#isa is dead inside

[vampyresovereign]

pooka..pooka..!!! do Leona dating HEADCANONS!

*rubs your feet*

your wish is my command pooka doodle... -isa<3

DATING LEONA KINGSCHOLAR HEADCANONS

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x GN!Reader Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Quick Synopsis: just a bunch of general headcanons of what leona would be like in a relationship + little drabbles in between Tags: Use of Y/N, use of "herbivore" nickname, reader is not Yuu, no specific physical description of reader, reader is a Night Raven student

HOW YOU TWO WOULD MEET

From the way the books/vignettes portray him, I'm going to be real and say I see Leona as an introvert, maybe go as far to say he's kind of a shut in. OBVIOUSLY not as much as Idia, but he doesn't really strike me as someone who would be actively looking for love like that (at first.) definitely not the type to do the cliche "locking eyes with object of affection for the first time and just falling head over heels" shtick. to me, it seems like he's just tuning everything out until he eventually graduates, which is why for you to be even considered, you'd have to be a constant, like someone he's always getting partnered with in classes or a mutual friend. sorry guys.. no hallway crushes here.

In all honesty, you were less than ecstatic when Crewel had decided to partner you with your fellow classmate, Leona Kingscholar.

He had never done anything to you personally to give you a negative impression of him, but it was just his demeanor and how he carried himself around the general public. Not speaking in class, you could barely recall his voice, and constantly maintaining that annoyed scowl.. When he was awake.

Did you mention that he had no shame about sleeping in class?

He just.. intimidated you. When it was about time to shift to your station with Leona, you grabbed your things and awkwardly sat down in the chair next to him. He was leaning back on the chair, eyes closed, ears twitching slightly to let you know he sensed your presence.

Whatever little assignment you two had to do would last a week at most, maybe even shorter than that, so Leona was under the impression he wouldn't have to care about you that much.

Little did he know.

-

CONFESSION HEADCANONS

One thing about Leona is that the man has a TRUCKLOAD of pride inside of him. Though, he's not stupid. He watched Falena fall in love with his future wife, he's seen old friends get into relationships. He is no stranger to love. When he realizes he has feelings for you, his first instinct would be to gaslight himself and try to deny it, especially if you were someone smaller or more sensitive than him. He didn't come to Night Raven to fall in love, especially with someone like you. If anything, it should be the other way around (haaah.) It wasn't even his choice to be on campus to begin with. However, the more he thinks about it, the more he tries to ignore it whilst spending time with you, the more unbearable it becomes to keep his feelings bottled up. The first person he confides in is Ruggie, but not with a direct approach. He'd ask him little one off questions, like "What would you do if _______" or "If you had a partner would ________." Ruggie would most definitely be confused at first, wondering why Leona, who was never once interested in romance was suddenly asking for his opinions on the topic, but Ruggie is smart. He'd see you two hanging out frequently, put the pieces together, and absolutely bombard Leona with questions and jokes. Essentially, Ruggie suggests that the only solution to this "annoyance" as Leona puts it, is for him to grow some balls and tell you how he feels himself. That has Leona grumbling. Expressing your feelings means being vulnerable with someone, something Leona would not be caught dead doing. This isn't fair, where did all his confidence go? If he looked at you any longer, he guessed he going to go into cardiac arrest from the way his heart pounded in his ribcage, like a ticking time-bomb.

"Hey, is everything okay? You said you wanted to talk," You exclaimed.

Leona scratched his head, avoiding eye contact for a few seconds before focusing back on you and your concerned expression. This was embarrassing. There were worse things he hadn't hesitated to say to other people before, but asking you out was of course the thing that had him fumbling like an idiot.

"So.. Remember that movie trailer you kept yappin' about?"

"Of course I do, I've wanted to see it for a while."

"Well, you're in luck. I bought us tickets to go see it Friday night, if you want."

Your lips curled into a small smile, and you began to look genuinely excited. "Really? That's actually so cool of you!"

"Mhm. But by us, I mean just us."

You raised an eyebrow. "...Are you asking me out?"

A light red tint painted his cheeks, indicating to you that you had absolutely hit the nail on his intentions.

"Herbivore, do you want to or not?" He quipped, suddenly getting defensive.

"Alright, alright, sure. It's a date."

-

ACTUAL RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS

After that little movie date, it didn't have to be said, but both of you knew that the feeling was mutual. It wouldn't take long for Leona to start referring to you as his partner, and vice-versa. He wouldn't act much differently than he did when you two were "just friends," but he'd definitely be more territorial, teasing, and affectionate in public. I imagine him to be kind of annoying too, walking up to you with your friends and greeting you by saying some shit like "WSG LIL BRO!" and then proceeding to headlock + give you a noogie in front of them. 😭😭 now.. where did all this sudden energy come from? A few months ago, Ruggie remembered Leona never wanting to get out of bed, avoiding classwork and avoiding people in general if he didn't have to talk to them. But when the two of you start dating, he starts to care a lot more about things he considered insignificant. He suddenly starts to notice how frizzy his hair gets over the course of the day, and brushes it periodically so he'll look good when he meets you after your classes. He puts on a nicer smelling cologne. He starts to take notice of his spending habits. Yeah sure, he's a prince, he got mad money, but at the same time, the numbers are starting to go down because he bought you flowers, expensive jewelry, and more clothes all in one week. He also makes an effort to get to know your friends and interests. It's not like he didn't care much before, but he really likes to listen to your voice and hear you talk. He could do it for hours, falling asleep to it and waking up to it. Speaking of falling asleep, yes cuddling is involved in this relationship. He's lowkey a bad influence. You've gotten in trouble multiple times because you've asked to use the bathroom, using the hall pass as an excuse to roam around in the botanical gardens until you find him. He ALWAYS convinces you to stay with him and take a nap, resulting in you oversleeping and getting detention. But it's aight. Y'all are in detention together. In conclusion, mans is head over heels for you. Screw his head for this sudden vulnerability, and screw you for keeping him around, making him fall deeper everyday.

DOES ANYONE KNOW HOW TO GET THE FUCKING WEIRD SMALL TEXT WITH RANDOM BIG LETTERS GLITCH OFF IDK HOW TO DESCRIBE IT BUT ITS PISSING ME OFF -isa<3

[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 ©

[guided-by-stars]

Thoughts on Mister "I killed my past self so that I could live" Isabeau vs Mage "I tried my damnedest to kill my past self but couldn't do it" Loop? this has been stuck in my head for ages and I would love to hear your thoughts on it (too scared to get off Anon oopsies)

What fascinates me about that comparison is that Isabeau is often analyzed under his struggles to act. He fears being seen as a coward, when Siffrin in act 5 calls him such, he later confirms that it was indeed an insecurity of his. It’s not exactly surprising to see why- he does struggle with inaction, whether it comes to his hesitance to put his valuable input out there (despite how it could’ve incredibly helpful, he’s so smart!), or his holding back of his confession to Siffrin. However, when it comes to Changing, it seems that he never hesitated to take action, once he realized that was what he wanted.

Could this be because of the incredible strength of his desire to be different? Was it that much stronger than any of his other desires? Or was it easier because of the institutional pushing of Change in the first place?

When it comes to Loop, it’s interesting, because there are multiple meanings of “kill [their] past self.”

Of course, there’s the direct physical attacking of Siffrin that they do in act 6 (and that battle will never stop haunting my mind), where they do indeed try their damnest to kill him (open up your rib cage, take out my heart that beats in your chest) , but when given the opportunity when they win, pinning him to the floor, they can’t. At the end of the day, Loop feels like Siffrin deserves to live, deserves to win, deserves to be helped. Their pity, their care, their love, is as equally strong as their resentment, their hatred, and their burning envy in that moment. [For more on that, see here: https://www.tumblr.com/guided-by-stars/758267393131855872/when-siffrin-first-asks-loop-why-theyre-helping ] They say, shaking on top of Siffrin, hands still on their throat, eye full with tears, “I can’t do this, not when I had to see you fight so hard…!!!”

But then, there’s also the active metaphorical killing of their past self. Choosing a new name, a new role, partly because Siffrin would certainly not have trusted them as much if they knew they were also them (ironic), but also because they didn’t feel like they deserved to be a Siffrin, like they were faking being one, that this wasn’t their world anyways, so they no longer had a place in it as themselves. Despite their best efforts, though, Siffrin figures it out. Their comedy mask wasn’t able to fully conceal the tragedy underneath. At the end of the day, that transition is a construction, an illusion.

Of course, there’s a third type of killing of the self that Loop seemingly at first succeeds at, but ultimately fails at. Their Wish. They don’t even intend to do so- all they want is to escape their torment. But they give up their body and their place as “Siffrin” in that moment. Despite that though, their past self isn’t dead, not really. At the end of their battle, Siffrin smiles gently at them and says “I’m sorry, Siffrin. And thank you, Loop.” They’re both. The Siffrinness inside of them never went away, not really. That body created by Wish Craft is theirs, they grew into it, spreading into the star as a new skin, but they are still Siffrin, really and truly.

So, if we return to the comparison, it seems fairly simple why Isa was able to kill his past self, make them disappear, kill them with his bare hands, as he says, and Loop could not.

…

When Loop tries to kill the self, the first time, it wasn’t an actual choice, it’s just Craft, the second time, it’s not a true Change, it’s a facade, a mask, and the third time, deep in their heart, they don’t actually want to go through with it. When Isabeau does, it’s a genuine true change that he had the utmost conviction for.

