#I guess you could say this is an apocalyptic au
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Day 1: Beginning/End
The Empire of Samadhi AU
Pt. 1 (you are here) | Pt. 2 |
(This is day 1 of the Monkie Destiny Challenge Prompt Month October 2023)
Wordcount: 2k
Summary: Red Son is the son of an old empire, Mei is the daughter of a new one. Red Son, consumed by fire, was put into an induced stasis sleep to stop the world from burning until his family can find a way to safely remove the fire. They find a way but he never wakes up. Hundreds of years later he awakes to discover his power resides within another as she stares at him with wide eyes on fire.
When Red Son met the heir to the Dragon Empire of the Western Sea, it was the beginning of the end.
Red Son remembered the smell of fire melting flesh, more horrid than anything he’d experienced before. He remembered burning his mothers and his fathers hands. He remembered laughing. He remembered screaming.
Red Son was born a prince and he was born with fire.
Like him, his power had been small to begin with. His Father’s Empire was a warring one. It was how it came to be. He was a Warlord who became an Emperor and his wife, Red Son’s mother was the princess of a distant empire that he failed to conquer, partially due to Red Son’s mother herself. Red Son was their son, the heir to the throne and future emperor.
“You must be strong,” his father told him after every tale of conquest. “For when you rule, there will be those who oppose your authority. You must take it. They can do nothing to you if you are more powerful than those that seek to destroy you.”
It had never been Red Son’s intention to be consumed by his quest for power. It had begun like any other learning did, with scrolls and lectures and teachings and teachers. The flame alight inside him grew brighter and brighter with every meditation, every new technique and lesson learned. It grew in heat and size until he could feel it down to his fingers, heat coursing through him and roaring. He sought more and more, at the beginning, dragging himself forward by sheer force of will until there was a shift and his fire suddenly pushed him forward, propelling him into greatness, into conquest, into the raging inferno of power.
A power that grew too quickly and soon consumed him and everyone around him as well. Until his parents voices were muffled and faces were blurred by heat and flame and he heard nothing but the tearing chants of flame; consume, consume, consume.
Voices muffled, his laughter loud as their chains melted before they could touch him. Fire could not be contained, it was everything. They could not put it out.
They could not put it out, but they could lock it away, and him with it.
“I swear to you,” his father said. “I will return for you.”
His hands were the last thing Red Son felt before he ceased to exist.
When he awoke, he knew something was wrong.
He was cold.
Never in his life had he felt cold. Never in his life had he existed without a burning in his chest and a warmth in his core. But he awoke and his chest was gaping and empty. But his mind was clear. Clearer than it had been in a long time. The settled feeling of his fire within him was absent. Gone. He could tell it wasn’t inside him any longer. But he could feel its presence nearby.
Warmth hovered just close enough to brush his skin. He heard the crackling of flame.
His eyes snapped open.
Wide fire filled eyes stared back.
Whoever it was in front of him was engulfed in flame.
“Help,” she choked out.
“What have you done?” was the first thing out of his mouth. His voice sounded raspy, dry, the words rusty and unfamiliar.
The cave behind her was on fire. Everything, absolutely everything, was engulfed in flame. The roaring fire filled his vision and licked at his clothes and over his skin. None of it stuck to him, none of it could burn. The flames still knew him. They wrapped around him and he heard their recognition, their greeting, their call.
He looked at the soul in front of him, engulfed in his flame and he recognized a part of himself inside it that was causing the flames to stick to her skin.
He grabbed her face and reached out with his will to hers, grabbing hold of his fire inside her and reigning it in, wrapping it in a net of his mind and will and pushing it down.
It was easier than he remembered. Something had changed.
…He had changed.
She made a choking noise, eyes wide and tears evaporating before they had a chance to run down her cheeks.
“Breath, you fool,” Red Son said.
She gasped.
The fire around them died, the flames fluttering away to nothing, and without another word the woman lost consciousness falling into him.
Red Son was left with an unconscious person in his arms, the smell of ash and stone surrounding him, and the blackened cavern empty aside from the two of them.
His mouth was dry.
He coughed a few times before bothering to exit his small Red-Son-shaped hole carved out in the stone. There were spells carved into the stone around it, likely what had sealed him in.
He managed to drag them both out of the cave. With one arm around her waist and the other around her wrist ensuring the arm slung over his shoulders wouldn’t slip he staggered forward. His legs felt unreliable, unused, unsteady. His body shook and he found himself ravenously hungry. He reached the surface and found nothing but ashes.
It was a level of devastation that challenged anything he’d ever done. Everything was burnt, there was nothing but a wide expanse of blackened dirt in sight. No trees, no hills, no people as far as the eye could see. The sun was clouded out by smoke, sky appearing orange and making it hard to tell the time. The horizon was lit with a distant ember of what he was sure had to be a raging fire if he could see it from such a distance away. He gripped the woman’s wrist tightly.
“What,” he hissed out, “happened here.”
Silence and smouldering ashes were all that met his ears.
Mei woke up feeling as though there had been a fire in her throat. Scratchy dry and aching. Every part of her felt like she’d sat in front of a fire for too long and been cooked part-way. It was a nice feeling when she spent time with her great-great-great-a-thousand-times-great-great Grandfather… but right now it was a reminder of what had happened to make her feel so.
Fire.
She could still feel it, burning in her chest. The rings floated above her head, slowly circling, almost threatening in their movement. Their power was clear and heavy, weighing down and nearly vibrating with the barely contained inferno.
The inferno that destroyed her home.
She watched her tears evaporate into mist that floated up above her and faded away into nothing.
For a moment, she wished the flames had consumed her too.
“Oh, wonderful, you’re awake,” came a voice dripping with a disgusting sarcasm.
Mei jolted upright, the rings catching fire above her with her alarm. Panic shot through her and she reached up to try and put them out.
“Don’t touch those, idiot. You’ll just make it worse.”
Her head snapped to look at him.
And there he stood.
The Demon of Samadhi, his hair redder than a summer sunset, his eyes sharper than flint and steel, his arms crossed over his chest, and a sour expression on his face. Mei had thought she had dreamed it up, stumbling to the caverns she used to explore as a child, drawn by curiosity she’d thought at the time, but now knew was something different, with ashes and smoke trailing behind her rock melting under her feet until she’d drawn close and the spells surrounding his tomb had melted too and his face had come into view. Aside from his hair and clothes from another era, he looked like a normal person.
“You should be dead,” he said, like he was disappointed she wasn’t.
The flame in her flickered with her annoyance.
“And you should be quiet,” she snapped back.
“Insolent-” He looked like he was a moment away from bursting into flame, seething at her, but there was none of the fabled fire flickering in his eyes, they remained cold and empty. “Do you have any idea who you’re speaking to-?”
“Listen, buddy,” Mei interrupted him. He made a sound close to a squawk and she ignored him. “It's been a long day, okay? So if you could just tell me where we are before I barbecue you, that would be great.”
He scoffed again. “Your threats are meaningless, girl. That’s my fire you have there. It can’t hurt me, I made it.”
She glanced up at the rings. Then back down at him.
“You know,” she said. “You’re shorter than I thought you’d be.”
The offence on his face almost made her laugh.
“Were it not for the fact you are the current vessel for my fire, I would kill you here and now.”
“Yeah,” Mei said, “good luck with that buddy.” She groaned as she pushed herself to her feet and stood up, stretching. The rings flickered. She glanced at them. “Why don’t you just take your fire back and I’ll be on my way, huh?”
He was silent.
She looked at him.
He tsked, looking away sharply. “I already tried that, peasant.”
Mei blinked. “What do you mean you already tried?”
“While you were sleeping I attempted to pull it from you. My will alone is not enough to remove it from its current vessel. It’s stubborn.”
Mei barked out a laugh. “The big and powerful Demon of Samadhi can’t take his own fire back?”
“What nonsense-?” He bristled. “I don’t know how but it seems attached to you. I don’t know how you managed to fasten it to you so thoroughly in so little time, but I assure you, I will find a way to take it back.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever, guy,” Mei said, glancing around them. They weren’t in the cavern anymore. They were out in the open and there was…
Nothing.
Something big seemed to lodge in Mei’s chest.
There was nothing but ashes.
In the distance there was a glow of fire.
“I have to stop it.” She wasn’t sure when she had started hyperventilating, but now she was gasping, staggering forward towards the fire. It seemed to get brighter.
“Stop that,” hissed the Demon of Samdhi, grabbing her wrist. “You’re making it worse-”
His hand around her wrist burned.
Rings surrounding her, triggered by a spell, a dormant fire lighting inside her and consuming everything, people screaming Mei screaming.
She gasped and ripped her hand away.
The Demon of Samadhi took a step back, arm raised almost defensively. He stared at her, slightly more cautious now.
“How long have you had my fire…?”
She blinked. “I…”
“How long have you had it?” he asked again--demanded.
“I don’t know,” she stammered. “Not long? A few days?”
“No, I'm not asking when it was triggered,” he grabbed the front of her shirt and dragged her closer to snarl at her, “I’m asking how long you've had it.”
Mei could only stare at him for a moment, too caught off guard to break his wrist for grabbing her.
Abruptly the Demon of Samadhi released her shirt and started pacing back and forth. He ran his hand through his hair. He looked… unsettled. Furious.
“One of my ancestors had it before me,” Mei said slowly. “I think I inherited it-”
His head whipped around to look at her. “Your ancestor?” His eyes were wide, angry.
…Afraid.
“You…” Mei suddenly realized that if the myths were true… the Demon of Samadhi would have no idea how long he’d been sealed away.
He glowered at her. “I what?”
“I should introduce myself,” said Mei, straightening up. “I am Lóng Xiǎo Jiāo , First Princess of the Dragon Empire of the West Sea, descendant of Áo Liè of the Dragon Clan who sealed away the Demon of Samdhi’s fire, placing a piece of it inside of himself, like, I dunno, a couple hundred years ago? It was passed down, unknown to his family, until it came to me.
“And you,” she finished, "are the Demon of Samadhi.”
The Demon of Samdhi stared at her. “What.”
“You got anything to eat?” Mei asked.
next
Prompt list
#KNOX WRITES (me)#Monkie Kid the Empire of Samadhi AU#Lego Monkie Kid#I guess you could say this is an apocalyptic au#Monkie Kid Mei#Monkie Kid Red Son#no i have no idea what i'm doing#Monkie Destiny Challenge (2023)#not really sure how to tag this but ITS FINE HGLSKDJFD#ngl i don't remember half of what we wrote but its prompt month so its fine if it doesn't make sense mOVING ON HAVE A LOVELY DAY#me: time to do something silly goofy for prompt month#I had this au all of ten seconds later forming before my eeys and i could do nothing to stop it hGL;KSJDF
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$$60 billion (part 2) • l.s.m.
How did a legendary bounty promised for turning in the wasteland's most infamous outlaw transform into a sick, little inside betting joke amongst your traveling companions? Though you have no idea why they're doing it… you sure as hell don't want that very same gunslinger comrade worth sixty billion double dollars to know anything about it either — but oops — looks like he already does! Damn you and your temper, some unhelpful lip-loosening alcohol, and one no-good, sorry excuse of a preacher you sometimes think of as a friend.
Pairing: outlaw!lee seokmin x fem!reader
Genres: smut (minors dni!), trigun!au, action!au, apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic!au, space western!au, slight enemies to comrades to ??? !au, angst, fluff, they're dumbasses your honor 🙏
Warnings: swearing, blood, guns, injuries, medical tingz, destruction, mentions of knives, violence, unsettling space western things, slight body horror and hints at altered dna, weird religious cults, mentions of eating/food, alcohol, threats, bets among friends, tame-ish alien/monster/plant sex (????? listen it'll make sense - think of him like howl's bird form on steroids idk), mating, possessiveness!, marking, bruising, jealousy, smelling/scent kink???, wet messy sex uwu, wing kink (??? listen i was gonna explore it more but decided not to ok??), BITING (bc it's me), mechanical/robotic fingering???, gagging, bulge kink, oral sex (explicit male receiving and brief fem. receiving), seokmin's dick is like SLOPPY TOPPY LORGE w/ a mind of it's own, lowkey forgot how to write smut sorry </3
WC: 13.2k of 32.7k | Part 1 | Read on AO3
A/N: this is for the Now that's 90's - A Seventeen collab and loosely based off/inspired by the Trigun anime/manga! You do not need to know it as I manipulated a whole lot of elements for my own narrative but beware of various spoilers if you do go ahead and check out the series after reading!! I hope everyone enjoys the conclusion and please check out the other writers in this amazing collab ❤️PS, I know nothing abt chess lmaooooo but let me know your thoughts and feel free to ask any questions regarding this au's intricacies!! This part might get a little confusing because of a flashback!! (starts right after the italicized paragraph and ends with "...in this moment...")
