#worth it in the end yes but THERE ARE SO MANY PLANTS......

[acaciapines]

Leafkit is born with kudzu around her throat. It is, of course, her daemon, her heart-plant, the other half of her soul. It is a gift given to her by the very stars above, a blessing from Starclan, and it wraps tightly around her paws, and blooms across her back, and digs its roots in deeper, as she grows and loves and loses, again and again and again. She's never been good and wanting only what Starclan wished for her.

that's right. warrior cat "daemon" au! it was a lot of fun to puzzle this one out, haha. i think it counts as a daemon au. mostly. sort of. look i consider it one and thats what is important.

its also a love letter to leafpool. but. it was always going to be, i think.

thanks to @mallowstep for posting about warrior cats and daemon aus, because without that the final pieces never would have clicked for me. <3

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt how much I love oni's writing again... In particular, "a seed is planted" continues to be one of if not my favorite logs because despite the troubling details and implications that come with it, it's the one thing in the entirety of the decaying corpse of gravitas that genuinely leaves us with a grain of hope (a seed if you will) and makes oni as a whole a lot more bitter sweet as while earth may not have survived, the dupes did, and after their horrible origins and the shit that many of them went through, in due time they'll finally get to just live, they're free now, and even if Olivia's sleep is end of a tragedy, the world will keep moving forward with or without those who've been lost

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Animal Farm: Mondays

Male Yandere Harpies x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Noncon, harpies, general yandere behavior, captive reader, spit roasting, cum in hair, aftercare, male harem, brief mention of being used as a cock sleeve by bull men.) Word Count: 500 (Here it is! I have had a solid wave of productivity lately answering old asks and now there is this, something I said I would do a long time ago. I said I would make a mini-fic/drabble with every group of monster men from my animal farm fic which can be found HERE.)

You sighed. It was early on Monday morning, the sun starting to stream into the window enough to disturb your sleep. You glared at your alarm clock and preemptively turned off the alarm that would go off at 10:00. It was 9:53. You wanted to cry. You had not fully recovered from Rory, Sev, and Bruc swapping you between them as a communal cock sleeve all day on Friday. You lamented your decision to be a monster man farmer with so many different species. You should have stuck to one or two. Oh well… no use crying over it now. At least you started the week off easy after your weekend break. The harpy men had pretty forgiving cocks. Ugh. Was that what it had come to? Judging how not awful your day was by the brutality of the cocks you were about to encounter? You scarfed down a quick breakfast then enjoyed your last few minutes before you were swarmed by the three harpies that called your farm home, Zan, Xilra, and Elry. They all looked similar, green and blue feathers in their hair, emerald green eyes to match, dark skin, with large angel-like wings sprouting from their backs and their legs ended in the way any bird of prey’s did. Sharp. Talons. When you stepped into the aviary your watch read exactly 10:30, you weren’t giving them a second more than you were forced to. It was like your one shred of resistance, even though it didn’t really matter very much. You also were too scared to be late after what happened the one time you were. You were sniffed out and fucked. Swiftly. As soon as you stepped into the large greenhouse-like domed building, it was like a miniature forest complete with all sorts of trees and plants, you were instantly pounced upon by the three monster men. They wasted not a single second in taking off your clothes and tossing them aside on the dirt while pinning you to the wall. “Hey come on! Those were just cleeeEEEEAAAAAANNNED. H-hey!” Two of them were biting, licking and nuzzling all over your neck while the third was using his mouth between your legs. “W-w-why do we always have to start the d-daaaay like thiiiiis??” “We love you little starling~” “Yes! And we must show you!” “We haven’t been inside you for a whole week love! It was torture~” “We must make up for the lost time sweet bird.” And that they certainly did. A week's worth of the pent up libidos of three tall harpy men unloaded on you and in you within hours. They spit roast you while you were on the ground before taking you in mid air. By the end of their breeding session with you you were exhausted. And this was supposed to be the easy day. At least they let you rest afterwards, washing the cum out of your hair and off your sore body before cuddling you and petting you while they sang sweet little bird songs and praised their darling little starling~

[niki-phoria]

YOU GOT ME FALLIN' IN LOVE, I'M IN LOVE

pairing: gojo satoru x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 591

notes: teen gojo, based off of that one scene in the credits, title from wayv - let me love you, i started watching jjk s2 PREPRARE TO BE SICK OF ME

“y/n!” gojo smiles brightly, peering at you over the rim of his black sunglasses. a clear umbrella is perched against his shoulder, protecting him from the downpour. he splashes through little puddles lining the streets, kicking up water in his path until he reaches your side. 

his umbrella is only meant for one, as evidenced by how close he has to lean in to cover the both of you. his side brushes against your own with each step you take. if gojo notices your embarrassment, he’s courteous enough not to make a comment about it. 

“fancy seeing you here,” he teases, leaning in towards you. deep cerulean eyes meet your own; gojo’s lips curl upwards into a soft smirk. 

you roll your eyes, chuckling beneath your breath. “we’re both headed back to jujutsu high. we were bound to run into each other.”

“always so cynical,” gojo whines. 

his complaints are cut off when you perk up, glancing at something in the distance. “hey, look!” heat spreads across gojo’s cheeks when you grab onto his wrist, tugging him along with you as you rush off towards a nearby alley. 

you stop near the edge of a building, only a few meters away from a nearby plant pot. hidden among the terracotta ceramic and the overflowing greenery is a small, unmoving, white form. gojo squints. “what is it?” 

instead of answering, you carefully step forwards. water soaks your hair and drenches your uniform as you kneel down, hesitantly reaching your hand out. 

gojo’s eyes widen slightly when a small kitten emerges from behind the vines, rubbing its face against your hand. you turn to look back at him with a bright smile, coaxing him over with a soft. “‘toru, come here.”

you take the kitten into your arms, cradling it against your chest. gojo smiles when it purrs as it nuzzles itself against you, leaving stray, white hairs against your uniform in its wake. you miss the way he tilts the umbrella forwards to protect you from the rain. “look how cute she is.”

gojo smiles, kneeling down beside you. the kitten shifts slightly in your arms, blinking up at him with beautiful, golden eyes. her ears flick when stray droplets of rain land on the top of her head. her fur is damp to the touch when he tentatively extends his hand out to pet her back. “she is pretty,” he murmurs.

“can we keep her?”

gojo bites his tongue, swallowing the “yes” that wants to crawl out of his throat. taking in a stray cat isn’t exactly the most responsible decision, but then again, saying no to you has never been one of satoru gojo’s many talents.

what’s left of gojo’s resolve crumbles when you hug the kitten a little tighter. she responds by stretching out in your arms before blinking at him as if expecting an answer. “please?” 

maybe you should leave the kitten behind. set her back down on the ground and hope that she’ll be able to comfortably fend for herself. or perhaps you should take her to a shelter; you could drop her off into the capable hands of a vet and wash yourselves clean of the responsibility.

but maybe you should take her home. maybe having a friendly face greeting you at the end of a hard day wouldn’t be so bad. maybe - if gojo gets to see you smile like this - the risks are worth it. 

“fine,” gojo smiles softly, welcoming you - and your new kitten - back underneath the umbrella. “we can keep her.”

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vamxpi @sad-darksoul

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

[etheries1015]

In memory of the Apology Mug Story (and because I walked past a super old building recently; guess what it had on the facade)

Reader who knows how to carve rocks into specific forms and is very skilled in it makes Malleus a gargoyle for his birthday. He's so happy he ends up accidentally confessing his love to them.

Bonus points if that was Lilia's idea because he got tired of seeing them dance around each other and wanted things to happen already

This is really cute <3 for those who aren't certain what the apology mug story is; the link to that is Here!

A special birthday present for our favorite draconic prince <3

Being in Ramshackle with a limited amount of entertainment (being unable to afford many electronics) you had to resort to other forms of entertainment. Reading, cooking, sewing, board games, long walks outside, musical instruments, and your most recent of endeavors; rock carving. You had learned a few things here and there from Malleus, he was an avid crafter of gargoyles within his club and was more than happy to teach you a thing or two. Although most of your attempts seemed to fail in his eyes, you were actually secretly incredibly skilled at this. You were leaving your skills to set up a surprise present for the fae for his birthday; January 18th.

It wasn't hard to figure out what you were planning on doing for his birthday, Malleus was incredibly easy to read. Although money was scarce for you, using your skills to handmake something would be much more worth receiving than any amount of money could pay for. At least, that's what Malleus had said when you inquired what he would like at his celebration.

"A present is not necessary," He told you with a graceful smile, "Bring yourself, and your smile. That is enough for me." ...you were not going to take that as the final verdict, thus began your journey to create a gift he was surely going to enjoy.

His birthday came upon you, and your gift was finally completed. You did not hesitate to rush over to Diasomnia for the celebration, bringing over two things; A homemade ice cream cake, and your gift box. The cake was pretty much the start of Malleus's excitement, ice cream cakes exist?! It wasn't common in Twisted Wonderland much to your surprise, so sharing your handmade cake with his enjoyment of icecream implemented already sent him over the moon. The joy that was written all over his face was the easiest text to read, soon pouring out of his mouth in a theatric novel after unwrapping his second gift from you- two gargoyles. They were miniature and made for décor less than actual function, however, his excitement seemed to explode off the tip of his tongue.

His bright green eyes were sparkling, his mouth ajar, and a blush painted across his pale cheeks.

"It's us! See, one has your horns and the other-" Malleus immediately wrapped you into his embrace, much to the protest of Sebek nearby, yet the smiles of amusement of Silver and Lilia quickly hushed the student. It seemingly seemed the words held inside had burst at the seams, and Malleus had begun setting free the things he had been eager to share for some time now.

"I am in pure infatuation with you," Malleus blurted out, "I have not received a gift so heartfelt and beautiful," it almost sounded like he was holding back tears of happiness.

"Two gargoyles representing you and I, shall I take this as a declaration that you wish to be my pair?" He did not await your response, the tall fae was already shooting off at the mouth. "I reciprocate. Your beautiful craftmanship will forever be my treasure, next to you, of course." You could not hide the clear redness from your face, and the dumb smile that planted permanently at his sudden confession.

"it's about time!" Lilia laughed, "Now, let us celebrate not only our prince's birthday but also the union between these two lovebirds!" Malleus pulled away from the hug and smiled again at the gargoyles you intricately designed, turning to face his dormmates.

"Yes, let us resume the festivities. We shall celebrate all night long, this will be a birthday well worth remembering. Come now, my dearest." Setting down the Gargoyles in a safe place, he grabbed hold of your hand dragging you into the joyful celebration <3

Happy birthday, Malleus!!

[onlyseokmins]

$$60 billion (part 1) • l.s.m.

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

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

Everyone wanted Lee Seokmin. 

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

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

You shiver. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But curiosity eventually overturned the initial fear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you both dissolve into laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Obviously."

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

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

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

"And that's why you'll be the —"

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

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

"Technically, that's true."

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

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

"Well —"

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

" — Think fast!"

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

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

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

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

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

"It's… it's never been loaded or…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But you have the most demerits this week."

"And whose fault is that?!"

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

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

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

"Hey… thanks."

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

"Mm-hm."

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

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

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

Fascinating little things those Earthlings created!

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What did you do?"

"What haven't I done?"

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

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

"Goodnight, Chan."

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

But tomorrow never came.

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

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

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

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

You're struck with the damning realization.

The gods — they have completely abandoned humankind.

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

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

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

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

"Nothing guarantees —"

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

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

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

Sister Constance doubts.

And something about that thrills you. Terrifyingly so.

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

A sandstorm brews on the horizon.

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

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

The Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood.

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

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

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

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

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

"Chan?!"

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

"What about you?"

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

"But —"

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

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

"Chan, what's —"

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

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

"You hate those kinds of things."

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

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

The bangs of carnage draw closer. Louder.

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

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

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

What was going on?

Boom!

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

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

It's gone.

"No…"

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

"No… no… no…"

Gone.

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

"No!"

And most importantly, he has to be alright.

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

For now.

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

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

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

"Don't. Move."

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

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

"Go ahead and shoot."

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

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

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

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

"I —"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guilt.

"I — I —"

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

"Should've… It should've —"

"Hey, hey…"

"It should've been me!"

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

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

Your body shakes as the tears finally slip free.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh?"

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

You don't.

"And what do you call this lovely lady?"

"Nothing."

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

"Just haven't decided."

"I see! Mine's Geranium."

"Oh, like… the flower?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bastard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's stale too.

Fucker.

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh-huh."

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

"Hey, now —"

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

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

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

"'Ol Needle Noggin, eh?"

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

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

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

"Wasn't tryna scam —"

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

"Anyone told ya how irritatin' ya are?"

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

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

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

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

You feel a funny sensation.

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

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

"Oh, go to hell, Choi!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not like that's anything new."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except you're on edge.

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

"Now who's staring?"

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

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

Hope.

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

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

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

"Can I pour you another drink?"

"Sure," you chuckle, pleased.

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

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

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

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

"'Lo, Wonu."

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

"Past yer bedtime, lil one?"

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

"Oh, Lina…"

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

"Huh, what a darlin' angel!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, how your heart aches.

