something about that thrills you. Terrifyingly so.

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

A sandstorm brews on the horizon.

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

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

The Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood.

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

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

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

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

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

"Chan?!"

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

"What about you?"

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

"But —"

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

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

"Chan, what's —"

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

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

"You hate those kinds of things."

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

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

The bangs of carnage draw closer. Louder.

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

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

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

What was going on?

Boom!

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

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

It's gone.

"No…"

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

"No… no… no…"

Gone.

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

"No!"

And most importantly, he has to be alright.

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

For now.

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

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

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

"Don't. Move."

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

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

"Go ahead and shoot."

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

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

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

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

"I —"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guilt.

"I — I —"

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

"Should've… It should've —"

"Hey, hey…"

"It should've been me!"

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

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

Your body shakes as the tears finally slip free.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh?"

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

You don't.

"And what do you call this lovely lady?"

"Nothing."

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

"Just haven't decided."

"I see! Mine's Geranium."

"Oh, like… the flower?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bastard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's stale too.

Fucker.

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh-huh."

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

"Hey, now —"

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

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

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

"'Ol Needle Noggin, eh?"

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

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

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

"Wasn't tryna scam —"

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

"Anyone told ya how irritatin' ya are?"

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

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

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

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

You feel a funny sensation.

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

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

"Oh, go to hell, Choi!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not like that's anything new."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except you're on edge.

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

"Now who's staring?"

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

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

Hope.

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

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

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

"Can I pour you another drink?"

"Sure," you chuckle, pleased.

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

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

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

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

"'Lo, Wonu."

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

"Past yer bedtime, lil one?"

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

"Oh, Lina…"

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

"Huh, what a darlin' angel!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, how your heart aches.

"Even prettier."

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

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

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

"I am strong!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Choi —"

"Yeah!" Lina claps ecstatically.

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

"I swear!"

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

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

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

"Really?!"

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

"Y'see the man in all purple?"

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

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

"Choi!"

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

"Yes, sir!"

"Attagirl."

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

"Dunno, cute?"

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

"No need for apologizin', man."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'S not what I meant!"

"Yeah, yeah."

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

Meanwhile, the pastor's grin turns wolfish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just a bounty hunter."

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

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

"Oh? Same here."

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

"He's…?"

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

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

"Yeah, tell me about it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pastor. Pleased to meet'cha."

"Oh! Really?"

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

"Do you, hm, officiate weddings?"

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

"M-maybe."

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

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

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

"No one even has sixty billion double dollars!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fill me up again?"

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

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

But you know the truth.

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

"I'm turning in for the night."

"Smartin' idea."

"Don't get too smashed."

"You should get smashed."

"Bye, Choi."

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

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

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

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

"Hey, you."

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

"So, you're staying here tonight?"

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

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

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

"You hella reek."

"Says the one who drank over seven shots."

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

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

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

"'Cause that's what he is."

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

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

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

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

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

"Only if you get one, too."

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

"As you wish, m'lady!"

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

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

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

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

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

"M'kay."

"You're so agreeable when drunk!"

"And you're still just as annoying."

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

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

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

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

"'Kay."

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

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

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

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

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

"All mine?"

"Yeah."

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

"Aren't you going to bathe?"

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

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

"Total slaughter…!"

Splash!

"… Total slaughter…"

Splash!

"I won't leave… a single man alive."

Splash! Splash!

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

Splash.

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

"Let's begin… the killing time."

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

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

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

Rem Saverem.

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

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

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

"What's got you making that face?"

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

"What face?"

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

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

"There is."

"Tell me."

"You need to dry your hair properly."

"Do it for me."

"… This is on purpose, isn't it?"

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

"Well, Seok? You gonna answer me?"

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

"You."

"Hm?"

"Was… thinking about you."

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

"… Yeah. I like you."

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

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

"… Mhm yeah, you've been drinking."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why are you acting like that?"

"… Like what?"

Perhaps you were too hopeful.

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

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

"It's… none of that, it's just…"

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

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

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

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

"I'm not the only one!"

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

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

"You don't know how I feel!"

Silence.

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

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

"You're right. How dare I?"

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

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

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

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

Yet, it hurts all the more.

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

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

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

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

Yelling. Crying. Screaming. Pleading.

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

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

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

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

Don't leave me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even Seokmin checks in. Four times.

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

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

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

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

"Beast… reported… Tonim town… !"

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

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

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

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

"You're just weak."

"Wha'zat say 'bout you?"

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

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

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

How typical.

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

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

"Soonyoung's coming."

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

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

"Tuned the VERnon last night."

"'Course you did."

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

"It never hurts to be too prepared!"

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

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

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

"Or… it could be Jeonghan."

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

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

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

Antagonize.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really, 'Kwan?"

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

"Sure you are."

"You would absolutely look dashing!"

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

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

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

"All that does is make me cringe."

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

"Who's acting like what?"

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

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

"There's no way!"

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

"Uh-huh."

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

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

"The hell did you even throw for?"

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

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

"Someone just doesn't wanna give in."

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

"Wait… No fucking way…!"

"Literally shut up, Boo."

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

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

"Dirty cheater."

"You expect anything less from someone like him?"

A sigh. "No."

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

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

"Don't recall!"

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

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

"Aw, see? You still care!"

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

"Sure you do."

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

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

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

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

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

"As far as we know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Even if it kills 'im?"

"Even if it kills him."

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

"Dokyeom. DK."

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

"Absolute pain in my ass?"

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

"… Deadly Knives?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You admired him. Truly.

"Un-fuckin'-'lievable."

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

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

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

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

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

"… Remind me to never drink again."

"I told you —"

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

"… Mistake?"

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

You wonder how long he's known.

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

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

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

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

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

Who is it you're trying to reassure?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'Course they would."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Surely you know what —"

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

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

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

"Still following him around, I see."

"'S a lot comin' from —"

" — Hasn't gotten rid of me yet!"

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

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

"You're delusional."

"Why are you here?"

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

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

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

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

Click!

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

"Uh, so… how many times is this?"

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

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

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

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

"Felnarl. Jeneora Rock. Descartes. Dankin."

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

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

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

"Why you —"

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

"You forgot one."

"Pardon?"

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

"… Huh?"

"Little Ivywood."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Damn you —"

"Stop it."

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

"You don't want this."

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

"We do."

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

"He's not a monster."

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

To us?

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

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

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

"… Excuse me?"

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

"We would've left peacefully tomorrow."

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

"Because you took a bribe!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"…. I —"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You mean…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Conflict resolution. How very touching."

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

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

"What about that was 'getting good'?"

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

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

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

"Hm. But I think you do."

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

Lina.

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

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

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

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

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

"… Wonu?"

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

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

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

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

It doesn't end there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ooh, thanks, Seungkwan!"

"Pay attention, you blockhead!"

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

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

"Seokmin, switch!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bang!

Bang!

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

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

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

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

Nails.

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

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

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

Drip.

"It's all your fault!"

Drip.

"Their blood is on your hands…"

Drip.

"Don't you feel guilty?"

Drip.

"Don't you feel responsible?"

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Drip.

Someone's screaming. Maybe it's you.

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

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

Click.

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

"… out of it!"

"Hyperventialing -"

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

The Crimsonnail sneers.

Your cheek stings.

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

Someone.

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

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

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

"I know, mayfly."

Part 2 | Read the whole thing on AO3

onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©

[egophiliac]

Hello!! I'm in love with your artstyle (especially the way you did the signature spells??? I've been looking at them for a while adsgfdfsf, they look like movie posters tbh and that's fricking cool to me. anyway!! I'm a player on the NA server (btw, I've already seen spoilers of chap 7 due to tumblr/reddit/pinterest, so yeah it's not the most spoiled I've ever been so yea) and yeah. I'm getting through the story okay but do you have any advice for people trying to get through certain events with a more limited life schedule??? Also, what are some of the differences that you notice between the english (if you see a lot of it??) and Japanese versions of the game? sorry if this was a longer ask, i tried to be simple but i wanted to tell you that I loved your art and everything just spiraled AAAAAAH

thank you! ❤️❤️❤️ I've been surprised by how many people really like my posters -- it's kind of a weird style to do fanart in, I guess, but I'm glad other people think it's cool too! :D

(gonna answer out of order because the event stuff turned into a huge block of text, sorry!)