But is it really fair to purely contrast them? Did Loop truly fail? Aren’t they similar in their method of changing and being changed? Isabeau also says this, while under the stars:

The person he was before is still here, he grew around them to protect them…an armor becoming the real thing…he wanted to become someone he would have liked to know before…

Does this not sound like someone we know? Someone who physically grew around themselves, a new form being created to protect themselves and creating a facade to emotionally protect themselves, a facade that melted into them until it became an inextricable part of the real them, trying to be helpful and useful, someone who wanted a literal other version of themselves to like them and want to know them… [clears throat]

…Isabeau and Siffrin are more alike than many realize, and it’s not just because of their mutual love of puns and lack of wanting to make the first move. They are deeply similar, and echo each other.

[koshiaoi]

More sif from In Galaxies And Eons, he gets a bit worn-out whenever he loops.

My hc is he is affected by the craft exhaustion way more than normal sif, by way more I mean while in the loops, and that's because it's not just local to Vaugarde and is instead just reversing time completely! But his body does still feel the effects of it harshly, as each time he dies the scar on his cheek and the black bits of his hair, hat, and the inside of his clothes gains another star. All the black bits slowly turn a dark blue! Just cuz I wanna and I love blue.

If anyone is wondering, the scar on his cheek he got from loop, this loop spent way longer in the time loops than the original loop (around 10k I think?) And doesn't really talk to siffrin because of this. Loop attacked sif because he wanted to replace him and get back his actors.

From everyone else's perspective, they were a few days before they got to dormant and were taking a break when they heard sif scream, they rushed over and saw him almost dead being attacked by a "sadness" that somehow could talk? They hear it say something about ripping his skin off and replacing him, at which point they were able to save sif. Frightening loop, causing them to run away. Isa and odile noticed something in its eyes though... a weird shade that gave them a visceral feeling.

Bonnie wouldn't be able to leave sifs side after this, as they were told that he was 'just going to take a nap' and he ended up getting attacked. So bonnie sees this and knows that they can't leave the rest of the party anymore, but what's worse about it is that even though frin looks half dead, they're not bleeding, like at all. Instead, every scratch and wound is this weird back nothingness, which is even more reason to not let him alone ever again!

Mira tries her best to heal him, but nothing happens, almost like its permanent damage, like its scars, which stress her out even more! The person who she thought she could trust with her life is now badly injured because of her! If she just didn't ask him to come along, he would never have gotten hurt! It's all her fault! Its-

And isa would hide his true feelings about the entire thing, just trying to cheer sif up by telling him how cool he is for being able to hold his own against that sadness, they that couldn't even damage... wait what? Why couldn't they damage it? Why could only sif damage it? Well that doesn't matter! Sif looks really cool now! He tries his best to help out the freaking out siffrin.

Odile on the other hand would take that thought and run with it. When she saw that when they tried to attack the sadness, not only did it not flinch, like at all, it's form also didn't even react! No small bits of water, nothing. And then there's the fact that whatever it did to siffrin is permanent and can't be healed, what it said was weird to, not to mention that IT COULD TALK? No something wasn't right here... they should really talk to siffrin later.

Yes! I am using some headcannons for this! Specifically the loop appeared before the loops and was just hiding, the loop being sap!sif but I made him worse, and one thing that's just true, is that odile will know that isa also saw the weird thing and will talk to them about it and everything.

[isa-ghost]

ISA PLEASE I NEED YOUR DEEP DARK DEITY THOUGHTS

Something something sculk as a corrupting power. The ender king wants to take, wants to keep everything like a ship in a bottle but the deep dark? It wants to change. It wants to remake everything in its image.

There could probably be something cool having to do with sculk not being "native" to his world, but when rose "woke up" (phil updated the world and his bedrock lowered) so did the sculk. And now its lying in wait, slowly corrupting, slowly changing, slowly creeping.

And then... philza stopped avoiding it, and took some pieces to spread around. Is that gonna accelerate the corruption?

EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE THIS IS COOKING, DEFINITELY TAKING INSPIRATION FROM WHAT YOU'VE SAID HERE.

OKAY SO here's what I have so far (and restated stuff I said in chat yesterday during stream):

The Deep Dark Deity (I'm leaning female but also really fucking with them being genderless. Their gender is Corruption and their pronouns are they/it) has control over the Warden, sculk, etc. All things Deep Dark. The people who built and once lived in Ancient Cities were a cult that worshiped the Deity. Gods know when/how they died out, if they really died out or just went... elsewhere, and where they ended up if they aren't just dead. You can't tell me that's not a fucking portal. You know exactly what I'm talking about. They could've gone through there. But why?

Something something that portal being activated and the realm it would lead to being accessible is the only thing preventing the Deity from being able to escape DD biomes on their own. Currently they're bound to their own domain unless Phil takes a catalyst or other means of sculk spreading outside of the DD with him.

The Warden was created by the people who inhabited the cities (as we know from that one disc), meant to be a vessel for the Deity, if not straight up created in the Deity's image. Regardless, the Deity can indeed control/possess the Warden and command it whether they're inside of it or not.

Sculk contains XP, which is popularly headcanoned by most players as "life force" because living things drop it when they die (and it's earned though life experience, and life experience increases life force or whatever, blahblahblah, not explaining this in detail here, it's not my headcanon it's just the gist of what I've seen people cook with). This is what the Deity (EDIT: Deity name is Sculk Scourge!) survives off of. They consume it, and there is no such thing as "enough," it always wants MORE. If Ender King is greedy for the material, DD Deity is greedy for... whatever you'd call life force. When something dies in sculk, its life force is consumed by the Deity, and the sculk spreads because the Deity is being made stronger/more powerful and therefore their influence is spreading.

In addition to life force (killing mobs in DD biomes, bottles of enchanting, etc), some other "offerings" they enjoy include diamonds, lapis (gives lots of xp when mined), bones, god apples, infested stone, and beacons.

I'm cooking up a summary type thing like this for each of the Hardcore deities, but one of the things this Deity would represent is the concept of the apocalypse. It consumes to gain power, becomes so powerful nothing can stop it, and continues to consume until there is nothing left to consume.

Taking your idea of how the Deity only came to be after Phil updated Rose's power/influence over the world increased once more. Something something corruption something something Rose's evolution went Wrong somewhere and it turned into a whole ass new deity. Something along those lines idk. Whatever I go with, they have it out for Rose. It's her and her creations that they consume to grow stronger, that they want to remake.

They fucking HATE glow squids because they look like something THEY should've created, being all blue and glowy and ethereal like that. But no. Fucking ROSE did. 🙄 Their resentment of her knows no bounds.

Actually idk if it's resentment or just general ill will but again: They very much intend to do Rose harm. Including emotionally. Like by hurting her precious Child of the Sky. Or corrupting him to make him theirs instead. =)

This isn't a headcanon but like. The vibes of this deity? Scylla from EPIC: The Musical, both the song and the monster herself.

Given the nature of the Warden and the spirit of the Deep Dark in general, the Deity is blind. It navigates the world through hearing, smelling, feeling vibrations, and by sensing the amount of life force something contains. Phil should not enter the Deep Dark with more than 30 levels of XP. If he overstays his welcome in any DD biome, but especially in an Ancient City, the possession he'll undergo by this Deity will make Ender King's possession of him look like NOTHING.

Little does he know, his little recent escapade down there, and those souvenirs he took back with him, like his "doorbell," are, in a way, similar to the backpack Ender King gave him on Quesadilla Island. :)

Appearance-wise, the deity is feminine in body shape even if they're genderless, with long silky hair that looks like sculk. They have milky white eyes, sharp teeth, and everything about them is long and spindly. Their height, their limbs, their fingers. I'm not sure what they wear but it's long and flowy, also looking like sculk.

Idk if you've seen Owenjuice's New Life Series but when he's the Warden origin or whatever it is? This Deity can navigate through sculk like that, swimming in, out, and through it. Here's a timestamp of one of Owen's videos so you can see what I mean. They're always watching. So long as you can see sculk, the Deity can see you. :)

[vastly-fixated-devotee-667]

mcsm as my friends’ inside jokes

Ivor: “I helped you.Be thankful”

“You are a monster” Jesse said punching you weakly

Jesse (S2E4): -pretends to die-

Aiden: ADMIT DEFEST!

Aiden: *defeat

Aiden: I’m hate

Aiden: *here

Aiden: Founder what’s the worst thing ever?

Isa: no fighting in sky city

Aiden: -punches Isa-

Axel: I have common sense I just like to be a idiot.

Ivor: I want to bamboozle g abriel

Jesse: Weird is good. Weird is good. Weird is good.

Axel: True

Olivia: No

Ivor: Did you guys miss me?Like, even a tiny bit?

Soren: no

Binta: If you dont answer correctly you will never see me again

Kent: then goodbye

Hadrian: Some of the quests involve murder

Em: Ok

Romeo (S2E3 end): You’re all vial

Romeo: All of you

Romeo: And it is not it is a beautiful thing to want

Romeo: Hello

Petra at EnderCon: WHERE IS IVO

Petra: R

or

Jesse in BoomTown: WHERE IS MAGNU

Jesse: S

or

Lukas in the End: WHERE IS SORE

Lukas: N

Romeo: Xara you are dead to me

Xara: True

Soren: Guys I am to sad to say anything I will disappear into the shasows

Radar: I drank a box of grape juice

Radar: Does that count as wine

Jesse: Yes

*FBI barges into house*

Jesse @ Ivy: But troost me you looked like ivor and evertroong

Romeo: IT’S beacontown but night.

Romeo: Night is more edgier anyways.

Aiden: I am smarter than you think stabb

Jesse: Genuine concern

Aiden: I am smarter than you think stabb

Jesse: -nief noises-

Lukas: Want to see a story I made four years ago?