"Even prettier."

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

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

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

"I am strong!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Choi —"

"Yeah!" Lina claps ecstatically.

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

"I swear!"

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

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

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

"Really?!"

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

"Y'see the man in all purple?"

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

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

"Choi!"

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

"Yes, sir!"

"Attagirl."

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

"Dunno, cute?"

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

"No need for apologizin', man."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'S not what I meant!"

"Yeah, yeah."

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

Meanwhile, the pastor's grin turns wolfish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just a bounty hunter."

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

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

"Oh? Same here."

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

"He's…?"

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

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

"Yeah, tell me about it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pastor. Pleased to meet'cha."

"Oh! Really?"

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

"Do you, hm, officiate weddings?"

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

"M-maybe."

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

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

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

"No one even has sixty billion double dollars!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fill me up again?"

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

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

But you know the truth.

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

"I'm turning in for the night."

"Smartin' idea."

"Don't get too smashed."

"You should get smashed."

"Bye, Choi."

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

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

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

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

"Hey, you."

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

"So, you're staying here tonight?"

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

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

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

"You hella reek."

"Says the one who drank over seven shots."

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

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

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

"'Cause that's what he is."

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

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

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

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

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

"Only if you get one, too."

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

"As you wish, m'lady!"

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

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

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

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

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

"M'kay."

"You're so agreeable when drunk!"

"And you're still just as annoying."

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

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

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

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

"'Kay."

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

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

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

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

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

"All mine?"

"Yeah."

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

"Aren't you going to bathe?"

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

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

"Total slaughter…!"

Splash!

"… Total slaughter…"

Splash!

"I won't leave… a single man alive."

Splash! Splash!

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

Splash.

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

"Let's begin… the killing time."

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

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

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

Rem Saverem.

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

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

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

"What's got you making that face?"

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

"What face?"

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

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

"There is."

"Tell me."

"You need to dry your hair properly."

"Do it for me."

"… This is on purpose, isn't it?"

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

"Well, Seok? You gonna answer me?"

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

"You."

"Hm?"

"Was… thinking about you."

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

"… Yeah. I like you."

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

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

"… Mhm yeah, you've been drinking."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why are you acting like that?"

"… Like what?"

Perhaps you were too hopeful.

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

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

"It's… none of that, it's just…"

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

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

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

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

"I'm not the only one!"

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

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

"You don't know how I feel!"

Silence.

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

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

"You're right. How dare I?"

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

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

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

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

Yet, it hurts all the more.

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

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

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

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

Yelling. Crying. Screaming. Pleading.

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

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

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

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

Don't leave me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even Seokmin checks in. Four times.

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

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

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

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

"Beast… reported… Tonim town… !"

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

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

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

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

"You're just weak."

"Wha'zat say 'bout you?"

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

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

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

How typical.

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

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

"Soonyoung's coming."

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

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

"Tuned the VERnon last night."

"'Course you did."

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

"It never hurts to be too prepared!"

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

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

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

"Or… it could be Jeonghan."

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

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

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

Antagonize.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really, 'Kwan?"

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

"Sure you are."

"You would absolutely look dashing!"

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

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

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

"All that does is make me cringe."

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

"Who's acting like what?"

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

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

"There's no way!"

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

"Uh-huh."

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

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

"The hell did you even throw for?"

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

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

"Someone just doesn't wanna give in."

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

"Wait… No fucking way…!"

"Literally shut up, Boo."

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

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

"Dirty cheater."

"You expect anything less from someone like him?"

A sigh. "No."

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

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

"Don't recall!"

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

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

"Aw, see? You still care!"

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

"Sure you do."

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

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

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

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

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

"As far as we know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Even if it kills 'im?"

"Even if it kills him."

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

"Dokyeom. DK."

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

"Absolute pain in my ass?"

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

"… Deadly Knives?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You admired him. Truly.

"Un-fuckin'-'lievable."

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

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

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

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

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

"… Remind me to never drink again."

"I told you —"

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

"… Mistake?"

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

You wonder how long he's known.

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

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

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

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

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

Who is it you're trying to reassure?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'Course they would."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Surely you know what —"

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

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

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

"Still following him around, I see."

"'S a lot comin' from —"

" — Hasn't gotten rid of me yet!"

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

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

"You're delusional."

"Why are you here?"

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

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

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

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

Click!

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

"Uh, so… how many times is this?"

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

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

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

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

"Felnarl. Jeneora Rock. Descartes. Dankin."

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

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

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

"Why you —"

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

"You forgot one."

"Pardon?"

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

"… Huh?"

"Little Ivywood."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Damn you —"

"Stop it."

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

"You don't want this."

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

"We do."

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

"He's not a monster."

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

To us?

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

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

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

"… Excuse me?"

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

"We would've left peacefully tomorrow."

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

"Because you took a bribe!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"…. I —"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You mean…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Conflict resolution. How very touching."

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

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

"What about that was 'getting good'?"

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

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

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

"Hm. But I think you do."

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

Lina.

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

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

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

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

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

"… Wonu?"

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

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

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

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

It doesn't end there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ooh, thanks, Seungkwan!"

"Pay attention, you blockhead!"

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

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

"Seokmin, switch!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bang!

Bang!

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

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

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

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

Nails.

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

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

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

Drip.

"It's all your fault!"

Drip.

"Their blood is on your hands…"

Drip.

"Don't you feel guilty?"

Drip.

"Don't you feel responsible?"

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Drip.

Someone's screaming. Maybe it's you.

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

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

Click.

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

"… out of it!"

"Hyperventialing -"

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

The Crimsonnail sneers.

Your cheek stings.

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

Someone.

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

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

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

"I know, mayfly."

Part 2 | Read the whole thing on AO3

onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

See How It Shines

Summary: Spencer gets home from work to find Reader in tears over the new Hozier album.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff and comfort

Content warnings: The masterpiece of Hozier’s Unreal Unearth, me stopping halfway to listen to the entire album, me crying to every song I reference

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: shoutout to anyone who picks up on every song reference I make. I am instantly in love with you.

Spencer had been etched with the weight of unsolved cases and the relentless march of time, and he was forced to call it a night around six. The team had already pulled an all-nighter earlier in the week, so Hotch decided they all deserved rest. Spencer, however, wasn’t tired (he was; it was the late cups of coffee). Nevertheless, he makes it to his apartment door, skipping every other step. As Spencer turned the key in the lock, a soft melody flowed from the other side, haunting him yet drawing him in.

When the door opens with a slight creak, the music only grows. The living room was a sanctuary, bathed in the golden hues of twilight and table lamps, together casting long, ethereal shadows across the aged wooden floor. Plants adorned the walls and shelves. Since you moved in, he has never shared a space with so many simple living things.  His record player, a testament to decades of shared music between him and his mother, spun its vinyl tale. This time it was for you, as it breathed life into the album as you sat on the couch in a nest of blankets.

Ah yes, it was Hozier day. The anticipated album release of Unreal Unearth. His girlfriend highly anticipated it. She had been vibrating as the week drew to a close with five days left, then three, then one. And it was well worth the wait, considering the tears continuing to streak her face as the Irish man begged for someone to not fall away from him.

Spencer set his bag down by the door and proceeded toward the couch with caution as if he were ready to pounce like a predator on prey. Except the end resulted in a tender hand on your shoulder. You looked up at him with a puffy face and snotty nose. It was Spencer’s next instinct to grab a tissue from the end table and offer it to you. Of course, you took it. And even though the answer was obvious, he still felt the need to ask, “Are you okay?”

It was a struggle for you to inhale, so you blew your nose again. "I didn’t expect this to be a breakup album.” The album sleeve was wrapped in your arms, proving to already be a prized possession. The tracklist was organized by the layers of Dante’s hell they fell under.

Spencer gave you a small smirk before placing a kiss on your head. “Well, I’ll go ahead and get started on dinner.” It was his turn to take the culinary reins for tonight. “Do you need anything?”

“I need to know who this woman is, Spencer.” You throw your head back as Hozier hits a high note that neither of you has heard from him before. You stay there as you ask, “Who made this man feel so much pain?”

“You want to fight Hozier’s ex-girlfriend?”

“Ew, no.” Your nose scrunched. “I just want to know how. The power to make a man feel this way.”

Spencer chuckled. He had answers. And he’s happy to not reply with any of them. “I’m making chicken parmesan. That okay?”

You nodded, soon returning to singing about holding a heart like a steering wheel. But you then grabbed his hand. Your eyes are red, and Spencer is sure you’ll need drops before the end of the night. “Did a part of you die the first time I called you ‘baby,’ Spencer?”

Spencer couldn’t help but smirk as he quirked a brow. “Do what?”

“They’re song lyrics.” You let go of him.

Spencer has never fully understood the uproar that comes with Hozier. Then again, no one really flocks to Beethoven and Chopin like they used to. Plus, Vivaldi wasn’t known for belting out in the middle of his pieces and Spencer can at least admit Hozier’s belts ( well, the ones he’s heard so far) tug at him by the chest. He came back to his senses quickly when his mismatched socks landed on the cold tile. He washed his hands and opened the fridge door with his good knee.

Songs of water and knives reminded him he had chicken to wash and cut. And the familiar feeling in his own kitchen gets the tasks in Spencer’s head in order. He could feel the weight of his week slowly lift, replaced by Spencer attempting to chop to the song. It was inefficient. Some songs play shockingly fast for a breakup album. He settled for a more percussion style of noise, making each slice more deliberate as a testament to his meticulousness.

The flour and breadcrumbs sizzled in the oil that mingled with the sight of you matching the pitch of the song and humming where Hozier shouted, caressing the album sleeve like it was alive and needed your warmth. The weight of the lyrics settling in your bones caused your head to fall in shock as a long, high note carried through the whole apartment.

The album played on, weaving tales of love and loss, each one successfully targeting your core and striking effectively. And when Spencer got into the groove of his own routine in the kitchen, he listened to the lyrics as they almost guided him to autopilot, reminding him of the joys that come with his leg around you in bed, ensuring you don’t move anywhere except closer to him. And how the idea of losing that is something he does not care to dwell on for long.

He could keep it together, he thought.

Until his voice soars about the glistening of an animal’s eyes. About the force of love for someone recklessly in the middle of the street. Spencer couldn’t help but feel a lump forming in his throat. It was a visceral reaction—Spencer's sniffle. But it wasn’t unheard.

You turned your gaze toward Spencer, your eyes soft with understanding. You could hear the emotion in his breath and the slight catch in his throat. “Spencer?” You asked.

“I’m fine.”

Your lower lip quivers with a puffy smile. “You’re crying.”

“No, I’m chopping. Chopping while completely fine.” His sniffles continued to give him away (sanitary stations over pride every time).

You couldn’t help but find the situation adorable. You lazily got up from the couch, letting one of the blankets slide off with you, dragging along behind you across the wood floor and then the tile. You carefully put your hands around his waist because safety comes first. You squeeze him, and he laughs a little. For a moment, he puts his left hand on your arm, keeping it there. You noticed how his fingertips were colder than expected as you looked at the cutting board from under his arm. “So basil makes you cry? Is that it?”

Spencer laughs again, diverting his gaze from the record player and clearing his eyes from unshed tears. “Today, it apparently does. There must be some emotional properties I didn’t consider.”

“Nothing to do with an Irish man singing his heart out?”

Spencer rubs his nose on his sleeve. Fuck sanitation right now; he’s about to go through it. The snot is evident. See how it shines, indeed. “Is he really singing about roadkill?”

“Yep.” You sniffle in return as you lay your head on his back.

“Fuck.”

“I know.”

“How does he do it?”

“That I don’t know.” You held Spencer as he let the music hit him. Taking moments to turn from the food to wipe his tears.

[tossawary]

Thinking about the actual living arrangements between Wu Yanzi and Shen Jiu is interesting, because I would think that Wu Yanzi should be more than a little concerned that his new apprentice might decide to turn that bloody sword on him sooner or later.

Putting this below a cut because I'm talking about child abuse here.

You can come up with all sorts of angsty, abusive behavior for Wu Yanzi on the premise that he's afraid of what Shen Jiu might do, simpler examples being things like "he might have made Shen Jiu sleep outside if he was ever taking a room at an inn" and "he might have regularly taken all of Shen Jiu's belongings away because he couldn't 'trust' his disciple with them". More extreme, antagonizing examples being things like "he might have tied Shen Jiu up at night like a dog" or "he might have planted some kind of talismans that prevented Shen Jiu from coming near him or from leaving a small space". He might have even been "matter of fact" about it. Not obviously taking pleasure in a "necessary measure".

I don't think Wu Yanzi treated Shen Jiu like complete shit all the time, I think it probably would have depended on his moods, as it does with many abusers. I just think it's interesting to think about why exactly young Shen Jiu was "terrified to death" of this person. There has to have been a line of "worth putting up with this to learn some cultivation techniques" keeping Shen Jiu from deciding to just risk it and try to kill Wu Yanzi (the line ends up being Yue Qi at the Conference).