The silence is palpable.
"Does it hurt more to get stabbed in the back or shot?"
Only the continual rustling sound answers your philosophical question. Not that you actually care because you weren't really expecting a reply.
So, you keep talking.
"I think it would be more painful to get stabbed… but it would take longer to heal from a gunshot wound."
There's a brief pause in the motions behind you. But the quiet resumes, though the practiced skill of a needle threading through your skin quickens. While the local anesthetics Tonim's doctor supplied is doing its job for the most part, you swear you can still feel the tug of flesh being sewn together.
Or maybe you're just thinking too hard.
"Look. I'm… I'm sorry."
If tension could personify itself right at this moment, it would do so with ease, given how heavy its presence currently sits in the room. A low voice finally speaks up, gravely and roughened after such a long period of silence and the hairs on your neck rise.
"Are you really?"
"… Yes."
A heavy sigh — one burdened with all the worries of the world — follows. You wince and then tremble, wishing you could turn around. It's easy to guess what he's thinking but god, do you wish you could see his face to confirm. The fear of the unknown paralyzes you.
"I seriously am."
"Doubtful. I know you only asked me that question to subtly say you'll be okay and heal just fine but it's not that simple."
The callousness in his tone and the sharp way he says your first name makes you want to shrink down, shrivel up, and quite frankly die on the spot. Gritting your teeth, you succumb to the apparent silent treatment until the snip of scissors signifies your surgeon has finished treating you.
You think twice about your options upon hearing the click-clack of medical supplies being put back into the first aid kit. Then you think, "fuck it!", and use your good arm to keep the fabric of a spare t-shirt pressed against your chest and shift so you can face the man who just rather aggressively threw a handful of unused alcohol prep pads back into their designated slot.
"I'm super duper, utterly, and truly apologetic, Seok."
The gunslinger heaves another grand exhale of irritation. He doesn't even so much as glance at you, frowning sourly down at the roll of gauze in his hands instead. The temptation to reach out and touch him — soothe him — is strong but you decide against that (for various reasons) and resort to huffily pouting instead. Amazingly it seems to work, because he notices right away and folds way too easily without much of your sway, finally facing you with a reluctant but serious expression.
"Then what did you learn?"
Your gaze lowers, eyelashes fluttering while you drown in your feelings of shame and wrack your brain. The urge to toy with the silver chain around your neck is strong though you resist the tick and hesitantly answer instead.
"Um, that I need to fortify my mental block better?"
"Try again."
"Uh…"
"How about the way you're not supposed to play the hero?"
The tin of the trauma kit rattles as Seokmin slams his left hand down on the bed, leaning menacingly toward you. Though narrowed, his eyes seem to glow. You can't help but whimper at the intense ire dancing in those irises paired with his sharp tone. Like the desert's suns, it simmers and radiates off of him with rays of heat that you can easily feel given how close he is.
"I'm, I'm sorry!"
"No, you're not," he states sharply though the rigidness in his body relaxes after your squeak of another apology. "You almost died!"
You'd defiantly cross your arms if you could. "Between the two of us, you were most at risk of dying."
"Was not! And we both know my chances of injury are much, much lower than yours."
"You can't lecture me and flex your stupid powers this time! It's different 'cause Jihooon was fuckin' with my mind."
The harsh bitterness is more so directed at yourself and the damned Crimsonnail than Seokmin. But as usual, you vent all your frustrated emotions out on him, especially whenever he brings up the fragility of your mortality. You both stare stubbornly into each other's eyes, thinking back to what happened and what could've happened.
Lina's protected. The Tonim residents were all immobilized. Seungcheol, Seungkwan, and Mingyu are in good spirits. You are safe.
A burst of air rushes into Seokmin's lungs, relief filling him as he idly scans your figure for injuries. Casually reloading his revolver just in case, he beams as you approach. The mirrored expression of victory on your face accompanied by a hand reaching out causes his whole body to shudder in pleasure. There's nothing he'd like more than to intertwine his fingers with yours.
Instead, he settles for returning your enthusiastic fist bump. Nudging his shoulder against yours, Seokmin chirps out, "Good job, partner!"
"Partner?"
"Yeah, partners."
You shake your head like you can't believe him, amusement tilting up the corners of your lips. He wants to tell you everything, all of it. But his ears catch the faint click of a contraption behind him and he looks over his shoulder just in time to see Jihoon's crossbow assemble.
Joshua looks mightily displeased but makes no effort to put a stop to the Crimsonnail's actions. Seokmin can only thank his lucky stars that Soonyoung remains in a catatonic state. Dealing with a ginormous worm so soon after being in its stomach a couple days ago was not appealing in the slightest.
The fingers of his prosthesis splay out, cybernetic arm lowered and extended outwards in front of you as you turn around as well. He knows you hate unwarranted protection but you'll have to forgive his instincts this time. Nevertheless, he trusts you. And as Jihoon opens fire, Seokmin leaps into action, expecting you to do the same — only to do a double-take when you don't move despite a flurry of nails breaching the air.
Your eyes remain unfocused. Glazed over and cloudy, posture tense but still. He sneaks observatory looks your way from afar while firing Geranium. Round after round, breaking nail after nail to prevent any harm befalling you. A maniacal laughter rings out and Seokmin freezes, putting two and two together.
Then he snarls.
Jihoon must've sicced his killing intent — a nasty ability to project and create illusions of destruction in someone and break their will — on you. Cursing, he starts making his way closer to you, inwardly reaching out to you and begging that you'll break free of the blonde-haired man's clutch on your psyche.
You're obviously more than capable. He knows this. But your movements are sluggish, slowly releasing Sirocco from your grasp. The empty pistol lands on the sand with a muffled thud and Seokmin's pretty sure his heart mimics it. A look of terror and horror spreads across your facial features, surely subject to something awful within the confines of your own mind.
And while you're experiencing visions of things you fear coming true, he's stuck in the vivid reality where they do.
You spin around with a wild look in your eyes — full of rage and anguish. He stumbles back as you teeter one foot at a time toward him and in the distraction, a nail pierces right below your shoulder blade.
Someone wails behind him.
You scream.
Seokmin rushes forward. But he's tackled suddenly to the ground and ends up flat on his back. Completely winded and left with his vision smarting, blinking in confusion at the blurry double halos that definitely shouldn't be around the duo of suns in the sky.
Then your face comes into focus. And god, forget the suns — in all your glory and in all your fierceness, you shine brighter than them all combined — hallucinations be damned.
It takes a bit of wrangling around, given how you try to wrestle and pin the man down. The clunky gun you're waving around goes off several times, harmlessly lodging bullet holes into the sand cushioning around Seokmin's head.
"Stop it, you're gonna hurt yourself!"
Moving and lashing out like a wild animal before it's fully sedated, his words don't come through the hellish haze Jihoon's trapped you in. You pull the trigger with no regard for the injury to your shooting arm.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
He dutifully counts each round fired, multitasking between that and the effort it takes to contain your struggling movements. Once again, thanks to the overpowered strength of his prosthetic, the man's finally able to sit up with you secured in his arms to cease any further movement.
"Lovely, lovely mayfly," he murmurs. The stable cybernetic hand gently feels around the impaled shoulder while a trembling thumb rubs your abnormally chilled cheek. "C'mon and snap out of it, pretty."
Not a spot of recognition in your blank glare. His eyebrows furrow as cold metal presses in between them. Seungcheol is cursing, Mingyu and Seungkwan are shouting loudly. Jihoon gloats.
But none of that matters. Seokmin drowns all of it out by diving in the pooling depths of your empty irises. Searching, calling, begging. Biting his lip, he delivers a quick slap and pleads, "Come back to me, love."
And like a mist that rises after dawn, you return to him. Your stunned grip on the gun falters, the final bullet rattling in its chambers. The pained expression on your face slices open his own heart but its shredded form takes flight in utter relief.
You're back. You're going to be okay — he'll make sure of it. And even if you don't know it, you're his and he's yours.
"Y-you're dead," you choke out and all he can do is smile despite feeling like he's on the verge of crying. Elation, anger, guilt, hope, longing, worry, joy — all of it turns and tosses within him like a rustling flurry of winged creatures struggling to break free.
So, he smiles at you and grasps the barrel of the old pistol aimed at his forehead. "I know, mayfly."
Jihoon howls in fury. Joshua finally steps forward, striking a military pose with his hands behind his back. Composed as ever, his voice remains its deceptively sweet self compared to the harsh jerking movements he's subjected upon the gray-eyed man via telepathy.
"You've crossed the line, lost number thirteen."
"Don't call me that!"
It's no surprise that the pecking order in Dokyeom's henchmen sowed seeds of dissent. Though Joshua was simply a right-hand man, he remained the only unnumbered member, proving the lack of disposability DK saw in him versus the others.
"Know your place."
"Which has always been at the top! But because of you — !"
" — The top of those already at the bottom, perhaps. Respect your superiors and your orders, Crimsonnail. You were not to lay a hand upon Master Dokyeom's brother. Ever."
"I didn't!"
"Or a member of his little group." His indifferent gaze swept over Seokmin protectively cradling your body. "This voids our involvement and nullifies any further implementations of the game."
Joshua would thank his lucky stars that the humanoid typhoon is letting them leave scotch-free if he was a decent man. Unfortunately, he's not — already considering what punishment to enact upon Jihoon per his master's orders. The Crimsonnail feels a shiver down his spine, further enhanced by Joshua's frosty, disdainful look of disapproval as he telepathically drags Jihoon to the car.
Still, it's a good thing Seokmin's a pacifist by nature, that he's more preoccupied by your well being than anything else. Your brow begins to bead with sweat, the pain of your wound finally sinking in past the adrenaline rush wearing off. Black circles dance in your blurring vision, the gun falling from your grasp as you droop forward and rely on the unerring sureness of his support and the safety within in it.
Seokmin knows he needs to get you medical help right away, and it's the only thing he can focus on. There's no time for exchanging a blow with a blow nor the faintest idea of revenge.
Not yet. Not now. Maybe never if it means putting you in harm's way.
Was he really going to give up following the bloody trail to hold his brother accountable for the unspeakable crimes he's committed? Throw away the blank ticket Rem spoke about? All for one person?
The questions all swirl around in his head like a nebulous mass. And like a newborn star — one that's been long in the making — the answer is crystal clear and shining bright as you sit in front of him now looking devastatingly beautiful to him despite all that's happened. Most importantly, you're safe.
But all he can say in this moment aloud is, "I'm sorry."
For a multitude of reasons. So many of them. You seem to spot something in his eyes, frowning ever so slightly.
"You don't have to apologize for anything. I'm fine."
"I almost lost you."
"But you didn't."
"…I know. And I'm so fuckin' glad."
Seokmin runs his fingers in a distressed manner through dusty, matted strands of reddish-brown strands. Immediately drawing attention to the dirt, grime, and dried blood coating and dulling the cybernetic's buzzing glow.
"That's gonna be a pain in the ass to clean."
He appreciates the subject change, shooting you a lopsided grin. "Yeah, tell me 'bout it."
"Let me help."
You get up before he can protest. A tactical way to coerce him into worrying about helping you rather than arguing. The coy part of yourself is applauding the method, especially when the calloused flesh of his palm splays against the bare skin of your lower back in the name of support as you both walk to the bathroom.
