#lowkey rising from my grave

[luminous-letters]

YOOOOOOO 🥺

i can't express how much i'm grateful for all your support since the beginning. to celebrate, i'll be having a blog event!! 👁️

send me a character and a scenario, or anything you'd like to see, and i'll do it 😌. but i gotta keep the character limit to only one (1) since school's just started 😭

i'll be posting more details about it soon, so stay tuned.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Capture the Flag

luke castellan x reader

pt 2

A/N: now that i'm writing for other fandoms, feel free to let me know if you only want to be on a hotd taglist. But now, please enjoy the strongest swordsman in camp halfblood

TW: MAJOR SMUT, slight bondage, rough smut, violence, lowkey dark(ish)!luke

word count: 1,699 words

You want Luke Castellan’s head speared on your sword.

It’s like you spend every minute preparing for capture the flag because of him. He spends every last minute of each game cutting down your teammates and stealing your flag, so now it’s time to change the tactic. You ditch your father’s usual battle advice of going for the kill and hope that defence is the best offence for once. You also pray that he will guide your sword anyhow. So there you stand, guarding your flag with two of your most vicious teammates. You dodge the blue team’s first attack that was supposed to draw you off. You may have a short temper but you aren’t stupid. And you’re more than pleased to see the look of surprise on Luke’s face as he approaches.

“Fucking Ares kids.” He grumbles, sword drawn.

“Were you not expecting me, Castellan?” You ask with a vengeful smirk.

He goes right for you. You’re the biggest threat there but he likes to think you’re not even close to his skill level. You would believe that the man plans to cut you down and then your teammates. He always aims for the glory of it all.

“How’s your team gonna get our flag if you’re here?” He asks as he makes the first swing. It’s much better to start off on offence and he’s the one coming at you.

“Who cares. When you’re done, so is your team.” You block him, hating to be on defence but he’s too quick.

“Gods, you didn’t plan ahead of that? There really isn’t anything in that pretty little head of yours, is there? Other than rage of course.”

  You’re a hothead. He knows it. You know it and it doesn’t take much to rile you up. When you’re riled up, you get sloppy. At this point, you don’t care if he guts you, you go for the little fucker’s ankles. You’re actually surprised when he stumbles from blocking your attack. It’s a stupid mistake, especially for him. Though, you aren’t going to let a chance like this slip by. You keep pushing him back, trying to leave him no chance to think in between swings. He trips over a log behind him, the sword falling from his hand. He has no chance now, not on the ground and you won’t be letting him get up.

“Who’s the idiot now?” 

He looks at you as you approach slowly, taunting him. He then grabs his sword and makes a break for it. You’re too shocked to even keep him down.

What the fuck.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Luke Castellan run from a fight. Not in your 4 years at camp. So you chase after him.

He’s fast, faster than you but you push yourself. He trails away… and away. Then you lose him. 

“Godsdamnit!” You scream into the woods as you jog around where you last saw him. 

You know you can’t stray for long if you’re not fighting Luke so you turn to make your way back to the flag. That’s when he jumps out at you with his sword swinging. You barely have time to block and it puts you off your balance. He swings at you again and again. You fall as you continue to block the merciless strikes. You’re practically holding your sword in the air and hoping for the best. The best doesn’t come as the weapon flies from your hand. He descends on you, straddling your waist as he holds the blade to your throat. He’s smirking.

“You don’t try nearly hard enough.” He says to you. “I know you’re not very clever but hades, my teammates probably already have the flag over the barrier.” 

That’s when you realize how easily you were deceived. Luke didn’t run from you because you bested him; he ran to draw you off. It was a pathetically simple plan and it worked. The heat rises to your cheeks from humiliation. He grabs your two hands and pins them above your head, his grip gentle but also firm.

“I’ll put you in your grave.” You spit out at him.

“Will you now? While I have you essentially restrained?” He’s clearly amused.

You struggle beneath him with all your force but all you manage to do is roll your hips against him, earning a groan from the man. You feel it too, the burning ache between your thighs. You want him. Worse yet, he wants you.

“Let me up.” 

“No. I think you quite like how I have you pinned to the ground.” He smirks.

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re wet.”

He slips a knee between your thighs and rubs it against your clothed pussy. It takes everything in you not to whimper.

“S-Stop.” You stutter out.

“Make me.” He murmurs, continuing to make you grind down on his knee as he leans down and forces you into a hot kiss. You hate how you kiss back, so hungry for him. Your mind is clouded with lust for a moment before you realize the advantage he is giving you. You never technically conceded.

As swiftly as you can, you wrap your free leg around his waist and use your whole strength to throw him off you, startling him enough to free your hands.

“You bitch.” He groans as you jab him in the stomach to try and give yourself enough time to grab your sword but it doesn’t work. He grabs you by the ankle and yanks hard. You slam to the ground right on your stomach. He moves to restrain you by sitting on your thighs so you can’t move your legs and holds your hands behind your back. You clearly didn’t consider how inevitably stronger he is than you.

“Shit.” You whine. His hold isn’t nearly as gentle this time.

“That was a cheap fucking shot.” He says cruelly. He’s pissed now.

“Fuck you. Castellan!” Gods it goes straight to his dick when you call him by his last name. He grips your hair with his free hand and pulls back hard so you have to look at him. You whine again at the sharp pain.

“You just can’t play fair, can you, princess? Maybe I won’t either then.”

 He drops your head and you hear him rustling with something. You realize it’s his belt when you feel the leather against your wrists. He’s binding you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Your voice is full of rage but to him, you just sound petulant. 

 “What you need.” Is his simple answer.

He shifts down so he sits, or rather kneels, with your legs between his. He’s amused by your renewed writhing as an attempt to escape. It is pitiful really. Oh well, he’ll have you writhing for a different reason soon enough.

His fingertips glide across your waist, to your hips and then to your thighs, causing your back to arch upwards slightly, your stomach dipping. He brings his lips down to your ear, his voice is deep and lustful as he says, “Your body seems to know what it wants.”

“I’ll kill you.” You promise.

“Oh, i’m sure you will. But right now, you fucking belong to me.” He yanks on your hair again so you have to look at him and your eyes water from the pain. “I think you like me hurting you.” His other hand slips between your thighs to rub your clit and you let out a strangled moan. “For a girl who is so controlling, it’s interesting how badly you enjoy me manhandling you.”

He yanks your pants down and slips your helmet under your hips so your ass stays high in the air with your chest to the ground.

“This is fucked up.” You say.

“You love it. Your panties are soaked.” And he’s completely right. You’ve never been so turned on before but not a lot of men are as strong and good-looking as Luke Castellan.

He pulls your panties down and groans at the sight of your dripping pussy. He begins to palm himself through his pants and unzips them. “You have about three seconds to tell me if you don’t actually want this.”

You are silent and he chuckles. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

Before you can even prepare yourself or form a thought, his fat cock is shoved inside of you, splitting you open.

“Ah, Luke!” You moan at the pain and pleasure.

“Gods, this is the tightest little pussy i’ve had.” He begins to fuck in and out of you relentlessly, giving you no time to adjust. “Yeah, you’re good for me now, baby. Such a good little cocksleeve.” He punctuates his last words with hard thrusts, the head of his cock bullying into you each time.

All you can do is repeat his name like a mantra as you get pounded on the forest floor by the strongest swordsman in camp. It’s even worse as he begins to rub your clit again, sending you so close to the edge.

“Never gonna have enough of you after this.” Luke murmurs as he feels you squeezing around him. “My good girl.” 

That’s what sends you tumbling over the edge, bringing Luke with you as you do. He never could’ve kept going, not with the way your walls were squeezing around him. He pulls out almost instantly so he can watch his cum spill out of you. He doesn’t wipe it. He just pulls your panties back on and fixes the both of you up. You’re thoroughly spent, he can tell by the way you pant as he releases your wrists.

“You okay?” He asks as he helps you sit up. He grabs your hands so he can kiss the marks on your wrists. After all you’ve done, that’s the act that makes you blush furiously. 

“Um, yeah.” You breathe out.

“I’ll be nicer next time, I promise. Somebody just had to put you in your place first.” He grins wolfishly.

“Next time?” 

That’s when you hear the horn. The blue team has won again.

He pecks a kiss to your cheek. “Time to claim my kleos.” He says cockily before jogging off to meet his team.

taglist (comment to be added):General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi

[knavesflames]

“Promise”

Just a little thing about Clervie and Arlecchino that lowkey apart my heart thinking about it. Again, very sorry if this is not good!! Am new to writing things down other than in my notes sooo bear with me as I get better pls 😩

Contents: angst, the tiniest mention of self harm. It isn’t graphic, it is mentioned in passing only once, and very vaguely, but thought I’d put a TW anyway🥰

Word count: 2453

Writing under the cut!!:D

At age 9,

Peruere sits in the garden, holding the small box. The lid is open as she places a small lumidouce bell next to the spider. The lumidouce bell will die and wilt underground, but at least the spider won’t be lonely, she thinks.

“Peruere!”

The loud childish voices rings out in the garden once again. A sigh leaves Peruere’s lips. She isn’t in the mood to talk to the person she secretly calls sunshine. Looking down at the splayed out body of her pet spider, her lip quivers. Once, twice, before a tear falls onto the wood of the makeshift coffin. The dread rising in her as she sees her hands changing doesn’t go unnoticed, but she pushes it down. ‘What is that? Why am I changing?’

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sunshine once again, the voice now muffled with chewing.

“I brought cake. Want some?”

Peruere’s now charcoal hands take the cake, pausing as the sunshine (or Clervie, but Peruere prefers sunshine) takes it from her hands and places it on a leaf in front of the small grave.

“You must know spiders don’t eat cake.”

“Yeah, I know! They can’t eat cake here, but in spider world they can.”

Her voice is almost irritating to Peruere, who is only trying to be angsty and sad. But how can she be sad when the sunshine is right there?

“Clervie, I want to sit in silence.”

Clervie can’t help her eyebrows furrowing before she sits down with a small thud.

“I’ll sit with you, then.”

Peruere sighs as her eyes, eyes that are unlike any others in the house of the hearth, glance towards the sunshine. She doesn’t persist. Secretly, she’s glad for the company. Clervie smiles back as she plays with the small patch of lumidouce bells.

“I don’t care that you’re different. I think you’re cool.”

Her eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowing before she responds.

“Why? I’m completely different from you.”

“I like that. Even our teddies are different. I think everyone being the same is boring. They won’t be the king because they are all the same. You will be king one day, Peruere. Can I sit with you when you are?”

Peruere feels just a small amount of dread at those words. The words that remind her that one day, she indeed, will have to do what Mother says and fight to be king. Something is off about Mother, she thinks. She is too kind, too caring. She doesn’t like it. Not just because she doesn’t deserve it (that’s what she tells herself in the mirror before she sleeps), but because Clervie, the sunshine, is falling for it. In that moment, she makes a silent vow to protect the sunshine always, even if it is cloudy.

“We can be king together.”

“Do you promise? I don’t want to be left behind.”

“I promise.”

At age 11,

Peruere and Clervie, the sunshine and the moon, sit in a deserted part of the house of the hearth. Their favourite part is the room with the wide window, where they sit and stare at the sky, talking about their dreams. Or rather, Clervie talks, Peruere listens. Though this time, the roles seem to be reversed. Next to them, a tray of medical instruments. Scissors, bandages, gauze, disinfectant. Peruere sits, her blackened, gentle but clumsy hands tying a bow on one of the bandages. The look on Clervie, I mean, the sunshine’s, face was much brighter than ten minutes ago. This is the first of many times, unbeknownst to them. Peruere speaks softly.

“What happened? Your wrists looked like they got hurt.”

“Nothing, Peruere.”

Alarm bells ring in Peruere’s head. Clervie was never this closed off, not with her.

“Did you do this to yourself? Like Céline? She got upset at herself so she hurt herself. I don’t like that, tell me you didn’t do that. It’s dangerous, Clervie.”

Her eyes, shining black, filled with worry. Her hand grabs the sunshine’s, giving it a little squeeze, encouraging her to talk.

“No, that isn’t it. I argued. With Mother. I don’t want to fight everyone to be king. I want to be friends with everyone, I want to eat bulle fruit with everyone. Why do we have to fight?”

“I do not like it either. I want to run away sometimes. Do Mothers always argue with their daughters?”

“I don’t know.”

Clervie’s hands, still trembling from the adrenaline, push open the window. They stare at the stars for a while, before her voice rings out once more, soft, quiet, always optimistic.

“I heard that in Snezhnaya, coloured lights dance in the sky at night. When we grow up, shall we go see it together?”

Peruere wonders if they’ll ever go and see it, or if it’s just another empty promise. Just like how Mother promised her spider wouldn’t die, how the fish she caught wouldn’t be eaten.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

At age 13,

The sun shines. Both the actual sun, and Clervie, Peruere thinks. Her fingers are splayed out on the picnic blanket, the wet paint on her nails shining in the light when her fingers twitch. Painted black, like her skin on her arms, and red, the colour of the lipstick they stole from Mother a few weeks ago, the colour of Clervie’s hair. She makes a noise of satisfaction, secretly looking at Clervie through her fingers. It looks like she’s looking through prison bars, she thinks. But Clervie is the sun. If anyone should be in prison, it’s her, not Clervie. She doesn’t like the way she thinks about Mother, but Mother harms the sunshine. Her sunshine. Her eyes widen, just slightly as she realises that maybe feeling so warm and fuzzy inside whenever she sees Clervie isn’t exactly a usual way to think of people. She doesn’t feel that for anyone else. She stares a bit longer. How the red of Clervie’s hair reminds her of the burning sun. Of the fire in the lounge of the house of the hearth. Fire is good, she thinks. She could protect her sunshine with fire. In a split decision, she takes the red nail polish in one hand, a strand of her white hair in the other. Snow and blood. Blood on snow. Those colours seem to be awfully present in her life as of late, and her heart begins to twist as she thinks of what it means for her future. Before she can think any harder, Clervie’s giggle cuts through her thoughts.

“What are you doing, silly?”

Red paints on the snow coloured hair.

“I’m like you now. I have red hair. That way, we will stay friends forever.”

“I like you too much to leave you, silly. It looks good with your hair. The red. You should paint it every day, and that way, you can—“

Words are cut off by clumsy lips meeting clumsy lips. Only for a second, a second that feels forever. Peruere’s cheeks flush the colour of the painted strand as she mumbles apologetic words.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I-“

“It’s okay. I liked it. I want to do it more. You should still keep the red strand. Promise you will?”

“Yes, I promise.”

At age 16,

Mother has been increasingly cruel, to both her and Clervie. Especially to Clervie. How could someone be so evil to someone so kind is something Peruere cannot fathom. She despises seeing Clervie cry, to hear her quiet sobs at night. Her eyes are always bright, always happy. If not for her own sake, for Peruere’s. But the sun has been hiding lately, hiding behind clouds and avoiding words. The red strand of Peruere’s hair, once painted every day with nail polish to match Clervie’s, now permanently dyed, retouched every eight weeks, hidden under most of her hair to avoid Mother’s wrath. And now? They stand in the field, Clervie, facing Peruere with resigned eyes.

“You know it’s the only way. Mother will kill us both if you are not king. Have you not noticed the children disappearing?”

“I have. It does not mean your life has to end. You cannot take your life—“

“No. That will not satisfy Mother, and you know that. You must do it.”

Hate, fear, dread and sadness twist Peruere’s gut so hard she feels as if she will throw up. She fight the urge to retch at the very suggestion that she dulls the sunshine she has grown to adore so.

“I cannot. I will not. You cannot ask me to do something like that.”

“You must.”

She hates that Clervie is right. She hates that Mother is so twisted and sick that this is the only choice. She begs anyway, something she told herself she would never do.

“Please. We were supposed to go to Snezhnaya together. To see the coloured lights in the sky. There is no ‘we’ without you.”

A chuckle is heard, the familiar chuckle that lights up Peruere’s heart, the chuckle that feels like it’ll reverse her curse entirely. She can’t deny the sadness she hears in it though, especially not when she sees a tear slip down Clervie’s face. The sight brings tears to her own eyes and she looks away, unable to stare at her any longer. The longer she stares, the harder it will be. She knows this, but her eyes move back to her anyway.

“You will look at the coloured lights, and you can trust I will be there in them.”

“No! This is not fair.”

“You know I’m right, Peruere.”

“And I hate that you are. You’re always damn right. Stop that.”

Another chuckle is heard behind tears.

“I plan to.”

“Don’t joke.”

“I’m sorry. And I’m sorry you have to do this.”

Peruere feels like her breath is being sucked out of her, like she can’t inhale enough and yet, exhaling is impossible. Her brain is telling her she has to. She has to give the sunshine a merciful end, lest Mother give her a far worse fate. But her heart is screaming. Tears drip down her face, her body wracked with silent cries. Her hand goes to the hilt of the dagger she always carries.

“But I love you. You are my sunshine.”

“I love you, too. And so I will always be here when the sun is shining. I am not afraid.”

“I am.”

Peruere is not one to be scared. She never has. But now, her hands are clammy, she feels a sweat gathering. She feels her heart thumping in a completely different way than when they share small kisses and giggles. She feels like she’s killing herself instead of her love. The dagger is unsheathed now, the blade glinting with every tremble of her hand. Oh, God, there it is again. That smile, the one that melts Peruere every time. Images flash in her mind of every time she bandages Clervie after an argument with Mother. Images of what could happen should Mother take Clervie’s life into her own hands, and before she can think twice, the dagger has pierced her skin. Clervie’s clothes are staining with blood as red as her hair.

“No. No, no— please. Clervie, you can’t. Why did you tell me to do this?”

Red ‘X’ irises stare into blue ones. A beautiful bluey green, one that Peruere has always admired. Has always adored looking into. Not now. Not while she watches the life drain from her eyes. Watching the sun burn.

“You will make a great king.”

“Stop that.”

Anger boils inside Peruere, anger like she has never felt before. She swears she will kill anyone who threatens to hurt the ones she cares about. She won’t let this happen again.

“I’m sorry. Thank you.”

Clervie’s soft words fill her ears for the final time before her body drops to the floor with a thunk. Peruere stares down at her, anger filling her so greatly, she becomes blank. She decides she will never feel again. She will never love again. The sun was a star, but the sun has burned and died.

“Do you promise you will be with me in Snezhnaya? Promise?”

“..Clervie?”

She is met with only silence, and the sound of the lumidouce bells waving in the wind.

At age 28,

Arlecchino walks through the halls of the House of the Hearth, watching stoically as the children play, as they watch the two children perform their magic show. She calls out, her voice strict, unfeeling.

“Meet in the dining hall when you are finished. Dinner is served shortly.”

Met with a chorus of “Yes Father”, she nods, satisfied, before turning away. Her heels click against the tiled floor as she walks through the halls, her hair flowing in her ponytail behind her. She takes the long route, avoiding the west wing of bedrooms, something she has avoided for many years. Her footfalls come to a stop as the sun hits her as it shines through the window. She feels a tug at her heart, and she clenches her fists tightly before sighing, turning quickly on her heel. She walks with purpose, walking past the many bedrooms until she slows, coming to a stop in front of the bedroom door she has kept locked. The ring of keys in her pocket makes a sound as she pulls them out, and she listens to the way they jingle as she unlocks the door and slips inside. She blinks back heartache as she stares around at the room. It has been well preserved, it looks like it’s still very much lived in by a sixteen year old girl. She goes about, dusting the surfaces in silence, cleaning up any signs that it hasn’t been touched in such a long time. She opens the window, watering the lumidouce bells that sit on the windowsill outside. She stops by the bed, where two teddies sit— one pink with a white ribbon, one black and white with red ‘X’s for eyes. Her hand, now black with darker patterns all over from how far the curse has advanced, softly pets the pink one, swallowing down a shaky breath. Her nails, painted red and black, like they always have been, gives a gentle scratch under the chin.

“Good morning, Clervie. The children are doing well today.”

Her hand slides into her pocket, pulling out a small, gift wrapped box, placing it by the teddy.

“Happy birthday. I told you I would not forget. The sun is shining brightly, and the colours in the sky at night have been vivid lately. You would have found them beautiful, I am sure. I would have loved to look at you as you stared at them in wonder.”

The birthday gift joins another 11 on the bed, each one in different phases of aging. She stands again, smoothing down the bedsheets before placing a small kiss on the pink teddy.

“See you next year, Clervie. I promise.”

[onlyseokmins]

$$60 billion (part 2) • 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: 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, guns, injuries, medical tingz, destruction, mentions of knives, violence, unsettling space western things, slight body horror and hints at altered dna, weird religious cults, mentions of eating/food, alcohol, threats, bets among friends, tame-ish alien/monster/plant sex (????? listen it'll make sense - think of him like howl's bird form on steroids idk), mating, possessiveness!, marking, bruising, jealousy, smelling/scent kink???, wet messy sex uwu, wing kink (??? listen i was gonna explore it more but decided not to ok??), BITING (bc it's me), mechanical/robotic fingering???, gagging, bulge kink, oral sex (explicit male receiving and brief fem. receiving), seokmin's dick is like SLOPPY TOPPY LORGE w/ a mind of it's own, lowkey forgot how to write smut sorry </3 WC: 13.2k of 32.7k | Part 1 | 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 hope everyone enjoys the conclusion and please check out the other writers in this amazing collab ❤️PS, I know nothing abt chess lmaooooo but let me know your thoughts and feel free to ask any questions regarding this au's intricacies!! This part might get a little confusing because of a flashback!! (starts right after the italicized paragraph and ends with "...in this moment...")

The silence is palpable.

"Does it hurt more to get stabbed in the back or shot?"

Only the continual rustling sound answers your philosophical question. Not that you actually care because you weren't really expecting a reply.

So, you keep talking.

"I think it would be more painful to get stabbed… but it would take longer to heal from a gunshot wound."

There's a brief pause in the motions behind you. But the quiet resumes, though the practiced skill of a needle threading through your skin quickens. While the local anesthetics Tonim's doctor supplied is doing its job for the most part, you swear you can still feel the tug of flesh being sewn together.

Or maybe you're just thinking too hard.

"Look. I'm… I'm sorry."

If tension could personify itself right at this moment, it would do so with ease, given how heavy its presence currently sits in the room. A low voice finally speaks up, gravely and roughened after such a long period of silence and the hairs on your neck rise.

"Are you really?"

"… Yes."

A heavy sigh — one burdened with all the worries of the world — follows. You wince and then tremble, wishing you could turn around. It's easy to guess what he's thinking but god, do you wish you could see his face to confirm. The fear of the unknown paralyzes you.

"I seriously am."

"Doubtful. I know you only asked me that question to subtly say you'll be okay and heal just fine but it's not that simple."

The callousness in his tone and the sharp way he says your first name makes you want to shrink down, shrivel up, and quite frankly die on the spot. Gritting your teeth, you succumb to the apparent silent treatment until the snip of scissors signifies your surgeon has finished treating you.

You think twice about your options upon hearing the click-clack of medical supplies being put back into the first aid kit. Then you think, "fuck it!", and use your good arm to keep the fabric of a spare t-shirt pressed against your chest and shift so you can face the man who just rather aggressively threw a handful of unused alcohol prep pads back into their designated slot.