Jesse: Sure

Lukas: Ni

Jesse: Ivor is arupid

Lukas: RADAT IS IFFICIALLY MY FAVORITE CHILD

Cassie Rose: LUKAS KILLED SPARKLEZ

Lukas: no u

Jesse any QTE: *doges

Jesse: Really that’s all you’ve got

Isa: GIVE ME BAVK MY CITY

Isa: AIDEN

Axel: [cookies]

Axel: Mmmmmmm

Lukas: I won’t one

Axel: No! *locks the cookie door*

[bellysoupset]

"Wow," was Bella's eloquent thought once they dropped off Angie at Wendy's, with the promise of coming back later that night for dinner and entered the car. It was raining and Luke stared at the windshield getting more and more foggy since the windows were closed and he hadn't started the vehicle yet.

"Yeah," Luke breathed out, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel. His heart was hurting for their friend. Leo was the best of them and it was incredibly hurtful to have him, of all people, go through something like that. Lucas wanted nothing more than to wrap the blonde in bubble wrap and have this whole thing be over with.

"I know," Bella said, her hand coming to rest on his nape, fingers tangling in his hair, as if she had just heard all of his thoughts. Luke opened his eyes, turning his head to look at his wife and he offered her a tired smile, noticing the permanent frown that had appeared between her auburn brows, the way Bell's lips were tugged down in a grimace, "I want that woman dead."

It was such a vicious tone, Luke let out a chuckle and closed his eyes in relief as he heard it. He loved this girl, who was all heart, all fire.

"Let's go home," he straightened up and Bell's hand fell from his hair to his shoulder, giving him a squeeze before she curled up in her seat.

They didn't turn on the radio or put on any songs and Luke was so in his head, he startled when Bella suddenly poked his bicep. Thank God they were at a red light. He recovered from the mild jump quickly, not missing his wife's amused smile, "what?"

"There's nothing to eat at home for lunch, I don't wanna order in," Bell pointed out of her window, to a small restaurant, "wanna try it?"

Frankly, no. He was not in the headspace for any human interaction, even Bella breathing was annoying him a little. She could probably tell thanks to his face, because then Bella leaned in and planted a kiss to his shoulder, mouth pressed to the fabric as she said, "we can go through the Drive In and eat in the parking lot."

It was a much better idea and Lucas opened a pleased smile, rubbing his chin on the top of her head, "yeah, we could do that."

They sat in silence in the gray parking lot, while rain continued to pour around them and hit their car like bullets, drowning out all thought. Lucas pushed his seat back, spreading slightly and without thinking Bella reached out and undid his jeans, causing him to chuckle.

"What?"

"Waeinonuhy," Bella mumbled with her mouth full, before brushing her fingers lightly over the pink mark that was left behind by his jeans. Luke snorted, moving on the seat and continuing to eat, unbothered. Once he finished off, he threw the package inside the big brown paper bag and balled it up with Bella's trash, throwing in the ground of the backseat so they could get rid of it once they got home.

"Better?"

"Much," Luke sighed, running his fingers through his hair. The headache that had started earlier that day, which he had blamed on stress but Bella had adequately diagnosed as hunger, was gone, "did Marisa ever tell you anything about your dad?"

It was a random question, entirely motivated by the whole mess with Leo. Bella snorted, continuing to chew her drink's straw, "only that he was soooooo hot," she mocked, rolling her eyes, then clearing her throat to force her voice to get the nasal baritone of her mother's, "the most boutiful eyes, Isa. They were all blue, like a summer sky. I didn't care about his name, with those eyes."

"Oh God," Luke laughed, "I mean, she might have a point, if they were half as pretty as yours."

"Please," Bella glared at him, biting down a smile, "she was nineteen and a hot man with a cute accent was hitting on her, that pretty much sums up all I know about the guy. Oh yeah, and the red hair-" she pointed at her own, "though, mom actually said he looked more blonde than ginger."

"So no name?"

"No name," Bella shrugged, "or address or anything, he was just a one night fling... After today, I'm incredibly grateful for that."

Luke nodded soberly, thinking of Leo's distraught face as he told them what had happened, "I can't wrap my mind around her not even... Not even remembering him..."

"I know," Bella's voice got that same angry tone from before, "I could understand it if she left when he was a baby, but he was ten-" she hit the dashboard angrily and looked away, staring out of the window and causing Luke to raise his eyebrows.

"Babe?" He moved closer, "Bell-" he pushed the hair away from her face, revealing the tip of her nose all red and her eyes burning, "you're crying?!" he exclaimed in disbelief, "oh baby, c'mere-"

"I just hate to see him hurting!" Bella's voice came out strangled and she shoved at Luke's hand angrily when he let out a weak chuckle, trying to pull her in a hug, "it's not funny!"

"I know- I know, I'm sorry," Lucas pressed his lips to her temple, "I'm just surprised, that's all. Aw, Bella," he wiped a tear and Bella let out a frustrated huff.

"Shut up, I'm not crying," she sniffled, "shut up, Luke."

"I'm not even saying anything," he hid a smile against her hair, "Leo's going to be fine, he's got a whole bunch of people in his corner, right? And Jon's with him now, you said it yourself he seemed better already."

"Right," her voice was once again barely audible, as Bell turned her head and pressed her face to his chest, "if you tell anyone, you're sleeping in the couch for the rest of your days."

"I took a silence vow when we married, Bella," Lucas smiled, squeezing her closer and feeling the knot in his chest loosen up.

[paintingchimera]

Do you think Ariane ever wanted her mom? Like because when we’re in pain, or scared or really anything we tend to want our mothers, so it’d be natural for Ariane to want her mother. GOD I IMAGINED IN ARIANES LAST MOMENTS BEFORE THE BIORESONANCE THING SHE WAS CRYING FOR HER MOM

Now that got me thinking, what about the replikas?? Do they long for the neural pattern’s mothers even though they’re not biologically their child?? When they destabilise I mean, like imagine a dying STAR on the battlefield calling out for her neural patterns mom oh my days

You guys cannot convince me ariane did not want her mom, especially with how she was raised I would reckon they had a very close bond. I wish there was more stuff surrounding ariane’s mom and even the itou twins mom like who is she?? Anja Itou or Lilith itou?? I would think Anja, because Lilith never had a male lover (that we know of) but she had Alina. Lilith being a possible older sister to them seems like a much more likely scenario than their mother, and personally on how lilith’s personality is shown (this is with the theory that she’s Elsters neural pattern) she probably would not want kids

And if the case was that Lilith was their mom, realistically then, Elster would’ve most likely atleast had some more instinct to protect isa— meanwhile with a sibling you really don’t have that urge (unless their like a baby) and honestly, I think Lilith and the twins wouldn’t of known each other for that long. Lilith would’ve been just a faded memory from childhood [if I’m correct on the timing of when Lilith might’ve been put into whatever they do to the replika neural pattern and that she is Elsters neural pattern] I mean, the faint possibility of her being the twins mother is that if Alina was their second mother, but that doesn’t make sense: Ariane is often portrayed as a ‘clone’ in a way of Alina, looking almost exact same as her. So why would Alina be their second mom? And it wouldn’t be possible because Alina was in the sierpenski as we know it,

So that would leave Anja to be their mother, Lilith? Maybe a cousin or older sister. Looking at Isa (assuming that Erika looks basically the same) she looks like she would relate to Lilith but not in a mother and daughter way; more like a cousins or sisters way. And What is the deal with Alina?? Is she just meant to be Lilith’s lover, or does Ariane end up being like some reincarnation of her? Or is Alina in retrospect just made to be that person Ariane triggers Elsters neural pattern memories with? But that would make her character practically basic if she only had one purpose. But I can’t figure out what she’s even here for, maybe she doesn’t really have a purpose? Some characters in fiction might not have proper purpose but they’re very important to plot I think,

Oh the ariane having acute radiation syndrome, she would be in SO much worse of state in reality, burns everywhere only getting worse, skin cells dying, even her bone marrow [i forgot if this parts correct shh] possibly started to degrade [I think I’m thinking of chromosomes], her teeth falling out, her organs dying from the inside out, losing absolute control over her own bodily fluids, I understand that it’s probably for creepy affect with her very basic black arms and legs to show nercotic skin but realistically ariane would’ve been dead much sooner when the radiation kicked in, even with the cryo medical pod. We all know of the person who had severe radiation poisoning, he died after a long battle. Considering Ariane would’ve practically be begging Elster— if Elster didn’t die first, because to me atleast, Replikas much more fragile when it comes to things like radiation, excluding MNHR units. They would start to degrade faster than a human would,

Ariane would be in so much pain, her skin wouldn’t even turn black it’d fall off exposing muscle and nerves. And her hair doesnt make sense, when someone has that much radiation and Ariane probably got out through so much more radiation, her hair would’ve fallen OUT, not grown. She would’ve looked like a burned mummy, and most likely. Elster wasn’t Alive to see any of Ariane’s true pain, yet Ariane probably would’ve still chosen the Penrose program. Why? Because hearing how sierpenski is that shit is SCARY. But also, we all know of Ariane’s bullying on rotfront. With how much she was getting bullied [I heard she even got put in hospital temporarily?? Idk if that’s right] she would of course pick that option. It’s like giving someone the option to choose: Go to school for years, Go for a year and get all of your diplomas immediately [of course it’s not a accurate comparison but shut up]

Bullying fucking ruins people, from experience I wanted to leave my entire country because I got bullied so badly. I wanted to leave the planet [as in going to space], when your given a choice between going to a facility or seeing the stars? You’d the stars especially in ariane’s place. The eusan nation is strict, and rotfront was terrible to ariane. Why would she want to put herself through more??

Anyways I’m literally ariane yeong (I bleached my hair to look like her, my roots are over grown tho 🫡) also sorry for so much writing, I have no one to really yap my ideas to 😔🙏

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

Natural Satellite [ch 10]

An In Stars and Time AU. In ch 10, Sif dusts off their acting skills. Isabeau tries to keep up. You can start from the beginning here.