That same part whispers naughty temptations to drop the t-shirt covering your chest, press up against him, and see his reaction. But your reasonable, reserved side is too held up on various other matters to give in.
Sadly, you find out you can't offer as much assistance as you would've liked. But Seokmin seems heartened by just seeing you up and about and close to him. Plus, you make use of your idleness while he washes in the sink by reaching for the few stocked amenities you can reach with your good shoulder above it when he asks for them. And you receive a heartfelt smile in return.
"I probably should've just showered."
You shrug. "You still could."
"Nah, it's fine, I can do it later. What about you, though? You're going to need help with those stitches."
"What a roundabout way to say you want to bathe together, Seok. You could've just asked."
Maybe you expected him to splutter nervously or protest fiercely at the tease. You certainly don't expect him to just shake his head — silver earring flashing in the vanity's dull lighting — and chuckle.
"I'm being serious, goof. Besides, it's not the first time I've seen you in the tub."
"What?" you squawk and his grin doesn't falter. In fact, it turns into a smirk.
"I'll go get Sherry. Lina's gonna want to see you too, she wouldn't stop crying about her pretty savior getting hurt."
You frown. Was he still going to dodge The Talk™? And did he think you were really just going to him out of your clutches that quickly?
"We still need to chat. You promised."
His eyes flash. "… And you don't like promises."
Yes, that was exactly why. He knew your history. Still, you refused to back down.
"No, I don't. But I like you… and, and most of all, I trust you. I just want the truth, Seok. Even if you think it'll hurt me, at least be honest. Trust me back. I promise it'll make it less painful if you tell me why you thought I wasn't serious. So, please…"
Don't let me down.
It's unspoken, but he can clearly hear it in your tone. A battle-worn sigh escapes so you try to lead him and finish with a question where he can give a more straightforward answer.
"… How long have you known? About the bet, I mean."
Despite wavering between semi-alertness and bordering the edge of losing consciousness, you're aware of Sheryl's presence as she bustles around with Seungkwan and Mingyu to clear out an empty room above the saloon temporarily used for patients. Seungcheol waits outside the door with you two, a cigarette loosely dangling from his lips.
When Sheryl leaves, she sneaks a peek at the way your face buries into Seokmin's neck, how the man carefully assesses the rest of your body for injuries. His touch is gentle, the cybernetic arm coated in blood as it holds the nail in you steady. He'd been adamant about being the one — the best one — to treat you. Smiling, she hands Seungcheol a couple of double dollars and the pastor raises an inquiring eyebrow.
"For that little game of yours," the woman whispers knowingly and gestures to the two who just exited the room and Seokmin hurriedly heads inside. "They told me all about it."
You lift your head to glare at Seungcheol and then your other comrades as you pass, wondering if this was some sick form of revenge for pulling one on him and if Sheryl was so keen to set you up with someone in the same way pompously done for her. But your shoulder feels like it's on fire so rather than reprimand your stupid, back-stabbing friends and slump back wearily against Seokmin.
He's a simple man who certainly can't hide a silly smile at the unconventional snuggling. Lifting his chin, he then tilts his head questioningly to the money in Seungcheol's hands. "You're still doing that bet?"
"Haf'ta win the lasses 'n hopeless romantics over 'n have 'em rootin' fer ya."
"Y-you know about the bet?"
Seokmin hushes you with a low murmur, words muffled by the press of his lips to the crown of your head. You can't make out what he says, but the timbre is soothing enough that your eyes close.
"Gotta make that sixty billion somehow if we're not turnin' ya ass in."
"Fair enough!" The wanted man laughs and closes the door with his foot.
His cheerful demeanor then dropped to focus on the proper procedures to treat your wound and that's when the silence settles in, soon followed by the weighing air of unresolved tension between you. And now, you're continuing the determined path to fully speed-run ahead and break it, though he shrugs nonchalantly at the question.
"Known for a while, to be honest."
"Seriously? I thought it was a secret!"
"C'mon, you know how bad Cheol is at keeping them."
"Yeah, right," you roll your eyes. "That man takes things to the grave — literally!"
"You're too hard on him." Seokmin leans toward you, bracing himself with an arm supported by the sink and brown eyes sparkling with humor. "Think about how much you've learned about him."
"Against my will, too much…"
"Which means I'm right."
"… I guess you do make a fair point."
"Of course. He's a completely open book once you peel back that damn protective hardcover of his."
Still, you sniff disdainfully and frown. "I swear, you're the only one who sees him like that."
"Like what?"
"Like…. unafraid, unconcerned, unbothered by all that he is, all that he's done, et cetera."
"Why not? He's done the same for me. Besides, I've said it before but he has those eyes, you know. Kind."
Ah, and that's what gets you to resign with a small grin. It's just like Seokmin to see only the good in people.
"And you're not all that different," he continues with a broad, knowing smile. Immediately you bristle and he clarifies, "from me." Some part of you momentarily wonders if you spoke your thoughts aloud or if he just simply knows them that well. "As loath as you are to admit it, you care for him. Most importantly, you trust him."
Though your face sours at the thought, you don't retort right away. Sure, Seungcheol is a trusted ally. And maybe the motivation to free Jeonghan from the control of the Eye of Joshua wasn't solely because it was simply the right thing to do. But also because it might brighten the dull spark and leave one less bloodstain on the hand of a man who bore the burdensome weight of all sins like a cross on his shoulders.
Then you wave away those thoughts for now. "So, is that why you thought I wasn't serious on how I feel about you. 'Cause of the bet?"
"No, because I never knew the full extent of it. But… if you're saying it had to do with your feelings, then I would have to say yes — though I find it hard to believe any bet's worth my bounty."
"Oh." Your cheeks heat at unwittingly giving it away.
Seokmin smirks when you avoid his gaze, and he moves in even closer. "No one has sixty billion double dollars just lying around, mayfly."
"You're just saying that so no one turns you over to July."
"Well, you won't do it, will you?"
"You don't know that," you fire back, intending to heighten your defenses that only weakly falter because you're still not looking at him.
"But I do."
"Yeah? Prove it!"
Ooh, a challenge.
And one more step closer.
"Because you care too much about the man you like to put him behind bars."
Your eyes dart back to meet his, ready to squint reproachfully only to widen at how the gunslinger's face is only a breadth away from yours. Breath hitching, you desperately want to whine out in irritation but it comes out in a low whimper. Seokmin's canines flash in the bathroom's dim lighting.
"That's not, that's not fair." The wall pressing into your bare back keeps you from retreating and the hand keeping the t-shirt covering your chest feels how your heartbeat speeds up. Your skin is on fire, only the cool temperature of your locket and its chain preventing you from utterly exploding after the plaintive admission of, "You already know everything. But…"
"But…?"
The unconscious action of biting into your lower lip only gets realized by the way it keenly draws Seokmin's eyes. Electric blue flashes against brown irises yet they darken to almost black with the sudden thrill of desire that rises to the surface. He's so close, you can feel his breath caress your face, and you swear you hear it deepen into a low grunt before he raises a brow for you to continue.
"But… b-but I don't know…a single… thing."
Seokmin has forever believed Rem's take regarding the ticket to the future always being blank. For him, it's always been an unknown path forward that he's let lead him wherever and to whatever destination.
He holds himself back, just enough to utter the (practically what should be unneeded) words of reassurance, "It could only ever be you — and it's always been only you — that I could be in love with so much, mayfly," and then he's eliminating the meager distance between the two of you. For the first time, he stamps that blank ticket with an assuredness of the future and outcome he's never had before — with a kiss.
Cradling the back of your head with his cybernetic prosthesis, the other cups your cheek and then trails down to your collarbones — but no further than appropriate. His mouth, though, disregards the very notion. A teasing tongue repeatedly runs across your bottom lip to smooth out the indents caused earlier by your teeth then naughtily pokes and prods its way between, eliciting a sweet gasp from you he absolutely devours.
Your whole body shudders with happiness, eagerly surrendering to the man's wild, possessive fervor as he passionately steals the breath out of your lungs and stakes his claim on you by leaving behind shiny kiss-bitten lips. Seokmin only draws away, panting, to admire his handiwork, light-headed and dizzy with delight.
"I love you," he reconfirms with his forehead resting against yours and nose tickling your own, "… partner."
Breathlessly, you joke back after placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Love you too, partner."
And that was that.
With your shoulder injury on the mend and the other members of your little ragtag group nursing their own bumps and bruises, you all decided to spend one more night in Tonim — much to Lina's delight. While she merrily bounced from one 'hero' to the next, you playfully reminded Wonwoo that he still owed you some free drinks. You were eager to take advantage of the fact and he was more than willing to accommodate.
The tavern that originally held a subdued, slightly hostile air to it when you first arrived was now filled with an unfettered joyous harmony. You're so easily swept up in the ambiance of such high spirits and jubilant townsfolk as mug ales filled to the brim get passed around and clinked together, you fail to notice Seokmin's sudden withdrawn nature.
Not until the next morning do you first realize something's off.
"You're sure about this?"
"Oh, no. Not you too, Seok."
You'd already flipped off and shoved away a complaining, terribly hungover Seungcheol and finally got rid of the watchful, fretting gazes of Seungkwan and Mingyu. The duo had been hovering around you with concern ever since you downed a full glass of alcohol last night. While you generally just let them be and were quite thankful not to wake up with a pounding headache, you certainly weren't above crushing all of Mingyu's pudding cups if he meekly asked one more time if you were okay or needed help.
Seokmin leans against the open door frame as you pack. The pulsating glow of lost technology flickers in your peripheral and keeps you aware of his quiet presence. Part of you had always wondered if the ever-running currents of lighting synced with the flow of blood through the rest of his body.
The gunslinger doesn't speak, and you wonder why. And though you'd like to flatter yourself and entertain the notion that he's watching you — while other times that may be true — you don't feel the weight of his eyes trained on your motions. It wasn't like there was much to stuff in your bag, the satchel's leather cracked, faded, and well-worn after all these years of use through the desert and everything you truly value remains strapped some way to your body. So once you're finished, you inquisitively peek over in his direction.
Brown eyes are trained on the clunky gun on the mattress — the same one you'd pressed against his head. It's also the exact same pistol Chan had spent his adolescence restoring and repairing. Left unnamed unlike the honorary grave Seokmin had helped you prep before leaving the ruins of Ivywood behind. Meanwhile, his gaze darts to linger in contemplation on the chain around your neck before his eyebrows furrow, emphasizing the drawn out features and dark circles beneath his eyes.
"You look tired, you doing okay?"
"Yeah, just haven't been… sleeping well."
Frowning, you step toward him. Although he doesn't back away, his entire posture stiffens. "Will you be able to make the journey?"
He snorts, gesturing to your shoulder you're trying not to move too much. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to be asking you?"
"I'll feel better at the border."
Seokmin nods understandingly. "The weather will align well."
Within the sandstorms that relentlessly swirl near the Melca Border Sea of Sand, hides the only SEEDS floating ship that survived the Great Fall and you have to get the timing just right to reach it. It's home to a large community of humans, and most importantly, it's what you would consider a true home to you and Seokmin. Already, your energy restores — excited at the prospect of getting to relax in a place you trust and people you truly enjoy being around.
"Jun can take a look at my shoulder."
"That's true, it would be good for him to do."
"And I'm sure Hao's going to want to check your arm, maybe fashion some fabric that's not only bulletproof but also nail-proof."
"He's gonna give us both a scolding."
"Wouldn't be the first time."
You share a look of fond chagrin. Even though Seokmin's well over a century older than Juhui and Minghao, they were direct Earth descendants aboard a ship full of lost technology and geniuses in their own right. Those facts alone gave them all the confidence and utter audacity to more often than not, act like fretting toma mothers over the two of you.
Nonetheless, you appreciated them with all that's remaining of your heart.
The trip to the Melca Border wasn't a straight shot from Tonim but it wasn't as far as you thought. A bittersweet farewell to Wonwoo, Lina, Sherry, and the rest of the townsfolk was to be expected. Though their sorrow weighed you down, the knowledge that you were parting from them with good memories and the expectations to visit again kept your steps light-footed.