It's possible that Wu Yanzi treated Shen Jiu kind of okay most of the time, actually, trusting in his young apprentice's fear without relying on any kind of physical abuse. At the beginning, Wu Yanzi is something of a cultivator and Shen Jiu is not. By forcing Shen Jiu to participate in his foul crimes, he makes it harder for Shen Jiu to leave him, because now Wu Yanzi can threaten to TELL PEOPLE what Shen Jiu has done. And seeing Wu Yanzi kill people in horrific ways such as the Cursed Black Light talismans functions as a very effective threat by itself. "Behave or I'll kill you," is probably all the rope that Wu Yanzi would need to tie Shen Jiu up at night, honestly, stopping his apprentice from killing him in his sleep. Verbal threats and abuse are more than enough, especially when said by an actual murderer.

I think it's interesting to think about the different ways that abuse manifests, and how the different styles of abuse from Qiu Jianluo and Wu Yanzi might have affected Shen Jiu. We don't see a lot of Shen Jiu's life with Wu Yanzi, so we don't know whether or not his behavior was playfully cruel or tersely paranoid or coldly detached. It's easier to draw links between Shen Jiu's abusive treatment of Luo Binghe and Qiu Jianluo's abuse of Shen Jiu.

Anyway, I was thinking about this because I was thinking about more Canon Divergence AUs for Qijiu. Like, what if, after killing Qiu Jianluo, Shen Jiu gets a taste of what his life will be like under Wu Yanzi and throws caution to the wind to murder this guy? He desperately wants to learn cultivation, yes, but he doesn't want another master. Maybe there's some bounty on Wu Yanzi's head and Shen Jiu decides to take it, and hopefully leverage the kill as his legitimate entrance into the cultivation world?

I'm wondering how easy it would be to somehow get Shen Jiu to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect when Yue Qi has been trapped in the Ling Xi caves. I don't think that Shen Jiu would be happy about Yue Qi's imprisonment at all. That could end up being a very dramatic rescue.

[teamcavota]

50 milo murphy's law facts

5 not so fun and 45 fun!

Not so fun to start!

The only Milo Murphy's Law official merchandise is a notebook released in Japan for the MML X PNF crossover.

Disney actually apologized to Dan (and I assume Swampy) for the treatment of Milo Murphy's Law. Dan has expressed frustration at the MMLs treatment before, citing the Hiatus between s1 and s2 and the fact it did not air on the main Disney Channel.

Doof appears in more episodes than Cavendish and Dakota in s2 (this is the real reason we needed a s3). Also, while PNF/Doof stuff was planned from the start, Disney did push for more PNF.

When season 2 was airing, new episodes would randomly be released in other countries.

Milo was cut from CATU due to a feeling from Disney that audiences would not recognize his cameo.

ok LAME ones out of the way

On the first drawing of Milo there are three names beside it: Milo, Mikey, and...Monty. As you probably know the Mikey one got pretty far and is the name used in the pitch bible (and was referenced with "I am Mikey!".) The reason Mikey was changed to Milo was not a creative choice, but because there was a popular YouTuber named "Mikey Murphy."

Speaking of, Milo was also just going to be another character apart of a different pitch, but Dan kept thinking he should go into his own show. He went to Swampy and asked him what he thought of Milo (at the time Mikey) and the idea of a show about Murphys Law. it took them about an hour to come up with the concept pitch.

You can find several of MML song dubbings on YouTube and other platforms. Most notably the Japanese version (マイロ・マーフィーの法則) highly worth checking out. Fun fact in a fun fact, Doof and Dakota also share the same voice actor in this dubbing.

In re-airings of some of the first MML episodes, second versions were made that included Cavendish and Dakota in the background.

Yes, Melissa was originally going to feel the lasting effects of the pistachion uprising by remaining looking like one instead of Bradley having his arm turned into a vine. This would have been a source of conflict for her in season 2, but in the end they felt it was too much of a change. As far as Bradley's plant arm it was originally only going to come out sometimes before it was changed to being a constant thing. He does have feeling in this arm.

The Island of Lost Dakota's was going to include a scene with merman Dakota's ("merkotas"). There was also going to be "mutation" Dakotas, such as ones with multiple heads.

There exists a live action version of the Milo Murphy's Law theme song. well, sorta, watch it

Before Milo came out Dwampy made the song "we're gonna do it again."

MML was originally set to debut in early 2017.

Weird Al did not originally come to mind for Milo. One of the idea voices they had was Noah Z Jones (Fish Hooks). They auditioned hundreds of people for Milo, but many had issues such as sounding too nervous in their lines. It wasn't until Alex Hirsch (Gravity Falls) posted a photo with Weird Al that Dwampy realized he'd be perfect for the role.

Sara is based on a friend of Dwampy.

In tune with the popular headcanon/fan theory, it's possible they did actually consider making Cavendish a descendant of Milo. When Cavendish was going to agree he also liked Milo, he was going to say he was his descendant. *this may have also just been a joke line

Milo and Cavendish are meant to mirror eachother in the fact Milo deals with Murphy's Law and Cavendish is the "author of his own misery" in regards to things going wrong.

Another thing they considered was the possibility of Dakota and Cavendish being in a romantic relationship, but they ultimately decided they wanted them to have them represent a strong male friendship.

The Milo Murphys Law crew did keep up a fanart and concept art wall. Here, here, and here are some photos.

There was a baby Cavenpus cut from final productions.

There are no official ages for Dakota and Cavendish. Dan has said he believes Cavendish to be older, while Joshua Pruett has said he believes Dakota to be the older one and by a bit of a margin.

Pistachios came to be a thing in the show because a son of some of Dan's neighbors had been allergic to specifically pistachios. They needed an idea for the larger plot and somehow those two came together. (Swampy also notes it's a funny word).

Several of the scripts for MML storyboarders included just the words, "and Murphy's Law happened."

Dan has made at least one Vinnie Dakota dedicated Tiktok similar to his Doof ones.

The Doof and Dakota lines were recorded together, back and forth.

Melissa was going to have a hamster nemesis named Ham. In the Pitch Bible the name wasn't included, but it's explained it was a pet class hamster that would always escape and end up on her things.

The secret handshake Milo and Zack do in scream-a-tourium was intended to be longer.

The studio executive for MML originally thought The Island of Lost Dakota's was a joke idea until he read the script.

There was a MML kids menu at Disneyland circa 2016.

Dakota and Cavendish were originally not in the shows ideas, nor was any B-plot, but being used to it in PNF the writers room felt they "needed something to cut away to"

Joshua Pruett pitched for the MML x PNF crossover for where when Milo opened his backpack to pull out the thing he needed to save the world it'd be...Phineas and Ferb.

Dakota is the reason parking tickets exist, as he can be a bit careless about leaving time vehicles all over the place. Dakota is proud of this.

Melissa's likeness and name is based on Dan's daughter Meli, as to sorta "balance out" Isabella also being based on his other daughter.

They considered a twist where Bob Block would be an alien wearing a face mask.

"Cavendish Farms" is an episode that never came to be pitched by Pruett where in order to track Cavendish Dakota would try to duplicate Cavendish, though none of them would quite be Cavendish. One of the Cavendishs would have a heart to heart with Dakota, while Doof would ultimately call out Dakota for what he's doing and tell Dakota "you already know what he would do." dwampy rejected this idea because this was a bad idea, to which pruett felt that is exactly why Dakota would have tried it. if renewed, pruett would have tried to convince them more on it.

Chop Away at My Heart was originally called "Jump Jump Jump" and was made for another project by one of Dan's friends. After Dan have asked to transform it into something else for Milo, Joshua Pruett suggested a "Lumberjack themed boyband" in the script.

unfortunate split for character block limit

Dakotas voice was inspired by Elvis Costello. It's also the harder voice for Dan in comparison to Doof.

Mark Hamill originally auditioned to play a teacher on the show, but Dwampy liked his audition so much they decided he'd better fit Mr. Block.

In the MML pitch bible it is stated, "Mikey has a destiny to fulfill, something vital to the future of the planet." The goal of Cavendish and Dakota would be to make sure he stays on the right path.

There IS a full version of We're Going to the Zoo, which was played by Dan in this interview at 3:00:30. Several MML songs have had full versions leaked, implying this is probably the case for some other songs too.

Like several other characters, Sara in the MML pitch bible was different from her show counterpart, being "a hipster like Thora Butch in Ghost World."

The song "A World Without Milo" is based on the song "Happy Together" by "The Turtles"

Almost every character, including creatures or minor one-offs had a name in the script. An example is "Pia," the name of the poodle Diogee falls in love with.

In regards to when Dakota talks about cutting through the Mesozoic in First Impressions and the fact it is illogical, Dan says this is likely just Dakota being Dakota (aka, it was a mistake), and not every such line should be taken serious.

In a deleted "Snow Way Out" line it was confirmed that the raccoon in Going the Extra Milo and Fungus Among Us is recurring raccoon.

Brick and Savannah were going to have a role in the crossover.

Story ideas from the MML pitch bible that never came to include a beach episode, a Friday the 13 episode, and an episode where Cavendish and Dakota try convincing Milo to take a self defense class leading to conflict with a hidden ninja gang.

For unspecified characters (probably multiple different sets) Pruett wrote in hugs that were cut by (mostly) Dan. In response, he says he "put 4 in so at least 1 stays."

S3 would have likely included: A third Block (yes, still voiced by Mark Hamill and a Block "family meeting"), Milo creating the universe, Dakota and Cavendish getting the promotion they wanted but being unsatisfied, Elliot cleverly being connected to the overarching plot, AU exploration (akin to pnf) including an episode where Dr Zone is real, and a conclusion to the Prof Time arc. The overarching plot would have been the "biggest yet."

credits to: danvillecheese for suggestions + encouragement, cheetochild989 for facts the fact about going to the zoo and a world without milo, the 2nd dimension on YouTube, my hamsterward friends, and of course all the talented people who worked on MML :3

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you write something about Jason comforting the reader with the insecurities of stretch marks and fat? Please.

Sorry this took long for me to get to but it’s here finally! 🦦

Jason knew something was off the moment he noticed the absence of light within your eyes that he loved so much whenever you caught sight of yourself within the mirror, even if it was from the corner of your eyes it was still enough to sour your overall mood for the week. And it was because of this that Jason definitively decided that he needed to step in and help you out of the rut that you seemed to have gotten yourself in; seeing as how you never once hesitated to help him out of his own share of ruts- even the ones where he didn’t think himself deserving of being saved- Jason wanted to pay that kindness you’ve shone him forward and be there for you the way you’ve been there for him.

That and the fact that he doesn’t want his favourite person to have ever walked into his life to ever feel alone in their most trying times, especially when he knew damn well he could’ve done something to help solve the issue rather then stand at the sidelines and make it even worse.

So one day Jason found himself sat by your side on the bed after catching you looking at yourself dishearteningly through the mirror in shame, disappointment and disapproval one too many times. ‘What’s wrong sweetheart? Whose asses do I have to kick for making my baby upset hmm?’ Jason asked and you forced yourself to smile at his concern but didn’t think it was worth the hassle he’d be willing to put himself through for.

‘No one has said anything Jason, so there’ll be no ass you’ll be kicking I’m afraid, besides it’s stupid and I’ll get over it…or at least I thought I would by now.’ You directed the last part at yourself, muttering it under your breath, but all it did was raise Jason’s concern as he reached over and held your hand in his, tracing calming patterns into your skin with his thumb. ‘Come on angel,’ he softly encouraged, squeezing your hand, ‘there’s nothing that you coup ever say that would make me think of you any differently than I do now.’

You looked at him with tearful eyes that made him want to tear his heart out of his chest for how much it hurt him in seeing you in any sort of pain or distress. ‘Even with all my…fat and my stretch marks that I wish would go away every night when I’m constantly reminded on a daily basis that I’ll never be the vision of beauty? My my acne/acne scarring that I can never be rid of and are now a permanent extension of me?’ You asked, though the further you sent the more your vision blurred with your tears, making it harder for you to make out his expression, which didn’t help with your unsavoury thoughts that made you compare to yourself to the likes of your good friend Artemis; who told you on multiple occasions that Jason wasn’t a shallow man and that if he could, he’d choose you in every possible universe.

‘Yes.’ Jason replied seriously and without an ounce of hesitation. ‘Even with the things that you view as an insecurity because to me they’re what make you, well you.’ He then gets off the bed -hands still intertwined- as he knelt on his knees in front of you, smiling. ‘You’re still my y/n. My beautiful,’ he plants a kiss to your hand, ‘handsome,’ another kiss to the inside of your wrist, ‘gorgeous and ridiculous sweet y/n.’ He brings his barrage of kisses to an end by having the last two on your thighs where he knew you had stretch marks, looking up at you with kind and caring eyes that he only ever gives you and only you. ‘You only blessed me by giving me more of you to love up on and how could I resist such a beautiful blessing such as that?’

‘You mean that? Truly?’ You asked.

‘With my whole heart, I meant every word.’ Jason replied, now looking at you with complete and utter devotion to you, his deity.

‘I don’t disgust you? Not once?’ You asked again, still in denial that a man such as him existed.