You’re having fun, you think. It’s been a while, so you don’t really have any point of reference. But you think you’re probably having fun. You know it’s selfish. Cruel. You should be focused on breaking the loop. But even so. No one has touched you for years and years and no one ever will, unless you force their hand. So it’s… exciting, a little, to grab Isa’s hand and watch him flush all the way down his neck. Watching him steal glances and blush even darker when he catches you already looking. On impulse, you squeeze Isa’s hand. He jumps. “You don’t have to be so careful,” you whisper, while your eyes scream, touch me, touch me, touch me. Hold my hands. Pet my head. Wrap your arms around me. I’m so cold inside, cold and dead and rotting, so please, won’t you please warm me up? “I’m not going to loop on accident or anything.”

[as ever, SPOILER WARNING for pretty much the entire game. but definitely at least through act 4]

Isabeau wakes up to find Sif’s much smaller, much cuter little raccoon paw resting in his palm.

Siffrin is still asleep. His face is half-hidden by his hair, a fluffy little squirrel’s-nest of silver-white. They’re so small and so soft and their hand is nestled into his. Isabeau tries not to cry. He wants this so bad it hurts.

He’s not no one to Sif. He saw that yesterday. After the way he ended the last loop, Sif was furious. So, at the very least, they don’t want to watch him die.

…That’s a pretty low bar, isn’t it.

Just for a second, Isabeau lets himself pretend that it’s real. That Sif might want to close the space even half as desperately as he does. That Sif could ever love him like he loves them.

If Sif loved him like he loved them, Isabeau could wake them slowly, gently, by pulling them even closer. By pressing his lips to Sif’s forehead and breathing into the crown of their head. He could card his fingers through their hair and run his nails down the nape of their neck. He could hook a knee around them and—

Still half-asleep, Siffrin lets out a creaky little groan.

Isabeau jerks his hand back. “M-Morning, Sif!”

“Mmh?” Sif mumbles.

“It’s, um. It’s… time to go, I think.”

Sif rubs his eyes, blinking blearily. “Oh. Sorry. Be up in a sec.”

Isabeau’s heart aches. “N-No hurry.”

“There is some hurry, actually,” Madame Odile says coolly. Isa nearly falls off the bed. “Nothing very important. Just the fate of an entire country.”

“But M’dame!! Look how cute he looks!!!”

“That’s hardly relevant,” she sniffs. “We have a fight to win.”

* * *

You’ve scaled the House a million times before, but it never felt quite like this.

You’re having fun, you think. It’s been a while, so you don’t really have any point of reference. But you think you’re probably having fun.

You know it’s wrong. You should be focused on breaking the loop. And it’s… manipulative. Cruel. But even so. No one has touched you for years and years and no one ever will, unless you force their hand.

(…Disgusting.)

So it’s… exciting, a little, to grab Isa’s hand and watch him flush all the way down his neck. Watching him steal glances and blush even darker when he catches you already looking. It’s cute. He’s cute. You knew that already. But it’s… relaxing, sort of, not having to pretend like you didn’t.

On impulse, you squeeze Isa’s hand. He jumps.

“You don’t have to be so careful,” you whisper, while your eyes scream, touch me, touch me, touch me. Hold my hands. Pet my head. Wrap your arms around me. I’m so cold inside, cold and dead and rotting, so please, won’t you please warm me up? “I’m not going to loop on accident or anything.”

“I-I know! I just… I don’t want to take advantage…”

That sobers you up right quick. You were all too eager to take advantage of the situation. Because you’re the sort of narcissist who only ever thinks about yourself.

“Sorry,” you mumble, and drop his hand.

Still, you have a role to play. The next time your family stops for a snack break, you slide in next to Isabeau, yawning, before flopping sideways to rest your head on his shoulder.

“S-Sif?” You can feel his muscles tense under your touch.

You shove your cheek against his arm. “Sleepy.”

“Hehe… There’s, um… If you wanted to take a little catnap, I could find you something to lay down on?”

Without opening your eyes, you wrinkle your nose at him. “Comfy.”

Across the saferoom, Mirabelle clasps her hands under her chin and sighs dreamily. “Just like a real kitty!!”

Slowly, tentative, Isabeau shifts his weight so he can wrap his arm around you and oh, that’s even better. He’s so warm. If he always held you like this, you think you might never feel cold again.

Isabeau is probably never going to touch you again after this, so you might as well make the most of it. You nestle into the crook of his arm and go to sleep.

You can read the rest of ch 10 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53412649/chapters/138170641 Or start from ch 1 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53412649/chapters/135189547

[deaths-presence]

Two of a Kind || Dazai x Reader Part 4: Woven Threads

Story Summary: The search for your brother has led you into conflict between the Armed Detective Agency of Yokohama and the Guild. Fitzgerald keeps you involuntarily, that is until you finally find your chance of escape. Will you find strength within the ADA, or will you only become more astray? Word Count: 2.2k Characters Featured: F. Scott Fitzgerald, Atsushi Nakajima, Lucy Montgomery Warnings: afab!reader, slowburn, plot heavy to build up romance, very tiny small mention of Atsushi's abuse, lmk if I happened to miss anything please! Tag List: @decaf-nosebleed @isa-ghost @xakumi @bunchofdoodlesinspace A/N: If you want to be added to the tag list, feel free to let me know! Psssst, guess who's finally showing up next chapter now that we're done building the beginning plot? :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Time was a blur as you ran. Your lungs were on fire and your feet slapped against the hard pavement in a steady rhythm. You ignored the curious stares that followed you, and you attempted to stay close to the docks. You didn’t know where to go. You were in an unfamiliar city in a foreign country. You had nobody to rely on, and every thought swarming through your head about the Guild and the Port Mafia was only creating more anxiety. You had to leave, and you didn’t know how. You wish you had just found Roberte already. There was no calling for help unless you went through the Guild, and you did not want to resort to crawling back into Fitzgerald’s clutches. Your freedom was right in front of you, and you were going to steal it back.

You were forced to catch your breath, the air in your chest circulating in and out in desperate wheezes as you leaned against the nearest wall. You doubled over and closed your eyes as you focused on taking a slow, deep inhale and letting it out slowly. You repeated this several times, and not only did it help with feeling like you were no longer suffocating, but also helped in regaining awareness of your situation.

The relaxing silence was interrupted with a small commotion that sounded close. You instinctively made yourself small and proceeded with silent footsteps to investigate. The voice inside your head screamed at you to keep running and find a ship that was heading back to America, but your curiosity was winning.

As you turned one of the corners, you gasped before slapping a hand over your mouth to keep quiet. You silently prayed while you hid yourself behind the corner of the building again, hoping that Fitzgerald did not spot you. With no footsteps hurrying toward you, you gave a sigh of relief and cautiously allowed yourself to evaluate the scene.

Your eyes were stuck on one individual, and it wasn’t Fitzgerald. Despite your captor and Melville being present, the boy with white choppy hair that you thought dead was standing right before your eyes. He was accompanied by a small girl in a red kimono, her black hair pulled into two twin-tails. You remember seeing a glimpse of her when you had landed with Hawthorne and the others, but she had seemingly run off while no one noticed.

The growing burning sensation in your chest was not from lack of oxygen this time, and it was with surprise that you recognized it as anger. You noticed that the boy was already disheveled and bleeding, whether it was by Fitzgerald’s hands or not, it didn’t matter. You decided not to make the same mistake again.

A brave step out was met with the sight of the boy’s hand turning into the claws of a tiger, but before he could attack the two Guild members, a bullet shot across and met with his head to render him unconscious. The girl had started to reveal her short sword before a bullet contacted her hand, leaving it instantaneously bleeding and bruised red. You realized with horror just who was shooting these bullets. Though they were made of rubber, only one person could be so skilled.

The knowing laugh made you nauseated, your eyes finally looking at Fitzgerald as he smiled at you. Your freedom was a sick joke. You were never unshackled, and what Fitzgerald said next only confirmed it.

“Miss Louisa’s strategies are always so perfect.”

Your dreadful world turned black after you heard the next and final shot.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Waking up was a chore for once. The adrenaline in your body had finally worn off, and the soreness in your muscles made you want to cry out pathetically. You nearly sobbed for another reason. Your surroundings were all too familiar. You were back on the Moby Dick; in the very same room you were previously using. The frustrated scream that was torn from your chest shocked you, but you couldn’t stop it. It felt like minutes before it finally cut off with choppy breath, slamming your fist against one of the walls. You would never escape.

You stood up carefully and shuffled over to the nearest corner, hugging your knees to your chest and hiding your face. Later, the door opened and the voice of a boy yelling to be let go entered your ears. You were startled enough to finally look up when he attempted to hit the walls and look out the compact window. At the same time, he noticed you. It was the tiger boy.

“I have to get out of here. Yokohama is in danger,” he said weakly, realizing his defeat being encased in the room; just as you already had for months. You shook your head quietly at him, and it pained you to see him look forlorn and broken.

“I’m afraid that this aircraft is meant to keep us inside,” you murmured in a horrible attempt at comfort. “It is good to at least see you alive, minus the circumstances.”

It was quiet for a long moment, and you nearly assumed he wouldn’t remember you before you felt a presence beside you. Your eyes flickered to the left of where you were sitting to see him joined with you on the floor. This close, you saw more details of him. Whoever had cut his bangs must have been scared by something while they had the scissors in their hands. Out of all the hair that was white, there was one strip of it that was black. His eyes still reminded you of the late summer sunsets, warm and innocent as they watched you.

“I’m Atsushi,” he introduced himself with a gentle smile. Such a warm welcome nearly brought tears to your eyes, and you looked away before he could see. You saw the way his smile began to fade at your reaction, but you offered your own name quietly and the smile returned.

“I’ve never wanted to hurt people,” you began to explain. “I simply ended up in the wrong hands, and now I am paying the price for my own trusting nature. I haven’t had free will for months. I’ve been forced to follow and stay silent unless spoken to. It’s safer that way. I came here to reunite with my brother, but instead I am finding myself a bird in a luxurious cage and my ability to be used until I am disposed of.”