Seokmin remains zoned out the entire time. You bulk it up to his normal reaction whenever something emotional was on the horizon. Returning to Melca held a grand spread of wonderful, warm memories with a scattering of dreadfully sad ones too. Though the floating ship's defenses have been bolstered to the max over the years, the terrible events weren't easy to forget.
But they were incidents in the past and it's thanks to the intellect of the two who greet you at the entrance of the ship that their defenses continue to improve. Luida proudly stands behind them, accompanied by Brad and his wife.
"Greetings, weary travelers."
"We're no strangers, Luida," Seokmin protests against her formality.
The elderly leader's playful grin smooths out the wrinkles lining her wise face. "Welcome home, children."
It's a simple phrase but one that fills you with inexplicable warmth. Hansol might be the son born of her own body, but no one is immune from her maternal instinct. She beckons for everyone to come inside where the main quarters lie and the growing crew population will certainly be enthusiastic upon hearing about your return.
Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Seungkwan trail after without fuss, also elated to be aboard the familiar floating ship. You smile with genuine delight and step forward to follow while Minghao takes one look over his wire-rimmed glasses to survey Seokmin's dusty figure and elegantly tilts his head knowingly in the hallway leading to the technology laboratory. Glittery, colorful beads woven through the long strands of his two-toned hair clink in time with the movement.
It's hard to hide the snicker that escapes as you watch Seokmin trudge after Minghao like a scolded puppy. Your glee at someone else's suffering doesn't last long when a gentle hand clasps your shoulder. Wincing at the pain, you meet Junhui's puzzled look before his eyes narrow.
"You're hurt," he says, disappointed but not surprised, and leads you away to the med bay. It's exactly what you expected, in fact, the main reason behind why you're here — and yet, you sulk and whine petulantly just because you can.
"Not my fault that the only way to get here is by timing everything right to jump into a sandstorm and then onto a flying platform."
After instructing you to lie down on the medical bed and cutting the fabric of your shirt without fanfare, Junhui clicks his tongue. "You only come to visit when you're hurt."
"Not true!"
He concentrates on disinfecting and resewing the torn stitches in the tender flesh around the parts of your wound that are still healing. His tone borders on slight resentment but the concern weighing in it smoothes it all over.
"And yet most of our time spent together is only when you visit so I can patch you up."
"It's not like that."
"I know… but I would've met you elsewhere."
"Boring."
"Can't you courteously pretend to care about yourself out of consideration for those who worry?"
"You'll go gray at such a very young age if you stress all the time, Jun."
He shakes away silver bangs that threaten to impede his vision, unamused. "And you'll end up buried under the sand next time."
"Sounds cozy."
"I swear —"
You wave his growing ire away. "Seok takes care of me just fine."
"Yes," Junhui's cat-like smile causes your metaphorical hackles to raise. "He does care deeply about you."
"I'll punt you into the fifth moon and give it a second crater with your body."
"Now, now… violence is never the answer."
"Violence is the only reason you have a job!"
If you weren't as close as you were, perhaps he'd be offended by your claim. Instead, he kicks you out (after ensuring you're indeed in relatively good health), leaving you to laugh victoriously. Then, you set off to the technology lab in good spirits, hoping to catch Seokmin and commiserate with him.
Instead, you find a lone Minghao sitting refinedly amongst all the tech with grace and poise. He was in his element. Fiddling with and poking at a well-worn, familiar cybernetic tech with a thin silver instrument, he simply raises an eyebrow to acknowledge your presence.
"Did you fit Seok with a new arm?"
"But of course," the man sighs wearily, "despite my best efforts, my darlings always return home to their father with quite a beating."
"… Then you'll hate what I'm about to tell you."
"No, I cannot fashion you a pierce-proof trench coat. However, I will acquire some stronger material… but there better not be a next time."
You purse your lips and pout. It often seemed like Minghao worried more about his inventions than the people using them, though you knew that to ultimately not be true.
"So, he already told you what happened."
"Oh, yes… he told me everything." Heterochromatic eyes suddenly meet yours, sharp with a spark of amusement. "See, I almost didn't want to give him the latest modification but…"
"But…" You repeat warily.
Junhui was always mischievous, though most of it only ended with harmless pranks. On the other hand, Minghao's sarcasm-filled humor rarely made an appearance, and when it did, it usually delighted in the sickest of satisfactions.
Yet, he simply shrugs, evasive as always. "I think you'll like its improvements."
There's something foreboding about that statement, but he ushers you away under the pretense that he needs to concentrate. And shortly, you find yourself stopped by curious passersby or familiar faces in the hallways to the main quarters. Since your last visit, a multitude of passengers have a lot to share and update you on. By the time you reach your own pod, you're socially exhausted.
Sleep came easy but finding Seokmin did not. The SEEDS ship was already big in the first place and additional construction enlarged it further. An itchy, achy feeling pooled inside your gut on the second evening you'd been unable to catch sight of him. Finally, you acknowledged the bitter truth — he was avoiding you.
You had to come to terms with how delusional it was to think that once everything was out in the open, the scattered puzzle pieces would magically fall together in their rightful places. It should be easy, right? It's what happened in those cheap novels Junhui dug out of an abandoned pod in Melca back in the day. He'd given them to you as a birthday joke — Minghao sighing and handing over your real present (the first bullet-proof trench coat) — but you'd actually read through all the cheesy, steamy piles of romantic drivel.
Seungkwan, ever the cynic, and Seungcheol — who's naturally a heathen — quickly destroyed the slim spark of hope of ever hoping to feel those flutters in your gut. Meanwhile, Mingyu was someone precious and wholesome with a romantic outlook on life underneath the great muscular physique he'd gained from carrying that heavy concussion gun around.
You often wondered why they never tormented him like they did to you. But despite his indomitable stature, the emotionally soft man's tears were the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. Even if he didn't quite realize it, his comrades certainly were aware.
And Seokmin… well, if you knew how Seokmin felt about romance, you wouldn't be stuck in the position of wondering why the fuck he was avoiding you.
Again.
"Where is he?"
"Good morning," Mingyu greets the following morning, cheerful as ever. "If you're still hunting Seokmin for sport, he said he's feelin' a little sick!"
"Sure."
"No, he really is." Seungkwan refutes your aggressive eye roll with a gentle shake of his head. "Loverboy hasn't come out of his room for days and when I almost knocked the door in earlier, he finally responded only to sound like a dying toma."
Your face contorts into a morbid combination of concern and irritation, shifting between the two expressions. "Probably 'cause he stayed out all last night!"
And with a dramatic huff, you glower at the pastor seated in the cramped corner of the floating ship's kitchen area. Seungcheol deemed it was cooler, darker, and the farthest spot in the enclosed space from any of your misplaced wrath. He smiles, the white stick between whiter teeth jollily flicking up and down at you, taunting.
He reveled in the knowledge of being safe since he'd been the only one able to provide any information on the humanoid typhoon's whereabouts. The pastor — who still enjoyed a late-night smoke to cure some of his insomnia — considered it his saving grace to catch sight of the fellow gunslinger slinking through the shadows in the halls. Apparently, Seokmin had been sneaking outside the past few nights and remained resolutely ever-elusive during the day.
"Should go see 'im. Yer all antsy and 'm bettin' he's missin' his… mayfly."
"Oh, go fuck yourself," you snarl and storm out, missing the man's bark of laughter before he continues contemplating the best way to siphon money during a confessional.
The unfaltering stomp of your combat boots is the background beat on your walk to Seokmin's pod. His halls aren't far from the kitchen area and yet each footfall feels like a step into the unknown, the lights above seeming to grow dimmer the closer you get.
Why was he acting like this?
Did he regret everything that happened between you?
Was something wrong?
Would he shut himself away from you?
Worry and anger swirl together, mirroring the vortex of sand you had to pass through to get here. Seokmin's never shut you completely out before but you're familiar with his reclusive acts when things get too much. Too close. Too emotional. And you're afraid to be the catalyst to another spiral.
So, you knock. Harsh, loud, and ultimately unforgiving if ignored.
"Seokmin, open up! I know you're alive!"
A mutter of "Barely," carries through the door before he clearly answers with a curt, "I'm not feeling well but I'll be fine."
"Open the door."
Silence.
"Please."
The silence continues — and your temper flares. "Don't make me go get my bag and grab my lock-picking set!"
You can hear sounds of cursing and some rustling around before the door slowly and reluctantly opens, Seokmin hiding in the shadow it casts.
"As you can see, I'm quite fi —"
Both a coughing jag and the firm push of your shoe interrupts his confident statement. "Sure hope you weren't about to say you're fine!"
A faint smoky scent permeates the pod. You cough and pause to let your vision adjust to the darkness. The first hint toward Seokmin's unusual behavior because he thrived in the sunlight, no matter how weak the sunrays that reached the floating ship were. Then second, you blink in wonderment at the black heaps littering the bed and floor.
Feathers. Everywhere.
Reminiscent of the time you'd broken Seungcheol's ridiculously expensive pillow against Mingyu's bulky bicep during a good-natured fight with Seungkwan's assistance. But instead of an explosion of brown and aqua toma plumage causing you all to sneeze, these were inky dark like the night sky and resembled piles of soot against the pod's stark white backdrop.
You whirl around to find Seokmin retreating to the corner of the room, hands slamming on top of the dresser for support. His back is to you with two thin wings jutting out from it. Feathers rustle as he pants, shoulders coinciding up and down with the motion of the wings.
"Seok, how did… how did this happen?"
It's not fear that causes your voice to tremble but worry. The appearance of his natural Plant form is no longer shocking. In fact, the more you see it, the more you find it eerily beautiful. Probably similar to those who believe them to be messengers of a higher power. But he's only ever transformed in dire situations — either due to stress or the rare exhaustion of his superhuman abilities against stronger foes.
He doesn't reply so you take a cautious step forward. An animalistic growl erupts from his throat, followed by a pained groan. You gasp as he shakes, protrusions rupturing from the lower parts of his shoulder blades. Two more wings burst out and unfurl below the trembling ones already quivering on his back.
So that's how they hide and reappear.
"Is it 'cause you're sick? Choi said you've been staying out all night. You could've caught a cold or something's in the air. Never know what's floating around here." You babble as you frantically search for signs in the mirror above the dresser for any hints to what's caused this.
Seokmin's bent over and you note what should be brunette roots of hair are now pitch-black too. Closer and closer you creep until you can make out each bead of perspiration trickling down his neck and how they coat every bare part of his body in a sheen of sweat.
Then his head snaps up. An eye — unshielded by the black fringe of his red-brown tipped bangs — narrows to glare into your widened ones. A tempest of electric blue rages within it. Like the hottest type of fire, it burns more than you could ever expect in a vortex of one prominent emotion.
Desire.
An involuntary shudder overtakes your whole body, and you unconsciously bite your lip. Seokmin slumps back down, granting respite from that ardent azure glow.
"Sick," he snarls and laughs, strained. "Sick in the head, that's for sure."
"How… how can I help? What can I do for you?"
"Get out."
"Seok —"
"I'm serious, mayfly. For your own good. Leave."
"My own good?"
"I'll, hah, I'll explain… explain it later."
Your arms cross. "Oh, really? Or will you avoid me again? Like you have been for the past several days?"
"I haven't —"
"Don't you dare feign indifference! I'm not stupid — we talk about our feelings and then you retreat. Just be honest with me… please."
You promised.
He sucks in a very deep inhale through clenched teeth, seeming to regret it instantly because his grip on the edge of the dresser is hard enough to crack the strong material. Glowering at your reflection again — not daring to acknowledge your very real and extremely close presence in the room — Seokmin bares his sharpened and widened incisors in a snarl.
"We will talk, mayfly, please believe me. Now's… hah… just not great timing with… with what's happening."
Irritation easily gives way back to worry. "At least tell me what I can do for you. Should I get Jun?"
"He can't do anything. Gotta just… work it out of my system."
"Work what?" You frown, knowing how rare it is for the medical specialist to be stumped.