I've seen a few of the localizations, but I don't know a lot about the Eng version, so I can't speak too much about differences. (I do think "housewarden" has a better sound to it than "dorm leader" though...they need a fancy little word to match their fancy little outfits.) I did look up the unique magic/signature spells to see if they were able to somehow work in the glossing -- I'm not even sure how you would localize that without it being super weird, so I don't blame them, but I was a little sad anyway! :( in Japanese, they're all written as Japanese phrases with the English as ruby text, and sometimes they're given a little extra meaning. like -- this is where the episode 7 spoilers I'm tagging are) the words that Mal says are "Fae of Maleficence":

but the meaning of the Japanese is "Blessing", which is a nice little "ooooh" moment given the context of it!

there isn't always an extra meaning, sometimes it's just. super literal. but my other favorite is Jack's, where what he means is "✨howl that pierces the moonlit night✨", but what he actually yells is "UNLEASH BEAST" before turning into a giant dog. what a good boy.

as for event advice (under the cut, because this was already getting long)...

speaking as someone who is 100% F2P and therefore also tends to get kind of burnt by some of these events -- the #1 most important thing is to just...make peace with not getting everyone. :') I am a collector-type person, so it definitely gets grating when I can't have all the fancy PNGs my little packrat heart desires. generally though: never do random pulls, always be saving your keys and gems between events. (once a month you can buy a 10-set from Sam for a 50 gem discount, and logging in on a character's birthday will give you a 10-set for free, so make sure to do those!). when the event info starts coming out, pick one or two cards that you really want and work specifically towards those, focusing on grinding out the items and/or using your saved-up pulls on their specific banner. and in the end, accept that it might just not be meant to be, even if you hit the 100-pull pity SSR no I'm not still bitter over fairy gala Ortho why do you ask. if the event doesn't have any cards that you really want, take it as an opportunity to save for the next one!

hoard your star fragments (the things that restore AP) -- if you're going for a card that requires grinding event items to permanently unlock, and the item is one you get from lessons, you can use star fragments to bump your AP up to 30 at a time (10 is the limit that will restore over time, but 30 is the max you can have at once). that makes for a looong lesson loop, but I usually get about 50-60 items per 30 lessons, and I just let it run in the background while doing other stuff. (usually these items are what also unlock the event story, so I'll do a huge amount of lessons first thing and then have enough to get the whole story at once. 👍) it can get really grindy, but events go on for a while so it's not usually that bad if you space it out a bit, instead of waiting until the last minute to try and get those last 600 items (cough) (cough).

if it's one of the ones where you get the item from doing a rhythmic, you get the same amount of items no matter how well you do, even if you miss every note. so you can just...tap occasionally to restart it and get the same effect. if it's a battle one, you do have to actually win to get the item, but once you figure out the sweet spot of a team setup + highest battle level where you win every time, it becomes basically the same deal.

so...yeah, tl;dr you can get away with a lot just by setting things up to run in the background and paying just enough attention to tap through some of the menus. it does require a certain amount of time to just leave your phone while still sorta-kinda paying attention to it, so it might not work for everyone, but that's the best way I've found to get through most events!

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

The Highest Cost [Chapter One] Welcome to Santa Carla [David]

Summary: As a psychic, Maria Ross can read the past, present, and future of whomever she directly touches, though she has no control over what visions are shown to her. While on a cross-country road trip with her sister, visions of death and gore draw her to Santa Carla and in the path of David and his clan brothers.

The former then grows an attachment to her that leads to a deep bond. But at what cost?

A/n: This story is loosely based on a one-shot I wrote several years ago called 'Honey'. I'm going to try updating it once a week, so please be patient. Enjoy.

Warning(s): OC, vomiting, mild blood and gore, disease, sister dynamics, psychic abilities.

‘Welcome to Santa Car–’

A sequence of shots flashed in front of Mia's eyes like a slideshow; shots so revolting that the cheap gas station nachos she devoured for lunch, unfortunately came back up.

“Pull over,” she rasped in urgency. 

The Taurus quickly parked near the side of the road with a squeal and Mia yanked the door open, vomiting intensely onto the shoulder. Welcome indeed. She could already tell that Santa Carla did not want her there. 

Once the contents of her stomach were emptied and she was better prepared, Maria crawled back into the passenger seat and dried her teary eyes on the sleeve of her Benetton shirt. 

Her sister Cadence, who was older than her by thirteen months, reframed from touching her and reached into the back seat for a bottle of lukewarm water.

“Another one?” She asked. Her brows knitted in concern. 

Mia washed the foul taste from her mouth, spat the remnants out the window, then shook her head feebly. 

“They're getting more frequent,” Cadence noted. She leaned over the middle console and popped open the glove compartment, retrieving a pocket notebook in which she kept all her thoughts. 

Recently, she had been recording every little image or vision that Mia had, no matter how insignificant. Mia wasn't sure why. 

The latter brushed her wavy blonde hair from her heated face and sighed. She knew the routine. 

“It went by too fast for me to understand it, but there was blood…lots of dried blood.” Mia paused and swallowed hard. Her fingers brushed at her arms as though something was on her skin, or beneath it. “And maggots.”

She swore she could feel them eating her flesh. 

Cadence frowned. She wrote down the information and reread her notes. It made no sense, but then neither did the situation. Mia was in simple terms a psychic, though her curse, as she coined it, did not manifest until she turned sixteen, in a car, traveling over 60 down a dirt road in rural Tennessee. Cadence was not in the car that day, but their father was.

She tapped her pen on the notebook and took a deep breath to steel herself. The past was in the past for a reason. 

Mia noticed her distant, pained expression and frowned.

“Are you feeling OK?”

“Yeah. It's nothing,” Cadence uttered. 

Or rather it was not what Mia thought it was. Cadence felt fine today. She was a bit sore, but she assumed that it was just because of the trip. Neither of them had been out of the car in hours. 

Mia tightened her jaw. She knew her sister often downplayed her disease, but she hoped that she would at least tell her if she needed a break. Since she had been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS) she had been on the move, wanting to do and see all the things that interested her. 

The future was not yet set in stone, but Cadence did not want to know what the disease would eventually do to her. Maria didn't blame her, she honestly didn't want to know either.

For a brief moment, she watched Cadence’s hazel green eyes bounce across the words on the page, as though she was searching for something. 

“Your deduction, Sherlock?”

Cadence snorted, sidetracked from her thoughts. “Why you're mad my dear Watson. Simply mad.” 

Mad was an understatement. Every time Mia touched someone, an image or a scene about them popped into her head; past, present, or future. She learned over the years a few tricks to protect herself, like how the contact had to be direct, skin to skin. But as of late, images were slipping through, and to make matters worse, death was all they showed her. Mia wasn't sure why, but she knew whatever they were linked to was close. The further west they traveled, the more frequent the visions were.

Something about the beach town of Santa Carla felt strange. The energy was vibrating around her. 

“We should stop here,” Mia insisted. 

Cadence raised a curious brow, but she didn't question her decision. If Mia felt a connection to a place, then there was a reason to investigate it. Checking the fuel indicator, she frowned. 

“We don't have much of a choice anyway?”

Mia raised a brow. “Are we low on money?”

Cadence affirmed with a hum.

“After our last food run, we have maybe enough for half a tank, unless we find a way to make some more scratch.” 

Mia knew what she was hinting around to. She jokingly pressed her fingers against her temples like Professor X and pretended to read her sister’s mind. 

“You're thinking about exploiting my curse for profit again.” 

Cadence faked a gasp.

“You can read minds too? That calls for an increase in asking price.”

Mia shook her head. 

“Maybe then we can sleep in an actual bed rather than in the car.”

Fat chance, but it would be nice.

Cadence took the beat-up Taurus out of park and glanced back in the rearview mirror to check for cars before she pulled out, but something caught her attention instead.

“That's ominous.”

Mia hummed, then peeked over the seat. On the back of the ‘Welcome to Santa Carla’ sign, written in graffiti, was an obvious red flag. ‘Murder capital of the world’, it read. 

A feeling of intense dread consumed her. She was right to assume that the town was not a safe place for her to be.

–

After dark, Santa Carla came to life. It was like an entirely different place, suited to the owls and the delinquents. The source of their allurement came from the boardwalk, a tourist's wonderland of flashing lights and live music.

Mia wanted to check out the attractions, maybe even sample the vendor foods - the roasted scent of soft pretzels was making her mouth water - but she was working. Situated beside the carousel, she listened to the alluring antique organs as she waited for a customer. One unfortunate aspect of the job was that it was not legal, and though she was legit, she did not have a license. 

What good was a piece of laminated paper to a traveling psychic consultant, her sister often called her?

Cadence had the real gift, her charm. She used it to draw in interested customers, and then send them to Mia. It was a slow and tedious process, regardless, that sometimes left them with little money for several days. She would have liked for every reading to be on the mark, but some visions were set in the future and not everyone was a believer. 

Past and present were easier to prove; Mia did not have time either to wait around to see them come true or the need to settle down, not with her sister being sick. A fortnight or less was how long they stayed in an area before moving along. But one thing was for certain, someone always took interest. 