‘I’d make constellations of your acne/scarring with my fingers if it brings you happiness.’ Jason began. ‘I’d memorise the way your plush and plump body cushions against me perfectly as though you were made to be in my arms and my arms only.’ He then let’s go of your hand to hold both of your thighs in his big, strong hands as he began to squeeze and stroke them at his own pace. ‘I’d kiss each and every one of your stretch marks while whispering my thanks to them for making you even more beautiful than I’d ever thought possible.’ He concludes, kissing your thighs once more in appreciation of your creation.

‘Jason…’ you were crying but for an entirely different reason as you watched on in fascination as he showed love towards the parts of yourself that you felt most embarrassed and ashamed about your entire life, Almost as though it came easy as breathing to him, like loving you was easy as breathing to him.

‘Yes sweetheart.’ He said against your thigh, pressing a loving kiss into it.

‘Thank you for loving me when I couldn’t love myself.’ You said, reaching your hands to hold his face in your hands as you sweetly kissed him on the lips and feeling him smile into the kiss and still feeling his hands kneading the flesh of your thighs but instead of feeling ashamed, you felt loved. You felt happy that you’ve got a man like Jason who was addicted to you and every inch of your body as though he’ll never get a chance to worship your body again.

‘No need to thank me sweetheart, I’d gladly love on you in this life and the next because if I’m certain that I’m made for one thing, it’s loving you unconditionally and wholeheartedly.’ Jason replied, pulling away. ‘Now how about we get some take out and just spend the evening here, just the two of us?’ You smiled and pecked his nose, laughing at the way he scrunched up his nose. ‘That sounds perfect Jay, but then again anything with you is perfect.’

‘So just like you then?’ Jason smirked at you and you decided to shut him up with another kiss on the lips, unable to stop the smile on your lips from growing as you enjoyed your little piece of heaven with him.

[sidekick-hero]

we were meant to be (we live happily in my fantasy)

(steddie | explicit | wc: 5672 | written for @steddiemas Smutty Sunday prompt needing to be quiet | tags/cw: public sex in a bathroom, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Escort Steve Harrington, Modern Setting, Multiple Orgasms, Happy Ending

Eddie Munson has it all.

The big mansion with more bathrooms than anyone could ever need, five platinum albums in as many years, countless awards to show the world that the trailer trash from a shithole town in Indiana had made it, and enough money to buy said shithole town if he ever wanted to. Which he certainly didn't, thank you very much. The only good thing about this hellhole is his uncle, who still refuses to live anywhere else.

Eddie Munson also has the most gorgeous date of all the Grammy attendees on his arm, smiling charmingly at the flashing cameras and winning the hearts of everyone he so much as looks at.

God, Eddie wishes Steve Harrington was his, too, in all the ways that really matter. But just like his house and his cars and his wardrobe, which is worth more than his uncle made in a year at the plant, Steve is only as much his as money can make you. Sure, he owns his time and his attention and his devastatingly handsome smile for the agreed upon amount of time, but not his heart. Never his heart.

Eddie Munson has it all, except the love he so desperately wants. That's what you get, he guesses, when you fall in love with your escort.

When Chrissy first suggested it, hiring an escort seemed like a great idea. It would solve most of his problems, especially because it would keep people off his back by making them think Eddie was seeing someone. It stopped most of the stupid questions about his love life in interviews that were supposed to be about his and his band's music. It stopped all the rumors about him dating some random celebrity or one of his friends. It gave him someone to take to all the boring as fuck events he had to attend without getting anyone's hopes up only to have Eddie walk away from them the next day, already bored.

When he opened the door to his hotel room almost a year ago to find the most beautiful man he'd ever seen standing in front of him, he already had a feeling that he might regret ever saying yes to Chrissy's idea. That feeling only got worse when Steve, the name of the apparition in front of him, turned out to not only be kind and caring, but also funny as hell. The more comfortable he got around Eddie, the more Eddie got to know his bitchy side, and it had Eddie in stitches every time Steve unleashed it on some annoying redneck or corporate suit they encountered.

Spending time with Steve soon became something Eddie looked forward to weeks in advance. Because it meant he had a reason to tell Chrissy to book Steve for a few precious hours, he found himself saying yes to more requests than ever before. At first, Eddie told himself it was because it was so rare for him to meet new people he enjoyed being around. All of his friends he's known since high school and the people he hooks up with usually don't stay long enough to have a real conversation. So, Eddie tells himself, it's just the novelty of having someone who hasn't heard (or lived through) all of his stories, and who, in turn, broadens Eddie's horizons with funny anecdotes and surprisingly clever analyses of movies and shows they've both seen.

Eddie knows he's been fooling himself since the first time their lips touched and a kaleidoscope of butterflies took flight in his stomach.

Steve had kissed him for the first time about three months after Eddie had hired him. They had been at a party in the Hollywood Hills after another award show. Eddie's band had won six awards and he wanted to go out and celebrate. Returning from the restroom, he had found someone talking to Steve, hands on his shoulders, slowly sliding them down to his waist and crowding closer to him. The sight had hurt more than Eddie had expected, especially when the guy leaned in to put his mouth on Steve. But the kiss never happened because Steve had pushed him away forcefully.

Eddie didn't even realize he'd gotten close enough to the couple to hear the man's next words.

"Come on, you fucking slut. You spread them for Munson but not for me? Afraid of a real man giving it to you, is that it?" Hargrove spat, and Eddie finally recognized the backup singer from some wanna be rock band that always talked shit about Corroded Coffin, obviously jealous of their success.

"You disgusting pig," Eddie heard himself say from afar, and before either man could say anything, Eddie drew back his fist and connected with Hargrove's sneering face. The sound of it hitting his jaw was extremely satisfying, but Eddie had never hit anyone before and the pain in his hand came as a surprise.

Worst of all, Hargrove didn't go down like Eddie had hoped. Instead, he looked at Eddie with murder in his eyes, the muscles in his body tense, and Eddie knew what was coming next, so he closed his eyes and waited for the pain to come.

Only it never came.

He peeked one eye open to find Steve with his hand fisted in Hargrove's shirt, their faces inches apart as Steve hissed at him. "If you so much as look at him the wrong way, I'll go to the press and tell them all about your charming words to me for not giving you the time of day. Maybe talk a little bit about what a sad and pathetic loser you are, clamoring for my attention because you wish you could be half the man Eddie is."

Eddie has never seen anything hotter than Steve Harrington threatening someone and he doesn't care how wrong that sounds. He dares anyone to look at his blazing eyes and the flexing muscles in his toned forearms and tell him it's not the hottest thing they've ever seen.

"Are we clear?" Steve growled, waiting for Hargrove's answer. For a moment it looked like fists were going to fly anyway, but then Eddie saw Hargrove nod almost imperceptibly and he let out the breath he'd been holding.

They left soon after and Steve insisted on going home with Eddie to look at his hand, which was starting to swell. "I've been there a few times, this is going to hurt like a bitch if you don't treat it right," he told Eddie and that was that. He took Steve home.

As he opened the front door of his house he expected some sort of reaction from Steve but none came. No looking around, no whistling, no remarks about his wealth or choice of decor. Just a warm hand on his shoulder and Steve asking where he keeps his first aid kit. Eddie wished he'd asked Steve over sooner, even though there was never a good reason.

In the master bathroom, Steve sat him down on the closed toilet seat before gracefully sinking to his knees in front of Eddie. Heat rushed to his cheeks at the sight, the movement conjuring up images he usually only indulged in the safety of his bedroom.

There was a thick tension between them as Steve tenderly reached for his swollen hand and began to put ointment on it. Eyes fixed on what he needed to do, Steve broke the silence that had fallen over them and began to speak in a low voice. "I'm not your damsel in distress, Eddie. I can take care of myself and I don't need anybody to save me, okay? This is not Pretty Woman, and if you want to keep asking for my services, you have to accept that."

Despite the calm in his voice, Eddie could tell that Steve was worked up, probably nervous about how Eddie would react to this. He had no idea where this speech was coming from, but the thought of Steve needing Eddie to save him sounded utterly ridiculous. He had only known Steve for a few months, but he was already well aware that Steve Harrington was a certified badass.

When he told Steve this, he was met with hazel eyes looking at him questioningly. "But why did you hit that guy if not because you thought I needed saving?"

Something in Steve's voice tugged at his heart, a vulnerability shining through the confident way he usually held himself, and Eddie responded instinctively, cupping Steve's neck with the hand not currently wrapped in Steve's.

"Because he deserved it? Steve, I know you could kick anyone's ass and probably look hot as hell doing it. Hearing that asshole talk like that about someone who is... I dunno, like you, I just couldn't help myself."

"Like me?"

With anyone else, Eddie would think they were fishing for compliments, but he knows Steve isn't. He really has no idea how maddeningly exceptional he is.

"Yeah, like you. Someone who talks all the time about a bunch of kids that he used to babysit because he's obviously so proud of them and he cares about them so much. Someone who makes our limo stop so he can give a homeless family the contents of our mini-fridge, who always makes himself seem a little smaller than he is around people who are shy and easily intimidated. Someone who gives the best verbal dressing-down I've ever heard, but also makes me feel like I'm funny and interesting every time I spend time with him. Someone who sees the world differently and isn't afraid to ask questions and speak his mind, even if people think they're stupid for it. Because they're not, they just don't fit into their dumb little boxes. You don't fit in those stupid boxes and a disgusting pig like Hargrove doesn't get to talk to you like that."

Eddie has no idea what came over him at that moment, the words pouring out of his mouth like water from a burst pipe, but they seemed to be the right ones. At least judging by the way Steve lunged forward to capture his lips in a surprisingly sweet kiss.

It was then that Eddie realized his grave mistake. He never expected it to happen, so he had left his heart unguarded around Steve, not realizing it had been stolen until it was too late. Running away was no longer an option, so instead he surrendered to the intoxicating feeling of Steve's plush lips against his, giving his body to the man who already owned his heart.

Not surprisingly, they ended the night with Steve buried deep inside of him, his hand still wrapped around Eddie's bandaged one.

Eddie doesn't know how much more sleeping with him would add to Steve's rate, but he doesn't care. He felt a little sleazy at first, paying for sex, but every time he looks at Steve he knows it's worth every penny in his bank account, along with his dignity.

Knowing he was royally screwed the second Steve's lips touched his, Eddie shoveled his grave deeper and deeper, finding more and more reasons to go out with Steve on his arm, only to bring him home and get lost in his body.

Eddie always wakes up alone, though, and it starts to eat away at him, this longing for more. He wants to wake up with Steve's bed hair tickling his nose where it is tucked against Steve's neck, to feel his sleep-warm skin against his own, to hear Steve grumble as he inevitably begins to explore the tantalizing body in his arms, only to have the sound turn into a wanton moan. He wants breakfast in bed and morning showers together, fighting over who gets to read the editorial cartoons first.

When he accepts his first Grammy, he wants to tell the world that as incredible as it is to stand here and see a lifelong dream come true, it's not the most important thing in his life anymore. It's not the award in his hands, but the man sitting in the third row, next to his manager and best friend Chrissy, beaming at him with pride.

But he doesn't, he just thanks their crew, their fans and of course his friends and his uncle before he hands the microphone to Jeff to do the same.

Later, at the reception, he drowns his heartache in the expensive champagne being handed to him left and right. Steve is plastered to his side and when Eddie reaches for the fourth glass, he stops him with his lips against his ear. "I have plans for you and they don't involve you passing out drunk." His deep voice whispers and Eddie feels goosebumps rise all over his body.

He lets the waiter pass and eyes Steve hungrily. "Stevie, you naughty boy. Not in front of the kids," Eddie giggles, waving to his bandmates and Chrissy, who all roll their eyes indulgently. They know he pays Steve, but they never act like it, and Eddie is grateful for that. They're probably aware of his feelings because Eddie has never been subtle and they've known him most of his life. If they feel sorry for him, they don't show it, but Eddie sees their worried looks sometimes.

Steve snorts inelegantly and Eddie thinks they're both a little high on champagne and endorphins.

When he leans in close again and Eddie wraps a possessive arm around his waist, Steve purrs in his ear, low enough that only Eddie can hear him. "Meet me in the restroom in the back. I have a surprise for you, Mr. Big-Shot-Rockstar." With that, Steve plants a wet kiss on his cheek and tells the group he'll be right back.

Eddie counts to 83 before he can't wait any longer and follows Steve, not even bothering with an excuse. They all know what they are up to anyway. He thinks he hears Gareth muttering "Unbelievable" and Chrissy whistling behind him, but he's already on his way to the restroom Steve mentioned at the back of the venue.

When he gets there, however, he can't find any trace of Steve.

"Steve?" he calls, his voice echoing off the tiles. Even his breathing sounds loud, so he holds his breath, listening for any sign of life. Then he hears it, the slick sound of slippery skin sliding against skin and ragged breathing. It comes from somewhere around the corner and Eddie follows it slowly. When he turns the corner he sees another row of stalls and feet peeking out of the last one. The door is open.

The closer he gets, the louder the sounds coming from the stall, and his cock stiffens in his pants at the thought of what he'll find.