Atsushi’s sympathetic expression lifted a weight off your shoulders. For the first time in a long while, you felt heard and seen by someone who felt more like a friend than a superior. The words you had spoken were probably the most you had heard from yourself in several weeks, and it certainly made you emotional. You felt on the verge of finally breaking, but you wouldn’t leave Atsushi to deal with that uncomfortable situation. You pushed back the threat of tears pricking at your eyes and focused on him.

“I didn’t even know you were the weretiger Lord Francis was looking for,” you mentioned with a clear grimace. “That’s how uninvolved I am. I have only heard mentions of you in passing between other Guild members, and I always wondered what was so special that he placed a bounty on your head. I was the one that hesitated to hurt you in that fight by the fountain; the one with the water ability. I can take on other appearances, and with them their abilities if the person harbors one.”

Something in your words made Atsushi frown, and for a moment you were terrified that you had offended him, or worse scared him with the mention of what you could do. The one person who you were managing to befriend, and you could easily tarnish it and have it pulled out of your grasp. Thankfully, he reassured you with his reply. “I would like to thank you for sparing me that day. Many say that hesitation is weak, but you have a sense of mercy. I could see in your eyes,” he stated with a little smile “As for Fitzgerald, he said something about me being a key of some sort. A ‘tiger beetle.’ I have no idea what he’s talking about,” he recalled. You nodded, not out of understanding, but to let Atsushi know that he had your attention.

“You said that Yokohama was in danger?” you timidly questioned. You felt the urge to hug the poor boy as he was pulled back into the current dilemma, his expression changing from confusion to the dawning apprehension that his city was being threatened.

“Fitzgerald plans to burn it all to the ground, the Agency and the Port Mafia along with it. He said it was some sort of incineration operation. I have to warn everyone. I have to get the doll to Dazai.”

You were about to interject his panicked rambling when you both were interrupted by another outside source.

“You two sure do look cozy in there. I just came to check on you when I was taking out the garbage,” Lucy said, her tone dripping with smugness. Her voice prompted Atsushi to leave your side and attempt to convince her to let him out. Normally you would be comforted by Lucy’s presence, but your thoughts went elsewhere while they conversed. You were able to pick up on their conversation when they both showed their burn scars from a hot iron poker. Your heart ached with sympathy for each of them, and you saw the gears of similarity clicking together and turning.

One moment you were in the locked room, but in the blink of an eye you found yourself with Atsushi in Lucy’s room. Her ability allowed her to create a personal space for her and the giant ragdoll called Anne, time and space warping to create such an idea. It had been the first time she had allowed you in, and you could see why she would want to use it as her own escape where no one could reach her. It was then you noticed that in one of her hands was the doll that Atsushi must have referenced earlier.

“Dazai only needs to be able to touch the doll in order to stop the curse,” he guaranteed Lucy when she said it would be too late.

“We are high in the air and unlikely to come down any time soon. What are you planning—?" you began to question, but the look on Atsushi’s face told you and Lucy that he would risk his own life to get the doll to whoever Dazai was.

“Atsushi, you can’t—” you started while shaking your head. “You’ll die.”

There was a moment of silence before Lucy spoke. “So, if you’re serious, then you’ll probably get shot and killed in the air or get cut up by the mad men down there. You know that already, and you’re still going to do it.”

“There was an old book I read back at the orphanage,” Atsushi replied. “One of the passages stood out to me. It read, ‘I’ve never regretted any of the things I’ve done. I’ve only regretted the things that I didn’t do.’”

Atsushi was pulled out of his thoughts when Anne loomed over him to offer a parachute bag. The boy’s sunset eyes observed it in confusion before Lucy explained that she had kept it in case she needed to escape.

“I only have one, so if you would like to stay with me in Anne’s room,” she offered to you, but you watched the surprise take over her expression further when you shook your head.

“I can’t stay here any longer, Lucy. I have to find Roberte even if he isn’t here, and I realize how much of my life I’m beginning to miss being trapped in this aircraft forever in Fitzgerald’s hands. I’ll come back for you.” You offered her a smile which she returned.

“We both will,” Atsushi added with determination.

“How will you get down? I only have one parachute and it’s Atsushi’s,” Lucy inquired with a frown. “You’ll die instead of him.”

“Don’t forget why I was captured to begin with. I have several cards up my sleeve,” you answered.

The door in Anne’s Room opened to show the exterior of the Moby Dick, the wind coursing through your hair. Your body tensed at the idea of how high up in the atmosphere you were, the clouds just below you and the city of Yokohama so small beyond them. You could see pillars of smoke from several directions, a heavy feeling in your stomach as you realized Fitzgerald already put his plan in motion.

You took a deep breath and focused on using your ability. You took on the Change that you used to escape the Zelda when it was set aflame with explosions, the wings protruding from your back and your blonde hair glowing orange in the setting sun. Your eyes didn’t have to adjust as harshly as before once the Change was completed.

You barely registered having time to brace yourself for the big drop down as Atsushi gave you a determined nod, then bravely jumped without hesitation. You glanced back at Lucy one last time, nodding your thanks before leaping after Atsushi. You were airborne.

[apupcalyptic-art]

 Finished this zombie AU piece I've been procrastinating on for a while. This takes time the evening after this fight:

Story under read more

Elena sighed. She has been trying to plan their next excursion into town, but the fight she had with Isabel weighed heavily on her mind. It's no use, she thought. I'll just try to get some sleep and get back to it tomorrow. She left the library and headed towards her room, steps slow and heavy. Hopefully Isa will be asleep by now. I really don't want to think about our fight.

   Unfortunately, luck didn't seem to be on Elena's side. As she neared her destination, she could see light sleeping under the door of her bedroom. She stopped in front of it. Bracing herself, she swung the door open and stepped in, quietly closing the door behind her.

   "Isa?" Elena called softly, looking around. Nothing seemed to be remiss, except for the open balcony door. She headed towards it and peaked outside. There stood her sister, clad in just in her nightgown, leaning on the stone railing. "What are you doing out here?" Elena asked, walking out onto the balcony.

   Isabel didn't answer. She just turned her head away from her older sister, hugging herself with her arms.

   Elena leaned next on the railing next to Isa and scratched her head sheepishly. "Watching the stars? The weather's nice tonight." She tried again to engage her sister.

   "I'm sorry."

   "Huh?"

   "I'm really sorry for what I said earlier!" Isa repeated, finally turning to face the other. There were dried tears on her face. "I really didn't mean it, I was just angry you were treating me like a little kid again."

   The older sister stared at the younger girl, before sagging down and leaning heavy on her arms. She looked across the palace courtyard and towards the dark city. "It's alright, Isa. You didn't do anything wrong."

   "But I--"

   "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have snapped." Elena said, still looking down. "I'm just so... Tired, all the time."

   "Maybe you could have Gabe and Naomi take charge tomorrow, then? You could sleep in." Isabel suggested, bumping Elena's arm with her shoulder.

   "I don't think sleep is gonna help, honestly." Elena chuckled sadly. "I'm tired because I worry about... Well, everything. About Abuelos and Esteban, they've been gone on their vacation for so long, and who knows if Enchancia is safe. We're slowly getting low on food, and now with me hurt and Mateo dead... I can't lose you, too." She finished, finally looking down at Isabel. "I love you too much."

   "I love you too, Elena." Isa smiled, leaning into Elena's side. "And... I'll try to find something I can help with inside the palace. So you don't have to worry!"

   "I'll always worry about you. But thank you." Elena pressed a kiss to her sister's forehead. "How about we go to bed? Sleep sounds amazing right now."

[sacredwrath]

P2. A Little Rage

Revenge, angst, angry rumination, anticipated violence, anticipated murder, blood

Logan stares into the basin of his bathroom sink, watching the water run. Little swirls of steam rise into the cool air. Red stains the faucet and porcelain handles.

He doesn't want to be clean.

His hands are still coated in blood. It's somehow found its way beneath his fingernails. He rubs his hands together, feeling the sickly stickiness of them. It turns his stomach, but he doesn't want to wash it off.

It's proof.

Proof he's damaged the monster. Proof he's done something. Done something to protect Jesse, to get revenge. It's proof he's no longer helpless in the face of Jesse's suffering.

He forces his hands under the burning stream.

Am I actually doing this?

He scrubs beneath his nails.

Am I actually keeping a man chained up in my basement, with full intent to torture and kill him?

This isn't you.

Isn't it?

Watching that creature bleed had felt like vindication. It had felt like there was finally somewhere to put the burning pit of rage scorching away his insides.

He tries so hard to keep it contained. Tries to keep it from scarring his friends, scarring Jesse.

The way they looked at him during their hallucination.

Every time they cry or panic, or look at him with the sadness that seems to scream, "you left me alone!" He feels that inferno get a little hotter, a little brighter, a little harder to control. But he never let's it out.

Until now.

There in the mud and rain, he’d felt righteous. Having that monster's blood on him had felt almost like forgiveness.

From the moment Jesse disappeared he'd been trying to stay afloat, fighting panic, struggling to remain rational even though every fiber of his being screamed at him to go in, guns blazing, and do wherever it took to get them out. He held himself back, for their safety, for his team's safety. He'd held himself back and felt his helpless fury drowning him.

And then, when he finally had them back and saw the scars on their body and mind, the realization that he'd been too late-

A new kind of helplessness, the agony of holding them in his arms and still being unable to protect them.

He'd shoved it down, buried it deep in his soul, but he couldn't stop burning.

He hid it well, from everyone but Isa that is. He's learned to avoid touching it. Like a real fire, getting too close would let it consume him, and for Jesse's sake, for his team's sake, he won't let that happen.

