#other parts in the map may contain gore

[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 ©

#ez.creates #svthub #svt.smut #dokyeom smut #dk smut #seokmin smut #lee seokmin smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut #trigun au #svt au #seventeen au

[rotworld]

19: Going In Circles

(previous)

you get lost. things get worse.

->contains gore, body horror, parasites, ear penetration, non-consensual touching.

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.

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It’s impossible to know how long you spend on Aliquando Island. It looks like a few days but feels like months. You wake up beside Jamie just before dawn, studying their tranquil expression—parted lips and fluttering lashes—until weak sunlight trickles through the balcony doors. You dine on seafood with the artists. Sometimes Jamie tries their hand at oil panting in one of the second floor studios, talking amicably with a woman who used to be a University art professor. Sometimes you follow the Architect down to the beach, listening to his rambling stories about the island while he casts his fishing line.

He sees something about you that startles him a few times. He turns and suddenly goes wide-eyed and silent mid-conversation. “Oh! My goodness,” he says, laughing off the shock. “I thought you were—no. Not yet.” If you ask him what he means, he’ll feign ignorance. He’s already forgotten what he just said. But he looks at you differently, you think. You catch the twinkle of nostalgia in his eyes from across the room, like he’s just seen an old friend.

“Do you like it?” Jamie asks you one evening, the two of you leaning against the balcony railing to enjoy the cool, salty air. “The ocean, I mean. Would you want to live somewhere like this?” 

“You know what I’m going to say.”

They nudge against you playfully. “Alright, smartass, how about this? Would you want to come back to a place like this between exciting, life-threatening courier deliveries?” 

“I don’t know,” you admit. It’s true, you do like the ocean. Aliquando Island doesn’t grate on you like most cities. You aren’t waking up in the morning with a persistent itch for the road, anxious to keep moving, but that could very well be the island’s strange, warped sense of time. You ask Jamie, “Would you be there?” 

Jamie yanks you over by the forearm and crushes your lips together. The fluke slithers into your mouth like a second tongue and Jamie moans when you suckle it gently. They grab your jaw when they pull away, the fluke flicking against your lips one last time before it retreats. “You make this so, so difficult for me, courier,” they murmur. “How am I supposed to let you out of my sight when you say things like that?” 

Eventually, the isthmus appears again. The Architect informs you over breakfast, though  not without some apprehension. “It may not be quite right,” he warns you. “I can’t promise that you’ll even be able to leave.” You thank him for his hospitality. You tell him you’re going to get help somehow, that you’ll come back someday. He smiles sadly. “I know. And I’ll be so happy to see you again. I just wish it would be under better circumstances.” 

The artists gather on the front lawn of the mansion. The goodbye is bittersweet. Jamie makes a fuss about letting you drive but lets you off with a stern look. You wave as you turn the car around, heading for the isthmus road. 

“How do you fix something like this?” you ask. “When anchorware malfunctions, what do they do to stabilize the area again?”

Jamie looks back, watching the house vanish in the swirl of the fog. They squeeze your shoulder. Your heart sinks. 

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: LACRYMARIA OLOR BY NICOLE DOLLAGANGER]

The drive is just as you remember it: slow and eerie, the fog so thick you can’t see further than the nose of your car. You can hear the ocean if you listen, rolling waves and gentle seabreeze. Home is southwest until it isn’t. The pull falters, the string gone taut and painful in your chest. Southwest. South. Southeast. It seems to glide. Home is behind you, and then it’s dead ahead. Jamie keeps a hand on the headrest of your seat, posture rigid and eyes shut. They’re not saying anything, which worries you. 

“Our best bet is to find the nearest town,” you tell them. “Meet with some other couriers, fill out our map a bit. The University is usually to the east. Just need to narrow things down a bit.” 

Jamie hums in acknowledgement. You let them focus. Truthfully, you’re not sure what you’ll do once you reach the University. Anchor feels untouchable. Would anyone be willing to sanction a place so vital to the Drift’s continued existence? Could they even reach it, or would all the roads be even more twisted and tangled up after you’d managed to slip through?

“You are missed, angel. It is time to go home.” The God of Nelton’s voice is strong and clear. You’ve been neglecting your anti-parasitic medication, but its influence has been gentle; a soft nudge rather than smothering pressure. It wants you to want the soothing pleasure of its control. It reminds you of the Feast of the Multitude from a skewed, rose-tinted perspective. You see yourself from a hundred voyeuristic perspectives, panting and shameless in Malachi’s lap. “You are all welcome in my embrace.”

You can’t help but feel some fondness and amusement for that. It’s a definite improvement over before, when it wanted to rip the fluke out of Jamie’s brain. But Nelton isn’t your home, and you have more immediate concerns, the worst of which becomes apparent when Jamie opens their eyes and sighs deeply.

“We’re lost,” they admit. “This is different somehow. I can’t tell which way it out.”

“That’s alright,” you say. “We just followed the road coming into Aliquando Island. We should be able to follow it right back out—”

There’s someone in your backseat. You glimpse them just briefly, your eyes flicking across the rearview mirror and away before you process that there is a shape, a person, someone in the middle space between you and Jamie with a hand curled around your seat. You screech to a stop and look back in a panic. Nothing. Nobody there. Your heart races. Did you really imagine that? 

Jamie follows your gaze to the backseat. “Are you okay?” they ask gently. “Do you need a break? I can drive for a while.” 

You’re fine. You have to keep going, have to figure out what to do about Anchor. You keep driving into the fog. Did it last this long before? You feel like you’ve been driving for hours and making no progress. You check the clock and it hasn’t budged; the same early hour you left, down to the minute. Something is very wrong.

A shape lurches out of the fog up ahead. You manage to stop in time to see the strange, hulking thing move in jolts and jerky shudders. It’s a mosaic of features; human, animal, alien. Skin stretched loosely like an ill-fitted sheet around a jumble of broken glass, hand and hoof and claw dragging its body forward. There are a pack of them moving in the same eerie way, slinking across the road in stop-motion. 

Those are glass mimics. Young ones who are still learning imitation, still collecting usable bits and pieces, or older ones shedding their borrowed forms. You saw one in New Ridgeway. It tried to steal a woman’s face. There are at least a dozen in front of you now, ranging in size from a housecat to a large, bristling wolf. 

“Shit,” Jamie mutters. “That many of them, they’re probably migrating. Glass mimics are one of the few things that can pass through planes without a shift to help them.” 

“They’re not bothering us, at least,” you say quietly, hoping they don’t change their minds.

Jamie frowns tightly. “It’s not them I’m worried about. If we’re seeing them on the move, then we’re not in the Drift anymore.” 

“That’s right, children of the road.” The voice sounds close; in the car with you. You see the thing in the mirror again but when you look back, it’s not there. One of the mimics in the road—an older one, larger than the rest, more limbs than it’s supposed to have, extra skin dragging like a ragged cloak in its wake—stops. It lifts itself up on mismatched hind legs in a nauseating blur of motion, shaping itself before your eyes. It discards its extra parts, a patch of rotten, pus-oozing hide and spotty fur sloughing off with a sick splatter. It contorts and rotates, hiding its sharp inner parts beneath soft, human curves. It starts to look familiar. 

You remember those long, graceful limbs and glittering eyes, silken hair draped over both shoulders. It’s Elisile. It occurs to you now how much he resembles Jamie; that’s one of Jamie’s sweaters, Jamie’s pretty smile and bony wrists. The other mimics continue on, vanishing into the fog, but Elisile stays. 

“The cracks between broken worlds are no place for you. Something must have gone terribly wrong,” he coos, his voice louder than it should be. You see him in your mirrors. He shouldn’t be there. Has all your time passing through sharp, fractured patches of reality worn away their protective coverings?

Jamie gets out of the car. You stammer protests but they ignore you, climbing out and resting their hand against the open door. “Elisile?” they ask. Their voice is quiet and uncertain.

“Hello, Jamie.” You don’t see the mimic move but it’s slightly closer. “I’m glad to see you’ve found each other. There’s safety in numbers.” 

You glance between the two of them. “You’ve met before?”

You can’t read Jamie’s expression. They’re wary but not afraid. They look at Elisile like a friend they didn’t expect to see again. “We’ve met before,” they repeat. That’s all they’re willing to say.

“You know he’s—”

“A mimic?” Elisile cuts you off, his attention returning to you with a sharp glance. “How much do you really know about mimics? About my species, or any, for that matter?” 

You know the basics. Glass mimics are cold to the touch. They don’t sweat, and their blood is black. They take on shapes they learn through close observation or consumption, and they’re not known to understand human speech, only copy what they’ve heard. 

That’s what you thought, anyway. Elisile’s interactions with you have all been a little too convincing for you to believe he’s unaware of what his words mean. 

“You need my help,” he says, his smile soft and innocent. 

Jamie frowns. “We can manage on our own.” 

“Oh, of course. I can see you’re managing splendidly.” He moves closer and your pulse picks up when Jamie doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem to register Elisile as a threat. You get out of the car and put yourself between the two of them. Elisile blinks and his eyes change colors, attempting to mimic the golden glow of Nelton; your eyes. “You haven’t told them, have you? About the storm, the snow. What’s coming for you now.” 

Your heart skips a beat. “How do you—?” 

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you since we last met. It was difficult to see much at first, but the Drift is falling apart. Nobody’s mirrors are what they used to be.” His gaze shifts to a spot over your shoulder. “A happy couple needs to communicate. Don’t you think, Jamie? Surely you won’t let that slide. Who knows what other secrets they might be keeping?” 

“I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to—” 

“What is he talking about?” Jamie asks quietly. 

You forgot about the Road Ripper. So much has happened since the motel, so much time spent just trying to survive, trying to cling to whatever fleeting happiness you could find, and part of you had hoped he might have lost your trail. You try to tell Jamie all of this but their expression never softens. They study your face intently, as though searching for any sign of a lie.

“They’re marked,” Elisile says. “It’s nothing tangible, but it doesn’t have to be. He can find them no matter where they go, and as long as the snow can get in, so can he. He’ll hunt them until his bloodlust reaches its peak, and then he’ll kill them. And if you’re with them when it happens, Jamie, you’ll be marked next.”

“I don’t care about being marked,” Jamie snaps, turning towards you. “But what about the rest of this? When were you going to tell me someone was following you? That you were in that kind of danger?” 

“I was…I was going to,” you swear. “Jamie, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to put you in any danger. It honestly slipped my mind—” 

“It ‘slipped your mind?’” they echo, incredulous.

You can feel Elisile watching all of this. He stands nearby, hands together, smiling gently. “It’s not their fault, Jamie. Their priorities are just skewed. Too much time around humans. The last time I saw them, actually, they were helping an Anchor scientist get out of New Ridgeway safely…”

A hand seizes your shoulder and slams you back against the car. Jamie’s eyes are cold. “He’s lying!” you say quickly. “I wasn’t—I was in New Ridgeway, but she said she was from the University! She studied mimics, she was on a cleanup assignment—”

“There are no ‘cleanup assignments.’” Jamie’s grip shifts to your neck when you try to fight, pushing you back down and threatening to cut off your air. “Courier. Tell me you did not do this. Tell me that Elisile is mistaken, and it was someone else.” 

The mimic is closer again, leaning against the car and staring down at you with feigned sympathy. “You didn’t know, did you, courier?” he says, his voice sickeningly sweet. “You couldn’t have known. I’m sure she spun some sort of story for you. New Ridgeway was Anchor’s fault. The city had an unusually large number of children of the road. Of course a place like Anchor would be interested in that. There was a lab in town for a while, conducting tests, taking samples…New Ridgeway complied initially but their compliance waned as the tests became more extreme. Less safe. I don’t know when exactly Anchor blockaded the city, but at some point, no one was allowed to leave.”

“I didn’t know,” you insist, struggling to speak through Jamie’s tightening grip. “Jamie, I swear, I had no idea—” 

“I believe you, courier. That’s not the problem.” Their other hand reaches up and strokes your ear, thumb tracing the shell. “The problem is you’re too trusting. Too incautious. I shouldn’t even be here with you, should I? You forgave me too easily. I could lose you. To anyone, or anything. All it has to do is speak sweetly enough.” 

“That’s not true!” 

Jamie leans in and kisses you softly. The fluke scrapes your lips. “Elisile,” they say, never breaking your gaze, “hold them down.” 

You fight but you don’t win. The last time you saw Elisile, he let you go. If he’d used even a fraction of his strength back then, you’d never have left New Ridgeway. It’s easy for him to wrestle you down to the asphalt no matter how you kick and writhe. He straddles your waist and there’s no moving him, no bucking him off. He looks light but his weight is crushing, and it’s effortless for him to hold your wrists down on either side of your body. Jamie crouches above your head and you see them upside down, leaning over you. They turn your head to the side, hard asphalt digging into one of your cheeks. Their fingers pinch and play with your exposed ear, stroking the lobe.

The God of Nelton squirms anxiously. You feel it calling out to Jamie’s fluke, that spindly connection unfurling, before it suddenly snaps. Cut off, you think. The fluke—and Jamie, by extension—are unwilling to compromise.

“I don’t want to cause permanent damage,” Jamie murmurs. Their thumb rubs up and down, caressing the dips of your ear. 

“You don’t need to,” Elisile assures them. “Just a short, deep sleep, so travel is safer. Can’t have your beloved getting lost.” 

Your reaction is delayed from shock. You can’t wrap your mind around what’s happening. Jamie would never hurt you. You had a rocky start but they understand you, respect your choices. They stroke your ear with a heated, half-lidded gaze. “Jamie, please,” you beg. “Please don’t do this. He’s—he’s doing this on purpose! He’s manipulating you, he’s trying to get something out of this!” 

“Elisile is worried about you because you keep doing foolish things,” Jamie murmurs. They lean in, breath ghosting against your ear. You shiver when the fluke darts out and slithers along the curve. “I said I wanted to keep you and I meant it, courier. But you make it difficult.” The fluke extends further. Dozens of thin, squirming hair-like tendrils split off along its sides and ghost across your skin like cobwebs as it begins crawling into your ear canal.

You scream, trying and failing to get any part of your body free. Elisile clicks his tongue, chiding you like a misbehaving child. Jamie tries to distract you with gentle kisses and nips, tonguing at your ear while the fluke crawls deeper. You don’t want to believe this is happening. It’s a nightmare, worse than any vision of endless darkness and great, incomprehensible monsters and forgetting how to breathe. It doesn’t make sense. Tears burn in the corners of your eyes and wet your cheeks. You cry Jamie’s name like it’s the only word you know. 

“I love you, courier.” 

You don’t hear the words, but you feel them. They’re warmth blossoming in your chest, a pulse of soothing acceptance. The God of Nelton goes lax in your chest. 

“I love you, and I’m so sorry.”

You hear a sound like a cabinet of plates shattering all at once, a shrill, ear-splitting noise of destruction. Elisile tumbles back and away from you, both hands broken off at the wrist. Thick, black blood spurts like ink from the jagged wounds, splashing on the pavement. Jamie’s palms are bloody from dozens of thin lacerations, shards of glass lodged in the cuts. You remember the night you met, the way they hovered over the body of the fluke as though prepared to die for it—because that’s how they lean over you now. 

“If you’re leaving the Drift, then leave. I won’t follow. This is my home, Elisile. They are my home. I won’t betray them.” You hear the fluke in the sharpness of Jamie’s voice, the territorial growl edging their words. Elisile doesn’t look surprised or even upset. He stands up gracefully, still bleeding profusely from both wrists. 

“You’ll regret it, Jamie. This broken little world of yours is being torn apart at the seams,” he warns. “But I won’t waste my breath. I can see you’ve made up your mind.” His gaze lowers. He sneers at you. “I hope this wretched place doesn’t disappoint you.” 

He slinks across the road where the rest of the mimics went, vanishing into the swirl of the fog. His shape unfurls as he goes with a wet, shredding sound and the scrape of glass, his silhouette no longer human. Jamie helps you back to the car quickly and without a word. “We should keep moving,” they say, tense, not looking at you.

“You had me worried for a second there,” you say. You mean it as a joke, even if you’re half-serious. Jamie doesn’t laugh. They curl up against the window and stare at the fog, keeping their distance. Sometimes you catch them glancing over at you guiltily. They didn’t mean it, did they? They were just acting, getting Elisile to lower his guard. 

But the look in their eyes—that hurt and that fear, you think, that was real. I could lose you to anyone or anything, they said.

“You don’t want to talk about it, do you?” you ask. Jamie shakes their head. Maybe you both have a few things you’ve been keeping quiet. All this time together, all the talking you do, and there are still a few secrets and insecurities lurking unsaid. 

Maybe the glass mimics moving on does something to reality, or maybe it’s just luck; either way, the fog thins out to its usual distant, wispy curtain. It’s night now, dark enough that you need your highbeams. You see the forests of Verlinda thick at the roadside and feel Anchor pulling at your heart. It should be cause for celebration, the time to joke and laugh and talk lightheartedly, but neither of you says a word for a while. 

“I’m sorry,” Jamie says quietly. “That was…I should’ve warned you, at least.” 

“Do you really think I’m going to leave you?” you ask.

“I don’t think you want to leave. I think someone will take you, and you’ll let them. I think you’re going to do the kind thing when you should do the smart thing. That’s how I’ll lose you.” 

You don’t know what to say. You want to reassure them and promise you won’t. That you’ll stay. That they won’t lose you. You’re still mulling over the right words when you see a shape in your headlights. A man standing in the middle of the road. You nearly swerve into a tree trying to avoid him. He runs over to your window without hesitation, banging on the glass.

“Courier? You—you made the delivery, didn’t you?” He’s familiar. It takes you a moment to remember why, giving him a once-over and realizing he’s standing out here naked. He’s Verlindan; one of the men who was with the Stag. 

“Garvan?” you say, your face heating with embarrassment at the memory of your last meeting.

“You did, you must’ve. The mark’s gone. What did they say?” He looks awful, you think. His eyes are bloodshot and rimmed with dark lines of exhaustion. He’s shaking. “What did they say?” he snaps when you don’t answer. “What did they tell you at the University? What did they find?” 

“They didn’t tell me anything. I don’t even know what I delivered,” you say. Garvan’s shoulders sink. He collapses without warning, sinking to his knees on the pavement. “Garvan? What’s going on?” You’re out of the car without even thinking about it, dimly aware of Jamie’s door opening behind you. 

“He’s dead, courier,” Garvan croaks. “The Stag. He’s dead.” 

(next)

#rotpeach writes #goretober #the drift

[terrestrialextraterrestrial]

READ BEFORE DOING ANYTHING ON HERE

Right. So-

First of all, hello! My names are Leo or Chris! Most people just use Chris on me, but I do like Leo. My art signature is typically 'Chris' with a hairpin underline or T.E.T. though. Online you can call me Extra if you want!

My pronouns are: He/it/ze. I'm transmasculine.

My sexuality/Romantic orientation is: Aromantic and asexual. Perhaps autoromantic? I'm not fully sure.

POTENTIALLY IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: my blog is sfw, but may contain suggestive jokes (though I’m not a huge fan of those myself so it probably won’t happen often), and (graphic) blood/gore. If you feel uncomfortable about any of those, you may refrain from following me or filter those particular tags.

Extra:

haver of autism/inattentive ADHD comorbidity (just got officially diagnosed woohoo‼️)

Proud Pinterest Pin Hoarder to the extreme

I'm Hungarian, but I was made in England. I'm currently in neither country, but I'm not giving away my current location yet. Just in case. I speak English and Hungarian.

I’m below 18!!

I'm secretly a lump of slime taking on a human form :) (/j)

My MBTI type is INTP and my enneagram is 5w4.

This doesn't matter at all, but I'm a Virgo for anyone who cares.

I like to draw! And procrastinate! And rarely post my art!

I believe in the extra-terrestrial, can you tell

Atheist

Silly posts are tagged as #silly

My fandoms include (may change in the future):

Will Wood

MCR

Invader ZIM

Don't Hug Me I'm Scared

Splatoon (Pearl holds a special place in my heart)

Deltarune (?) currently I'm distant from it, but I refuse to let go.

Lemon Demon (Neil banging out the tunes April 13 2006)

If you are a part of this list do NOT FUNKING INTERACT

irken x child shippers (ZaDr, TaGr, etc). Zim and Tak are like 100 years older than Dib and Gaz, who are 12 and 11 years old, respectively.

krusie or kriselle shippers, suselle is pretty much canon

Proshippers. No exceptions, no excuses.

P3dos/MAPs. And lolicons/shotacons. You're invalid and should feel awful about yourselves.

Zoophiles. Like, what the hell? That crap just isn't right.

Any other similar orientation that's just plain bullshit and/or makes me uncomfortable ('dreamsexual', 'r@pesexual', 'animesexual', etc. This should be obvious.)

People who invalidate xenogenders.

Transphobes, Homophobes.

Ableists.

Racists.

Sexists.

Basically standard DNI criteria.

DSMP fans. You're all problematic. All of you.

Boyfriends webtoon fans.

LGBTQIA+ exclusionists.

Fujoshis/Fudanshis. Take a shower, PLEASE.

Anyone who supports Shane Dawson, Elon Musk, JK Rowling, or any other shitty person of the sorts.

Radfems.

Thankies!

Now here's some casual stuff:

My comfort Characters

Spinach Can, Fridge, Lamp, Tony and Colin from DHMIS

Pearl, Marie and Frye from Splatoon

Jevil from Deltarune

Dib Membrane from Invader Zim

❗️Small but important addition❗️: I don’t really care if you like media often considered to be problematic like South Park or Danganronpa or whatever. I just want you to acknowledge the problems with it and why people may be against it, so don’t defend it with your life around here. Dsmp fans, though, like I said, please get out of here.

Current account status:

I haven't the foggiest idea

#introduction #thanks #pinned post #proship dni #anti proship #zadr dni #eyestrain #THE BLINKIES DON’T WORK WAHHHH 😭😭😭

[runscold-runsdeep]

Important Read/about me

Hi, I'm Meph, my pronouns are he/him, and I'm transmasc. I'm 21 years old and my birthday is Feb 17th, if anyone even cares.

I'm on the ace spectrum, and I'm not entirely sure where I align. Some days I'm comfortable with NSFW, other times I'm extremely uncomfortable with it, to the point it's almost triggering, so before having NSFW interactions with me, whether it be art/fic requests, or requests for RP, ask my comfort level first, please.

While the blog is mostly dedicated to cardiophilia, I may reblog and make content for my other kinks and fetishes like

Hands/gloves

Priests/blasphemy (my side blog for that is @fatherrlascivious )

Vampirism/blood

Biting/marking

Tickling DO FUCKING NOT COME AT ME OVER THIS XD LEAVE ME ALONE

This blog is predominantly a Ghost fanblog, but I may write and make art for other fandoms I'm in.

If I'm not following you, it's because this is a side blog. I like and follow others with @call-me-mephistophelees

At the time of writing this, I'm still very new to the Cardiophilia community, as I've just recently discovered this part of myself, so please be patient if i don't know most of the lingo or other information and categories. I'm learning as I go.

DNI

I usually inspect every blog that follows me so I can deem them 'safe' or not, so if you are the following

A minor

Anti-LGBT+

MAP

Nazi

Owner of a blog containing triggering content (Self-harm, irl gore, ED content, etc.)

Zoophile

Pro-shipper (minor x adult character)

You are not welcome on this blog and you will be blocked.

Additional thoughts

If you genuinely took the time to read all of that, thank you! That legitimately means a lot to me that you cared enough to not gloss over everything. Though, this intro post isn't done yet. There's just a little more, but you're close to the end of it.

I'm only human, I make mistakes, so feel free to point out if I reblog from someone unsafe, or if I mistag something. I'm not gonna get angry if anyone comes to my DMs or askbox pointing something out like that. If you do so, I appreciate your help.

When recieving asks or DMs, I normally struggle with identifying typing tones, so tone tags are greatly appreciated whenever used. I may not use them often myself, which is something I need to work on and make a habit. If you're unsure of my tone, please ask me to tag or rephrase. Some of us struggle with tone, and that's okay.

Thank you so much again for taking the time to read this, and I look forward to creating chaos with y'all.

If anyone wants to volunteer and help me proof read my fics, that would be very much appreciated ;;

#cardiophile #cardiophilia #cardiophiliac #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost #ghost band

[highlightwarriors]

Backgrounds for this map part.

It’s Me - Pt. 34

#wc #warrior cats #background #map #map part #it's me #animation #red #dark forest #halloween #other parts in the map may contain gore

[the-siren-and-the-sailor]

Tag list: @caloroso-cosmos @kissthe-gogoat Let me know if you wanted to be added or taken off!

Nadox once compared himself to Cain. I wonder now what it’d be like if they ever met. I’m gonna edit this to say that since Nadox is Sarkic, there’s gonna be mentions of gore. Mild stuff though, it’s only mentioned.

Can air become like lava’s equal?

It certainly did here. But then, it had easily tasted like bitter winter not a few weeks and several hundred leagues ago- the season’s fluidity by locale was more than typical for this eternal wanderer.

Yes, the man thought, I suppose it can. The sun was sweltering and the sand burned Cain’s feet, yet he did not falter between them. He did hope to find a town soon- he seemed to only ever stumble across one when he was most desperate. Forlorn of fresh water and conversation, Cain sighed and kept trudging.

A nearby hill obstructed vision of the continuing path in all directions, allowing a separate, similar man- one who in actuality, could not be any more different than his sunbeaten analogue- to be hidden in it’s gracious shadow.

He sat, cocooned in his cloak, not worried about anyone seeing the scroll he so plainly pulled out of his own body (he had several extra eyes grown around and about to watch for the prying ones of strangers).

Not enough, however, and he straightened upon finding that some blue-clad traveler had managed to evade him. By no means had they snuck up, but their progress was certainly noteworthy- only his serpentine little sister had ever managed that fully.

Regardless, he covertly tucked the parchment and the rest of his far-spread flesh back into a compact, human form again. Hopefully he would be ignored this way.

He was successful in replicating a mundane appearance, but was nevertheless a perfect fit for the other’s lacks.

“Hello there!” the person, a man, said with a voice that was distinctly… metallic, somehow.

Shrinking back into his coat wouldn’t work now, so he simply waved back as dismissively as he could. Of course, it was no use. But as the man approached, an odd thing became clear; it seemed at first that his skin tone differed from face to limb, but this was in fact, not skin at all. The tinny clicking of his ankles proved that.

“I was beginning to lose hope of finding my way, but it seems the gods have been merciful. You wouldn’t happen to have a map, would you? I’m afraid I may have lost my way.”