"I'm super duper, utterly, and truly apologetic, Seok."

The gunslinger heaves another grand exhale of irritation. He doesn't even so much as glance at you, frowning sourly down at the roll of gauze in his hands instead. The temptation to reach out and touch him — soothe him — is strong but you decide against that (for various reasons) and resort to huffily pouting instead. Amazingly it seems to work, because he notices right away and folds way too easily without much of your sway, finally facing you with a reluctant but serious expression.

"Then what did you learn?"

Your gaze lowers, eyelashes fluttering while you drown in your feelings of shame and wrack your brain. The urge to toy with the silver chain around your neck is strong though you resist the tick and hesitantly answer instead.

"Um, that I need to fortify my mental block better?"

"Try again."

"Uh…"

"How about the way you're not supposed to play the hero?"

The tin of the trauma kit rattles as Seokmin slams his left hand down on the bed, leaning menacingly toward you. Though narrowed, his eyes seem to glow. You can't help but whimper at the intense ire dancing in those irises paired with his sharp tone. Like the desert's suns, it simmers and radiates off of him with rays of heat that you can easily feel given how close he is.

"I'm, I'm sorry!"

"No, you're not," he states sharply though the rigidness in his body relaxes after your squeak of another apology. "You almost died!"

You'd defiantly cross your arms if you could. "Between the two of us, you were most at risk of dying."

"Was not! And we both know my chances of injury are much, much lower than yours."

"You can't lecture me and flex your stupid powers this time! It's different 'cause Jihooon was fuckin' with my mind."

The harsh bitterness is more so directed at yourself and the damned Crimsonnail than Seokmin. But as usual, you vent all your frustrated emotions out on him, especially whenever he brings up the fragility of your mortality. You both stare stubbornly into each other's eyes, thinking back to what happened and what could've happened.

Lina's protected. The Tonim residents were all immobilized. Seungcheol, Seungkwan, and Mingyu are in good spirits. You are safe.

A burst of air rushes into Seokmin's lungs, relief filling him as he idly scans your figure for injuries. Casually reloading his revolver just in case, he beams as you approach. The mirrored expression of victory on your face accompanied by a hand reaching out causes his whole body to shudder in pleasure. There's nothing he'd like more than to intertwine his fingers with yours.

Instead, he settles for returning your enthusiastic fist bump. Nudging his shoulder against yours, Seokmin chirps out, "Good job, partner!"

"Partner?"

"Yeah, partners."

You shake your head like you can't believe him, amusement tilting up the corners of your lips. He wants to tell you everything, all of it. But his ears catch the faint click of a contraption behind him and he looks over his shoulder just in time to see Jihoon's crossbow assemble.

Joshua looks mightily displeased but makes no effort to put a stop to the Crimsonnail's actions. Seokmin can only thank his lucky stars that Soonyoung remains in a catatonic state. Dealing with a ginormous worm so soon after being in its stomach a couple days ago was not appealing in the slightest.

The fingers of his prosthesis splay out, cybernetic arm lowered and extended outwards in front of you as you turn around as well. He knows you hate unwarranted protection but you'll have to forgive his instincts this time. Nevertheless, he trusts you. And as Jihoon opens fire, Seokmin leaps into action, expecting you to do the same — only to do a double-take when you don't move despite a flurry of nails breaching the air.

Your eyes remain unfocused. Glazed over and cloudy, posture tense but still. He sneaks observatory looks your way from afar while firing Geranium. Round after round, breaking nail after nail to prevent any harm befalling you. A maniacal laughter rings out and Seokmin freezes, putting two and two together.

Then he snarls.

Jihoon must've sicced his killing intent — a nasty ability to project and create illusions of destruction in someone and break their will — on you. Cursing, he starts making his way closer to you, inwardly reaching out to you and begging that you'll break free of the blonde-haired man's clutch on your psyche.

You're obviously more than capable. He knows this. But your movements are sluggish, slowly releasing Sirocco from your grasp. The empty pistol lands on the sand with a muffled thud and Seokmin's pretty sure his heart mimics it. A look of terror and horror spreads across your facial features, surely subject to something awful within the confines of your own mind.

And while you're experiencing visions of things you fear coming true, he's stuck in the vivid reality where they do.

You spin around with a wild look in your eyes — full of rage and anguish. He stumbles back as you teeter one foot at a time toward him and in the distraction, a nail pierces right below your shoulder blade.

Someone wails behind him.

You scream.

Seokmin rushes forward. But he's tackled suddenly to the ground and ends up flat on his back. Completely winded and left with his vision smarting, blinking in confusion at the blurry double halos that definitely shouldn't be around the duo of suns in the sky.

Then your face comes into focus. And god, forget the suns — in all your glory and in all your fierceness, you shine brighter than them all combined — hallucinations be damned.

It takes a bit of wrangling around, given how you try to wrestle and pin the man down. The clunky gun you're waving around goes off several times, harmlessly lodging bullet holes into the sand cushioning around Seokmin's head.

"Stop it, you're gonna hurt yourself!"

Moving and lashing out like a wild animal before it's fully sedated, his words don't come through the hellish haze Jihoon's trapped you in. You pull the trigger with no regard for the injury to your shooting arm.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

He dutifully counts each round fired, multitasking between that and the effort it takes to contain your struggling movements. Once again, thanks to the overpowered strength of his prosthetic, the man's finally able to sit up with you secured in his arms to cease any further movement.

"Lovely, lovely mayfly," he murmurs. The stable cybernetic hand gently feels around the impaled shoulder while a trembling thumb rubs your abnormally chilled cheek. "C'mon and snap out of it, pretty."

Not a spot of recognition in your blank glare. His eyebrows furrow as cold metal presses in between them. Seungcheol is cursing, Mingyu and Seungkwan are shouting loudly. Jihoon gloats.

But none of that matters. Seokmin drowns all of it out by diving in the pooling depths of your empty irises. Searching, calling, begging. Biting his lip, he delivers a quick slap and pleads, "Come back to me, love."

And like a mist that rises after dawn, you return to him. Your stunned grip on the gun falters, the final bullet rattling in its chambers. The pained expression on your face slices open his own heart but its shredded form takes flight in utter relief.

You're back. You're going to be okay — he'll make sure of it. And even if you don't know it, you're his and he's yours.

"Y-you're dead," you choke out and all he can do is smile despite feeling like he's on the verge of crying. Elation, anger, guilt, hope, longing, worry, joy — all of it turns and tosses within him like a rustling flurry of winged creatures struggling to break free.

So, he smiles at you and grasps the barrel of the old pistol aimed at his forehead. "I know, mayfly."

Jihoon howls in fury. Joshua finally steps forward, striking a military pose with his hands behind his back. Composed as ever, his voice remains its deceptively sweet self compared to the harsh jerking movements he's subjected upon the gray-eyed man via telepathy.

"You've crossed the line, lost number thirteen."

"Don't call me that!"

It's no surprise that the pecking order in Dokyeom's henchmen sowed seeds of dissent. Though Joshua was simply a right-hand man, he remained the only unnumbered member, proving the lack of disposability DK saw in him versus the others.

"Know your place."

"Which has always been at the top! But because of you — !"

" — The top of those already at the bottom, perhaps. Respect your superiors and your orders, Crimsonnail. You were not to lay a hand upon Master Dokyeom's brother. Ever."

"I didn't!"

"Or a member of his little group." His indifferent gaze swept over Seokmin protectively cradling your body. "This voids our involvement and nullifies any further implementations of the game."

Joshua would thank his lucky stars that the humanoid typhoon is letting them leave scotch-free if he was a decent man. Unfortunately, he's not — already considering what punishment to enact upon Jihoon per his master's orders. The Crimsonnail feels a shiver down his spine, further enhanced by Joshua's frosty, disdainful look of disapproval as he telepathically drags Jihoon to the car.

Still, it's a good thing Seokmin's a pacifist by nature, that he's more preoccupied by your well being than anything else. Your brow begins to bead with sweat, the pain of your wound finally sinking in past the adrenaline rush wearing off. Black circles dance in your blurring vision, the gun falling from your grasp as you droop forward and rely on the unerring sureness of his support and the safety within in it.

Seokmin knows he needs to get you medical help right away, and it's the only thing he can focus on. There's no time for exchanging a blow with a blow nor the faintest idea of revenge.

Not yet. Not now. Maybe never if it means putting you in harm's way.

Was he really going to give up following the bloody trail to hold his brother accountable for the unspeakable crimes he's committed? Throw away the blank ticket Rem spoke about? All for one person?

The questions all swirl around in his head like a nebulous mass. And like a newborn star — one that's been long in the making — the answer is crystal clear and shining bright as you sit in front of him now looking devastatingly beautiful to him despite all that's happened. Most importantly, you're safe.

But all he can say in this moment aloud is, "I'm sorry."

For a multitude of reasons. So many of them. You seem to spot something in his eyes, frowning ever so slightly.

"You don't have to apologize for anything. I'm fine."

"I almost lost you."

"But you didn't."

"…I know. And I'm so fuckin' glad."

Seokmin runs his fingers in a distressed manner through dusty, matted strands of reddish-brown strands. Immediately drawing attention to the dirt, grime, and dried blood coating and dulling the cybernetic's buzzing glow.

"That's gonna be a pain in the ass to clean."

He appreciates the subject change, shooting you a lopsided grin. "Yeah, tell me 'bout it."

"Let me help."

You get up before he can protest. A tactical way to coerce him into worrying about helping you rather than arguing. The coy part of yourself is applauding the method, especially when the calloused flesh of his palm splays against the bare skin of your lower back in the name of support as you both walk to the bathroom.

That same part whispers naughty temptations to drop the t-shirt covering your chest, press up against him, and see his reaction. But your reasonable, reserved side is too held up on various other matters to give in.

Sadly, you find out you can't offer as much assistance as you would've liked. But Seokmin seems heartened by just seeing you up and about and close to him. Plus, you make use of your idleness while he washes in the sink by reaching for the few stocked amenities you can reach with your good shoulder above it when he asks for them. And you receive a heartfelt smile in return.

"I probably should've just showered."

You shrug. "You still could."

"Nah, it's fine, I can do it later. What about you, though? You're going to need help with those stitches."

"What a roundabout way to say you want to bathe together, Seok. You could've just asked."

Maybe you expected him to splutter nervously or protest fiercely at the tease. You certainly don't expect him to just shake his head — silver earring flashing in the vanity's dull lighting — and chuckle.

"I'm being serious, goof. Besides, it's not the first time I've seen you in the tub."

"What?" you squawk and his grin doesn't falter. In fact, it turns into a smirk.

"I'll go get Sherry. Lina's gonna want to see you too, she wouldn't stop crying about her pretty savior getting hurt."

You frown. Was he still going to dodge The Talk™? And did he think you were really just going to him out of your clutches that quickly?

"We still need to chat. You promised."

His eyes flash. "… And you don't like promises."

Yes, that was exactly why. He knew your history. Still, you refused to back down.

"No, I don't. But I like you… and, and most of all, I trust you. I just want the truth, Seok. Even if you think it'll hurt me, at least be honest. Trust me back. I promise it'll make it less painful if you tell me why you thought I wasn't serious. So, please…"

Don't let me down.

It's unspoken, but he can clearly hear it in your tone. A battle-worn sigh escapes so you try to lead him and finish with a question where he can give a more straightforward answer.

"… How long have you known? About the bet, I mean."

Despite wavering between semi-alertness and bordering the edge of losing consciousness, you're aware of Sheryl's presence as she bustles around with Seungkwan and Mingyu to clear out an empty room above the saloon temporarily used for patients. Seungcheol waits outside the door with you two, a cigarette loosely dangling from his lips.

When Sheryl leaves, she sneaks a peek at the way your face buries into Seokmin's neck, how the man carefully assesses the rest of your body for injuries. His touch is gentle, the cybernetic arm coated in blood as it holds the nail in you steady. He'd been adamant about being the one — the best one — to treat you. Smiling, she hands Seungcheol a couple of double dollars and the pastor raises an inquiring eyebrow.

"For that little game of yours," the woman whispers knowingly and gestures to the two who just exited the room and Seokmin hurriedly heads inside. "They told me all about it."

You lift your head to glare at Seungcheol and then your other comrades as you pass, wondering if this was some sick form of revenge for pulling one on him and if Sheryl was so keen to set you up with someone in the same way pompously done for her. But your shoulder feels like it's on fire so rather than reprimand your stupid, back-stabbing friends and slump back wearily against Seokmin.

He's a simple man who certainly can't hide a silly smile at the unconventional snuggling. Lifting his chin, he then tilts his head questioningly to the money in Seungcheol's hands. "You're still doing that bet?"

"Haf'ta win the lasses 'n hopeless romantics over 'n have 'em rootin' fer ya."

"Y-you know about the bet?"

Seokmin hushes you with a low murmur, words muffled by the press of his lips to the crown of your head. You can't make out what he says, but the timbre is soothing enough that your eyes close.

"Gotta make that sixty billion somehow if we're not turnin' ya ass in."

"Fair enough!" The wanted man laughs and closes the door with his foot.

His cheerful demeanor then dropped to focus on the proper procedures to treat your wound and that's when the silence settles in, soon followed by the weighing air of unresolved tension between you. And now, you're continuing the determined path to fully speed-run ahead and break it, though he shrugs nonchalantly at the question.

"Known for a while, to be honest."

"Seriously? I thought it was a secret!"

"C'mon, you know how bad Cheol is at keeping them."

"Yeah, right," you roll your eyes. "That man takes things to the grave — literally!"

"You're too hard on him." Seokmin leans toward you, bracing himself with an arm supported by the sink and brown eyes sparkling with humor. "Think about how much you've learned about him."

"Against my will, too much…"

"Which means I'm right."

"… I guess you do make a fair point."

"Of course. He's a completely open book once you peel back that damn protective hardcover of his."

Still, you sniff disdainfully and frown. "I swear, you're the only one who sees him like that."

"Like what?"

"Like…. unafraid, unconcerned, unbothered by all that he is, all that he's done, et cetera."

"Why not? He's done the same for me. Besides, I've said it before but he has those eyes, you know. Kind."

Ah, and that's what gets you to resign with a small grin. It's just like Seokmin to see only the good in people.

"And you're not all that different," he continues with a broad, knowing smile. Immediately you bristle and he clarifies, "from me." Some part of you momentarily wonders if you spoke your thoughts aloud or if he just simply knows them that well. "As loath as you are to admit it, you care for him. Most importantly, you trust him."

Though your face sours at the thought, you don't retort right away. Sure, Seungcheol is a trusted ally. And maybe the motivation to free Jeonghan from the control of the Eye of Joshua wasn't solely because it was simply the right thing to do. But also because it might brighten the dull spark and leave one less bloodstain on the hand of a man who bore the burdensome weight of all sins like a cross on his shoulders.

Then you wave away those thoughts for now. "So, is that why you thought I wasn't serious on how I feel about you. 'Cause of the bet?"

"No, because I never knew the full extent of it. But… if you're saying it had to do with your feelings, then I would have to say yes — though I find it hard to believe any bet's worth my bounty."

"Oh." Your cheeks heat at unwittingly giving it away.

Seokmin smirks when you avoid his gaze, and he moves in even closer. "No one has sixty billion double dollars just lying around, mayfly."

"You're just saying that so no one turns you over to July."

"Well, you won't do it, will you?"

"You don't know that," you fire back, intending to heighten your defenses that only weakly falter because you're still not looking at him.

"But I do."

"Yeah? Prove it!"

Ooh, a challenge.

And one more step closer.

"Because you care too much about the man you like to put him behind bars."

Your eyes dart back to meet his, ready to squint reproachfully only to widen at how the gunslinger's face is only a breadth away from yours. Breath hitching, you desperately want to whine out in irritation but it comes out in a low whimper. Seokmin's canines flash in the bathroom's dim lighting.

"That's not, that's not fair." The wall pressing into your bare back keeps you from retreating and the hand keeping the t-shirt covering your chest feels how your heartbeat speeds up. Your skin is on fire, only the cool temperature of your locket and its chain preventing you from utterly exploding after the plaintive admission of, "You already know everything. But…"

"But…?"

The unconscious action of biting into your lower lip only gets realized by the way it keenly draws Seokmin's eyes. Electric blue flashes against brown irises yet they darken to almost black with the sudden thrill of desire that rises to the surface. He's so close, you can feel his breath caress your face, and you swear you hear it deepen into a low grunt before he raises a brow for you to continue.

"But… b-but I don't know…a single… thing."

Seokmin has forever believed Rem's take regarding the ticket to the future always being blank. For him, it's always been an unknown path forward that he's let lead him wherever and to whatever destination.

He holds himself back, just enough to utter the (practically what should be unneeded) words of reassurance, "It could only ever be you — and it's always been only you — that I could be in love with so much, mayfly," and then he's eliminating the meager distance between the two of you. For the first time, he stamps that blank ticket with an assuredness of the future and outcome he's never had before — with a kiss.

Cradling the back of your head with his cybernetic prosthesis, the other cups your cheek and then trails down to your collarbones — but no further than appropriate. His mouth, though, disregards the very notion. A teasing tongue repeatedly runs across your bottom lip to smooth out the indents caused earlier by your teeth then naughtily pokes and prods its way between, eliciting a sweet gasp from you he absolutely devours.

Your whole body shudders with happiness, eagerly surrendering to the man's wild, possessive fervor as he passionately steals the breath out of your lungs and stakes his claim on you by leaving behind shiny kiss-bitten lips. Seokmin only draws away, panting, to admire his handiwork, light-headed and dizzy with delight.

"I love you," he reconfirms with his forehead resting against yours and nose tickling your own, "… partner."

Breathlessly, you joke back after placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Love you too, partner."

And that was that.

With your shoulder injury on the mend and the other members of your little ragtag group nursing their own bumps and bruises, you all decided to spend one more night in Tonim — much to Lina's delight. While she merrily bounced from one 'hero' to the next, you playfully reminded Wonwoo that he still owed you some free drinks. You were eager to take advantage of the fact and he was more than willing to accommodate.

The tavern that originally held a subdued, slightly hostile air to it when you first arrived was now filled with an unfettered joyous harmony. You're so easily swept up in the ambiance of such high spirits and jubilant townsfolk as mug ales filled to the brim get passed around and clinked together, you fail to notice Seokmin's sudden withdrawn nature.

Not until the next morning do you first realize something's off.

"You're sure about this?"

"Oh, no. Not you too, Seok."

You'd already flipped off and shoved away a complaining, terribly hungover Seungcheol and finally got rid of the watchful, fretting gazes of Seungkwan and Mingyu. The duo had been hovering around you with concern ever since you downed a full glass of alcohol last night. While you generally just let them be and were quite thankful not to wake up with a pounding headache, you certainly weren't above crushing all of Mingyu's pudding cups if he meekly asked one more time if you were okay or needed help.

Seokmin leans against the open door frame as you pack. The pulsating glow of lost technology flickers in your peripheral and keeps you aware of his quiet presence. Part of you had always wondered if the ever-running currents of lighting synced with the flow of blood through the rest of his body.

The gunslinger doesn't speak, and you wonder why. And though you'd like to flatter yourself and entertain the notion that he's watching you — while other times that may be true — you don't feel the weight of his eyes trained on your motions. It wasn't like there was much to stuff in your bag, the satchel's leather cracked, faded, and well-worn after all these years of use through the desert and everything you truly value remains strapped some way to your body. So once you're finished, you inquisitively peek over in his direction.

Brown eyes are trained on the clunky gun on the mattress — the same one you'd pressed against his head. It's also the exact same pistol Chan had spent his adolescence restoring and repairing. Left unnamed unlike the honorary grave Seokmin had helped you prep before leaving the ruins of Ivywood behind. Meanwhile, his gaze darts to linger in contemplation on the chain around your neck before his eyebrows furrow, emphasizing the drawn out features and dark circles beneath his eyes.

"You look tired, you doing okay?"

"Yeah, just haven't been… sleeping well."

Frowning, you step toward him. Although he doesn't back away, his entire posture stiffens. "Will you be able to make the journey?"

He snorts, gesturing to your shoulder you're trying not to move too much. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to be asking you?"

"I'll feel better at the border."

Seokmin nods understandingly. "The weather will align well."

Within the sandstorms that relentlessly swirl near the Melca Border Sea of Sand, hides the only SEEDS floating ship that survived the Great Fall and you have to get the timing just right to reach it. It's home to a large community of humans, and most importantly, it's what you would consider a true home to you and Seokmin. Already, your energy restores — excited at the prospect of getting to relax in a place you trust and people you truly enjoy being around.

"Jun can take a look at my shoulder."

"That's true, it would be good for him to do."

"And I'm sure Hao's going to want to check your arm, maybe fashion some fabric that's not only bulletproof but also nail-proof."

"He's gonna give us both a scolding."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

You share a look of fond chagrin. Even though Seokmin's well over a century older than Juhui and Minghao, they were direct Earth descendants aboard a ship full of lost technology and geniuses in their own right. Those facts alone gave them all the confidence and utter audacity to more often than not, act like fretting toma mothers over the two of you.

Nonetheless, you appreciated them with all that's remaining of your heart.

The trip to the Melca Border wasn't a straight shot from Tonim but it wasn't as far as you thought. A bittersweet farewell to Wonwoo, Lina, Sherry, and the rest of the townsfolk was to be expected. Though their sorrow weighed you down, the knowledge that you were parting from them with good memories and the expectations to visit again kept your steps light-footed.

Seokmin remains zoned out the entire time. You bulk it up to his normal reaction whenever something emotional was on the horizon. Returning to Melca held a grand spread of wonderful, warm memories with a scattering of dreadfully sad ones too. Though the floating ship's defenses have been bolstered to the max over the years, the terrible events weren't easy to forget.

But they were incidents in the past and it's thanks to the intellect of the two who greet you at the entrance of the ship that their defenses continue to improve. Luida proudly stands behind them, accompanied by Brad and his wife.

"Greetings, weary travelers."

"We're no strangers, Luida," Seokmin protests against her formality.

The elderly leader's playful grin smooths out the wrinkles lining her wise face. "Welcome home, children."

It's a simple phrase but one that fills you with inexplicable warmth. Hansol might be the son born of her own body, but no one is immune from her maternal instinct. She beckons for everyone to come inside where the main quarters lie and the growing crew population will certainly be enthusiastic upon hearing about your return.

Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Seungkwan trail after without fuss, also elated to be aboard the familiar floating ship. You smile with genuine delight and step forward to follow while Minghao takes one look over his wire-rimmed glasses to survey Seokmin's dusty figure and elegantly tilts his head knowingly in the hallway leading to the technology laboratory. Glittery, colorful beads woven through the long strands of his two-toned hair clink in time with the movement.

It's hard to hide the snicker that escapes as you watch Seokmin trudge after Minghao like a scolded puppy. Your glee at someone else's suffering doesn't last long when a gentle hand clasps your shoulder. Wincing at the pain, you meet Junhui's puzzled look before his eyes narrow.

"You're hurt," he says, disappointed but not surprised, and leads you away to the med bay. It's exactly what you expected, in fact, the main reason behind why you're here — and yet, you sulk and whine petulantly just because you can.