He's still not prepared for the sight of Steve standing inside, naked as the day he was born, his clothes neatly folded on the closed toilet lid. His big, veiny hand is wrapped around his hard cock, already gleaming from the pre-cum smeared along its length. He's pumping it almost lazily, his eyes lustful and bright as they blink back at Eddie. His other hand plays with his stiff nipple and Eddie can feel his own cock leaking at the sight.

"Steve," he breathes out in wonder, "fuck, look at you. What are you doing to me?"

"Not enough, so you have to come here and let me get my hands on you." Steve's voice sounds strained, like he's already keyed up from the way he's touching himself, and Eddie has half a mind to just keep watching Steve getting himself off. But then he moans Eddie's name, and it's high and needy, luring Eddie over with its siren call.

Following it, Eddie squeezes into the narrow stall and wraps his own hand around the hard length of Steve's cock. The flesh is hot in his palm, its girth already familiar, and Eddie thinks he'll never touch another dick, not even his own, as long as he can have this. Steve has ruined him, completely and utterly, and it's that thought that finally breaks the tenacious control he's had over his emotions all these months.

His lips crash against Steve's without any finesse, there's just hunger and love and an urgency he can't explain as his arm wraps around Steve's waist while his other hand remains wrapped around his cock. They're pressed together from head to toe, Eddie still fully dressed in his expensive designer pants and burgundy shirt and Steve gloriously naked. He's probably smearing Pre all over his pants, which are rented and which he probably has to pay for now. But what are a few thousand dollars more when he can have Steve moaning brokenly against his already swollen lips at the feel of the smooth material rubbing against the sensitive head of his cock.

"You're killing me, baby. So sexy, knowing exactly what you're doing to me," Eddie pants as he pulls his hungry mouth away from Steve's, kissing along his blushing cheeks and down the sharp line of his jaw to take it between his teeth. Steve's hips keep twitching, desperate to rub against Eddie's hand, Eddie's pants, anything that will give him some friction, shameless and so fucking hot that Eddie can barely think.

He soothes his bite marks with his tongue and picks up the pace of his hand on Steve, reveling in the slick sounds that fill the empty restroom. "This is what you want, huh? For me to get you off in a public restroom, for you to come all over me, for you to mark me with your cum so that everyone can see how gone I am for you?"

Steve moans brokenly at his words, his hips stuttering and Eddie can feel the telltale twitch of his cock so he quickly sinks to his knees, the movement eerily similar to the night of their first kiss all those months ago when their roles had been reversed.

Twisting his fingers in Eddie's hair, their grip painfully tight and arousing at the same time, Steve comes in Eddie's mouth, his hot cum shooting down his throat, making him cough and splutter, but still eagerly drinking down every drop. He keeps milking Steve's cock until the overstimulation becomes painful and only then does he pull off of Steve to look up at him.

What he sees takes his breath away.

The hands in his hair have loosened their death grip and are instead tenderly combing through his messy locks. Steve's eyes are liquid amber, the color high in his cheeks as dark as the red of his lips, and the expression on his face is unbearably soft. One of his hands slides from Eddie's hair to his face, gently cupping his cheek and wiping away a few stray drops from the corner of his mouth. Their eyes lock and Eddie couldn't look away even if he wanted to, lost in Steve, in his smell, the feel of his hairy thighs under his palms, his taste on his tongue and the sight of his beloved face filled with warmth and affection.

He's not sure he'll be able to come back from this.

"Eddie," Steve begins in a soft voice and he knows what Steve is going to say and he just can't bear to hear it right now. Steve will tell him that they need to get dressed, to go back, to continue their charade until Eddie has to go home to his empty house and his empty bed and his empty life.

"Quite a surprise you had there, Stevie. Totally worth paying for those pants," he jokes, trying for some levity.

Steve gives him a crooked smile and says, "That wasn't my surprise, actually. Well, not all of it. But you... I wasn't expecting... um, this," he finishes lamely, shrugging, and Eddie feels his face heat up. Steve did not expect Eddie to lose it so much at the sight of him.

"Oops," Eddie jokes, obviously embarrassed but trying not to show it. "What surprise have I ruined?"

The hand still cupping his cheek pulls Eddie back to his feet and he winces a little as his knees crack. Smiling at him, Steve uses his hand on Eddie to draw him in for a sweet, almost chaste kiss, were it not for the fact that Steve is still naked and can probably taste himself on Eddie's lips and tongue, which he playfully teases with his own.

As they kiss, Steve blindly reaches for Eddie's hand and guides it to his ass and between his cheeks. Following Steve's lead, he teases his fingers along the crack down to his hole and gasps against Steve's mouth when he feels the hard stopper of a plug there. "Fuck," he hisses, "you are trying to kill me."

"I take it you like your surprise?" Steve sounds smug, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction at the wrecked look on Eddie's face.

"Sweetheart, you have no idea. No idea."

Palming Eddie's hard cock straining against the fly of his pants, Steve smirks. "I might have at least some idea. How about we do something about it, huh?" He adds, giving his cock a squeeze that causes his eyes to almost roll back in his head.

"Please," he practically begs, eagerly playing with the plug, pulling it out and pushing it back in before twisting it on the next pull.

Steve's arms wrap around him, pressing against Eddie and suddenly turning them both around so that Steve's back is to the open door. He pulls away from their embrace and Eddie whines at the loss of Steve in his arms. "One second, baby, just lemme close the door real quick," he coos.

Making good on his words, he grabs the door handle and pulls the door shut before locking it. Eddie reaches for him again as soon as it's done, but Steve seems to have a different idea. He turns and rests his forearms against the closed door, his forehead between them. Arching his broad back, covered with moles and beauty marks, he pushes his round ass out at Eddie and shakes it for good measure.

Looking over his shoulder and giving Eddie a cheeky grin, he asks, "What are you waiting for, lover boy? A written invitation?"

Smack.

The sound of Eddie's hand connecting with Steve's cheek is loud, echoing off the tiles and ringing through the empty restroom. A red handprint is already forming on the pale skin and the sight makes something primal inside him purr with satisfaction.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck," Steve curses and for a moment Eddie is afraid he has really hurt him, but then he sees Steve's hips buck. He moves closer and drapes himself over Steve's back, reaching around to find his cock more than half hard again.

"Every time I think you can't get any hotter," Eddie mutters to himself and Steve chuckles.

"Yeah? Right back at you," he replies with a smile in his voice. Then, more quietly, he asks, "Do it again?"

There's nothing Eddie would like more, but first he wants to see how far this newfound dynamic will go. "Only if you ask real nice, baby. Only good boys get what they want."

The cock he's still holding fills out even more, growing fully hard in his hand, and Eddie has never been in love like this. It's a weird moment to realize, but they didn't call him a freak for nothing, he supposes.

"Fuck, okay, okay. Can you -" Steve begins, already breathing hard, almost panting. "Can you please spank me again?"

Smack.

Smack.

The moan that bursts from Steve's throat is loud and guttural, and the redness on his cheeks looks perfect. There's only one thing missing, his cum decorating it, the white a beautiful contrast to the angry red.

"Yes, please, Eddie, please, come on me, paint me with your cum, rub it into my skin, anything you want," Steve babbles, his cock as hard as it was just before he shot down Eddie's throat. Eddie must have said his thoughts out loud, too far gone to realize it, but he doesn't care. They clearly want the same thing and he suddenly can't wait any longer.

"Please baby, tell me you brought lube and a condom?"

"Jacket. Right pocket. Hurry, I need you, Eddie."

"You got me, baby," he whispers, taking the time to plant a soft kiss on the back of Steve's neck. Then he fishes what they need out of Steve's jacket and is back on him in seconds. He reaches for the plug that keeps Steve stretched and open and gently pulls it out, watching in rapture as Steve's rim stretches around it, trying to suck it back in, thinking of how it will feel around his cock in a minute.

When it pops free, he sets it on the floor and pushes Steve's legs further apart before coating two of his fingers with lube. "I'm just checking to see if you're ready for me, okay?" Eddie tells Steve as he pushes his fingers inside. They sink in easily, no resistance as Eddie smears the lube around the rim. He can feel Steve's heartbeat against his fingers and thinks he'll never get tired of this.

"I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready, c'mon Eddie, please," Steve begs and Eddie doesn't even think about denying him. Instead, he shushes Steve with another kiss, this time between his shoulder blades, before resting his forehead against the skin there as he pulls down his fly, finally freeing his cock. It's an angry red, leaking copious amounts of pre-cum, and Eddie knows he won't last long.

He rolls the condom down his length and coats it with more lube before guiding the head to Steve's waiting hole and slowly pushing in, wanting to give Steve time to adjust. Steve is having none of it though, just pushing back until Eddie sinks in all the way, making them both groan.

"The. Death. Of. Me," Eddie pants against Steve's back and Steve chuckles. Then, once again showing no mercy, he tightens around Eddie's cock before relaxing again, but before Eddie can catch his breath, Steve slides almost all the way off him before pushing back, effectively fucking himself on Eddie's length.

"Fuck, baby, I won't last long like this," he whimpers, already feeling himself getting closer, his orgasm pulled from him by the tight grip of Steve's ass around him.

"Good."

Steve breathes hard, moans and high-pitched whimpers falling from his lips as he manages to fuck Eddie's cock against his prostate, and Eddie holds on for dear life, his hands wrapping around Steve's and pulling them up to the top of the door, both of them clutching it just to hold on to something.

Just as Eddie feels his balls tighten against his body, he hears the door to the venue creak.

Acting on pure instinct, adrenaline flooding his system, he slaps a hand over Steve's mouth, his other hand grabbing his hip to halt his movements.

Someone enters the restroom, the man's footsteps clearly audible as he walks over to one of the stalls, and Eddie is shocked to find a giggle rising in his throat. Here he is, in a public restroom at the goddamn Grammy Awards, balls deep in the man he's paying to be with him and who he's in love with, while another man is probably about to take a dump. Everything about it is so fucking ridiculous that he has to fight the laughter that is about to burst out of his mouth.

Steve, on the other hand, doesn't seem to suffer from the same fate. Instead, he clamps down on Eddie's cock inside of him, silently urging him to get over himself and let Steve fuck himself on his cock again.

"Steve," Eddie warns in a low voice, nothing more than a breath against the shell of Steve's ear. They can hear the other man's zipper coming down and then the sound of a stream hitting the bowl. Eddie uses the sound to speak as quickly and quietly as he can. "We have to be quiet."

Steve nods against his hand, but doesn't stop clenching rhythmically around him, moving his hips as much as he can with Eddie's hand still wrapped around him.

The flush of the toilet startles them both but only seems to spur Steve on, his movements becoming faster, more erratic and Eddie surrenders to him, no longer trying to hold him still but reaching around him and grasping his hard cock in his hand, thumbing at the slit and smearing the pre-cum around the head. A whimper escapes against his palm and he hastily stuffs Steve's mouth with his fingers to starve out any more sounds. He's glad it happened while the man on the other side of their stall turns on the faucet to wash his hands.

Steve comes all over the door with the sound of the dry blower drowning out his stifled moans around Eddie's fingers, and Eddie has to bite down on Steve's shoulder to muffle his own scream as he follows him over the edge and fills the condom.

They both catch their breath as they hear the restroom door close again.

The giggles finally break free and this time Steve joins in. "Fuck my life, that was hands down one of the weirdest moments that has ever happened to me," he laughs as he pulls out and ties off the condom.

"But also kind of hot," Steve adds, and Eddie isn't sure he agrees. It had been hot to have Steve squirm on his cock, so drunk on pleasure that he didn't care if someone overheard them. The way he had somehow used Eddie for his own pleasure, that had been hot too. But someone taking a piss while he was fucking didn't really do much for him.

He kind of liked the pressure of having to keep quiet, though. Definitely something he'd like to explore.

" Sort of, yeah," he allows, turning Steve over to give him a deep kiss. When they part, he helps Steve get dressed again, aching all the while with how much he wants to take Steve home now, to curl up in bed together and fall asleep in each other's arms. He's suddenly tired, not just physically, but mentally. Emotionally.

He's not sure he can do this anymore.

As they leave the bathroom to find his bandmates and Chrissy, Eddie thinks maybe it's time to accept the facts and try to get over Steve. He can't keep chasing a dream that will never come true. Steve won't do this forever, and when he decides it's time to do something else with his life, Eddie will be left behind, on his own, to put the pieces of his heart back together again.

He'd rather start now, while he still has a chance to maybe find something real someday. Because one thing Steve has shown him is that he wants that. Something real. Someone to stay.

Eddie wants that someone to be Steve, but even if he has it all, he won't have that.

When they say their goodbyes, Steve asks if they're going to Eddie's, and it hurts to see his face fall when Eddie tells him no, but it's for the best. Steve will still get paid handsomely for tonight and Eddie has the memory of their little adventure today stored away for bad days.

The next morning, he calls Chrissy to tell her that they will no longer need Steve's services.

"But why?" Chrissy asks, clearly surprised after having to book Steve at least once a week for the past few months.

"Because I need to find someone who wants to be with me, Chris. Really wants to be with me. Steve's great, but I need to stop living a lie."

"So you're telling me you're not hopelessly in love with him, Munson?" That's his best friend, cutting to the chase and getting right to the point. He loves and hates that about her in equal measure.