Her first customer was a young woman with sad eyes, curious about a budding relationship she was in. Mia could not tune into certain visions; whatever she saw was what she told her customers, but she was able to give her a nice thought. A glimpse into the future that showed her running her own law firm. Mia even refused the five-dollar asking price and waved her off. 

“I'll tell my friends,” she stated. 

And she did. 

Through the night, Mia met three of them; a brunette with a family in the making, and two blondes; one showed how desperate she was for a promotion, and the other made Mia uneasy.

“What is it?” She asked. Her bright green eyes widened in fear.

Blood, so much of it. Maria could not tell who the blood came from, but she could see that it was mixed with what she imagined to be sand. It was dark, so it was hard to tell. She tore her hand away before she could see any more. 

“Are you going down to the beach tonight?”

The blonde grinned. “Should I?”

Mia shook her head. “At least not alone or with someone you don't know.” 

She could tell that the blonde was skeptical, many were when the aspect of death or injury was brought up, but she paid her regardless and walked away. She didn't know it yet but it would not be the last time she saw her tonight. 

For what felt like hours no one came to see her. Mia considered leaving and finding her sister; she made enough for them to eat, but as she began to walk away, a youthful-looking man in a patchwork jacket leaped or rather stumbled in front of her from the carousel. 

“Are you OK?” Mia gasped. She jerked back to avoid touching him. 

The male, a blond with tight curls stood with a laugh, looking her over. 

“I've never been OK,” he jested with a devilish smile. 

“Well that's just rude,” another voice added. A male with long wild blond hair leapt down beside him. “She didn't even offer you a hand, Marko.”

Mia frowned. It was rude, but she didn't want to risk being absorbed in a vision. 

“I'm sorry. Marko was it? I didn't do it on purpose.”

“She didn't do it on purpose, Paul,” Marko stated with a laugh. 

He nudged the rock star-esque blonde, then offered his hand to her. Still, Mia refused to take it.

Paul grinned. “You're laying the fortune teller angle on thick, don't you think?”

She understood now. The fall was no mere coincidence. They were testing her, having most likely heard from someone about her. 

“Psychic consultant,” Mia corrected. “Are you a customer? There's a money-back guarantee if you're not satisfied.”

“How do you ever make money then?” Asked Marko. 

She opted not to press that she was legit and offered up her hand as if to say take it and find out. Marko could not refuse. As soon as their hands touched a vision flashed before her eyes; a blonde with bright green eyes stood in front of the cotton candy machine, illuminated by the vivid lights of the coaster. Mia had seen her before. She was the one with blood in her future. 

From what Mia could gather from their flirty interaction, she had agreed to meet up with Marko. It concerned Mia. Were the two visions connected? Were they in danger? Perhaps she was overthinking it. She released his hand, cutting off the link between them. 

“You met someone in front of the cotton candy machine. Based on what I saw, she agreed to meet with you later. Did this already happen?”  

Marko widened his light brown eyes. It did.  

“Wicked.”

“No way,” Paul stated in disbelief.

He looked between the two and scoffed as Marko reached into the pocket of his jacket for his wallet. 

“How much?”

Mia held up all five of her fingers and happily took the money when it was given to her. She then offered her hand to Paul.

“You want to lose some money too?”

“I want to prove you wrong,” the blond responded. 

He took her hand and immediately a new vision appeared. In it, he was storming around in a rage, in some sort of old room, searching for something called a ‘rock box’. Mia was not sure what it was. She released his hand.

“You either have or are about to misplace your ‘rock box’, whatever that is.”

“Wicked, right?” Marko asked with a grin. 

Paul was at a loss for words. There was no way she could have known about his beloved radio, aside from Marko. His curious blue eyes turned to his brother by choice. 

“Are you in on this?”

“Most definitely not,” Marko answered in truth. 

Was she legit? This was not exactly good for them. If she found out about him; about what he and his ‘brothers’ truly were, she could out them. Someone might believe her and that was not a risk he wanted to take. Paul tightened his jaw and searched the area. He could ‘persuade’ her to come with him; no one would notice. But what if it didn't work because of her psychic abilities? He tightened his jaw. 

Paul took a Lincoln out and tossed it to her.

“We need to jet, bud.”

Marko whined in protest. If he understood the danger, he didn't seem to care. 

“I have a lot more to ask.”

“Later,” Paul retorted.

He grabbed Marko by the jacket and led him away from her. David would know what to do. 

Mia watched them walk away until they were swallowed in the crowd. She was not sure why, but their sudden awkward departure was a bit strange, urgent even.

Perhaps I'm overthinking it. 

She ignored the anxious feeling in her stomach and then walked down the boardwalk in the opposite direction in hopes of finding her sister. No matter how hard she tried though, something was still bothering her about the two.

A sudden intense headache like thunder shot through her skull and down her spine forcing Mia to grab her head in pain. She knew this feeling well; a psychic migraine. But what was causing it?

The deaths? 

Mia frowned. One thing was clear, there was someone in Santa Carla to whom she was connected. 

[alfiely-art]

Alright chat here is my laundry tutorial WITH PICTURESS. Alfie washer and dryer reveal

So. Your washing machine is empty.

It may look something like this! This is a top-down view of mine, but your washing machine may have a horizontal door. That's okay! That doesn't change much of the instructions. Basically, what you wanna do is fill this thang up with clothes you want to wash.

I've chosen to wash my blankets. Now, very important- I haven't filled the washer entirely. Unless you're doing EXTREMELY light clothes, you do NOT want to fully fill your washer. This can overload it and cause it to break. Doing ONLY heavy clothes can also overload your washer- ex: a load of only bath towels. It's important to keep in mind what exactly you're putting into the load- if the clothes will get much, much heavier after getting wet, do less clothes. My blankets are all pretty light, so they're all good.

Next, you need to find where the detergent goes. This will be different for every washing machine, but it should be relatively easy to find- here's mine.

I don't use liquid detergent, I use the little crumbly dust shit. I'd recommend only using about that much detergent in a load- you don't want it to be TOO soapy. If you use liquid detergent, you don't want to use too much, either. I'd say about a third of a cap of the container. But, yeah! Just plop it in the part that says "detergent". If you have a softener to use, put it in the other part (assuming your washing machine has this seperation). Then close that, close the lid, and turn your attention to the buttons.

This is a lot of buttons. On a normal wash, you won't have to touch most of them, thankfully- just go to the water temp area and turn it to cold. I'd only recommend using hot water if the clothes Really need it- I only use hot water if a cat peed on my clothes or something similar to that nature. Hot water is more expensive and could be better used for washing dishes or taking showers or other things. So! Cold for normal loads. The little wheel can be turned for specifying what sort of load you're doing- though, I rarely turn it. That part is up to your discretion! Also note that it has an option for "tub clean". It's a good idea to let your washer clean itself every once in awhile. After you've chosen all the settings you want, just hit start.

Now, let's say your washer has finished. Now it's time to use the dryer! The dryer is pretty simple. Just put your clothes from the washer to the dryer. VERY IMPORTANT THING TO REMEMBER: the lint trap. When drying clothes, lint will accumulate, and most dryers have a lint trap to catch it. Lint is EXTREMELY flammable. Make sure to clean the lint trap each time you do a load of laundry.

Lint isn't sticky or gross but if you can't bring yourself to touch it or are allergic, that's perfectly fine! You can use gloves, a butter knife to peel it off, whatever. It's very loose and tends to all come off at once. No matter what, though, don't forget the lint trap. If you let it sit there you have a fire waiting to happen. On the bright side, though, if you collect it you have easy fire starters for camping and such. Woohoo!

Now, the dryers buttons.

You probably won't have to use most of these buttons. Hell, I've never used any of these buttons other than the Time Dry, Power, and Start button. But your load may need these. Either way, just hit what settings you need, and start the load. When you've just transferred your clothes from the washer to the dryer, I recommend having the load dry 60 minutes. It may need more or less time depending on what's in the load and how wet they are, but 60 minutes is a good place to start.

And you're done!! You did laundry. There's different ways to wash different things (shoes, for example) but this is mainly an overview of it. If you have any specific questions let me know, or look it up! There's lots of tutorials and guides online. I hope this helps! Doing laundry is an important skill to learn, I think, and I'm happy to help people learn how to do it 👍

[jeremy-ken-anderson]

Red Mage Level 110

The issue we've got with Red Mage is that they thought Really Carefully about what they were going to do with it at 80. Things at 90 are cool, even if they feel a little like more of the same. At 100 there's starting to feel like less room - like they're flat-out running out of design space.

But let's challenge that assumption!

Here are a few ideas for the most Fashionable job of FFXIV, which is saying something when Weaver literally makes clothes for a living.