But now, seeing Adrian Morgan laying in the road, half dead and almost begging him to take his life, he'd slipped. Brushing against the anger and realized it wouldn't let him kill that man. Death would be quick, over in mere moments, and he'd be helpless again, helpless against his rage. He needs something else, something more, something worse.

He shuts off the tap.

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Tag list: @whumpacabra @turn-the-tables-on-them

[revisedgrthe2nd]

Shattered Across Games

~An In Stars and Time Fic~

AO3 version here.

Summary:

* But something changed.

Or: Mysteryman FUN event, but in ISAT.

[Loop #66, FUN: 77]

The lightless, dreary walls of the House are a blur as Siffrin marches through the third floor with efficiency. They’d wager this is their thirtieth time through, with how routine it had become. Certainly more, actually, but any attempt at guessing higher left them feeling sick. They had just finished obliterating the crest-holding sadness, ready to take the item and open the way to the Keyknife. They nearly do, holding the crest out, feeling it react. But they zone back in just enough to realize. There's a third path. One dead ahead of them, covered in a row of tears just like the correct path off to their left.

They look at it. Then the other hall. Then back at it. And they purse their lips. It would be a waste not to investigate something this blatantly new, but at the same time, the proper lead they're chasing would have to be put on the back burner. Then again! It's not like paths just. Appear like that, right? With no reason?? What if it wasn't there, next loop? If it came so suddenly, it could disappear too, right?

Some concerned looks from the others encourage them to make their decision, holding out the crest, and erasing the tears blocking the way. Worst case, they could loop back, and write it off as a dead-end. They step into the newly-cleared hallway, followed closely by their family. The floor here had a gradient effect, both in shade, and in material, transitioning to metal more and more the further they walked. It was as smooth as the frozen floors of the House, though louder, their shoes making metallic clanks with each step.

They glance behind themself at the Funny Noises Appreciation… Crew? They're gone. Their entire family’s missing, in just a blink. Siffrin was alone. They whip their head around, calling out. "Isa?! Mira?!" Nobody responds. "...Odile?? .......Bonnie?" But nobody came. They wait a moment. Still nothing. The way they came in had become a metallic wall, so there was no way out. There didn't seem to be any tears, and their dagger wasn't seeming too appealing, so looping back wouldn't happen.

There was no easy way back, in death or by foot, so… They take out their hand, calling Loop. The loud cacophony of noise that rattles around their head startles them into throwing their hand back down, ending the call. So that wasn’t happening either, that was fine! This was fine, everything was fine, they were just… All alone, in a part of the House they’d never seen before, it’d be okay!

All they could do was press on, which they did, already missing their family’s (and Loop’s) support. This part of the House was dark. Hard to navigate. It almost seemed unfinished, the way furniture was scattered about, some not fitting the aesthetic, and others shoved haphazardly through walls. Floating words, random holes into the void, near-impossible climbs... Suddenly, Siffrin’s glad Bonnie’s not here for this, they’d surely have gotten themselves hurt. They play with their coin to pass the time, flipping it in the air for a while, mentally tallying how many times it lands on each side.

There weren’t any sadnesses, which they were thankful for, but their absence only aided the surreal feeling that coated everything. Unease, dread, a hint of foreboding… This was building up to something, it felt like. What that was, though, remained to be seen.

Finally, after ten minutes or so of hopping on tables to scale walls to reach doors to cross bottomless pits to advance even a fraction of a room, Siffrin arrives at something decidedly different. A tall door, perfectly between darkless and lightless in shade. It stuck out like a sore thumb, not even matching the light level of the room. They grab the knob without hesitation, twisting, and pushing. Then when that doesn't work, they pull, swinging the door wide open, and stepping inside!

It's a near empty room, the same shade as the door. There's a weapons rack against the back wall, directly in front of Siffrin, with a tall, strange... Thing? Person? Sadness? Standing in front of it, turned away from them. It’s slouched over, the top of its head(?) barely poking out above its shoulders. Its body is fully lightless, its head the opposite. They would mistake it for being frozen in time, if it weren’t for the faint rise and fall of its torso. They approach. "Hey," he says, when it doesn't react to his steps. There's no response. "Hey," they repeat, louder. Nothing.

They step around to its side. The creature has two cracks near its eyes, one going up, the other down. Its grin is wide, though otherwise, its face is restful. Its eyes are… Perfectly hollow. Siffrin reaches out, tapping it on the shoulder.

…!!!

The figure tenses up, back straightening, eyes darting over to them, and head spinning to match. The look of terror on its cracked, broken face causes dread to run down Siffrin's spine, moments before the creature vanishes. Just... Into thin air, the same way their family did! They freeze, eyes rapidly darting around the area it once occupied, processing what just happened. Silence hangs over like a knife. They put a hand on the weapon rack, breathing as well as they can. In… And out. Phewwwwww! Something on the floor catches their eye, and they glance down, still stunned into motionlessness by the encounter.

It's an egg. Just a normal egg, do they even have chickens in Dormont? Plenty of birds, but this is undoubtedly a chicken egg. ...Hm. Bonbon could make something with this, they think. He crouches, slowly, pocketing the egg. Then, he stands, also slowly. They look at the weapon rack, trying to draw their mind off of that face. Most of the weapons don’t budge, but the one that does, catches their eye the most. It’s a dull blade, perfect for cutting plants, or vines. Could use some sharpening, but… They grab it, and shove it into their pocket.

Siffrin sighs to himself, doing one last breathing exercise, fear delicately subsiding. He turns around, walking over to the door. Twist the knob, push, step outside, and-  "...Sif? You okay?" They blink.

They’re back in the proper House, moments before using the star crest on the phantom path that, true to its monichor, is now missing. "I, uh, think you're facing the wrong way to be using that." He glances over his shoulder at Isabeau, who is, in turn, staring at them worriedly. He blinks again, looking at the star crest in his hand. ...Then gingerly tosses it into the correct row of tears.

"Having troubles with perception, Siffrin?" Odile adds.

He shakes his head. "No, I'm good, just spaced out." They smirk. "No need to get teary-eyed over me, Odile.~" Predictably, Isa has to stop himself from doubling over in laughter, and everyone else groans. Mira, ever the pun-based wildcard, has to stifle a laugh, this time. Success! "Let's go," they say. Their family didn't seem to remember anything, and it hardly mattered, in the end. They didn't discover more info about the loops, nor the king, and all they found was a new dagger, plus some food. They check their pocket. The egg's still on them, so they'd have to remember to hand that to Bonnie during the next snack break. ...Aaaaaand they have something to talk to Loop about, now, assuming they saw all of that.

But! That could wait. They still have a lead, and by the Universe, they are going to follow it as far as it can take them. ...No matter how many strange distractions get in their way. Right now, they could just… chalk this up to a bad dream, and move on. They have a country to save, and a loop to break, preferably in that order. They’re Determined to see it through.

[piratesexmachine420]

Stupid computers I'd love to be able to tinker with:

Xeon Phi Coprocessor (It's like having a second computer inside your regular computer! That you communicate with through SSH! Over the PCIe bus! Running, in essence, a 60-core Pentium! It's like a GPGPU but optimized for branching! What??!)

Via C3 CPU (AKA the Cyrix III) (Non Intel or AMD x86 CPU? Bizarre undocumented operating mode with an alternative instruction set? Deeply out-of-date socket? Count me in!)

PDP-11 (It's a deeply important platform in CS history. And also totally old and dead.)

Any home computer from before ~1985 that sold extremely poorly

A LISP machine (Wishful thinking, I know)

Any home computer from before ~1977, regardless how well it sold

An FPGA devkit so I can make my own deeply stupid CPU and ISA

That one virtual machine they made up for DEF CON capture-the-flag with 9-bit bytes and middle-endian words (The emulator is available for free online I just haven't bothered to read through the documentation)

Apollo AGC/LGC (Extremely wishful thinking)

That one XKCD comic about the infinite desert full of rocks

[deathsplaything]

Location: Alistair's home Timing: current, after To Have Loved and Lost Parties: Alistair & Isa (@poisonousdelights) Summary: Isa rushes to Alistair after hearing that there's been a death in the family. Alistair fills Isa in on all that's transpired. Content Warnings: Child death, Parental Death, Alcohol tw

‘There was a death in the family. The shop will be closed for a while.’

The text, coming from almost anyone else, would have elicited a sympathetic heart, maybe have Isa scrambling funds together to try and send flowers, but when it came from her boss she quickly grabbed her keys and locked up the apartment. Alistair didn’t have many they considered family. There were only a few people that death could have pertained to and she wasn’t about to let them sit around and endure the grief alone. She could already feel the emotion tugging at her, underlying the fear that was ever present as she raced all the way to the shop, her mind imagining so many different scenarios in the absence of the truth that was waiting for her.

She was panting by the time she’d made it to the front door of the Sugar Pot and threw her key into the lock. The shop was quiet, dark, but she still searched the downstairs area as much as she could before Isa turned her eyes to the stairs that lead to Alistair’s living quarters. For the first time she hesitated, glued to her spot while she weighed the options. They could hate that she’d shown up. They could be angry with her invading their space. They could yell for her to leave so they could wallow alone. 

They could reveal who had been taken from their world and break her heart over again.

But it didn’t matter in the end. What mattered was being there, being someone they could rely on despite her earlier disappearance from their life. She didn’t want them to wallow alone so she moved, taking the steps two at a time until she made it to the closed door and knocked. 

There was no answer, Isa fearing that maybe her taps against the wood were too soft, but deep down she knew they weren’t. She reached for the door knob and slowly opened the front door to their home, only taking a small step inside. “Alistair?” She kept her voice low, not wanting to break through the silence that grief left in its wake too harshly. The last thing she wanted was to scare anyone. She didn’t have to call out anymore though, Isa spotting Alistair sitting in a chair through the darkness that shrouded them. By their side in seconds, she quickly took their hand in her own and knelt beside them, tears pooling in her eyes but not yet falling. “What happened? What do you need?”