Gods, plural? Perhaps the assumption that this was just another Mekhanite was incorrect. What a strange occurrence. The cloaked sage shook his head. He did possess one, but would rather not be forced to speak, let alone quite literally spit it out.

“Oh that’s unfortunate,” he paused for a moment, a finger sheathed in leather curved to his chin in thought. The loose sleeves of his tunic fell around his elbows. If he was trying to cover up his metal parts, he was doing an extraordinarily terrible job.

“Well, you must’ve gotten here somehow. Do you know where the nearest dwelling is?” From Cain’s perspective, this fellow was being more than slightly suspicious, and he was curious to draw the conversation out.

The cloaked man simply pointed down the path. Cain was about to give up and be on his way, when a thought seemed to occur to the other, and he reached to his side. It struck Cain that he had not yet seen the man’s face.

He faced back a moment more, this time producing a parchment and quill (from where?), and simply wrote on it, Forgive me, I cannot speak. Turning his head, it appeared that his mouth was coarsely sewn shut with thread.

“I’m terribly sorry. If I have been a bother at all-” but the mute shook his head, returning to the writing, coming back with a, Who are you?

And he meant the question. What was someone like this doing out, alone, in the hot desert? He had a hunch, but-

“My name is Cain, I come from far away. You seem to as well. And who might you be, if I may ask?”

Cain? Certainly not that Cain. Well, it made some semblance of sense. But in that case…

Certainly you know already, he wrote.

This only served to confuse Cain. He didn’t- should he have? Oh, if he should’ve, it would’ve come across as so very rude.

“I hate to say it, but I do not. Could you perhaps elaborate?”

I fear I would frighten you away with the only method I have for a voice.

“I’ve had conversations in strange ways before. Whatever it is, I’ll understand.”

Instead of responding by text, the man stood to his full height, several inches taller than Cain, and motioned for them to walk. Cain, still confused, obliged.

After only a few paces, the gaunt man turned his head, still in step, divulging his brilliant orange eyes. A voice, silvery yet brittle, rang through his mind. “I am Klavigar Nadox. Perhaps you recognize me now?”

Cain stumbled and gulped. Oh, just his luck that his only company was a Sarkic saint! “Oh my, I do. I mean you no harm, I swear! I was travelling to visit my cousin, I only met you by accident-”

“I heard stories of you as a child. Perhaps you even inspired me, in a way. Are you truly the son of Adam? King of Canaan, the Reassembled One?”

Cain stared at Nadox, a mixture of expressions along the lines of confused fear on his face. The henchman of Ion himself, simply… talking?

“I don’t understand. Am I not your enemy?” Cain paused, trailing off and warily eyeing the other.

“You tell me.”

“…”

Well, this was awkward. Nadox, while wanting to know more about Cain, was really just as scared of him as he was of him. Derdekeas had been formidable, and he was just a man- this, on the other hand, was no less than a demigod.

“Do I have to be?” Came Cain’s response. Ah, there it was. A note of distinctly regal conviction.

Cain’s mind was, in all honesty, made up before they met- for he had also heard stories of Nadox. The Flesh was not the be all, end all of evil, nor was Bronze designed to be its foe. This was not a confrontation: it was a learning opportunity.

“I don’t suppose you are, then. If this is true, then I am not yours.” He really wasn’t. It was rare to cross an immortal’s path, why mire the chance with old tired conflict of broken and dying gods? Surely Ion could not be upset with this bid for knowledge, upon his return.

“Well then. Would you care to walk with me? I’m sure I am as curious of you as you are of me.”

“I am, and I would.”

Yes, this was a shining arrangement. The only problem was…

“A moment. Does this restless wanderer’s feet always know where to take him?”

“They don’t usually do an especially decent job, no.”

“I’ll give you a map if you promise to remain level-headed despite its whereabouts.”

Cain’s nod quickly turned to gagging upon the sight of the paper’s… method of containment. Was this how all shepherds of the flesh kept their documents? It begged many questions that the metal man did not particularly want answers to.

But then, Nadox had bristled later on, when Cain unlocked a compartment in the metal of his leg to retrieve a quill and compass.

Clearly, they each had much to learn.

#scp 073 #klavigar nadox #writing #my writing #scp-073 #scp cain #nadox #📝 Written in the History Books 📜 #sarkic #sarkicism #mekhanite #mekhanism #let’s face it i’m in love with both of them

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

A chatty writing update | novels, short fiction, etc!

Hi folks!

It’s been a while since I last wrote an update on this blog! I thought it’d be fun to go back to basics, and just talk about writing. This post chats about: new plans for Feeding Habits, my newest novel, my short story goals & growing collection, along with process reflections.

(image description: a photo of green leaves with the text “writing update” in a white font written on top. /end image description)

Post starts under the cut!

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed)

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev���writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites, @avakrahn, @maisulli

What have I been up to?

For starters, I finished my second year of my Writing undergrad last week and got two of my final grades back today (A+ baby)! For anyone who has taken online university, y’all already KNOW, but this year was so difficult. Would not recommend! Really proud of myself to have gotten through this absolute rollercoaster of a school term and am excited to get into some writing. That leads us to:

What have I been up to (writing edition)?

2021 started off so fast. By the time January hit, I was so consumed in my new semester that I did not have time to write Feeding Habits (my novel). In the first few days of the term, I managed to write between class, until I could no longer keep up! Essentially, I did not write any of that novel until exam season (last week), where I did manage to get in about 3k words in ~4 days.

Feeding Habits

I’m currently drafting what I believe will be the last chapter of this book (chapter 10: Swan Song). This chapter is so bizarre for a few reasons. It begins the book’s third part and also marks the shift back into Lonan’s head from Harrison’s. I originally thought this part would be much, much longer, with at least another five chapters to go, but quickly realized the book’s content was nearly completed. In my 4 day 3k palooza, I hit 50k in the book (the word count goal), and couldn’t see myself extending past 60k. Since then, I’ve made the loose decision to write this final chapter as a ~novella. Here are a few reasons why:

1. This chapter is structurally very strange.

I unashamedly shift from present to past to present to past past, and so much more every 12 words. I mapped out the timeline on a sheet of paper, and there were over 20 shifts in scenes (the chapter is only about 4400 words at the moment). The fictive past is incredibly important to this chapter, more important than the present, and I thought it would make more sense to not break randomly for a chapter so I could upkeep the consistent inconsistency of the chapter.

2. The chapter is very abstract

This stems from the structural changes, but there are paragraphs in this chapter of the fictive present that are loosely based in reality. They’re more poems than they are factual paragraphs, and keeping them all contained in one place (so a mega chapter/ novella) would reduce the most confusion!

3. There’s not much left to cover

Like I said above, Feeding Habits is on its last leg, lol! I know exactly where the book needs to end up, which is very, very soon from where I’m currently at on the timeline. Swan Song should cover what 2-4 chapters would cover in terms of arcs.

Feeding Habits and I have a really weird relationship, tbh! When I realized a few weeks ago that it’d been over a year since I started the book, I realized I just needed to finish it. Not that I want to rush (because I’ve taken longer than a year to write a book in the past), but that in order to move onto another project, I’d like to put this one behind first. This book has been the hardest thing I’ve ever written, and has reminded me there’s always a time to let go. This sort of scrounges up a conversation about letting this entire series go, which is certainly something I’ve been contemplating doing soon(ish). If this spinoff series gets a third book, that may or may not be the last Fostered book for a very long time (or ever)! There are many complex reasons to move on, but the main one is that I have other projects I’d like to focus on. This is not a definitive decision, but something I’ve certainly been thinking about!

Here are a few excerpts I wrote recently:

(TW: death, gore)

Dying feels like being a trout dangled out of water. Clinging to a hook. Mouth open. Scales iridescent in a final death cry. It’s like blood spurting up the knuckles, drowning out the flesh. It’s that moment on the long fall down when the clouds cup the body. Easy drifting. The sound a skull makes when it cracks is really just the afterthought.

(TW: death, gore)

Kill shot. Death blow. Coup de grace. Right in the heart. He feels it. The blood swelling, slicking his palms. He can do it. Reach into the cavity. Feel for the ribs. Part each bone. Then cup the humming heart. Stay there. Right. It’s never been easier.

Look at this PURE moment of Lonan holding a baby I CANNOT:

The grocery store was a fifteen-minute walk away. With Olivia clinging to his shoulder, Lonan was acutely aware that she could feel his heartbeat. Open valve. Close. Repeat. Hers pulsed right above his, a miniature drumming. The sky had bruised purple, misted with clouds. The evening air nipped his cheeks, so he made sure Olivia was securely fastened between him and his jacket. With wide eyes, she absorbed the drowsy suburbia, all its family cars pulling into driveways, all its couples heading back home after a sunset walk. When Lonan passed a young boy walking two golden retrievers, Olivia giggled, and didn’t stop, even after he’d spent fifty dollars on groceries and nearly the rest on a red Corolla marked with a MUST GO NOW sign outside a convenience store.

Let’s move on!

Mandy and Cora

I said I wouldn’t talk too much about this project, but I just love it so much?? I wanted to share my SUPER early thoughts on drafting a novel, especially one that is SO different from what I’ve been writing recently. I talked about this before in THIS post, but the summary about this project is that it’s a YA contemporary novel! Can’t believe I’m writing YA again, it’s been so long, but I also think it’s going so well. Everything I’ve learned as a literary fiction writer has been a fantastic primer for transferring back to the genre. Admittedly, I have not written much, but I’m having a lot of fun diving back into a lighter project. This is the summary:

Cora and Mandy are identical twins who’ve always done everything together. But when Mandy decides to go to university out of province after graduation and Cora doesn’t, Cora takes this as an opportunity to “test run” life apart from her sister for the first time by spending the summer at her aunt’s house across the country.

I have come up with a few ~things since I last talked about this project, mostly how I’d like to structure it. As of now, I’d like the book to be structured super loosely. I’m really pulling on a lot of inspo from “We Are Okay” by Nina LaCour (which is SO good), particularly how “nothing happens-y” that book is. This project (which I still need a title for!!) will be structured in short chapters that cover something Cora does on her own for the first time (without Mandy). For example, a few ideas are “Flight”, “Lunch”, and “Groceries”. “Flight” is the first “chapter” (they’re really kind of vignettes) where Cora flies to her aunt’s house. I still can’t determine if this book will take place in Canada. On one hand, I feel like there will be a wider audience if it takes place in the US (is that just an assumption??? maybe?? someone let me know!), but also: don’t really care too much about an audience at the moment! It could also take place in Canada (So Ontario and British Columbia). But if it does take place in the US, I think it may take place in NYC and San Francisco. The problem is: I really don’t like researching lol, and while I’ve been to NYC many times, I will definitely write it wrong! Does this really matter on a first draft?? absolutely not lol, but of course I am already overthinking!

But back to structure: I am looking forward to seeing what this looser structure will do. This is a story that is solely around one half of a set of twins learning to be her own person (and ultimately that she doesn’t have to completely forget her sister in order to do that), and as a twin who KNOWS this feeling, I think this structure of her doing things for the first time is SUPER relatable.

I was worried it might sound silly/worrying to others who are not twins that Cora hadn’t done things like “lunch” or “groceries” on her own, but I feel this so much as an identical twin myself! Not that she hasn’t done anything at all by herself, but as a twin, when you do something without your twin for the first few times, at least in my experience, you notice. If any twins are reading this--weigh in!

This story is the most personal thing I’ve ever written. It definitely is an OwnVoices book! Usually, I avoid details that are remotely similar to me because they make me uncomfortable haha, but with this book, it’s all me, lol! The characters are all Guyanese, which is SO fun because I’ve been planning what they eat (my fellow Caribbean peeps know: the FOOD!), which is so fun (yes they have pumpkin and shrimp, yes they have roti, yes they have pera, yes they have mithai). Every time I’ve gone to dabble at this book, or even think about it, I get incredibly emotional for this reason? I don’t exactly know why. I think this is a story I just so want to tell, with the culture I love SO much that I definitely struggled to love as a child. This is reclamation bitchessss!

Not going to lie tho: the prospect of writing ~a book~ is kind of freaky! I’m going to make the minimum word count for this book pretty short (50k) and see where it goes from there. I think I will focus on this project this summer! Originally I was going to write a literary novel this summer, but I think this one’s calling my name!

Here’s a pretty rough excerpt:

Try. I remind myself that’s what I’m doing after the flight attendant fills me a disposable cup of Coca Cola and all I can think of is Mandy and I shoving Mentos into a bottle of the stuff when we were twelve. Just me, wedged in the middle seat between an exchange student heading out for summer break and a middle-aged woman sipping a cocktail, thinking of Mandy and I bursting whole oranges in a blender when we were bored one Winter break as the plane dips through a wave of turbulence. Mandy and I dying our hair neon green with highlighters (didn’t work—our hair is too dark) as the plane lands on the tarmac. Mandy and I arguing so loud last month, we both lost our voices as I lug my carry-on out of the overhead compartment and shuffle off the plane and through the airport, searching for Aunt Vel.

Short Fiction

I’ve written so much short fiction this year! I have a goal to write a short story a month (they can range in length, as long as 1 is “complete”), so my short story brain has seriously been soaking it all up lately. Let’s chat my month to month breakdown so far:

January:

I wrote four stories in January! The first is a flash fiction piece called “Shark Swimming” that follows a young woman who attends a shark swimming class after breaking up with her girlfriend. I wrote this story for a “test” workshop for my fiction class, and it was based off the prompt “think about something you’re afraid to do and make the character do that thing”. I’m not particularly afraid of sharks, but had been wanting to use the title “Shark Swimming” for AGES (literally since 2018).

This story is one of my favourites. It’s only about 900 words, but I think there’s something profound in how mundanely specific it is. The entire story doesn’t even see the narrator swim with sharks once; it actually takes place fully in the sanctuary’s lobby. But I really love this narrator. This is the first story I’ve written in second person in a while, though I felt really connected to the unnamed narrator. She struggles with accepting that she truly is a “boring” person, and there’s something about the final image that really gets me!

I’ve been submitting this around, though it’s been rejected a handful of times. Hoping I can secure it at a magazine one day because I really love it!

The second story is “Joanne, I’ll Pray for You” which is actually a rewrite of one of my very first short stories (the first story I did not write for a class haha), “NYC in Your Apartment”. I LOVE this rewrite a lot, and also learned the original is not a very good short story! Revising this story taught me just how much I’ve learned in the 2 years I’ve been writing short fiction. Seeing the 2019 version versus the 2021 version side by side is fascinating because I essentially “gutted’ the 2019 version of its beginning and end until all that was left was the middle of the story (aka the actual story). AKA: this is the only story I’ve ever written with a hopeful ending and I cut out all the happy bits lol I am SO sorry (that arc is more for a novel or novella). That’s how this went from a 5k word story to an 1800 word story (my Submittable thanks me for this lol). A lot of details and scenes I included were more pertinent to a 3 act structure/novel, which of course short stories don’t often have because of their brevity. I love rambling about writing theory, and seeing that actually pay off is so fascinating!

(TW: trauma)

Like the original, this story follows Joanne, a woman in her early twenties, who spontaneously breaks up with her boyfriend. She claims the poltergeist haunting her drove her to this decision. The original draft focused a lot more on the traumatic events Joanne survives, but this draft really loosens them up. It focuses less so on the events themselves, and more on how Joanne’s life is affected. I found the details of these events were less important, and even sort of contradicted Joanne’s insistence she is being haunted. Instead, the poltergeist really takes more precedence in the new draft as a force Joanne doesn’t understand. That ambiguity, I think, is what the story truly needed.

I also centralized Joanne’s relationship with her boyfriend, Julian, here. Now don’t get me wrong, I really didn’t add anything to this draft. It was a matter of trimming the fat around it to leave the lean “meat” in the centre. But by removing that fat, I was able to emphasize what was most important here, and that was her relationship. Julian always played a really big role in the original draft, but I feel like his role as both a friend and partner to Joanne is much more emphasized since this draft literally is only two scenes now. Because there is less, there is more room for Joanne to reflect, which I’m happy about!

A final change I made was the setting and therefore the title. The original, which was “NYC in Your Apartment,” I couldn’t keep because I shifted the setting to Toronto (this is how I originally saw it, but in 2019 I just?? couldn’t?? write?? canlit??), and “Toronto in Your Apartment” sounded sort of gross LOL. The new title comes from a line in the story which I think is more relevant to the themes!

The next short story I wrote in January was “How to Spell Alpaca.” This one is super fun because I wrote it SO fast (in about 15 minutes or so). THIS is the writing update if you’re interested in learning more. I talked extensively about this one in that update, but some developments are that I dove into an edit a few weeks ago to really understand the core of the story. I’m still not quite there (this is just an intuitive feeling; I know not everything has “clicked), but I am really intrigued by the two mothers in the story, the narrator, and her newfound acquaintance, Violet. Both really struggle to understand their place as mothers (the narrator even declares she isn’t a mother anymore). The narrator, who is in her 50s, sees herself in Violet, who is much younger (~20s), and so she views Violet’s relationship with her daughter in a cautionary, yet mournful way, like she can see it will end up like her own relationship with her daughter, despite wanting the opposite. This is a really subtle story. I feel like if you blink, you’ll miss the message. But I think it’s compelling for that reason. It’s really a portrait of parenting and how to grapple with mistakes you may make that inevitably affect your children. Wow just unlocked the theme writing this lol.

The final story I wrote in January is “The Party,” which may be in my top 3 faves I’ve ever written. This story follows Aida, a recent divorcee in her ~40s. The day her divorce turns official, she moves into a new house and receives a party invitation addressed to the previous homeowner, yet RSVP’s anyway. At this party, she’s hoping to find some sense of noticeability, having struggled with being nondescript her whole life. Things seem quite normal at the party, until it gets bizarre.

I LOVE this story, y’all. Like “How to Spell Alpaca” it really delves into motherhood. Aida, our narrator, is incredibly hurt after her divorce. She now lives farther from her children she struggled to feel connected to in the first place, and doesn’t really know how to reignite her life. This party is a means to do that. This is the first story I’ve written that contains a “twist” which is strange because I really prefer stories that give us as much info as possible upfront, but yes, this one sort of twists.

February

I wrote one story in February, and that was “Protect the Young.” This title is SO changing when I think of a new one because it’s thematically incorrect, haha, but this story follows a woman in her late 40s whose daughter, Lindy, announces she is married the same day all their backyard chickens turn up dead. The discovery of dead chickens prompts our narrator to recall her ex-husband’s murder and the role her daughter may have played in his death.

I love this story so much! I think this would make a great closing for my short story collection. It just has that vibe! I wrote this for my second fiction workshop. I thought I had to hand in the story a week earlier than I had to, so I panicked and wrote this in one sitting! Little did I know, I did not need to do that lol but I’m very happy because this story is so fun. We get to learn more about Arnold (her ex), his relationship with Lindy, and how that translates to Lindy’s relationship with her new husband, Malcolm. I LOVE true crime (I listen to about 3-4 hours of case coverage daily), and this is my first “true crime” story. Because of that, I’m very sus of a few details that probably wouldn’t slide in actual investigatory work, so I’ll also be working on that in a revision. My professor also gave me a great suggestion that may alter the story’s structure a bit, though I look forward to toggling with it in the future.

March

In March, I was really on a Criminal Minds kick lol. I’ve been watching this show since I was seven (oops), and dove into a rewatch since it hit Disney+! This story, “Where to Run When the Lamb Roars,” is very clearly Rachel watching 5 episodes of CM a day. Oops! We follow 14-year-old Astrid as she and her older half brother kidnap a young girl to sacrifice for their yearly ritual.

I knew a few things going into this story, but the main thing was that I did NOT want to show any details of a potential murder (if one even occurs). I really wanted to keep all of those elements off the page because this story is not about those events, but about Astrid’s relationship with her brother. They are a murderous duo, with Astrid actually being the dominant partner. I wanted to explore that. I knew her brother, Fox, was more of a submissive partner in their team, even when he used to do this same thing with his father when he was much younger (chilling!), and so it was a task to explore how this young girl’s desire for violence works. The end actually comes right before the story starts, one could say, but I like it for this reason. It really made me contemplate the story by the time I finished it, and helped me examine what it really was about versus what it appeared to be about.

April

(TW: sexual content, non explicit)

I was so busy this month! Who knows if I’ll write a story last minute, but I did write one story this month called “Five Times Fast.” I wrote this during a “writing sprint” that was being hosted at a flash fiction workshop I recently took with one of my favourite writers ever, K-Ming Chang. I learned so much from this class, and am so happy I came out of it with a draft! This story is just over 300 words, so the shortest flash I’ve ever written, but I’m really happy with it. It was based off the prompt “describe the last time you or your character was naked.” In this case, the narrator has a “friends with benefits” relationship with Ricky who works at a laundromat. This story highlights a moment in this relationship (and also Ricky’s goofy personality lol). I really like it! Hopefully I’ll submit it to some magazines soon.

My short story collection

Very briefly I wanted to touch on my short story collection which I’ve titled “She is Also Dead.” I’ve been meaning to make a blog post on this, so look out for that in the coming months, but this collection is already at around 35k words (about 14 stories so far). The collection also surprisingly has a solid amount of flash fiction which is kind of fun! There’s definitely a range here, which is what I personally love in short story collections.

I feel very professional now that I have a ~collection chart. This is her:

(image description: A chart with the title “She is Also Dead.” It is broken into four columns: Story, Status, Word Count, and Published. Entry 1 - Story: Slaughter the Animal. Status: Revisions, Word Count, 3982, Published: N/A. Entry 2 - Story: Joanne, I’ll Pray for You, Status: Polished, Word Count: 1809, Published: N/A. Entry 3 - Story: Primary Organs, Status: Published, Word Count: 2342, Published: The Malahat Review. Entry 4 - Story: Faberge, Status, Polished, Word Count: 619, Published: N/A. Entry 5 - Story: The Wolf-Antelope Will Not Come for Us, Status, Polished, Word Count: 1556, Published: filling Station (forthcoming). Entry 6 - Story: How to Spell Alpaca, Status: revisions, Word Count: 1327, Published: N/A. Entry 7 - Story: Blink Twice for Final Judgement, Status: Polished, Word Count: 6572, Published: N/A. Entry 8 - Story: The Species is Dead, Status: Published, Word Count: 1208, Published: Minola Review. Entry 9 - Story: Shark Swimming, Status: Polished, Word Count: 907, Published: N/A. Entry 10 - Story: The Party, Status, Polished, Word Count 2339, Published: N/A. Entry 11 - Story: Fig, Status: Polished, Word Counter: 947, Published: N/A. Entry 12 - Story: Protect the Young, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4128, Published: N/A. Entry 13 - Story: Where to Run When the Lamb Roars, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 2174, Published: N/A. Entry 14 - Story: Phantom Limbs, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4844, Published: N/A.) /end image description.

This order is DEFINITELY not permanent (at this point whenever I write a story, I just fit it randomly into this chart lol), and some of the info is outdated (for example, Slaughter the Animal is now polished!!! thank god!!!). But just an idea of what I’m thinking of including.

This is the summary so far:

In SHE IS ALSO DEAD, characters are pushed to act on their gravest impulses. A small town turns murderous when their local invasive species, the Janices, begin dying. A child struggles to understand her mother’s suicide. A college dropout who insists she’s being haunted by a poltergeist unexpectedly breaks up with her boyfriend. A mother acknowledges her daughter’s murderous tendencies after her backyard chickens mysteriously die. A young girl caters the funeral of a girl rumored to be killed by a wolf-antelope. A newly-divorced mother RSVP’s to a bizarre party she was not invited to, and a murderous brother and sister upkeep their yearly tradition of abducting a young girl. These stories follow characters who navigate death, violent desires, womanhood, and loss, both self-imposed and otherwise.

This is also so subject to change as I may pull and add stories to the collection!

I think I’m going to leave this update here for now! I’ve written TONS of poetry too, but I honestly ~hate my poetry right now lol, so! Hope you enjoyed this chill rambly update. Hope writing has going well for you all! All the best!

--Rachel

#writing #writeblr #writerblr #amwriting #writingupdates

[nelllraiser]

when you wake | cutler, dakota, & nell

LOCATION: the catacombs. PARTIES: @clarkesconvenience, dakota, & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: the key to waking the dreamers is revealed, but cutler, dakota, and nell are unlikely to succeed without first giving something up of their own.  CONTAINS: sibling death, torture mention, self-harm, gore

Cutler’s hands were aching. It had started in the morning as a dull, persistent twinge between the joints and had only intensified as the day went on, morphing into a sharp pain. It refused to leave with knuckle cracking and finger-splayed stretches, tendons only seeming to tighten and pull the bones of his fingers further into themselves. The half dozen advil hadn't helped, nor had the stiff drink he had downed before taking to the crisp winter air as a last resort. 

He hadn’t intended to go to the catacombs. In fact, he would normally avoid the labyrinthine stone pathway system that ran below the city at all costs. It was for this reason that he was shocked to find himself standing on the stairs at the entrance, fire licking up his hands as he descended. He grimaced as he crossed the threshold of the stone entrance, puffs of dirt and dust settling around his feet. The pain rippled across the back of his hands, as if leading him forward. 

“Bad idea.” He said aloud, even as his feet took him further into the depths. As if in response, the muscles in his hands spasmed painfully. Pulsing deep below the criss crossed lines of his palms was the knowledge that the cause of this sudden affliction was ahead of him, not behind. “Guess we’re doing this.” He spoke into the cool shadows, hoping no one was there to hear it.

Dakota had been having dreams for weeks now – although she didn’t know if they were just part of some bizarre fantasy slipping out in her slumber or if they were truly nightmares. Regardless, each time she laid down or rested in the slightest, she saw fleeting images of a cave-like place, low lighting, darkness… All flashing before her eyes too quickly for her to make too much sense of it all, but each time she woke up she comforted herself with a cigarette and a mug filled with coffee. Probably wasn’t the best idea for someone who, as of late, kept having a racing heart and acid reflux. But none of that really mattered, because at present she was standing at the entrance of a place she’d never been before – a place she was pretty sure she hadn’t ever noticed on a map of White Crest. 

Her memory was… Fuzzy, at best. She remembered grabbing a jacket, but not getting out of bed. She remembered moving through the underbrush in the middle of the night, and she remembered thinking it was strange that she was walking through tree branches in the darkness, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember walking out the front door. What scared her, though – aside from not being able to recall how she got to where she was standing – was that she didn’t even know why she stood at an entrance to what she could only assume were the catacombs of White Crest. You can wake up any time now, you know. But to her horror, she realized that perhaps she wasn’t dreaming, because she’d heard a voice that helped to snap  her back into reality, not too far away, amidst the shadows in the night. What the hell? “…Doing what?” 