"Not my fault that the only way to get here is by timing everything right to jump into a sandstorm and then onto a flying platform."

After instructing you to lie down on the medical bed and cutting the fabric of your shirt without fanfare, Junhui clicks his tongue. "You only come to visit when you're hurt."

"Not true!"

He concentrates on disinfecting and resewing the torn stitches in the tender flesh around the parts of your wound that are still healing. His tone borders on slight resentment but the concern weighing in it smoothes it all over.

"And yet most of our time spent together is only when you visit so I can patch you up."

"It's not like that."

"I know… but I would've met you elsewhere."

"Boring."

"Can't you courteously pretend to care about yourself out of consideration for those who worry?"

"You'll go gray at such a very young age if you stress all the time, Jun."

He shakes away silver bangs that threaten to impede his vision, unamused. "And you'll end up buried under the sand next time."

"Sounds cozy."

"I swear —"

You wave his growing ire away. "Seok takes care of me just fine."

"Yes," Junhui's cat-like smile causes your metaphorical hackles to raise. "He does care deeply about you."

"I'll punt you into the fifth moon and give it a second crater with your body."

"Now, now… violence is never the answer."

"Violence is the only reason you have a job!"

If you weren't as close as you were, perhaps he'd be offended by your claim. Instead, he kicks you out (after ensuring you're indeed in relatively good health), leaving you to laugh victoriously. Then, you set off to the technology lab in good spirits, hoping to catch Seokmin and commiserate with him.

Instead, you find a lone Minghao sitting refinedly amongst all the tech with grace and poise. He was in his element. Fiddling with and poking at a well-worn, familiar cybernetic tech with a thin silver instrument, he simply raises an eyebrow to acknowledge your presence.

"Did you fit Seok with a new arm?"

"But of course," the man sighs wearily, "despite my best efforts, my darlings always return home to their father with quite a beating."

"… Then you'll hate what I'm about to tell you."

"No, I cannot fashion you a pierce-proof trench coat. However, I will acquire some stronger material… but there better not be a next time."

You purse your lips and pout. It often seemed like Minghao worried more about his inventions than the people using them, though you knew that to ultimately not be true.

"So, he already told you what happened."

"Oh, yes… he told me everything." Heterochromatic eyes suddenly meet yours, sharp with a spark of amusement. "See, I almost didn't want to give him the latest modification but…"

"But…" You repeat warily.

Junhui was always mischievous, though most of it only ended with harmless pranks. On the other hand, Minghao's sarcasm-filled humor rarely made an appearance, and when it did, it usually delighted in the sickest of satisfactions.

Yet, he simply shrugs, evasive as always. "I think you'll like its improvements."

There's something foreboding about that statement, but he ushers you away under the pretense that he needs to concentrate. And shortly, you find yourself stopped by curious passersby or familiar faces in the hallways to the main quarters. Since your last visit, a multitude of passengers have a lot to share and update you on. By the time you reach your own pod, you're socially exhausted.

Sleep came easy but finding Seokmin did not. The SEEDS ship was already big in the first place and additional construction enlarged it further. An itchy, achy feeling pooled inside your gut on the second evening you'd been unable to catch sight of him. Finally, you acknowledged the bitter truth — he was avoiding you.

You had to come to terms with how delusional it was to think that once everything was out in the open, the scattered puzzle pieces would magically fall together in their rightful places. It should be easy, right? It's what happened in those cheap novels Junhui dug out of an abandoned pod in Melca back in the day. He'd given them to you as a birthday joke — Minghao sighing and handing over your real present (the first bullet-proof trench coat) — but you'd actually read through all the cheesy, steamy piles of romantic drivel.

Seungkwan, ever the cynic, and Seungcheol — who's naturally a heathen — quickly destroyed the slim spark of hope of ever hoping to feel those flutters in your gut. Meanwhile, Mingyu was someone precious and wholesome with a romantic outlook on life underneath the great muscular physique he'd gained from carrying that heavy concussion gun around.

You often wondered why they never tormented him like they did to you. But despite his indomitable stature, the emotionally soft man's tears were the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. Even if he didn't quite realize it, his comrades certainly were aware.

And Seokmin… well, if you knew how Seokmin felt about romance, you wouldn't be stuck in the position of wondering why the fuck he was avoiding you.

Again.

"Where is he?"

"Good morning," Mingyu greets the following morning, cheerful as ever. "If you're still hunting Seokmin for sport, he said he's feelin' a little sick!"

"Sure."

"No, he really is." Seungkwan refutes your aggressive eye roll with a gentle shake of his head. "Loverboy hasn't come out of his room for days and when I almost knocked the door in earlier, he finally responded only to sound like a dying toma."

Your face contorts into a morbid combination of concern and irritation, shifting between the two expressions. "Probably 'cause he stayed out all last night!"

And with a dramatic huff, you glower at the pastor seated in the cramped corner of the floating ship's kitchen area. Seungcheol deemed it was cooler, darker, and the farthest spot in the enclosed space from any of your misplaced wrath. He smiles, the white stick between whiter teeth jollily flicking up and down at you, taunting.

He reveled in the knowledge of being safe since he'd been the only one able to provide any information on the humanoid typhoon's whereabouts. The pastor — who still enjoyed a late-night smoke to cure some of his insomnia — considered it his saving grace to catch sight of the fellow gunslinger slinking through the shadows in the halls. Apparently, Seokmin had been sneaking outside the past few nights and remained resolutely ever-elusive during the day.

"Should go see 'im. Yer all antsy and 'm bettin' he's missin' his… mayfly."

"Oh, go fuck yourself," you snarl and storm out, missing the man's bark of laughter before he continues contemplating the best way to siphon money during a confessional.

The unfaltering stomp of your combat boots is the background beat on your walk to Seokmin's pod. His halls aren't far from the kitchen area and yet each footfall feels like a step into the unknown, the lights above seeming to grow dimmer the closer you get.

Why was he acting like this?

Did he regret everything that happened between you?

Was something wrong?

Would he shut himself away from you?

Worry and anger swirl together, mirroring the vortex of sand you had to pass through to get here. Seokmin's never shut you completely out before but you're familiar with his reclusive acts when things get too much. Too close. Too emotional. And you're afraid to be the catalyst to another spiral.

So, you knock. Harsh, loud, and ultimately unforgiving if ignored.

"Seokmin, open up! I know you're alive!"

A mutter of "Barely," carries through the door before he clearly answers with a curt, "I'm not feeling well but I'll be fine."

"Open the door."

Silence.

"Please."

The silence continues — and your temper flares. "Don't make me go get my bag and grab my lock-picking set!"

You can hear sounds of cursing and some rustling around before the door slowly and reluctantly opens, Seokmin hiding in the shadow it casts.

"As you can see, I'm quite fi —"

Both a coughing jag and the firm push of your shoe interrupts his confident statement. "Sure hope you weren't about to say you're fine!"

A faint smoky scent permeates the pod. You cough and pause to let your vision adjust to the darkness. The first hint toward Seokmin's unusual behavior because he thrived in the sunlight, no matter how weak the sunrays that reached the floating ship were. Then second, you blink in wonderment at the black heaps littering the bed and floor.

Feathers. Everywhere.

Reminiscent of the time you'd broken Seungcheol's ridiculously expensive pillow against Mingyu's bulky bicep during a good-natured fight with Seungkwan's assistance. But instead of an explosion of brown and aqua toma plumage causing you all to sneeze, these were inky dark like the night sky and resembled piles of soot against the pod's stark white backdrop.

You whirl around to find Seokmin retreating to the corner of the room, hands slamming on top of the dresser for support. His back is to you with two thin wings jutting out from it. Feathers rustle as he pants, shoulders coinciding up and down with the motion of the wings.

"Seok, how did… how did this happen?"

It's not fear that causes your voice to tremble but worry. The appearance of his natural Plant form is no longer shocking. In fact, the more you see it, the more you find it eerily beautiful. Probably similar to those who believe them to be messengers of a higher power. But he's only ever transformed in dire situations — either due to stress or the rare exhaustion of his superhuman abilities against stronger foes.

He doesn't reply so you take a cautious step forward. An animalistic growl erupts from his throat, followed by a pained groan. You gasp as he shakes, protrusions rupturing from the lower parts of his shoulder blades. Two more wings burst out and unfurl below the trembling ones already quivering on his back.

So that's how they hide and reappear.

"Is it 'cause you're sick? Choi said you've been staying out all night. You could've caught a cold or something's in the air. Never know what's floating around here." You babble as you frantically search for signs in the mirror above the dresser for any hints to what's caused this.

Seokmin's bent over and you note what should be brunette roots of hair are now pitch-black too. Closer and closer you creep until you can make out each bead of perspiration trickling down his neck and how they coat every bare part of his body in a sheen of sweat.

Then his head snaps up. An eye — unshielded by the black fringe of his red-brown tipped bangs — narrows to glare into your widened ones. A tempest of electric blue rages within it. Like the hottest type of fire, it burns more than you could ever expect in a vortex of one prominent emotion.

Desire.

An involuntary shudder overtakes your whole body, and you unconsciously bite your lip. Seokmin slumps back down, granting respite from that ardent azure glow.

"Sick," he snarls and laughs, strained. "Sick in the head, that's for sure."

"How… how can I help? What can I do for you?"

"Get out."

"Seok —"

"I'm serious, mayfly. For your own good. Leave."

"My own good?"

"I'll, hah, I'll explain… explain it later."

Your arms cross. "Oh, really? Or will you avoid me again? Like you have been for the past several days?"

"I haven't —"

"Don't you dare feign indifference! I'm not stupid — we talk about our feelings and then you retreat. Just be honest with me… please."

You promised.

He sucks in a very deep inhale through clenched teeth, seeming to regret it instantly because his grip on the edge of the dresser is hard enough to crack the strong material. Glowering at your reflection again — not daring to acknowledge your very real and extremely close presence in the room — Seokmin bares his sharpened and widened incisors in a snarl.

"We will talk, mayfly, please believe me. Now's… hah… just not great timing with… with what's happening."

Irritation easily gives way back to worry. "At least tell me what I can do for you. Should I get Jun?"

"He can't do anything. Gotta just… work it out of my system."

"Work what?" You frown, knowing how rare it is for the medical specialist to be stumped.

"It's not for certain…" Four different wings flutter in agitation at various speeds. "Not a lot's known about Plant physiology," his mouth turns downward, "even I don't have a thorough understanding."

"Is it a disease?"

"Wish it was that simple."

"You're talking in riddles and running verbal circles, Seok."

"… Dokyeom and I are independent Plants. Likely the only ones, well, you know — still functioning. Alive. When Rem found us, research was obviously done."

You know the story very well and nod. "And had been conducted before."

"'Course thanks to Rem, it wasn't as invasive but there were, hah, occasional talks. Theories. And then, of course, before us twins, there was…"

"… Tesla."

A Plant with a lifespan of only two-hundred and thirty days.

Seokmin swallows. "Tesla. Yes. I recall bits and pieces. Hypothesized with Luida and company… Outside of Dokyeom following the unethical methods humans sometimes conduct for experimentation," he snorts at the irony, "it's thought that Plants… can copulate… with a mate… of their, hah, choosing."

"Really?" Your eyebrows raise, intrigued. "That's a brilliant discovery!" Then they furrow. "Wait, are you saying that this," you wave your hand to gesture at his current form, "is because… you're, er, ready to… mate?"

He holds his head. "… Yes."

"Oh, okay. So, you need like… relief? A mate? Should I…?"

Your questions hang uncertainly in the air, unfinished because you're really not sure what you're supposed to even offer. A sarcastic smirk graces Seokmin's lips, condescending in the sort of way that's aimed more at himself.

"What kind of man do you think I am, mayfly?"

"A very, uh, Planty one for sure."

"Better than leafy, I suppose."

"Though you are quite… feathery."

Finally, he turns toward you, a wry and defeated smile on his weary face. His wings stretch outward and curl back in, elegantly waving toward you as if drawn in your direction. You can't help but smile at the object hanging from a cord around his neck.

"You still keep that old thing around?"

He looks at the golden cartridge and chuckles. "It's special."

"Me holding a gun to your head was special?""Meeting you will always remain a treasured memory, no matter the manner of how it happened." Seokmin falls quiet, lost in thought before hesitantly asking, "Did I not mention Plants mate for life? Well, at the very least, I know I do."

"Oh." Your astonishment reveals itself in a breathless gasp. There's no escaping that all-consuming, fiery cerulean gaze. "So is this the first time you've been… ready to, uh, mate?"

"No, I'm used to the way these cycles come and go. But this for sure is the worst bout yet."

"… Why?"

You hold your breath. He takes a step forward. Then another.

He's so close, if you leaned the slightest bit forward you'd press up against each other. Somehow, with an overwhelming sense of shyness guessing the underlying thoughts and what his answer will be, your eyes roam his bare upper chest and torso.

If you could caress him you would. All the shiny black feathers adorning his wings and the occasional ones sprouting along his forearms pointing to his Plant abilities. Each scar along with every bit of metal or his body's naturally grown wood that replaces chunks of lost flesh. He's kept them as reminders of when he's failed humans, though you've seen them only as when they've failed him. He shivers, like he can feel it, as if he knows what you're thinking and you questioningly re-meet his burning stare as he shoots you a wane smile.

Sheepishly, he rubs where the cybernetic arm attaches to his shoulder. Many have turned away in disgust or mock pity at the disfigurements. Yet despite the true abomination he looks like right now, there's only ever been pure empathy and acceptance he doesn't deserve — all from you.

"Conscious consent and reciprocation."

Your lips turn upward, joy causing your soul to unwittingly sing. "Does that mean… I'm your mate?"

"No."

It's like Gunsmoke completely collapses, and you're left twirling without footing in space. Seokmin matches your fallen expression with one of his own.

"What? Wh-why?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's —"

"I swear if you say 'It's me, not you'…"

He rather adorably tilts his head. "How did you know?"

"It's a typical cliche," you roll your eyes, "just give it to me straight, Seokmin. Is it 'cause I'm human?"

"… It's not that simple, and this isn't something trivial. It's — hah — it's a huge commitment." The use of your given name indicates his seriousness. "A lifetime one. For me, it's only ever been you… and it will always be you for as long as I live, which could be your whole lifespan! And I don't, hah, I don't know — hell, it's taking everything I can not to tear a dead man apart, let alone what I'd do if you'd change your mind, want something — someone else."

"You're doing it again, projecting and underestimating my feelings for you."

"It could be the effect of my pheromones, mayfly. We don't know every —"

"That's right! We don't know! So we have to trust each other and see."

"It's —"

"Let's not subject ourselves to the hypothetical. And what do you mean by dead man?"

Seokmin's jaw tenses, fingernails digging into numb skin. His wings waver, like they're considering cocooning around him for protection. But their tips simply flutter as if soothed by an unseen force, preventing them from enclosing completely.

Teasingly, you lean toward him and squint. "What else aren't you telling me, Seok? You pick a side hustle up that involves the deceased like Choi?"

He snorts at the audacity and doesn't take the bait. Instead, unfamiliar but still achingly familiar irises dart to your neck, tracing the silver chain laying against your skin. A dull sort of sadness fizzles out those blue fires and you clasp the shape of the locket beneath your shirt in realization.

"He was a boy, Seok. A boy I grew up with for a short period, one that felt like a brother to me."

"… You said you loved him."

"When?"

"… To Cheol. After you first met him."

"That would've been so long ago? How do you even remember that?"

He sighs, heavily. "It's not easy to forget. Your voice was so warm, so gentle, so in love when you admitted it."

"Love can mean different things! And I assure you, my feelings for you differ greatly from how I felt about him. And… he's… he's long gone, Seok."

Guilt burns in his eyes. "I know. Which makes me all the worse."

"No, it doesn't." You shake your head, a resigned smile resting on your lips, and hold your arms out. "'Cause I understand and forgive you. And most importantly, I love you."

It's uncertain if those words break or restore him, but the hard rigidness in his body melts away, sagging in a semblance of relief. Then he rushes forward into your waiting embrace, wings helping to propel him forward until they wrap around and press you to him tight, tickling areas where his arms aren't squeezing around you.

"And I adore you, my lovely mayfly."

You groan. "When will you stop calling me that?"

"Never," he snickers and you feel the curve of his lips as he comfortably nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "For as long as you're mine."

"Yours?"

"Mine."

"Sucker."

A chaste kiss brushes the lower tip of your ear. So ticklish and unexpected, you pull back with a giggle and playfully swat his shoulder. And just as he's about to dive forward and prove your little comment correct in retaliation, you burst into full-on laughter that leaves Seokmin to settle his hands on your waist with confusion crinkling his brow.

"What?"

"So that's why you were always having a deathly staring match between my childhood memorabilia?"

"… Was not."

"You — the most sentimental loser ever — definitely were!"

He pouts momentarily, the cute jut out of his lower lip quickly transforming to a devious smirk. "You'd bet on it?"

"Totally." You place your arms around his neck, bringing your bodies closer again and matching the charge of electricity with a clever tilt of your lips. "I'd win, too."

"And what's on the table?"

"Sixty billion double dollars, of course."

"That so?"

"Mhm, and it seems like someone's bounty matches that worth."

Seokmin quirks a brow. "Seems like you want me on the table."

"Winner takes all?"

"Mayfly, I've always been yours."

"Sap," you laugh again.

A bright grin certainly declares your delight in victory, though your partner in crime uses the distraction as an advantage for his earlier loss and wastes no time. Diving in, a sharpened canine grazes your pulse point, automatically causing your head to tilt to offer easier access. Two left wings sweetly swoop down for support, feathered tips tenderly brushing your forehead.

The heat of his tongue placates the dragging scratch of his fangs. Though it sears you alive, heating your entire body from the tips of your toes, swirling in your core, and concentrating beneath Seokmin's lips on your skin.

When reaching that cold, familiar necklace you treasure so much and he can't help but loathe, it's seized between his teeth before he registers the action. Tugging it away from your neck like a dog, you wonder if he'll even shake it like one. His eyes follow the length of the chain, focusing on where the locket pops out above your chest.

You raise a questioning brow. "You gonna just play with my jewelry or take my clothes off?"

"Oh," Seokmin whispers, jaw dropping, and suddenly stands stiffly at attention.

You watch, entranced by the bob of his Adam's apple as he visibly gulps. Large, calloused hands — so practiced in undressing you for baths and patching up wounds — falter as they skim along your sides in a fleeting touch. Smiling encouragingly, you intertwine your fingers with those of his prosthetic while leading the other one beneath your shirt, the rough flesh of his palm blisteringly hot against your stomach.

"Is this okay? Can it help calm your Plant powers?"

"Yes… but that means… giving yourself to me… forever."

"Can't think of anything I'd enjoy more."

Confident, you trail kisses up his jaw to his cheek, stopping near his ear. Playfully tugging at the earring hoop as you pull away. Then you break away and bend over, shimmying off your shorts in one smooth motion. Stepping out of them, next goes your top. As each fabric hits the floor, Seokmin's eyes become more lidded, heavy with want. Smoldering. Desiring.

Four black wings fan out and stay as rigid as his stance. As if they're waiting with bated breath. And when you finally stand bare before him, he sheepishly drags his gaze to the floor with a flustered smile.

"I'm the one naked and you're embarrassed?" you tease and his posture relaxes.

"Because you're a vision to behold."

"Says the one who looks like an angel."

You back up until your knees hit the side of the bed. Like those morbid tales that depict curious listeners following a luring call to their demise, Seokmin's only a step behind you. He doesn't dare let his eyes stray further from your own, a goofy grin on his face.

"Consider this my fall from grace then, mayfly."

Gingerly, you sit on the edge of the mattress, waiting for his next move. He towers over you in this position. Formidable in appearance yet oh-so-gentle when picking up your left hand to kiss your knuckles and rub his thumb across its faded scar. Another smooch gets placed to your inner wrist and you hold your breath at the passion in those blazing cyan depths that refuse to look away. Then, a cautious touch to your shoulder urges you onto your back. Obediently, you lay down and a bunch of stray loose feathers fly up into the air upon impact.

"Beautiful," he murmurs.

The clothed knee resting between your legs helps his arm support the weight of his body hovering above you. A tentative hand slides down from your shoulder to your hip, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Caressing every scar, memorizing each color and swirl of ink decorating your skin, and erasing any insecurities or blemishes you see in yourself. Cold digits draw whimsical shapes and tickle your abdomen, stopping above your pelvic bone.

"May I?"

"Of course."

Seokmin rejoices in your consent by littering your collarbone with love bites. And his touches move lower, tender despite their mechanical nature. Warmth blossoms and flows under every surface of your skin Seokmin's traced, coiling and settling in a pulsating — almost painful — heat rupturing between your legs.

Only he can be the one to relieve this ache which he precisely aims to do. A simple, single brush across sensitive folds instantly has your breath hitching, shaking beneath him.

"Are you alright?"

"Mhm… yes."

He audibly gulps at your unexpected whimper of ecstasy, reluctantly tearing away from watching amorous bliss overtake your facial expression to the wet heat detected by his pointer finger's sensors. A feral growl rumbles in his chest at the debauched sight of desire beginning to dampen your thighs — the trace of what he's been smelling from you now overloading every single one of his senses as he coaxes more to flow from you. Seokmin's more than thankful for his enhanced vision and the glow of cybernetic technology baring your most intimate parts to him.

Guided by an instinctual impulse, he eases a finger inside. Your back automatically arches off the bed, eliciting a sweet gasp of delight. The cool touch of the digit seized tightly by the pulsating walls of your cunt slowly warms as it adjusts to the welcome intrusion. He soothingly brushes the knuckle of his middle finger across the soft outer flesh of your pussy to relax its grip. Eventually it lets up enough to let him explore further and deeper than your own have ever reached.

"I'm… I'm not sure how best to please you," Seokmin admits, drinking in your every reaction to his curious ministrations. "But there's this urge, this need, to make you feel good. Prep you properly for my… my entry."

By pure accident, he strokes a rough patch of nerves that makes your eyes roll back, hips lifting at the sensation of wanting more of whatever that feeling was, and your quiet noises melt into a loud, needy moan.

"More," you plead, "touch me more, Seok."

He eases his other finger inside without question, grunting at the squeeze that almost prevents him from moving to where you want him the most. But unlike the rest of his quivering body, the prosthesis remains steady, still, and patient. Waiting until it can bully itself and a third finger past your entrance's vice-like clench.

You start pulling on your breasts, trying to alleviate the tingling in them. Seokmin observes with a keen eye and a toothy, fanged grin. After a bit, he leans down to let his tongue trace the underside of one mound, leaving behind a saliva trail shining in the unconventional lighting as he tends to the next. Alternating with playful nips and naughty tugs to your nipples whenever your grip on them falters from the overwhelming pleasure.

So attentive and eager, soon you're writhing beneath him as you hit your peak. One hand grips your hip tightly, surely to leave a bruise with the way it cramps. His other doesn't let up, well-oiled mechanisms continuing to pump in and out of your trembling pussy until you whine from the overstimulation.

His wings fold protectively around both of you like a canopy as you share a tender kiss. Dazed and happy, you tenderly brush back black bangs and play with one of the feathers that's sprouted near the hairline above his ear. He shivers.

"Let me take care of you too."