_____

Melody was gone, and Tommy no longer had his mother. His father had been killed as a baby, which meant one thing. According to Melody’s will, he had custody over Tommy. They had managed to get Tommy to lie down in the guest room, a room that would have to be completely redone to accommodate the young boy’s tastes. They didn’t bother turning on the light, they didn’t bother to eat. Instead, they simply sat in a chair at the dining table, sunglasses off, showing the scarring that covered their face. 

A new voice cut through the darkness, and Alistair could barely get themselves to turn their head in the direction of the voice. “Isa?” They called back, brows knitting together in confusion. “What are you doing here?” They questioned as she asked what she could do for them. 

Their face fell, remembering the events. “To understand what happened, you must know what I truly am,” they decided. They couldn’t hide this from Isa, she was too close to things now. “Tommy was killed by a monster,” they began in a quiet tone, not wanting Tommy to hear in case he was awake. “And I have the ability to bring back the dead. I am a spellcaster. A necromancer.” They explained, brows knitting together. “The law of equivalent exchange states that in order to bring back the dead of one, it must be in exchange for another of the same. Melody was a master of mental magic, and so, too, will Tommy as he gets older.”

Alistair paused, hoping they didn’t need to spell out what happened after that, but Isa’s silence spoke volumes. “She begged me to take his place. And Tommy’s her son,” their voice broke as they relived the memories, tears pooling in their eyes. “She was inconsolable, I had to… had to do the unthinkable.” They pressed a hand to their chest where the sigil tethered the two together. “He is alive because of me.” He blinked, then looked toward Isa, over her shoulder. “Melody is dead because of me.” 

__

She didn’t even bother answering the question of why she was there. They should know. Even if Alistair didn’t consider Isa close enough, something she wasn’t sure of no matter their assurances, she still considered them as so much more than her boss. They were her family. If they needed her she would be there. 

Her lungs burned from the gasp that tore through her. Tommy…no, not Tommy. He was too young. There was still so much he hadn’t experienced, it wasn’t fair. Her eyes filled with unshed tears as her free hand came up to cover her mouth, Isa attempting to stop the strangled sound that was threatening to spill from her throat as Alistair started to speak again. They were throwing so much information at her at once that was hard to follow through the grief clouding her mind. They could bring back the dead…equal exchange… mental magic. None of it was making sense to her, not until they told her that Melody had asked to take her son's place. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Melody was that type of person through and through. Of course she wanted to make sure Tommy got to live, Isa was sure that she couldn’t live without him. Her hand gripped theirs tighter with the broken words, her own tears spilling over. Her head shook resolutely, hand falling from her mouth. “No, Alistair. She’s not dead because of you.” Even if they were the one to take her last breath it was Melody who had made that choice. “She’s dead because she asked you to save her son and I don’t think she would have ever forgiven you if you had refused. It’s not your fault. You gave her exactly what she wanted. You let Tommy live.” She knew the words would be little comfort. She knew what Melody had meant to Alistair. But even so, hopefully they would stick and somewhere down the line they wouldn’t continue to blame themself. 

__

Isa was right, Melody would never have forgiven them if they had let Tommy stay dead. Hell, Alistair wouldn’t have forgiven themselves. “He’s too young, I couldn’t…” They clutched their chest where the sigil was, knowing that they had to keep themselves alive for Tommy, and not themselves. “He’s tied to me.” They explained as they brought down the collar of their shirt to expose the intricate symbol that seemed to be tattooed to their skin. “If anything happens to me, then Tommy is gone.” There was a fear in Alistair’s voice, not for themselves, but for their son. “I love him with all my heart, but he doesn’t deserve to be tied to my fate.” 

They took a deep breath as they let go of their shirt collar and covered up the marking. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I was never meant to be the sole carer of a child.” Alistair hissed in a low voice, staring blankly at their hands they couldn’t see. “I’m… I’m not equipped for this, I… I can’t run the shop by myself, I’m blind! I’m not… not Melody.”

They dropped their head into their hands, letting out a tired sigh. “I can’t do this. I can’t do any of this. Not on my own.” They ran rubbed their face with a groan, then shook their head. “So if you’d be willing to help me, maybe in a management position while I run the shop behind the scenes, I don’t know.” They knew they were talking about the logistics of a shop when their partner in crime was just killed, but they didn’t know how to cope by stopping, only to keep going because the thought of taking a break was worse than death. No, they had to barrel through, allow the grief to happen but not consume them completely. 

__

“He deserves a life, and you’re giving him that even if that means he’s-” She paused, looking over the symbol on Alistair’s skin as everything started to finally hit her. This was way more complicated than she could ever imagine but she was still there, still ready to help with whatever they needed. “Even if it means you have to be more careful with your own life. You’re at least giving him a chance.” Isa was amazed they could do even that. She knew magic was powerful, her own curse was indicative of that, but never could she have dreamed that a spellcaster could bring someone back from the dead.

Isa pressed her lips together, curling them inward as she took in their words. Her hand came up to wipe away the flowing tears, for once wishing that she wasn’t so damn emotional all the time. Alistair didn’t need that. Even if they couldn’t see her crying she still needed to be strong for them. “Nobody can be Melody.” The whispered words left her lips before she could think to stop them but they were true. Melody had been a force, one of the most amazing women she had ever encountered. “You don’t have to know everything right now. My mom used to say that no parent knows what they’re doing until they learn and that comes with time. You can’t put that pressure on yourself.”

Her eyes widened with their suggestion to have her step into a management role. Alistair had brought up training her to take on some of Melodie’s responsibilities but she’d never thought that she would have to step up and take on her role altogether. The thought terrified her, it truly did. But Alistair had helped Isa on so many occasions, had been there to talk to her about her troubles, and she cared for them so much that she couldn’t fathom not helping as much as she could. They wouldn’t have to do this alone if she had any say in that matter. She nodded, momentarily forgetting the fact that they couldn’t see her, before clearing her throat. “I can do that. I can do whatever you need me to do, just say the word.”

__

Alistair slowly nodded their head, sucking in a breath. Isa wasn’t running away, wasn’t turning them down. Instead, she was willing to help. And that was rarer for them. Rare to have anyone want to help because of who they were as a person. Not good, loose morals. Nothing more than a necromancer that people looked down on. But after everything, they had people that stood by them. Isa being one of them. And for that, they were grateful. 

“I’ll iron out details when I have a more coherent mind.” They murmured. “Shop’s remaining closed for the rest of the week. I’ve already informed the other employees.” Alistair stared vacantly forward, most of what they were saying and doing was completely on autopilot. “She… I buried her myself.” Alistair frowned, brows pinching together. “Tommy, he’s a wreck, no surprise there. He’s going to be for a while.” 

Alistair bounced their knee restlessly as they spoke, their whole world was unraveling and they couldn’t hold onto anything as they fell. They were in a free fall while everything around them lay destroyed. “Wherever Melody is, I hope she finds peace.” He whispered, voice breaking as they tried to hold themselves together, that crack in the dam widening, threatening to break. 

“Isa, I truly don’t know what to do. About anything.” Alistair buried their scarred face in their hands, then shook their head. “I’m wrapped up in something. Something that could get me killed if I’m not careful.” They frowned, knowing that things could go wrong. “I plan to make sure I come back in case of my death. But things could go wrong. I could be a shell of myself, the spell could backfire. A multitude of things. If something goes wrong, I…” Alistair shook their head, resolve hardening. “I can’t let anything go wrong. I’ll come back, and I’ll be the guardian that Tommy needs. But if the spell goes weird, I’ll let you know. Be prepared for anything.”

__

She could only nod as they spoke, the girl not prepared to take on the responsibility of what Alistair was asking of her but determined to do her best anyway. This was their livelihood after all, and her own as well. Not many places around here would hire her based on her conviction even if she screamed about her innocence until she was blue in the face. But Isa had always been someone who didn’t back down from challenges, rising to the occasion more often then not, and she was sure she would learn what she needed to. Almost sure…there was only like twenty percent of that doubt gnawing in her stomach.

Her eyes snapped up to them as they spoke of burying her, fresh tears falling down her cheeks. How awful that must have been for them. Burying someone so close was difficult enough but doing it themself and alone? “You know you could have called me, right?” It was a gentle reminder, Isa hoping that if there was a next time that they would remember. Burying a body wasn’t ideal, but she would do it for them. There was nothing to say about Tommy though, nothing she could say. He would have to work those feelings out himself with their support. 

“I don’t-” Her words cut off as Alistair continued, Isa now confused. “What did you do?” More gentle words, no judgment in the question full of worry. What were they talking about? Her mind went to Tommy and she stood straighter, that worry ebbing on the brink of anger. How could they connect their life to Tommy if whatever they were doing could get them killed? How could they put themself in that position in the first place? She wanted to ask them all of those questions but she knew that it would only add to Alistair’s panic with this whole situation. They were already so torn up about Melody, she didn’t want to push them further into that hole. She swallowed the words, taking a deep breath before she continued. “How do I help so that it doesn’t go wrong? What can I do?”

__

Alistair shook their head slowly as Isa gave her gentle reminder. “I’m not used to relying on others,” they confessed in a quiet voice. “I… spent my whole life relying on no one but myself.” They shook their head, realizing it was no excuse. “I’m getting used to it, relying on others. Reaching out when I need help.” They stood up after a moment, walking over to the barcart near the kitchen and pulling out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses then walked back to the table. They unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle, felt for the rim of the glass, then poured.

Without even thinking, they drank the small amount they had poured without making a face, dull behind the eyes. “The Good Neighbors are an organization that take hold of anyone with supernatural abilities that cause problems in town,” Alistair began to explain. “I’ve been helping the leader since she created the organization.” Alistair frowned, shaking their head. “I’m not a good man, Isa.” They finally said after pouring another glass. 