The smell of blood was what Nell awoke to, though she couldn’t be all that sure of the difference between the real world and unconsciousness when White Crest had begun it’s steady descent into the collected subconscious of its citizens. Had she even been asleep when the tangy and salty scent of blood had alerted her? Ever since people had been falling into unwilling and unwelcome slumbers, the witch had done her best to sleep as little as possible, not wanting to be the next victim in a string of people that were something deeper than comatose. It wasn’t all that hard considering the fact that sleep hadn’t been easy since May of last year, the month that her sister had been struck down before her very eyes in Nell’s stead. But Nell couldn’t afford to fall into a sleep that she wouldn’t awake from. There were far too many things in her life that needed constant attention, obligations that refused to be silent in the form of a demon cult needing downing, a family whose father had been eaten by a demon shark, and her summoning magic that seemed to have grown a mind of its own at times. 

While she blinked bleary eyes open wider, her heart began to race, Nell’s mind picking up pace to match the beating in her chest as she recalled the last time she’d risen to the smell of blood. It had been the sticky redness of her sister’s beheading that had covered her face, arms, legs— and panic rose in her chest while she wondered if she’d soon find Bea’s headless body on the floor next to her. Thankfully there was no decapitated body in sight, though Nell couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness the scent of blood was bringing to her head. Where was it coming from? There was something deeper in her gut, a pulling and yearning that seemed to yell until she was forced to listen, and follow the metallic smell of blood. She walked until she came upon a familiar sight, the very entrance she and her sisters had used when they’d hunted Montgomery, Bea’s killer, down into the catacombs, capturing and torturing him so that they might earn their final retribution. She hadn’t dove back into the catacombs shadowy bowels since that day, almost worried that if Montgomery had a ghost, it would be down there in the belly of the town, still being digested, not yet truly gone. Was he the one who had brought her here? 

Nell didn’t know how long she tread the empty halls of the cavernous catacombs before hearing a voice, and in an instant she was drawing a knife from its hiding place, brandishing it before her. Following the sound, it didn’t take long until she found the source of it— a man who looked as lost as a lamb without it’s shepherd, and the woman she’d traded fierce words with outside The Stacked Deck. “Were you both brought here too?” Nell asked, familiar enough with mysticism by now to recognize that no natural force had placed her here. Was it the same for them? The tail end of her words was caught up in the howl of a wolf, a long and mournful sound that turned her head down the most narrow tunnel to the left of the party. “Did you hear that?”

“Oh, fuck. Jesus.” Cutler’s knees bent instinctively and his entire body lowered into a defensive stance at the reply in the darkness. It took him a moment to recover from the shock, leg still bobbing shakily with hopped-up nerves, even as the decidedly not-scary woman became visible in the darkness. Smooth, Cut. “Going into the creepy catacombs alone. Suppose this solves half that problem. I’m Cutler.” He began to lift his hand to shake and immediately dropped it again as his knuckles screamed and scraped against themselves. He tried on a reassuring smile instead, manifesting as more of a pained wince. 

It was then that a second voice breached the dim, settling heavy in the mildewed corners and damp brick. Anxiety and tender pain fluttered in his chest. “Brought here? I wouldn’t say-” A dry cough stuck in his throat, rasping behind his words and cutting off the statement that he didn’t quite believe. “Were you?” His hands clenched and unclenched at his side nervously as he fumbled for a way to lighten the conversation. “This isn’t how I usually meet people, but if this is the new spot maybe I should come down here more often.”

Dakota vaguely remembered him, but everything around her seemed like a distant memory at the moment. Was it that online forum? Did she see him at a grocery store? It was starting to irritate her just how confused she felt. “Cutler,” she heard herself say, though her gaze drifted more so back to the catacombs. “Do you know why –” she trailed off, mostly due to the fact that yet another voice was thrown into the mix. However, this girl was more than just a vague memory – she was more than even just familiar, because she was that girl from The Stacked Deck who burst through her poker game, though she never caught her name. The two exchanged words, something about being “brought” here. That was enough to finally snap her out of her dream-like trance.

“I was, yeah. I don’t remember getting out of bed. I don’t remember walking out the door. But somehow I’m standing here in the middle of the night with you fine people—” she paused to toss Nell a look. She wasn’t still angry about The Stacked Deck… per se. A howl in the distance, though, did in fact shut Dakota up quite quickly. Someone had told her to watch out for wolves. “Does anyone know why the hell we’re here?”

Nell’s dagger had dropped to her side into a more relaxed position, though she made no move to stow the weapon back from whence it had come. Giving the man named Cutler a nod, her lips pursed while she took in her surroundings, trying to remember how long she’d already been walking the craggy walls of the catacombs. Ten minutes? Thirty? A few hours, maybe? She couldn’t remember, and that only added to the stone of dread pooling in her gut, an unsteadiness that always formed these days whenever she could feel control slipping through her fingers. “I’m Nell,” she told the man before narrowing her eyes towards the other woman, barely resisting the urge to offer more sharp words. But she could feel that there were more important things at hand than a petty feud over some flipped tables and spilled cards. “You didn’t say your name.” By the way the dark-haired woman cut her words in the midst of another howl, Nell took it as confirmation that she wasn’t the only one hearing things. “I don’t know- but it’s probably for some bullshit reason.” That’s what had happened at the lake all those months ago, wasn’t it? People had come to Nell for the demon banishing ceremony, pulled by some otherworldly force to the right place at the right time. Another call of the wolf had Nell staring down the tunnel in question, a desperate need to answer it seeming to pull her towards it. “I think...we should follow that howl, though. Do you feel it?” The need that was seated in her mind’s eye, like an itch she couldn’t quite reach.

There was something in the air between the two women. Cutler was scared, not stupid. The tension was thick, billowing around hanging spider web scraps and floating dust specks. He could cut it with a knife. That is, if his quivering hands could even hold one in their current state. As Nell spoke, his fingers were reaching down the hallway even as his mouth protested. “Follow it?” His voice was high in his register, squeakier than it had been in several years. 

Something in him shifted as the young woman’s voice spoke once more. Calmer than she had any right to be. Grounding him. Can you feel it? Whatever “it” was throbbed in his hands and tugged at his gut, pulling him forward. “Yeah.” He found himself saying, “I can.” He turned back, making eye contact with both of his newfound companions. “We don’t have a choice, do we?”

By the second howl, Dakota couldn’t have given a rat’s ass about exchanging names and pleasantries, because she was about ready to turn around and head home. But… The moment she thought about retreating, there was a sickening, sinking feeling in her gut that made her stay. She felt it in her bones, she felt it in her chest – a knot tying itself tighter in her stomach that pleaded only one request: stay. “Dakota,” she muttered a few moments later, eyes looking askance towards the entrance of the catacombs. She wasn’t sure what the hell was about to be down there, but she was sure as shit not about to risk her life for some adventure.

… Except that she was, because a third howl began to make her think that being inside the catacombs was a lot safer than being out here. “We don’t. I feel it, too – whatever ‘it’ is. Let’s just.. Follow the howl and hope we don’t end up fucking mauled.”

Nell knew that a wolf howl was more often dangerous than not in a town like White Crest, a place so steeped in the supernatural that it had almost become...natural. She couldn’t begin to explain it, just as she couldn’t entirely explain why she’d come here in the first place, but the howl of the wolf didn’t seem threatening. It was a long, searching sound, as if calling out to someone for help. The subject of whether or not they had a choice was a touchy one for Nell, always balking at being forced into anything, but she couldn't’ help but feel that Cutler’s words were true. Steeling her shoulders into a determined and hard stance, she took the little height she possessed and made the most of it as she began to lead that way into the tunnel, doing her best to ignore all former thoughts of Montgomery as she began to descend. “Let’s get going, then.” While she walked the path, the scent of blood grew stronger, so much so that she swore she could nearly taste it on her tongue, thick and sharp. All the while the wolf’s howls led the way, showing which path to take when they came to forks or a circle of tunnels. “I think we’re almost there.” She could feel the magic in the air now, a shimmering that she’d known since a young age that was shining brighter in her head the closer they got.

Cutler fell in step behind the girl in front of him instinctively. She operated with a natural leadership and seemed to possess some hidden knowledge as she looked around the tunnels where he only saw shadowy recesses in grimy brick. In the low light, he spread his hands in front of him, looking for some medical explanation for the tingly-sharp pain that only grew stronger the deeper they went. At the back of his tongue, the familiar, coppery taste of blood brought back memories of the surgeries he had performed with these same hands; once valuable enough to be insured, now primarily used for punching prices behind a cash register. “Almost where?” He had almost run into Nell when she stopped, and scuffled backward a few steps. He looked to his left, making sure Dakota was with them. Whatever was around the sharp bend ahead, he didn’t want to face it alone. 

The thick, cloying scent of blood hit him like a wall, meaty and organic. Blinding pain seared through his hands and he expelled a soft sound, halfway between a moan and a cry. His eyes screwed shut instinctively, willing the static from the edges of his vision. “You guys don’t feel that?” He stared at his feet, sharp, jagged breaths hampering his attempts to get the words out. “Tell me you feel that.”

As they submerged themselves deeper into the damp, dank tunnel, Dakota could smell the presence of some sort of blood – fresh, most likely. It reminded her of hunting with her uncle when she was a kid – that smell of blood, human or animal, was almost universal.. And it was present down in the halls of the tomb that they walked. The phrase almost there was something she didn’t want to hear, but Cutler summed it up when he’d asked the question she was already forming in her own mind – almost where? 

The deeper they went, the stronger the scent grew – like a thick curtain or a shroud hanging around the three of them, metallic in its fragrance. Deeper into the tomb they walked, and the stronger it grew. Dakota’s heart hammered in her chest, not knowing exactly what lay ahead for them. Cutler had said something, and though she was fit to answer, she caught a glimpse of an object on the floor, farther ahead than she cared to go, that seemed to resemble something far too close to human remains.

“Hey, guys…? What the fuck is that?” 

Cutler remained bent over, hands on knees. “No.” The word tumbled out of his mouth, quietly and aimed at the floor. He barely heard it himself over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Dakota was speaking, Nell was ahead, but his gaze remained trained steadfast on the floor below him and the centuries of dirt and whatever else filled the gaps between the ancient brickwork below them. 

When he finally summoned the courage to stand back up, both of the women were looking at something ahead of them. It was dark, and he didn’t have his glasses on him, but he knew what it was, the same way he had known to come to the catacombs in the first place. What little light there was in the tunnels bounced off pale skin in the shadows. “It’s a-” Cadaver was the word at the front of his mind; the only other time he had been privy to the sickly white tones of bloodless flesh. “-a body. I think. Or part of one.” He drew air into his chest, forcing it to expand and contract, reminding himself to breathe. He could handle this. He’d seen dead bodies, operated on them. This was nothing he hadn’t faced before.

And then it moved. It jumped forward, movements quick and erratic. Spidery limbs crawled across the floor as it came into focus in sharp terror under the lamp light. It was a hand, isolated from the rest of its body, moving independently with jerky, inhuman motions. Cutler was already reaching for the Swiss army knife in his pocket; numb, throbbing fingers jammed themselves into his too-small jean pockets. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He barely managed to retrieve the multitool in time to stab the knife squarely into the hand in front of him. As it collapsed to the ground, he looked around frantically. “There’s got to be two, right? Two of them?” 

A soft scraping below him snapped his gaze back to the floor. It was moving. Again. 

Somehow Nell had walked right past the hand that had scuttled towards Cutler, and his string of curses made her head turn backwards over her shoulder, a frown of concern firmly in place. How the hell had she missed a living hand? Either her senses were growing duller, or the thing hadn’t spawned until after she’d passed it. Whatever the answer may be, the appendage certainly shouldn’t have been inching all over the ground like some fleshy crab. At least Cutler had managed to stab the hand, though it soon became apparent that the abandoned body part had made a steady and full recovery, dancing around the man’s feet as if it were auditioning for some grotesque rendition of The Addams family and the role of ‘Thing’. “Two would make sense.” After all, hands came in pairs, didn’t they? “So where the hell is the other one?” she muttered, sharp eyes scanning the shadows that seemed to be looming closer by the second as the walls of catacombs blurred and twisted into shapes she could almost make sense of. Squinting into the darkness, she searched for movement that she could track and caught a glint of silver instead. The moment she took notice of the abnormality, an enormous injection needle shot through the darkness, the three foot long steel tip of it aiming for Nell with deadly accuracy. “Holy shit!” she called out as she rolled and dodged, never having been a fan of any shot, let alone one that looked as if it’d been created for giants. 

Quick movements caught her attention, but Dakota wanted to haul ass in the opposite direction the moment she saw a fucking hand scurrying near their feet, like some sort of spider. Moments ago she was trying to decide if she were in a dream or walking along in the realm of reality, and now she was wishing to open her eyes and see that this was all an illusion. Cutler’s curses and quickness, though, reassured her that this wasn’t something she was going to wake up from anytime soon. “Stab it again!” Dakota exclaimed, hopping on the bandwagon of belief that there must be a second one walking around – another hand that needed to be destroyed. 

Her eyes searched the darkness hurriedly, hoping it would appear out of the blue so that she could stomp on the damned thing and get this hellish night over with. However, that wasn’t the case. Nell’s scream was a distant cry at this point – she’d felt herself wander into a spiderweb of some sort while looking for the other hand. Instantly she began to brush off, muttering little curses to herself, anxious hands running over her limbs. She couldn’t see a thing, but it was like she felt them all over. “Fucking Christ!” she shouted in disgust, obsessively sweeping her hands over herself only to stumble over another object on the floor – the second hand? -- hitting the ground with a thud.

To Dakota’s absolute horror, in the dimness of the catacombs she saw what looked like hundreds of spiders crawling towards her, some small and some large, others akin to tarantula size while some were beastly, at least as large as a dog with legs as long as she was tall. Letting out a string of curses – “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” – along with a cry of disgust as the small arachnids crawled over her legs. Finally, she had managed to scramble herself to her feet, now noticing the giant needle as the swarm of spiders seemed to follow every which way she ventured. She didn’t know how these nightmarish visions were spawning, but she had one idea that might put an end to them.

“Cutler, stab the goddamned hand!”

Cutler didn’t see the needle, or the spiders, or the fear in his companions’ eyes. He didn’t hear the persistent calling of his name over the chaos. He saw the scene as if from outside himself. Disaster arced outward, nightmare spawn barreling toward him and the hand at ground zero. The hand twitched, rising from the floor on clicking joints and he just stared, glassy eyed. This isn’t real. This can’t be real. 

The pain in his own hands brought him back to his body with a sickening jolt. Hot saliva pooled at the back of his tongue and pearls of sweat began to dampen his collar. The pain had changed. What was now a dull throb became a stabbing agony; converging at the centre of his palms where his life and love lines intersected. He knew what he had to do. The round, clean-cut fingernails of his left hand scraped nervously at the faux-mahogany handle of his multi-tool for a moment, seemingly impervious to the events unfolding around him. A series of moments flashed before his eyes. His first surgery in the OR. His last one. The good, the bad, and the ugly: all perpetrated with these hands. 

When the blade of his knife pierced the skin of his palm, there was no hesitation. It was a smooth cut. His professors would have been proud. An excruciating scream filled the tunnel. At first, he thought it was coming from him, but his teeth were clenched together over his locked jaw. Below him, an identical wound had appeared on the pale hand on the floor, viscous liquid seeping from it and into the sandy tile below. 

“I got it.” The words were spoken at regular volume, overwhelmed the shrieking from the hand below. The same inherent knowledge that had led him here told him it wasn’t long for this world. “I got it.” He said again, louder this time. Stronger. One down, one to go. 

The moment Cutler made his incisions was the same instant the enormous needle faltered mid-trajectory, dropping to the ground as if it too had been defeated. It gave a long enough pause for Nell to look past her attempted impaling for a moment to see the scene that lay before Cutler. His blood dripping from one hand onto the one below him, the ruby red droplets staining its ghastly skin red. Of course. Nell had been foolish not to realize it earlier. Between the plethora of magic swirling in the air, and the blood that the hand had demanded, it was becoming clearer by the second exactly what it was that was going on here. “It wants a sacrifice,” she said slowly, knowingly as she continued to glance warily towards the giant needle that lay still on the catacomb floor. “It needs payment in exchange for…” In exchange for what? They still didn’t have the faintest idea of what it was they were trying to accomplish here beyond making sure they didn’t get murdered by their worst nightmares. Suddenly, a voice seemed the echo through the cavern, raw and rough but full of determination and confidence. “We need to get the parts to the pedestal. We need to use the rest of our energy to get these parts to the real world. Like the skeleton said...they need to be made real so that they can be destroyed.”

Make them real so they can be destroyed. Based on the nightmare-ish visions they were experiencing and the voice’s mentions of the ‘real world’, Nell could only guess as to why the parts had to be done away with. This was what needed to be done to bring back those that had fallen prey to whatever sleeping curse had taken White Crest as its prisoner. Those like...Bex? Iron determination was quick to find its way back into Nell’s gaze as she thought of her slumbering pupil, an innocent girl caught between things she didn’t yet understand along with the rest of the town. “Where’s the other fucking hand?” she hissed, intent on stabbing the thing herself if she could find it. She’d do whatever it took to ensure her town was happy, that her little witch was safe. But whatever antidote Cutler had worked seemed to be wearing off, the needle rattling from its resting place to rise once more while the other hand roamed free. “Find the damn hand!” Nell yelled as she dodged another stab of the needle, narrowly escaping impalement. 

Amidst the darkness scattered hundreds of spiders, all that seemed on a manhunt for Dakota. The beastly ones reared up on hind legs, towering over her, latching on to her fear of them as if they fed off of it, the smaller ones closing in while crimson red dripped from Cutler’s palm to the single hand below. Sacrifice. The word rang in her ears as she dodged the spiders, though the moment his blood dripped they held themselves at bay, a few vanishing into thin air. Just that the few drops weren’t enough, apparently, because as the needle trying to impale Nell began to bring itself to life once again, aiming straight for her. 

All she knew was that if they didn’t find the other hand, and quick, she’d run out of energy and succumb to being eaten alive by a bunch of snarling tarantulas and Nell would be given a hefty dose of dead, God only knowing what would happen to Cutler. Dakota, though still panicked by both the spiders she was frantically kicking away from herself, hoping against hope the giant ones, as well as the giant needle chasing Nell, would vanish the moment Cutler destroyed the hands. It was painfully clear, though, that they all only had one option: face their manifested fears. You can do this. They’re just spiders. It’s just a dream. 

The spiders continued to rear up on hind legs, Dakota continually dodging left and right in order to miss the others when she noticed something large and ghastly scurrying through once again. The same object she must have tripped on in the first place. The second hand.  Adrenaline flooded her veins, knowing damn well that if she didn’t make her next move and follow that hand, the risk of all three of them not making it out of the catacombs alive would be much higher than she cared to gamble for. They’re just spiders. It’s just a dream. 

Taking a few steps back, Dakota braced herself before sprinting forward, dropping her right knee just in time to slide across the floor, right between the legs of the beast before her, only to chase down the hand she’d spotted moments before. “There!” she tried desperately to communicate with the others as the swarm of spiders began their chase, the hand speeding between Cutler’s legs and hoping to retreat to safety. “Do something!”

Cutler wasn’t worried about the other hand. The moment that Nell had said the word sacrifice, he had understood that proximity wasn’t the issue. It was the sacrifice in the action. The final relinquishing of his surgical career in a single choice, offered up to the dark mirror of what were once his most valuable assets. He was surprised to find that he felt lighter knowing he would never again hold someone’s life in his hands. Dark life force seeped down the grooves in his skin, tiny rivers running back to the sea. At this rate, he may never hold anything at all.

The tendons in his hand jumped and rippled around the wound. He looked at it clinically, like the cutaway diagrams in his anatomy textbooks, bridging the gap between his limbs and what every person was underneath. Meat. Flesh. As corporeal and precariously mortal as any other animal. Bone, muscle, and tendon scraped together as he switched the knife to his still-bleeding hand. Strangely, he felt no pain. It was what allowed him to repeat the action once more, stabbing the blade into his uninjured palm. Another scream from below him: the second hand meeting its end.

At once, sights and sounds began to seep back into his peripheral. Yelling from his companions, impossible visuals bombarding him. The hands were gone, but this was far from over. “We have to move.” Ahead of them, he felt the pull of a greater force drawing them forward. He had just made the greatest sacrifice of his life, and it was only a taste of what was to come. An appetizer for the great, slavering hunger that was closing its’ jaws around them. “Now. We have to move, now. I’ll cover you. Run.” 

Dakota didn’t know Cutler. His aspirations, his dreams, his pain, his guilt – it was all lost on her, but it didn’t take much to realize that what he’d just done was the sacrifice of his life. She stopped running from the spiders long enough to look upon the scene in both awe and admiration. There wasn’t time to unpack that, though, because while the bloodthirsty needle had dissolved into thin air and the crawlers she’d been dodging had suddenly vanished, she felt the pull – a foreboding sense of ruin lying ahead. We have to move, now.

Only one word made sense to her: run. It was something she’d done her whole life – something she practiced often and knew all too intimately how to do. It was a knee-jerk reaction that came with a side of always having an escape route in her back pocket. Dakota was hesitant about a lot of things in life, but one thing she’d never think twice about was disappearing without a trace… Until now. Breaking into a sprint, she knew there were more things than just two hands to destroy, and the faster they could find them, the faster she could retreat back to safety, burrow herself back into her own little world where shit like this could only ever exist in horror films. 

Her gut was never to be trusted, but something told her to hang a left as she was running through the tunnels, splotches of red catching her eyes, beckoning her to follow. The sense that she was growing closer grew stronger, her heart pounding wildly in her chest, blood rushing in her ears. She could feel it like it was burning a hole straight through her, whatever this force wanted her to find just at her fingertips, so close she could almost taste it – a few more feet and… Dakota slowed to a stop, the splotches of blood she’d been following leading her to this: 

A still beating heart lying balefully at her feet. 

Nell couldn’t begin to guess at what exactly Cutler had given up. After all, she’d only met the man some twenty minutes ago. Nevertheless it was apparent that his sacrifice had been more than enough, the stabbing of his hands paying the debt that had been demanded. Once they were out of here, she’d ask to take a look at his hands. Healing wasn’t her forte, but she could do enough to at least stop the bleeding and make sure he didn’t keel over from blood loss. She would have taken a look at his injuries now if another organ hadn’t spawned in the midst of them, the thumping of the bloody organ louder than any tell-tale heartbeat the witch had heard before. It seemed to bounce off the walls of the catacombs, until it echoed in her ears, drowning out her own thoughts as she watched Dakota approach the heart. 

Nell took a confident step in the direction of the heart, only to be met with iron bars shooting up from the ground mere inches from her nose. The message was clear enough. This was Dakota’s sacrifice to make. “Looks like it’s your turn,” she said none too begrudgingly, knowing her time would most likely be coming sooner rather than later. “It’s your sacrifice to make now.” As soon as she’d said the words, the bars that had kept her from the heart began to move towards her, as if trying to pin her against the rock of the catacombs. Taking a stuttering step back, Nell tried to quell the anxiety that was pooling in her chest as imprisonment looked unavoidable. This was too much like the underground jail of the Ring, and the place she’d been trapped for an entire week, continuously drained of her magic and barely fed until she’d finally managed to break free. The only thing it was missing was… Before she could even finish the thought a familiar voice was worming its way into her ear, silky, smooth, and commanding as Jax’s silver tongue made its demands. “Fuck off,” she growled despite knowing the man was dead, rising dread making it difficult to remind herself of logic.

The wet pumping of the heart matched the rapid thrum of Cutler’s own in his ears. Thud-thud. Steel bars shot up between himself and Nell. Thud-thud. The sharp smell of hospital antiseptic at the back of his throat. Thud-thud. The cracking of whisky over ice. Thud-thud. The cavernous walls of the catacombs swam under half closed lids as his brows furrowed together. Thud-thud. Around his neck, the crinkly plastic collar of a surgery gown began to tighten. 

Drawstring dug into the jumping tendons leading to his collarbone as he scrabbled at his jugular with red-ringed fingernails. With each breath he took, the string tightened further. His lungs burned with the effort of pulling air into them; black constellations spotting across his vision. Desperately, he kicked forward. The rubber sole of his work boots connected hard with the bars in front of him, sending reverberating shockwaves up his knee. 

“It’s not real!” The words hissed through his bared teeth as he lifted a knee once more. “Close your eyes if you have to, Nell! None of it is real!” This time, he felt the bar give under his foot just a little. On the third kick it bent inward with a dull clang and he felt the pressure on his neck release all at once at the string snapped. Coughs ripped painfully through him as he leaned against the bars. He thrust an arm through the newly widened gap, blood-slicked hand reaching for the young woman inside. “See this? Flesh and blood.” His voice was smoky and hoarse. “I’m as real as it gets. Climb through.” 

Something was wrong. It had started small, a little irritation, a headache beginning to form just behind her eyes. But Kevin had not had a headache in over a thousand years. She had felt them before, the dreamers, poking and prodding and sticking their minds where they didn’t belong. At the moment, she had paid it little mind. There was a spell to weave and a town in desperate need of dreams. But those pesky dreamers kept poking and prodding, meddling and touching. They scraped inside her chest and dug about inside her mind and spread a dreadful itch down her arms. They meant to tear her apart. Still, there was only so much there could do. Then she felt it. White hot, burning through her hands. Her scream tore through the air, a thunderclap echoing. Even as her fingers cracked and shriveled, she sought the source. There. The catacombs.

Kevin appeared with a burning flash of light. The air around her sizzled, her eyes blazing as she searched for the meddlers. Ah. There. Her eyes burned as she lifted a broken, burnt hand. The fingers were charred, black like charcoal creeping up her arm. “You. You will stop. Dream now, and forever more.” Her hands may have been ruined, but some of her power remained. It took only a jerk of her head to throw Dakota against the wall, leaving her unconscious, dreaming sweetly on the floor. She turned slowly toward the other two. “And you. Unless you wish to join her, you will leave. You will go and forget all that has transpired. I will not tell you again.”