"Are you sure? What about your shoulder?"

"That's the least of my concerns right now."

"I can still…"

"Later. First, I want to help you."

Suddenly, Seokmin's shy again, flushed cheeks darkening. "I… I think I'm a little different… down there so it's okay if you don't want to… or get scared."

"It's not like I've seen enough dicks to compare whether what you're packing is normal."

The both of you share a goofy laugh that eases the presumed awkwardness. He sits back to unbutton his pants but you stop him.

"May I?"

You might as well have knocked the air out of his lungs. He stares at you wide-eyed and then emphatically nods, finally clearing his throat to squeak out, "Sure."

Ignoring the aftershocks of your earlier orgasm, you sit up and kneel in front of him. Intent on a few minor distractions, your mouth and hands start at his shoulders to work their way down. Imagining you have the power to heal the damage dealt to his body and soul through tender touches.

You see a sad sense of beauty and justice in the patchwork of metal bolts and bark. And as you apply marks of love that bruise and blossom between them, he lets out a content warble. You're quick to undo the button of his pants, both of you gasping at the utterly wet mess seeping through the material when you tug the zipper down with your teeth.

He lifts his hips to help and once he's just as naked as you do you take him in. Anatomy was meagerly touched upon during your days at the convent, so truthfully all you're aware of at the sight of his heavy cock is the need to be filled with it.

And the closest thing to take him is your mouth, jaw already aching before you even open it. Almost reverently, your hands wrap around to stabilize it. Seokmin hisses pleasantly at the contact.

"You don't have to —"

He's cut off by a groan as you inquisitively suckle the tip. The copious amounts of slick smearing from it and down the base taste sweeter than Seungcheol's lollipops and you moan heartily, causing his thighs beneath your elbows to tense at the vibrations.

"Oh, mayfly."

A wing caresses your cheek that bulges as you take more and more of him, Seokmin's hands tearing at the sheets. The tip of another wing tantalizingly drags down your bare back. Your hands begin to explore, finding the puffy edges around the slit from which the thick cock emerges from. His hips jolt upwards at the contact to sensitive tissues, causing you to gag.

"Ah, 'm sorry!"

While he whispers repeated apologies, you're only compelled to take him further. Slowly you get used to the stretch, but no matter how much more you're able to squeeze down your throat there's still enough of his length for both of your hands to play with. It gets easier the more aggressive you get, his cock seeming to respond to your vigor in tandem. Soon you're lost to the haze of whether you're bobbing your head up and down or it's swirling languidly in your mouth on its own accord.

Seokmin's hips stutter but you feel the tremor first pulse against the inner walls of your throat. His cock throbs as you pull off of it, hollowing your cheeks and parting with deliberately powerful suction. A loud pop releases its tip and your hand supports its weighty girth falling forward. You dig the nails of your free hand into the muscle of his quaking thigh, ducking down to teethe at the puffy slit from where his cock must emerge.

Moving on to licking and dragging the point of your tongue along the sizable vein lining the underside causes Seokmin's low groans to turn into a high-pitched trill. Once you reach the swollen, leaking head and nibble on the hard glans, it spasms wildly and finally erupts. From the top slit seeps sweet syrupy fluid that readily overflows into your awaiting, open mouth.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he blabbers.

You'd reply that there's no need for gratitude, perhaps you'd thank him, but the viscous release keeps spilling out. Rivulets trickle well past your lips and coat your chest. Although still in a euphoric daze, his eyes flash with sharp satisfaction. Instantly possessive at the sight of your bare body decorated so erotically.

His wings snap open — filled with purpose — and your face is pressed down into the mattress. Surrounded in a smoky musk as the angelic monstrosity it belongs to and destined to be your mate hovers above.

Your voice comes out hoarse as you raise up onto your elbows and spitefully spit out a black feather. "Do those wings of yours prevent you from being topped or something?"

"I'll let you find out another time, partner," Seokmin huffs, laughter evident despite his apparent breathlessness. He steals a tender kiss, pleased grunting at how your lips — shiny and swollen — taste of him. "But for now…"

Like an anchor, the tech material warmed by your shared body heat and passion winds underneath your hips, keeping them raised. A calloused, ticklish touch roams traces your spine. He draws an occasional spiral here and there as he goes, mindful of your wound, until firmly pinning the nape of your neck to the side, creating the perfect arch of your back.

"I think you'll like this," Seokmin says as if he isn't liking the view below him.

But for you, straight ahead lies the dresser's mirror. It reflects the full manifestation of an independent Plant poised to devour a human in the most intimate sense. The fearsome size of his cock lies heavy on top of your ass, leaking droplets of arousal all over your backside.

"Will it fit?"

"Of course, you are mine to claim and take." His hips just forward and you both moan. "I think we're both wet enough to try."

"I trust you."

"Let me know if it hurts in any way and we'll stop right away, mayfly."

Many troupes of desert-traveling dancers have mesmerized you before. Yet even they can't compare to the graceful and smooth motion of Seokmin releasing your neck to align his tip with the entrance of your cunt and slowly bullying his way in.

Tears of pain mixing to unfathomable pleasure blur the vision of your mouth widening to let out whines and moans. "Seokkie…"

"Mhm, mayfly… my love… my mate."

Finally, the front of his thighs are flush against yours. Hips pressed tight against your ass. Fully sheathed inside your tight hole, neither of you have ever felt such intensity before. He surrenders his body weight on top of yours, hands braced outside of yours clenching loose feathers and silk sheets. The outer heaviness matches the intensity of what your pussy struggles to accommodate.

"Mine."

Seokmin's hips swirl at a slow pace. Rather than thrust, he massages the sensitive glands at the base of his cock with the soft flesh of your ass. His length seems to shrink and grow and writhe with a mind of its own, filling and teasing you nonstop. Leaving no surface of your inner walls untouched or untended to for too long.

"Yours."

You shudder in blissed-out delirium and Seokmin lights up — literally.

Fluorescent lines glow in distinct patterns across skin, brightening the more he starts to pant and build up your shared pleasure. Sharp canines prick into the skin of your unmarked shoulder as he wraps his prosthesis under your stomach to raise your hips, the new position driving you faster to that rapidly approaching edge. You cry out with a lurch, blurrily making out his glowing form that shudders above.

Though the view in the mirror gets hidden by black wings stroking your entire body. Teasing the underside of your tits and tenderly brushing away the stings of his teeth marks.

"I-I love you," Seokmin rasps.

"Love…" You manage to enunciate the words, mind emptying and drool wetting the bed as your second peak approaches. "Love you too."

Pain and pleasure draw forth an onslaught of your apparent arousal that lecherously mixes with the frothy mess dribbling from his cock. Claws appear on Seokmin's right hand, another addition to the bestial Plant features emerging in the throes of passion. He's not completely lost to the primal thrall though, able to resist from breaking skin.

Delicately scratching your waist without drawing blood, then using the finely pointed tips to pluck and tease effortlessly at your clit. You cry out, body shaking as waves of euphoria crash against the shoreline of imminent pleasure.

Seokmin helps ride out your peak with a couple of speedy thrusts. The feeling of his hips slamming into you has you seeing more stars than Gunsmoke's galaxy contains. And just as you're overcome with too much stimulation, he lets go with a particularly strong bite into the top of your shoulder.

His cock softens and its heavy weight like a blanket along with the continual pump of his warm, soothing release. The feeling of it leaving none of your inner walls untouched feels as sweet as it tasted on your tongue and helps ease the ache inside your cunt. Still joined together and slick with stickiness, he collapses onto his side and gently assists you with rolling over so you can face him.

"Hey, you."

"Hello there yourself, lovely mayfly."

Your nose wrinkles but gets smoothed out by feather tips playing with the ends of your hair. Seokmin smiles as you snuggle closer into his chest so two of his wings can cocoon around you as the heated fervor from prior activities cools.

"Did that help?"

"… Yes," he says though his tone wavers with hesitance.

You raise your chin and see the electric blue luster hasn't faded yet from his gaze. Sheepishly, the corner of his mouth raises and you shiver, feeling the swell of his cock stretch out your pussy. The bulge it creates brushes against Seokmin's abdomen and he twitches.

"Sorry, it's… I'm gonna be kinda insatiable now that I've had a taste…" He trails off, wings snapping behind him. Slowly, he pulls his hips away and you both hiss as his cock is dragged out.

"What are you —"

You're cut off by the animalistic glimmer in his gaze, catching the feral smirk that he attempts to hide by licking his palm. Quick as lightning, Seokmin fleetingly swipes the outer lips of your cunt and brings his fingers, tonguing at them. Body set aflame again, neither of your break eye contact as he moans headily.

"But not of this," he rasps.

Before you know it, you're staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on his ceiling with your mate between your legs. His wings trail along your calves, their flexible ends curling near your inner thighs, encouraging them to spread and stay open, pinning them in place.

"Oh, aren't you a beauty?"

He moans shamelessly at the sight of your messy, glistening pussy. You squirm at the ticklish sensation of his feathers and that smoldering, ravenous look. If only he knew what it was like to see him devour you with his mouth.

Delicious.

Just like the feeling of his tongue working its way inside and licking up the shared essence of your releases.

Your fingers weave between strands of hair as black as night, tugging lightly and accidentally snagging one of his ear feathers. He moans eagerly, and the vibration has you shuddering, already quickly nearing another mind-shattering orgasm. But you don't let him carry you there too fast, smooth brain muscles trying to form a question.

"How… long… how long do these cycles last?"

Seokmin presses a loving kiss to your twitching clit and blows, entranced by how you clench around nothing. Then he smirks, elongated teeth shining in the darkness like a predatory warning though you have nothing to fear.

"As much as you can handle but… we're really only just getting started, mayfly."

The motion light kicks on as Seungcheol shifts his boots in the direction of the unlit kitchen area. Junhui and Minghao's entrance awaken the rest of the lights and they frown at the makeshift bunker set up.

"What are you three doing in here?"

Seungkwan sleepily mumbles a curse word and next to him, Mingyu blearily rubs his eyes. A scattering of empty pudding cups and bottles lie around them as well as a disorganized array of poker cards.

"We're afraid to venture out of here."

Junhui shares a secretive look with his closest friend at Seungkwan's cryptic words. "Ah, so that's happened. Or happening."

"'Bout time y'all came 'round. Time for ya to pay up!"

"Pay up for what?"

"Compensation. 'M the one who got the closest to bein' right knowin' they'd fuck after confessin'."

"If anyone needs compensation, it's me for the mental damage of having to make one of my lovelies into an enhanced sex toy."

Seungcheol guffaws. "Ya didn't! Ya lil cheatin', schemin' scientist!"

Meanwhile, Mingyu looks mighty concerned. "Does that mean Seokmin has a dildo for an arm?!"

Minghao crosses his arms with a steely glare. "No."

"Oh good. I don't think I could look at him the same."

"I don't think any of us will ever look at him the same again."

Junhui eagerly rocks back and forth on his heels, hands stuffed in the deep pockets of his lab coat. "Do you think they discovered all the functions and benefits of it yet?"

"Should be our next bettin' round."

"No more bets. I don't care if it's half a double dollar to go in, I refuse to go through this again."

Mingyu elbows his raven-haired companion. "C'mon, your heart's warmed by this!"

"Warmed and consumed by the rage and fury of hellfire, yes."

Giggling, the tall man smiles widely and holds his hand out. "Alright, I win then!"

"Win what? Thought you didn't remember your bet."

Mingyu purses his lips. "Only because none of you took me seriously and joked with a bunch of gross innuendos when I said they'd find their home in one another!" He then sighs dreamily. "But if I'm right, we'll know by tomorrow morning."

"Who says it'll be tomorrow mornin'. Might take weeks. Months even, I reckon'."

"I'll kick you all out before it comes to that," Minghao threatens and runs a hand through the few strands of hair without a bead. He tosses a wad of money in front of Mingyu. "Never involve me in this again."

Despite all the grumbling, everyone has a sense of lightness in their hearts at the thought of their dear friends finally getting together. And the happiest of them all is Mingyu, who cheerily gathers his prized double dollars, dreaming of all the pudding he can buy.

A lone figure stands on the edge of the valley of the Melca Border. The Sea of Sand, aptly named, can change tide and turn vicious at any second. Their cloak billows in the sandy winds that whip around them, though even the steadfast hood can't hide the satisfied smile on their face.

"You did well," they commend and the name that falls from their lips is one some might consider lost to the sands of time.

"Saintess." Another figure materializes out of the sand gusts in response to the praise. "It is to be done as you said."

"Very well. Shall we go now?"

Whether it's the mysterious sands that swirl around and whisk them away or the lost technology cube that transports them, no one will ever know for no one ever saw them. Like ghosts, they disappear and find themselves outside the real ghost town — where it all began.

A toma croaks in the distance. Brave travelers dare cross the ruined wasteland and the saintess meditating atop one of the largest rocks hidden in the shadows opens her gray eyes tinted by lilac in the glow of the moons to observe. Despite all of her traveling, the white robes wrapped around her body remain in pristine condition.

She turns behind to look at the man standing over a scattering of stones, staring intently at one of them. With poise and purpose, she dusts off her clothes and strides over to him.

"Chan."

Brown eyes tear away from his own name carved into the headstone in front of him to look at the one who's said it aloud.

"Yes, Saintess?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No. Never."

"Good," she states, satisfied with his response. With a grand sweep of her hood to cover short, dark hair, she gestures to the east. "We will set up camp one more night before returning to the Saint in the morning before he speaks with our Master."

Chan mutely nods, following the saintess back into the desert where she confidently leads him to a cave that will shield them from the unpredictable nature of Gunsmoke's wastelands. He thinks of you, the girl he must keep safe and two brothers. One with wings as pure white despite his continual revelry with hate-filled darkness, the other bearing ones the complete opposite color of his twin — a wild card.

He reminisces over the Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood, the convent and all the orphans that lived there. Pondering Sister Meryl's role, who stands before him now as the revered Saintess, leader for the Eye of Joshua and second only to the Bishop of the cult named after himself. She moves curious little statues back and forth across the surface of a large flat rock and the young man can't help but ask her a question in the unnerving silence.

"Do you think this will work?"

Meryl smiles elusively, as always. She picks up the smallest one with a deliberate flourish, placing it on a blackened space close to the last row of alternating squares carved into the stone's surface.

"Have you ever played chess before?"

"No, what is it?"

"An Earthern board game. It is quite complicated." Gesturing to the piece she just moved, she continues. "This is a pawn, the weakest of all chess pieces."

Chan bristles. "But strength comes in numbers, no? There are eight of each color, surely the right side can find a way to win."

Unfazed by his agitation, the saintess nods placatingly. "With the right strategy, even a pawn may become a queen — the most powerful. Unpredictable." She points to a white figurine with a cross on top of it. "Enough to checkmate a king."

Entranced, Chan watches as she rearranges and repositions various pieces across the faux chessboard. Soon, the pawn that took on the mantle of a Black Queen captures the White King. His eyes roam what's left on the battlefield at the end of the match, pointing to one that looks like a tower.

"What's that one?"

"A rook. It best supports an allied pawn towards promotion from behind the scenes." Her eyes sparkle mischievously. "It's most powerful during the end of the game, as you can see."

Chan gulps, holding his breath for a moment, and clears his throat. "Then I'm ready."

"Wonderful," Meryl nods, "we'll depart for Master Dokyeom's stronghold in the morning. I'm sure Joshua, our dear Saint, will be… pleased upon our return."

"To the glory of the Black King's rise."

"And to the glory of our so-called queen."

Keep him safe, Chan thinks to himself as he settles on the ground. And yourself. One day we'll reunite in the most joyous of occasions…

He pulls out a faded wanted poster with the infamous outlaw worth sixty billion double dollars, donning a wishful smile before closing his eyes and murmuring, "I'd even bet this impossible amount on it."

onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

Les Petits Morts (Marquis de Gramont x Assassin! F! Reader)

(Cat and mouse, do-they-want-to-kill-each-other-or-fuck-each-other, enemies to lovers, two psychotic mfers flirt)

taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose

warnings: freaky behavior, blood k!nk, knife play, violence, what y’all came for (🤨), reader is lowkey a brat hehe, marquis doms ofc bless up, mentions and brief moments of violence, build-up, more story than necessary probably. Romance⁉️

Part Two is here!

Vincent de Gramont had made a grave miscalculation when it came to her. He knew the moment he’d laid eyes on her that he was in danger: her wide, brown eyes shining golden in the rising sun, her fragrant hair swooping over one shoulder, letting the skin of her neck catch the light, and, as she’d finally stepped before him, that haunting scent of jasmine and gardenias, the radiance and bohemian ease she exuded; he was immediately disarmed from the knowledge that she was a killer. She was a slippery figure, shrouded in mystery, in fear. No one knew where she came from, but everybody knew of the story of how she earned her freedom. A young girl, bloodthirsty, filled with fire, tearing open the throat of the Marquis to whom she had been promised, her bloody mouth pulled back to bare a glimmering smile in the face of her freedom. Still, she remained in her former line of work, even more dangerous with her years of being outside of The Table’s shadow.

La Belladonna is what they called her, and she gave no name. She smiled at him, gaze twinkling something wicked. He maintained composure, of course, but he couldn’t break away from that haunting, doe-eyed gaze of hers. He’d expected a woman, but not one like this. He’d imagined a savage before him based on the story that had always been told. Not someone so beautiful, so graceful…so enchanting.

“Bonjour, Marquis,” she greeted, “I do hope you didn’t mind the early morning.”

“I did.”

She laughed, turning away and taking a seat against the wall.

“Well, that’s just too bad.”

She checked her nails; a crimson manicure. Her eyes flitted from it to him. He was confused by the expectation in her gaze. He’d never once seen that look in anyone’s eyes before (except, perhaps, from one of The Table).

“Won’t you have a seat,” she questioned.

He cleared his throat, glancing over to one of his men then slowly moving over to the barrel next to her. She admired the horses with a small subdued smile, then turned to him with a sigh. He surveyed her, unsure what to make of this so-called dangerous killer. He was quite sure he’d met worse. He moved to speak, but she cut him off.

“So, Marquis, why exactly do you require my services?”

“They say you’re the best,” he responded cooly.

Her lips curved into a bemused smile. “They say we’re all the best. Why me specifically?”

He gave a slight smile. “You are able to go unnoticed. Become invisible. I want someone invisible.”

“And why is that? Don’t you have Caine? He’s the best.”

His smile fell. Her eyes widened slightly with the thrill of his upset.

“What? That’s practically public information.”

“In that case, I suppose you already know the answer to your own question.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, my friend,” she corrected, tapping his nose with a slender cigarette holder and a bright smile, “I know you want John Wick dead, I know you want those aligned with him dead. But I know you not only have Caine, but the entirety of The Table’s resources at your disposal. You don’t need someone like me; you don’t require someone so subtle, it’s certainly not your style. You are fortunate enough to have to ability of using sheer force to achieve your goals.”

She took out a cigarette, placed it in the holder, then put in between her lips. Despite himself, he stole a glance at her mouth, taking in the slight purse of her lips as she lit her cigarette. He watched smoke puff from between them.

“So…what is it you want with me?”

He met her eyes, sitting back. “You’re very observant. Good job.”

Her eyebrow twitched in annoyance, creating a tiny crack in her mask. She gave a slight smile, blowing some of her cigarette smoke at his face.

“Hm.”

He stood, brushing his nose off. “You’re right. If we were looking at this in the short term, I don’t need someone like you. But I am not thinking of the short term.”

Her eyebrows rose in interest. “I’m not a kept puppy, Monsieur de Gramont. I’m sure you recall my exit from the Table. I wouldn’t recommend becoming my boss.”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“For my price, I think you are.”

She held his gaze for a moment, finishing her cigarette. She tossed the butt onto the barrel, then gave a light chuckle, shaking her head in amusement.

“Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear.”

She stood, raking her fingers through her hair.

“I apologize, but I’m afraid I’ve wasted our time. I suggest getting some extra sleep while you can.”

Vincent watched her turn away with unease, swallowing as she started to leave. He shot a look to the men at the door, then walked after her. He moved to place a hand on her shoulder but she turned swiftly, pressing her cigarette holder into his chest, pushing him backward.

“Do not grab me, Monsieur. I cannot be bought. Only hired. I do not make deals, especially not with men like you. There is not a price you can name that would change my mind.”

“I’m quite sure the prices I can name are beyond anything you’ve heard before.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re quite arrogant, Gramont. It’s endearing, but not enough to hold my attention. Goodbye.”

Vincent watched as she turned to leave, but soon slowed down, then halted to a stop. A pressure lifted on his chest. She tilted her head, twirling the cigarette holder between her fingers.

“Do you really want to offer up two perfectly fine men for the slaughter? Just for a silly little price?”

“I would prefer to avoid bloodshed altogether, mademoiselle.”

She was silent for a moment.

“Whoever told you I am a patient woman was misled you, Gramont.”

He smiled. “Whoever told you I am a relenting man did the same.”

***

Milan, Italy.

Belladonna sat back in her chair, taking a long drag from her cigarette in its holder, crossing her legs with a smile. After several months of hide-and-seek with that pesky Marquis, she’d finally shaken off some the men he had tracking her, and killed the rest. Now, she finally felt like she could just breathe, sit back, relax, enjoy her espressos and afternoons by the sea, and then, when she fancied, a night at the opera. As luck would have it, they were performing her favorite; Madama Butterfly.

She poured herself a glass of champagne as the lights dimmed, and as she took a sip her phone buzzed. Her eyebrows drew together in annoyance; she made it clear to her team not to contact her, lest they risk her being tracked again by one of the…

She frowned, reading the text. It was in french, from a sender with no number.

The Italian sun has treated you well, Mademoiselle.

Her shoulders tensed, but she kept her cool. How did he find her? And why the hell did he follow her here? She was quite sure she’d made herself clear with the last two men she got rid of: do not bother me again, or you’ll end up looking just an mangled as them.

Darkness swallowed the theater as the curtains rose, and Belladonna felt a pit form in her stomach. She’d never felt so troubled by anyone as much as she had by this man. He was bull-headed and inescapable—with all of the ability in the world to keep her in his sights. Discretely, she glanced around the balconies in her view, but only saw strangers. Where was he? Where was the son of a bitch this time?

She put out her cigarette harshly, trying to keep her composure. After finishing her glass of champagne, she sent a message in response.

You’re toying with your life, Gramont.

I could say the same for you.

She rose an unimpressed eyebrow, twirling her cigarette holder between her fingers. She set her phone down with a heavy sigh. He just had to ruin everything, didn’t he? Bothering her during her jobs, and now during her time off. Her phone buzzed again. With a clench of her fist, she ignored it.

As she paid more attention to the opera, her mind wandered. Her six-foot-four shadow quickly evaporated into a tiny shadow in the back of her thoughts, and she admired the gorgeous costumes of the singers, the swelling and rhythm of the orchestra, and rested her cheek on her fist in awe as the soprano playing Madama Butterfly began her aria Un Bel di Vedremo.

She could remember the first time she’d heard it; she’d gotten it as a gift from a lover in a period of innocent youth that had become alien to her. The lover she lost as a sacrifice of that innocence. Despite herself, her eyes grew misty from the memory. She watched the soprano’s wistful gaze, the ghost of a smile on her lips, and as she reached the peak of the aria and the orchestra swelled, Belladonna could’ve sworn she could see the singer’s eye’s glistening along with hers.