Follow-Up To Swords: Considering the other effects they've given - a spell you can cast as an OGCD when you Embolden, a bonus spell that unlocks when you do your combo with Manafication - it seems in line with where they're going to have a special something that becomes usable when you use Fleche or Contre Sixte. But I have a better idea:

Dualcast on Swords: It's so simple, but provides an ENORMOUS boost of power. Just make it so when you fire off Fleche, you gain Dualcast as if you'd cast a spell. Probably my favorite thing about this is that it promotes good habits. Because you should be using Fleche after your Dualcast spell, not before, so that you're not clipping your GCD. So this would let you Stone, Thunder (Fleche), Thunder (Acceleration), Aero, Grand Impact - a good four GCDs in a row where you don't have to stop moving for even a second.

Imbalance: If your mana is in imbalance, Reprise turns into Dark Reprise or Light Reprise instead of Enchanted Reprise, dealing an extra 30 potency compared to Enchanted Reprise but costing 20 mana of your dominant color and gaining 10 of the lower color. This doubles down on Reprise's role as a recovery tool if things have gotten too hectic, enabling you to fix an imbalanced mana bar with one cast (a dps-wrecking 40/80 split turns into a usable 50/60 in just one GCD, with that same GCD dealing solid damage; though not enough to actively try to imbalance yourself).

Crimson Element: Stealing a page from Monk and/or Black Mage, in a way, the Balance Gauge could get two little sets of 4 bubbles to the left and right. Casting Verfire fills a black bubble, and casting Verstone fills a white bubble. When you have 3 of each, if you don't have Verstone Ready or Verfire Ready, the matching button(s) will transform into Crimson Element, an 800 potency (320 to surrounding) spell with a 5-second cast time (aka "Use Dualcast On This") that increases Black and White both by 4.

Vermedica: Magic Barrier now puts an extra status on all allies. Nothing happens if the timer runs out on this. If the target takes damage, the status ends and gives you 1 stack of Vercure Boost. At 1-3 stacks, this gives a 5, 10, or 15% boost to your next Vercure within 15 seconds. At 4 or more stacks, however, it turns Vercure into Vermedica, an OGCD that costs no MP and does 350 healing to one target but also grants a 100 pot HoT to the party and gives you 3 each of White/Black.

[bishiglomper]

Lookit what came!!

I'm so flippin' excited! They're almost perfect 💖

A little darker vibe than what I usually like and they really missed out on the Page cards. It depicts 2 little elephant fly creatures when they SHOULD have used Razzle and Dazzle. So disappointed. Everything else is amazing though

I love these so much. I picked out 5 of my favorite and the nephew picked out his 5 to show. 😚

And the booklet that came with it?? Omfg it's the best depiction I've found yet. The cards have set meanings but everyone describes it differently. Which makes it too vague and hard to memorize for me... I've only skimmed it and theyre super short but so far I vibe with it. Which is literally half the battle.

Maybe I'll actually learn to do tarot now 🥰

BTW They were $60 with shipping, but they're a really nice quality. They have a simple guide booklet and came in a black velvet bag.

The cards they sell at my local shop are $20-30 so with shipping and quality and all, I think it's pretty fair.

[talentlesshuman]

Can I ask how you design your ocs? Your designs are so pretty and show so much of their personality! I would love to know the thoughts behind how you design your ocs if not thats totally ok!

Thanks so much for the love!! I actually talked about this in my server recently even though no one asked for it LOL

I accidentally answered this question as if you asked about adopts instead of my OCs! Things are mostly the same except I decide certain things about the character BEFORE I go forth to design their appearance :P

anyway, under the cut is a big long ramble about how I design my adopts LOL

First thing I do is consider different themes or combinations of themes. These are normally objects (eg: candle, mushroom, bear+honey), but they can also be concepts (eg: lovecore)

In this set of adopts, I used emojis as the themes!

Second is I decide the bodytype and skintone. It's important to me that there are more diversity in the community around me, so I try my best to have an even amount of light-skinned vs dark-skinned designs and light vs heavy set designs. Here's the message I sent to myself when planning the most recent set of adopts :)

I don't consider gender or nationality- my drawings aren't particularly detailed enough to portray meaningful ethnic features, so that is something that writers have the freedom to decide on their own. As for gender, even though I normally draw feminine bodytypes/fashion, appearance doesn't have bearing on gender or sex, so that is also for the writer to determine.

Sometimes I will also pre-plan the fashion style of the design, but more often than not I just make it up as I go along. For inspiration, I may look at google or refer to some tags I keep on my main blog: https://talentlessmainblog.tumblr.com/tagged/fashion, https://talentlessmainblog.tumblr.com/tagged/g .

Inspiration is always always always good! But it's not a good idea to lift an entire outfit from pinterest when you're selling a design. When I find something I really like, I try to add the aspect I like as a part of the design. Instead of taking a whole dress, maybe I will just take the collar, or maybe the style of the folds, changing colors and themes- taking aspects from many different sources to make something new!

The final steps are to draw the designs and color them. I try to make their silhouettes interesting, which is easy to do with feminine designs with long hair and dresses, but more difficult with masculine designs. I may end up swapping around some of the pre-planned details depending on what I feel like is working or not. Often I will reach out to friends for a second opinion when I'm struggling with color palettes. When designing the hair I keep in mind different hair textures, especially for darker skinned designs. Growing up on anime, it's easy to forget about coiled hairstyles!

To me, designs are more successful when you are able to abbreviate them to a very basic form. This is why I choose simple concepts to base my designs off of, and why I try to minimize the number of colors used.

I try to keep a maximum of 3 colors in the palette (omitting skin tone, black/white, and similar values of the same hue). There are different coloring rules, but one that I remember is the 60-30-10 rule and the 70-30 rule. Both of these rules basically say that you should keep this ratio for your main color, supporting color, and accent color in a design. (They're called rules, but they're more like suggestions; you can see me breaking them all the time).

These two designs are good examples, where the main colors (brown/beige) take up a majority of the design and the accent color (blue/gold) take up about 10% of the design.

I normally try to keep a nice variety of colors, but you don't have to :3 For this valentines set from last year, I kept an all-pink bear theme!

And that's how I go about designing characters! Hope this was helpful/interesting! Keep in mind there's no wrong way to do this, and the first rule is to have fun :)

[alinelovelace]

Gif tutorial by Alinelovelace

Alright, I'll be doing 3 things here today:

1.) Sharing the programs and websites I use

2.) Showing y'all a tutorial on how I make my gifs (this is my first tutorial, so if anything doesn't make sense, don't hesitate to message me, send me an ask, or comment on this post!!!!!)

3.) Sharing some resources by insanely talented gif makers (because I learned how to make gifs by following tutorials)

It's probably important(?) to mention that I use a Windows laptop

A.) Programs and websites:

ezgif: to make my gifs and do light editing

You can make gifs with video clips or screen caps. I'm not advanced enough to use screen caps, though they're supposed to make gorgeous gifs. I use ezgif to make the actual gif and edit the timing (which I end up having to tweak on Photoshop but...)

I also like ezgif because no watermarks!! I will do anything in my power to get rid of watermarks from websites and editing programs because they bother the hell out of me!

Photoshop: for the rest of my editing

This is where I recolor and add text.

A great alternative to Photoshop is Photopea, which I've used before I "obtained" Photoshop. It's FREE and online, so you don't have to download anything! I highly recommend it if you really want to get into gif coloring !!!!

Currently, I get my videos from torrents (bc I have a wide selection for my family to watch on our tv). But I used to use the Xbox game bar on Windows to record the clips I wanted on online streaming sites (unfortunately there's not a whole lot up and running anymore), then cropped and cut them. If anyone's interested in that, I could probably post a separate tutorial for that another time :)

There's also screen cap websites out there and YouTube. And probably dozens of other ways to get videos that I don't know about!

Video cutter

If you use full length episode videos and don't know how to crop them on your laptop (like me)

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

B.) Tutorial:

I'll be remaking the first gifset I ever made since I've learned A LOT since then! It should be pretty simple since there's only one set of subtitles.

Another time, I could do an edit tutorial like my That 70s Show ones. It's just taking the same concepts as this tutorial though, and playing around with colors, fonts, and font placement.

1.) Find your video/screen caps:

Since I no longer have the video from my first gifset, I just googled "Mulder throwing pencils season 10" on YouTube. After finding the video, I copied the link and pasted it into a YouTube to MP4 site ((this site has never given me popups or tried to get me to download something that isn't my video file)).

2.) If your downloaded video clip is short enough, you can just stick it into ezgif. If not, you may have to cut it using a website or a computer program.

Ezgif.com -> video to gif -> browse -> select your file -> upload video

3.) After clicking upload video, you should find yourself on this page:

If you need to do any kind of video editing (cropping, rotating, resizing, etc) this is the place to do it! This is also where you make your gifs.