“I know- I know!” Nell gasped as the bars scraped against her ribs while she grabbed hold of Cutler’s wrist, trying to avoid the self-sustained injury of his hands while he helped pull her out of the metal maw of the jail cell. “Thank you,” she breathed in gratitude. But just because things weren’t real didn’t mean that they didn’t set her heart to pounding. Her brain knew that the voice of Jax tickling her mind couldn’t be possible, but the rest of her body didn’t seem to understand, responding with rampant fight or flight to the sound of a man who’d cause her and Remmy unmeasurable despair. Thankfully— she’d always been the one to choose to fight. And it seemed the world had answered that need with a clear target in the form of the woman who’d appeared before her and Cutler, sending Dakota flying. “Shit,” the witch cursed underneath her breath, hoping Dakota was alright but knowing this wasn’t the time to check on the woman. “You’re the one doing this?” Nell demanded angrily, it being less of a question and more of an enraged accusation. This was the bitch that was keeping Bex asleep- that was keeping all those other innocent citizens in a hopeless slumber. “Fat fucking chance,” was her only reply to the other woman before she began to charge, a knife appearing in her hand from its hiding place as she ran towards the one responsible for the sleeping town. “Cutler- get the heart, and I can keep her busy!”

Sand and grit stuck to his hands as he dropped to the ground, patting his way forward. Cutler had thought he had last seen the heart here, by their feet - by Dakota’s feet, actually - but his frame of reference was now lying unconscious across the cavern. Sweat pearled at the back of his neck as he moved forward, feeling the centuries of dirt rise, puff and cling to his forearms and legs. He had seen the flashing glint of a weapon in Nell’s white knuckle grip just before she had hurtled herself toward their now-revealed foe. She was risking everything. He couldn’t let her down. What he would give to have his glasses now. 

He closed his eyes, lashes light with settled dust. He heard his own heart first; thudding fast and irregular against his breastbone. Then, slowly, he heard the other. Calm and steady. Confidently marking the offbeat. Got you. His knees scraped stone as he moved toward the sound, growing steadily louder. Finally, he was on top of it. His stomach turned over as he felt the heat radiating off of the muscular, pumping organ in front of him. 

The meaty-red smell of blood washed over him as he pulled the sticky blade away from its multi-tooled brethren in his swiss army knife. It wavered in the air above the throbbing mass in his shaking hands. Last time, stabbing the hands hadn’t worked, but he was out of sacrifices. There was nothing else to give but a prayer. His lips moved, silently voicing the words in his own heart. 

“God, please let this work. I’ll do anything. No, I’ll do everything. No more taking things for granted. I want to live.” 

They were close, too close to ruining everything. Kevin could feel her head swimming. Her hands still burned. Even if she were to cut them away, the searing pain would remain. And now they were aiming for her heart. If she could simply bring into focus, drive them away, force them into sleep like all the others, it would be fine. She could start again, rebuild, put herself back together. But their meddling had already taken its toll. The world was slipping in and out around her, her vision blurring, thoughts slipping like water through her fingers. 

She turned toward Nell. The witch had to go. Her power was bright, intense. If she could be eliminated, the other one would be easy. Kevin moved in a blink, appearing inches from Nell’s nose. “What is your aim? Why do you fight? Rest. Don’t you want to? Your dreams are so dark, little witch. I can see them all, I can feel them. You’ve lost so much, haven’t you? Would it not be easier to slip into a dream? I could take it. Your pain. Let me take it all away. It would take only a moment. Your dreams would be peaceful, you could have all that you want. Let me set you free.”

Even without the power to drive her words, Kevin’s questions seemed to pull at a part of Nell that so desperately longed for rest. Her words were soft in the witch’s ear, speaking to a tender place in the brunette that was simply tired. Tired of losing family and friends. Tired of losing literal and figurative pieces of herself. Tired of living on edge, wondering where the next blade or punch or bite would come from at all hours of the day. If she let herself slip into the peaceful slumber that Kevin promised, it would all be over. Kevin was right. Nell was barely twenty-four and she couldn’t help but feel as if she’d lived multiple lifetimes since her return to White Crest a year or so ago. This town was draining her, sapping the energy from her limbs even as she stood here with her knife still poised- frozen somewhere between herself and Kevin. Just let it end. Let it be over. She was more shell than human these days between infiltrating a demon cult, dealing with the aftermath of her accidental demon-shark summoning, and Bex falling into a deep sleep. Bex. The girl’s face rose to meet the eye of Nell’s mind, sweet and peaceful as she lay trapped in Kevin’s dreamscape. Nell seemed to jolt awake as she thought of her student, another sacrifice that would be made if Nell let Kevin take her. It wasn’t a sacrifice that Nell was willing to make. 

The ever-present fire that seemed to live within Nell’s belly was quick to reignite as she reminded herself of all the harm had done- the lives she’d be taking if Nell let herself go. Kevin had moved unnaturally fast in her approach on Nell, but she could be quick too. Uttering a spell meant to grant her speed beneath her breath, Nell’s knife was quick to flash through the air, mindlessly aiming for where Kevin’s heart should beat. It wasn’t until the blade had buried itself deep into Kevin’s chest that Nell realized how futile the action was. She could see the heart underneath Cutler just a few paces away— see his own knife stabbing into it over and over again. There was nothing beneath Nell’s dagger to stab. “I won’t leave them behind.” Nell promised as she savagely dug the knife deeper, anger and bloodlust making the decision for her despite the knowledge that there was no point. She wanted to make it hurt, to make Kevin feel even a flicker of the pain she’d unleashed on the town. “I’ll never leave my friends behind. Or people that don’t deserve to die. So you can fuck right off, you piece of shit.”

The first hit slipped off of the tubular structure of the heart like squeaky wet rubber. It continued to beat, even as the sharp edge of the blade tore through tough ventricles and into the spongy tissue underneath. Cutler could taste the warm, coppery liquid that sprayed from it, only realizing after his third hit that his teeth had bit into the soft skin of his bottom lip. A shaky inhale whistled through his fast closing windpipe, hot tears building in the back of his throat. This had to work. There was nothing else. 

Several feet away, Nell spoke. Her voice was soft and level, but he heard it in his own ears as clear as day. Another scream rang through the cavern; this time from the heart as he drove the blade toward the ground once more. His eyes flicked upward just in time to see Nell’s mirroring action, digging the blade into the soft tissue of their tormentor. He didn’t feel the quick-coagulating drip of blood at the corner of his mouth or the spill of tears washing tracks down his cheek. 

“We’re almost done.” As soon as he said it, he knew it to be true. He coughed into the crook of his elbow, covering a throaty sniffle. The steel toe of his boot connected with the now-shrivelled remains of the heart at his feet. “This is it.” 

Pain. It was still so foreign, so wrong. Kevin had cast it off long ago, the parts of her that were able to hurt. Or so she had thought. They were supposed to be gone. She was beyond this, between petty human aches and blows. But Nell’s knife cut as deep as her words. Her heart wasn’t home, the bloody, pulsating piece trapped in Cutler’s grip. Still, blood flowed from the wound. It drifted up, out, around them as if they were underwater, the blood moving as though to attract circling sharks. Kevin found herself stunned. It had been so long. Large, salty tears rolled down her face as she grabbed Nell’s shoulders with her withered hands. “I could have given you all so much. I wanted to share my dreams with you. I could have brought you peace.”

Kevin staggered back, hands clutching at her empty, heaving chest. This world, this sad, wretched world. It was wrong. It was broken. Perhaps it had always been too much for her to fix. Not even her most wonderful dreams could have set it right. Her entire body began to shake as she sunk to her knees. The air around her swirled, heavy, charged, heated sparks flitting through the air. They burst, flickering, snapping, brighter and brighter as a low cry spilled from her lips. The sound grew, filling the catacombs. It echoed, louder and louder, the force of it pulling the wind, shaping the air itself. With a force strong enough to whip up rocks, to tear deep gouges into the earth beneath her, Kevin let out her final cry. 

The wind rushed and roared, buffeting the walls of the catacombs, flecking them with blood so dark it was nearly black. But it slowly began to fade. Rocks fell back to the floor as the dust settled and Kevin lay motionless amidst the rubble, her eyes shut, as if asleep in one final dream. 

Nell watched Kevin fall with not nearly as much satisfaction as she would have wanted. The mysterious woman was down, and seemingly it was going to be for the count as she didn’t stir. Nell turned at the sound of Cutler’s voice, eyes resting on the shriveled heart that lay at the man’s feet as she wondered what would be the last of the parts they needed to destroy. Hands, Heart, and...what? Rocks began to tumble, and Nell spoke another spell, her hand raising towards the ceiling as a shield began to form above herself and Cutler. Unfortunately, a lack of sleep had made her reaction times slower than usual, and a boulder the size of her head slipped through before the magical shield was fully in place. It struck her shoulder just perfectly, a loud crunch echoing through the cavern as the witch gasped in pain, instantly recognizing the sensation of something being dislocated. “Fuck,” Nell cursed, glancing back to Cutler to make sure he hadn’t been hit as well. The rocks tumbled harmlessly off an invisible dome stationed a few feet above his head, the magic doing its job well-enough. 

It seemed that even though Kevin was incapacitated, her magic had no intention of stopping. Perhaps it had gotten away from her, metastasized until it functioned under a mind of its own- continuing to bring the dream world into the reality of White Crest. Or maybe this was just the design of the spell, a fail-safe self destruct button that would keep going even after Kevin was unconscious on the floor. “Yeah- we gotta keep moving,” Nell grunted through gritted teeth, her arm hanging uselessly by her side. The time for fixing it would come later. She didn’t trust that the momentary rockslide hadn’t jeopardized the structural integrity of the catacombs. Who knew if the rest of the underground tunnels were just waiting to collapse? Glancing back at the body of Dakota, Nell flexed her magic once more until the woman’s form floated alongside the witch, trailing after her like some morbid and hovering duckling. Nell was past the point of wondering what Cutler would make of her abilities, knowing that could be dealt with when White Crest didn’t hang in the balance. She advanced to the next chamber, stopping short as she heard a familiar voice. “Are you sure you want to play this game little girl?” 

The stuttering step of her gait jerked her arm uncomfortably, but she barely noticed as fear-blown pupils began to comb every corner of the new room. “Did you hear that?” she asked Cutler, her voice barely above a whisper while she gripped her knife even tighter.

Cutler watched the rocks tumble around him, landing off of him in a perfect circle and leaving him unharmed. Nell’s movements made two things clear to her immediately. First, that the impossible protective forces around Dakota and himself were a result of her. Second, her shoulder was dislocated. It hung loose and dead by her side, swinging as she continued to move forward.

“I didn’t hear anything.” He turned professional, examining her for signs of delirium or head injury. All he saw in her face was pale, unfiltered fear. It made her look younger. No, it made her look her age. She was young. Too young for whatever this was. “I can fix that shoulder.” He stepped close, hand hovering above her arm, mouth running as a distraction. “If I wasn’t already losing my mind, I think tonight’ll do it. How do I explain this to people?” 

His injured hands settled on her arm. He could feel his own distress; texturally, his skin was torn and bleeding, but there was no pain. For him, that is. Nell was putting on a brave face, but even the small movements from the last chamber to this one must have been excruciating. “Alright. This is gonna hurt, but just for a second. Like ripping off a band-aid. Ready? I’m gonna go on three. One. Two-” His fingers tensed, and he shifted her arm in the socket to hit the right angle in one swift movement. A single push upward returned her arm to the correct orientation with a sickening pop. A mixture of pride and relief washed across his face as he stepped away. “Sorry, that was a dirty trick.” 

Cutler wanted nothing more than to stop. To sleep, or to wake from this nightmare. He could feel heavy fog clouding his brain, telling him to relax and recover. He blinked slowly, the dark seal of his eyelids warm and tempting, willing his breath to a relaxed rhythm. It was Nell who kept him from succumbing, piercing eyes and bright determination tearing through his supernatural lethargy. It was her sharp gaze that tapered the last of his focus into a coherent thought: I’m losing my mind. My mind. 

“It’s the brain.” 

A coiled pink organ was there, right in front of them. It always had been, only now visible by his verbal acknowledgement; like invisible ink under blacklight, revealed by exposure. 

“Let’s finish this.” 

Cutler’s confirmation that he hadn’t heard anything did little to quell Nell’s mind, certain she'd heard the words echoing through the cavern clear as day. “You’re sure?” The owner of the voice couldn’t be present. It was impossible. She’d seen the life bleed out of him with her own eyes as she gave him his penance along with her sisters. A more fearful voice in her own head reminded her that the dead didn’t always stay dead. Be had come back, hadn’t she? Who was to say that some other necromancer hadn’t found the hunter’s bones and raised him back to the living? Maybe he’d been bitten by the undead before his death, and the sisters simply hadn’t known. Her racing thoughts were brought to a halt as she felt Cutler grip her arm, just barely hearing his assurance that he could fix it.

“What? No- no, just leave it,” Nell began, having no reason to trust that the random man she’d met in the catacombs knew anything about popping a dislocated limb back into place. “Don’t count- I’ll just get someone to fix it once we’re out of-” Her words were cut off by a painful grunt as the arm was put back into its rightful socket, a wince flashing over her features as she once again thanked the fact that she was used to pain. Begrudgingly, she offered him a “Thank you,” while also deciding to ask him about his apparent first aid knowledge once they got out of this place.

Having lost his distracting question in her attempts to keep him from fixing her arm, Nell’s brows knit closer together as she found an answer. “Easy- you don’t tell anyone about it. Then there’s no explaining needed. Especially about anything you’ve seen me do,” she added with the smallest hint of a threat. After all, there was still a confirmed witch hunter in town. “Unless you ask me first,” the witch compromised. “And if you need any explanations for yourself...you can talk to me after all this is over.” Her focus shifted to the brain on the ground, kneeling before it as she took a closer look. No doubt it would fight back just as the hands and heart had. “Alright...the sacrifice-” Without further delay, she took a new, clean knife from another hiding place before drawing it carefully down the bottom of her forearm and letting the ruby red of her blood gather neatly. Blood was always the standard for payment in her practices, certainly it would serve her here as well? 

Nell held her arm above the brain as the blood began to fall, and the witch willed it to place itself neatly on top of the last organ they were meant to destroy. Tiny rivers of red began to flow, filling the rivlets of the trenches and dips of the fleshy pink thing until they pooled along the floor. “That should do it.” She raised her knife- poised to finish the job before thrusting it towards the brain. But at the last moment a hand gripped her wrist in a vice-like grip, the blade still dangling above the brain. “Cutler, what the fuck-” She looked up expecting to find the face of the doctor looking back at her, preventing her from finishing the job. Instead she found the grin of the man who tread her nightmares far too often, a ghost that wouldn’t let her be despite her constant attempts to shake him. Again his voice sounded through the catacombs, one that sent shivers up her spine as he echoed the words he’d spoken that day in the forest where her sister’s life had been taken. 

“Are you sure you want to play this game little girl?” Montgomery was here, and looking as real as the day he’d lopped Bea’s head from her shoulders. “Get the fuck out of my head,” Nell growled despite her shaking hand, heart beating a frantic rhythm in her chest as she looked upon the person who’d brought fear into her life. Nell had always been reckless, one who constantly jumped without looking to see where she might land. She still was to an extent. But Montgomery was the reason for her newfound caution, and the feeling that she constantly needed to look over her shoulder in case someone new was lurking around the corner with the desire to kill those she cared about. Growing up, she’d been the fearless little girl- the one who was never shaken no matter what it was she encountered. She’d carried that into her young adult life, the confidence of youth and the sense of indestructibility that came with it giving her the strength to never falter in the face of danger. But then had come a danger she couldn’t stop, couldn’t fight against as it claimed the life of the person who’d died to protect her. The life of her oldest sister.

Nell hated it. Hated that Montgomery had made her this way. Hated that he’d taken one of her strongest attributes and turned it against her, making her heart race whenever someone crossed the property line of her home uninvited. Hated that he’d made her weak. Hated that he made her afraid. But she’d been unwilling to admit it, believing that looking it in the face would give it power— and power was the last thing she would be willing to forfeit. Not when it had been so forcefully stolen from her via the man whose hand was still holding her wrist captive above the pulsing brain. “Just admit it,” his voice came again, though these were words she’d never heard him speak before. 

“I’m not doing anything you want,” Nell spat back, seeming to forget that this was all simply a figment of whatever magic Kevin had conjured. “I’ll kill you ten times over before I do anything for you.” She tried to pull her wrist away from the cold of Montgomery’s hand, nerves still making the tightness of her throat nearly unbearable as panic continued to rise. Not here. Not now. Please- not in front of Montgomery. If he saw her fear, he’d know she was weak, know the power he held over her. He’d know that she'd begun taking the stairs over elevators because it felt like the walls of them would close in on her ever since she’d been kept holed up as a prisoner by the Ring. He’d know she had to sleep in her greenhouse when Bea wasn’t home, unable to rest in a home that reminded her of the time her sister had died. He’d know that she spent far too long looking for the escape route of any room she found herself in— that she wasn’t strong enough to protect all the people she loved. 

Again his coarse voice made demands of her. “Admit it!” Nell’s head shook silently as her bottom lip began to tremble, thinking of all the people that would stay asleep and lose the rest of their lives because she couldn’t utter one little truth. “No,” she protested once again, the singular word weaker as a tear slipped down her cheek. “I don’t want to. I can’t.” Montgomery shrugged, looking down at her as if he already knew her secret, a wide smirk playing across his lips. “Then you know what the price is.” Nell stared at the brain, remembering her promise that she’d made not five minutes ago about leaving no one behind. About always helping those in need. Was she so selfish as to go back on her word this soon? But admitting it felt like giving up, letting Montgomery win a fight that had started months ago and managed to live past his own expiration date. And what else did she have left to cling to if she let this go?

For one last time, the murderer’s voice rang out. “I knew you couldn’t do it.” And he was right. Hadn’t Nell proven that by staying silent? The desire to fight rose in her ever so briefly, the need to prove him wrong finally giving the push she needed to admit the truth. “Fine!” she snarled, still hateful that she’d have to admit it in the first place. “Fine,” came her voice a little softer this time, her arm going limp in his wrist. Her last defense had tumbled, forcing her to lay a truth that she hadn’t even begun to admit to herself bare before the man who was the root of it. “I’m afraid.” The words were quiet as they could come, but as she released them her wrist was freed, the apparition of Montgomery disappearing before her eyes while her blade finally fell onto the brain, piercing it deep as she admitted to the prisoner she’d become when it came to fear and her own mind. 

Cutler watched the kinks of the brain slowly fill with red, tracking the infinite curls and dips. The only brain he had ever seen up close had been off colour and logged with preservatives; undeniably dead. This one was swollen with life, sinapses presumably still firing through it despite it’s disconnection, seemingly uninterrupted by the splashing of Nell’s blood onto the surface.

When Nell raised her arm to strike it, her aim was true and he was just as surprised as she when her hand stopped before delivering the final strike. He heard own name sprung from her lips, venom in her voice. 

“What? I’m sorry, I-” He was cut off by her next words, delivered in his direction but not to him. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused, clearly seeing someone else in his place. “Who’s in your head?” A million expressions flickered across her face. There was a battle going on behind her shaking lip and desperate protests. A battle for control of her mind, and one that she had to fight alone. When she finally voiced her fear, he recognized it for what it was: an offering. A display of strength, masquerading as an act of weakness. The effects were immediately palpable as the manufactured dreamscape around them dissipated. The rumbling of the cavern stopped and the fog in his mind began to clear. Every sensation returned tenfold. Sand, grit, and blood sealed the dry cracking edge of his lips. Sweat and cool humidity stuck his shirt to his back as he turned, looking for confirmation in Nell’s face. 

Then he felt the pain. It manifested itself as simple whiteness that blocked everything out, shielding him from the agony. His vision became a blazing void of nothingness, accompanied by a high whine in his ears. It was all he could do to remain standing in the face of his temporary blindness. When the cavern faded back, the pain was no longer blocked out, the muscles in his arms lit aflame by the wound in his palms. 

“I have to go. I have to get out of here.” He willed himself to take a step toward the doorway. “My hands.” The words sounded distant and strange, as if spoken by someone else with his voice. The early morning light haloed his heavy frame as he stood in the stone archway, looking up. They had walked through what felt like miles of hallways to get to the inner chambers and yet...he could feel fresh air from above ground and a misting of fresh dew on his cheek. It smelled like freedom. Like life. “You coming?” 

It was a long moment before Nell rose from her kneeling spot before the now shriveled brain, the previously pink tissue blacked and cracked. It was over. Finally it was done, and she knew as much when the air returned back to its normal density, the thickness of magic no longer pervading the stillness of the catacombs. Her gaze stayed on the broken brain for too many seconds, and somewhere an insidious thought began to form within her mind. Was this what her brain would look like one day? Rotted and burned out from one too many hits— turned into something she barely recognized? And then there was the revelation of her admission. She was afraid. Afraid because Montgomery, Jax, and countless others had shown her just how much she had to lose ever since the witch had returned to White Crest from a five-year travelling stint. It’d been easier when she was distanced from this place, friends and family out of mind’s eye and arm’s reach, their pain and suffering out of sight as well. Her shoulders remained weak while she stared into space, a few trailing tears still finishing their descent down her cheeks while she sat shell-shocked. Now what? What was she meant to do with this newfound fear? 

Again she thought of Kevin’s words, and the promise the mysterious woman had made to take all the pain away. To set her free. Would Kevin have taken the fear, too? It was too late to find the answer with no way of going back. Still— now that Nell knew the truth...how was she meant to live with it?

Nell’s reverie was broken by Cutler’s question, haunted eyes turning back to the man as she looked to his hands. She’d be able to see to them now- at least make sure that he didn’t lose any more blood than he already had due to the sizable injury. And Bex. Bex should be awake now, shouldn’t see? Nell wanted to be there when she woke up, or at least soon after. To tell Bex that she’d kept her promise. To prove that Nell had come back for her, and found a way to wake the girl from her neverending sleep. So despite the feeling of hollowness in her gut, and the dread forming in her chest she rose slowly from her knees, wiping them with tired and still shaking hands. The world was waiting for them out there, whether they were ready for it or not. It would be changed, the victims of sleep and nightmares unable to go back from what they’d seen and felt. Or perhaps it was simply the victims who would be different, and in turn they would change the world to fit their new selves. Cutler and Nell were different, too. That much was obvious as they made their way towards the rising sun, eyes blinking in the harshness of a new morning and new reality. They’d be left to find their own new way in the world, just as the sleepers would as well. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming.” Whether or not they’d be successful at such a feat was unknowable as they left the catacombs behind, but at least they wouldn’t be the only ones opening their eyes anew to the day’s dawn. 

#wickedswriting #sibling death tw #torture tw #self harm tw #self-harm tw #ch:Cutler #ch:Dakota #chatzy

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part Three

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Good morning, good evening! I hope you're all doing well. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi

Part One

Part Two

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of gore and allusions to previous abuse. Stay safe!]

Bakhroma loomed massive and pinkish-tan on the horizon ahead as you bent double, hands on your knees while you struggled for breath. No doubt you had pushed your filter carbon far past its limits with your headlong sprint heats through the Green. A quick look confirmed your suspicions; the indicator blinked sluggishly at the bottom of the red lines.

You bit your lip, barely reining in the panic threatening to engulf you yet again. You had no idea where you were. Damon was the one with the map, and Ezra...he was the only person alive who might be able to help you. Your heart dropped as you realized that all your running had really done was prolong the inevitable. 

You sank to the ground, staring up at the planet that dominated most of the sky in front of you. The hazy atmosphere around it was bright orange, fading into the navy blue of the cosmos backdrop. Checking your watch, you saw that the first cycle had kicked into the second several hours ago, though the light level didn't seem to have changed at all. The cloying, overbearing vegetation around you abruptly made sense. This moon was not only humid, it was also bathed in light for much longer than the standard twenty-four cycle. 

Moving robotically as your legs began to protest, you lumbered stiffly back to the treeline to suss out the spring you had passed by. You would need water. Even if you weren't in the right headspace to be thirsty, dehydration was not something to sneeze at.

You knelt in the mud alongside the spring, the coolness welcome on your overworked knees even through your suit. Pumping and purifying water always took longer than it ought to, and you found yourself staring blankly off into the distance as you filled your first jug.

You were working on the second when your helmet earpiece suddenly crackled to life with a shrill whine of static. 

"-llo...hello to the Green."

Ezra?

You swiveled your head wildly to look around and the static increased with the motion, making you slow to a stop. It was a stationary transmission, then. Your helmet must be picking up a long range somewhere nearby.

You rose to your feet while rushing to stow the jugs of filtered water in your day pack, tilting your head and mentally begging Ezra to keep talking. He did not disappoint, his drawling voice and the bursts of intermittent static your compass through the tangled overgrowth.

"...one or two pearls...that I will be willing to part with for well under the peakest commercial rates. Nothin' funny." 

It sounded like he hadn't managed to get what he needed to fix the drop pod. Your eyes burned with tears. 

"Just a desperate man tryin' to make a bad deal with the right holdout."

Brick red flickered through the Green's lush verdancy and you realized after a moment that it was canvas. A tent solidified out of the thick brush as you advanced, the roof coated in a generous layer of amber-yellow dust. 

"...anyone is out there...don't hesitate to click on." The signal was nearly free of static at this point. This tent was the obvious origin of the broadcast. But now the question was...whether that message was prerecorded or not. 

You hid beside a large, gnarled tree and pondered your next move. Sure, you had the pistol. If it did you any good was an entirely different animal, but you definitely had it. 

It felt sturdy in your hand compared to the flimsy Boscelot thrower rifle. Solid. 

Maybe...maybe you could reason with Ezra at gunpoint. Strike some kind of new bargain. You had nothing to put on the table this time, however. Everything had been in that pack, and you highly doubted the other prospector was interested in your sketchbooks. It would have to be at gunpoint. He had the resources, but you had the gun. 

Just like Damon. 

You hated yourself in that moment, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. Then, you darted across the space to the tent, ears straining to catch any noise from inside the structure. You couldn't hear much through your helmet to begin with.

After a quick prayer, you unzipped the tent and cautiously ducked your head to enter, leading with the thrower pistol clutched in your hands.

Someone seized your arm like a steel trap and you were ripped through the doorway, the pistol getting knocked out of your grasp in the process. Your plan effectively destroyed, you succumbed to panic, thrashing and attempting to claw at your assailant even with your gloves on. You twisted your head around to try and catch a glimpse--

And those bloodshot blue eyes seemed to loom up at you from the dimly-lit interior, making you scream out in terror, "No, no, Damon please!" as you struggled to get free. 

He all but wrestled you bodily into one of the tent bunks, grunting in pain when you beat your gloved fists into his ribs. You weren't sure if it was just because of the adrenaline or if it was due to how long you had been separated from him, but you had never fought him this hard in your life! You had always just accepted, given in, bowed to his demands. Where had this tenacity even come from?

"Not again, not again!" You sobbed, futilely kicking your legs to try and throw him off of you. "P-Please, please, please--!"