The music of the aria faded out, and she quickly wiped her eyes as the lights of the house rose. She rose to her feet, glancing around again. Her heart jumped at the sight of a tall, brown haired man in a three-piece suit leaving one of the booths. She hesitated to get worked up—every man she’d laid her eyes on had a three-piece suit on, it didn’t have to be him. Maybe she was just in denial. Although she’d never want to say it, the Marquis was successfully beginning to wear her down.

She dialed a number on her phone. The call was answered before it could ring.

“Yes?”

“The Marquis is here in Milan. There may be some of his men at the opera house. Kill them, would you? Be thorough with it. Wherever they may be crawling about. And leave me a change.”

“Of course, right away, ma’am.”

She hung up, scanning the audience again before leaving her booth. She slipped into a women’s restroom, entering an out-of-service handicapped stall and quickly removing her dress and opening the duffel bag tucked between the toilet and the wall. It was a pity she wouldn’t get the pleasure of enjoying it, it was a lovely piece. She admired it on the hanger with a sigh, tugging on a bulletproof jumpsuit and zipping it up, adding elbow and knee pads. She laced up her black military boots, then unzipped the duffel bag, placed the dress and heels inside, and pulled out the pair of pistols under the false bottom, placing the magazines in the sides of her boots. She slid a pair of blade into hidden pockets in the lower back of the jumpsuit, then tugged on a beanie and a black face mask.

She pushed the duffel bag back in its spot, then stepped onto the toilet, opened the air vent, and with a hop, grabbed onto the ceiling and pulled her way up inside. Her knee and foot made dull impacts with the metallic interior of the vents as she pulled the door up.

She pulled out her phone, going through her messages to find the blueprints one of her navigators had sent. She stalled on a message from that numberless contact, the one she’d ignored before.

You look beautiful in that dress, Bella.

A frown formed on her face at the message. It wasn’t the first of these messages she’d read in these days. Messages occasionally complimented her ways of eluding him, how a pair of earrings complimented her honey brown complexion, how bloody a mess she’d left behind. Still, none were as direct as this one.

Beautiful, she thought. It conjured up an odd feeling, imagining him saying such a compliment. Perhaps if he wasn’t such a foolish nuisance, it might’ve even excited her a touch. She quickly went to the blueprint of the vents and started to crawl towards her escape.

After a sweaty fifteen minute excursion through the vents, Belladonna finally jumped down from a window and landed on a cushy pile of discarded wood. She didn’t allow even a grunt as she got to her feet and rounded the corner, finding a grey-suited body lying in a pool of her own blood a few feet away from her bike. Her cushy hotel was no longer an option, so she had to relent for the secondary location she’d had set up. The only bother would be the chilly night ride.

///

Montemarciano

She’d made it the country house by dawn, and the sun was preparing to break through the horizon. Exhaustion pulled on her limbs, demanding she collapse directly into the earth as she made her way to the door. She let her shoulders slump as she rested a hand on the door. This place was quite literally in the middle of nowhere. She’d made sure it was no registry or map. Yanking her beanie and mask off and taking a deep inhale of fresh, crisp air, she went for her key behind the false brick when a creak sounded inside the house. Belladonna froze, gripping the brick in her hand.

It couldn’t have been the Marquis, but it could’ve been someone else even more dangerous. She stayed in a crouch, crawling towards the back door and seeing it ajar. Her eyes widened, and she pulled out a pistol. Gently, she pushed the door open and slid inside, crouching against the wall like a statue, eyes scanning the living room. There weren’t many places for an intruder to hide.

In the blue light against the curtains, she watched a large figure pass through the room and right by her. The figure entered the bedroom, and Belladonna placed the brick down silently, getting onto her feet.

She slid through the door, watching the figure in the darkness. They sat at her desk, staring out of the modestly sized window as more blue light filtered through the linen curtains of the dark room. She flicked on the lamp. The figure turned and she fired without hesitation, watching as they tumbled to the floor. She leapt over the bed, planting a foot by the stranger’s head and placing her weight into the knee that she dug into their shoulder. The figure had covered their face with their arm and swiped it blindly at her, but she easily knocked it to the ground and trapped their wrist under the heel of her boot.

Cooly, she held the gun to their face, pressing harder on their wrist. A familiar voice swore, letting out a grunt. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Gramont,” she remarked quietly, making out the face beneath her.

He was breathing heavily, eyes darting between the gun and her face. She turned off the safety.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you now,” she said.

“Many will come after you. Worse than me,” he said breathlessly.

She smirked, shaking her head. “I said a good reason, Monsieur. Don’t waste your breath.”

He looked at the gun, then to her surprise, smiled a bit. He rose his eyebrows.

“Come now, Bella. Haven’t we had fun these past months?”

“I thought you’d be better at bargaining.”

“If you really intended to kill me, I would be dead by now.”

She paused and tilted her head.

He made a good point.

With a grin, she added. “I really intended to kill you, Monsieur, I would’ve killed you the morning we met.”

She moved the gun away from his face.

“You came here alone.”

“I came to deliver something to you.”

He tried to sit up, but she doubled down her weight onto him.

“Certainly you don’t think I intend to harm you?”

She studied his face, then chuckled. “Not alone, no.”

He let out a breath as she rose to her feet, stepping away from him. He sat up, watching as she trained her gun onto him as he stood. Vincent fixed his hair and his suit, gesturing to the door.

“It’s in the living room.”

“Mhm. Ladies first.”

With his trained on her gun, he passed through the door and she followed silently, pointing it at his head. She flicked the light switch on as they rounded the corner, and lamps lit up, revealing a spare but cozy living room. He chuckled, turning to her.

“Very cute, Bella.”

She didn’t answer, only held the gun to his face. He turned back around, going to the coffee table. There was a large black box, along with two other boxes. One appeared to be a shoebox, the other a mystery. Caught off guard, by gifts, Belladonna’s grip loosened on the gun. She squinted in confusion, almost wanting to laugh.

“What…”

“Your gown tonight was lovely, but it can’t be worn again after you left it in that filthy bathroom. I thought I would replace it for you.”

“…the fuck…”

He stepped towards her, and her gun returned to its leveled aim reflexively.

“…Is wrong with you?”

He smiled, pleased at her bewilderment, although she seemed a bit amused as well.

“What is wrong with a gift?”

“Oh, when it comes from you, several things.”

He chuckled, placing his hands in his pockets.

“We’ve been playing this game for a little while now, and I must admit that I see no end to it. So why don’t we talk it over dinner?”

“It took fourteen bodies to get to dinner, huh?”

He looked away almost bashfully, if his eyes could express such an emotion.

“I thought you’d be easier to kill, I’ll admit that too. And I believe tonight makes twenty.”

His callousness uneased her, but not as much as the glimmer that formed in his eyes when he fixed his gaze on her.

“Come now, is dinner so bad compared to these last few months?”

She narrowed her eyes. He smiled again.

“Think of it as a celebration if you want. Perhaps for your birthday? It’s this weekend, isn’t it?”

In an immediate shift, her eyes darkened, and without warning she flung a knife at his face that he barely evaded being mortally wounded by. Blood poured down his cheek as she lunged at him, knocking him against the wall, but this time he had his footing. He grabbed the fabric of her jumpsuit and whirled around to slam her into the wall with a grunt, but she quickly drove her knee into his stomach once, twice, then kicked him back with both legs, sending him crashing against the kitchen counter. The photos on the wall shook on impact. Before he could even recover she had him on the floor, and his mind quickly went back to the position she’d had him in before and he shot into action, overpowering her just enough to have her beneath him. Still, she was fast, and limber. It seemed like only a moment had passed when she’d locked her thighs around his neck and held his arm at a seemingly impossible angle. He gasped and coughed, feeling the blood pumping in his head.

“You haven’t really gotten your hands dirty like this before, have you Marquis?”

He felt around desperately, and found a saving grace sheathed in her boot.

“You’ve never had your heart race like this, feeling your life threatening to slip through your fingers.”

She twisted his arm further, and he snatched whatever he’d found out of her boot. Her laugh rung in his ears like a funeral bell.

“It’s unfortunate your first real fight turned out to be your last.”

He stabbed her in the upper thigh, and she growled lowly, her hold weakening. He moved in a flash, snatching the blade out of her leg and trying to force her onto the ground, but she began to shimmy backwards despite her injury. He grunted, grabbing at her until he’d finally pinned her down, when he saw her arm go out of his line of sight and something hard slammed into the side of his head. Despite his delirium he grabbed her arm as she hit him again, and forced it to the ground, getting frustrated grunt out of her as she struggled, but he had her.

He caught his breath, his muscles straining to keep her in place. Adrenaline was coursing through his body faster than blood as his sight cleared, and his eyes fixed onto her searing gaze. Slowly, he pressed the blade—a small one, to his surprise—against her neck, watching her swallow. Their eyes locked onto each other. Their blood rushed violently as their chests heaved. Vincent pressed his hand into her chest harder, keeping her firmly on the ground. Her eyes scanned his face with a curious glint.

“I’m not afraid to cut,” he said through puffs of labored breath.

She grinned. “I’m not afraid of cuts, rich boy.”

He dug in the blade, dragging it slowly through her skin. Her fists clenched but she gave no reaction this time. Her eyes only bored into his as the living room filled with warm sunlight. Crimson trickled from the cut, and he smeared it with his thumb as they fell still. He could feel her blood humming through her thundering pulse. Her skin was hot, alive. She watched him, then grabbed his arm, pulling him down with sheer strength. He tensed, preparing for an attack but she just held him by the lapel, a smile dancing on her lips as she leaned up slightly.

“Tell me,” she said quietly, “Has this become business, or pleasure, Vincent?”

His eyes seemed distant as his name left her lips. They drifted to her curved, full mouth, and then fixed onto her eyes. Wordlessly, he took his thumb from her neck and placed it against his tongue, watching for her reaction. She gave none. A challenge.

“Are you pleased?”

To his surprise, she giggled. Her body relaxed under his and Vincent’s head swam with confusing desires. What was this, now that he thought about it, what the hell had gotten into him to chase this girl for months? He looked at her face for answers, finding that same smile he’d seen the first time they’d met. What did it mean?

“Come here,” she encouraged, watching his eyes scan over her in a daze.

He looked at her. Her smile widened, and she beckoned him closer. But with what, he wondered, how could she command him so swiftly without words? Her eyes trailed down to his lips with what part him hoped was the same mysterious hunger that was bubbling up inside him. He leaned closer, breath fanning against her face.

“That’s right,” she said softly, reclining.

He leaned down over her, and for a moment there was stillness between them, a pull that seemed to magnetize them closer. Belladonna’s eyes widened a fraction as the feeling of it came over her, and she quickly head butted him with all the force she could muster. He groaned, clutching his head, leaving him completely vulnerable to her attacks. She managed to twist her way from beneath him, hopping to her feet and grabbing the knife that had lodged into the wall. She sniffed harshly, grabbing his hair and tilting his head up, pressing the point of the blade just below his chin. He stared up at her, eyes half blazing with unspoken fury, the rest uncertainty of what to expect next.

“You surprise me, Marquis.”

He tried to move but her grip tightened onto his scalp painfully. “Ah-ah-ah. I don’t think so. Unless you want me to drain your neck.”

With an even more furious stare, he relented. She grinned at his expression.

“I gotta admit, I didn’t expect you to put up such a good fight. The last one I dealt with wasn’t half as good a match as you. I’m impressed.”

A strange swell of pride bloomed in Vincent’s chest despite his indignation. She hummed thoughtfully.

“Dinner does sound nice, doesn’t it?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, struggled to swallow in her hold.

“I haven’t been on a date in a while,” she remarked, “Maybe you’ll show me a good time, eh, chéri?”

She let him go, stepping back. Before he could respond, her knee collided with his head. The world went dark.

He came to in the afternoon with the sun beaming down on his face. The back door was wide open, leaving only the sound of birds and the breeze flowing through the golden-yellow grass. He popped his jaw and sat up with a groan. She was gone. If it weren’t for the blood and the dents in the wall he’d have thought it were nothing more than a dream. But he could smell gardenias, he could still taste her on his tongue. He could still feel her racing pulse beneath his thumb, hear her voice. He inhaled deeply, unsure what to think of the feeling passing through him. He couldn’t come to a conclusion, but he recalled something that caused him to smile.

She’d called it a date.

***

Paris, France. Two days later.

She was reclined on a park bench, eyes shut, taking in the sun while her black dress sparkled. He watched her a couple yards away, finding himself rather daunted. She’d told him over the phone he’d know where to find her, and it had taken barely twenty minutes for her to be tracked down. Despite their fight, she looked radiant. Completely unscathed. It was inhuman.

His phone buzzed, and he frowned as he answered. It was her. He glanced up curiously, seeing she had disappeared. He held the phone to his ear.

“Dragging our feet? I’m not a patient lady.”

His searched around for her, but she’d vanished into thin air.

“Go ahead, you can ask…how the hell did I do that?”

He listened to her soft chuckle through the phone with surprising pleasure.

“Come to me, and I won’t make you wait any longer.”

“Awe, listen to that. You’ve been so good at finding me, this shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“You are impossible,” he sighed, turning to scan the park.

“Impossible? This just part of the fun.”

The call ended, and he stared at the phone with slightly furrowed eyebrows. He looked to the bench, noticing something fluttering and went over to examine it. It was a note. He unfolded it, reading sweeping cursive. It was in french, but he knew she’d written it.

Come and get me, chéri. I am a ghost with many faces.

Vincent smiled, eyes crinkling. He pulled out his phone, making a call that was quickly answered.

“Where is she now,” he questioned.

There was a pause. “Well…sir…”

“Mm?”

“It seems like she’s at a cafe.”

“Alright—“

“She’s also at the Notre Dame.”

He hesitated to answer, but kept his cool. “I…see.”

“And the Louvre.”

He moved the phone away, smiling to himself. “A ghost with many faces.”

“Go get her,” he instructed, “Each one.”

Belladonna’s game led him across the entire city. Well, his men, but still. They called him reporting of notes that read ‘warmer’, ‘colder’, or ‘come on, you can do better than that’. Each of her clones proved to be as slippery as the original, and it gave him a thrill and a more subtle concern. He was aware what she was telling him, their game aside. She was showcasing her manpower—how perfectly coordinated her operation was. She wasn’t just a mere assassin, she had built her own network. He’d suspected help, although not to this scale of control. It was clear to him, though, why she’s wouldn’t accept any price. Leaders can’t be bought. She’d left The Table and had somehow managed to build one of her own.

When the evening had rolled in, he simply relented trying to track her down. It was impossible, he’d accepted it. Standing outside the restaurant he’d reserved, he called her.

“Alright, you win. I give up. Where are you, I’ll send a car.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “No need. Just come in.”

“Have you been inside this entire time?”

“God, no. How boring would that be?”

She hung up. He shook his head, going inside. “Mon dieu.”

When he’d entered, she was there waiting, smoking with her legs crossed. Her lips were crimson red like her nails and her hair was curled to a dazzling perfection. Still, as he approached from behind, he could see the bruises on her back and shoulders. He stopped next to her, brushing her hair away from her neck, revealing the bandage over his cut. She turned her head, met his eyes. They glittered as she looked over his face.

“You know, if a date was all you wanted, a whole lot more of your men would be alive right now,” she said.

“Hello to you too, Bella.”

He brushed the bandage with his finger, earning a stare from her. She was smiling at him.

“Why are you here?”

She looked away as if to think, then locked her gaze onto him. “Why are you?”

He smiled in return. “I imagine we’re here for the same reason.”

His fingertips brushed down her neck and over her shoulder as he moved to take the seat across from her. Her eyes followed him, smoke passing through her rouge mouth.

“Well, then.”

She leaned onto the table, eyeing him.

“Do we really need to have dinner, or should we just get out of here and get straight to it?”

A wicked grin spread across her mouth as she surveyed him. He cleared his throat, but smiled.

“I went through so much trouble to get you that dress, I’d hate to ruin it so soon.”

She laughed. “Oh, you’ll ruin it, will you?”

He pressed his stare onto her. “I’ll rip it right off of your body and devour you.”

Belladonna took in his words, absorbing his stare in her deep brown eyes. Her teeth bared in a wide, shimmering smile.

“Not if I eat you first.”

Her cigarette burned out as they were served the first course.

She ignored the food, her eyes fixed onto him. Something about being under her stare made him feel stiff in his bones. The closer he brought her, the more it felt like reaching into a fire. Her gaze was always so predatory. It gave him a thrill of familiarity, and the chill of it, too.

“Eat,” he told her, gesturing to her plate.

She glided her finger over her wine glass, then shook her head slowly, eyes daring him.

“I don’t think I will.”

He paused in annoyance, but couldn’t help how pleased the resistance made him feel. It was plain on her face, she was playing with him.

“Don’t be difficult, now. We’re just starting to get along.”

Her teeth gleamed again. “Or what?”

The response made him pause. He set down his fork, processing what the woman who’d nearly killed him two days ago had just said to him. He leaned towards her slightly, a smile playing on his lips.

“Is that what you want, yeah? You want to be in trouble?”

A soft laugh made her shoulders bounce as she sat back. The toe of her heel nudged his leg underneath the table.

“That depends. What happens when I’m in trouble, Monsieur?”

“You don’t want to be in trouble with me, Bella.”

The warning only spurred her further. “Oh, but I love a little trouble.”

“All you American girls love trouble, don’t you?”

“It’s our middle name,” she teased, “So you’d better be as bad as you say.”

Her eyes flitted from her eyes to his face, zeroing in on his cheek. He was surprised by the warmth that seemed to emerge in her eyes as she leaned forward, tracing the cut in his cheek with her cigarette holder. A soft smile spread across her face. She almost seemed gentle.

“Such a pretty cut,” she muttered, “don’t you like it? A pretty cut for a pretty face.”

“You think my face is pretty?”

She chuckled softly at him, leaning further and caressing the slice with her thumb.

“Of course it’s pretty, chéri,” she murmured, “That’s why I made it mine.”

Wordlessly, Vincent took her hand. He could feel the slight callouses on her knuckles and the bases of her fingers that had been softened by manicures. He turned her hand, pressing his lips against her fingers and kissing her knuckles.

“Si tu me fais tienne, je te ferai tenir.” If you make me yours, I’ll make you mine.”

She turned her hand, brushing her fingertips against his lips, trailing a finger down to his chest. Her fingers wrapped around his tie, and she tugged it out of his vest, carefully pulling him over the table and leaning in for a kiss. His breath caught in his chest and his eyes fell shut from the feeling of her lips against his. With a rotation of her hand she tightened her grip and pulled him closer. He kissed her deeper, tasting a hint of champagne in her mouth and feeling her shuddering breath against his when she broke the kiss for air. She took in his intense green eyes and caught her lower lip in her teeth.

“Alors fais-moi tienne, Vincent.” Then make me yours, Vincent.

“Ah, I thought you were not kept puppy,” he said, a grin threatening to form on his face.

She yanked him, raising a brow. “I am not.”

He gingerly held onto the table with a laugh. “Then what are you doing here?”

Belladonna loosened her hold, dropping the tie and considering him for a moment.

“You may not be able to make me your puppy, but you’re in danger of making me your woman.”

His eyes flashed, and a grin spread across his face. “It’s dangerous, is it?”

“There would be many who would start ringing a funeral bell for you if they heard the news.”

His gaze lowered to her lips. Vincent took her chin in his hand.

“Is that the price to make you mine? My life?”

“It would certainly be one I’d consider.”

“Then it’s the one I’m offering.”

She laughed, looking away. He turned her face to make her hold his burning stare. For a moment, her eyes softened. She seemed to hesitate despite how far she’d escalated the entire situation. But, soon after, she closed her eyes and placed another kiss on his lips.

“Then I’ll tell you again,” she whispered, “Fais-moi tienne, chéri.”

He kissed her firmly, letting out a sigh. “Come with me, Bella—now.”

The minute he’d gotten her in the back of his limousine he tore the slit in her dress up to her torso and pinned her to the ground, undoing his tie and holding her wrists together firmly.

“You’re not getting away this time,” his voice rumbled lowly, “I won’t let you get away.”

He bound her wrists together tightly, watching her skin chafe against its luxurious material. Her breath was trembling. Her skin was already hot for him.

His cock was already hard against her inner thigh—the string of desire had been tugging at him the moment he’d read that note. She let out a heavy sigh, pushing her hips up against him and lifting her arms over her head to drape them over his neck and pull him down to her. Their lips crashed together while her hips ground against him, and a soft moan spilled from her mouth into his as her body started to wrap around him. He kissed harshly down her neck, digging his fingers into her hips and pressing it back down onto the floor.

“Stay still—stay fucking still.”

A laugh bubbled in her chest. “Oh, you’re going to have to work much harder to keep me still, baby.”

He quickly removed his jacket and grabbed his butterfly knife from his waistband. He grazed her leg with the cool blade, admiring the flames of desire that sparked in her eyes from the mere contact. Delicately, he dragged the point down her inner thigh, stopping to watch how her chest rose and fell erratically. He guided the blade lower and lower over her hips, grinning at how they slightly bucked.

“Ah, you want it?”

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she gently pulled him back up to her lips. She opened her mouth against his with a moan, running her foot up the back of his leg.

“Just take me,” she whispered.

“Fuck, stop ordering me around,” he said, lips trembling against her collarbone as he laughed, “I might start to like it from you.”

“Then make me beg.”

He nicked the cut he’d made in her upper thigh, shuddering at the gasp she let out into his mouth. Without wasting even a millisecond he dragged his mouth down over her stomach—and ghosted over her cunt—to run his tongue along the weeping slice. He grabbed onto her as he made his way from the cut to between her legs. His lips brushed her clit and her body seemed to jump a little at the feeling. Vincent couldn’t control himself. He placed a kiss close to her aching core and relished in how her body seemed to quiver at the slightest touch.

“Look at you, so wet…”

He hesitated to leave her cunt alone, but planted a kiss on her hip and then sank his teeth into her, earning a yelp and a soft, lighter moan when he didn’t let up.

“Vincent,” she whispered.

He was close to getting what he wanted, he could tell.

“Yes, chérie?”

His fingers teased through the fabric of her lace underwear—she let out a soft mewl, making his eyes widen.

“You wear these lace panties for me, chérie? You were going to give it up to me that easy, like I already owned your little cunt?”

“Vincent…”

“Est-ce que c'est ça qui te fait mouiller, mon coeur, quand tu es en dessous de moi comme ci ? Quand tu sais que je peux faire ce que je veux de toi ?” Is that what makes you wet, my darling, when you’re beneath me like this? When you know I can do whatever I want to you?

She sounded almost anguished. “S’il te plaît, Vincent.”

“Ah, now I can get a please and a thank you? Is this why you’re so fucking disrespectful to me, Bella? You want to be punished like a filthy whore, then?”

“Oh,” she managed through weak laugh, “I’m definitely disrespectful because I’m a pompous bitch. Why do you think I’m the one that can’t be bought?”

“Mm, but you can be fucked, huh?”