For the first gif, I don't need to change the start time, since I'm starting at the beginning of the video. 0 seconds is fine. But for the stop time, I'm going to play the video, pause where I want my first gif to end, then press "use current position" by end time.

I don't usually touch the settings for size, FPS, or method. If the gif doesn't have a lot of movement, I check "optimize for static background"

Then press convert to gif.

Here's the product I got. Since it's such a short clip, it moves a little fast for me.

I'm going to click "speed" which is below the gif. You're brought to this page:

This is completely up to you for speed, but I find that between 60% and 85% end up looking good. If you don't like it, just change the number in the box and press "change speed". I ended up with mine at 65% of current speed.

A little better, right? The gifs that turn out best are 3 seconds to 10 seconds in my experience. This one is 1.5 seconds, so it's a little fast.

After that, rinse and repeat for every gif you need to make.

4.) Editing time! This is for Photoshop (if you use Photopea, I very much recommend this tutorial. It's very well explained!)

Go ahead and open all of your gifs once Photoshop is booted up. Then click window -> timeline

Now you have a handy dandy little timeline on the bottom.

The first thing you're going to do click play and decide whether or not your gifs are running at the speed you want. If yes, move on to next step.

If not: click on the three lines -> select all frames -> little drop down arrow. You should have a variety of times available to choose. Usually, I click other, then put somewhere between 0.04 and 0.08 seconds. Click play again. If you don't like it, try this step again.

If you need to crop your gif, three lines -> select all frames. Press "c" on your keyboard and crop accordingly.

4a.) Color editing

This is where things get complicated. Just remember coloring is subjective and everyone does it differently. This is just an intro to the different tools most gif makers use to alter color.

You don't have to use all of these! I definitely pick and choose depending on how I want the coloring to look. When I'm making a gif set, my coloring isn't as adventurous as when I'm making an edit. It doesn't feel worth it to give away my settings for this gifset since it changes depending on the coloring and lighting of the scene.

All of these tools can be found under "create new filter adjustment layer"

• Brightness/Contrast

This one is the easiest in my opinion. It's pretty straightforward. The more you drag brightness the right, the brighter your gif gets. The more you drag contrast to the right, the higher the contrast is.

• Curves

This adjusts lighting with color values. It's another tool that's hard to explain. I just drag the little circles on the chart until it looks good

• Color Balance

Like every other setting, exactly what you do with this tool is up to you. Color Balance adjusts the overall tint of your gif. I recommend editing highlights, shadows, and midtones for the best results.

• Channel mixer

This one is one of the most complicated tools when making gifs in my opinion. It's best for getting rid of weird colored tints (think the blue coloring in Twilight). I'll just link a tutorial here for it. I don't make enough gifs to know how to explain it.

• Selective color

Hands down my favorite tool, though not only specifically for gif making. This tool allows you to select a color (reds, yellows, greens, cyans, blues, magentas, whites, neutrals, blacks) and edit each color group. For example: my skin in photos usually has a weird red tint. I can edit the reds in my photo using this tool to make it look less abrasive.

You just play around with the different colors and bars for each color until each color group looks good. I recommend hitting the highest value to see how the color changes/what parts of the gif are affected by the change.

In the instance below, I wanted to see how magenta affected the blue colors, so I dragged magenta to 100. Now, knowing what kind of color changes magenta will make to blue, I can adjust accordingly.

Messing around with the each color put me here:

• Vibrance

Another pretty self explanatory tool! Vibrance and saturation bars make the gif colors more colored and vibrant.

• Applying the filters to all frames

Shift click to select all the filters, and drag them above all the layers. They should now be applied to all the frames.

If not, select all frames with the three lines menu drop down like before -> click the little eye to turn off visibility, then click it again to turn it back on. You should be able to see everything now.

In order to carry the same colors from gif to gif, I take pictures of each setting and edit each filter adjustment layer accordingly. I side by side compare and make adjustments if the coloring doesn't match quite right. I'm sure there's a better way to do this, but I'm not experienced enough yet.

4b.) Subtitles

This part isn't too bad. For subtitle text, I use Calibri. Myriad pro bold italic and Arial are also really good options though!

• Text

Go to the sidebar and select text. Drag yourself out a box approximately where you want your subtitles. Type whatever you want. If you don't like where it is, click the move tool and drag it wherever you'd like.

Here are my text settings:

• Blending options

Right click your text layer and select "blending options" at the top. I edit stroke, which adds an outline. I also edit drop shadow, just because it adds a little depth to the text

• Applying to all frames

Drag the text layer to the top, just like you did with the adjustment filter layers when coloring. The same troubleshooting applies.

5.) Exporting

I know there's other ways to do this, but this is the way that makes the most sense to me.

Select all frames on the timeline -> file -> export -> save for web (legacy) -> save

With everything together, you go from:

To:

I had the subtitles in two parts because my first one had the subtitle in two parts (consistency).

Happy giffing!~~

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

C.) Resources:

This is a collection of resources both for Photopea and Photoshop

Photopea Resources:

Photopea giffing tutorial by @heroeddiemunson

Photopea gif coloring tutorial by @heroeddiemunson

Photopea removing yellow tint tutorial by @lacebird

Photopea gif making tutorial by @aragarna

Photopea gif making tutorial by @ashleyolsen

Photopea changing background color of gifs by @benoitblanc

Photoshop tutorials:

Giffing tutorial by @dqmeron

Subtitle tutorial by @itsphotoshop

Blurring gif backgrounds by @clubgif

Inverted colored text tutorial by @spaceslayer

Gradient text tutorial by @tawaifeddiediaz

Gif coloring tutorial by @logangarfield

Color consistency tutorial by @clubgif

Channel mixer tutorial by @zoyanazyalensky

[theflyingfeeling]

#(today i was distracted by this way too elaborate olli/allu + olli/tommi + allu/joonas murder mysteryAU set in the early 50s i came up with#(which you are welcome to ask more about btw)

oh????? 👀👀 please do tell some details about it if you want to? i'm very interested 👀👀👀👀👀👀

have an amazing day 💖💕

Yes yes yesssss!! 😌 But before I proceed, a couple of disclaimers: 1) the summary below is gonna contain referenced murder and sexual assault (NOT by any of the main characters though and nothing is described too graphically/explicitly), 2) it's rather vague in parts and I'm yet to figure out some of the details, and 3) I'm not planning on ever writing any of this, in fact I think it'd work better as maybe a TV series? I don't know. I for one don't have the skills (or patience) to actually write this (...plus I'm actually terrified by this whole thing myself ngl 😅). I hope you enjoy it though! As much as one can enjoy a murder mystery... 😥

First I'm gonna have to explain what inspired this. I learned today that last week it was the 70th anniversary of one of Finland's most famous cases of unsolved homicide, the murder of Kyllikki Saari. The link will take you to the Wikipedia page of the case (in English), but to summarize it (skip the rest of this bullet point if you don't want to hear about stuff like this!!), a 17-year-old girl was murdered on his way home from a religious gathering and 5 months later her remains were found buried in a bog. To this day, no-one knows who's behind the murder; there have been a couple key suspects, but no clear evidence to prove anything for sure. There's also nothing that would directly prove it was a sexual crime, although it can't be ruled out, since the victim was not wearing any clothes on the bottom half of her body and her other breast was out of her blouse when they found her. Now PLEASE don't take me for some weirdo and think I'm somehow fascinated by the case or think it's cool: I'm creeped out as fuck about this tbh, but ever since I first heard about the case, it's been haunting me a bit. Not daily obviously, but every now and then something reminds me of it. In the late 50s - early 60s there were also two other equally famous, unsolved murder cases in Finland: the double murder of Tulilahti (two young women killed on their bicycle/camping trip, also buried in a bog + a number of other similarities with the case described above) and the Lake Bodom murders (three campers killed inside their tent, one camper in the group survived but suffered injuries that caused memory loss; the link will lead you to Wikipedia). This idea of mine is probably most inspired by the Tulilahti case, but only vaguely.