“In order to heal people, I’m required to injure someone else. You get stabbed through the heart, I stab someone else through the heart to save your life. People have been coming to me for years. Melody was my right hand.” Alistair let the silence after their admission swallow them whole. Isa had every right to think them a monster, they were a monster. “I’m the one that should be locked away, not the people in cages.” They downed the second glass. 

“I did it because these people we take in, they’ve done horrible things. I told myself, they’re monsters. They’ve killed people. They’ve tortured people. Why would they be missed? I’m helping people that haven’t done bad things, I’m helping people that deserve to be saved.” Alistair shook their head. “I’m the villain of this story. You have every right to run away.”

__

“You can…you can rely on me.” She was having doubts though, especially with their next confession. Taking hold of supernatural creatures? What did that mean? What would they do to her if they knew what she was? Would they still want anything to do with her or would they take action against her like they seemed to be doing with others? Suddenly, Isa was nervous. She’d wanted to talk to Alistair about her curse, see if they knew who could have possibly done this to her, but now it didn’t seem like such a good idea. Especially since she wasn’t sure what they were actually doing with these people.

She had always believed that Alistair was a good person. The way they had taken her under their wing at work, let her stay even knowing about her past, and then welcomed her back with open arms had always steered her beliefs toward them being understanding and caring and someone she could look up to. But now they were talking about people in cages and they’d taken the life of someone they loved and linked them together knowing that they weren’t in the greatest position to do so. 

But they had locked up people who were doing horrible things to others. They’d linked their life to Tommy’s to bring him back by Melody’s request. Could that be considered bad?  She hated the thought of hurting anyone but everything seemed to be for good reasons, right? The blacks were bleeding into the whites of her thoughts and she was so confused. Her head was spinning but she wanted so badly to keep making excuses for them, to continue believing they were good. So, Isa took another breath and did just that.

“You say you’re the villain…” The lamia took a few steps toward them, nerves still churning her stomach. “But you’re only taking care of people who are hurting others, right? Not the ones who are doing what they can to make sure they aren’t bringing danger to anyone?” Isa reached out, hesitant, and touched their hand. “I don’t think that makes you a villain.” She didn’t want to believe that made them a villain. “I think you’re doing bad things for the greater good. I don’t fully understand it all but from what you’ve said…”

__

“That’s what I’ve continuously told myself,” Alistair responded before biting at their lower lip. Then, Isa reached out and touched their hand, and for once, Alistair didn’t recoil at another’s touch. They let it happen, they let someone in. Someone that wasn’t Melody, someone that wasn’t Mikael. “If you don’t see me the villain, perhaps it’s not me that has visual impairment.” Alistair remarked with a frown. 

Still, she was trying her best to see the good in them when they had long abandoned all hope. Even Mikael had abandoned hope on the matter. “I’m trying to be better.” They murmured. “But necromancy, it’s a cruel magic. I don’t hex and curse, but I raise the dead. I have the power to bend undead to my will.” They shook their head, then sighed, pulling their hand away from Isa’s grasp gently. 

“To stand by me is to accept this. If you can handle it, then I appreciate you and your ability to do so. If not, I won’t hold it against you. You have every right to walk away from this situation.” Something fell over from the side of the room, and Alistair knew who it was in an instant. “Don’t go,” the small voice of Tommy called out from the guest room, head poking out from behind the door. “I like Isa. And Al, you’re not a bad person. Mom always said you beat yourself down. Mom’s right. And if you loved Mom like you said you did, then you’ll… you’ll listen to her. You’ll be strong for me. For us. For Isa. For the shop. For Brutus.” 

Alistair blinked, taken aback by the twelve-year-old’s words. “Wise beyond your years, Thomas.” Alistair replied with a gentle smile. “Come out here, it’s alright.” He spoke, voice soft and calm, extending an arm out so that Tommy could tuck himself underneath it, hugging Alistair’s side.

__

Maybe she was the blind one. Intentionally turning the other cheek just because she wanted to hold onto anyone who seemed to care made her just as bad, didn’t it? Compliance equaled guilt, she’s always thought so, and yet she was willing to do just that. Perhaps it was because Alistair had given her that parental figure she’d lost years ago, even if in the smallest of ways. They’d never truly let her in but they’d done just enough to keep Isa loyal, to make her look up to them. Deep down, she knew that. She knew it was why she was hesitating to leave them and everything they were doing behind.

Tommy’s voice brought her out of her thoughts, her eyes darting to him and instantly watering once again. It was so good to see him alive, so good to feel some of the heartache from that night easing at just the sight of him. His words only cemented in her mind that sticking by Alistair was the right decision. If Melody thought so…well, who was she to contradict that?  Isa watched Tommy go to Alistair’s side, her own smile pulling at her lips though not reaching her eyes. “I think you and your mom are right. They do beat themselves down.” She nodded, looking up to Alistair’s face as her decision was made. “I’m not going anywhere. Looks like you’re stuck with me.” She played it off, a nonchalant teasing response to a question she knew both of them held, but the weight of that decision was starting to build on her shoulders. She told herself it was because Alistair was helping. She told herself she was sticking around for Tommy. But really, the decision was purely selfish. She loved the little family that the store had created and she would be damned if she lost yet another one.

[v3nusxsky]

helloh, i love ur fanfic so much, huh i’m in a really sad mood lately and larissa is my comf character, can i ask some larissa x r fluff of just larissa being cute while comforting reader (reader just lost one of the most important person in their life and they are really sad and cries a lot recently / the person they’ve lost is not dead!), u can choose if larissa and reader are in a relation or nop

it’s oki if u don’t want to write it

:’ have a lovely trip! ily~

Hey lovely, I’m sorry you’ve been feeling sad recently but I’m glad that you are finding comfort in my fics.

Gone. Just like that.

*Authors note~ I'm in the mood for some angst so here we go*

Trigger warnings~ abandonment issues coming out

Prompt~ see ask^^

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Coming out is single handedly the hardest thing you would ever have to do. You knew that it would be hard, that most people probably wouldn't accept who and what you were. The feeling of fear is the soul reason why it has taken you so long to finally admit the truth. Your parents were absolutely disgusted by you, they told you that. And if you were honest you were expecting that reaction from them, that's why you told them at parents weekend. You were safe at Nevermore, the worst they could do is leave.

But what you weren't expecting was for your twin sister Melissa to react in such a manner. She told you just how disappointed and disgusted she was to be your sister. That really hurt. She was literally the other half of you and now she was rejecting you too. Your parents, sure you'd expected it but your Isa? No you never in your wildest dreams imagined she'd react like this. So when she left with your parents your heart shattered. The tears streaming down your face as you replayed her words over and over again.

"It's disgusting, unnatural, you aren't any sister of mine let alone my twin. I want nothing to do with you ever again and I hope you burn in hell for your sins"  the venom in her words really cutting you deep every time you went over her words. How could she say such hateful things? You were her other half quite literally, identical twins. Yet here she was abandoning you too. As of today you had no family and that fact made you want to disappear. Maybe then everyone would be happier.

For days you locked yourself in your dorm room, crying out all the pain you felt. It was an uncontrollable pain one that felt like it would never go away. Your worst fear had come true. Being alone. Truly you were alone now, no family, not any friends and hell you had no support system. That is why you had gotten away with hiding for so long. After all did anyone actually care to check on you? No. They didn't, which is why you had lost everyone, because you deserved to be alone.

You had no idea just how worried the principal of Nevermore is about you. The poor women was going mad with worry. She had began checking all of your usual hang out spots, the food hall and your attendance records. None of which, gave her any information. Which is why after a few days and a few reports of hearing sobs coming from your dorm, she made her way to check.

Wanting to respect your privacy, yet not quite being able to make herself leave without seeing you, she knocked on your dorm. When there was no sign of any movement from inside the room, she reached into her pockets and unlocked the door. The sight that met her was absolutely heartbreaking.

You lay curled up in bed, all photo frames had been smashed, the room trashed and you curled up into the fetal position sobbing. Your shoulder were shaking violently yet the sound had long since stopped coming. This was so out of character for you and she had to help somehow. She made her way to sit on the edge of your bed, calling for you hoping to break through your state.

You shook and fought to wipe your falling tears, "p-pr-inciple- w-eems?"you whispered brokenly, your voice hoarse from all the crying. When you peaked out from your blankets she saw just how red raw your eyes were. How long had you been in this state?  "Oh my darling, I'm here can you tell me what's upsetting you little one?" Her tone was light and motherly and all you could do is throw yourself into her body. Instantly, she wrapped her arms around you and started to rock you gently.

You managed to stutter out an incoherent explanation of what had happened. Surprisingly, she  understood everything you said and responded by stroking your back and whispering words of reassurance and comfort. Reminding you that although the situation sucks, and it was really unfair your family couldn't see just how amazing you were.

She shared her stories of her own coming out and how that had been similar to your experience, the point to make you feel less alone and remind you that it's okay for you to be who you are and not feel guilty. There was nothing wrong with you, we love who we love and that's okay. For the first time in days, you finally felt at peace, snuggled into the older women's arms. Her calming actions and words never ceased. You told her stories of Isa and how much you loved your twin sister, how much it hurt you that she had left you too. She listened eagerly and reassured you that maybe Isa was struggling with her own issues, after all you had escaped to Nevermore while Isa hadn't. It was rare for one twin to be an outcast while another was a Normie which is why you often felt like an outsider in your own family.

Larissa made sure to remind you she was always here for you and Nevermore will always be your home. You don't have to hide here, be who you are freely and remember her door is always open to you. Day or night, if you need her she wanted you to come and find her. You nodded in response to her kind words and snuggled further into her.

Word count ~ 1056