She smiled widely, eyes falling shut.

“Only if they’re as pompous a bitch as me, monsieur.”

He moved away from her hip and went back to her cut, sucking on it hard enough to make a hickey. Her body arched at the sting of it and Vincent could feel her getting slick in her underwear.

“Beg,” he said, taking off the heels he’d bought for her, “Beg for me.”

The words left her mouth in a whisper. “Please, please, just fuck me.”

“Je ne t’entends pas, chérie.”

He closed his teeth around her waistband, pulling it taut and slicing the underwear open.

“C’mon, baby, please?”

“Don’t ask,” he instructed, “Beg.”

In his fervency he nearly pressed his mouth onto her as he tore the rest of the fabric off and laid eyes on her pussy. His teeth sank into his lower lip—this woman was going to be the death of him.

No. No. He had to take his time.

There was nothing guaranteed with La Belladonna, it was what they all said. He couldn’t waste the moment she was wide open and willing for him. He returned to her sweet lips, kissing her slowly, inhaling her scent. He kissed down her neck hungrily.

“Fuck, I need you,” she whispered, “Please, just fuck me. Please, please, Monsieur.”

“Mon dieu, you know exactly how to beg, too. How can one woman manage to push every single one of my buttons?”

“I’m not the only one with a type here, honey,” she said, smiling, “I get what I want, too.”

His hand snaked down to rub her clit—slowly, to take in her expression, her voice. She moaned, grabbing his hair, pressing her forehead against his cheek.

“Oh, god, Vincent. Please…please…”

His fingers slid inside her eagerly, curling and pulling back then thrusting deeper.

“Mm…Vincent…”

“Yes, baby, say it like that.”

His voice was soft against her ear. She melted into the floor of the limousine, her body easing against his hand, just they way he’d imagined it would.

“I knew you’d be a good girl, Bella, I just needed to give you a nudge—“

She gasped loudly at his fingers pumping harshly back inside of her.

“—In the right direction. Don’t you think?”

Her smile even shone in the feeble light the managed to get through the limousine’s tinted windows. She turned her head and kissed him. He returned it sloppily, his head pulsing with blood as his cock ached painfully. Her lips found his cheek, then his jaw, then her tongue grazed his neck, making him shiver. She closed her teeth around his earlobe and tugged harshly. He moaned into her hair, shutting his eyes. He needed her. He couldn’t even keep his head on fucking straight enough to tease her. Months he had to wait—months of clinging onto remnants of her scent, her red-stained cigarette butts and rivers of blood that trailed behind her—months that drove him fucking mad.

“God, you fucking woman.”

He tore his belt open, undid his pants and pulled his dick out, wetting it with her slick. He rubbed the head against her pussy, breath shuddering, mouth drying; he wasn’t sure if he’d survive making love with her, feeling the way his heart thundered out of his chest.

“Take me,” she whispered, “fuck me, Vincent.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He slid inside her gently, but once he felt her, he couldn’t be gentle anymore. His hips drew back and crashed into hers, making her groan loudly and move her hands back over her head. His thrusts were harsh, intense, but his hands slid into her hair affectionately. He kissed her skin like it was the first thing he’d ever tasted, her sweat tasted like sugar to him.

“Fuck, you taste like vanilla.”

Her hands returned to him unbound, and they slid under his shirt. She held onto him and wrapped her legs around his hips as her breath caught with each thrust. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to hang on for him, to have this moment last as long as it could. His body felt perfect against his, his warmth, his scent, his taste. She’d only said words earlier—of course no one kept La Belladonna for long— but he seemed to be the man that just may have the ability—

“Put your hand on my neck,” she whispered, voice shaking.

His hand caressed her neck delicately. She let out a sigh, closing her eyes. Yes, he just might be the one.

“Harder, please,” she whimpered.

“Anything, mon cœur.”

“Faster.”

Her voice was barely leaving her throat. Vincent’s hips moved quickly as he felt her tightening around him. He moaned again, sure his voice managed to reach outside of the windows.

“Fuck, you’re getting so tight, Bella, you’re going to kill me.”

Her nails dug into his back cruelly, pushing him even closer to the edge as the pain echoed throughout his entire back. He managed to reach down and rub her clit again, feeling how swollen it had gotten as her orgasm came closer.

“Come for me, Bella, come, baby,” he encouraged, his fingers working quickly.

She cried out, her voice breaking as she grabbed onto his shoulders. She was just at the edge, her mind was spinning wildly. Her words were unintelligible to him, he’d never caught onto Italian very well.

“Oh, mio caro, sì, sì, ah, cazzo, sì—“

Her legs tightened around him as he slammed his hips against her, watching how her mouth fell open, listening to her gasping breath.

“Sì—sì come questo, tesoro, oh…oh! Non fermarti, per favore, oh per favore—ngh—cazzo!”

He groaned as her pussy clenched around him and she let out a cry, her nails digging so hard into his skin they might’ve been drawing blood. He snapped his hips into her one last time and came—loudly—as he felt for her breasts and grabbed onto them, tried and failed to stay upright, then lowered, his body pressed up against hers.

They laid for an eternity, trying to catch their breath, trying to wait for their heads to clear. Vincent managed to move first and kissed her neck, inhaling the smell of her skin, feeling her pulse starting to slow down. She let out a heavy exhale, eyes opening.

“You are…”

She trailed off into silence for a moment.

“…Magnificent.”

Vincent chuckled, kissing her jaw softly, unable to speak just yet. She smiled.

“Ti terrò in giro per molto tempo, tesoro.”

“I don’t know Italian, Bella.”

She laughed. “I said I’m going to keep you around.”

They looked at each other, and he smiled.

“Oh, are you?”

“Oh yes, Monsieur…for a very long time.”

She lifted a finger, tapping his nose affectionately.

“You keep me, I keep you, Mademoiselle.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, smiling softly. “That arrangement just might be acceptable.”

He smiled. “I’m glad we could finally settle on an agreement.”

Her laugh was weak, but her eyes shone with that sardonic humor that had charmed him so. He slowly pulled out of her, gently sitting her up.

“Come with me. I will take you home so you can rest. We’ll have dinner.”

[starlvenus]

ZOMBIE!?!!?!!!1!!

warnings! small description of rotting flesh, not super detailed, reader climbing out of grave sam winchester x fem!reader

i lowkey forgot about tumblr bcs of school </3 !! but i swear I'm trying to write more... ALSO!!! TYSM FOR ALL THE LIKES ON MY LASt POST!!! :D PLEASEEEEE feel free to request anything!! theres a chance ill write it :3 !! (fyi, not a full on fledged out fic :( just a little ramble thing until i couldnt/didnt wanna write anymore)

summary sams dead girlfriend comes back from the dead D: !! -- Your eyes widen, a gasp escaping your hoarse throat. A high pitched hum fills your ears almost instantly. Your eyes dart around seeing nothing. You  turn around trying to just shuffle to the left, almost instantly you realise there is little to none room. Instantly the panic settles in, your chest rising up and down rapidly. You move your hands to feel around you, you could hear your hand hitting something but you couldn't feel it. Despite how scared you were, you tried touching your face. Instead of warm flesh touching your own the abrupt feeling of brittleness makes a scream ripple out of your throat. With what little sense you have left, you try to claw away at the edges. Slowly but surely the casket slightly opens, dirt trailing in through the cracks. After you get the casket open, dirt instantly falls on top of you, the pressure of the dirt halting your shallow breaths. Desperately you try clawing your way through the dirt breathing in some as you climb your way out. After digging, and digging, the harsh glare of sunlight pierces through, burning your eyes forcing them to shut rapidly. Your eyes blink trying to get used to the jarring light. Your eyes slowly adjust. The moment they do, they dart around taking everything around them in. 

Despite guessing you were in a casket seeing the graves all around you freaked you out. Your eyes trail around the area, slowly landing on your hands. The flesh on your finger tips is stripped, and rotting away, leaving dark and dry patches. Your skin is deprived of its liveliness. The sight sends waves of nausea, your tummy lurches. Tears gaze over your eyes, you use all the strength you have to pull yourself out. The ringing in your ear quiets down. Your body shakes as you stand up.. Not knowing where you are going you start walking. Hoping to find something. You make your way on a backroad, the cicadas buzz in your ear. Sometimes cars will pass you, they do look at you as they drive past, none of them daring to stop. After what felt like hours, you find a small phone booth. You think about how lucky you were.. You almost automatically press in the 10 digits.

The phone dials, and dials.. Until his voice rings through the shitty phone. “Hello? Who is this?” “Sam? It's me.” Sam sits paralysed. The once comforting voice leaves him with a shiver running down his spine. He struggles to even believe that he was able to hear her voice again. Just as quick as he thought he had her back, other thoughts raced in with the many possibilities, shape-shifters, crocottas, and more. Never considering the fact that it could be her. Despite his doubt he can't bring himself to hang up. It's been too long since he heard her. It lacks her past awkwardness, replaced with a lifeless tone, but it's undeniably hers. The slightest chance that it could even be her keeps him on the other line. Not willing to miss the chance. Ignoring his doubts, he hesitantly speaks up. “Is.. is it really you?”

[rubydubydoo122]

In every universe Jason Peter Todd dies young. It’s a fate sealed across the multiverse. Maybe he could hope that there’s one universe where he doesn’t. aka, Jason, Dick, and Bruce go multiverse hopping, and are not having a fun time. (Ps, when I started writing this fic I hced Jason as Latino, but I don't really believe in that hc anymore, so just a heads up if you don't like that hc)

TRIGGER WARNING -> Child Death (it's Jason), and lowkey cannibalistic gore?

Jason found himself kneeling in grass, rain pelting down, soaking his hair, and knees. He leaded his head forwards and closed his eyes, murmuring a soft, “May holy Mary, the angels, and all the saints come to meet you as you go forth from this life.” to the Robin that had just died. 

In the background, he could hear Dick yelling, “Let me at him! He just– let me go !”

“Dick, Chum, we’re not–we’re not in the Manor anymore.”

No. They were in a cemetery. Specifically, Jason was kneeling in front of his grave. He knew what was going to happen. He wasn’t going to try to stop this one.

Jason turned around, to sit on the slight ledge of his grave and leaned his head back, until it was touching stone.

“Why are we…?” Dick trailed off. He wasn’t exactly looking to where Jason was sitting, but he was looking at a tombstone.

Bruce was staring down Jason again, and Jason buried his face in his hands to break eye contact, “I think we need to take a break. Figure out everything we know. Maybe get some rest. I think we have about two-five hours here.” probably closer to two. He remembers panicking.

Dick turned to Jason with a question on his face, but then saw where Jason was sitting. His eyes narrowed, “You’re already dead here? So maybe the pattern was wrong. All we have to do is wait for Talia to show up, follow her, and rescue you after you’ve taken a dip in the pit.”

“Talia didn’t go grave robbing. She’s not crazy, and Bruce has sensors for that. He would’ve known.”

Dick moved closer to Jason, “Then how…?”

He stared hard at the patch of dirt. The feeling of his nails cracking and dirt in his mouth, suddenly overtaking him. Except, that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was before that. It was the true serenity, followed by the sudden hit of life. The feeling of being woken up from a good dream that you never wanted to leave. 

He was at rest. Let him stay asleep. “I woke up.”

Bruce crossed his arms, “You…woke up? As in…” He looked from the tombstone to the ground.

Jason showed him his hands in response. The jagged lines where the wood tore off his nails and skin. The crooked finger that broke while clawing through mud that never quite set properly.

All of Jason’s injuries were healed by the time he got to the pit. It was just his mind that was broken. So he was still left with all the scars from before he died, and after.

He felt the hairs on his neck stand up as the mystical forces picked up around them. He’d just woken up.

Dick looked pale, but he immediately knelt to the ground and started clawing at the mud, “We’ve gotta get you out– is the a shovel somewhere or–”

“Dick, stop.”

“Jason, This is the only you we know we can save.”

“No. We don’t . When I crawled out of my grave, I was completely catatonic. I was a husk of a human being. Blood might’ve been pumping through my veins and air might’ve been flowing through my lungs, but I was not alive .” Jason pointed to his temple, “Not in here. I aimlessly wandered the streets, and got hit by a car , Dick.”

“Then we help get him to this world’s Bruce.”

“You think Talia didn’t want to do just that ? I know you guys think she kept me from you for her own selfish reasons, but she didn’t . After she found me she wasn’t sure that I’d survive to the next day . That’s how impaired I was. She didn’t give me back to Bruce because she didn’t want him to lose me again , because she thought it would absolutely break him.” 

“We could–”

“If he lives he lives, if he dies he dies . Your grief is clouding your judgment.” 

“How could you say that? If it was a civilian who was buried alive , we would do anything in our power to get them out .”

“Because it’s different! I wasn’t buried alive , I was buried dead . I’m a cosmic mistake– higher entities have told me that. I’m supposed to be dead. He’s ,” Jason pointed to the ground, “Supposed to be dead. Bruce always says we can’t play Judge, Juror or Executioner. We can’t play God either. Let him rest . Just let him rest.” 

For a beat, they were all frozen. Until Dick moved to sit next to him. Legs pressed up against each other. Making sure Jason was really in front of him, and not some cruel hallucination.

Suddenly, the rain stopped pelting on top of them, and the night sky was a lot darker than before. 

Bruce was holding his cape up to shield them from the rain. Like he used to do when they were both much smaller. Yet, it still felt oddly the same. “Dick and I need new civilian clothes. After that, we should get food.”

They started towards Gotham city. There were carved pumpkins and skeletons everywhere, so it was near Halloween. The bat signal was lit, and the people of Gotham were wearing gas masks. So Scarecrow was out. It probably was Halloween. 

That’s crazy. Did Jason really crawl out of his grave on Halloween? Though, it was an alternate reality, so maybe this Jay did, for shits and giggles, but Jason might not have.

“Is… was today Tim’s first day on the job?” Dick was currently drowning his pancakes in maple syrup. They were all in civies, and sitting in a booth at a 24 hour diner. It had shut down, but had always been a quick stop for food after a rough patrol.

Jason pushed the thought of the young Tim sobbing against his chest. He’s never going to be as big as you . None of the four Jason's will.

“Yes.” Bruce forked a piece of his eggs, and caught Jason’s look. though, he probably read it wrong because, “He showed up to fight Scarecrow with a red ski mask.” Bruce raised an eyebrow, “I’m sure you came back out of pure spite.”

Jason blinked. That was a joke… from Bruce. Did he get a concussion? Was he in shock? 

He looked to Dick who seemed more exasperated than phased. 

Bruce cleared his throat when he realized the joke didn’t seem to land, “We need to figure out if there’s more to this than just Jay dying. We have two caused by the Joker, one that was an accident, and the other was natural causes. I don’t think the cause of death will be the same.”

Jason pushed around some berries on his plate, “Bruce, do you think that the Joker's confrontation was… a bit too intimate for a Joker that wasn’t ours?” It was his confrontation with Bruce pretty much word for word. It made him want to throw up.

Dick gripped his fork harder as both him and Bruce said, “Yes.”

Jason looked at Dick in confusion. As far as he knew, Bruce did not talk about that night with anyone. Except Dick didn’t feel the need to explain. Which is fine, he’s allowed to have his secrets, but now he’s wondering what part of that confrontation was directed to get under Dick’s skin. “But we’re not in that reality anymore. Our priority should be making sure each Jason we come across is safe.”

“Though I don’t disagree, our priority should be finding a way home.” Bruce countered, and looked to Jason pointedly, “We can’t play God. We’re being sent to universes where Jason is fated to…die. There might not be much we can do.”

“The Tragedy of Jason Todd: The Boy Fated to Die.” Jason paused, “Hm, that’d be a great title for my autobiography.”

Dick sighed defeatedly, “Hush, Jason, the adults are speaking.”

(Hi! Author here! I wanna have Jason go, “Well I’m taller,” in Tiny Tim fashion and Dick go, “Well, currently, you’re six feet under. So shut the fuck up.” But it’s terribly ooc, so I’m not. Just know that I really wanted to write it though)

“Dick, I’m 23.”

Dick, like the dick he was, ignored that, “What if we talked to Wally.”

Bruce made his, I don’t need help, I’m Batman face. Dick rolled his eyes, “He might not be able to bring us back home, but maybe he can get a message to the family or something. They can work on a device from home. It’s the same plan from before, just… more communication.”

Jason nodded, “I mean… It was both of your lack of communication that got us into this mess. Maybe that’s the lesson you need to learn. To talk and share.”

“Says Mr. I’ve been alive for seven years and I’m only just now telling my family my mother betrayed me and I crawled out of my own grave. ” 

“That’s different. That’s trauma. I should be allowed the grace to tell you guys when I’m comfortable with telling you guys.” Though, maybe he should tell them about the magic swords he has. 

Nah, it’s not that important.

“Well, you didn’t  tell us about your previous cosmic adventure.”

“That’s honestly because Bruce is a super stalker and I thought he already knew.”

To that, Dick had nothing to say.

“I want a mission report on this.”

“Bruce, it was literally five years ago. The only thing I remember is Rayner and I fighting every five minutes. God that guy was… embittered. He thought I was trying to get with Donna.” Like ew, no, that was Jason’s big sister… Even though he shot her. But it worked out in the long run. And what’s a little bloodshed between siblings. He, Damian, and Tim were relatively ok. 

Dick frowned, “Huh, usually Kyle’s really nice to everyone.”

“Well, apparently he has a thing against ‘Angst Ridden Bad Boys’, his words, not mine.”

Dick raised his eyebrows, “Oh that totally sums you up. Did he also have a thing against you quoting Hamlet? Did he absolutely loathe you geeking out over 19th century fashion.” 

“Oh! We actually did go to a Victorian Era Gotham. That was honestly probably the best part of our multiversal adventure. Wait. We’re getting off track. I think we should vote. All in favor of talking to Wally…” He and Dick both raised their hands. “Two against one. Sorry Bruce.”

Bruce stabbed his eggs, “We’re not calling Wally, because we’re currently in Gotham and my no-metas allowed rule was like an iron fist during this time period. Maybe if we go to a universe where we can actually talk to our counterparts, then we can call whatever runner is available. For now, we’re getting our bearings. Anything other commonality we might’ve missed”

Dick mashed a banana that was on his plate, “I would say they were all… birds. Except the second one.”

Jason pushed his plate towards the center, and unfolded a napkin, “Bruce, can I have a pen– or a marker would be better so I don’t rip the page, but anything.” 

Bruce handed him a copic red marker, that was probably Damian’s. During stakeouts he usually starts sketching. 

Jason made a T-chart, going down were traits, and across was each Jason. Mama’s boy Jay, Jay #2, Regina George Jay, Jay+Egg, and Zombie.

“Those are horrible headings.”

“Should I have done Jay 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5?”

“Yes.”

Jason shrugged, “Oh well, too late now.”

The first trait was Robin? “What are we qualifying for… the mantle? Cus, technically, Mama’s Boy was supposed to be taking a break from it, Regina George wasn’t in the suit, and Zombie… hasn’t been to work in a while.”

Bruce grunted, “Yes, no, yes, yes, no.”

“I know there isn’t any correlation between them, but the places.”

Jason jotted that down– Ethiopia :(, Crime Alley, Corner of Diamond and Old, Wayne Manor, Six Feet Under Gotham Cemetery.

“Cause of…ya know.”

Smoke Inhalation, Hypothermia, probable collapsed lung/concussion, Gunshot wound– Carotid Artery, Co2 poisoning Suffocation, Just in case it’s the dirt, not the air. They’ll know if they disappear before the five hour mark. Jason furrowed his eyebrows, and jotted down the ages, 15, 10, 13, 14, 16? 15,

Dick glanced at the page, “Hopefully, that changes. Maybe we’ll get an age range of Jays. And hopefully 10 year old Jay was an outlier.” 

The chances of that were low, but Jason wasn’t going to tell Dick that. There were hundreds of opportunities for him to die on the streets. 10 was probably the lowest value, but the mode was probably… 11. He was fighting for his life on the streets trying not to get pimped again by the time the next winter came around. Making a plot chart might not be a bad idea. Though that would have to be later. With real paper.

 He folded up the napkin, handed both the marker and their info sheet to Bruce, and brought back his plate of strawberry french toast. He wanted to say, “You’re optimistic if you really think I had a higher chance at life while I was living on the streets.” but he didn’t. Because his mouth was full, and Alfred had taught him manners. 

 They continued to eat in silence, until a chill ran down Jason’s spine. “I think we’re gonna leave soon.” When both Bruce and Dick gave him a confused look, he groaned, “if we were in a universe where your counterpart was dying, you would know too.”

Bruce got out his wallet and placed a 100 dollar bill on the table, as Dick grabbed The T duffle bag with their stuff, and the room turned white.

(The Lamb, By William Blake)

As soon as they landed in this new universe, Jason could immediately tell the magic was much stronger in this universe.

The next thing he could immediately tell was that he was in a warehouse. Again. Yey.

“Mea!” Was that… a lamb? Jason peaked over the crate they were hiding behind, and yup, that was a Lamb. A really really bloody Lamb. It was a surprise it was still alive. And a scraggly looking dog was eating– 

No. Not a dog.

He slowly squatted back down, “There's a Hyena…”

Dicks eyes grew comically wide, as a giggle pierced through the warehouse. The giggle evolved into a laugh and abruptly cut off as the Lamb cried out. 

Then the laughter started up again. Somehow, it was worse than– The Hyena was– the Joker was– the Hyena was laughing.

Jason gripped his kris, “Let me kill it.”

“Jason you need to brea–”

“It’s just a stupid dog. It’s just a stupid dog. Let me kill it!”The Joker – The Hyena– was laughing, and laughing, and laughing . The Joker’s – The Hyena’s – Lips were stained red, red, red . Jason– The Lamb – was crying. Jason was crying, the Lamb was crying . The laughter got louder, and louder and louder , and– 

No.

This wasn’t worth Jason’s time and nervous system. 

He sat up and threw his kris right in between the Hyena’s eyes, and it stopped laughing. The Joker– no, the Hyena stopped Laughing. 

Except the Hyena was slowly turning more humanoid. Its deep brown coat was being leeched of its color. It’s paws turning into hands that were white. Feet that were white. It’s snout staying stained red while it morphed into a crimson red smile that always seemed to haunt Jason.

Jason looked away from the body. He’s killed plenty of people before, he doesn’t mind killing the people who deserve it. Except that laugh. That fucking laugh. It never annoyed him before, but… it sounded so… uncanny . 

The Lamb… wasn’t looking good at all. Its wool was stained red, chunks of its flesh were missing from where the Joker had eaten it alive. Its intestines were spilling out of its stomach. Lining the floor with half mangled internal organs–

The Lambs' features began to change. 

Into–

Into a young Jason.

Who- who couldn’t have been older than 12. Who was curled up on himself trying to keep his insides that were already out, in, even though it was a losing battle

Jason squatted down to brush Jay’s hair back, “Little Lamb who made thee; Dost thou know who made thee; Gave thee life & bid thee feed; By the stream & o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight; Softest clothing wooly bright; Gave thee such a tender voice; Making all the vales rejoice! Little Lamb who made thee; Dost thou know who made thee; 

“Little Lamb I'll tell thee, Little Lamb I'll tell thee! He is called by thy name; For he calls himself a Lamb: He is meek & he is mild; He became a little child: thou a child & I a lamb; We are called by his name. Little Lamb God bless thee. Little Lamb God bless thee.” Jason closed his eyes, “ May holy Mary, the angels, and all the saints come to meet you as you go forth from this life. And please , just let him rest.”