"It's not for certain…" Four different wings flutter in agitation at various speeds. "Not a lot's known about Plant physiology," his mouth turns downward, "even I don't have a thorough understanding."
"Is it a disease?"
"Wish it was that simple."
"You're talking in riddles and running verbal circles, Seok."
"… Dokyeom and I are independent Plants. Likely the only ones, well, you know — still functioning. Alive. When Rem found us, research was obviously done."
You know the story very well and nod. "And had been conducted before."
"'Course thanks to Rem, it wasn't as invasive but there were, hah, occasional talks. Theories. And then, of course, before us twins, there was…"
"… Tesla."
A Plant with a lifespan of only two-hundred and thirty days.
Seokmin swallows. "Tesla. Yes. I recall bits and pieces. Hypothesized with Luida and company… Outside of Dokyeom following the unethical methods humans sometimes conduct for experimentation," he snorts at the irony, "it's thought that Plants… can copulate… with a mate… of their, hah, choosing."
"Really?" Your eyebrows raise, intrigued. "That's a brilliant discovery!" Then they furrow. "Wait, are you saying that this," you wave your hand to gesture at his current form, "is because… you're, er, ready to… mate?"
He holds his head. "… Yes."
"Oh, okay. So, you need like… relief? A mate? Should I…?"
Your questions hang uncertainly in the air, unfinished because you're really not sure what you're supposed to even offer. A sarcastic smirk graces Seokmin's lips, condescending in the sort of way that's aimed more at himself.
"What kind of man do you think I am, mayfly?"
"A very, uh, Planty one for sure."
"Better than leafy, I suppose."
"Though you are quite… feathery."
Finally, he turns toward you, a wry and defeated smile on his weary face. His wings stretch outward and curl back in, elegantly waving toward you as if drawn in your direction. You can't help but smile at the object hanging from a cord around his neck.
"You still keep that old thing around?"
He looks at the golden cartridge and chuckles. "It's special."
"Me holding a gun to your head was special?""Meeting you will always remain a treasured memory, no matter the manner of how it happened." Seokmin falls quiet, lost in thought before hesitantly asking, "Did I not mention Plants mate for life? Well, at the very least, I know I do."
"Oh." Your astonishment reveals itself in a breathless gasp. There's no escaping that all-consuming, fiery cerulean gaze. "So is this the first time you've been… ready to, uh, mate?"
"No, I'm used to the way these cycles come and go. But this for sure is the worst bout yet."
"… Why?"
You hold your breath. He takes a step forward. Then another.
He's so close, if you leaned the slightest bit forward you'd press up against each other. Somehow, with an overwhelming sense of shyness guessing the underlying thoughts and what his answer will be, your eyes roam his bare upper chest and torso.
If you could caress him you would. All the shiny black feathers adorning his wings and the occasional ones sprouting along his forearms pointing to his Plant abilities. Each scar along with every bit of metal or his body's naturally grown wood that replaces chunks of lost flesh. He's kept them as reminders of when he's failed humans, though you've seen them only as when they've failed him. He shivers, like he can feel it, as if he knows what you're thinking and you questioningly re-meet his burning stare as he shoots you a wane smile.
Sheepishly, he rubs where the cybernetic arm attaches to his shoulder. Many have turned away in disgust or mock pity at the disfigurements. Yet despite the true abomination he looks like right now, there's only ever been pure empathy and acceptance he doesn't deserve — all from you.
"Conscious consent and reciprocation."
Your lips turn upward, joy causing your soul to unwittingly sing. "Does that mean… I'm your mate?"
"No."
It's like Gunsmoke completely collapses, and you're left twirling without footing in space. Seokmin matches your fallen expression with one of his own.
"What? Wh-why?"
"Don't get me wrong, it's —"
"I swear if you say 'It's me, not you'…"
He rather adorably tilts his head. "How did you know?"
"It's a typical cliche," you roll your eyes, "just give it to me straight, Seokmin. Is it 'cause I'm human?"
"… It's not that simple, and this isn't something trivial. It's — hah — it's a huge commitment." The use of your given name indicates his seriousness. "A lifetime one. For me, it's only ever been you… and it will always be you for as long as I live, which could be your whole lifespan! And I don't, hah, I don't know — hell, it's taking everything I can not to tear a dead man apart, let alone what I'd do if you'd change your mind, want something — someone else."
"You're doing it again, projecting and underestimating my feelings for you."
"It could be the effect of my pheromones, mayfly. We don't know every —"
"That's right! We don't know! So we have to trust each other and see."
"It's —"
"Let's not subject ourselves to the hypothetical. And what do you mean by dead man?"
Seokmin's jaw tenses, fingernails digging into numb skin. His wings waver, like they're considering cocooning around him for protection. But their tips simply flutter as if soothed by an unseen force, preventing them from enclosing completely.
Teasingly, you lean toward him and squint. "What else aren't you telling me, Seok? You pick a side hustle up that involves the deceased like Choi?"
He snorts at the audacity and doesn't take the bait. Instead, unfamiliar but still achingly familiar irises dart to your neck, tracing the silver chain laying against your skin. A dull sort of sadness fizzles out those blue fires and you clasp the shape of the locket beneath your shirt in realization.
"He was a boy, Seok. A boy I grew up with for a short period, one that felt like a brother to me."
"… You said you loved him."
"When?"
"… To Cheol. After you first met him."
"That would've been so long ago? How do you even remember that?"
He sighs, heavily. "It's not easy to forget. Your voice was so warm, so gentle, so in love when you admitted it."
"Love can mean different things! And I assure you, my feelings for you differ greatly from how I felt about him. And… he's… he's long gone, Seok."
Guilt burns in his eyes. "I know. Which makes me all the worse."
"No, it doesn't." You shake your head, a resigned smile resting on your lips, and hold your arms out. "'Cause I understand and forgive you. And most importantly, I love you."
It's uncertain if those words break or restore him, but the hard rigidness in his body melts away, sagging in a semblance of relief. Then he rushes forward into your waiting embrace, wings helping to propel him forward until they wrap around and press you to him tight, tickling areas where his arms aren't squeezing around you.
"And I adore you, my lovely mayfly."
You groan. "When will you stop calling me that?"
"Never," he snickers and you feel the curve of his lips as he comfortably nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "For as long as you're mine."
"Yours?"
"Mine."
"Sucker."
A chaste kiss brushes the lower tip of your ear. So ticklish and unexpected, you pull back with a giggle and playfully swat his shoulder. And just as he's about to dive forward and prove your little comment correct in retaliation, you burst into full-on laughter that leaves Seokmin to settle his hands on your waist with confusion crinkling his brow.
"What?"
"So that's why you were always having a deathly staring match between my childhood memorabilia?"
"… Was not."
"You — the most sentimental loser ever — definitely were!"
He pouts momentarily, the cute jut out of his lower lip quickly transforming to a devious smirk. "You'd bet on it?"
"Totally." You place your arms around his neck, bringing your bodies closer again and matching the charge of electricity with a clever tilt of your lips. "I'd win, too."
"And what's on the table?"
"Sixty billion double dollars, of course."
"That so?"
"Mhm, and it seems like someone's bounty matches that worth."
Seokmin quirks a brow. "Seems like you want me on the table."
"Winner takes all?"
"Mayfly, I've always been yours."
"Sap," you laugh again.
A bright grin certainly declares your delight in victory, though your partner in crime uses the distraction as an advantage for his earlier loss and wastes no time. Diving in, a sharpened canine grazes your pulse point, automatically causing your head to tilt to offer easier access. Two left wings sweetly swoop down for support, feathered tips tenderly brushing your forehead.
The heat of his tongue placates the dragging scratch of his fangs. Though it sears you alive, heating your entire body from the tips of your toes, swirling in your core, and concentrating beneath Seokmin's lips on your skin.
When reaching that cold, familiar necklace you treasure so much and he can't help but loathe, it's seized between his teeth before he registers the action. Tugging it away from your neck like a dog, you wonder if he'll even shake it like one. His eyes follow the length of the chain, focusing on where the locket pops out above your chest.
You raise a questioning brow. "You gonna just play with my jewelry or take my clothes off?"
"Oh," Seokmin whispers, jaw dropping, and suddenly stands stiffly at attention.
You watch, entranced by the bob of his Adam's apple as he visibly gulps. Large, calloused hands — so practiced in undressing you for baths and patching up wounds — falter as they skim along your sides in a fleeting touch. Smiling encouragingly, you intertwine your fingers with those of his prosthetic while leading the other one beneath your shirt, the rough flesh of his palm blisteringly hot against your stomach.
"Is this okay? Can it help calm your Plant powers?"
"Yes… but that means… giving yourself to me… forever."
"Can't think of anything I'd enjoy more."
Confident, you trail kisses up his jaw to his cheek, stopping near his ear. Playfully tugging at the earring hoop as you pull away. Then you break away and bend over, shimmying off your shorts in one smooth motion. Stepping out of them, next goes your top. As each fabric hits the floor, Seokmin's eyes become more lidded, heavy with want. Smoldering. Desiring.
Four black wings fan out and stay as rigid as his stance. As if they're waiting with bated breath. And when you finally stand bare before him, he sheepishly drags his gaze to the floor with a flustered smile.
"I'm the one naked and you're embarrassed?" you tease and his posture relaxes.
"Because you're a vision to behold."
"Says the one who looks like an angel."
You back up until your knees hit the side of the bed. Like those morbid tales that depict curious listeners following a luring call to their demise, Seokmin's only a step behind you. He doesn't dare let his eyes stray further from your own, a goofy grin on his face.
"Consider this my fall from grace then, mayfly."
Gingerly, you sit on the edge of the mattress, waiting for his next move. He towers over you in this position. Formidable in appearance yet oh-so-gentle when picking up your left hand to kiss your knuckles and rub his thumb across its faded scar. Another smooch gets placed to your inner wrist and you hold your breath at the passion in those blazing cyan depths that refuse to look away. Then, a cautious touch to your shoulder urges you onto your back. Obediently, you lay down and a bunch of stray loose feathers fly up into the air upon impact.
"Beautiful," he murmurs.
The clothed knee resting between your legs helps his arm support the weight of his body hovering above you. A tentative hand slides down from your shoulder to your hip, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Caressing every scar, memorizing each color and swirl of ink decorating your skin, and erasing any insecurities or blemishes you see in yourself. Cold digits draw whimsical shapes and tickle your abdomen, stopping above your pelvic bone.
"May I?"
"Of course."
Seokmin rejoices in your consent by littering your collarbone with love bites. And his touches move lower, tender despite their mechanical nature. Warmth blossoms and flows under every surface of your skin Seokmin's traced, coiling and settling in a pulsating — almost painful — heat rupturing between your legs.
Only he can be the one to relieve this ache which he precisely aims to do. A simple, single brush across sensitive folds instantly has your breath hitching, shaking beneath him.
"Are you alright?"
"Mhm… yes."
He audibly gulps at your unexpected whimper of ecstasy, reluctantly tearing away from watching amorous bliss overtake your facial expression to the wet heat detected by his pointer finger's sensors. A feral growl rumbles in his chest at the debauched sight of desire beginning to dampen your thighs — the trace of what he's been smelling from you now overloading every single one of his senses as he coaxes more to flow from you. Seokmin's more than thankful for his enhanced vision and the glow of cybernetic technology baring your most intimate parts to him.
Guided by an instinctual impulse, he eases a finger inside. Your back automatically arches off the bed, eliciting a sweet gasp of delight. The cool touch of the digit seized tightly by the pulsating walls of your cunt slowly warms as it adjusts to the welcome intrusion. He soothingly brushes the knuckle of his middle finger across the soft outer flesh of your pussy to relax its grip. Eventually it lets up enough to let him explore further and deeper than your own have ever reached.
"I'm… I'm not sure how best to please you," Seokmin admits, drinking in your every reaction to his curious ministrations. "But there's this urge, this need, to make you feel good. Prep you properly for my… my entry."
By pure accident, he strokes a rough patch of nerves that makes your eyes roll back, hips lifting at the sensation of wanting more of whatever that feeling was, and your quiet noises melt into a loud, needy moan.