- So based off the cases I described briefly above, I'm basing this story in rural/countryside Finland in the 1950s or the 1960s (sorry for any possible historical inaccuracies that may occur 😅) - The story begins with Olli and Aleksi, two friends who want to... explore each other, themselves, and their sexualities, if you get what I mean 😏 They're not boyfriends per se, but they do enjoy each other's company maybe a little more than is appropriate for friends of the same sex (in the context of the 1950s/60s). Of course, this all has to happen in secrecy, and so they seek out secluded places for this purpose - One day they decide to go for a swim in a pond they had found deep in the forest. I know this story is full of plotholes lol but let's imagine it used to be a popular swimming place for kids and that an old, wooden changing room has remained there from those times. I don't know if such things existed in the 50s already, but please humour me a little and imagine a simple wooden hut with two rooms in which to change into your swimwear, yeah? (one for boys, one for girls) - So they go for a swim and have all sorts of fun in the water, and as the sun's about to set (as much as the sun ever sets in Finland in the summer), they head back to the hut. They should be changing back into their normal clothes, as soon it's gonna be too dark for them to easily find their way out of the forest, but they get a bit carried away... 💞 - In the middle of their fooling around, they hear noises from somewhere by the pond. Two people talking in the distance, footsteps, etc. They can't recognize either of the voices from that far. - (plotholes plotholes plotholessssss) - After a while of listening to the noises in terrified silence (afraid of getting caught by whoever's out there), they hear screaming. - There are noises of fighting/struggling. The screams start coming closer to the hut. - The person (a woman, they can tell) is still screaming in terror when she's pushed to the other booth (the one next to Olli and Aleksi) - Then the screams are first muffled, then weakened, until they stop altogether. - Sounds of something being dragged. A man grunting. Steps around the (windowless) hut. Olli and Aleksi are paralyzed with terror and don't dare to even breathe. They stay the night at the hut, awake and trembling until the morning, not daring to sneak out until they're finally sure no one's around anymore and return home. - They find an item on the path from the lake. A watch maybe, I haven't decided yet. They can't remember seeing it before, but of course that doesn't mean it wasn't there already when they arrived. In any case, one of them picks it up and takes it with them. Just in case.

- I'm not sure what either of them do for a living in this AU, but I'm imagining Olli working at some kinda office (at the town hall maybe? I don't knooooooow) and Aleksi maybe as a farmhand with Joonas as his roommate (both details crucial to the plot) - They swear to each other to not talk about what they had heard in the forest to any other living soul, but when Olli returns to his office job the next day and hears that one of his co-workers (a woman around his age, more an acquaintance and a co-worker than a friend) has not showed up for her workshift, Olli gets a bad feeling. - Olli mentions this to Aleksi and says that they should go talk to the police about what happened, but Aleksi forbids him, as he's afraid they might get in trouble, not necessarily because they might be key witnesses to an alleged murder, but because of what they were up to at the time. - "What are you gonna tell them when they ask you what we were doing there, huh?!" - They have a proper quarrel about it and depart on bad terms :( - Obviously the case is bothering them both; even though Aleksi tells Olli to forget about the whole thing and act as if nothing has happened (between them nor in the forest), he has nightmares about the incident. He hears the screams of terror in his dreams and wakes up with a gasp (only to find out the screams had been just a seagull screaming outside at sunrise), which rouses Joonas' curiosity - Cue a side-plot of Aleksi and Joonas lending each other a helping hand/mouth to let off some steam before/after their farmwork (maybe Aleksi tells him he's just stressed about idk??, while Joonas has trouble coping with surpressing his sexuality, which obviously reflects on their thing). I'm not yet sure what's the purpose of this side plot, other than to give Aleksi (and Joonas) something to do during his fall-out with Olli

- Speaking of which, meanwhile Olli remembers that his old schoolmate / childhood friend Tommi works as a police officer in town these days. Olli can't handle keeping the secret to himself anymore, and without Aleksi around to stop him, he decides he can trust Tommi with it, without fearing what he might think if/when Olli needs to spill the truth about why he had been in the forest - Indeed, Tommi is curious to hear why (you know, for the purposes of the investigation), and Olli doesn't explicitly tell him, but rather... implies it. Not saying the words, but it doesn't take a genius to understand what he means - Tommi understands. He undertands perfectly well, in fact - Olli refuses to tell who the other key witness is, but agrees to help Tommi with the investigation as much as he can, if Tommi in turn promises to keep his little secret - Tommi is so into the case that he uses his free time on it as well, and he invites Olli to help him out at his house one evening (he still lives at his parent's farmhouse). - ...which means they have to be extra quiet when making passionate love to each other in Tommi's room 🥺💕 - Usually Olli manages to sneak out at night, but one time he accidentally falls asleep and doesn't wake up until there's a knock on the door - Tommi gestures Olli to stay in the bed and be quiet while he goes to get the door. - There's a man, asking if Tommi borrowed his watch again (he hasn't). Olli recognizes the voice. - When the man's gone, Olli asks Tommi who it was. Tommi's brother. (much older than Tommi and lives out of town, so Olli never knew him - Olli can't wait to get out of the house 💀 - He practically runs to Aleksi to tell him about his discovery, and accidentally spills the whole thing to Joonas too (he didn't notice Joonas was in the room as well (nor does he pay attention to the fact he's half-naked on Aleksi's bed)

Aaaaaaand that's what I have so far 😬 I'm not sure if the plot makes any sense (for example, I have no idea what Joonas' actual role in this is), nor have I given much thought to the motive of the murder (secret lovers who got in a quarrel that was taken too far? a random lunatic losing his temper with a girl who rejected her? I don't knoooooow) or any details as to how the victim and the offender ended up at Olli and Aleksi's hideout (without noticing they weren't the only ones there at the time). I also have no idea how this all will be resolved. Will Aleksi eventually be ready to give his witness's report as well? Will Olli be able to tell Tommi who he thinks is the murderer and show him the watch they had found? What will happen to Aleksi and Olli if they have to publicly confirm they had heard the murder because they had been doing something illegal themselves in the next room? Will the body of the victim be found? I don't know 🤷‍♀️

Also, I'm sorry Joel and Niko are not in this, I just couldn't imagine them with in the 50s/60s setting with their long hair 😂

[01turnkill]

2024 Media Post Time - Master

5. Splatoon 3: Side Order DLC

Side Order! Like everyone else, I'll be comparing this to Splatoon 2's Octo Expansion DLC..

I loved Octo Expansion a lot, I even 100% completed it (every stage with every weapon) and I intend to do that for this DLC too. I've finished it with every palette so far but I haven't maxed all my chips yet.

I'm a big roguelike fan. Love Hades, Spelunky, Binding of Isaac, Darkest Dungeon. They're fun to play and a lot of fun to watch. Before Side Order, I haven't played a proper 3D shooter roguelike before so it was a fun experience. Well... Side Order is a roguelite so a lot of these elements but not completely random, since the levels you play are from a set.

Side Order is a lot of fun for me. It definitely feels closest to Hades of all the roguelikes I mentioned. With the different weapon selection, selecting from 3 upgrades at the end of each level, the same few bosses, Marina's hacking shop is JUST like Nyx's darkness. Some of the upgrades are similar too and the Danger floors are like Chaos' upgrades with a benefit but a sacrifice for a limited amount of time. I played a round of SO with dualies, and damage whenever I dodge rolled and it felt exactly like some of the dash boons in Hades.

This isn't a bad thing and it's still unique being 3D, the different tower and zone modes, limited colour chip palette. Maybe other stuff.

To be honest, Octo Expansion trumps Side Order lorewise.. And gameplay wise too it was more diverse.. though not replayable the same way. I 100 percented it, every level every weapon and it was pretty fun. but I didn't go back. The story is quite simple and not too dark, and for some reason with the trailers I thought the tower would be MASSIVE. Near 60-100 floors, PMD feelings here. Especially since we get told the "danger" levels will be more common if we go a while without playing one.. Maybe true but they're also completely avoidable. I was also really surprised to see that we get Marina with us immediately after the tutorial part of everything and she's just there the whole time like, cool but I thought it would be deeper than that.

The levels definitely get repetitive and I end up mastering them very quickly. My first time on Cruel_Sisyphean_Eight-Shaped.Floor for instance, took me over 12 minutes on a casual run. Now, even without hacks I can do it in a couple minutes (not tryharding). Then theres On-the-Run(Circles)_Eternally-Hunted.Floor. It's a grind but this one I had in the bag easily after probable my second time and those were probably the only levels I had trouble with first time at all. Some levels stayed fresh every time I played them, especially with low hacks, but not those two even though they were challenging and stood out to me at first.

At least the colour chips and palettes can make each run crazy different. My first run with brush was insane, I regained ink fast enough that I never needed to recover in swim form. Just endlessly attacking. I didn't have too much difficulty with any weapon except for the Octoshot of course as it limits the amount of chips and hacks you can have at once... and I'm not sure if it was because of the low hacks but I failed it a TON, especially on the smollusk fight which was annoying. Most of the palettes were a first time win for me and if not it was on my 2nd try and I only added hacks when it came to my last few palettes so I don't know if I was just fumbling or what but I eventually did it with one hack for damage resistance and one for life I think... can't remember. I tried a couple things.

Smollusk is kind of cool once you finish visiting them and I feel like there is more to think about and potential with their circumstances, I'd like to see more. I just crave suffering you know how I am. I'd like to see it more painful and conflicting. There's some reading between the lines to be done also with Acht and the Marina dev logs and the way octolings are as a whole. Might write my thoughts on them later.