[sarahs-secrets2]

Pull Me In (Phillip Graves x Reader) 18+࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

This picture of Graves makes me laugh so hard lmfaodkfskdfjs, also I'm adding fem biased to how the fic is written because despite me not using any direct pronouns (she/her) I do realize how these read, so I will be going back and changing my fics to have this adjustment 💝

Loosely based on Satellite by Harry Styles

gn! fem biased (no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: lowkey nsfw, sexual tension, swearing, pet names, pining, mentions of alcohol, fluff, and even lowkey angst, OOC (for the plot), the functions of the pool scene may not be entirely accurate but who cares it's hot!!!!!, CUE IS THE STICK USED TO HIT THE BALLS IN A POOL GAME FYI

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

“You free this weekend?” the Commander nudged your elbow as you packed up your bag heading out of the training unit at the Shadows base. 

“No, I think I have some stuff going on,” you shrugged. Phillip Graves was a great Commander, always attentive and checking in with his team, but especially with you. Over time you had noticed the extra attention you had been getting from Phillip, it had become overwhelmingly obvious. You would have to be blind to not notice what he was doing, so instead of leaning into it, you had more fun acting oblivious to his advances. Something about teasing the Commander made it all the more fun. You would also be dumb if you didn't admit how attractive you found Phillip Graves. From his gorgeous face to the way he refused to give up on trying to win you over, you had fallen quite hard, but it wasn't that easy, especially when he was your commanding officer, and especially since you didn't do relationships. 

“That’s a shame, lot of us are going to a new bar, was hoping you would join us,” Graves was walking closely beside you down the halls of the base, you were well aware of what he was doing. He just wanted an excuse to be closer to you, he would lean as you spoke back as if he couldn't hear and the only solution was being inches away from your face. 

“Maybe I’ll stop by, who else will be there?”, you teased back, hoping to get a rise out of Phillip.

“Well, everyone at this point except you darlin’” he laughed to hide how embarrassed he felt. He had lost count of how many months he had spent trying to get your attention. Graves was usually quite confident and self-assured but around you, something changed. He had lost his footing trying to impress you and now he didn't care how desperate he looked. Phillip just wanted one chance. 

The other Shadows noticed the Commander's new behaviors towards you, which you were still acting oblivious to, you enjoyed stringing him along. They began making fun of Phillip for his failed attempts and how out of his element you made him, the once smooth-talking southern boy was tripping on his words as he chased you down the halls. He had learned to tune out the noise to focus on you.

Phillip walked into the bar shocked when he heard your laughter breaking through the chatter. You were playing darts with some Shadows, smiling at your almost bullseye. Graves didn't know how to feel, he was happy to see you but jealousy was bubbling up inside of him due to the fact that he wasn't the one with you. Making his way through the crowded bar he grabbed a beer from the bartender and then headed to join you as you played darts. 

“Hey, you're late Phillip”, you smiled at him, teasing the Commander who had begged you to come out tonight only to be the one who everyone was waiting on. 

“Well, I’m here now aren't I?” he snuck his arm around your waist as he pulled you in for a side hug, you rested your head on his shoulder while you hugged him back slightly. Phillip sighed when you pulled away, already missing your touch. 

“So-” you faced the group, “Who is going to teach me to play pool?” motioning to the table in the center of the bar.

“I think the Commander should handle that one,” a newer Shadow laughed.

“Whaddya say, Graves, you up for it?”, you watched as Phillip sipped his beer, looking at you above the glass as he slightly raised his eyebrows in amusement. 

“Anything for you doll,” a laugh escaped his lips, as you took his hand dragging him through the crowd to the pool table

Phillip set his beer down and grabbed two cues, handing you one. Meanwhile, you adjusted the balls in the middle of the table making sure they were centered. You removed the triangle that kept the balls in one place, setting it on a side table.

“How’d I do?” you motioned at the setup hoping it looked alright.

“I think it looks great, go ‘head, you first,” Phillip took a step back allowing you to take the first shot. You leaned down placing the cue making sure it sat in between your index finger and thumb, slowly pulling the cue back before releasing it. Instead of hitting the white ball, the cue skipped missing it completely. 

“Shit, that’s embarrassing,” laughing as you leaned against the table.

“Come ‘ere, I’ll show ya how to do it,” Graves walked over behind you, “Okay act like you're gonna hit the ball,” he waited as you leaned down, bending over the pool table.

“Now what?” you turned your head back slightly, catching Phillip as his eyes raked over you, “Eyes up here, Commander,” you laughed, throwing him a wink. 

“Alright if I reposition you darlin’?” you nodded giving him permission to move you however he needed to. His hands connected to your waist, slowly pulling your hips back until your ass was grazing his belt buckle. He then took one hand and placed it onto your back, pushing it down until your stomach was just barely touching the pool table. Graves then wrapped an arm around you, guiding your hands onto the cue stick. 

Phillip tilted his head down slightly to whisper in your ear, “Just like that doll, pull the cue back,” you followed the instructions trying to maintain focus as he continued to hover over you, “Release whenever you’re ready”, your breath hitched as you released the cue, this time hitting the white ball perfectly breaking the balls that sat in the middle of the table. 

Instead of moving from your position with the Commander, you shifted your hips that remained pressed into his jeans. Slowly turning your head to look back at him, “How was that?”, your eyes slightly hooded as made eye contact.

Graves’ hands moved from your arms to your waist as he guided you to stand up straight, now facing him. He leaned in slightly so you were sure to hear him, “Better than I could've imagined darlin’”, the smirk on his face showed you that he was well aware of what the both of you were doing, and it wasn't a game anymore. 

“You gonna take your turn cowboy?”

“Well,” he let out a sigh, “not sure if I’m interested in the game anymore, I’d rather just talk with you”

“That so, Graves?”, he chuckled at your teasing. His hands still rested on your waist, lightly pushing you up against the pool table. “And, where did you want to talk to me?” 

“I would say this bar is a bit too crowded for a good conversation, you agree?”, you nodded in response, “So I was thinking we can go back to base maybe, that sound good?”

“I must be special if the Commander wants to talk with me!” you gave Phillip a toothy grin as you played dumb on why the pair of you were going back to his. Instead of giving him a chance to respond you grabbed his hand dragging him through the bar again, and out the front door. 

Luckily neither of you had finished your drinks so you were both safe to drive, Philip being a gentleman offered to be the one to do so. The two of you were now in his pickup truck heading back to the base, the radio was quiet and his hand rested lightly on your inner thigh.

“Can I ask you somethin’?”, Graves turned down the radio to almost silent now. 

“Mhm?”

“What changed?”, he looked over at you quickly before returning his attention back to the road. 

“You mean with us?”

“Yeah, you’re smart, you know what I've been doin’ darlin’,” he laughed to himself, recalling the months of pining after you. 

“I’ve always liked you, Phil, I just can’t imagine dating the Commander, let alone dating,” your hand now resting on the nape of his neck, you looked over at him as he drove, lightly scratching his hair with your nails. 

“Not your thing? Dating?”

“Easiest way not to get hurt,” with your free hand, you lightly tapped on your temple.

The truck finally pulled into the base, Phillip looking over at you now, “I wouldn't dream of hurtin’ you doll, you know that?” 

“Doesn't everyone say that?” you gave him a sad smile.

“I mean it, I can see you’re lonely”, Graves taking your hand in his as he lightly stroked your thumb, before placing a small kiss on the back of your hand. He didn't give you a chance to respond before he hopped out of the truck, moving to the passenger side to open your door, giving you his hand to help you out. 

The pair of you walked back through the Shadows’ base closely next to each other, this time you reciprocated the feeling of wanting to be near Phillip. His hand snuck around your shoulder, pulling you closer, your head rested on his shoulder, just like how it had earlier in the night. This time you didn't pull away. 

Phillip stopped in the hallway abruptly, turning you to face him, “I'm right here, I've been waitin’ for ya to pull me in doll, just say it, and I'm all yours,”

“I don't do relationships, Graves”, your eyes drifting to the ground. 

“How about you give it a chance? Think it over for me, and then decide”, a small smile crept onto his face as he pulled you in for a hug, placing a small kiss on the top of your head. 

“Give me a day or two, yeah?” you looked up at him before breaking the hug, patting his chest before walking away, Phillip stood now alone in the hallway hoping he wouldn't be stuck waiting forever.

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Disclaimer not proofread! if you see something pls lmkk

Thank you all for bearing with me this weekend it was a bit crazy for me, I hope you all enjoyed this :)))

[sea-jello]

if anyone remembers my movie morro au here’s the part where he’s the villain finally LMAO

i had this idea in mind already and it just so happened to sorta line up with the morrotober prompt so

Day 7/October 7: Crystal || Wishing Well || "Too late now." (?)

OKAY so you probably should go read the other part just for the worldbuildings sake but i think you’ll survive if you don’t. anyways he’s still a high up gang member but instead of sneaking around behind the scenes he actually does stuff this time. he still does lowkey stuff he doesn’t go in guns blazing, so like spy stuff, or stealth missions. he still does the jobs from the other part like collect intel, make plans give orders yada yada. also he specialises in poisons instead of weapons cause he has an advantage with his wind. and cause i think it’s cool. like tranquillizers, sleeping potions, smoke bombs stuff like that (ties back to the stealth missions. he still fights he doesn’t just sit back and let the chemicals do the work. they’re just incorporated in) i don’t think anyone knows he has wind cause people would tie it back to him being associated with the ninja, so he uses it but like sneakily (remember in the movie when lloyd says “wind isn’t taken can i be wind?” YUP)

NOW in the other part i said he was very undercover and that’s why they couldn’t catch him. well this morro is a little more involved. as in he and a couple other members tried to steal the biggest crystal in ninjago from the borg vaults, which have the highest security possible (i like to try and incorporate canon and it’s either this or he goes fucking grave robbing and i don’t like that, so it’s the vaults). so they sneak in, they trigger the alarm and they’re like well okay no point now (too late now HAH morrotober prompt that wasn’t even intentional) and start trying to fight their way out. and it’s going alright until surprise surprise, the fucking ninja show up and they get arrested

before i forget morro and lloyd as regular civilians aren’t like close at all cause morro was wus student before the ninja ever were, and he used the stuff he learned from wu to rise up the ranks. they know of each other and they know they’re cousins (ish idrk if morros actually related to wu) but they’ve seen each other like once or twice probably. would recognise if they were asked to identify each other, but do not know of each other’s ninja/gang business cause they’ve both got masks. although i think it would hurt more if they were close so i might change that

so they’re incapacitated and the ninja are like sick let’s go fucking celebrate and dip before morro and the rest of their identities are revealed, so lloyd finds out his cousin was fucking arrested through morros crusty mugshot on the news here too LMAO. i was debating on if they should stay not knowing each other’s identities throughout but that’s like impossible since morros arrest is on the news and movie lloyd would pull his mask of for that “you don’t have to be evil my dearest cousin” speech the second theyre face to face

robbery plus breaking and entering plus aggravated assault plus assaulting a police officer PLUS gang activity since they obviously have proof he’s actively participating (and also he goes out more here that in the post where he’s not the villain so they have more evidence than they did in that version)?? that could add up to like twenty something years in jail. he’s 16 when he gets arrested, but you can be tried as an adult if the crime is severe enough. so he is and BAM hes probably gonna grow up in jail. he’s currently in juvie but will be moved when he hits 18. but he’s not gonna spend his prime years in JAIL

so he breaks out a year later. obviously. remember he is infamous for being a mastermind escape artist

he’s out of jail and he’s out for the ninjas blood. he’s gone three years without ever getting caught and all of a sudden these color coded high schoolers in 20 feet tall robots toss him in the slammer?? they’re going down

the ninja find out he escaped through the news again and come to the conclusion he’s probably coming back for revenge lloyds like oh my god my fucking cousins gonna kill me i’m gonna die at the hands of my own family. wu pops up and he goes blah blah you need to TRAIN i know all of this kids tricks you need to HARNESS the ELEMENTAL POWER INSIDE OF YOU instead of RELYING on your MECHS or whatever idk let’s be honest they need to learn not to rely on them more. the ninja are like 👁👁 you know this guy CUE classic wu backstory montage

i’m not very sure how this would end yet but i feel like it would be really funny if they were planning to hit him with everything they have and it ends up with lloyds “come back to the good side dear cousin of mine” speech anyways. either ways there are multiple fights in which lloyd does try to pacify him and make peace, but morro never gives him a chance to explain who he is so he doesn’t know he’s the green ninja til the end lmao. if this were a lego movie it would be a fight that sucked terribly, make a plan and improve and train, fight again but this time they’re sure they’re gonna get him but everything’s failing at a sudden turn of events near the end, and lloyd gives his heartfelt speech. maybe morro refuses but a new bigger threat appear like the overlord or something and they have to work together and morro realized hey fighting with people isn’t so bad. idk i’m just throwing this at the wall atp see what sticks

this one isn’t that long cause the last one was more worldbuiling and this one’s more about plot, and it’s not that great cause i speedran it in time for morrotober and it’s like lowkey underdeveloped and it’s currently 3 30am i might come back and change some things. the only thing i had completely set on this was he tries to steal the crystal, he got arrested, then broke out, so feel free to suggest some changes!

[alltimefail-sims]

The sims 3 lore is just as wacko as the sims 2 istg my fav lore has to be the dead clone wives lemme explain. So in twinbrook there's s sim name Juan Darer (he's quite interesting to look at too) in the junkyard he owns is the grave of Lacy Darer. Now Juan and Lacy have no relationship but she could be his ex wife as deceased spouses aren't shown on the family tree in the sims 3. Lacy died in a fire but what's the crazy part Juan's best friend Harwood Clay is has a possible wife named Macy Clay who also died in a fire. Macy and Lacy's names aren't just a coincidence. Macy and Lacy are almost completely identical. Many think they're twins but twins don't have the same exact same personalities. The darker theory is that Juan being the eccentric creator created clone wives for him and his best friend and Lacy and Macy somehow perished possible in the cloning process which is also the reason Juan's house caught on fire and he lives in a barn.

O m g

Sorry for taking forever to respond to this! This month has been wildly busy in the worst way!! I hate summer! Everyone in my house has been sick at some point! UGH!

Anyway, I finally had a chance to sit down and thoroughly look into both of these families. I'm going to start with the Doe family because, honestly, I don't have a whole lot to add about the Darers and I'm eager to jump into the Does (my thoughts on the Darers will be at the end though!).

Let's dive in! ↓

I had to look up Midnight Hollow to start, and EEEEEEP I love this world's whole vibe. If I play the Sims 3 THIS will be the world I start in!!! Favorite world I've learned about in TS3 so far. I lowkey want to live here irl.

But imagine my shock when I found out that they were putting whole ass worlds on The Sims 3 store. That's absolutely insane lmao!! They would of had my wallet with this one though, not gonna lie. The vibes are top-tier.

Now I looked up the Doe family just like you said and I need you to know that they are the kind of unsolved lore I live for. This family alone makes me want to pirate buy TS3 today.

The Wiki's description wasn't necessarily weird, but the household description left me with many questions.

Jane is the perfect housewife, from her neat hairstyle to her fashionable yet conservative dress. She's neat, nurturing, loves her kids, and can make a mean pot roast! Meanwhile, John is rising in the ranks at his corporate job. He feels successful in life and supported by his family. He works hard but comes home in enough time to teach his kids a lesson or two about life and talk to his wife about her day. Nothing mysterious seems to be happening here, but didn't their house used to have a basement?

That last line. Yeah. WTF? That made the hairs on my arm stand up, especially considering that the world they come with is supposed to mimic a classic-horror vibe. So Immediately I'm getting serial killer vibes, I'm getting psychological thriller, I'm getting family that invites you over for dinner only for you to realize that you are dinner.

Just from the description alone, I'm thinking that the parents are people with a wicked past - coconspirators in crime (whether Jane is a willing or unwilling participant is debatable but intriguing) that may involve killing and disposing, from the sounds of the "former-basement" and the fact that no one really knows why they've suddenly come to a new town without any explanation of their past. Additionally, the names feel like a reference to true crime and murder to me - the last name Doe, with first names Jane and John specifically, are typically names given to unidentifiable victims who, more than not, are victims of violence and brutalization which leaves them unidentifiable. Or, at times, they're simply unidentifiable based on the fact that they don't have family or friends that could claim them, thus making them the perfect targets if you've got bad intentions. The parents seem shady, but beyond that their names reaffirm that they aren't the perfect, squeaky-clean, nuclear family they pretend to be. I mean, you could even speculate that Jane and John are not even their real names. Obviously the sims team are big fans or campy, on-the-nose names (Bob Pancakes, the Goth family, the Calientes, Marcus Flex), but I've always liked to think that sim names can serve more than one purpose.

I jumped over to The Doe family community blog post and the interview there further confirmed a lot of my suspicions, and that whatever they're hiding might be sealed off in what used to be the family basement (the dev who made this family makes sure to draw attention to this enough that it's clearly significant). It's no coincidence that the basement suddenly "disappeared" (or perhaps just became inaccessible) as soon as the family moved in. Some notable things from this interaction:

The classic, old-fashioned misogyny from John. "The light of my life keeps my home perfect and welcoming." It's subtle, but says a lot about this family's old-fashioned dynamic. I hate the condescending, possessive energy between these two. I literally felt uncomfortable during this entire interview (I'd argue that is intentional).

The recurring and growingly tense persistence for the interviewer/producer to drink more tea. BIG red flag on this because my first thought is "Why?" I can understand being hospitable, but it seems like the interviewer has already been taken care of, so why the push? Jane is literally described as frantic, dodging the interviewer's questions entirely and hyper-focusing on the tea as if this is her role to play in what could be an unfortunate turn of events. On the other hand, John seems to be cheerily dismissive. I'm seeing skilled, practiced manipulation in the form of feigned charisma and charm - he doesn't ignore the questions but rather skillfully pivots and tries to keep things light and comfortable. His energy is notably different than the rest of the family, which makes him seem like the primary, skilled aggressor. He is keeping shit under control just enough to not raise suspicion, in my opinion.

But, most interesting to me, is their children's reactions to what is going on. The bio tells us so little about them, but their actions say so much. James, being a toddler and the youngest, obviously is going to be relatively clueless. But Jenn, the daughter, Sits quietly and stares ahead with an eerie blank expression. This feels like a traumatized, almost dissociative response. She seems removed in an anticipatory sense, on-brand for how a child might respond to signs of danger. I'd go as far to say that she is exhibiting one of the 5 fight and flight trauma responses; mainly the "freeze" response. The oldest son Joseph, on the other hand, is outwardly angry. He even leaves the room and slams the door as a response to the conversation, perhaps simply triggered by the mention of moving to Midnight Hollow, but I would venture to guess that he's also frustrated with the events taking place beyond that. After all, I would think that if there is anyone aware of the parent's possible nefarious nature and wrongdoings, it would be him. That being said, he's a teenager... but still a child, nonetheless. He unfortunately has little to no control, and it's clear that he's exhibiting a flight response, showing his own disdain as much as he can (a touch of fight in that door slam) while taking an opportunity to flee the scene. In the picture, their eldest son and daughter seem to be looking at them with... complex expressions. They're certainly not happy.

The whole interview ends because the wife is "not feeling well," but that brings me back to my point about John being a skilled manipulator and the main aggressor running the web that his family is caught in: he would be able to cite when things are getting out of control. A predator knows when to strike and when to back off, and I think this is John's way of regaining control before too much is brought to light. Many people have been spared, unknowingly, from the clutches of a serial killer because they got lucky and the killer decided it wasn't the right place/right time - that's the vibe I'm getting, idk.

The energy around this family reminds me of an Ari Aster or a Jodan Peele psychological horror feel - everything is fine on the surface until it's not, and that tensity and complexity is disturbing and uncomfortable for the outsider (the audience) looking in, but it's usually just as disturbing for our growingly-aware protagonists (who, based on actions alone, I would argue could possibly be the eldest son and perhaps even the daughter, in this case). "The Stepford Wives" by Ira Levin has also been cited possible inspiration at least for Jane's motivations/role in the story. If you don't know about this story, I recommend checking it out.

As I researched, I was actually surprised with the amount of people who did not jump to the murderer route right off the bat. Some other theories include the family being hypnotized and even speculation that they might be robots (likely a take resulting from Levin's work).

Personally, I am more inclined to think that the parents are people with a wicked past, but it was interesting to read alternative takes. The robot and hypnotism theories are intriguing to me, but they neglect to explain the mysterious disappearance of the basement or the children's behaviors. Furthermore, the "brainwashed" and "repetitive" nature Jane has could just as much be signs of trauma/being in an unsafe environment/being forced to act against her will just as much as they could be literal signs of being robotic or hypnotized, so I don't think those things are necessary. Trauma, fear, and feeling trapped are enough to make a person act outside the realm of "normal."

Hell, I think I've only covered the surface here, but I've talked for so long lol. It seems their story might always just be a mystery left for speculation, sadly.

My boy Benoit Blanc says it best:

Some additional resources that I used below for any curious cats who made it this far:

The Doe family discussion on the sims forum

TS3 Reddit Thread on the Doe family

As for the Darers: from what I'm seeing, the theory that the wives were clones (or at the very least identical twins) makes sense to me. I put pictures of them below, and just from their CAS headshots you can definitely see that the girls are identical - there's gotta be some relation there

Personally, I lean toward clones due to the traits being the same. Twins in the sims franchise have always had their own unique interests and traits, so these girls being near carbon-copies doesn't make sense if they're only sisters. Plus, the franchise loves clones (looking at you, two versions of Bella Goth in the Sims 2). For the era of franchise that TS3 was in, I feel like the team was still making the game lean toward whimsy and outlandish as opposed to realism.

Regardless of the relation these two girls share though, the fire death is suspicious and maybe the only thing that keeps this from feeling like an open and shut mystery. It also acts as another good reason to lean toward clones as opposed to sisters unless the fire was caused accidentally by Lacy herself. I think the cloning housefire theory is compelling, due to the girls not actually having a relationship with either of these guys explicitly on the family tree. I guess in that case they were actually their potential wives more than actual wives, which would explain why there's no marriage memory as well.

In some ways it's endearing that Juan would do all that, not just for himself but for his buddy as well, especially if it caused his house to burn down and ultimately push him out into a barn. In the end though, I think the whole cloning situation leans more toward weird when you consider the implications. If you have to invent a wife, you probably should just stay single my dude.

Last and unrelated sidenote: Harwood Clay's hair was an unexpected, horrifying surprise lmao.

Just from what you've told me, TS3 Twinbrook world had a lot of interesting characters. I had no idea that TS3 lore was even close in wackiness to TS2 and TS1, but my takeaway here is that we all should be more pissed off that TS4 premades are so dull.