"More," you plead, "touch me more, Seok."
He eases his other finger inside without question, grunting at the squeeze that almost prevents him from moving to where you want him the most. But unlike the rest of his quivering body, the prosthesis remains steady, still, and patient. Waiting until it can bully itself and a third finger past your entrance's vice-like clench.
You start pulling on your breasts, trying to alleviate the tingling in them. Seokmin observes with a keen eye and a toothy, fanged grin. After a bit, he leans down to let his tongue trace the underside of one mound, leaving behind a saliva trail shining in the unconventional lighting as he tends to the next. Alternating with playful nips and naughty tugs to your nipples whenever your grip on them falters from the overwhelming pleasure.
So attentive and eager, soon you're writhing beneath him as you hit your peak. One hand grips your hip tightly, surely to leave a bruise with the way it cramps. His other doesn't let up, well-oiled mechanisms continuing to pump in and out of your trembling pussy until you whine from the overstimulation.
His wings fold protectively around both of you like a canopy as you share a tender kiss. Dazed and happy, you tenderly brush back black bangs and play with one of the feathers that's sprouted near the hairline above his ear. He shivers.
"Let me take care of you too."
"Are you sure? What about your shoulder?"
"That's the least of my concerns right now."
"I can still…"
"Later. First, I want to help you."
Suddenly, Seokmin's shy again, flushed cheeks darkening. "I… I think I'm a little different… down there so it's okay if you don't want to… or get scared."
"It's not like I've seen enough dicks to compare whether what you're packing is normal."
The both of you share a goofy laugh that eases the presumed awkwardness. He sits back to unbutton his pants but you stop him.
"May I?"
You might as well have knocked the air out of his lungs. He stares at you wide-eyed and then emphatically nods, finally clearing his throat to squeak out, "Sure."
Ignoring the aftershocks of your earlier orgasm, you sit up and kneel in front of him. Intent on a few minor distractions, your mouth and hands start at his shoulders to work their way down. Imagining you have the power to heal the damage dealt to his body and soul through tender touches.
You see a sad sense of beauty and justice in the patchwork of metal bolts and bark. And as you apply marks of love that bruise and blossom between them, he lets out a content warble. You're quick to undo the button of his pants, both of you gasping at the utterly wet mess seeping through the material when you tug the zipper down with your teeth.
He lifts his hips to help and once he's just as naked as you do you take him in. Anatomy was meagerly touched upon during your days at the convent, so truthfully all you're aware of at the sight of his heavy cock is the need to be filled with it.
And the closest thing to take him is your mouth, jaw already aching before you even open it. Almost reverently, your hands wrap around to stabilize it. Seokmin hisses pleasantly at the contact.
"You don't have to —"
He's cut off by a groan as you inquisitively suckle the tip. The copious amounts of slick smearing from it and down the base taste sweeter than Seungcheol's lollipops and you moan heartily, causing his thighs beneath your elbows to tense at the vibrations.
"Oh, mayfly."
A wing caresses your cheek that bulges as you take more and more of him, Seokmin's hands tearing at the sheets. The tip of another wing tantalizingly drags down your bare back. Your hands begin to explore, finding the puffy edges around the slit from which the thick cock emerges from. His hips jolt upwards at the contact to sensitive tissues, causing you to gag.
"Ah, 'm sorry!"
While he whispers repeated apologies, you're only compelled to take him further. Slowly you get used to the stretch, but no matter how much more you're able to squeeze down your throat there's still enough of his length for both of your hands to play with. It gets easier the more aggressive you get, his cock seeming to respond to your vigor in tandem. Soon you're lost to the haze of whether you're bobbing your head up and down or it's swirling languidly in your mouth on its own accord.
Seokmin's hips stutter but you feel the tremor first pulse against the inner walls of your throat. His cock throbs as you pull off of it, hollowing your cheeks and parting with deliberately powerful suction. A loud pop releases its tip and your hand supports its weighty girth falling forward. You dig the nails of your free hand into the muscle of his quaking thigh, ducking down to teethe at the puffy slit from where his cock must emerge.
Moving on to licking and dragging the point of your tongue along the sizable vein lining the underside causes Seokmin's low groans to turn into a high-pitched trill. Once you reach the swollen, leaking head and nibble on the hard glans, it spasms wildly and finally erupts. From the top slit seeps sweet syrupy fluid that readily overflows into your awaiting, open mouth.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he blabbers.
You'd reply that there's no need for gratitude, perhaps you'd thank him, but the viscous release keeps spilling out. Rivulets trickle well past your lips and coat your chest. Although still in a euphoric daze, his eyes flash with sharp satisfaction. Instantly possessive at the sight of your bare body decorated so erotically.
His wings snap open — filled with purpose — and your face is pressed down into the mattress. Surrounded in a smoky musk as the angelic monstrosity it belongs to and destined to be your mate hovers above.
Your voice comes out hoarse as you raise up onto your elbows and spitefully spit out a black feather. "Do those wings of yours prevent you from being topped or something?"
"I'll let you find out another time, partner," Seokmin huffs, laughter evident despite his apparent breathlessness. He steals a tender kiss, pleased grunting at how your lips — shiny and swollen — taste of him. "But for now…"
Like an anchor, the tech material warmed by your shared body heat and passion winds underneath your hips, keeping them raised. A calloused, ticklish touch roams traces your spine. He draws an occasional spiral here and there as he goes, mindful of your wound, until firmly pinning the nape of your neck to the side, creating the perfect arch of your back.
"I think you'll like this," Seokmin says as if he isn't liking the view below him.
But for you, straight ahead lies the dresser's mirror. It reflects the full manifestation of an independent Plant poised to devour a human in the most intimate sense. The fearsome size of his cock lies heavy on top of your ass, leaking droplets of arousal all over your backside.
"Will it fit?"
"Of course, you are mine to claim and take." His hips just forward and you both moan. "I think we're both wet enough to try."
"I trust you."
"Let me know if it hurts in any way and we'll stop right away, mayfly."
Many troupes of desert-traveling dancers have mesmerized you before. Yet even they can't compare to the graceful and smooth motion of Seokmin releasing your neck to align his tip with the entrance of your cunt and slowly bullying his way in.
Tears of pain mixing to unfathomable pleasure blur the vision of your mouth widening to let out whines and moans. "Seokkie…"
"Mhm, mayfly… my love… my mate."
Finally, the front of his thighs are flush against yours. Hips pressed tight against your ass. Fully sheathed inside your tight hole, neither of you have ever felt such intensity before. He surrenders his body weight on top of yours, hands braced outside of yours clenching loose feathers and silk sheets. The outer heaviness matches the intensity of what your pussy struggles to accommodate.
"Mine."
Seokmin's hips swirl at a slow pace. Rather than thrust, he massages the sensitive glands at the base of his cock with the soft flesh of your ass. His length seems to shrink and grow and writhe with a mind of its own, filling and teasing you nonstop. Leaving no surface of your inner walls untouched or untended to for too long.
"Yours."
You shudder in blissed-out delirium and Seokmin lights up — literally.
Fluorescent lines glow in distinct patterns across skin, brightening the more he starts to pant and build up your shared pleasure. Sharp canines prick into the skin of your unmarked shoulder as he wraps his prosthesis under your stomach to raise your hips, the new position driving you faster to that rapidly approaching edge. You cry out with a lurch, blurrily making out his glowing form that shudders above.
Though the view in the mirror gets hidden by black wings stroking your entire body. Teasing the underside of your tits and tenderly brushing away the stings of his teeth marks.
"I-I love you," Seokmin rasps.
"Love…" You manage to enunciate the words, mind emptying and drool wetting the bed as your second peak approaches. "Love you too."
Pain and pleasure draw forth an onslaught of your apparent arousal that lecherously mixes with the frothy mess dribbling from his cock. Claws appear on Seokmin's right hand, another addition to the bestial Plant features emerging in the throes of passion. He's not completely lost to the primal thrall though, able to resist from breaking skin.
Delicately scratching your waist without drawing blood, then using the finely pointed tips to pluck and tease effortlessly at your clit. You cry out, body shaking as waves of euphoria crash against the shoreline of imminent pleasure.
Seokmin helps ride out your peak with a couple of speedy thrusts. The feeling of his hips slamming into you has you seeing more stars than Gunsmoke's galaxy contains. And just as you're overcome with too much stimulation, he lets go with a particularly strong bite into the top of your shoulder.
His cock softens and its heavy weight like a blanket along with the continual pump of his warm, soothing release. The feeling of it leaving none of your inner walls untouched feels as sweet as it tasted on your tongue and helps ease the ache inside your cunt. Still joined together and slick with stickiness, he collapses onto his side and gently assists you with rolling over so you can face him.
"Hey, you."
"Hello there yourself, lovely mayfly."
Your nose wrinkles but gets smoothed out by feather tips playing with the ends of your hair. Seokmin smiles as you snuggle closer into his chest so two of his wings can cocoon around you as the heated fervor from prior activities cools.
"Did that help?"
"… Yes," he says though his tone wavers with hesitance.
You raise your chin and see the electric blue luster hasn't faded yet from his gaze. Sheepishly, the corner of his mouth raises and you shiver, feeling the swell of his cock stretch out your pussy. The bulge it creates brushes against Seokmin's abdomen and he twitches.
"Sorry, it's… I'm gonna be kinda insatiable now that I've had a taste…" He trails off, wings snapping behind him. Slowly, he pulls his hips away and you both hiss as his cock is dragged out.
"What are you —"
You're cut off by the animalistic glimmer in his gaze, catching the feral smirk that he attempts to hide by licking his palm. Quick as lightning, Seokmin fleetingly swipes the outer lips of your cunt and brings his fingers, tonguing at them. Body set aflame again, neither of your break eye contact as he moans headily.
"But not of this," he rasps.
Before you know it, you're staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on his ceiling with your mate between your legs. His wings trail along your calves, their flexible ends curling near your inner thighs, encouraging them to spread and stay open, pinning them in place.
"Oh, aren't you a beauty?"
He moans shamelessly at the sight of your messy, glistening pussy. You squirm at the ticklish sensation of his feathers and that smoldering, ravenous look. If only he knew what it was like to see him devour you with his mouth.
Delicious.
Just like the feeling of his tongue working its way inside and licking up the shared essence of your releases.
Your fingers weave between strands of hair as black as night, tugging lightly and accidentally snagging one of his ear feathers. He moans eagerly, and the vibration has you shuddering, already quickly nearing another mind-shattering orgasm. But you don't let him carry you there too fast, smooth brain muscles trying to form a question.
"How… long… how long do these cycles last?"
Seokmin presses a loving kiss to your twitching clit and blows, entranced by how you clench around nothing. Then he smirks, elongated teeth shining in the darkness like a predatory warning though you have nothing to fear.
"As much as you can handle but… we're really only just getting started, mayfly."
The motion light kicks on as Seungcheol shifts his boots in the direction of the unlit kitchen area. Junhui and Minghao's entrance awaken the rest of the lights and they frown at the makeshift bunker set up.
"What are you three doing in here?"
Seungkwan sleepily mumbles a curse word and next to him, Mingyu blearily rubs his eyes. A scattering of empty pudding cups and bottles lie around them as well as a disorganized array of poker cards.
"We're afraid to venture out of here."
Junhui shares a secretive look with his closest friend at Seungkwan's cryptic words. "Ah, so that's happened. Or happening."
"'Bout time y'all came 'round. Time for ya to pay up!"
"Pay up for what?"
"Compensation. 'M the one who got the closest to bein' right knowin' they'd fuck after confessin'."
"If anyone needs compensation, it's me for the mental damage of having to make one of my lovelies into an enhanced sex toy."
Seungcheol guffaws. "Ya didn't! Ya lil cheatin', schemin' scientist!"
Meanwhile, Mingyu looks mighty concerned. "Does that mean Seokmin has a dildo for an arm?!"
Minghao crosses his arms with a steely glare. "No."
"Oh good. I don't think I could look at him the same."
"I don't think any of us will ever look at him the same again."