"You know I do, or you wouldn't ask, but I don't see what that has to do with me needing to find someone to love me."

Chrissy sighs deeply. "Oh, Eddie." And that's her "You're an idiot, Eddie Munson" voice.

"I don't know why you're 'Oh Eddie'-ing me here, Chris. I'm trying to be -"

"He hasn't accepted payment in five months." Chrissy cuts him off.

What?

"What?"

"He hasn't taken payment for the last five months. He asked me not to tell you, and I figured he'd tell you eventually, but he never did. He always said he would soon, that he was waiting for the right moment, and I promised myself to wait until the new year, and if he didn't tell you by then, I'd tell you. Even someone without eyes could see how much you are gone for him."

"So the last five months, all those hours, all those events, all those nights we had sex, he never got paid for it?" Eddie couldn't believe what he was hearing. They spent so much time together, time he didn't pay for, time Steve could have spent with clients making money.

"Eddie, he never charged you for sleeping with you. That's not part of the services he offered, he told me that when I first hired him. He did it because he wanted to, he's been dating you for almost half a year. Which you'd know if you -"

"I gotta go, Chris."

"Tell Steve I said hi," he hears her say as he ends the call, already throwing on some random clothes before heading down to his car.

He has to talk to Steve, tell him what a fucking idiot he's been before asking him to move in with him, since they've apparently been dating for several months now and it's not too early to ask.

Eddie can't wait to really have it all.

[biibini]

Could you possibly write something for modern mizu with a gf that bakes alot during the odd hours at night due to insomnia to past the time :^ due to this, mizu gets gifted a bunch of sweets and pastries

modern!mizu x baker!reader (request)

a/n: this is such a cute idea omg,,, personally im more of a cook over baker (my roomie bakes more than me) but i do like a good pastry. time to add my fav gif of mizu … isn’t she just so dreamy 😻

the first few times u stayed over, u were able to sleep in peace with mizu

surprisingly, ur insomnia didn’t keep u fully awake while ur gf was sleeping

feeling her warm arms wrap around ur body made u feel more secure as u started to slumber

u weren’t fully knocking out every night but it became easier to fall asleep and stay asleep for a good duration of the night

it felt so satisfying to finally sleep through most nights

as midterms became closer & closer, the quality of ur sleep began to decrease dramatically

most nights spent with mizu ended up into some

and then some nights became few

at first, u attempted to hide ur insomnia with using homework and projects as an excuse

initally, they weren’t excuses but u had played the card so much that it started to become one

It was a week and a half before midterms week, aka hell on earth. You and Mizu had just finished dinner, now relaxing on her bed. While she was busy on her phone, you were preparing to find the best way to fall asleep successfully. Staring into your laptop in front of you, you felt her get up from the bed.

She walked over to the bathroom and getting ready to go slumber. You on the other hand, are still mentally stuck on how well you will sleep tonight.

Having insomnia meant having many off days and nights. During high-school, it was more difficult to manage your sleep schedule due to the amount of extra-curricular activities and schoolwork you had to balance while growing up. You’ve found a few ways and simple tricks to fight against it.

One way that helped you calm down during high school was baking. A messy task, yes, but the end result was worth it. It had been a few years since it’s gotten this bad. Junior year was a while ago, and the thought of college during that time sent your stress levels through the roof.

Maybe bringing back baking wouldn’t be so bad…

“Hey baby?”

You snapped out of your empty stare and look up at Mizu.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to wash up soon? It’s past midnight and you have a 9 AM tomorrow.” she reminded. Mizu knew how grumpy you could be the next day if you stayed up too long.

“Yeah, um” you glance at your computer only to find a title slide on a history presentation, “I’ll sleep soon, I just want to finish my part of this project.”

Mizu nodded as she turned off every light except for the night next to you. You look up to her, a small smile growing on your face.

“M’kay,” she placed a hand on your cheek and planted a soft kiss on your forehead, “Just not too late.”

She moved to your lips, giving them a good night kiss.

“I’ll try.” You say as you reach for her face to share another good night kiss. You lower the brightness of your laptop as Mizu tucks herself in next to you.

An hour later, you end up finish your part of the presentation. You check your phone to let your group know about your completion. Putting it down, you read the time. 1:30 AM.

Fuck, you should really get some sleep for tomorrow’s lecture.

You slowly get out of bed, checking to make sure Mizu hasn’t waken up from your movement. All you hear is a turn to the other side away from you.

Whew.

You plug in your laptop quickly on the desk, making sure that all the lights in the apartment were closed. You gently tugged at the sheets, tucking yourself in as quietly as you could. As you started to close your eyes, you took a deep breath.

In. Out.

In. Out.

In. Out.

A grumble could be heard from Mizu, turning back towards you. You feel her hands try to find you, slowly grabbing what she could find. As she pulled you closer, you continued to relax your body.

Eyes closed, mind empty.

Yet, your mind does reach a thought. An anxious thought.

What if I wake up tired, like before?

You try to shake away the thought, enveloping yourself with Mizu’s presence. Forcing your eyes shut, you continue to take slow & deep breaths.

2:30 rolls in and you’re still stuck trying to fall asleep. Technically, you should be in dreamland right now instead of being awake. Your eyes are heavy but they not too heavy to completely close. Your body is still yet your mind keeps racing.

You trusted your old tricks would help you fall asleep. Hoping that they would work, your mind finally begins to clear up and rest.

as the days went by, it got progressively worse and worse

it went to the point where u were just always up, maybe spare an hour or two for a nap, and then the nightly attempt to fall asleep next to mizu

ur aware of what was happening yet ur mind wouldn’t stop running at full speed

u wish ur mind would just shut off

and if it wasn’t ur mind staying awake for once, it was ur body keeping u awake

it was so tiring to think ab peace night after night after night, hoping for a good nights sleep but to end up feeling drained and half awake once the sun rose

on nights where ur mind or body wouldn’t shut down, u ended up succumbing to ur old habits and took out the baking pan & sheets

u thought u could stay quiet like a few years before

on the other hand, mizu began to notice the slight changes in the house

whenever she would wake up for morning workouts, ur laptop would open and on ur lap

or the baking pan and whisks and mixing bowls would be dripping wet on the drying rack

once she found a new loaf of bread in the pantry, something was up

she figured u were just up cleaning late at night as a break from the late night homework grind

but with the random loaf, it didn’t quite fit the story she had in mind

one early morning, she heard a metal noise mid toilet and tiktok session in

(a/n: i’m guilty of doing that too sorry)

concerned, she went go check in the bedroom to find an empty bed

“Y/N?” she quietly called into the hallway.

God damnit.

You had accidentally banged the baking pan on the oven’s metal rack. You quickly slid the pan into the oven, hoping the croissants u had just prepped wouldn’t be seen. You peeked over your shoulder to see Mizu’s eyes half awake, trying to comprehend what she was seeing.

You quickly checked the time on the clock. No way it was already time for her workout.

5:30 AM.

“Morning, Mizu.” A weak smile spread on your face. You felt blood rushing to your cheeks, stemming from the embarrassment of getting caught in the act.

“I just went to the bathroom and heard a noise. What’s going on, Y/N?”

She looked down into the oven, spotting the croissants.

“Did you want a sweet treat that badly?” her voice questioning you and slightly concerned. She walked towards you and gently pressed your hand.

“No, it’s just that…”

“That?”

You took a deep breath as you glanced down at her hand grasping onto yours. You look up to her eyes, ready to tell the truth. Her blue eyes seemed more awake and ready to listen, almost glowing in the dark.

“I have insomnia.” You let the truth spill out. “It hasn’t been this bad since high school but coping with it has been a bit difficult these days. I’ve tried so many ways to shut my mind off but nothing’s working.”

“Aw, baby…”

“And the best way I managed it back when it was worse was baking. It helped me keep my mind off things and pass the time.” You took a step back to find your phone and put on a timer for 12 minutes.

“So here I am. Back to old habits.” You ended, sighing in relief. You weren’t sure of what Mizu’s reaction would be. A little part of you was frightened, anxiously waiting for her response.

You didn’t expect her next actions. She let go of your hand and headed toward the sink, calmly washing the bowls and other dishes that have collected over the night.

Stunned, you watched as she continued to wash up. You looked over to see her reaction only to find a calm face.

“Mizu?” you asked, still confused about her response.

She looked up, her hands still cleaning the mixing bowls you had used.

“Did you need help with anything else before I go to the gym? I know insomnia must be hard to cope with but if this is what helps you pass the time,” Mizu finishing the final bowl, placing it gently on the dishwasher rack. “I’d like to help out in any way I can.”

“No, I’m okay but thank you for cleaning up for me.” Coming up to her, you give her a kiss on the cheek. She smiles at you and nods.

“Anytime, hon.”

She takes a glance at the clock. 5:40 AM.

“I’m gonna get ready now. Let me know if you need anything or any ingredients.” She hurries into the bedroom, getting ready to change into gym clothes.

“Okayyy.” You say, checking your phone for the timer.

A thought comes to mind.

“Actually, there is one thing you can do.” You say, following her into the bedroom. Mizu, mid-tying her hair, paused and gave you her full attention. “You can be my little taste tester.”

She chuckled as she fixed her hair into a bun.

“I get first dibs? For lil ol’ me?”, she says playfully as she grabs one of her light zip-up jackets from the closet, completing her workout outfit.

You nod happily. “Mhm. You can even request a recipe or two.”

How enticing, Mizu thought.

if u were up during her workout days, she would always find a fresh batch of pastries sitting on the dining table

on days that her or ringo had classes, u would leave a little bag or container of pastries that they go bring to school

u would always leave a little love note with a little heart and a “To my Mizu”

mizu loved the little gifts, especially if they were at her request

one night, she asked for a peach cobbler pie

woke up the next morning to find a slice in a container and a sticky note atop reading “a request for my love ♥︎”

she placed the sticky note by her desk

and brought the slice to school with her

after her class she shared with akemi, they decided to get some late morning tea by the coffee shop nearby

mizu’s eyes widen after the first bite settled in

it was bomb

peaches were practically bursting in her mouth

she continued to eat, trying to contain the deliciousness of the pie

she would text u later ab how good it was

in full detail

many paragraphs

many positive critiques

and end with a thank you for ur baking ♥︎

[utilitycaster]

Who has your favorite build in each campaign? I love seeing you talk about those kinds of reasonings bc personally i have a really hard time with leveraging dnd mechanics when I play and I wonder who did it best

Hi anon!

Some thoughts at the end re: build philosophies here, but to answer the question:

Campaign 1 is tough because I usually like to give this to a build that's something thoughtful, mechanically optimized [note: does not need to be optimized for combat], with clear choices made that are informed by and themselves inform the narrative. I respect the hell out of Vax's multiclass into paladin. Narratively, it shakes out great. The mechanics, however, are less than stellar. So my choice here is Percy. It's true that his subclass is broken as hell but that's not what I like. I think Taliesin makes good use of how fighters have a zillion ASIs and not only maxes out Percy's intelligence when that becomes important, but also takes Magic Initiate to hint at Orthax's influence, with thoughtful choices of spells to go with it. Fighter is a strong class and it's worth taking it the whole way through, and he does.

Campaign 2 is, on the other hand, easy, and I've talked about Fjord's build at length before so I don't want to go into it in detail, but suffice it to say: his paladin multiclass was exceptionally well-earned in the narrative while also being, famously, one of the best multiclass builds in D&D (the hexadin). But before that, his invocations (mask of many faces, gift of the depths, sculptor of flesh) tell a story of the kind of person he is: a sailor who almost drowned and won't let it happen again. A person trying to find his true identity amid a sea (pun intended) of expectations and potential models and bullying. Even his racial traits like relentless endurance, and the fact that he came in with more CON than CHA explain how he survived a brutal childhood. I think all of the Mighty Nein's casters did a particularly strong job of choosing the spells they used and flavoring them to their personality and Fjord was no exception, and as someone who remembers the speculation of paladin class, a homebrew one really was the only way to go.

Campaign 3 surprised me, because I have had my frustrations with it, but the more I think about it, it's Fearne. Her base subclass is one of the best out there, it's true, and she leans into the fire motifs adeptly, but I actually, after being somewhat critical of it, have really come around on the choice to multiclass into an arcane trickster. Why wouldn't she be a rogue if she likes to steal? Why wouldn't she, while trying to figure out what her relationship with her parents should be, try on her mother's subclass? Ashley picked some extremely good spells as well; Disguise Self, Identify, and Shield either protect her (she's not terribly squishy, but as someone who doesn't usually wildshape for combat, not a tank either) or fit niches that the party really doesn't have otherwise. And again, why wouldn't someone who loves to collect things perhaps try to learn what those things are? Yes, at times I'm impatient for Transport via Plants (though at this point...two party members could just have Teleport) but Fearne's build is one that surprised me, which is hard to do. Druids are usually so strong it's not worth multiclassing, and I'm a longstanding Rogue Disliker, but the choice makes sense. (I also happen to like that this means Fearne isn't going to live thousands of years - or rather, she might, because fey, but not in the way Keyleth will. I don't think that's her thing!)