[watchinglikeafangirl]

Vegas still confuses me and I think everyone here can't read him at all. Bible is such a good actor to portray him as shady as possible. Everyone is lowkey afraid of Vegas but we hardly see him in action. It's just his vibe and this is always the best writing of a villain. Because we know he's the antagonist without him becoming physically abusive all times we see him. He once tortured someone but that was 7 episodes later but we knew he was fucked up way before.

Every scene leaves us in wonder if there was some truth hidden behind his words or if it was complete bullshit.

What I've collected so far is he wants to be in Kinn's place and is an introvert and I'm gonna dig my own grave here, trying to explain what I mean.

Vegas as in Kinn

Vegas is Kinn's cousin as far as I understood and the mafia family is not working all together because that would be too easy. "Competition makes us stronger" is the very ridicolous motto they all believe in, ignoring the fact it creates a very toxic thus traumatising understanding of family. It's the major family against the minor family and even though they can work together, competition leads to mistrust and jealousy. When you compare yourself to oneanother all your life and your esteem rises when you do something better than the other, you can't help it but be jealous and become obsessed to know every step of the other in order to be able to be better. It's why Vegas showed up at that casino, out of nowhere, and caught the bad guy. He wanted to interfere. Kinn was in the hospital, so it was his time to shine. And it worked. Kinn was pissed.

There's an obsession about Kinn, rooting deep in Vegas' childhood. This obsession makes him insecure and he lost his personality on the way. Vegas defines himself through Kinn, annoying everybody when he points out he is so much better. In the end he craves power and force.

Introvert

Like I said, his obsession leads to insecurities because Vegas second-guesses everything he does. If his father approves, what Kinn's reaction is, what next step he should plan and if he used his power the right way.

Power is a responsibility Vegas is not 100% sure how to handle, so he tries to get Porsche by drugging him just because he can. Of course, it's an abuse of power but Vegas is so much into the competition, he doesn' t care.

But leaving that aside, Vegas screams for attention, he is very loud, but we don't know much about his personality. He is what I call an introverted extrovert because he doesn't share his feelings but talks a lot and causes trouble. He pretends a lot, hides himself behind a wall and even though he defines himself through Kinn, he hates that thought. He dislikes Kinn a lot as much as he doesn't. Very complicated but Vegas plays an obvious role even Porsche sees through.

Coming to episode 9. Vegas is surprisingly calm and many say it's all total bullshit but I think what he said is not untrue. Vegas is not stupid and he knows when he doesn't hear from the major family, something is very off. Shit is about to go down and I think Vegas always walks around with the fear of being killed off by them. The competition is so strong that it keeps him awake at night, thinking about his possible death. "Make it less suffering" because he is afraid. I don't think this was manipulation or something. Porsche is just without much judgement, so Vegas felt like he could tell him that. Yes, he wants their bond to grow stronger against Kinn's will, but at the same time, his thoughts about the situation were still true. Vegas is allowed to be scared, why not. And this scene felt different. It wasn't that flirty because I think Vegas just is like that. Drinking wine and saying "I'm thankful I can tell you". This scene somehow felt like him drawing a line, they will stay in the friendzone. With Pete he was just as calm which frightened Pete a lot but Vegas tries to change his life a bit. He obviously caught on the vibes between Kinn and Porsche, episode 7 was a statement indeed, and I feel like he wants to have a personality again. That's why he doesn't want what Kinn has, but what he wants. And this person is Pete.

But still, I don't know. This man is a mystery lol

[faarkas]

🖊️🖊️🖊️🖊️ for your new baby murtagh if you have info on him already + beau my baby <33

COMES BACK LIKE A YEAR LATER TO THIS ASK THATS BEEN A DRAFT FOR JUST AS LONG. ANYWAY HI LOL I FINALLY HAVE INFORMATION ON MY TWO FAVOURITE LIL BLOND BICHES

some bg3 spoilers under the cut but nothing rly past act 2.

MURTY

🖊- His father is Malus Thorm. Thus making him,,,, Murtagh Thorm, nephew to Ketheric. He was born before the shadow curse and died during the battle.

🖊- Beef stew. Big fan.

🖊- Has an extremely messy history with Selune and Shar. He was originally a paladin dedicated to Selune, as most of his family was, until he was living in BG and was unfortunately called back to the family home in Reithwin. His uncle forced him to break his oath to Selune and swear a new one to Shar, an oath broken when he died. He rises from the grave a hundred or so years later and ends up sworn back to Selune for the final time. Heaven help him should he become corrupted again. someone gonna get smote. ☄️

🖊- His lover sprung for a nice grave so he was buried in the same graveyard as astarion. just a ways apart. they don’t meet until the game events.

BOBO

🖊- Has a son named Harley that he doesn’t know about yet. Maybe someone shouldn’t have been a harlot during his strung out racing days‼️‼️‼️ (Beau will love him.)

🖊- Keeps a small collection of toothbrushes on hand (in-tent ?) at all times to help get dust and dirt and mayhaps even blood out of the crevices of his cyberware.

🖊- Idk if I’ve mentioned it before but. secret swifti/e. :/ he would probably go to er/as if he could. (but super lowkey. if anybody found out he’d kermit)

🖊- Guilt is a major theme of his character. once he realizes how much of an absolute bastard he’s been with jades help (she’s basically holding up the stitch badness chart and going Ur badness levels are too high. 🤨🤡🙄) he feels sooooo bad about it. He’s still a grumpy bastard but he tries really hard to help and give instead of take.

[cantalooprat]

Liu Yao

What I Liked

i love the atmosphere of liu yao, the story rly was at its best when its contemplating the nature of the dao, the origin and goal of cultivation, human nature... and how painfully human the main chars are despite going down a path that makes them beyond human

cheng qian!!! tbh the way priest writes him as this unloved middle child w a v middle child syndrome, n how it gives rise to this... almost self-importance and in a way also makes him think he's better than everyone around him? and yet somehow it's endearing instead of annoying and also kind of relatable? he's rly quite a joy to read

yan zhengming... i love how he grew from a spoiled, whiny peacock brat to a... spoiled whiny peacock young man who takes his responsibilities seriously and is unwavering when it comes to his family. its a v interesting contrast how hes strangely easygoing compared to the mc in some ways, e.g. he doesn't hold grudges, how his dao is the way of the sword despite him being...super spoiled n whiny, but his true nature as a reliable, steadfast leader is revealed in moments of need...

i love this family of five /crying theyre so cute n warm!!! in their childhood!! n then shit goes down!!

that said i also like how each action has consequences, n no one rly has "plot armor", how the ending is mostly? happy? with shades of bittersweet?

the side plot of the past between tong ru n han muchun oh my god,,, the parallel in the ending,,, copying my tg texts: in the end tong ru, despite everything hes been through, was content to have disappeared along w han muchun n to him, dying without regrets is "ascension". in parallel w the epilogue where cheng qian n yan zhengming visited the grave n mentioned that its "better to say that they ascended" n also how yan zhengming is cheng qian's "unbreakable tether to this world of red dust" which is... kind of against the principle of the dao? bc the dao is nothingness n one should be able to let go of worldly desires. but then, whats the point of all that if theres nothing waiting for them on the other side, n isnt it better to live one's life to the fullest, being aware of and cherishing the things n people precious in this lifetime? 

honestly theres so much to love abt liu yao

What I Disliked

lowkey the romance didnt fully convince me lmao they had cute interactions n had chemistry but 1. ig im just, a little tired of the "shou seeking death" and "gong chasing after death-seeking shou" tropes, n also 2. the story early on works super well without romance while just focusing on the brotherhood aspects, it rly feels as if liu yao shouldve been a pure nonromance cultivation story… tbh its rly just missing, this little bit more spice… (edit 220323) crossing this out bc while i’m still not v convinced of how the romance started in the early game, the theme of “questioning ascension and the reason behind cultivation” and also “happiness in this lifetime” is v v tied to the romance in the plot, from tong ru n han muchun n now yan zhengming n cheng qian (the yuanxiao extra made me rethink this tbh, then i came to the conclusion that yeah, the romance does make sense even though it’s rly quite rough n not convincing early on) 

liu yao's best points are the more somber, quiet, thoughtful moments, and liu yao's weak points lie in the action... tbh most of the chaotic battle parts just...take me out of the story

the daoling who died midway /crying i was on copium hoping he’d live but he just died offscreen!!!!

Notes

after looking at n skimming various summaries of priest novels, i end up reading liu yao, which i hadn't even seriously considered, bc i was in the mood for cultivation wn...

anyway its a great priest novel, will def read more

even tho i said all that abt the romance, its still p good n has some p memorable quotes as well… sigh some of the quotes rly r nice

i thought it was gna be wangxian reprise bc in the earlier segments cq was teased to be super interested in demonic cultivation n the color schemes of black-clad shou n white-dressed gong also match, but their dynamic turns out to be completely different lmao

i think A Lot abt liu yao tbh, would reread it eventually when i have the brain power. hard disagree to whoever says priest isnt romantic bc liu yao’s romance, while rather lowkey n understated in comparison to super romantic danmei novels, is a v prevalent theme in the whole story n can’t be discounted

Quotes

Isn’t what a person longs for all their life is to have someone angrily open the door and yell “which ditch did you die in this time?” when they come home, tired from traveling, on a moonless night?

To be able to meet and stay together in this transient world is like a dream. It comes and goes, beyond a human’s reach.

There’s no need to explain any complex details; you are already my unbreakable tether to this world of red dust.

[potionwine]

finished Rising Tide

continue to be lowkey annoyed at how main characters who are not Clive are an afterthought to the game—why was Jill not centred in the portion where we visit Ysay's grave? that is literally her predecessor and a cultural ancestor. why were Jill's feelings on the north not explored further? she is their princess! all these people dispossessed of crown and country seem barely to have opinions and feelings on it. she barely talked as the characters walked! the part where she spoke on the hall at the Timeless Stones, and how sermons would be given when halls like these were in use in the northern community? why not add more of such drive-by commentary. also why were people sick in Haven and Joshua not consulted? they're talking about all these sick people in the village, and your world's best magical healer bar none—in the opening scenes of the game literally called "the ruler of life and death" was not consulted in any way? once more our companions are decorative.

sorry. just. i came from the party tradition of FFs, and the focus is so unbalanced... it was already obvious in the main game. a lot of the main cast have deeply unexplored histories and underwhelming reactions to current events. i spent an inordinate amount of time in the main game and this DLC thinking "but what would [character] think/feel about this??" or "holy moly that has pretty serious implications for [character] and [character], are they ever going to have the opportunities to react to that onscreen in a way that will bring home to the player certain core aspects of said characters?" it was a pretty significant distraction for me at least.

no thoughts Ysay pretty

Ysay's knight was crazy powerful—why does main game Shiva lose all of her fights... yea okay Jill was tortured and abused by iron kingdom... is it finally time for us to stop making excuses for the game and admit unpalatable things about its treatment of certain characters...

loved how a large portion of Joshua's comments were all about his nerdery—asking about history and magicks. his inner voice on Ysay was like "i want to see her writings ;_;"

Dalina is Shula's wife right lol

Joshua's inner voice on Dalina is so cute too, it makes me think when he was left behind to protect the village that he befriended Dalina well, especially since Dalina would have been left in charge of administration while her chieftain girlfriend was off with Clive

the uncute tonberries made me sad

originally i admit to disappointment that Dion was not brought along, but then i got to Haven and saw the murals and heard their stories and i thought... yeaa... the prince—and now emperor—of Sanbreque not coming along is a wise creative decision...

receiving Ultima's essence was unexpected and interesting... positively massive ramifications for the little fic i've been nursing

was surprisingly charmed by Jamila and Herve's plotline

this is completely personal: i wish Leviathan's Dominant was a girl. it felt like the egis' designs were weirdly shaped in a feminine way? it's just shapes i know, but i wish there was a better balance of Dominants... it seems like only the "female" Eikons get female Dominants...

respect to the game for consistently making their infant babies ugly and wrinkly lol realism wow

so the Dame knew all this time of the Motes of Water and their hidden little settlement?? or at least knew and protected people from there, and helped them procure jobs and supplies? that's a hell of a secret to have been keeping Isabelle

am shook at the introduction of chronomancy. really??? such a massive concept at the end game...?? i mean it's great in a way because my phoenixflare fic is a time rewind au, so thanks for confirming time magick exists in the world, but i'm an old school fan and would have done what i wanted anyway. i noted how the story repeated multiple times that the "stream of life" flows only one way, from the start to the end, and from the mountain to the sea, probably to try and ward off fan speculation of what chronomancy can do to the (canon) ending of the game. ha...hahah... well the firebird rules life and death, and time magics are historically classified as white magics in FF so...

the suspended Aire of Hours was stunning though, as was the Surge wave

loved all the water talk and water expressions of Mysidia. great linguistic anchor for what they believe and how they think: death as returning to the sea, the water cycle as the cycle of life, their collaborative living style and how they "flow together", using water references as exclamations and swears and blessings, even endearments such as "dewdrop".

Ifrit is pretty small in the grand scheme of Eikons huh... he fit so nicely in Leviathan's mouth. Chomp.

that bloody phase 3!!!!!!! ARGH.

Asides:

oh i'm annoyed with myself ;_; 70k words into the pf fic with Kihel planned as the Warden of Water... it's no big deal... i don't have to back-amend my fic... it's fine... it's fine...

but Mysidia had fascinating concepts that i really want to incorporate—and some i coincidentally already incorporated, thank you new lore for your validation—and genuinely fascinated by what it means for my fic for Clive to house the essence of Ultima. the Warden of the Divine? wild.

Joshua's musings on Dominants' fates was *chef's kiss*. when he reflects on his own experiences, his fear, (the loneliness; who else even understands or can help an Eikonic child, the rush of power)—and back at the Hideaway after quest completion he reflects further on Dominants being doomed to be servant or slave to the country in which they are born. thinky boy. Harpocrates was Dion's tutor, but Harpocrates' actual successor feels like Joshua. loremaster, philosopher, historian, storyteller? love this energy for him.

[cryptidofthekeys]

well aside from spook month stuff (which im still fixated on too dont get me wrong here)

i have apparently gotten back into Eddsworld

even despite me trying to literally  fight it off, i was fighting d e m o n s at this point- fightin for my l i f e trying not to get dragged back to hell

...yet here I lay, in my bed, after rewatching the episodes and then even making my own sona/oc as well

i am in hell fjdkjfdks i swore i would never- never again but here i am

[versadies]

general + lantern rite with scaramouche hc (gn!reader, 400 follows special)

penpal: it’s finally here!!! thank you guys sm for the follows and the support. i enjoy writing hcs and i’m happy that a lot of you like it! a few of you also requested me for a scaramouche general hc so hope this lives up to your expectations. happy readings! - ver.

warning/s: ooc!scaramouche

sypnosis: what it’s like to date scaramouche + hang out with him in lantern rite festival

note: i was actually supposed to make this toxic given that scaramouche is... scaramouche but my heart can’t take it so i decided to just go wild on this one.

-> i salute to you for dating this man.

-> scaramouche is scary and is probably not even the type to be interested in having romantic relationships. the fact that he fell in love with you though is shocking to the fatui if they even find out about it. hell, even the man himself is surprised.

-> he’s going to be not so affectionate at first (just subtle affection here and there but no kisses or long cuddling) since he’s not an affectionate type of guy but as time goes by, he’ll eventually start to give you lots of affection.

-> pda is a no for scaramouche. the two of you have to agree in keeping this relationship a secret due to not only the danger you could be in but also the fact that he doesn’t want anyone to know about your relationship with him.

-> don’t get him wrong— it’s not that he’s ashamed of dating you. he knows that almost everyone in teyvat hates the fatui, so the fact that the potential harassment given to you from others is a possibility, he doesn’t want you to be in that situation.

-> the way he acts around you is unpredictable. i think he’d be both cold yet affectionate if that’s even possible. don’t worry, his mean demeanor is different to you than how he acts around everyone else— it’s less harsh and harmless, to which you understand that he’s not serious. feel free to bicker back at him, he won’t kill you.

-> your family would’ve thought he forced you into this if they found out of your relationship with the man. it will take you a lot of reassurance to them that you weren’t forced and the fact that you love him as much as he to you.

-> dates with him are to be private. i’d think he’d pull on a reservation on a restaurant and make sure that everyone around you knows that this date is “private affairs on your debt” (even though you never had a debt in the first place). even if these “private affairs” happens a bit too often than normal, people would be too scared to even confront scaramouche.

-> i honestly see this guy as a classy man. he’ll pull classy dinners, walking around the city hand-in-hand at 3am when everyone is asleep, go somewhere private outside + get a picnic date + star-gazing, etc.

-> i can already imagine this man telling you all of his theories on the skies and on teyvat during your picnic-stargazing dates while you listen and eat an inazuma dish. (his line about the sky being fake really do be sus to me to this day 👀👀👀)

-> during dates where you two aren’t living together yet and when scaramouche always has to escort you to your dates, he’ll definitely not hesitate to throw a pebble against your bedroom window if you’re not going to answer the door after countless of pounding against it. he’ll throw every pebble he can get from the ground until it either breaks or you finally answered lol

-> like childe, scaramouche is hella busy. unless you’re in either snezhnaya or inazuma— then you two can be able to spend time. however if you live in other nations that isn’t one of the two, you’d have to get used to a long distance relationship. however if you’re not the kind to like a long distance relationship, then sorry to break it to you, that relationship might not work unless you and scaramouche are able to find a way.

-> breaks for him are rare, he’s a hardworking man and wants to live up to the tsaritsa’s expectations (even if he dislikes the archon). when he does go home to you, he makes sure that he’ll spend time with you every single moment and that they’re all precious memories.

-> he is lowkey caring but he will deny it will all of his life if you even mention it. oh you fell asleep on the couch while waiting for him to go home? wow would you look at that, the wind is so kind for putting a blanket over you and he somehow wasn’t there! oh my gosh you’re getting a cold and is coughing a lot? la signora is so nice for making some people from the fatui to offer medicine and it’s def not him, who has the upper hand in ordering them to do it!

-> don’t get me started on him spoiling you. he always writes letters to you and every letter he sent always has a small gift or a package sent with a scared-looking fatui member who just wants to go home. the gifts are either souvenirs from his travels or something that reminds him of you. either way, it’s always what you like.

-> you can’t convince me that not all of his letters are 60% him complaining about how his subordinates have some audacity to give him headaches and how he just wants to lowkey go home to you because of it (in reality, the both of you know he just misses you).

-> ik a lot of scaramouche simps really wanna try his hat out and i can already imagine you finding ways to get your hands on his hat without him noticing or not wearing it. if you somehow managed to get the prize, he’ll def try to get it from you and won’t hesitate to throw (harmless) threats until you finally give in and give it to him.

-> fighting with scaramouche is kind of rare given that he’s mostly away but when it does happen, it’s related to him being too harsh or his sudden announcement that he has to leave. your arguments never includes long distance relationship since it’s something you and scaramouche expected and are ready for. of course, scaramouche will treat it as if you’re the one making a big deal out of it— which is something that angers you and a disadvantage of dating him.

-> during those arguments, the way he acts depends on how serious it is. by the time you leave the room to get some space, he’ll give you all the space you need— though he couldn’t help but not ignore the harsh pangs he’s feeling from his chest.

-> scaramouche will def be the first to apologize because he feels guilty (the feeling of not being satisfied is strong whenever you leave and he hates it) and doesn’t want you to be mad anymore. unless the fight is truly your fault, he’ll wait till you apologize.

-> his favorite moments are always when he’s allowed to take you with him to his travels for a mission. he won’t admit, he’s very looking forward to show you around places privately and his ego will rise if you praise him for his intelligence on the land. though, those who try to interrupt his private moments with you just to tell scaramouche about something related to the fatui— they’ll face an even harsher treatment than normal.

-> nights with scaramouche are quiet. the moment scaramouche lays down on the bed and closes his eyes for a moment, he’s asleep. can’t blame him, he’s always exhausted from the fatui so he needs it. however, he does make sure you yourself get some sleep as well. he’ll make sure that you’re always beside him before he sleeps.

-> mornings with him are short. he’ll wake up first and immediately get ready for work while you’re on your bed still sleeping. scaramouche won’t be able to eat breakfast in your home and always buy food on his way there since he doesn’t have time to wait (and partially doesn’t wanna make you wake up just to cook for him). he makes sure to kiss your forehead and leave.

-> don’t ever bring up about his goodbye kisses, he will straight up take that secret to his grave. the moment you mention it, he’ll act like you killed someone. “me? kissing you on the forehead? are you sure you’re not dreaming at that time?” he would say while hiding his light reddened cheeks with his hat.

-> if you’re the type to wake up very early though, he’d definitely try to wake up at the same time as you and run with you in the morning if you do. though if you’re not the type to do morning runs, you’ll either cook for his lunch or get ready for work as well. he won’t admit it... but he likes your cooking. expect yourself to be the one to ask for a goodbye kiss cuz man’s going to act like he doesn’t want to do it.

-> as for fatui when you date scaramouche... they’ll probably find out fast. if you don’t work for the fatui, scaramouche will make sure you will never be involved with them. he knows how the fatui can be and will be mad if he finds out you came across to one of the harbingers.

-> overall, dating him is just wild.

-> scaramouche has to admit, liyue has outdone themselves on this one.

-> the two of you decided to attend the festival as your one year anniversary date and you did not regret trying to convince your man to come with you to liyue for the festival 24/7 ever since you heard childe talking about it to you.

-> while you were taking your sweet time by admiring the decorations around the harbor, scaramouche makes sure no one is following or planning to bother you two at the moment. thank goodness he didn’t have to worry about the millelith, given that they act like they don’t know him at all.

-> he makes sure that you’re having a great time. he’ll let you go buy whatever you want if you wish, it’s his gift i suppose. i’d think he’ll get way too competitive on theater mechanicus and will expect you to praise him whenever he wins.

-> scaramouche will take you to the most fanciest restaurant of the harbor, but if you want to go for another option— he’ll reluctantly accept that and let you buy food for the both of you. given that he mostly resides in inazuma, he’s definitely a skilled chopsticks user (unlike childe).

-> when it comes to making lanterns, it will take scaramouche to try and make a few lanterns before he finally does it right. he’ll gladly help you out if you still couldn’t get a hang of it (he’ll teach you in an “annoyed” way, but he means well).

-> i feel like he’ll take you somewhere not so crowded. man’s probably gonna make sure the whole pearl galley is just the two of you (and the staff) with the help of his mora and let you watch the lanterns from there. however should you not want to ruin someone’s night and force scaramouche somewhere that does not require any mora and is not crowded, then he’s fine with that too.

-> i think he’ll lowkey be interested in the stories presented by the storytellers around the harbor. he’s not invested but just earned enough of his attention to actually listen.

-> by the time the mingxiao lantern is about to be released, you two immediately head to your designated area and started writing your wishes.

-> his wish will probably be something related to successfulness.

-> when the lanterns are released with the mingxiao lantern, the two of you’d just watch in silence. you’d be pretty speechless from the beautiful scenery while scaramouche just watches in slight amusement.

-> the moment scaramouche glances at you, he’ll be surprised by you immediately hugging him and thanking him for taking you to the festival when you have the chance. man’s probably going to try and deny your hug for a moment until giving in and hug you back.

-> he might consider thanking childe when he comes back to snezhnaya.