Junhui eagerly rocks back and forth on his heels, hands stuffed in the deep pockets of his lab coat. "Do you think they discovered all the functions and benefits of it yet?"
"Should be our next bettin' round."
"No more bets. I don't care if it's half a double dollar to go in, I refuse to go through this again."
Mingyu elbows his raven-haired companion. "C'mon, your heart's warmed by this!"
"Warmed and consumed by the rage and fury of hellfire, yes."
Giggling, the tall man smiles widely and holds his hand out. "Alright, I win then!"
"Win what? Thought you didn't remember your bet."
Mingyu purses his lips. "Only because none of you took me seriously and joked with a bunch of gross innuendos when I said they'd find their home in one another!" He then sighs dreamily. "But if I'm right, we'll know by tomorrow morning."
"Who says it'll be tomorrow mornin'. Might take weeks. Months even, I reckon'."
"I'll kick you all out before it comes to that," Minghao threatens and runs a hand through the few strands of hair without a bead. He tosses a wad of money in front of Mingyu. "Never involve me in this again."
Despite all the grumbling, everyone has a sense of lightness in their hearts at the thought of their dear friends finally getting together. And the happiest of them all is Mingyu, who cheerily gathers his prized double dollars, dreaming of all the pudding he can buy.
A lone figure stands on the edge of the valley of the Melca Border. The Sea of Sand, aptly named, can change tide and turn vicious at any second. Their cloak billows in the sandy winds that whip around them, though even the steadfast hood can't hide the satisfied smile on their face.
"You did well," they commend and the name that falls from their lips is one some might consider lost to the sands of time.
"Saintess." Another figure materializes out of the sand gusts in response to the praise. "It is to be done as you said."
"Very well. Shall we go now?"
Whether it's the mysterious sands that swirl around and whisk them away or the lost technology cube that transports them, no one will ever know for no one ever saw them. Like ghosts, they disappear and find themselves outside the real ghost town — where it all began.
A toma croaks in the distance. Brave travelers dare cross the ruined wasteland and the saintess meditating atop one of the largest rocks hidden in the shadows opens her gray eyes tinted by lilac in the glow of the moons to observe. Despite all of her traveling, the white robes wrapped around her body remain in pristine condition.
She turns behind to look at the man standing over a scattering of stones, staring intently at one of them. With poise and purpose, she dusts off her clothes and strides over to him.
"Chan."
Brown eyes tear away from his own name carved into the headstone in front of him to look at the one who's said it aloud.
"Yes, Saintess?"
"Do you regret it?"
"No. Never."
"Good," she states, satisfied with his response. With a grand sweep of her hood to cover short, dark hair, she gestures to the east. "We will set up camp one more night before returning to the Saint in the morning before he speaks with our Master."
Chan mutely nods, following the saintess back into the desert where she confidently leads him to a cave that will shield them from the unpredictable nature of Gunsmoke's wastelands. He thinks of you, the girl he must keep safe and two brothers. One with wings as pure white despite his continual revelry with hate-filled darkness, the other bearing ones the complete opposite color of his twin — a wild card.
He reminisces over the Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood, the convent and all the orphans that lived there. Pondering Sister Meryl's role, who stands before him now as the revered Saintess, leader for the Eye of Joshua and second only to the Bishop of the cult named after himself. She moves curious little statues back and forth across the surface of a large flat rock and the young man can't help but ask her a question in the unnerving silence.
"Do you think this will work?"
Meryl smiles elusively, as always. She picks up the smallest one with a deliberate flourish, placing it on a blackened space close to the last row of alternating squares carved into the stone's surface.
"Have you ever played chess before?"
"No, what is it?"
"An Earthern board game. It is quite complicated." Gesturing to the piece she just moved, she continues. "This is a pawn, the weakest of all chess pieces."
Chan bristles. "But strength comes in numbers, no? There are eight of each color, surely the right side can find a way to win."
Unfazed by his agitation, the saintess nods placatingly. "With the right strategy, even a pawn may become a queen — the most powerful. Unpredictable." She points to a white figurine with a cross on top of it. "Enough to checkmate a king."
Entranced, Chan watches as she rearranges and repositions various pieces across the faux chessboard. Soon, the pawn that took on the mantle of a Black Queen captures the White King. His eyes roam what's left on the battlefield at the end of the match, pointing to one that looks like a tower.
"What's that one?"
"A rook. It best supports an allied pawn towards promotion from behind the scenes." Her eyes sparkle mischievously. "It's most powerful during the end of the game, as you can see."
Chan gulps, holding his breath for a moment, and clears his throat. "Then I'm ready."
"Wonderful," Meryl nods, "we'll depart for Master Dokyeom's stronghold in the morning. I'm sure Joshua, our dear Saint, will be… pleased upon our return."
"To the glory of the Black King's rise."
"And to the glory of our so-called queen."
Keep him safe, Chan thinks to himself as he settles on the ground. And yourself. One day we'll reunite in the most joyous of occasions…
He pulls out a faded wanted poster with the infamous outlaw worth sixty billion double dollars, donning a wishful smile before closing his eyes and murmuring, "I'd even bet this impossible amount on it."
onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©
#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
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Ted Lasso fics masterlist
it’s not about the wins or losses, it’s about the fandom we made along the way - and that, I think, is what I’ll miss the most
meanwhile, a masterlist of all my Ted/Trent fics:
1. The Truth Shall Make Ye Fret (T, 20k)
“Thing is, though, you gotta love the questions themselves. I guess you journalists don’t get the luxury of that, seeing’s how you gotta rush your stories out - y’all just want your answers right off the bat. But I think you gotta live the questions first. Then one day you’ll gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”
Trent takes off his glasses. “Ted Lasso, did you just quote Rilke at me?”
Ted shrugs modestly.
“I take it back,” says Trent. “You don’t need media training at all.”
In 48 hours, Trent Crimm lands a scoop, implodes his career and makes some drastic life decisions. And then there's the aftermath. And Ted, of course.
2. they will see us waving from such great heists (T, 21k)
“Well, like the Gambler himself says - you got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em. Know when to walk away, know when to run. And the latter would be about now, because I think this house is on fire.”
In which Trent Crimm, Interpol, investigates the theft of Rupert Mannion’s painting by a mysterious thief dubbed The Greyhound. FBI Special Agent Ted Lasso gets in the way. Heist!AU
2a. Trick Plays (T, 6.4k)
Snippets from the Such Great Heists universe, including Crimminal Intent, The Prying Dutchman and We Provide Leverage.
3. constant as a northern star (constantly in the dark) (T, 10.5k)
“I just met Ted Lasso,” Sachiko Crimm says bluntly when her ex-husband picks up.
Trent is silent for a while. “And?” he says finally.
Sachiko gives it five seconds, and then she bursts out laughing.
“Stop it,” says Trent wearily.
The saga of Trent Crimm and his independent ex-wife
4. all the men and women merely players (T, 50k)
"So let me get this straight. You, an American whose career highlights consisted mainly of appearing on Saturday Night Live, decide in the wake of the apocalypse to lead a touring Shakespeare company across the ruins of England."
"Oh, I know. Heck, I said as much to Rebecca when she suggested it. I said, 'You could fill two Internets with what I don’t know about directing Shakespeare.' And she said, 'Ted, the Internet doesn’t exist any more.'"
Trent Crimm meets Ted Lasso by chance at a Shakespeare play. Five years and the end of the world later, they meet again at another. A Station Eleven post-apocalyptic theatre AU (no knowledge of Station Eleven necessary to read), WIP but updating real soon!
It’s been an honour to write for this fandom, I love you all so very much (on three!)
#ted lasso#ted lasso fic#trent crimm#rebecca welton#coach beard#roy kent#keeley jones#nathan shelley#leslie higgins#sam obisanya#jamie tartt#dani rojas#isaac mcadoo#colin hughes#jan maas#afc richmond#ted x trent#trent crimm's ex-wife#trent crimm's daughter#crimmlet#sharon fieldstone#rupert mannion#bex mannion#heist au#post-apocalyptic au#theatre au#station eleven#shakespeare#crossover#tedependent
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When you say you don't write fics, does that mean you don't have a main comic fic too, like, per say, Cass Apocalyptic Series? Because I've seen you do comic snippets and they look really good, and I wasn't able to find any links to a main comic, so I was wondering if there was anywhere I could read a comic or anything at all or if its just an AU with comics for different scenarios and stuff. Btw, love the grown apart drawings! Thank you and have a good day!
Firstly - thank you very much! I'm glad you're enjoying the content I'm making for this AU ❤
Secondly - all that little disclaimer means is that I wouldn't expect a written fic for any of the AUs featured here. I don't personally consider myself a particularly skilled writer, not in the traditional sense - not enough to write a whole fic, at least. I can do a scene or two but I'm much better with a visual medium.
It is not referring to comics, and I do actually have plans to make comics for a couple of my AUs - Grown Apart included. (I've been more-or-less treating this comp as a way to promote the AU and get my feet wet with comic-style storytelling before diving right into starting one.)
While my original intention - for this specific AU - was to just do a string of short storyboard-style comic panels, illustrating the major story beats and giving the overall plot without delving into too much detail, I'm open to the idea of just expanding it into a full comic.
Perhaps if the AU generates a good deal of interest during and after the competition, I'll seriously consider it! :0
(...and with that last line, I guess this technically counts as @tmntaucompetition propaganda now. So, uhhhh...vote for GA if you want to see it get a comic, I guess! LOL)
#Disconnected was the only AU that I had planned to do a ''full'' comic for - and have already started on.#But I love GA and would definitely be open to considering giving it the same treatment if enough people seem interested.#asked and answered#grown apart au (rottmnt)#anonymous#And have yourself a lovely day as well Anon! :>
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don't wanna miss a thing
》 chapter 4
Negan Smith x Female Reader
Non-apocalyptic AU // The Walking Dead AU
Other Characters(mentioned): Rick Grimes
Summary: You finally open up about your feelings to Negan.
Warnings- mature language, age gap(reader's in her early 20s), slow burn, fluff, kissing and sensual touches, ages 18+
Other chapters & info -> RIGHT HERE
💕divider by @saradika-graphics
You shoot him a puzzled look, "I'm sorry, what do you mean you know?"
Negan tightens his lips into a line. Fucking damn it, he nearly messed up. He knows what you're going to say but he wants you to tell him yourself. He chuckles, "come on, it's obvious. You've had this look on your face all day, like you got something on your mind."
Your gaze shys away for a moment. "Yeah, about that.." you pause, nervously rubbing your arm. "I want to tell you how I feel. And before I do, you should know that this is something that I've felt for a very long time."
"It's alright, go on." He takes a couple steps towards you. After noticing how tense you are he stays put. But you still have his full, undivided attention.
This is it. Mustering up the courage you blink up at him. "We've known each other for a few years now. You've always been a great friend to my family and to me. Well I really like being your friend, but I have developed romantic feelings for you." You shake your head, hoping that you hadn't just ruined everything. "I hope this doesn't mess up our friendship. It means a whole lot to me, whether you feel the same way or not."
Negan takes it all in, sighing before responding, "I know that you've got feelings for me. Known for a while."
Your breath gets caught in your throat. "You- you knew?"
He nods sympathetically. "Yeah. Listen, I know that must have been hard for you to tell me and I'm glad that you did."
"It was." You are relieved. It's as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. Even though he hasn't given a response to how he feels about all of it. "How long have you known?"
It takes him a second to ponder. "Every now and then I've had my suspicions. I could tell by the way you look at me sometimes."
"I'm sorry."
This time, he smiles at you. Warm and genuine. "Now what the hell are you sorry for, sweetheart?"
"I don't know. For just dumping all of that on to you. Even if you already knew. But I guess there was no need for me to tell you then." You bite your lip, afraid that maybe you'll start to say too much again. However, Negan knows you better than that.
"Oh yes there fucking was. And I know there's more. I want you to tell me exactly how you feel about me."
That was all you needed to continue. "I always feel safe when I'm around you. I admire how you are not afraid to tell the truth or say what's your mind.." Negan begins to slowly make his way closer to you, listening to every single word. "I can never get enough of your laugh, it's one of my favorite sounds. I love your smile, your kindness, your unique sense of humor.."