So I think these choices reflect different approaches of what I'd put into 2 buckets of Valid Options.

Percy is the "stick with one class and do it very well; customize through feats and existing options." For more examples of this, see pretty much any character who never multiclassed. I think Liam is exceptional at this and to that point, Caleb and Orym are particularly good examples. I'd also like to shout out Keyleth, Jester, and Caduceus; as prepped casters this group didn't have the same degree of customization options other than their spells for the day, but I think they all had really good visions for what their character would likely prepare.

Fjord and Fearne are both narratively and mechanically strong, though in very different ways (and in Fearne's case, with an eye more to party balance than specifically being stronger herself). See also: Vex and Grog, who are mechanically good multiclasses and narratively make sense, even if it's not a huge moment; Veth; Kingsley and Luc are both good builds that allude to a narrative even if we don't see the full narrative; Chetney. Vax is, admittedly, a bit like Fearne; bit messy on an individual level but narratively without issue, good for party comp, and there's some unexpected interplay (vow of enmity + rogue abilities).

It's hard to say who did things best because, for example, building a character like Ayden requires an impressive breadth of knowledge, a strong vision, and to be honest the freedom starting at L20 with 20 stats across the board grants. Some subclasses are particularly good (Fearne, Orym, and Dorian could all just coast on having some of the best subclasses for their respective classes, though they all have made great build choices too). Some classes are particularly good (hard to go wrong with fighter, wizard, paladin, or cleric though. my complaints of the empathy domain remain intact; on the other hand rogues live or die, literally, by what subclass they pick). Some characters have stories that are enhanced by multiclassing and some don't (Imogen, for example, has had a strong and interesting character arc, but there just aren't great build choices to reflect it.) My favorite doesn't necessarily mean mechanically the best (a thing that is difficult to qualify, let alone quantify, in a vacuum), and when it comes to d&d mechanics, a simple thing executed well (eg: Keyleth is a pretty straightforward example of what happens to be a very good subclass) can be better than a complicated build, even one backed by the story.

[livewithyura]

Hai, Darling 😘

Since your request is open ✨

May i've a request for Jin Kazama,Lee Chaolan,Lars Alexanderson, with sexy fem reader Who has a sassy attitude, likes to tease, fem is so elegant,cheerfull and has long wavy cherry pink hair.

Sorry, if the characters I requested are too many for you. I don't see the number of character slots for your request. I'm sorry 🙏🥺

( Lee! , Lars! , Jin! ) | Tekken x Fem readers "We 'love' without reason"

❒ ⁀➷ Answer : Hi! Yes your idea is literally refreshing and don't worry about the characters! I will write as much as I can , Thank you for requesting! Hope you enjoy this little scribble .

❒⁀➷ Context : They don't know how they end up with you , a sassy and elegant woman . But they know having you by their side it's worth it . I also just watched 'anyone but you'! This scribble also took a lot of inspiration from that rom-com movie .

❒ ⁀➷ Request and collab is still open! ( pls do check my rules and requirements before request ) | ( slow update for now! )

Lars Alexanderson

You are a publicist, previously hired by Lee to ensure that Yggdrassil is always portrayed positively in the public eye.

Lars's the leader of the rebel army, so essentially, he's your client . You consistently offer your opinion, challenging Lars's ideas and proposing better alternatives .

He once 'awkwardly' asked you to join the rebel army but you decline . "I don't want to ruin my pink nails," you joked , that make Lars chuckle

You two grow closer as Lars's gentlemanly demeanor melts your heart, and he adores your personality. Together, you decide to take your relationship to the next level. After the defeat of G-corporation, Lars proposes to you with a bouquet of pink roses. "This flower . It remind me of you , (Y/N) . Please give me a chance to make you the happiest woman alive"

Lars decides to keep your relationship secret to the public eye, given his leadership in the rebel army and his desire to protect you. Even Lee, Alisa, or Jin are unaware of the intimacy between you two.

You're his employee in front of his work mate . He act serious and professional when he want to talk to you . But when you guy have a private moment , he take care of you like a princess . "You're my publicist in their eyes , but in private you're my princess" He said kneel down while adjusting your red heels .

LARS AND (Y/N) literally have SECRET MEETINGS , THE EYE CONTACT IN PUBLIC , SHARING HIDDEN KISSES and SUBTLY BRUSHING EACH OTHER'S HAND ( Lee was suspicious at first because Lars bought a Pink Perfume , Pink dresses and Pink roses . But Lars gave him a good excuses . )

Bonus ! ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ Sweet Scenarios! ( Lars's version )

Lars leads the rebel army so his schedule is packed. He often arrives home late at night to find you on the sofa, wearing a strawberry face mask. His heart warms knowing you waited up for him.

He softly runs his fingers through your hair, whispering sweet things about you shyly. "You don't need to wait up for me. I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, my love," he says, nuzzling the side of your hair and planting a gentle kiss. "Your scent is always captivating," he whispers again. Just inhaling your sweet aroma instantly melts away his stress.

You wake up with a gasp. "Lars! You scared me, and you almost ruined my beautiful night routine" you say, readjusting your face mask that nearly slipped off. "Oh my love, I can make your night routine more...entertaining," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. You playfully slap him with your satin pillow. "Uh-huh, whatever. Where's my sushi?"

He freezes, realizing he forgot to buy you sushi, the late-night snack he promised. "Love, I... we have instant ramen at home," he stutters, gently holding your shoulders. You squint at him. "I'm on a diet" you remind him.

"It's okay! I know your rebel army is waaaaayy more important , I understand!" With a sarcastic tone , you walked away from the living room.

Unable to bear the thought of seeing your distressed eyes, he rushes to Lee's house at 2 AM just to prepare sushi for you. Luckily, Lee's place is stocked with luxurious ingredients, "Lars? What's this for?" "Sorry Lee , It's for my own satisfaction"

And by 3 AM, he manages to whip up the sushi. Returning to your shared apartment, he presents you with the sushi, apologizing, "Sorry, my love. I'll make sure this doesn't happen again." He gently takes your hand, kissing your knuckles tenderly.

"I love you , captain" you said , try to tease him and all the blood in his body rush through his cheek . "Ah? Are you blushing? Did I get the total-badass-side-character , justice-muscle-man blush?" You try to tease him for a second time .

"Ah, well... How could anyone not blush when they receive compliments from such a majestic woman like you?" He scratch his head , not looking at your eyes .

"I just want you to know that you're one of my top priority [Y/N] , You're waaaaaayy more important than my life" Lars wrapped his arm around your waist while giving you a kiss on the back of your neck .

Lee Chaolan

You're a professor at the Violet System. You're aware of his playboy reputation and his frequent outings with different girls. Sometimes, you're unsure which one is his girlfriend. Of course, one day, you catch the CEO's attention with your elegant presence.

He attempts to catch your attention, but you consistently ignore him to assert your identity. You refuse to succumb to his charm, aware that he might eventually lose interest and pursue another girl. Ironically, this only fuels Lee's desire for you. "I bought this necklace for you. I think it will look perfect on you!" he offers. "Oh? Who told you to buy that?" you tease, giving him a knowing smirk. "Um , this is not 'excellent'' He mumble , because you feel bad you just accept the expensive necklace .

"You can't leave this lab without letting me take you home tonight. sweet little thing," he insists while winking at you , okay he's little bit annoying but he knows your taste . He pick a beautiful present for a woman "Yea sure" You said "YES! EXCELLENT! Let's go!"

After a few dates, you find yourself drawn to his personality. You share many things together. Whether it's skincare, makeup, or fashion, he's always there to advise you. He knows the perfect skincare routine, the ideal makeup shades for you, and he surrounds you with new outfits that suit your style. One morning, you wake up to find yourself snuggled up with him on his million-dollar couch. It dawns on you that you've already fallen for him.

Lee surprises you by publicly announcing your relationship, declaring, "Everybody! This pretty woman over here is the love of my life!" This bold move catches you off guard, as he has never been so open about his relationship before. He also make a big deal about you , he make it completely obvious you're the one he want in his entire life . [ He also like to FLEX you in front of lars , telling lars that you're the one who design the latest armor suit ]

While you're together, you both have manicures, go to the salon, and even have shopping sprees. "We're so slay, Lee," you remark, admiring your matching vintage outfits with him. "Excellent!" Then, he takes a picture of the two of you. [ MIRROR SELFIEEE ]

After the G-Corp defeated , HE SPOILS YOU TOO MUCH . GIVE YOU A LITTLE KISS IN FRONT OF EVERYONE . ALWAYS HUGGING YOUR WAIST/HOLDING YOUR HANDS . WHISPER YOU A SWEET THINGS , TELL YOU THAT YOU'RE ALWAYS LINGERS ON YOUR MIND . HE PLAYS WITH YOUR HAIR . RANDOM WALKS WHEN YOU GUYS HAVE A FREE TIME . "Excellent [Y/N]" "Hm what? My make up? Hair? dres--" "Just you darling , Your existence" "AWEE LEE--" you smack his arm with your purse .

Bonus ! ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ Sweet Scenarios! [ Lee's version ]

Lee decides to take you on a trip after his schedule is packed with war-related matters. You're relieved that he survived the war despite sustaining a slight injury. The night before your trip to Manhattan, you're patching up his injury while he looks at you with softened eyes. "I'm sorry for giving you a hard time when I was away, sweet [y/n]," he says.

"Phew! At least the world is saved," You said , Lee caressing his girlfriend's cheek. "Don't kiss me, I have a lip scrub on," she jokes. "Hm~ I know!" he replies, stopping. "Do you want to buy something before our trip, baby?" She hums, thinking about her ideas. "Let's go to the convenience store!"

Lee and you made a way to the small convenience store that was open 24/7. It was your tradition with your boyfriend, a secret adventure that you guys shared . Lee's always unserious and you adore his personality , You guys always seeking out the most ridiculous items that you guys could find.

Lee giggled as she spotted a display of neon-colored sunglasses. "Babe!, look at these! We could start a new trend!" Lee's arms wrapped around her waist from behind, surprising her. You gasped and turned, only to burst into laughter at the sight of him wearing the neon-colored sunglasses.

As you guys roamed the aisles, you guys picked up items at random, creating a pile of the most absurd things ; a rubber chicken, a glow-in-the-dark frisbee, a tiny umbrella with a pineapple pattern, and a pack of glow sticks.

You help up up box of instant noodles . "Do we need this?" You asked, raising an eyebrow. Lee covered your left cheek with a quick kiss "Well babe, you never know when a late-night noodle craving might strike!" He whispers .

"Lee , why are you buying that?" "What do you mean babe! It's good" "Both of us don't know how to cook dumbass and we're just going to eat at the restaurant---" He shuts you with a quick-kiss again and he run away with the trolley . "Lee!"

"They made their way to the checkout counter, their arms full of their strange purchases. The cashier, a sleepy-looking teenager, raised an eyebrow at their selection but didn't comment. As they walked out of the store, Lee slipped his hand into [Y/N]'s, their fingers intertwining. "I love our late-night adventures," she said softly.

"I'm glad you enjoy it , sweet [Y/N]," He replied, squeezing your hand.

Jin Kazama

You were one of Jin's juniors in high school. Whenever you passed each other, he felt an uncanny connection to you. Unbeknownst to him, your family was associated with a traditional exorcist in Japan. Jin had always had a 'slight' crush on you, but he never admitted it. He didn't want to dampen your spirit, so before leaving school to pursue martial arts, he gave you an anonymous love letter expressing his feelings towards you .

A few years have passed, and G-corp has been defeated. You continue your life as an entrepreneur. One day, you enter a coffee shop and order a double shot espresso, trying to resume your daily routine after the war. "Sorry, we only accept cash this morning," the cashier says, rolling her eyes at you. Surprised, you look back at the long queue behind you, waiting for you to pay. You don't notice Jin's presence, as it's been a long time since high school.

"Sorry I left my other cash in the car can you---" "ONE HOT CAPPUCINO FOR MR ISAYAMA" All the worker ignores you . "Honey,I told you already about this . We're not going to separate our bills anymore" Jin stepping in and pay the coffee for you . You looked at him , tilting your head trying to remember his face .

"I don't know you're such a good actor , Kazama" you give him a little tease , leaving the busy coffee shop together with Jin . Jin just stood silently while chugging his peppermint tea . "Thank you , that was nice by the way!" you smiles at him , "My pleasure" he replied shortly.

As you're about to leave, Jin stops you. "Well, this is my number. Can't leave my 'girlfriend' just like that," he says with a smirk. You're surprised, looking at him incredulously. "Oh, I didn't know this big, bulky, emo man had feelings? We'll keep in touch, big man," you reply, tapping his shoulder playfully.

From that , you guys keep in touch with each other . Then Jin confessed to you , he stand in front of your apartment with a big stuffed animal , he carries it until he reach your apartment . "Can I win your heart, [Y/N]? I hope it's as easy as winning this big bear at the amusement park. Just give me a chance," Jin says earnestly , How could you say no to that?