"Gentle soul, if you do not cease tenderizin' my ribcage in this most belligerent and unneighborly manner," a familiar drawl met your ears through your thick helmet, "I will have no resource but to employ far more drastically militant tactics. Be still."

That voice! You froze, your hands still bunched up to tear at the fabric of his exosuit. Ezra. 

His large form seemed to solidify in the exceedingly-dreary tent lighting now that you weren't fighting for your life, and you realized with a rush of embarrassment that it hadn't been Damon's eyes you saw, but the distorted reflection of the whites of your own in your helmet's dome. That, coupled with your imagination...

Damon was dead. How could you have forgotten? Damon was dead. It was just Ezra.

Does that make it any better?

You released him without a word, scrambling back as far as you could and drawing your knees to your chest in a defensive stance. Ezra stumbled upright, reaching overhead with his left hand to press a few buttons. The tent's air scrubber rattled sluggishly to life. "You can take off the helmet." He muttered.

You did so almost immediately, taking a greedy inhale of the dubiously-clean oxygen. A bit bar hit the threadbare bunk webbing by your feet and you ripped the colorful wrapper open, tearing chunks out of the crunchy substance with your teeth. As you devoured the bar ravenously, you realized that Ezra was utterly silent. 

You dared to flick your eyes up and found him studying you, his expression pensive in the sickly orange twilight of the tent. You gulped down the bite of Calori-paste that now threatened to choke you. "I...I'm sorry." You apologized thickly. "I shouldn't have-"

"Be quiet and finish the bar, gentle soul." Ezra instructed softly. He sounded unsettled, of all things. Like he expected you to turn on him any second. "I believe I have unfortunately deduced the answer to the mystery I had pondered earlier, though I wholeheartedly regret opening that proverbial Pandora's box." He shook his head.

The Calori-paste sat in your stomach like a block of lead. You struggled through the last few bites, washing them down with swigs of plasticky water from your canteen. You held out the other bottle that you had filtered as a sort of silent peace offering and Ezra accepted it without hesitation, the older man proceeding to gulp half the bottle in one go.

"I know you may not be overly inclined towards listenin' to me at the moment," he gasped out, wiping the moisture off his mustache. "But I'm afraid my situation has grown even more dire than previously implied." He raised his eyes to meet your own. "I...I need your help." He confessed.

You took another drink of water to give you the time to collect your thoughts. You were certain your disbelief was plain on your face; you had never been gifted in the art of hiding your turns of expression.

Ezra snorted, lowering his body to sit on the far end of the bunk. "The Saders were not exceptionally keen on barterin' with me once you made your timely departure." He held his arm, wincing and no longer looking at you. "I managed to convince them to swap me some of their ambrosia for supplies, instead of-" He halted, his shoulders going rigid before he carefully continued, "I cannot excise the infection without assistance, and if I do not remove it with an exceedingly low degree of error, I will lose the whole arm."

You swallowed hard, clenching your fist so tight that the handle on the water jug creaked as you asked, "Were you going to give me to them?" 

You knew that all Ezra had to do was say exactly what you wanted to hear. But you could live with the prettier lie if it got you off the Green. You could pretend to trust, pantomime the partnership.

His eyebrows drew together in a dark frown and you watched his jaw work sporadically before he finally exhaled a singular, monosyllabic, "no."

You waited for the rest of the sentence, the emphatic declarations of I would never! or what kind of man do you take me for?, but he remained silent, staring at the tent floor. Weirdly, the lack of long-winded antics made his answer feel more honest somehow. He was obviously a gifted liar, tailoring his technique to his target. 

You sighed heavily through your nose. "Okay." 

You told yourself that the bewildered gratitude in his eyes must have also been part of his ability to tell falsehoods.

Ezra prepared the sparse surgical supplies from your kit with a somber, almost funereal air. He seemed to be already convinced that his arm was a total loss. Maybe he knew better than to put much stock in the abilities of a battered floater. 

You were seized with the uncanny urge to prove him wrong. Your need for validation was what had landed you in this mess with Damon all those stands ago, you reminded yourself, but you couldn't shake the habit so easily. "Did I hurt you? When I...when I hit you?" You asked before you could think better of it. 

"No more than the average lighthearted dig dust-up would, gentle soul. Do not trouble yourself on my behalf." Ezra replied dully. "I offer my most sincere reparations for givin' you a fright."

"I spooked myself. I...I saw the reflection of my own eyes in my helmet and I thought…" you trailed off, nervously sipping your water.

"That man, Damon." Ezra hesitated, struggling to secure the band around his upper arm. "I know it is rude to ask after personal affairs, but did he-"

"Don't." You said softly. 

To his credit Ezra stopped immediately, busying himself with the tourniquet. After he had completed that arduous task, he bit the cap off of one of the porta-surge syrettes, spitting it out to land neatly in the lid of the field kit. He jabbed the needle home in his shoulder with a poorly-muffled gasp of pain, nearly crushing the tube with the force of his motion before dropping that into the kit lid as well. "The lid is for sharps." He informed you. "We lack a tray or a proper sterile environment, so keep your hands clear."

"I'll cap that once I get gloved up." You assured him. "I'm not leaving a sharp in the field kit. Knowing me, I'd forget it was in there and wind up accidentally pricking myself or something." 

Ezra nodded, swallowing convulsively. You took the Ralon scalpel from his slightly-shaky hand. "You ever used one of these?" He asked, his voice gone a bit reedy. His breathing in general seemed poor, off-tempo. He was afraid. The knowledge that he was just as scared as you were made you feel more sure of yourself, for good or ill. 

You shook your head in reply to his question, explaining, "I've never used this model before. The one I have for harvesting is much older."

Ezra reached over, flashing you a disingenuous smile. "It's easy." 

He pressed down on the side of the scalpel battery pack, activating the laser blade. The whole handle buzzed in your grip, feeling uncannily like your handheld stitcher.

"There's five levels of intensity. Use two for flesh. Four for bone." Bone?! You jerked your head up, meeting his terrified gaze. "You got it?" He choked out after a second.

You nodded stiffly. If he wanted you to know the bone setting, then by Kevva, you would.

His eyes softened and for a split-second he looked like he might cry. "Thank you." He rasped, blinking rapidly and then glancing away. 

You rummaged around in the porta-surge for the tiny, standard-issue penlight, immensely thankful that the battery still had enough power to work. The tent was poorly illuminated, outside light barely able to filter through the thick material. "Will this...when I start, is it going to hurt you?" The sterile glove packet made an ungodly amount of noise, crinkling and crackling in your hands as you fought to tear the seal.

Ezra scoffed, demonstrating the sensation that his right arm currently possessed by slapping his limp hand a few times. "I won't feel a thing. Hack away." His breathing was still too fast even as he continued to prattle, "quick, confident strokes are best. Try to go full circuit on the first cut."

You nodded again, one-handedly scooping the syrette and pushing it against the side of the lid to shove the cap back on. Then, you disposed  of it in the trash bag by the door. Holding the penlight between your teeth, you smoothed your gloved hand down his arm to pin it securely in place. You were really going to do this. Well, if he wasn't able to feel it...

You had peeled multitudes of aurelac gems in your mining career. You were exceptionally delicate when it came to skinning the pearls. You couldn't recall the last time you had punctured one of the blisters and ruined a pull. Surely...surely this wouldn't be much different. 

"I've never had to use these syrettes before. Kinda' nice. Tingly." Ezra commented as the scalpel buzzed to life. "Almost like it's…" With something that might have resembled quick confidence, you began your excision. The laser blade whirred through his epidermis with enviable ease, smoking slightly. "Oh shit. Oh shit." The older man muttered over your head, his whole body gone tense.

"What?" You asked around the penlight. Ezra started panting, his chest heaving violently underneath his threadbare waffle thermal layer. "Does it hurt?"

"No. N...h--I-I don't know. Keep goin'." He stammered. "You're doin' great, k-keep goin' until you think you've got it all." His left hand was clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone nearly stark white beneath the layers of ground-in dirt. "Once y...once you finish, dump the juice into the wound and th-then cream it a-all sh-iiit, shut, shut." He continued to instruct you through gritted teeth. 

You nodded, wholly focused on your task. At least it wasn't difficult to spot where the infection had reached. It turned the tissue and muscle it consumed to a sinister purple-black. You tried to keep your brain separated from the fact that this was a human arm you were methodically carving a chunk out of, a human arm attached to a living person who, despite his incredibly convincing big talk, could definitely feel what you were doing. You deliberately narrowed everything down to being as rapid and thorough as possible, like when you had to harvest in a poor environment. Every extra second you spent was a precious resource you could ill-afford to waste, literally. Thank stars that he had the tourniquet wrapped so tightly, even if the blade did it's damnedest to cauterize as you cut.

Once you were as certain as you could conceivably be that you had removed all the infected matter from the wound, you sloshed some of the Sader's juice from Ezra's canteen onto the exposed area. It hissed and steamed like boiling water and Ezra buried his face in the crook of his left elbow, biting down on his sleeve and screaming into the fabric. 

Your hands finally started to tremble as you loaded the patch gun and listened to him dry heave, but you doggedly kept at it. Just a little more to go. It felt like it took an eternity for the stupid cream to expand. The reload was probably years past its expiration date. 

And then it was over. 

You carefully gathered up the grotesque little pieces of your handiwork that had fallen on the floor, balling everything into your fist. The gloves squeaked wetly when you stripped them, turning them inside out as you did to keep the blood and organic matter contained. They dropped into the waste bag by the door, plopping sadly down next to the spent syrette on a bed of bit bar wrappers. 

You shakily switched off your penlight and took a step back, reaching for one of the tiny antiseptic wipe packets. Despite your best efforts, the skin of your wrists was spattered here and there with blood. You scrubbed at the rusty fluid silently. 

Ezra's whole body was shuddering with every groaning retch, saliva hanging in thick strands from the bottom of his slack mouth as he rocked his way through the pain and clearly fought down the urge to vomit. Moved by the admittedly-pitiful sight, you tugged loose your bandanna and wiped off his chin. "It's done." You informed him softly.

He caught your wrist before you could pull away and you were shocked when he pressed a sloppy kiss to your knuckles. "You are Kevva-sent, gentle soul, never let anyone t-tell you otherwise." He grated, "Divinity incarnate; a damn valkyrie in floater's clothing, decidin' my fate on the battlefield."

You squinted at him, down at the grisly mass of expanded foam and then back at his face. "I don't know if I would count this as a battlefield, Ezra." 

"Martyr's malfeasance," he swore, his voice cracking, "you can attempt to dismiss it but I will never forget this kindness, gentle soul. Not even in the next life." 

"Don't...look, let's just hope I did everything right." The insanity of the task you had just performed struck you anew and hysteria bloomed in your chest. At the same time, his heartfelt proclamations of gratitude settled low in your belly, a flickering flame of pride that you wanted to shelter and nurture. You sat down hard on the bunk, pulling your knees up again. The still-smoking scalpel gleamed at you in the dim light of the tent. "I'm probably gonna' be sick." You warned him faintly.

"You are far from alone in that camp, gentle soul." Ezra replied dolefully. "We'll be spewin' in the same trough shortly, I imagine. I have always been a man...afflicted by the trials of sympathetic vomiting." 

"Oh no!" You found yourself caught between laughing and gagging, settling for a retching little snicker. "Come on, don't say stuff like that, you're gonna' make me hurl."

After several queasy moments had passed, he spoke up again, "I know you are just as eager as I to continue on to that mercenary camp, but I must insist on a short reprieve. A burge...burgeoning cloud of exhaustion is relieving me of what little sensibility I possess." He tucked his wounded arm against his chest as he curled up in his bunk. "And I will need time for the syrette to wear off, lest I be rendered an incompetent, staggering buffoon."

"We have to go to them, don't we?" Your voice was tiny.

Ezra sighed. "It would appear so. We will have to throw ourselves upon their proverbial mercies and hope that they are willing to acquiesce in exchange for our harvestin'." He cocked his head to look at you curiously. "Do you actually believe that it's the Queen's Lair they've stumbled upon entirely by chance?"

"Does it matter?" You asked. "Damon thought it was legitimate enough to throw the both of us across the universe in a trashy rental pod. I would say that must count for something, but…" You shrugged, propping yourself up against the end of the bunk.

"I understand. Still though, we will need rest if we are to successfully tackle this conundrum." He drowsily watched you as you dug around in your suit pockets to locate your sketchbook. The current iteration was a beaten memo pad from the pod rental company, each page stamped with the letterhead of Dasha Landcraft Rental. 

This was a familiar ritual to you. Turning your brain off whenever you needed to rest was a difficult thing to manage. In your mid-teens you had begun sketching before lights out and found that for some reason, the activity emptied your thoughts enough to allow you to sleep much easier than you had ever managed without it.

You unwound the twine that kept the pages closed and flipped to a fresh one. Trying to recreate the scenery you had witnessed earlier, sketching Bakhroma hovering imposing on the Green's horizon. 

"An artist, now that I did not anticipate." Ezra commented. You flinched, realizing how close he had leaned in to watch you. "What else have you drawn, gentle soul? Might I peruse your work?" He requested, his hand extended.

"I'm not--!" You floundered, tilting away and clutching the pad protectively to your chest. "I-I'm not...I'm not an artist. I just…I can't sleep without um, doing. Something like this." You tapped the notepad nervously. "It helps me relax." 

Drawing is a waste of time, you should be spending that time cultivating skills relevant to your field.

"No harm in that." Ezra replied agreeably, his words striking a sharp contrast against the echoes of Damon's belittling in your head. His hand remained outstretched, patiently waiting. 

You let out your breath slowly, rooting around in your hip pocket for the previous pad you had filled. That one you had pilfered from the Jata Bhalu processing facility, it had an actual hard cover and a loop for a writing implement. You tugged it free and hesitantly passed it to him, stammering once again that you weren't an artist, this was just something you did.

Ezra was devastatingly silent as he leafed through your tiny sketchbook. For someone that you had come to expect to talk, the stillness that permeated the tent made you unnaturally fearful. Your fingernails dug into your memo pad. What if...what if he was judging you? Some of the sketches were tired and messy, some of them smudged from your environment. Tea and coffee and tears blotted the pages. What if he didn't like them?

This was why you didn't show anyone your drawings, you-

"Have you ever considered acquirin' one of the draw-pads? I am no artist myself, but I know that the digital method saves precious space in pods." Ezra suggested. "And a single rainy day could ruins months of this hard work you have stockpiled."

"I...I want one, of course. It's just...they're so expensive and I could never justify it." You murmured, a little sad as you thought back to standing outside the pawn shop of the last freighter and gazing down at the battered box in the window. Out of date models alone were well removed from your price range. You could only imagine how much a brand new one would set you back.

"Puggart Bench West! I'd recognize that dock anywhere." Ezra exclaimed suddenly, wiping his hand off on his leg before he tapped on the page. "West dock is a real hive, isn't it?"

"Oh, y-yeah." You stuttered. 

"And this one...a deep space miner? Thing looks at least Fringe kestron grade." Ezra continued, squinting. "Not quite Testin, but it'll do in a pinch. I had a few stands on one of those. Food was shit."

"That was...um, it was just a ship that went by the transport freighter that I was on. Out in the Fringe." You shrugged, grimacing. "I didn't know what kind it was." You reached over with your pencil. "How do you spell 'kestron'?"

"K-e-s," Ezra paused, his brow furrowing, "t-r-o-n. If I'm not mistaken. Hell, it might be t-r-e-n." He admitted. "I'm uncertain, gentle soul. It has been so many stands since I've...since I've seen…" he yawned widely, then set off on another tangent. "In the Pug, there was this...vendor, you follow me, in this mercado." He rolled the 'r' in the unfamiliar word, like he was luxuriating in being able to say it. "They had--shit, it was some sort of...treat, the name is eludin' me. Drizzled honey, cinnamon, that fancy sugar dustin'…"

"Little pillowy things?" You supplied. "When the place made them fresh you could smell them all the way down the block?"

"Kevva, yes, now you got my stomach beggin'." Ezra groaned. "What were they called though?"

"It started with an 's', so...pa-"

"Sopaipillas!" He erupted, his eyes lighting up. "I swear, gentle soul, my heart just skipped a beat." He chuckled dreamily, "As much as I bemoaned the drudgery of it when I was there, I'd love to be back on the Pug right about now. Bench was a eternal shit hole, but at least I could breathe." He lolled his head to the side, looking at you once more. "When you and I escape this Green hell, I insist that you give me the pleasure of your gracious company on an expedition to that hallowed mercado." The older man slurred, his eyes sliding closed. "We will devour countless treats in safety and stroll the docks. A heavenly concept, you must admit."

"That does sound nice." You replied wistfully.

"It is settled, then." He held out his left hand to shake yours and you obliged, feeling childishly hopeful about the whole thing. "Now, set the alarm on that platinum chronometer of yours. Maybe...four hours or so? Kevva knows I'd love longer, but if we hope to arrive with adequate harvest time, we'll need to manage ourselves with caution." Ezra squeezed your hand, his smile weary. "Rest well, gentle soul."

Part Four

#ezra (prospect 2018) #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra x reader #ezra prospect imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #slow burn #eventual romance #prospect 2018 #prospect film #prospect fanfiction #I love one man #also take care of your sharps ffs #canon-typical violence

[ladydaedra]

Scouting the Camp

Part: 11/?

Pairings: Ulfric x Dragonborn; Brynjolf x OC; Cicero x OC; Ondolemar x OC

Warnings: Descriptions of violence and gore: Skyrim takes on a bit of 'Game of Thrones' feeling; may contain controversial themes.