[cboffshore]

Paint it black and take it back. This is "Sure Of It."

For Nadakhan's second wish, something we've all heard before: power, pure and simple.

Sheer power is a traditional and expected wish for every Ninjago villain, and of course, Nadakhan takes it to the extreme: he wants to control reality and everything in it, right down to the earth under his non-existent feet. Until he gets all the way through his plan, though, he's forced to settle for controlling his crew - but what fun is that? They're on his side. Even the mildest questions, like Flintlocke expressing doubts early on, can be easily swept under the rug if he raises his voice a decibel or two. Nadakhan likes a good fight, and he simply can't get that when his immediate sphere is deeply loyal to him (which... what a problem to complain about, sheesh). No, in order to tide himself over until he can hear those wedding bells chiming, he has to get creative - and he needs a target. A good one, one that's not so keen on listening to him, someone who's done something remarkable... like escape with only two out of three wishes made.

Although we don't know Nadakhan's full history, the amount of energy and resources he spends to torment Jay indicates that he's used to having so much more power over his targets. What little we do get is a tidy pattern: manipulate victims into making all three wishes in one go and make sure he can profit off of the results. Jay, having only made two (and booting Nadakhan out of the vicinity with one of them!), breaks that pattern for what might be the first time ever. And that's just unacceptable. In fact, Jay is so much of a roadblock to Nadakhan's desire for power that Skybound dedicates an entire episode to his efforts to break Jay down. In demonstrating the depths Nadakhan will go to to exert control over the slightest hint of rebellion, episode 60 is a character study of both Jay and Nadakhan at their respective peaks - unstoppable force meets immovable object. It's also the reason that the Nadakhan tag on AO3 is a minefield of very dubious work, but if you can ignore all the distressingly graphic assault stories, you encounter that same theme as in the episode: Nadakhan's frantic need to assert power by any means necessary.

The Outfit Breakdown

As I described in my introductory post, "Sure Of It" is a blend of analyses: Nadakhan and Jay are both represented here, often sharing parts of the same element. Ultimately, this outfit represents theall the ways Nadakhan tries to overpower the world of Ninjago and all the ways Jay pushes back. Appropriately, it's an elevated version of the gi Jay wears that's become an iconic part of Skybound imagery. (Alternatively, it's "My Dinner With Nadakhan" condensed into gritty formalwear.)

A sturdy parade jacket and pants provide a somber canvas that's not too far off from Jay's seasonal gi: near-black fabric, rigid stitching, and asymmetrical golden closures. I should confess that much of this look (especially this part) was drafted during a full playthrough of The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance; the visual design of that album, as well as the themes of dying and becoming someone new, offered a really cool parallel to both Jay and Nadakhan's situations and ended up being a great place to start. Little wisps of bright, character-defining blue slip out from the wrists, collar, and ankles on what's otherwise a very disciplined suit. Upon first glance, the overwhelming darkness of this suit holds quite a bit back from the viewer in the same way that Jay and Nadakhan mislead their respective teams to accomplish their selfish goals.

The gold aiguillettes and shoulder pauldron are a militaristic twist on the gold chain motif from "It Will Never Be Enough." Instead of being sultry and all-encompassing like the chain elements, these sturdy accents represent Jay's determination to take Nadakhan down. They're also something of a badge of honor that's pinned on as soon as Jay realizes he can set his own wants aside for the greater good. Functionally, they stand in for the gold closures and armor on Jay's canon gi. The pauldron is deliberately closer to the Possession-era armor for two reasons: as a callback to the vision in the ice and the simple fact that the Skybound Panini Pauldron just didn't look good here.

The feathery chain cape is a threefold reference: a riff on the aviator wings on the back of the seasonal gi, Jay's overall connection to flight, and - most importantly - that odd moment where Nadakhan refers to Jay as "little canary" and the overall energy of episode 60. If you look closely enough, you'll see the blue chain edging curl around the mannequin's ankle as a reference to the ball and chain Jay is forced to wear during his time as a prisoner. Aside from lending a little balance, the miniature chain wing on the opposite shoulder is a nod at the common fanwork motif of Nadakhan being a serial shoulder-toucher (which is never shown in canon for longer than two seconds, but I think it's interesting how it's taken on a life of its own in the art and fic scenes). Overall, this cape is an ironic twist on Jay's situation: aboard the Keep, he's attaining the dream of flight that he was brought into the entire series with, but in a way where he's not in control at all. Similarly, Nadakhan presents the image of being in control, but it's not as complete as he wants it to be (hence all the gaps in the cape).

Transparent heel pillars swirling with gold glitter represent the way that wishes - from the ones Jay expresses privately in the first few episodes to the real ones he makes with Nadakhan later on - support most of the season's plot and ultimately drive Jay to better himself. This accent was specifically inspired by the gold dust effect that radiates from most characters at the moment that they make their wishes. The boots that they're attached to are blue to draw out the accents in the base suit; they also feature rose gold feather toe caps and heel accents to compliment the feather cape.

Legally, it's not a Skybound work unless an eyepatch factors in somehow - and I am a law-abiding citizen. Begrudgingly, though. I wasn't excited about this part during the drafting phase, but I grew to appreciate it. This one features the same broken crystal accent as Nadakhan's accessories, but textured slightly differently to represent how his vision in the ice colors most of his viewpoint. The chain veil attached to the band hides most of the mannequin's face and represents all of Jay and Nadakhan's attempts to lie their way into what they fully believe are better situations. We don't need to talk about how that works out for either of them.

Color-picked straight from the aviator's wings on Jay's back, half of a lavender cloak acts as a contrast to the fragile, clinging chains: something solid, comforting, and predictable for the rare moments where Jay experiences warmth and compassion during this season.

A lavender quill dripping with ink from a glass inkwell represents the power of language that Nadakhan weaponizes throughout his ascension. It's also a pretty obvious reference to Jay's message-in-a-bottle scene, which is why it's paired with this look instead of Nadakhan's.

It's weird to think that I've made two out of three wishes in this series come true, albeit in my own special way. Keep an eye out for the third one - no matter who you ask, it might just be the most important...

[animehouse-moe]

Crazy Lucky JP Anime Art Book Haul

So, this is what all I got in the haul, not too many books you might think yeah? Well, the issue isn't so much the quantity as it is the quality. But first, let's introduce the gang, top to bottom, left to right.

Starting in the top left is the Line Art Collection for Violet Evergarden, followed by the Setting Book for The Saga of Tanya The Evil's anime, and then there's the Dorohedoro Animation Art Book. Beneath that is the full Neon Genesis Storyboard Collection, the real breadwinner here.

Note: At the end of the post there will be a price breakdown on the crazy deal I got on this haul.

Anyways, the books themselves! We'll start with Violet Evergarden

It's a rather slim art book, but considering the price I got it for I don't really mind. All the drawings they included in it are really quite stunning as well. I'd say that if you can find it for around $30 CAD (or whatever it is in other currency) and under, it's worth it.

The Saga of Tanya The Evil

I really love this one because beneath the dust jacket/cover, they have some environment art that's really quite pretty.

Of course, the contents themselves are super cool as well, a nice helping of character designs and environment art that show the level of detail and care the staff put behind everything, even things as simple as rifles or stationary artillery.

Dorohedoro

So compared to the manga art, the anime in and of itself isn't exactly something outstanding or anything, but I think this art book really speaks to the passion of some of the staff behind it, even if it was 3D. All the character work was done in 2D, and the environment art included in the copy is just stunning. It's certainly an easy way to find new appreciation in the anime if you were perhaps a little too critical of it when it first aired.

Neon Genesis Evangelion Storyboard Collection

This one felt like nothing short of a miracle, really. Dirt cheap, nobody else bidding on it, and what you might venture to call pristine condition when you consider it comes from the end of the 90s. I was up at 3 in the morning to secure the auction and it was 100% worth it. Really incredible set to own that hasn't really set in.

A look at the spines of the protective clear cases, and the actual cover of the first volume. Really great condition and everything is looking super nice. There's a few signs of yellowing on the pages themselves, but hardly anything to even think about considering the age and extent.

And a very brief peek into the storyboards themselves. One of the most fascinating things I find with storyboards is the fact that they are so different between series. They could be super detailed or they could be stick figures nearly, as long as they get the point across anything goes. Regardless, it's such an impressive thing to take a look at, and realize just how many drawings and pages there are with it. For reference, each volume is around 600 pages, and has 5 frames of storyboard per page. The number you get from that is absolutely dizzying.