After that, you always teased him about his romantic gestures. He couldn't say anything but blush. "You're such a sweet and caring person, Kazama. If you had told me this before you left that school, we would have gotten together faster," you said teasingly. "Yeah… whatever," he replied, turning around to continue preparing your breakfast.

Even though Jin doesn't speak openly about his feelings for you, you can feel them through his actions. Jin embodies the idea of 'Everyone thinks LOVE is for show, but I'll DIE you in secret' . He's obsessed with physical closeness , PUTTING YOU ON TOP HIS CHEST HEARING HIS HEARTBEAT . HUGGING ALL THE TIME . You will sit on the couch and HE WILL STROKING YOUR HAIR AND KISS YOU EVERYWHERE . HE WILL BUY YOU YOUR FAVORITE FOOD/DRINKS . LEARNING EVERY SINGLE DETAILS ABOUT YOU .

He learns the art of makeup just for you, trying to buy you three different lipsticks and blushers, even though they might not be in your shade but this time it would suit you and your pink hair. He's a bit embarrassed confronting the cashier in the makeup store. "Ah, I never expected a guy with whole six-pack to come here. Is this for your girlfriend?" she asks, but Jin doesn't reply and leaves the store with all the makeup for you.

Bonus ! ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ Sweet Scenarios! [ Jin's version! ]

Jin decided have a hiking trip at his hometown with you , he want to have a graceful moment with his girlfriend . He walked ahead, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he pointed out various plants and animals along the way, his love for nature evident in every step.

You, on the other hand, trailed behind, your expression a mix of awe and annoyance. You swatted at a pesky mosquito and wrinkled your nose at the sight of a muddy puddle. "Remind me again why we're doing this?" you grumbled, trying to avoid stepping in a particularly muddy patch.

Jin grabbed your waist "Don't worry princess , it would be fine . I'm here with you" He whisper to your ear , you just squinted your eyes while looking at his face . "Jin , answer my question" You said , Jin tucked your hair gently as he looked at you with a smile . "Because nature has a way of rejuvenating the soul," he replied, his voice filled with reverence. "It's important to connect with the earth and appreciate its beauty. And I want to experience it with you . The love of my life"

"I could appreciate it just fine from the comfort of a spa," you said. Jin chuckled softly. "You always make that face when you're tired," he said, pinching your cheek. You followed him silently, a red mark on your face. Like always, he remembered every single detail about you.

"Don't worry, we'll have your first favorite cereal, the one you used to eat when you were 5," he assures you." Hm? I wonder what flavor is that?" You teased , he smirks , Knowing the answer "Cinnamon Toast Crunch" . You lose it , this man always melt you away with demeanor .

As you guys reached a picturesque overlook, Jin taking in the breathtaking view of the valley below. "Isn't it magnificent?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with awe while holding your hand .

You couldn't help but be moved by the beauty of the scene before her.."It is," you admitted quietly, a hint of wonder in her voice.

You sat down on a nearby rock, the silence of the morning enveloping you and Jin. "Thank you , for showing me the beauty of nature and bugs..." You said ,

Jin widened his eyes after he noticed a little bump on your arm . "Princess, are you okay? Does it hurt? Is it bothering you? Do you want to go down right now?" "Jin asks, his concern evident though he doesn't express it too obviously. "It's fine, We can have a moment before we go down to meet your mom" You said , Jin just nods agree with you .

"[Y/N]" "Yes?" . Jin coughs , try to clear his voice . "You know what else is beautiful?" "What?" "You" . And after those words, you tease him all day.

˚˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ All right reserved , written by livewithyura , why you want to copy this crap? You can reblog!

[petermorwood]

Word changes...

All of the following is IMO, so YMMV. :->

*****

Anyone noticed how "weaponry" is used nowadays in places where "weapons" would work just fine (and is often more correct)?

Yes, they ARE interchangeable, sort-of, but it's clunky and sounds to me either slightly journo-pompous or like a failure to remember the right word so plugging the most similar one into its place.

ETA: I checked one of my dictionaries, and while "weapons" is more modern, "weaponry" is an obsolete word which has come back into favour. I wonder why...?

*****

"Decimate" turns up all the time, usually when the correct word is "devastate".

Merriam-Webster says: "It's totally fine to use 'decimate' as a synonym for 'devastate'. This is why."

Beg to differ.

As the M-W article points out, "decimate" originally meant a Roman military punishment applied to one man in ten of a guilty unit. (Initially execution, but this had a rotten effect on unit morale, so it was reduced in severity to fatigues, extra drill or restricted rations.)

That's now considered a far too specific meaning and only linguistic pedants dig their heels in. Quite right too, and I speak here as a (bit of a) linguistic pedant...

However, it remains a useful word for more generalised incomplete destruction of living things - saying a regiment, flock, herd or population was "decimated" implies there are some survivors without quibbling over how many tenths. If totally wiped out, however, that's when words like "destroyed" or "obliterated" are more appropriate.

On the other hand something inanimate like a factory, city or region would be "devastated" - and in addition, saying someone is emotionally devastated is understandable, but saying they're emotionally decimated is peculiar.

Two words, several meanings.

It's like cutlery: a spork can replace knife, fork and spoon, but individual utensils give a lot more precision and variation of use.

*****

There are also a couple of real howlers, not just transposed words but actual errors.

One I've heard several times is using "siege" (a noun, or thing) instead of "besiege" (a verb, or action).

For reference, there's a term called noun-verbing, and the practice is quite old: "table the motion / pencil you in / butter him up / he tasks me", but all are either when there isn't already a verb-form of the word, or as a more picturesque way of saying something.

(Interesting side-note about "table the motion": in US English, it means "to postpone discussion" while in UK, CA and I think AU English, it means the complete opposite, "to begin discussion". Why there's this difference, I have no idea, but it's worth remembering as a Brit-fix when writing, also in a real-life business context.)

There IS an existing verb for the action of surrounding a castle and cutting it off from outside help, and that verb isn't "sieged". It's "besieged" or "under siege". Anywhere using "sieged" as a verb is wrong. The Firefox spellchecker in Tumblr Edit Mode is telling me it's wrong right now.

Merriam-Webster, I'm looking at you again.

*****

There's also "coronate" used as a verb. "The King was coronated at Westminster Abbey". Nope. He was CROWNED.

Coronate is an adjective (meaning crown-shaped) and was coined in in the 1600s by a botanist, as a word to describe the shape of certain plants.

The current Royal-associated usage seems to be a bastard back-formation from "coronation", because the act of putting on a crown is the verb "to crown".

This is almost identical in German, French, Italian and Spanish, with noun and verb the same. The only difference is that their verbs have, what a surprise, verb-endings (-en, -er, -re and -ar) on the noun while English does not.

Because English doesn't like to make things that easy...

"Coronated" might be people trying to sound archaic, or those who've bought into the dopey "said-is-dead" school, who perform any linguistic contortion to avoid common words, and who've been taught that repetition in a sentence - "crowned with a crown" - is BAD.

Is "coronated at a coronation" in some way better?

Guess what's got uncritical examples...

If that's M-W scholarship, I'll stick to the OED and my old but utterly reliable New Elizabethan Dictionary, thanks very much.

*****

Language is funny: sometimes funny ha-ha, sometimes funny annoying, but often just funny peculiar, because English etc. etc...

[moraysoiree]

homesick

Just my idea of what it feels like to be far away from home.

characters: Floyd Leech x gn!reader (platonic, could be read as romantic), mentions of Jade and Azul word count: 1134

Ramshackle dorm prefect’s life was in no sense easy. Sitting through classes and thinking how you can’t even put all this knowledge to good use because of your ‘magiclessness’ was, for lack of a better term, pure torture. Thank god the classes ended, finally granting you some freedom to wander off in hopes to lift your spirits by hanging out with one of the strange people that were in abundance here.

To your glee, on the way to the first floor you noticed a familiar figure on a terrace just a flight of stairs below: one of the eel guys was standing there, leaning against the guardrail with slumped shoulders. Given the idleness, figuring his current mood was no big feat. The chance was worth taking, though.

‘FLOOOOYD!!’ you started skipping down excitedly, not even bothering to get to the floor and jumping off the middle right onto the unsuspecting victim. ‘Shrimpie!’ wide-eyed, Floyd still managed to catch the falling anvil and laughed, spinning from the momentum. ‘Ye gonna kill us one day,’ he grumbled. ‘I wish I could kill you that easily,’ you pinched his cheeks, causing the displeased eel to click his teeth in a mock threat. ‘A point. You little fishies, on the other hand…’ he trailed off. Both went on to lean onto the banisters, laziness afloat in the sunny spring air. The mood wasn’t as bad as expected. Or, rather, improved rapidly, for that matter. ‘Sup with the classes,’ you tugged on the lilac ribbon hanging from his forearm. ‘Skipping, huh? What would Azul say?!’ you covered your mouth, appearing to be scandalized. Theatrical jests usually amused him, but not today for some reason. Or was it Azul’s name that got on his nerves? Either way, Floyd wasn’t really in the mood for talking, so the clue was taken and both stared off into the distance silently. And was there a lot to stare at, as college’s balconies had the best view onto the sharp cliffs, mercilessly slicing the rumbling waves into white foam.

Something occurred to you, and you asked, fidgeting with the very same ribbon still: ‘Say, don’t you ever get homesick?’. Floyd tore his eyes off the sea and gave you a thoughtful glance, ‘Mm-hhm… not really. There are a lot of things on land. I think Jade got it worse’. ‘Jade?! How come?’ It was hard to believe that Jade, who navigated human society better than the majority of humans, was, in fact, facing some trouble adapting. ‘S’ not like he doesn’t love it here, too, I mean. But y’know how he goes to wander by himself and chew on his plants or whareva-you-call-it. That’s different from me. Gets melancholic ‘nd all.’ Floyd sighed and stretched, crossing arms behind his head. ‘And you don’t? Like ever’. ‘Don’t think so? Lotta interesting things just keep happening around. This school is kinda special tho. Many fishies to squeeze, and jumping right into my jaws, too,’ he shut his eyes in delight, but his general expression shifted into something more sinister, something ascending from the murky depths, prowling and lurking. ‘Kinda like home. Ya kno’ it’s crazy down there. You can never stop or rest. Unless you wanna be eaten, ‘course. Same here,’ he waved at the Night Raven College’s walls. ‘So your bloodlust is what keeps you going? Should’ve known better,’ you scoffed, and Floyd rolled his eyes. ‘Mean! I like many of your things, like clothes, and phones, and the strange food you have. S’ not like I only care about beatin’ up some krill,’ you eyed his messy uniform doubtfully and pondered whether the eel really liked clothes as much as he claimed to.

‘But you’re like Jade, aren’t you, little Shrimp?’ Floyd snapped you from your thoughts forcefully, and you noticed he was staring at you sharply. ‘You get those sour moods and sigh a lot’. Look who’s talking about moods!? But he was right, although it came as a surprise that such things didn’t escape him. He’d always seemed too caught up in his own emotions. Or was it precisely because of it that Floyd had noticed the way his friend was a bit too quiet on one day and a tad too distant on the other... ‘I love you all, but I didn’t really choose to be here, and I don’t even know if there’s a way to go back. Even if there is, will I survive with people overblotting left and right and making it everyone’s problem?!’ Floyd laughed. ‘Nothing to laugh about in my life’, you sighed. ‘You would be shocked how hard it is to live without the little things, like my favourite songs, or the trinkets I’d collected, or the bakeries I’d always visited’. He was listening silently, letting you get it all off your chest. ‘I had friends back home, too. Will I ever see them again? Do they miss me, I wonder.. Maybe I died in my world and got isekai’d here so there’s not really a place for me to return to at all?!’ Floyd scrunched his face up at your outburst. ‘Now you sound just like Firefly Squid.’ Then, however, his expression became serious. ‘You know, Shrimpie. There are a lot of things in this world that are out of our control. You can have a down-to-the-minute detailed plan, covering the next forty years, but what use will it be if a shark gobbles you up tomorrow? You should value the ‘now’, or ya risking to miss all the fun n’ regret it later,’ his hand ruffled your hair. ‘I get that it ain’t easy for ya to be all gung-ho about it all the time, but that kind of thinking is just a waste. Say what, how ‘bout we go make Crowley get his game up with your homeworld instead? I can squeeze him real tight if ya wanna.’ You thought about it for a solid moment, seriously considering the offer. ‘I’m good. Spare the unfortunate soul, he’s got his plate served to him from people throwing hands last week’. ‘And who’s to thank for that ya think?’ Oh. Of course. ‘What a spectacular friend I have, rushing to avenge me before I even ask!’ The phrase might have been a joke, but you put your genuine gratitude for the so much needed reassurance into it. To that display of emotions, Floyd’s eyes glinted mischievously. ‘So you saying you owe me one?’ You regretted your choice of words instantly. ‘Come ooon, ain’t gonna eat ya, Shrimpie. Not yet, anyway. Speaking of food… What a rad way to repay me, huh?’ ‘Mostro Lounge?’ Floyd groaned. ‘Heell naaah if I see Azul today I’ll punch smn. Hard.’ So it WAS about Azul, in the end. ‘Canteen it is then. Takoyaki?’ ‘Ya know me best, Shrimpie.’