Wordcount:

~~~~~

"It's night, I say we wing it," Xaliyah argues from their spot on the hill above the Thalmor camp between Morthal and Solitude. They have set up camp and have been scouting the camp for two days now. 'just to make sure' is Taliyah's excuse for constantly scouting the camp, "I work best under the cover of shadows anyways,"

"We don't yet have the guard's shifts down and where they patrol," Tal explains, not looking up from the journal she brought to keep track of said things, the light of the fire flickering across her features, "and I am not going to have Ayla kill me when I tell her that you died trying to steal important information from a camp filled with Thalmor," she adds, looking up to give the thief a pointed look, telling her to not continue that train of thought.

Xaliyah sighs, falling back on to the ground, "I thought this was going to be a week-long thing," she admits and Taliyah chuckles.

"Miss him already, do ya?" the brunette asks and Xaliyah turns her head to the side to give the assassin a confused look. It has only been a few days since the kiss she shared with Brynjolf and that is all she can think about. Mainly because there is nothing to do but scout the Thalmor camp.

"That female wizard has returned to the main entrance while the male guard that was there goes to the back entrance," Taliyah points out before jotting it down in the journal, "it seems that during the nights there are only three guards posted. One at the main entrance, one at the back, and one in front of the tent that the leader sleeps,"

Xaliyah sighs from her spot on the ground, "so going at night is easier," she says before sitting up, "got it. I'll be back soon,"

"I know you're excited to steal something, but we don't know exactly where this information is or what it is exactly," the assassin says before Xaliyah can stand, "we cannot risk being reckless right now, you know that more than I do. You are the leader of the Thieve's Guild and they need you and you're the one going into danger. We need to do everything perfectly,"

Xaliyah grits her teeth before standing up, "I'm getting some sleep," she says before Tal can accuse her of disobeying her and going to the Thalmor camp, "seeing as all you want to do is check out Thalmor soldiers,"

Xaliyah smiles as she enters her tent, hearing Tal mumbling to herself, "I am not checking them out," she hears Tal mutter loudly as she climbs into bed.

~

"So I go in through here and leave the back way while the guards are switching posts?" Xaliyah asks Tal a few days later. It is midday and the group hasn't left their little campsite since they arrived. Too busy forming a perfect plan for Xaliyah to sneak in and out undetected.

"Yes and no," Tal explains, shaking her head, "the assassins surrounding the camp will lure each guard out one by one. There they will kill the guards and leave the camp defenseless. That is when you move in and steal any valuable information you can find,"

Xaliyah stares at the map of the Thalmor camp Tal drew in the dirt. It was a good plan and Xaliyah is glad she listened to Tal and waited for the assassins to show up from Dawnstar. There were five in total. A Redguard who calls himself Nazir and Tal's second, a little girl that is a vampire, as well as three recruits.

"When do we do this?"

"Tonight if you think you're ready for it," Tal replies, smiling at the thief's reaction. Even though she tries not to show it, the group knows that Xaliyah is excited to be done with this and return back to the base where Brynjolf is. Tal can only hope that the thought of returning to him doesn't cloud the thief's mind.

"But keep in mind that you will be alone in there," Tal adds and Xaliyah nods, "you may have to kill someone should they catch you,"

Everyone knows that the Guild tends to not kill their targets, regardless if they're caught. But Xaliyah has killed people before. This war was an example, but so was Mercer Frey. She flinches inwardly when she thinks of that weasel. How he separated her from Brynjolf and Karliah so long ago in that cave. How Brynjolf slipped from the ledge he and Karliah were on and how Frey focused on killing Brynjolf instead of her. The anger in Xaliyah at seeing the redhead targeted in such a vicious way.

"I can do it," she assures the assassin, who nods in response, "and I can do it tonight," that is when Tal decides to slow things down.

"Xaliyah, if you're trying to rush this to return to Brynjolf-"

Xaliyah shakes her head instantly, "it isn't, I promise, Tal," she explains quickly, "I want to get back so we can help with the war at the base. Who knows what has happened in our absence. The sooner we get this done, the better,"

~

Xaliyah crouches in a bush, looking at the camp, her eyes trained on the guard standing in front of the entrance. It is night and she is waiting for the assassin nearby to lure the Thalmor soldier into the woods. She glances up at the cliff above her where their camp is before she turns back to the Thalmor camp.

A stone hitting wood fills the area and this catches all three guard's attention. Xaliyah lowers her head when the targetted guard walks into the woods, sword drawn as he scans the area. He walks past her and she can soon hear a neck snap followed by a thud. Guard one has been taken care of.

She doesn't leave her bush until an arrow lands in front of her. The other two guards were disposed of. Game time. Taliyah walks towards the camp in a crouch, hood over her head. The fire has died down immensely and she can hear the shuffle of Thalmor soldiers in the two nearby camps.

It doesn't take Xaliyah long to find the main tent, which houses a tent with a table inside. A map sits on the table and there are red and blue flags on it. They've been following both sides of the war. She assumes that the Thalmor in this camp were assigned here to make sure if the Stormcloaks capture this hold or not and then report it to the Embassy.

Dirty bastards, Xaliyah thinks as she picks the lock of the chest nearby. She does so the first time and slowly lifts the lid. She pauses in her spot. There were so many documents in this chest. How could she possibly carry them all? She pulls out her sack and begins to stuff as many as she can in there until it was full. Shit.

Thank goodness there was another sack nearby. So now, she is emptying the chest of its contents before an arrow lands on the post of the tent she is in. She freezes. That means there is movement from the other Thalmor. She quickly grabs the last two documents before slowly closing the lid and hurrying out of the tent and into the darkness.

"Hey, who are you and state your business!" the Thalmor snaps when she steps right in front of him. She blanks, eyes wide. There was no lie she can come up with to explain why she is carrying two documents that obviously came from the camp.

"I...uh..." she stutters as the soldier draws his blade. Some thief she is. But before the Thalmor can swing, he falls to the ground, dead. Behind him stands a Redguard man, a bloody dagger in his hand. He smiles down at her and extends his hand.

Xaliyah hesitantly takes it and he pulls her up onto her feet, "you need to be more careful," he states as they begin walking back to camp, hidden by the dark forest, "if I hadn't been there, the mission would have failed and we would be hauling your body back to Ayla's base,"

Xaliyah looks at the man, brows furrowed, "you know Ayla?" she asks and the man chuckles a low chuckle.

"Everyone knows the Dragonborn," he replies as they near the camp, "I met her through Taliyah. The Dragonborn helped us with taking on a few contracts herself. If I had it my way, she would be in the Brotherhood, not leading a rebellion,"

"Thank goodness you're okay," Tal says as she rushes forward and hugs Xaliyah before stepping back and examining the Nord female, "and good, you got the important stuff. Which is a lot," she adds as she helps Xaliyah take the bags off and carries them into her personal tent.

"Thank you, Nazir," Tal says upon returning to the group, "I do believe the Guild owes us a debt since you just saved its leader," she says with a smug smile at Xaliyah, who rolls her eyes at the comment.

Nazir chuckles again and Xaliyah watches as Tal goes a bit stiff at the sound, "you asked me for my help with this mission and I was honored to, Listener," he says with a small bow, "I believe I will soon be discussing my payment with Delvin in the near future," he adds before walking off, "give me the word when you're ready to move out,"

Xaliyah waits until the Redguard is out of sight before smiling at a flushed Tal, "you like him," Xaliyah gushes, enjoying the fact that she can now tease the assassin on her love life. Tal glares at the thief and sighs.

"Do not," she says as she walks back to the camp and begins packing things up, "and besides, I am his boss and he is my second. It would be wrong to commit to such a relationship," she explains with a smug smile at an annoyed Xaliyah.

"Say what you want, but I saw how you reacted around him," Xaliyah replies as she begins helping Tal, "why are we packing up? Why not wait until morning?"

"And give the Thalmor below a chance to find us when they're searching for their missing soldiers? No thank you," Tal says as she begins tying one of the two tents to the back of her painted mare, "if we leave now, under the cover of darkness, we should be halfway to the base when they wake,"

Xaliyah doesn't reply, instead, she focuses on tying the two sacks to Caper's saddle before climbing onto it. She waits for Tal and the two trot out of the forest and onto the main road, where four assassins join them. Xaliyah glances at the newcomers and recognizes Cicero humming to himself and Nazir, who looks ahead of him with a neutral expression on his face. Beside him is a little girl who looks like she should not be an assassin and behind her is a blond Nord.

Xaliyah returns her gaze ahead of her and smiles at the thought of returning to the base and to Brynjolf.

#Skyrim #Skyrim fanfiction #Dragonborn #Dovahkiin #Ulfric Stormcloak #Brynjolf #Cicero #Ulfric x Dragonborn #Brynjolf x OC #Cicero x Listener #Fanfic #Stin

[buffyversefanfiction]

Slayer of Slayers

Warnings:I do not own, nor do I claim to own any of the copyright or characters within the Buffyverse which includes but not limited to the television shows Buffy and Angel, as well as the Darkhorse comics series’ continuation.

15+ Strong to moderate violence, Graphic to mild descriptions of gore, and torture, sexually charged scenes, sexual innuendos, mild to strong language, and practices of witchcraft.

M/M, F/F, M/F, GEN, OTHER +

PART SEVEN LINK HERE

Part Eight - Vampire Island

Theo Frey’s life had well and truly been a series of impossible events, his birth being miraculous conception between slayer and vampire, one of whom should never be able to produce any form of life, his birth then followed by being abandoned in the past and forced to grow up in the past, only to witness the death of his adoptive parents at the hands of Drusilla, which was then followed by Theo becoming a vampire slayer, falling in love with vamp Tobias, and becoming known as the slayer of slayers. And if that was not enough impossibilities within his life, he then witnessed his love Tobias’ death at the hands of old one Illyria, only to then die himself after being shot by former watcher Rupert Giles that saw him coming back to life as the world’s first vampire to have turned without a siring. Theo’s world had continued to crash around him, repeatedly, but for once his latest surprise was one he was happy about, that being declared a king of vampires following his survival after being staked, and now he was on a mission to earn that title, by finding this infamous vampire island, home to the first-ever Hellmouth, and the only place in the world that would solidify his claim as king amongst vampires, making him the most dangerous creature on the planet as the prophecies foretold and the only thing standing in his way, was his mother, Buffy the vampire slayer…

Buffy Summers had been out of the slaying game for what felt like forever but, it had only been over a year since she disappeared to the middle of nowhere, and as she returned, following the revelation of Theo, she found herself patrolling, hunting, and researching, 24/7, as she struggled to deal with her son’s hatred towards her and his many evil deeds, which she blamed herself for. The last time she saw her son she called his bluff about being ready to kill her, luckily things went Buffy’s way, and he couldn’t kill her in the end, but still to see her child so distraught, so broken, almost broke the once preppy and feisty blonde-haired vampire slayer. However, the fact he could not bring himself to kill her gave Buffy some hope that there was something still there deep within him that she could reach and after hearing news of his plans to take out Drusilla, those hopes grew, only to be dashed after learning her son had become something of a king among vampires. Buffy and Willow had been deep in the books within Willow’s San Francisco apartment for days, as they sought out to learn all they could about Theo’s prophecy as the first vampire not to be sired by another, as they learned the unnerving news that mother would either kill a son or be killed by a son, before going on to learn about a prophecy going back many centuries which detailed a self-sired vampire reigning king of an island, vampire island, and how his blood would open the world’s first Hellmouth, as they began to realize the importance of his birth, and why he was born, with Buffy beginning to fear that not only could her son not be saved but she may have to be the one to stop him. And before long Buffy and Willow hired a boat, enlisted the help of fellow vampire slayer Faith Lehane, and Illyria, and took to the sea with ancient books, maps, and spells directly linked to this mystical island of vampires, as they hoped to find the island, and to get there and destroy the Hellmouth before Theo had a chance of opening it, claiming his undead throne, and unleashing hell unto the world. “This child of yours sure knows how to cause trouble I bet you're missing the good old days when you only had to try to keep me in line.” Faith joked with Buffy as they stood to the port of the big yacht-like boat that they had rented, both slayers looking out towards the sea. “Well, I would not go as far as saying I’m nostalgic about rogue Faith and Sunnydale High, but things were much simpler back then for sure.” Buffy laughed, appreciating Faith’s humor during a difficult time for her. “Speak for yourself B, I do not want to sound all savior-like and everything, but we are going to get through to him Buffy without having to kill him.” Faith responded as she remained determined about her believes over Theo being redeemable. “If we were certain about that, I’d have got Angel on this mission instead of his super smurf sidekick and you’d have had his witch frenemy join us,” Buffy confessed to the fellow slayer, a slayer she had once become enemies with but had over time rebuilt their friendship. “I’m the slayer no matter what, and deep down you are the same…if I have to choose between the world or my son I’ll choose the world, Angel will choose his son, I guess that makes him the better parent and me the better, killer.” “It will not come down to that Buffy, I did not come on this mission to kill your kid and neither did you, we will stop him without killing him, and then you will ground his ass for at least a decade or two and we’ll go get some drinks.” Faith told Buffy, knowing Buffy was right but also knowing she did not want to admit it to her. “Being a slayer has cost me so much, forced me to sacrifice so much, and although I hate that more than anything if it comes down to it, I will continue to make those sacrifices because that is what a slayer does,” Buffy said in a defeated sigh, knowing that this quest to find the island of vampires could end with her killing her own son.

Later that very same night Theo stood at the front of a large shipment containing ship looking at the nearby island, with blood on his mouth, the blood coming from the human passengers of the boat that he and his group of vampires fed on while hiding out in the darkest places of the ship, choosing to keep the captain alive so he could sail the boat while they hid from daylight, but chaining him to the wheel so he dared not escape. Theo couldn’t believe his eyes as he stared at the island from a distance, a hauntingly beautiful island, almost completely in darkness if it was not for the night’s moon in the sky, reflecting light off the water, he could not believe that this lost island was the home to the world’s first Hellmouth nor could he believe that this island would be his kingdom, his way to a throne he never knew even existed. As the boat sailed closer towards the island, his vampire companions appeared from out of the blind spots, with glee in their eyes, knowing they had found the only true home for their kind, completely oblivious to the fact that their king was beginning to question the path he had chosen so quickly after facing off with his nemesis Drusilla. Theo had wanted many things in his life, he wanted love which he found with Lucien Knight and then later the vampire Tobias, he wanted companionship which he once had with his bewitching best friend Ruby Moon, and he wanted a family to replace the one he lost, but he had never dreamt of being a king among monsters nor did he dream of one day becoming one of those monsters but fate had dealt their cards and Theo had no choice but to either accept or deny his destiny. Losing Tobias had awakened emotions within the vampire that he thought was long gone, human emotions, grief, sadness, and loss, and somehow through reunions with old friends, meeting his biological family, and turning against his mentor Drusilla, somewhere through all that he had felt a part of his old self slipping back through, a part he had hoped he killed a long time ago and apart if he wanted to become king, he would have to kill now. Theo’s only mission in life had been to avenge his parents and with an army, and more undead soldiers to add to that army, after opening the Hellmouth and claiming his undead kingdom, he knew with certainty he would achieve that goal, for even Drusilla herself could not outrun an entire army instructed to hunt her down at all costs, and if it meant ending the world, well that was just a sacrifice the slayer of slayers was willing to make. But as his minions anchored the boat Theo was shocked to suddenly see Sineya, the first slayer, appear standing within the sandy shores of the beach, staring right at him, as if she was staring right into his soul, and perhaps she was, as Theo suddenly felt a rush of guilt hit him hard, like a ton of bricks, causing him to gasp for a moment before like she had appeared, Sineya disappeared into the night’s air within a blink of the eyes. “We’re here boss!” One of his minions announced to him. “Time to go as far as we can before looking for coverage from the sun, then when night falls again we will get you to your throne.” “Yes,” Theo replied, as he then mumbled to himself, unimpressed by the island’s restrictions. “What kind of island meant for vampires has no way of blocking out the sun anyway?”

Buffy, Faith, Willow, and Illyria were not too far behind as the sun began to rise in the sky, the two slayers, witch, and goddess, drew closer to the infamous island of vampires, an island that Illyria herself had conquered many millenniums ago, back when bloodsuckers were nothing more than pets to her, messy pets whom she’d easily put down if they pestered her. All those years ago Illyria never really sense the true power of this island, thinking of it as nothing more than a home to bloodsuckers, but now as she grew closer to the island of vampires she began to sense its power more and more, a sense of untapped potential, the same sense she got from the slayer of slayers which only served as further evidence to the goddess that Theo Frey was indeed linked to the place, just like the prophecy foretold. As she stood behind the boat’s wheel, Willow Rosenberg, standing next to her, the two women seeing the island in their sight, Illyria knew that Willow too could feel the untapped power radiating from the island of the undead. “I know we’re going to win because we always do but what’s the odds, we win without having to kill Buffy’s son?” Willow asked Illyria, fearing her answer, but knowing Illyria would be honest about their odds. “The son of the slayer has survived far longer than I expected him to when we first met however, in this fight I believe in order to win, he must die, and I’m not one for losing,” Illyria answered honestly with a rare sign of reluctance which showed a sense of empathy towards the situation, a feeling which was rather new for the blue haired goddess. Before long Buffy, Willow, Illyria, and Faith had anchored the boats and were now on the sandy shores of the island, ready to face whatever awaited them on this prophesized island for vampire kind, but before they traveled further into the island, Buffy noticed another boat heading towards the island’s direction, instantly knowing it wasn’t Theo’s, as something in her gut told her that Angel was on that boat. “So, about not telling Angel about the mission…” Faith began to say to Buffy. “You decided to go against that I guess.” Buffy interrupted her fellow slayer, infuriated by her actions but understanding them at the same time. And so, Buffy waited for Angel’s ship to anchor itself near the island before deciding to get on the boat, going under the deck where Angel and Spike were hiding out from the sunlight, having had the help of Rupert Giles to sail the boat, and Xander Harris, because well he was Spike’s roommate, and one of Buffy’s best friends. “I told you she wouldn’t be happy with us tagging along on this one,” Spike said to Angel as the two vampires sat at a table within the kitchen room on the boat as Buffy walked in, the windows completely blacked out by carboard to protect the vampires from the sunlight. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t give a damn about what she wants.” Angel snapped at Spike while standing up to face Buffy, furious with the slayer for once again going behind his back regarding their son. “I was just trying to save you the pain if things go bad out there!” Buffy told Angel. “Theo’s about to bring about another apocalypse and if I don’t make it in time to save him then I will have to stop him.” “I will not let you hurt our son Buffy!” Angel argued with the slayer, furious to learn that she was prepared to kill her own child. “I don’t care if he does bring about the apocalypse, there’s always some apocalypse and we always defeat it, but I will not lose him again…I will not let you take him away from me again!” “Do you think I want to kill my son? No, but he’s not leaving us much choice, and once again it falls on me to choose between someone I love and the rest of the world, you have no idea what that is like so don’t you dare stand there and judge me!” Buffy shouted at the brooding vampire, as Spike sat there having no choice but to watch the two bickerings with each other awkwardly. “I have lost people too Buffy, you’re not the only one who has had to make sacrifices, but I refuse to let you go in there ready to kill

him if you need to. What happened to the girl ready to risk the world for her sister? Why does Dawn mean more to you than your own son?” Angel continued to argue with the slayer furiously. “Dawn was an innocent, she did nothing wrong and has continued to do nothing wrong, Theo was a cold-blooded killer long before he became a vampire-like his father, Dawn never chose her fate, she fought against it like we all did but Theo is willingly choosing this and if we do not stop before he opens that Hellmouth then we have to throw his ass in there,” Buffy replied, equally as furious as Angel, not liking the position she had found herself in, willing to do anything to make this not true, but ready to accept whatever fate may fall upon her son, as she once again had to choose to be a chosen one over all else. Buffy knew she had the sun to her advantage, and she could use it along with Illyria, Giles, Willow, Xander, and Faith, to get trekking through the vampire island, and get a head start on Angel and Spike, hoping however the big battle went down that she could spare Angel the pain of seeing their son’s death even if she could not spare herself the same pain, but with only a matter of hours to go, and no clue where they were going on this island, the chances of this getting messy seemed unavoidable.

Theo, of course, was one step ahead of the others, as he and his gang of vampires sought refuge from the sunlight within one of the islands’ caves, but instead of sleeping like his minions, Theo stayed up plotting, marking out what he could see of the island and patrolling the cave for any signs of them being ambushed, knowing the champions of this world would no doubt find their way here sooner or later, however, it was when the slayer of slayers went deeper into the caves that he once again saw Sineya appear in front of his eyes. Sineya, was no stranger to Theo, for the two had met before, a very long time ago, but her presence was still a shock considering the first-ever vampire slayer was killed long before his time, and many others, but as he saw her for the second time since arriving on the vampire island, he could not help but want to know the reason behind her presence. “Do you remember me?” Theo asked the primeval slayer, who nodded in agreement before he continued to ask. “Why are you here?” “The dirt beneath you is the same dirt I once stood on, do you not recognize a place you have been before? Much has changed but it still feels the same.” Sineya replied telepathically, her voice piercing Theo’s mind without the slayer so much as moving her lips. “No…the prophecies say this is vampire island, not slayer island.” Theo denied her claims almost instantly. “As long as there are vampires there are slayers…once only one slayer but now an army.” Sineya continued to telepathically speak, accessing Theo’s mind with ease. “We did not choose this path, but you did…now you must decide if you are vampire or slayer.” “I think I made that choice long before I actually became a vampire, how are you even here?” Theo responded coldly, not knowing that the primeval slayer could sense the uncertainty within his very soul. “You already are where you are looking to be but is it where you want to be?” Sineya informed him with her cryptic words, once again choosing to speak telepathically instead of out loud. “You can do what you came here to do but the question is, do you want to do it?” Suddenly, the first slayer once again vanished within the blink of the eye, but this time Theo noticed the caveman writings in front of him, within the depths of the cave, and as he began to decrypt what the pictures meant, he realized that through that very wall, was where the Hellmouth was located, he had somehow found it instinctively without even knowing, and that’s what Sineya was pointing out to him, forcing his hand to make his choice, but as ruthless, and evil, as Theo Frey could be, was he really ready to end the world just to claim an undead kingdom?

#buffythevampireslayer #buffy #btvs #angeltheseries #darkhorsecomics #buffyverse #fanfiction #fanfic #buffyfanfiction #angelfanfic #lgbtthemes #lgbtcharacters #lgbtcanoncharacters #buffysummers #angel #willowrosenberg #faithlehane #illyria #spike #originalcharacters #childrenofcharacters #vampireslayers #vampires #witches #werewolves #monsters #creatures #demons #buffyfamily #buffyfandom

[ksj-com]

There Is No Game Over-

Welcome to the Family

- Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

- Genre: Resident Evil 7!AU, horror, angst, action, violence, slight fluff

- Warnings/Tags: torture cutting scene, characters tied up against will, reader torture gagged, mentally insane characters, cussing, gore, killing scenes, monsters, may need prior Resident Evil 7 knowledge to understand some scenes, life or death scenes, deputy Jungkook, death, weapons mention, argument scene, light jokes, little kissing, feeling of helplessness, sudden ending, Namjoon having to choose between you or other people to save

- Word Count: 6,613 words

- Summary: Being kidnapped by the Bakers always put you on edge when playing Resident Evil 7. Tagging along with Namjoon and helping him escape to find his girlfriend, you grow a deeper connection with him then you did while playing on a VR. 

|| Masterlist ||

A/N: Credit to @pjm-com​ for writing some of these scenes

The sound of a man screaming rings through your ears drums. You thought it was going to be Jungkook, but the next time you opened your eyes there was a man sitting next to you. Another man, who you realized was Jack from Resident Evil 7, was cutting the man’s cheek. You remembered this scene so vividly: Namjoon, the main character, didn’t want to eat the Baker family’s dinner because it was a bunch of organs and bugs. In result, Jack’s temper led to the moment that was unfolding in front of your eyes. Namjoon couldn’t fight back since he was restrained by ropes that tied his arms and legs to the chair. You wanted to get up and run, you knew this game map like the back of your hand, but you were in the same situation. Your arms and legs were tied tightly against the chair you were sitting on. A rag wrapped around your head, touching the back of your throat to cause you to gag if a sound threatened to come out. You decided to not risk budging, and continued to watch.

“He’s not eatin’ it, Jack! He’s not eatin’ it!” Marguerite shouts at the top of her lungs, her voice making you cringe.

“Shut the hell up, Marguerite,” Jack groans. Marguerite storms off as a response, leaving you both with Jack, Lucas, and Grandma Eveline. Jack was about to cut another slice in Namjoon’s other cheek, but the doorbell rings throughout the house.

“I bet it’s that damn cop again,” Lucas mentions before they both exit the kitchen. Eveline stayed in her wheelchair, perfectly silent and still. Because you’ve already played this game before, you knew she was nothing to worry about for now.

You watch Namjoon take this chance to try to escape the confines of the chair, tipping and knocking the chair over on its side. The weak wood chair breaks under Namjoon’s crashing weight. You both cringe from the loud noise that echoes from the crash. The second he shakes the rope off his wrists and ankles he rushes over to you, untying the cloth around your mouth and all the areas you were being tied down. Once he reaches your ankles, he notices that you have the same heartbeat watch that he has on his wrist.

“Looks like whatever they did to my wrist, they did the same to your ankle” he says. You look at his wrist for the first time. Previously in the game, Namjoon went through a chainsaw fight and the result ended in him losing one of his hands. Now, his hand looked as if it was stapled back on and fully functional. On top of that, he had a watch that tracked his health when playing the game. Comparing his wrist to your ankle, it looked exactly the same except your foot was the one that was stapled on instead.

You thought about what was going through Namjoon’s head during this whole game. Through the horrors and dangers of the infected household; did he ever think Mia wasn’t worth it? After all, his girlfriend is the reason why he was here in the first place.

“Namjoon, is Mia really worth all of this?” Your voice croaks. You were parched from having a rag pushed all the way to the back of your throat for so long.

He looks up at you flabbergasted. “Of course, why wouldn’t she be? There’s obviously something wrong with her and this place in general.”

You nod agreeing with him. You didn’t want to be here. You finished this game once and you definitely didn’t want to do it again…like this.

“Plus, she was your best friend. Don’t you think she’s worth it too?” He asks you. So that’s why you’re here. Memories flood into your head like a barrier just broke within your mind. You remember the beginning of the story now from your perspective.

•••

You were in the middle of watching TV when you saw the phone call from Namjoon. 

“Hello?” You brought the phone to your ear. You haven’t talked to Namjoon ever sense Mia went missing three years ago. He went off the walls when she was declared dead by the police. He knew something couldn’t be right.

“Hey, (Y/N). It’s Namjoon. Before you hang up I need to ask you something,” He waits to see if you would stay on the call before he dared to continue.

You sigh. “Is this about Mia?”

“Yes, but she’s alive. Trust me. She sent me video footage of her and I think she’s in danger. She’s in Louisiana and I was thinking that—“

“I could come with you?” You interrupt. The phone line goes silent. He was scared of your response. He obviously didn’t want to go alone. “Send me the video she sent you,” You say and hang up the call. There was no way you were actually considering going to Louisiana with Namjoon to find her…but she was your best friend after all.

A minute later you receive the video from Namjoon:

“What the fuck?” You mutter to yourself. You immediately go back to the text conversation between you and Namjoon. ‘I’m in,‘ you text him.

•••

And just like that, you were sucked into this mess. You snap back to present day, now untied from the chair. You knew exactly what to do: help Namjoon find Mia and get the hell out of this game…if you survive. You didn’t know how to tell Namjoon that you knew exactly what to do. Every jump scare, every fighting scene, every plot twist was ingrained into your mind. “Namjoon can I ask you one thing?” You rub the raw skin on your wrists.

“Anything.”

“Just…do what I say and follow me when I tell you to. You aren’t exactly logical when it comes to Mia sometimes,” you feel as though that’s the best possible way to tell him that you are in charge here. His brows furrow, but he nods in agreement. “Okay good, let’s looks around here.” You knew everything that needed to be found, opening drawers that contained ammo for the gun you will be getting later.

“I found a hatch!” Namjoon whispers loudly to get your attention. You had hoped he would find that hatch since that’s what you needed to get through to get to the next part of the game. He pulls at the wood door on the ground, but it doesn’t budge. “God dammit, it’s locked” he huffs.

“Stick with me. Let’s find the key.” This was the challenging part: the key was at the end of the hallway. In the game, when you approach the key area, Jack reappears. And worst of the all, he sees you and ends up chasing you around until you pick up the key and step into the hatch.

You and Namjoon were now sitting at the end of the hallway. As you stood in front of him, you slowly walk forward. “Why are you being so sl-“ Namjoon’s whisper stops abruptly when Jack comes walking to the end of the hallway. His posture hangs over a table, where the key was sitting, until he notices you both.

“Thought you’d just slip out before dinner was done?” Jack approaches with an axe in his hand.

You turn around, slipping past Namjoon for you to be in front again. You had to do this right because who knows if you would get a second chance. You grip Namjoon’s hand so you didn’t leave him behind anywhere. Making your way around the dining room and into the living room as Jack was on your heels. You circled around the living room table and back out to the hallway that contained no threat. This was your time as you both ran towards the key, but Namjoon smacks into your nonmoving back when Jack breaks through the wall in front of you.

“You’re wasting your time” Jack grunts.

You were so out of breath but the fear of death has you turning back around. Luckily, the new hole in the wall was in the room that contained the hatch. You looped around once again, going through the hole in the wall and snatching the key up on the table. Jack was no longer behind you both, but that didn’t stop you from rushing to the hatch door and unlocking it as quick as possible. You and Namjoon hopped in and closed the door behind you. The space was so cramped that you both had to be on your hands and knees to fit. It looked as if you were under the house. Ripped up foundation was the ceiling, while the floor was matted down dirt and trash. Broken windows, lawn equipment, and trash bags all crammed against the walls. You had wondered how they even stored this stuff down here to begin with.