But yeah, probably one of the best hauls I've had so far considering how much just fell into place. Really rare and super interesting stuff that I don't think many can attest to having in their collection, and I did so while hardly breaking the bank for what you might get them for otherwise. Just so excited to have these in my collection now.

Price Breakdown

So, I got all these items for dirt cheap compared to what you can find them for on eBay. The Line Art book? Typically 60 and all the way up to 100CAD. Tanya The Evil Setting book? If you can find them, especially undamaged, they're in the range of 100CAD as well (plus shipping usually). The same with the Dorohedoro animation art book, anywhere from 100 to even 200CAD. The real icing on the cake is the NGE Storyboards though. The full collection, including their protective clear cases will run you about 270CAD before shipping.

So, this whole order, according to eBay, should have been in the range of 500CAD before shipping, which is eye-poppingly expensive. But, proxy services can be infinitely cheaper. For reference, my breakdown (with receipts) is as follows:

Violet Evergarden Line Art - ¥2,400 Yen / $26.16 CAD Tanya The Evil Setting Book - ¥3,300 Yen / $35.97 CAD Dorohedoro Animation Art Book - ¥4,580 Yen / $49.93 CAD NGE Storyboard Collection - ¥11,000 Yen / $119.90 CAD Domestic Shipping Fee (NGE Auction) - ¥873 Yen / $8.94 CAD Additional Packaging free - ¥1,500 Yen / $15.35 CAD Intl. Shipping fee (50% off from coupon) - ¥3,711 Yen / $37.98 CAD ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Total Cost - ¥27,364 Yen / $280.07 CAD

Effectively, a savings of in the range of 200-250CAD, getting close to half the price that you could get the items for on eBay, and around the average price of the NGE Storyboard set on eBay. It's just sort of crazy to think about.

[elitheaceofalltrades]

Unsolved Case - Game Review

Happy Saturday!

It's been a while since I did a game review but my friend and I played a co-op point and click puzzle game for the first time last weekend and I thought I'd talk about it. The game is called Unsolved Case, it's by Eleven Puzzles and it's free to play on steam.

The game was fairly simple and the puzzles easy. Not so easy that you were bored but simple enough to not be that much of a challenge. This was definitely a chill fun co-op than a hardcore mystery or master puzzler.

It took us about 63 minutes to complete the game in total (the devs said 30-60 so just over), which is inclusive of any cut scenes. The cutscenes were pretty interesting and were voice acted which was nice. I wouldn't say that we struggled much with any of the puzzles, though the forklift puzzle took us some time. Actually, i did struggle a bit with the TV guide puzzle as well, because (mild spoiler) I was treating it as connect the dots as opposed to bingo.

The mechanics were easy and I had a fun time playing with my friend. Both parties are required to have a copy of the game but it is free to play. You also need some way to communicate with your partner externallly as the game itself does not support audio communication. We used discord but you could use whatever calling method works best for you.

My biggest problem with the game was how it ended. The game was advertised as the prequel to the Cryptic Killer Series, however in my opinion it was a prologue to that storyline as opposed to a prequel. I'm not sure if it's a mistranslation as I know Eleven Puzzles is based in Poland or a miscommunication because I'm used to books instead of game. In my mind, a prequel is usually a book/series that is set prior to main storyline and usually used to give backstory. Where as a prologue is more the preface/introduction to a story or act. They're both similar but a prequel can be taken my itself whereas the prologue cannot exist without the rest of the work. Maybe I'm wrong in how there terms are defined and used, particularly in gaming space, but that is how I understood them going into this game. And by those standards, this game is a prolgue, not a prequel.

Unsolved Case cuts off on a cliffhanger which apparently continues in Unboxing the Cryptic Killer (which is Cryptic Kill Series Part 1). That was very much a let down and we were both startled when it ended as we felt it ended rather abruptly. (We both actually went "it ends here?" simultaneously😂😂). I get that it was supposed to entice you to play the original game but I would have preferred they call it a prologue or demo or teaser as opposed to a prequel so that i could have expected it would have had an open ending as opposed to being a game by itself. In fairness to them, Unboxing the Cryptic Killer is only like £5 and less than $10 in USD, CAD or AUD but still. If it's a free to play demo, call it that. Again though, this could simple be a miscommunication since I'm not a gamer or since English isn't their mothertongue. Still though, it unsettled me enough to take half a star off.

All in all it was a pretty fun hour of our day and it was a good low stress way to spend time together but I wouldn't play it again. Given that my final rating of this game is about 3.5 stars!

Final Rating: ⭐⭐⭐

(There isn't a half star emoji and that makes me to sad.)

~Eli

Ace of All Trades, Pro at None😆

[mcalhenwrites]

It took me far too long to realize that all the hard work had paid off and continued to do so, in regards to my writing. In the past, when I'd feel proud of a story or a scene, I'd immediately scramble back to, "Well, someone will read it, and they'll find the flaws, and they'll know I'm an imposter."

Every single person who writes - even those who've done it 50, 60 years - doesn't do it perfectly. That's impossible.

The definition of what makes "good" writing also varies per person. I personally love it when the writing style is a bit more poetic (you can see that influence slowly infiltrating my own work) and we hear details about the characters that give us more depth about their background and personality. Meanwhile, some people want that to be kept vague and for the story to cut to the chase.

I though my writing was too simple/basic, and I've been told my writing wasn't good enough for anyone to read in writing circles. I've been told my characters all fall into the same category. There's more history with this, but people read my fics and my original works and still liked them. I know these things weren't true then and they're especially not true now, but I was so insecure and afraid that I believed the negative commentary most.

I don't think being hard on myself was all that helpful, either. So none of that improved me. My methods of going about improvement did, but I might have done better at this stage in life if I hadn't let terrible people confirm my negative feelings.

(This isn't about criticism, either. I like concrit! But insulting someone's work or tearing it down in a public space for your friends to have a go just makes you a shitty person. It doesn't make you helpful whatsoever.)

I've also not been able to trust writing circles for years, which sucks. I have some friends who also write, but I'm typically pretty careful and don't do well integrating into new writing circles. Not really fair to the writers in them, so I've finally dipped out of trying to get involved in any until I figure out how to socialize without fearing that I'll end up the butt of all jokes.

And getting over that is hard, I tell you. Even now, I hesitate. "My writing might actually be all those things, and I'm defying reason by saying it's good." Only to then realize that if I wrote exactly like those people's favorite authors, but they knew it was me, it wouldn't matter how good it was. They were out to make fun. Maybe that stems from jealousy or just their own general insecurity that makes them need to drag down others with them. I'm sure some were not into whatever I was writing, but it's improtant to learn how to handle that without being cruel to the author and their work.

All I can really do about it is make sure that's the type of writer I never become. That's the best I can do: support writers by buying books, leaving genuine commentary on AO3, and enjoying my own writing journey.

I love writing. The joy of creating characters and worlds, of weaving them into words... I love that entire process so much. I told myself a year ago - when I took down all my writing from the public eye and locked my works in a private AO3 collection - that I wanted to focus on that for a while. It helped me so much to take a step back for about three months. I also don't mind that most of that stuff is still private.

I did leave up a couple of anon works, but only because I didn't want them to disappear at the same time that all my other writing did. (And those are still anon, and people don't know I've written them.)

These days, I still worry that even the writing I've set aside for publication will never take off, and that I won't have my writing career, but... that's never going to stop me from writing any of it. At this point, I don't think anything beyond a life-altering severe health issue or death is capable of stopping me.

This doesn't mean I doubt my writing quality! I think that the book industry isn't particularly great to begin with, and self-publication is complicated when you have to be your own PR person. What I write is also not for everyone. It's a little weird to say it's niche, as if that makes it special, but I just mean that it might only ever appeal to a small group of people.

I have to keep writing what's in my heart. But after all this time, I'm glad I'm still here, that I have always and will always write what I need to, for myself.

And it's also okay if I want to monetize some of it and share some of it for free, if I want to post or publish it because I think it's good enough to share. Libraries and book stores exist because people do that. We now have the internet to share our writing, whether it be original or fic, and I think that's a beautiful thing. (Side note that fic is just as valuable as original, and I don't condone saying one is better than the other. That's needlessly cruel to people who work hard on their writing writing, regardless of what they write. The publishing industry has its messes, but fics/fandoms do too, and you just have to find the writers who deliver what you like. If you exclusively prefer fic to original or original to fic, that's fine, just don't make your personal tastes a reason to insult millions of writers whose works you've never read. As an author of both and as a fan of authors who write both... I have a wider pool of writing to enjoy!) Anyway, I suppose I'll always fight some imposter syndrome, but... it's nice to also recognize my own skill level. It's nice to have others recognize it, too. I do think that helps a little. We all need some support and encouragement. We shouldn't forget our roots, but it's not necessary to take the journey through writing alone unless that's what we prefer. :)