“It reeks down here,” Namjoon scrunches his nose. The smell of mildew and garbage made you want to puke while you both crawl your way over to the other side of the hatch. The other side led you to a hole opening to another room in the house. He waits for you to pull yourself out of the opening before saying, “Where the hell are we now?”

The safe room, you thought to yourself. “Looks like the laundry room, I think we’re safe otherwise he would’ve been waiting here for us,” you patted yourself on the back for the improv.

“You’re right, but how do we get out of here without him seeing us?” He pulls his fingers through his tangled hair. You knew that once you stepped out of the room Jack wouldn’t be there, but one of the many boss battles that occur in the game is coming up sooner than you would like.

You eventually convinced Namjoon that you couldn’t stay in that room forever, and he finally grew enough courage to follow you through the open door. Once he realized that Jack was no where to be found, he continued to scavenge the area for any remaining things that could be useful.

A knocking on one of the windows stopped Namjoon in his tracks. You approach it, but Namjoon grabs your wrist. “What the hell are you doing? Would if it’s one of them?” He hisses.

Annoyed, you yank your wrist from his grasp. You knew who it was and you knew you were going to be safe. It was out of his knowledge to know these things, but you still couldn’t help but feel a bit offended that he would think that you would be stupid enough to approach something you weren’t sure about. You kept walking, ignoring his questions. He follows close behind, curious to see if something bad occurs. Not to your surprise, a cop stands at the window. Barb wire and broken wood planks spread across the window frame, but there was still enough space between the ripped up boards to see him in his uniform. The usual person that you would see as the cop in the game was replaced by someone that sent chills down your spine. It was Jungkook.

“Jungkook?” You gasp to yourself He looks at you confused, he didn’t recognize his own name. Is this a glitch?

“It’s deputy,” he scoffs.

“Okay, deputy, I know this is asking for a lot but could we use your pocket knife? We’re being held hostage in this house with no protection and we need your help. There are crazy people in this house,” You wanted to hide the fact that your eyes were bulging out of your skull because of the person you were talking to right now.

“Whoa whoa…not so fast. You don’t exactly seem like you’re playing with a full deck of cards yourself,” he reads your expression, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed into yours.

“Are you serious?” You say. He says that same line to Namjoon in the original game, but he’s talking to you this time. You figured he would go off script at least for that one.

“Listen, there have been several missing person cases around here, how do I know you’re not involved?” His flashlight is shining brightly at your face.

“You let me borrow your pocket knife and I’ll tell you whatever you want in the garage. The garage door is opened by a button which is inside a box that’s covered in tape. I need to get in there somehow,” You pray that this works since you weren’t going by the original dialogue of the video game cutscene anymore.

‘Jungkook’ thinks for a second before nodding slightly. He hands you a small knife through the gap in the window, “Garage. Now.”

You give him a nod before turning back around to meet the eyes of a confused Namjoon. “What?” You question. What does he have to say now?

“What was that?” he crosses his arms, quizzing you.

You roll your eyes. “What was what, Namjoon?” Your attitude raises, you just wanted to get out of here.

“The pocket knife, it wasn’t even in his hand or in sight when you asked him for it…how did you know he had one?” Namjoon’s voice was the only thing that made sound in the house.

You felt your body run cold, letting out a laugh to hide the fact that you had no logical explanation to give him. “Just a lucky guess. It’s a cop, so I just assumed he had something other than one gun,” you play it off with a shrug. Walking past him, you make your way down to the garage to cut open the taped barrier. A red button was now clearly visible when opening the metal cabinet-like door, so you don’t hesitate to smash the button and watch the door to the garage scale up. The garage was now completely laid out in front of you and Namjoon now. A police car and it’s lights rotated around the walls. The cop noticed you both immediately and approached you aggressively.

“Now, tell me what you guys are doing out here tonight?” He yells.

Namjoon couldn’t stand letting you talk all the time, so he steps in front of you to answer. “I’m trying to find my wife that went missing and things went bat-shit crazy—“

The police’s head whips around to see that the garage door that separates the outside world from this hellhole was now closing. “Put that door back up! Put that door back up!” He points his finger at you frantically, but by then it was too late. Namjoon stumbles back from fear, gasping for breath. A shovel was pushed through the deputy’s head from behind, the top of his head slides off of the shovel and onto the ground to reveal who was behind this act. It was Jack.

You’re half surprised that Jack is standing behind the beheaded cop, considering Jungkook, or who you thought was Jungkook, was in the game. You have a slight worry that the game won’t follow it’s normal track, but for now you act on instinct.

“Lets go!” You yell, yanking Namjoon by the arm considering he’s frozen to the floor. Making a jump for it, you scramble to get the keys that are lying innocently on the workbench before dashing to the other side of the garage. Namjoon is tripping over his own feet, rambling about how you even knew the keys were there. The sound of Jack’s shovel is slamming into the large metal shelf placed in the middle of the floor, sending cans of paint and debris everywhere. You use that little setback to shove Namjoon into the passenger seat, hopping in the drivers side and shoving the keys into the ignition. You’re almost convinced that the starter won’t flip, but after a few clicks the engine rumbles to life.

“Is this my own fucking car?” Namjoon yells, and you ignore him while pushing the pedal to the floor and attempting to run over Jack. Namjoon is scrambling to get his seatbelt on as if you guys were even leaving the garage. “Y/N, what the fuck are you doing?”

Sometimes, you wanted to just duck tape his mouth. “Namjoon, shut the hell up.”

He says nothing further as you throw the gear into reverse and step on the gas, backing up into the concrete wall before flooring it forwards again. It takes a few tries, but after the third or fourth crash, Jack is gone. You know better that he isn’t on the ground, and within seconds is peeling the roof back. Even if you know what’s coming, you and Namjoon share the same screaming as Jack pushes you aside and starts to drive the car. You remember the line perfectly, but the sound of Jack talking is drowned out by the tires squealing and various things breaking in the garage. You duck in your seat, bracing for the impact.

“Lower your head!”

“Why?” Namjoon says back, like it was the calmest thing in the word. His eyes bulge as he looks in front of him, and he’s sinking into his seat in seconds before Jack is driving the car into the metal beam.

Silence fills the garage and it’s almost deafening. You take a quick look towards Jack, not breathing in the middle of the seat, before scrambling out of the car and grabbing the gun. Namjoon unbuckles his belt and does the same, eyes glued to the figure in the car as you back into the opposite wall. Your faces light with red tones as the car goes up in flames, Jack coming out unscathed with his hand out. You’re quick to aim the gun at his head, shooting three times before he drops to the ground, the final explosion of the car leaving you and Namjoon on your feet. Once deemed safe, you’re locking your arms together and moving towards the ladder that drops to the floor.

“That was fucking crazy,” Namjoon shouts, and you can’t do anything else besides agree with him. He starts searching the garage for first aid med’s and any coins, or lock picks he could find. At least he still had that common sense. “Can I have the gun?” All shakiness aside, you hand the gun to him, heart slamming at the base of your sternum while Namjoon motions to climb the ladder. You’re one foot up before Jack spawns right next to you, leaving you caged between him and Namjoon.

“Do I have your attention? I’m about to show you something wonderful.”

You practically mouthed those words as he said them, eyes shut before you feel the hot blood splatter all over your face. The gunshot silences the room, even Namjoon’s breathing had come to a halt as the sound of Jack’s body hits the floor. You’re almost unfazed as you start climbing the ladder, leaving Namjoon down there wondering what the fuck just happened. He moves slow, sluggish like he’s about to pass out. You don’t care that you’re leaving him in the dust. You needed to get the metal ox head to open the door for later, and that’s the only thing on your mind.

Jack was out of the way. For now.

It’s been hours.

You and Namjoon haven’t made a dent in getting out it seems. You can feel the weight of the two brass dog heads in your pocket and the way they clink together is almost teasing. You need the third one to unlock the door to the outside, your mind is going crazy just thinking about it. The game is still on track, the monsters popping out at certain times, and you know that soon you’re going to have to face Jack again.

“Y/N. You think we have enough ammo?” Namjoon asks softly, like he’s tired. You can see it in his face too. His eyes look sunken in, back hunched even though he is steadily alert. You nod silently at his question, knowing that he was itching to get out of here too. You both halt before the double doors, knowing what lies behind them and in the back of his mind, Namjoon does too. He’s terrified. That he’s fighting for nothing, that he might lose you in the next fight. That he won’t be useful to you or Mia.

He’s not even sure why the hell he keeps going, any man in their right mind would’ve left the moment they entered the house but something tells Namjoon to stay. As you both enter the downstairs shower room, you can hear the low growl of the monsters pulling out of the wall, the black tar connecting them to the house as if it was one being.

You wince at the sight, shotgun ready as Namjoon loads up the Albert-01, and you both stand back to back to look at the masses slugging towards you. The huge black monster was most likely someone that had died in the Baker house. Maybe Clancy. The black claws on the end of the deformed hands were lunging at you both left and right, the head with huge canines for teeth wide open with the tongue hanging out. You leave minimal time to examine them further since you’re sick of seeing them, and move the shotgun barrel closer before pulling the tigger.

“Works every time,” you say to yourself, watching the head explode into black chunks that dissolve into the tile grout underneath your feet. You watch Namjoon take out the other monster one shot at a time, bullets flying through the skin before finally dropping to the ground. You’re unfazed as you reach the morgue, stomach dropping at the sight of the body bags dangling from the ceiling, the bronze dog head glinting in the light. You feel a wave of relief wash over you. You wanted to get out of this fucking mess.

“Joon! Look,” you breathe, scrambling up the stairs with Namjoon in tow. You both sit like idiots, watching it suspend from the metal beams over your head.

“Fucking finally. Let’s grab it and get out of here.”

You grab his hand, and prepare to jump as soon as you hear the floor boards creak behind you. You could never get away from him.

Pushing off of the ledge, you and Namjoon hurdle into the bottom half of the morgue, considering the area was a loft type of room. You both tuck before you hit the ground, rolling a little bit and soon in seconds you’re back on your feet. Jack jumps down like he’s supposed to, a huge version of hedge trimmers lay in his hand, snapping at any skin he could. Pushing the body bag to stun him like in the game, you soon get bored from the Mary-go-round game you play. It seems Jack does too considering he’s ripping open the chainlink fence.

“Another chainsaw!” Namjoon shouts, lunging across the concrete floor to grab at it before distancing himself. You, having already finished the game, pull out the circular saw. You didn’t wanna use it until now when it would be super handy. This wouldn’t have worked in the game, but once you both get Jack down, you and Namjoon stick the blades of each weapon into his gorging tumor. It shreds through the various amounts of adipose tissue, ripping through the dermal layer of skin before exploding the entire upper torso.

Great, you think. Another fluid to wash off my body. Back to the wall, you watch Jack’s nerve endings come alive in the bottom half of his body. It takes a couple steps towards you before falling.

Namjoon winces. “Just fucking stay dead, okay!?”

You felt a little more sluggish as you made your way back upstairs, glad no other monsters were spawning. You were beyond irritated. What if you actually died in this game? Would you wake up and it would’ve all been a fever dream? Or would your mom come in and find you gone? Would you re-spawn over and over again? It hurt your head to think about, so you leave it alone. Namjoon can feel your tense emotion as he trudges in front of you, flashlight pointing at the dark tunnels of the basement.

“You think we got a good chance of finding Mia?” He sounds cautious as he turns back to you, eyes pleading for you to say something. You’ve been silent for a little. You chew on your lip, debating if you even wanted to start something right now. You wanted to get out of there, too. Not at the expense of your life. So you decide to not bite your tongue.

“You still want to?”

Namjoon’s eyes widen a little. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because!” You snap, stopping in the middle of the tar-soaked hallway crossing your arms over your chest. “She almost beat you within an inch of your life the first twenty minutes we were inside the house! This family has been trying to kill us over and over again, and I have no doubt that they will come back. Why do you still want to stay?” Namjoon is deep in thought, voice cracking as he tries to speak.

“Other than the fact that I love her… It’s the right thing to do. I don’t know what else to do, so can’t you just work with me here?!” He’s yelling now, tears welling in his eyes while the ridges of his knuckles turning white as he clenches his fist around the Albert-01. You’re ready to rip out your hair, turning on him.

“I’ve been working with you, Namjoon! This whole fucking time!” You scream, voice straining. “Risking my life for someone who’s already infected! Aren’t you tired? Don’t you want to go home!?” Your chest is heaving, hands pushing your hair back as you drop the subject, continuing down the hall and up the stairs. It stays painfully silent, the tension thick between you and Namjoon. Once you enter the safe room, you feel little relieved as you push the cassette tape into the recorder.

The room was dimly lit by a single lamp placed in a wooden desk. The floor was slightly messy, papers were pressed into the floor boards and the shelves had miscellaneous items lazily thrown about. Random paintings were placed on the wall, one of a woman in a victorian-like dress and the others of simple nature. The huge green chest was sitting off to the side which held all of the things we didn’t need or didn’t have room to carry around.

“I’m sorry” Namjoon’s voice comes in from behind you

“Just forget it,” you scoff, back still facing towards him.

“No,” he shakes his head, eyes still focused on the back of your head.

“Namjoon-“

“You have no idea how important you are to me, (Y/N)!” He cuts you off before you could counter anything he had to say. You turn around to meet eyes with him. “I can’t lose you too…” he shakes his head. The feeling of your arms around him, makes his inner dam break. Tears flow down his cheeks and his sobs are hard as he gasps for breath after each cry. You just stood there, not letting go of his shaking body. This is what he needed right now.

“We’ll find her, and if we don’t, then we’ll die doing it” those words coming out of your mouth scared the shit out of you, but you couldn’t let Namjoon see that right now.

“Would if she’s not worth dying for?” He says quietly. You finally decide to let him go, both of you still close to one another.

“Then we won’t die,” you look up at him. Although he was more than half a foot taller than you, you didn’t feel small in front of him. Mentally, he looked up to you. He always thought you were the strongest person he ever met, and you were still living up to those standards. “Maybe we should try to wipe some of this blood and nasty black shit off or something?” You say, breaking away from his gaze.

“Sounds like a good idea” he laughs.

You take one of the pieces of fabric off of one of the drawers. “Damn, no mirrors in here,” you look around.

“Give it to me, I can do it.” You hand him the cloth and he searches your face. Why did this seem like such an intimate act to him? The cloth barely makes contact with your face. His motions were so gentle and slow. His wristband showed a red line across his wrist that you couldn’t help but glance at. You watched his face focus on the areas he was trying to wipe. When you met eyes, a smile broke onto both of your faces.

“Almost done?” Your voice hums.

“Yup, my turn,” he smiles and drops the cloth into your palms. He sits on the desk, making you more eye level to him. You swallow harshly before stepping in front of his open legged position. You peel his dark brown hair off of his sticky forehead.

“You got some sweaty ass forehead,” you joke.

“Shut up” he chuckles. The cloth drags down his face and around his mouth. Running along his lips, he pushes your hand down and away from his face. To your surprise, he brings his lips to yours. His hands lightly rested at the bottom of your back as his lips moved slowly around yours. Your eyes flutter shut and you felt yourself get lost in the moment. The kiss remained slow and meaningful until you pulled away.

“Namjoon this is—“

“Wrong? It doesn’t feel like it,” he kisses you again, except after a few seconds he’s the one that pulls away. “Unless it does for you, we can stop.”

“Shut up you dummy,” you take his head in your hands and pull him into another kiss. His arms wrap completely around you and pull you as close as you could be. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, pulling and letting it snap back. Once the kiss was finished, both of your lips were red and swollen. The smiles on your lips slowly faded when you realized the reality that you two were in again.

“I suppose we should heal up ourselves with some med kits before going back out there,” you sigh. He nodded, watching you dig through the big green chest and scrounge up two medkits. Returning to Namjoon, you were about to shoot the medkit into his vein until you caught a look at his wristwatch. It was already green.

Wait, what? You thought to yourself. You swore that he was in the red a couple minutes ago.

“You healed me,” he answers the confusion that you were thinking to yourself.

You look up to him still confused. “How?”

“Hell if I know, but look at yours. You’re no different” he says. You look down at your ankle, what was once a blinking orange line, was now green as well.

“Well I guess we don’t need medkits anymore,” you look up at him bright-eyed. You had this game in the bag now! After placing the medkits back into the chest, it was time to go. Namjoon cocked his gun for it to be ready to fire at anytime.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You were determined, now more than ever, to finally get the fuck out of the property.

Killing the mom was the scariest for you. It seemed like everywhere you went, the bugs were following you. In your ear, in your mouth.. But finally, Namjoon had killed the mom, grabbing the lantern and bolting out of there. Grabbing the two key cards was easy enough, but if you were honest, Lucas was scary in a psycho sadistic way. You had a feeling he knew how to fuck with somebody’s mind, which made traveling through his house all the more scarier.

Namjoon was quick to outsmart him, putting the bomb in the wall and giving you guys an exit. He had an iron grip on your hand, basically dragging you through the docks as you made it to the boat house. It was the last final fucking stretch and you feel like you could burst into tears.

“Namjoon!!” You scream, watching a four legged molded come from the water and block the way. The brunette was quick on his feet, shotgun aimed at the head of the body, firing within seconds as you both stepped over the corpse. Reaching the final chest. You both rummage through the container, grabbing everything you could and then some.

Armed with Albert-01 and the grenade launcher, you push as many bullets as you can into the bag, while packing the flame rounds into the gun. Namjoon is stocking on the med kits just in case, both of the shotguns strapped to his frame. A deep feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you reach the top of the boat house to meet Mia and Zoe. You aren’t gonna see Namjoon again, and you’ll finally wake up in your own house. Unfortunately you have to table the thoughts as Zoe hands him the serum, Namjoon pocketing them as you brace for the worst impact of the game.

Jacks last, but not least, form in the game is a grotesque monster with eyes all over the skin. It was a boss battle you wanted to finish once, and never again, but you didn’t have that luck. You feel a hand wrap around your body, squishing flat against Namjoon’s as you’re thrown onto the wood of the deck, rolling before you come to a ragged stop. You’re on your feet in a few seconds, Namjoon struggling to regain his balance while you have the first few shots off at the eyes. They go out in three shots total, making Albert-01 your best friend as you run away from the hand that slaps down on the wooden planks.

You’re dodging the swipes, left and right, but Jack’s swings finally get the best of you. His arm launches you off the first floor. The shallow water from the second floor splashes in your mouth as you cough from the impact of falling on your back. The wind gets knocked right from your lungs, leaving you lying there breathless for a few seconds before shaking out of your daze.

Jack was focused on Namjoon when you got yourself back on your feet. This gave you a clear shot of the eyes that laid around Jack’s back and tail. You took the opportunity of a lifetime and began shooting like a mad man. Thankfully, your good aim managed to take them all out before Jack turned to face you again. You jumped up the ladder two bars at a time to be able to make it back to Namjoon.

“He’s just got one more eye on his stomach!” Your voice barely carries across the room as Jack shouted his offensive statements. “Someone has to distract him!”

As someone distracted Jack on the top level, the other person sneaks down to the lower level right under Jack. Thus, giving them the clear shot of the last eye placed on his stomach.

“You distract him, I got this.” Namjoon nods at you.

You fucking better, you thought to yourself. You took a deep breath to shake the anxiety dwelling deep within your body. Aimless gunshots exploded out of your gun as you drew Jack away from the only way down. Jack dragged his enormous body towards you. Thankfully his AI wasn’t made for two people so he was easily distracted from Namjoon.

There was little good news for you on the other hand, while you were cornered now with no ammo left in your gun. The only thing left was your grenade launcher. You quickly switched and started shooting at Jack helplessly. The kickback of the massive weapon left your shoulder aching, but the adrenaline running through your body left that a problem for later. Eventually, the grenade launcher used its last grenade and you were left with nothing.

You stood there defeated, watching Jack wind up his deadly arm. Not even a block would protect you from the blow. Is this it? You’re going to die in a video game?

Before your thoughts could roam even more into the unknown, Jack’s body fell through the floorboards. He did it.

You flew down the ladder to reunite with Namjoon once more. “We did it! We did it!” You jump into his arms. His arms wrapped around you tightly, you both spinning around the flooded room. You wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there, so you took his hand in yours and ran for the exit where Zoe and Mia were waiting. Now was the time that could determine everything. There’s only one cure left and Namjoon had three different people that needed it. Will he choose Mia, his wife, and my best friend, that we both came here for? Or will he choose Zoe, the one that mentored us along the way? Or, is there even a slim chance that he’ll choose you?

You all three stood in front of him, watching the gears turning inside his head. Your heart was beating through your chest. You wanted him to pick you, but you understood the circumstances. He came here for Mia and he will choose Mia in the end.

“Mia…” Namjoon looks down at his feet while Mia walks toward his figure with a smile on her face. He finally makes eye contact with her, catching a glimpse of you in the background.

“I’m sorry. I came here for you, but I can’t use this on you,” He walks past her and inches towards you. “(Y/N), you’ve saved my ass too many times for me to leave you here to die.” He pushes the syringe into your wrist, making sure every last drop of the cure goes into your blood system.

You were left speechless, along with everyone else. Namjoon didn’t have the heart to look at Mia’s and Zoe’s face before guiding you both onto the boat out of there. You happened to see Mia and Zoe watching you both row off with the look of true fear on their face. You would be in that same position if Namjoon didn’t choose you. What would you have done then? You turned to face Namjoon again.

“Thank you…I should’ve said it sooner, but I was so shocked. I really thought you were going to pick Mia,” His eyes meet yours. There was no doubt that he was sad about leaving Mia behind, but after everything you both had been through he thought you were more important. It seemed harsh but it was true.

“I know I made the right choice. No looking back,” Namjoon gives you a warm smile. That was the last time you saw Namjoon when the boat flipped over and pure darkness devoured your vision.

#bangtan seonyeondan #bts #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts imagines #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #namjoon

[sabotajuu-a]

                    Out of respect for my fellow roleplayers here, I didn’t want to reblog the original post with all of this so that the images didn’t stretch everyone’s dashboards, and I could put this under a read more.   The posts I’m referring to are @savagedesign‘s HERE, my response HERE, as well as THESE SCREENSHOTS of @discandi‘s post ( since I can’t link the post from the blog itself, nor force it to appear as a dashboard link ).   Apologies for the long post.

                    Regardless, here’s the tea:

                    First and foremost, I want to get the legalities out of the way.   The original poster states that the game’s box rating is M for MATURE, or 17+.   For the sake of posting my own information AS LINKED HERE for collateral’s sake, we can see from GameStop’s official website that the rating is the same where I live, which is in the UNITED STATES.   Other countries have mixed ratings, because other countries have their own laws regarding the proper age group to view said content.   So, while there are countries who say a game is rated 18+, and others state the ratings are 15+, so on and so forth, there are still laws that need to be discussed and taken into account.

                    The problem lies in the complications of differing laws across borders.   Just because you live in a country where the maturity age is considered 15+ to view and participate within certain types of media, doesn’t mean that you aren’t endangering other users across borders by writing the content within said media, where their country’s maturity age is 17+ or 18+.   To put it simply, A 15 YEAR OLD WRITING DEAD BY DAYLIGHT’S CONTENTS WITH SOMEONE IN THE UNITED STATES WHERE THE LAW IS 17+, PUTS THE OLDER INDIVIDUAL IN A POSITION WHERE THEY CAN BE HELD LEGALLY ACCOUNTABLE FOR YOUR DISREGARD TO THEIR COUNTRY’S LAWS.   And that, my friends, is called CORRUPTION OF A MINOR, because as far as the United States is concerned, you, as a person under 17 playing this game and partaking in its contents, are still a minor, regardless of the laws in your country.

                    And want to know why that’s a problem?   Because it can completely and utterly ruin that 17 year old’s life.   NSFW content is an umbrella term for all things considered within gore, smut / sexual themes, intense violence, blood, strong language, and things of the like.   Writing ANY NSFW content with a minor, regardless of any legalities determining age of consent for any and all media, is still illegal.   Allow me to source things that are applicable to this situation from my perspective, meaning me as a writer having to abide by the United States’ laws regarding content that is RATED M FOR MATURE.

                    ENTERTAINMENT SOFTWARE RATING BOARD ( ESRB )   :                                         MATURE RATING DEFINITION

Content is generally suitable for ages 17 and up. May contain intense violence, blood and gore, sexual content and/or strong language.

                    CONTENT DESCRIPTIONS   :

INTENSE VIOLENCE: Graphic and realistic-looking depictions of physical conflict. May involve extreme and/or realistic blood, gore, weapons and depictions of human injury and death.

BLOOD AND GORE: Depictions of blood or the mutilation of body parts.

SEXUAL CONTENT: Non-explicit depictions of sexual behavior, possibly including partial nudity.

STRONG LANGUAGE: Explicit and/or frequent use of profanity.

                    These ratings and descriptions are put in place to protect individuals from exposure to darker and more adult themes.   This is why employees are LEGALLY REQUIRED to ask for identification when a person is purchasing age-restricted media, and why employees are further required to seek consent from a legal adult while mapping out the media’s contents when applicable.

                    The content ratings are meant to protect age groups from content that they are deemed too young to view as mapped out by a chosen government.   This is meant to ensure a person is old enough to handle seeing intense violence, blood and gore, while also hearing strong language or viewing implied sexual themes, and knowing that what’s going on in said media is NOT to blur the lines of real life’s morality.   So in Dead by Daylight’s case, the maturity rating is put in place because we have serial killers running around slaughtering survivors, cannibalizing them, snagging them in bear traps, chainsawing them, poisoning them, and then slapping them onto hooks.   Not to mention that Hag literally has one of her nipples out, which is still considered sexual in some definitions of the law.   We need to ensure that people under the given age aren’t going to go around tossing hatchets at pedestrians on the street, or electrocuting people with tasers or live wires, just because they’ve seen it in a video game.

                    While studies show that video games don’t make people violent, it’s very clear that there are situations where others may commit crimes inspired by the media they’ve digested before the recommended age, with or without parental consent or guidance.   Let’s move on to the legalities.

                    CORRUPTION OF MINORS                                         DEFINITION

Although it’s a pretty loose definition, the Pennsylvania Superior Court defines the phrase as “corrupting the morals of a minor” by explaining that it includes actions that would offend the common sense, sense of decency, propriety, and morality.

                    TITLE 18   SECTION 6301 ( a ) ( 1 ) ( i )   :                                         NON-SEXUAL CORRUPTION OF MINORS

Corruption of Minors is graded as a 1st Degree Misdemeanor punishable by up to 5 years in jail and a $10,000 fine. Since the offense is non-sexual in nature, an offense under Subsection (a)(1)(i) does not trigger sexual offender registration requirements under the Sexual Offender Registration and Notification Act (SORNA).

A person commits an offense under the subsection if he or she is 18 years of age or older, and commits one of the following acts: - The offender commits an act that corrupts or tends to corrupt the morals of any minor less than 18 years of age; OR ( cutting it here since the first one is all that applies here )

                    This literally maps it out right there.   To simplify it, a person who is 18+ engaging in media that is considered mature with someone who is below that age is committing a crime, whether they know it or not.   Because it isn’t SEXUAL CORRUPTION OF MINORS, the older party isn’t being put on the sexual offenders registry, but they do serve jail time, FIVE YEARS OF IT, which may make it difficult for them to find a job in the future, or assimilate within society when they’re out.   It is still damaging to a person’s life.

                    Now yes, a 2011 ruling in the U.S. Supreme Court found that video games are a constitutionally-protected form of expression, and that laws restricting their SALE OR RENTAL based upon violent content are unconstitutional.   However, this is restricted to just that, the sale or rental of violent video games.   If, say, a parent were to find the content you were writing with another person, and they disagreed with it and contacted authorities, the other person could still be charged if their country’s laws differ from your own, and they could serve some serious jail time while paying serious fines to the government, as well as paying for a lawyer to try and fight these accusations placed upon them from your negligence.

                    Therefore, @discandi, your statement     In fact here is the games rating in MY country     holds no validity to the argument because it doesn’t matter when you’re possibly endangering others.   The fandom is so up in arms about individuals under 18 writing in the community because of the content as advertised, because that potential about endangering another’s life in legal terms is a genuine threat.   We’re not completely saying minors can’t write mature content, we’re just asking minors to respect a writer’s individual boundaries without getting pissy about it.

                    Let’s get into the other portions of the debate, shall we?   @discandi‘s post   ( as linked in the first little introduction )   features some points that I have to disagree with, and that I find appalling.   Firstly, calling the community a bunch of freaks is a big assumption, and pinning the whole ra.pe fetishization argument on the entire community is an even bigger assumption.   Not all Dead by Daylight roleplayers are entirely into writing the super dark content, and in truth the community is EXTREMELY against portraying ra.pe, or writing du.bcon.   Take into account the community’s DISTASTE for the Freddy / Quentin ship.   People shipping killers and survivors together is not ra.pe since both parties are ABLE TO CONSENT considering all survivors are confirmed to be 21+, and all killers are confirmed to be 21+ with the exception of Legion’s members.   Frank and Joey are 18 - 19, while Julie and Susie are still in that unconfirmed area of being under, on, or over 18.

                    And now I just have to map out the tags in @discandi‘s post, as screencapped by me:

                    Your logic of equating people who write darker themes to enjoying and justifying ra.pe fetishization is extremely flawed, because generalizing the fandom into this umbrella assumption without any real solid evidence to back it up is quite unfair to those of us who just want to write out the gore, or the murder, or the potential verses and character dynamics to be explored.   Are there people in the Dead by Daylight community who fetishize ra.pe?   Sure, but you will always find people like that in ANY FANDOM.   MLP, League of Legends, Steven Universe, Supernatural, Soulsborne, Red Dead Redemption, Disney, the list could go on and you’ll still find some no.ncon fetishization in the media as produced.   None of us ever said it was okay or valid of them to do that, and we in fact tend to voice our distaste for it.

                    In my time roleplaying on this site, which has been seven, almost eight years now, I have never seen anyone write out ra.pe or no.ncon or du.bcon in roleplay.   Even in a fandom that features a game as horrid as OUTLAST did I never see someone write out or fetishize these aspects in roleplay, even when you have those featured and implied in the actual game itself.

                    So saying that people who write darker themes and are uncomfortable with minors writing with them in similar media are just ra.pe fetishist freaks is a HUGE STRETCH to make.

                    In addition, bringing up @starlyht‘s reply to me, as screencapped HERE:

                    I never said a minors have never played a mature game, nor did I say minors haven’t engaged in material marked as mature.   Hell, I’m sure everyone’s done it.   What I’m saying is that SOME people, not all, are uncomfortable with minors writing mature content because it puts them at risk.   It opens up the possibility of legal troubles, or just doesn’t sit right with their personal morals because they’re 18+ and just writing with minors is uncomfortable.

                    And just when I thought I was done, here we have @hallowkills with their VERY UNINSIGHTFUL POST which I’m so glad to have seen before hitting post.   You’re going to come on here and get involved in this discussion, when you’ve made one of the most hilariously hypocritical posts that counteracts the comment you’ve made pertaining to the argument at hand.

                    On July 24, 2019, you posted:

ok little psa but if you rp a muse that’s like... from disney or any media that’s primarily directed at children (like cartoons, etc) i’m probably going to block you because this is a slasher blog and michael is not compatible with those sort of muses

                                        (   PROOF HERE   )     (   TAG PROOF   )

                    Okay, that’s respectable and understandable.   Personal preference, I get that, but then one of your tags proceeded to state:

                    Which can essentially be taken as your refusal to write with adults who write characters from children’s cartoons because you don’t trust them.   The same can be said about adults who don’t want to write with minors who write adult characters or adult media.   It makes some of us uncomfortable, and in some ways, it’s illegal.   So why are WE being called gatekeepers, or ra.pe fetishists, or harassers when we could just as easily pin the same thing on minors who write adult characters and media?

                    And then you continued to make a post today shown HERE, screencapped just in case you decide to delete it.   How hypocritical do you have to be?   Imagine being a minor and getting mad about adults writing characters that carry nostalgia from their childhood.   God forbid someone enjoys something when it’s harming nobody.   However, minors writing adult content with certain people CAN harm them, punishable by law, and that’s the tea.

                    Checkmate, thank you.   Hope the free educating helps.   Have a wonderful day / evening, I think I’ve made my point and earned my rest before work.   You’re more than welcome to continue the conversation in IMs, as I won’t be clogging my dash up any more than I already have.

                    And before you ask for sources, I’m a criminal justice major.   I will happily post a picture of my degree on request, with personal information blocked out of course, and post proof of my education completion.   Sources regarding the law are from online, some textbooks, and my own knowledge of how the law works.

#i mean idk how to be any clearer #it's mapped out right there #nobody's mad. #we're just tired of this same shit day in and day out #when we're out here #making sure minors and adults alike are safe #discourse / #drama / #negative / #rape mention / #long post /

[mckinney84terkildsen]

Top ten Computer Games

Starcraft Starcraft ranks inside at #10 upon this list. A good amazingly popular game, it was unveiled in 1998 and even is still being played. Starcraft is actually a RTS game that will pits the Zerg, Protoss, and Terran against each other. Each have an unique play style utilizing their strengths and flaws. SiN Episodes: Beginning At #9 Trouble Episodes is actually an online game you might have got never head of. It's a continuation of the game Din, released in 1998. It was introduced on Steam, and is unique found in the fact that it was the first game created by a major developer that will was released with no a publisher. SiN episodes is a new FPS game of which occurs some period in the long term within a mega town. You play the roll of the cop who have already been injected having a treatment plan "Super Soldier" dope that is trying to find the cure. It plays like numerous other source video games, so if a person enjoy them, you will probably appreciate SiN, along with it's many easter eggs. The best part though? The main villain is the lady by typically the name of Elexis Sinclaire. Sins involving a Solar Disposition #8 is another sport you may or perhaps may not heard of. Sins of the Solar Empire is a nice epic RTS online game set in place. On sale since 2008 with an expansion throughout 2009 and an additional in 2010, Sins has become a popular game among the list of RTS crowd. The foundation of the particular game would be to colonize planets through 1 of 3 strategies: Through force, since par in some sort of RTS game, buying them(with a great deal of money), or perhaps through a spiritual coupe. This makes things a little intriguing, as you need to make sure your current people actually like you. You have to be able to build substantial space fleets, and the unique have to zoom on as close like a spaceship windowpane, and far sufficient to be able to see multiple galaxies. Though certainly not much real make use of, it's a really interesting characteristic. Age of Autorité 2 #7 is my favorite RTS game(you might notice there are usually a few within this list). It starts ancient civilizations against each other in a battle to be able to the death (or whatever else, along with all the personalized maps). Age regarding Empires had awesome fan made routes that changed the play-style. One great example was Archer Blood. In this personalized map, each end user got a citadel and tower. An individual spawned archers at a constant interval with upgrades approaching depending on exactly how many kills a person got. The ultimate goal being to be able to destroy the enemies tower. There have been also games want the reenactment involving Helms Deep. General it was a solid base RTS, even without personalized maps, giving many selections of different civilizations, each with distinctive bonuses. Battlefield 3 At #6, battleground 3 is some sort of pretty standard FRAMES PER SECOND game. The tale line is forgettable, in the event you even do it, but multiplayer is addicting. Just like Battlefield 2 just before it, there are many routes, and plenty regarding guns. As fine as fighting seeing that a grunt, you can get in a container, LAV, hummer, plane, or helicopter. Is actually got an excellent ranking system in which the more you play with a new particular gun, the more upgrades you find for this. You can easily play as anything from a scout sniper to a combat medic, with each roll buying unique weapons plus unlocks. There's not necessarily a lot more to state, other than it's pretty. DOOM 3 #5 is the particular third shooter in this list, and even the third type of the classic game, DOOM. Arranged on mars in the future, you, as the original space sea, have to combat your way by means of demons to save lots of typically the day. Doom is intended to be a scary game, and even they went about achieving this in different ways. First of all, virtually all over the place you go is covered in gore, so this might become a reason it can rated M. The 2nd way is by way of sound. Id, the makers of Doom, work with many creepy, practically not there noises, partnered with typically the undeniable fact that you listen to people getting wiped out, either over the radio stations you carry, or by being close to their location. Finally, they use lighting. The complex if you're in has already been ravaged by demons, and thus not all the lights function. There's flickering, dark areas, and just basic dark spots. To combat this an individual have a flashlight, but in typically the original game, an individual can't use the particular flashlight and a new gun as well, driving you to either see what's coming after you, or prevent what's coming after you. The Folk Scrolls: Skyrim #4 is actually a new game, released 11/11/11. Is actually set 200 yrs after Oblivion, putting the gamer in the particular province of Skyrim on the region Tamriel. Skyrim is actually a large RPG sport that gives you plenty of liberty with your character. Want to end up being a giant arctique with a fight ax? A sneaky elf with daggers? A furry with a klepto issue? What about a giant furry with daggers? It's all probable in Skyrim. Skyrim has a good, though rather quick main quest, with a wide range of of part quests and area to explore. Also, such as Oblivion and Morrowind before it, now there are plenty regarding mods, with even more being constantly additional. The best half however is of which almost nothing is definitely bolted down, and you could steal massive amounts of stuff until your property looks like this kind of. The Elder Scrolls: Morrowind #3 is usually another Elder Scrolls game. Again, set in Tamriel, but this time in the domain of Morrowind, even more specifically this island then involving Vvardenfell. The primary history line is rather nice, with a great deal to do and plenty of side account lines as well. Stepping into guilds is definitely much harder as compared to with Skyrim, and require a bunch more questing, going into dungeons, and so forth The game has been absolutely beautiful at release in 2002, forcing computers to the particular limit, and will still look nice with mods. The game world is amazingly detailed with a lot to do, and there are massive levels of mods that help to increase it, from little houses to complete new lands. Coupled with the mods, the particular immersion and capacity to consume time competitors that of an MMO. Which provides us to: World of Warcraft #2, Wow has been the MMO for 7 years and counting. Built upon the sport world of World of warcraft 3 and it's really ancestors, WoW will be a major MMO giving users thousands, if not countless things to perform, from collecting animals to killing the opposing faction. WoW is seperated straight into two factions at war, the Cha?non and the Horde, each with it can unique races. Between the land masses involving Kalimdor, the Easter Kingdoms, Northrend, and Outlands, there is plenty to learn. WoW has 3 growth out, with a fourth on the écart. Although it's no longer at really peak after almost 8 years, Whoa still has twelve million active gamers, more than virtually any other paid MMORPG. If you don't have tried it however, you can today level up to 20 for free. Really worth downloading simply to check it out. Belcebú 2 Best in the list is another Blizzard sport. Diablo II had been released in 2050, with it's Master of Destruction enlargement released in 2001. Diablo is some sort of multiplayer RPG. Not really an MMORPG, as you could only get 7 other people at the same time. You fight all the way through 4(5 with the expansion) different unique areas over three difficulties to improvement, gain gear, and even reach level 99. It's easily re-playable and fun in order to use all typically the different classes. Every single map is developed when you insert the world, so it's very difficult to get the same structure twice, keeping the particular gameplay fresh still though it is the identical areas. I, alongside with countless some others, have spent way too much time on Leviatán II, and can probably spend many more hours on it considering blizzard continues to be releasing patches for this. The dark, grungy feel of the particular game is amazing. Which has a simple program and ease regarding play, much more that an easy game to get hooked on.

#micro gaming #microgaming

[reddogf13]

Covenant ch 10

summery:  They did it, IT was left to die alone in the tunnels under Derry. months have passed and the losers thrived after what seems to feel like a curse lifting off the town. if only Beverly had not decided to make a last minute deal with IT on its death bed. will her choice to let IT live destroy all that she holds dear?

status: complete

rated: M - fowl language and gore

prev chap: Covenant ch 9

next chap: Covenant ch 11

_____________________________________

~ch: 10 Accidents~

She whipped her head around to face him. Letting her heart settle before speaking.

“I came here to find out if you know anything else about the men. Me and the guys are going tonight to look over the quarry.”

“I told you I am going to the quarry. You are not allowed to go. I know not much else. Especially since what happened last night. Their meetings have stopped with activity slowing down greatly … shouldn't you be in school?”

“schools shut down after what happened. not allowed? Says who?” raising an eyebrow at the tall clown.

“says me.” he huffed. Walking by toward the nest.

“who made you the boss of me?”

“ I did.”

“and whyyyy is that?” growing more confused.

“because you keep getting yourself into trouble and I don't want you-.” he started, cutting himself off. A momentary look of pain flashing across his face. Twisting it quickly back toward something serious. “ you can't enter the quarry. Leave it at that.” speaking seriously toward her.

“me and the guys have to go! We're tired of letting bad things happen. We don't want to be like everyone else and ignore what's going on!”

“ DO AS I SAY!” roaring over her. “Stop being stubborn! I will handle it and all of you will stay out of it! Understand?!” glaring down at her. Watching Beverly fidget as her gaze turned away.

“... yes. ...” she mumbled. A quiet moment passing when he spoke in a more calmly manor.

“ … are you hungry?” steering the conversation someplace else.

“ a little I guess.”continuing to mumble.

“wait here then. I'll fetch you something.” walking back by her to leave.

“where do you even get the food?”

“I go to the diner and wait till a to go order is placed. I simply grab it before anyone else can.”

“you just grab take out trays? Do you even know whats in them when you do?”

“no.” he answered. Going around a corner out of sight. Beverly looking back toward the main nesting area.

“he's acting differently.” she thought. A moment ago feeling like she was arguing with a parent then some world eater. “ he actually sounded concerned for me going to the quarry. What's with the sudden attachment? It can't all be to preserve the deal. IT hates humans and doesn't seem the type to attach to “prey” as he calls us.”

thinking it over it all seemed vaguely familiar to something she heard in biology class. They talked about natural predators sometimes going against nature. Adopting young from prey they ate almost everyday. “I need to read up on that again. The library has to have books talking about it. Is there even a word for it?” her attention pulled to the sound of footsteps. IT returning with a brown bag of fresh food.

“here.” he offered the bag.

She took the bag giving a quick glance inside. Looking back to the clown. “can you take me to the library?”

he glanced away grumbling to himself. “yes.” he spoke. Looking back to her with a held out hand. The moment she took it there was a flash of black. Instantly they were there as the blackness disappeared.

“I am not a taxi service. Get your friend to drive you places from now on.” he grumbled. Leaving Beverly alone in the lower basement level of the library. Dropping her off where no one would see their sudden appearance.

She rushed up the stairs, food in hand, toward the nature section. Scanning through shelf upon shelf of books. Looking through various titles of books on insects, farm animals, domestic dogs to various wild creatures. Spotting a selection large animal behavior books that could provide something. Scooping them up to take away to a table. Sitting down to slowly scan through all the pages. Looking for anything similar to what she remembered.

A quarter of the way through her 5th book she was losing hope. Scanning over the remaining books he attention was caught on one with a turtle on the cover. A sense of this book having promise making her skip the others. Flipping through the pages when she came upon a picture of a lion sleeping by a baby gazelle.

Scanning over the large paragraphs before settling on the most important part.

“in nature it is rare predators will adopt and care for prey young. Studies are still being made of why that is, but there are a few theories that have been confirmed.

In the case of caged animals one predator may become a friendly companion to offered prey. Due to being far more lonely at the time over being hungry. Forming an inseparable bond despite the predator still actively hunting.

In the case of wild predators such as a lion will usually involve timing. the predator parent being a female. Along with a burst of specific love hormones.

Female predators are much more likely to adopt prey if they were recently pregnant or suffered a loss of their own young. After birth adoption being higher as the mother is under hormones. These hormones are what develop a parental bond to their children. Sudden traumatic losses can cause unhealthy attachments to adopt other young.” she read from the page.

“sounds familiar.” remembering back to its eggs rotting in that underground. Continuing to read off the rest of the page.

“ bonds may also form between predator and prey if they benefit from each others company.

However these bonds after being made may not always last. The parental predator eventually succumbing to natural instinct to devour the prey. The adoptive parent unable to properly care for their new young. In the case of a lion adopting prey was unable to feed the young animal meat it had brought. Or other eventual predators moving in to finish off the prey.”

Beverly shut the book having read what little info was available. Sighing as she looked to the bag of food. “at least IT knows how to care for humans, but the book says it never lasts.” bringing the food closer. Looking around for library staff that could shoo her out. They didn't like food inside the building.

Opening the trey revealed a fresh stack of pancakes next to bacon. Off to the side was a small plastic container of warm syrup.

“while I am here, maybe I can find a map on the quarry.” taking out the plastic spork and knife to cut into the pancakes.

IT may have ordered her not to go, but she wasn't going to listen. Her and the guys were going to do something about the quarry. They weren't going to sit back while more kids are taken. To be sold or abused by who ever in where ever. Maybe if they hurried they could save some children that were taken.

Some time passed with Beverly meeting back up with the guys from their investigations. The sun getting increasingly low to set a red sunlit glow across Derry.

“anything?” bill asked the reform group. Some head shakes and nos were giving. Beverly giving some information she found.

“I found some time to check the library for anything on the quarry. A few maps, but they're all really old when the mining first began. There's a few entrances up the river where can start.”

“to the rust bucket!” Richie charged off dragging Eddie along to mikes car. Richie, Eddie, Stan, bill, and Ben squeezed into the back. Giving the front seat to Bev with mike in his drivers seat.

“I still don't think it's a good idea. It's going to be pitch black out there. What if one of us falls off a cliff on accident?” Eddie expressed his worry with an opening of his backpack. Filled up on flashlights for them all to take on their stake out hike.

“w-w-w-w-”

“your stutters kicking up bill.” Richie shines a flashlight at him. Switching it off right afterwards.

“He thrusts his f-f-f-fists against the post, and still insists h-h-he sees the ghost.” the boy repeated in frustration. Calming himself from the adrenaline of the quarry's approach.

“we all stay in groups.” he was able to get out. “don't get to f-f-far from one another s-s-s-stay hidden in the shrubs or around trees.”

the car drove down the beaten dirt road. The red light of the falling sun shrinking to the pure blackness of light. Mike being forced to slow the car to a crawl on the rough terrain. Carefully avoiding trees that were hard to see with the cars badly yellowed lights. The losers scanning outside the windows into the black forests. Only the nearest of brush highlighted by the cars low light.

“hm hmm … hm hmm … hm hmm.” Richie rhythmically hummed.

“r-r-rich this isn't the time to joke!” bill scolded.

“what joke?” the humming boy played innocent. “ hm hmm … hm hmm … hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm.” he hummed.

“Richie! Stop with the jaws theme! O-o-or i'll punch you again!”

“like to see ya try!” he challenged.

Mike interrupting. “we're here.” slowing them to a stop. Shutting the car off to be in total darkness.

Flashlights switching on one by one inside the cramped space. Hearing no sounds of nature in the dead forest. Slowly they stepped out to scan the pitch black surroundings. Bill repeating his stuttering sentence. Eddie taking a puff of his inhaler.

“o-o-okay. Me, Stan, m-m-mike and Eddie will go this way. B-b-Ben, Bev, and Richie go the other.” bill directed.

“what are we even supposed to look for? Cars? Mobsters? Moth man?!” Richie groaned when they separated.

Ben shushed him. “we need to stay quiet!” whispering the order.

“why?! You think their blind from our spotlights out in these woods?!” shaking his flashlight wildly to light up trees nearby.

“stop that! We don't need to make it easier for them!” Ben continued whispering.

“careful.” Bev interrupted them. “were right next to the river and its got a drop.” shining the light down the steep dirt edge. Falling at this point would cause some bad scrapes, but further along a fall would be someones last mistake.

“let's say we do see a car. Then what? Tell the cops “hey, someone driving in the quarry! how do we know that officer? Oh, we only trespassed to spy in the middle of the goddamned night!” our parents will be thrilled to see us escorted home!” Richie whines.

“maybe we'll see kids or maybe that's not the only stuff we're dealing with. What if their big drug dealers with huge things of bricks.” Ben getting a little frustrated.

“if that's what we think they are. What are we gonna do?! Find a few black market guns to bust in blasting motherfuckers?”

“no, we gather evidence first. Don't you watch knight rider?”

“that show with the possessed car?”

“it's not possessed! Its suppose to be a super computer car!”

“whatever. Its fucking creepy. I expect and episode where it goes all HAL 9000 on the guys ass! Wasn't the car called Christine?”

“no! It was called kitt! Christine was a horror movie-!”

at this point Beverly had completely tuned out there arguing conversation. “guys … guys! … guyyys!” she shouted at the two far too focused on their talk. “ugh, forget it.” she waved off. Trudging on ahead up the steep river side. Scanning across the trees along her path. Stopping in her tracks at a silver reflection of the light back at her. She swallowed the lump in her throat to step toward the strange object. Examining closer she saw a fabric was covering the shiny thing. Grasping part of it to yank away. Noticing the fabric was much larger. Covering a whole white van in the fabric tarp marked in camo pattern. Multiple branches leaned up against it in a purposeful job of hiding it.

“why?” she thought in walking around to the back doors. Clicking the handle discovering it was still open. “this is like the same van principal Alko had.” shining the light over the interior. Seeing another shiny object set to the side. A silver heavy case filled with stacks of money left open.

“who would leave this?” speaking to herself. A creepy crawly feeling going up her spine that something was wrong.

Rushing around to the front of the van to still see the guys further down the slope still arguing. She was prepared to call out to them. Painfully shouting when something slammed into her. Knocking her clean off her feet. Dropping the flashlight to land at the sharp drops edge. Beverly managing to reach out and grab some thick roots stringing out the cliff side. Panicking to get back up.

A pair of dark legs leading down to heavy dark boots kicking the only light available far off the cliff. Beverly watching it fall for ages to be swept away by the rapids rushing below. She turned to face the attacker. Seeing just the edge of his figure ready to kick her in the face.

“Beverly!” Richie shouted. Distracting the man from the approaching figure behind.

A loud growl was heard from behind. A pair of burning eyes being the only thing seen when the man turned. A rush of air passing into sounds of powerful shredding. The stranger yelped falling off to the side with a grab to his face. Beverly turned her head at Ben and Richie lights landing on her. She looked back up to aim at pulling herself up. Meeting face to face with Pennywise reaching down to grab her as the rock crumbled underneath. Missing her chance at being hoisted up to fall far down.

Hitting the water painfully as one would landing on “soft” dirt. Painfully swimming up to the surface lightened by flashes of Richie and Bens lights.

“Beverly!” “Beverly!” they both shouted repeatedly as they rushed down the river edge. Failing to keep a light on the girl swiftly forced down river. Plunging under the powerful rushing waters over and over. Body turning numb in the freezing water covered in forming night ice. Choking down mouthfuls of water smashing into her.

It was turning to a point she thought she would die. She was choking water in the pitch black. Couldn't see or even feel the changing surface between freezing water and the open air. Couldn't see the on coming rocks she smashed into. Couldn't see the shore to attempt swimming towards. It was all a black death forcing her down into it in any way possible.

Catching something at her arm she held on for her life. Gasping for air after being yanked free of the freezing water. A rush of escaping death's grasp filling her. Making her sick to her stomach.

“Beverly? Can you talk? Are you okay?” the voice she recognized first. Grabbing a hold of the clown costume fabric to lean up. Coughing and hacking to throw out all the water that invaded her lungs. Shivering in Pennywise's arms far too exhausted to do anything else.

Pennywise was possessively holding her in his arms. Fearing her health pushing aside the fury of her disobeying him. She could have died from that stranger by the van. He had to pick her up and take her home. Her body temperature dangerously low. Covered in cuts from slamming into the rocks.

A flash of light over them both whipping Pennywise's attention toward the source. Aggressively hissing bared crooked teeth. Startling back Richie and Ben who managed to catch up.

“holy shit!” Richie shouted when startled back. Pennywise's body tensed at seeing them instead of the attacker. Assuming they wouldn't believe anything he would try to say. Having no time to even say a word with Beverly's condition. He picked her up to rush into the woods out of sight.

“hey! You clown fucker!” Richie shouted after them. Ben ready to run after them if it weren't for Richie stopping him. “don't separate! That's what IT wants! We have to get bill!”

they bolted back up stream. Relentlessly shouting bills name to grab his attention quick.

Bills group look toward Ben and Richie rushing down their side of the river. By their quick flashlight movements they could tell they were running.

“wheres Bev?!” Eddie pointed out one missing. Bill anxiously running over preparing for the worst.

“w-w-w-w- god fuck! - Bev! Where!” he fought with his stuttering to let out the question.

“Pennywise took her!” Richie shouted.

“he ran off into the woods with her!”

“what?!” bill choked wide eyed on the word. “b-b-b-b- fuck- the car!” bill tried directing them to run back to the car.

“where to?!” Mike asked on the way.

“n-n-n-n-n-”

“the crack house!” Richie finished for him. Wasting no time to all cram into the backseat. Mike put the keys in only to hear the engine chug.

“no! Not fucking now!” Mike growled. Turning the key a few more times. No luck, the car was out of commission.

“we can't wait!” Ben exclaimed, getting out of the car. Followed by everybody else. Forced to run all the way back to town straight to Pennywise's lair.

#It (2017) #pennywise #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #mike hanlon #stanly uris #ben hascom #covenant ch 10

[rpgsandbox]

Lamp’s Light Sanitarium deals in subject matter that may be upsetting, disturbing, and/or a trigger for certain readers. Prior to using the material contained within please be sure to discuss with your group what you plan to include in your game.

Lamp’s Light was written for mature audiences. It is designed to portray a gritty, unsettling, and evocative setting so you and your players can delve into aspects of the game that are not typically explored. Our intent is not to shock, offend, or demean anyone. That said, this supplement explores many behaviors and situations that may not be suitable for all audiences.

The classic tropes and creatures of horror are widely used within the 5th edition of the world’s most famous roleplaying game and yet few would consider it a “horror” game. Why is that? The heroes are larger than life, their actions do not generally have long-term consequences, and a horde of flesh-eating ghouls is little more than a momentary distraction. Clearly copious amounts of blood, violence, and gore do not make a game a horror game. To instill a sense of horror — or more accurately, dread — in a 5th edition game, other modalities should be explored.

Lamp’s Light Sanitarium

Lamp’s Light as a setting focuses primarily on two things: the horrors that are inflicted upon others, in particular the mentally ill, disadvantaged, and forgotten; and the slow loss of control of oneself as psychic, intellectual, and emotional scars accumulate over a lifetime of conflict.

Within the walls of Lamp’s Light Sanitarium, you will find all manner of medical marvels. The sick will be healed, the lame made to walk again, the mute will regain their voices, and miracles are seemingly an everyday occurrence. The facility’s reputation amongst the wealthy is spotless. The staff is educated, knows their place, and most importantly are discreet. The academic elite view Lucien Prosper’s legacy as the pinnacle of research and cutting-edge treatments for maladies that cannot be cured by other means. The poor know that Lamp’s Light helps them when it is able, taking in ailing children and afflicted adults who have nowhere else to turn. The religious orders of the city publicly praise Lamp’s Light for their philanthropy, while privately condemning them for their reliance on the arcane arts of science and technology.

These wonders come at a price, one that Dr. Orson Renwick has paid countless times over his tenure. Dr. Renwick has been experimenting on his patients since shortly after the asylum opened its doors. All in the name of science, progress, and the greater good. With each success, and failure, his perception of acceptable evolved, twisted, and expanded to until no depredation was too taboo. The horrors he’s inflicted upon countless patients all began with the best intentions.  

In the course of a lifetime of adventure, intrigue, and exploration our heroes face challenges that would break a normal man or woman. Luckily, they are made of sterner stuff and weather the storm to fight another day. The heroes have been a part of countless battles, exposed to effects that cause direct injury to their mind, met creatures whose very presence instills primal terror, and are targets of mind-affecting magic. Like anything exposed to the elements the small chips, cracks, and erosion wears away the outer shell until all that’s left is the exposed, raw core. The psychic scars left behind change a character.

The Book

Lamp’s Light is a fully realized horror sourcebook for the 5th edition of the world’s most famous roleplaying game. This black and white campaign guide has an expected page count of 130+ pages. As stretch goals are met additional content will be added and the book expanded to accommodate.

Lamp’s Light Sanitarium is a sprawling estate beautifully detailed in hand drawn maps by Toby Lancaster of Dark Realm Maps. The asylum is charted with six individual maps each of which has dozens of fully described rooms. The asylum is equally at home as an oasis in an urban environment or as an idyllic country estate. The characters, themes, and setting are distinctly Victorian with Gothic and steampunk elements.

Lamp’s Light Sanitarium is, above all else, a framework that can generate dozens of adventures, full campaigns, and countless hours of roleplaying. Adventure hooks are included throughout the book to fire the imagination of DMs and players. Sections include:

Lamp's Light in Your Campaign: How to incorporate Lamp's Light into an existing campaign such as those available Wizards of the Coast, Kobold Press, and other publishers.

A new adventure: Discordant Scriptures (a Lamp's Light adventure for mid-level PCs). An alien intelligence has been drawn to the confluence of dissonant minds contained within Lamp’s Light. Administrator Rose, at the behest of her patron, has urged the residents of the facility to record their mad dreams within the pages of a dream journal. Rose believes that the collected journals contain within them the knowledge needed to release her patron from its imprisonment on another plane.

Story frameworks: In additional to Discordant Scriptures there will be half a dozen 2-3 page story frameworks ready for you to customize and build upon for your individual campaigns.

Key staff, patients and other inhabitants of Lamp’s Light are detailed with statblocks, backgrounds, illustrations, and everything needed to incorporate them into your sessions. Dr. Renwick, Administrator Rose, and the man known as Patient 11 are but a few of the NPCs walking the halls of Lamp’s Light. Orderlies, Patients, and other creatures are covered in the same level of detail.  

New Rules for Managing Sanity

The sanity and madness rules presented enhance role-playing, create challenges for the players, and bring more color to your game. 5th edition characters are, above all else, exceptional. They are capable of winning virtually any fight, overcoming epic challenges, and creating miracles. These rules keep that spirit in mind.

The 20 pages of new rules build upon the framework provided by the DMG. There are expansive tables for transient, short-term, long-term, and indefinite madness, with nearly 50 different entries describing the narrative and mechanical effects on the character.

For DMs looking for more color without the added mechanical crunch the narrative descriptions provide ample fodder for you and your players to role-play.

Last, but not least, there will be a custom form-fillable PDF character sheet fully compatible with the sanity rules.

Kickstarter campaign ends: Wed, November 28 2018 2:32 PM UTC +00:00

Website: ???

#RPG #kickstarter #Dungeons and Dragons #Lamp's Light Sanitarium