Your voice trails off now that he is standing directly in front of you.
You're eyeing up at him like a lovesick doe. He can't deny that it does something to him. You're so damn beautiful to him in that very moment. So close. It took every ounce of his self control to not to gaze down at your body, though it's difficult when your exposed stomach and silky thighs call to him. It was becoming harder for him to hold back from you. Especially when your heavenly scent invades his nose. You have always smelled good to him, however it felt like there was something new added to it. Something thicker, sweeter.. It's mind-numbing.
He sighs, gazing over your lips then up towards your eyes. "You wanna know something?" You nod, rather prettily, and he takes that as a cue to continue. "The way you looked at me right before you left Rick's, it made me feel like I betrayed you- broke your heart. You've never looked at me like that before, and I sure as shit didn't like it." His fingers come up to caress your jaw, keeping your eyes locked with his. "It made me realize that I never want you look at me like that ever again."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel that way." It feels like there's a lump in your throat when you talk.
He leans in closer, his face just inches from yours. He gazes at you with half lidded eyes. "No more apologizing for tonight, alright sweetheart."
"Okay." Your breath hitches. He is right there. How badly do you want to kiss him.
A toothy grin spreads across his face. "Good. You're too fucking sweet to be saying sorry anyway, especially for nothing. Now tell me what you really want from me."
"I want you to kiss me."
"That I can do."
He moves in, pressing his warm lips to yours. Moving gently as he kisses you, his tongue finds yours and you hum lowly into his mouth. Your arms wrap around his neck, drawing his body closer to you. His brows furrow as he brings his hands to hold your waist. The kiss quickly grows more passionate. He backs you against the wall while continuing to make out with you feverishly. You can't get enough of him, wanting more. He tastes even better than you've ever imagined. Neither of you want to pull away, not even for air.
When you finally do pull away, you're both left panting in intoxicated states. Breathing in the same air together.
Negan smiles lazily, "Goddamn, baby. Now I'm kind of mad at you for making me wait that long."
You look at him sheepishly, heart skipping a beat at his new nickname for you. "I'm so-" The raise of his brows cuts off your sentence. "Oh right, no more apologizing. Sorry about that. No wait- I didn't mean to say it again."
He lets out a deep laugh after listening to you tumble over your own words. Tongue swiping over his lips seductively. "You're so fucking adorable. Come here."
No need to tell you twice. He tugs you in for another kiss, his lips moving hungrily as if he's trying to consume you. His hands slide down to squeeze your hips, causing you to moan into his mouth and your knees nearly give out. Your body's response makes him groan. He brings you with him, making way towards your bed. Backing you until you're laying down on the plush surface.
He brings himself to hover over you, not wanting to crush you. Not yet at least. His eyes run down you appreciatively. Your hair is sprawled around behind you, there's a blush on your face and neck, a hitch in your breath, your lips moist from his, and your eyes are shining with want. You look like an angel to him, soft and beautiful. So innocent looking. Inexperienced compared to him. God how he wants to give you everything you've ever wanted. Every pleasure imaginable. You deserve all of it and more. After taking a couple seconds to take you all in he immediately goes to kiss along your neck. Gentle at first, then rougher when your hand goes to tug down on his hair. Ths sharp gasps and rolling of your hips tell him you want more.
His hips come down, pinning yours to the bed. He can feel himself getting hard in his jeans. And telling from the arch of your back, you felt it too. However he chooses to ignore it for now. His lips trail kisses down your collarbone while his hand slides up your stomach and under your shirt. His touch was about to reach your breast when something startles both of your actions to a complete halt.
It's the distinct sound of the front door closing followed by your aunt Rena's voice, "Y/n? Are you home?"
Your eyes widen before hissing out, "my aunt's home!"
"Shit!" Negan curses under his breath, moving fast to climb off of you.
"Over there, in the closet!" You direct him over to the enclosure. He quickly steps inside and you shut the door.
You race back to the bed, replying aloud to your aunt, "yeah, I'm here in my room!"
Making sure nothing looks suspicious, you look around when your eyes land on Negan's leather jacket at the end of your bed. Fuck, you forgot the jacket! With lightning-fast movements you grab the article and shove it under the covers. Hiding it just in time before Rena enters your room.
"Oh there you are." She addresses when she spots you. "I'd stopped by the Grimes place but they said that you had already left. Is everything alright?"
You give her a curt nod. "Mm yes, I'm good. I was just feeling tired and wanted to come home early."
She hums in understanding. "Glad you're okay. Rick had also said that Negan walked you home?"
Her tone doesn't sound curious or accusing in any way so you assume you're in the clear. You swallow before answering, "he did. They wanted to make sure I got home safely."
She smiles appreciatively. "That's nice. I'll be sure to give him my thanks the next time I see him."
"How was work? I didn't expect you to be back this early."
Your aunt yawns in exhaustion. "It was rather slow today. They decided to let me leave early. The choice was between me and another but she wanted the hours."
You offer a smile. "Well I'm happy you're back before I had gone to sleep. Means I get to tell you good night."
Rena comes over to give you a hug. "Me too. Good night sweetie."
With that, she leaves your room. Closing the door behind her.
You wait for a few seconds to make sure she had gone into her own room. As soon as you felt it was all clear, you spring out of bed and rush towards the closet to let Negan out. Sliding the door open, the both of you have to restrain yourselves from bursting out laughing at the situation.
"That was close," he beams, sliding out past you.
"It was." You laugh in agreement.
You couldn't even imagine what would've happened had your aunt caught you making out with Negan in your bed. How she'd react, what she'd say or think.
Negan exhales heavily, "well, I guess we call it a night here then." He catches the saddened expression on your face. "But hey, how about I take you out?"
Your eyes light up. "You mean like.. on a date?"
"Yup, like a date. I'll take you anywhere you want." His low, gravelly voice makes you swoon all over again.
"I would like that very much."
A grin stretches across his face and he takes you into his arms. "Great. Then afterwards, you can decide whether you want to pick up where we left off or not." He finishes that sentence with a suggestive bounce of his eyebrows, causing you to giggle and blush.
"Hm, I don't know. We'll see." You toss back. Knowing damn well that you'd want to.
//
#into-crazy#negan smith#twd negan#negan au#negan smith x reader#negan smith x y/n#negan imagine#the walking dead#fanfic#jeffery dean morgan#twd
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Hello hello hello! I am here and I bring writery goodies. Thank you for the tags, @aroace-genderfluid-sheep, @facewithoutheart, @artsyunderstudy, @valeffelees (so lovely of you to join us!), @larkral, @whogaveyoupermission, @ileadacharmedlife and anyone else I missed! It’s awesome to see so many intriguing fics in development and hopefully hitting AO3 in the near future!
My WIPs are moving, including WRATS (I shared a big chapter with my betas and ahhhhhhh). Also, I’m working on a secret project. But today I’ll share a snippet from what could be my next long WIP. It’s a post-apocalyptic snowbaz AU, loosely based on Fallout New Vegas (no prizes for guessing who's in charge of Vegas).
I wouldn’t say I’m an expert in post-apocalyptic stories, but most I’ve encountered are quite pessimistic, placing a lot of emphasis on the worst aspects of humanity. (If anyone is interested, Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel is a great exception to this rule.) I think this fic will break a few genre conventions? So I’m a bit trepidatious. But it’s an idea that gives space for me to explore snowbaz ideas I’ve had that were in need of a setting.
Anyway, here’s the snippet! In this scene, Baz is singing Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall by The Ink Spots and Ella Fitzgerald while searching for very particular salvage.
“Into each heart some tears must fall, but someday the sun will shine.”
Most schoolhouses were plundered long ago, but this one is off the safer roads. Besides, I’m looking for more unusual fare, and music rooms are often underexplored.
A satisfying clink. I twist onto my side, nudging detritus into the open. I’ve already performed this sweep under three counters and found little more than old coins. Still, there are those who value such things.
“Some folks can lose the blues in their hearts, but—”
My breathing stills as the small container peeks out from beneath the counter. Rosin.
“Well, well, well.” I pick it up, smiling. “Aren’t I a lucky boy?”
Not that lucky, I respond internally. Still no violin strings.
“Now, now,” I mutter. “Hope springs eternal.”
Hello and no-pressure tags below the cut!
@johnwgrey @bookish-bogwitch @erzbethluna @captain-aralias @raenestee @yeonjunenby @cutestkilla @ivelovedhimthroughworse @stitchyqueer @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @sailorblossoms @confused-bi-queer @aristocratic-otter @tea-brigade @nightimedreamersworld @fatalfangirl @thewholelemon @onepintobean @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @shrekgogurt @theearlgreymage @martsonmars @blackberrysummerblog @orange-peony @palimpsessed
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20 questions for fic writers
Tagged by @bbcphile 🥰🥰🥰
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
site says 21! (I also have 50+ on ff.net from when I was younger, and uhhh idk how many that I shoved into my dreamwidth/livejournal never to see the light of day again.)
2. What's your total AO3 word count?
619,848
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Currently Mysterious Lotus Casebook! (Although I might sneak something for Love and Redemption or Scum Villain.) I am mostly a writer in the Final Fantasy XIII fandom, although I have spent years in Code Geass and Merlin fandoms. Before that, it was Fullmetal Alchemist, Naruto, Harry Potter, and Star Wars.... loads more.
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
Leave Me Your Starlight, Code Geass fic Nunnally-centric time-travel fix-it
Five Minutes, FFXIII fluff oneshot featuring Noel and Hope
World Enough and Time, Code Geass AU post-apocalyptic rewrite
First (and Second) Impressions, FFXIII modern babysitting AU Noel/Hope
Lost in a Moment (lost in a song), Mysterious Lotus Casebook post-canon fix-it casefic
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
I try to! I'm, um. I'm really bad at it. In that I will attempt to respond to everyone in the first few days, but then I get distracted doing/writing something else and I am so tunnel-visioned that you won't hear from me until a week later and then I feel bad about taking so long to respond. Also I am very, very bad at responding because while I love love love seeing comments, it's just happy reactions and incoherent noises from me. How do I words to translate my appreciation???
6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
...probably everything I wrote as a kid? I have very different ideas on angst nowadays, but I guess while I was writing it... between Gedächtnisse (FMA fic) and Sound of Silence (HP fic), I guess!
Newer stuff might be between The Other (FFXIII fic) and Test Subjects (FFXIII fic).
7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
I write a lot of fluff pieces nowadays! But overall, probably Something About December (FFXIII fic), since it's a Christmas fic or Family (FFXIII), which was written to give Sazh more support in the third game.
8. Do you get hate on fics?
Once, someone pointed out my join date on the website and asked me why I was still writing fanfiction.
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
I have, but generally don't. Even most of my ships are closer to gen than not. I'm closer to the repulsed spectrum of ace, but I do like attempting to write all sorts of things.
10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?
Yes! Love them! I've written a good handful-- but the craziest one was when I was... 10? 11? and I wrote Orions'Ka on a notebook and when I typed it up, it was well over 60,000 words. It had absolutely everything I loved back then.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Not by a person, no. By website bots, yes.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
I have had... people ask me if they could translate my fics? My answer is always yes, but I don't recall seeing it anywhere.
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
I had an entire online journal with my best friend back in middle school.
14. What's your all-time favorite ship?
...MXTX ships, maybe? I don't feel particularly strongly about ships most of the time, only about characters, who I will ship around for the fun of it. But for MXTX pairings, that just doesn't feel right. They just belong together.
15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?
....my old Harry Potter stuff, I'm sorry. Not a fandom I got back into again.
16. What are your writing strengths?
I've been told it's characterizations! And descriptions.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Everything else. Confidence, I guess. Also energy and interest. And once I overcome those, plot.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?
...me, or fics that do that? Because I've seen fics do that, full on paragraphs of dialogue in the original language but descriptions in English, and I don't understand.
But if it's just... an important word, a statement, something the fandom would normally understand kept in its original language because there's just no good translation in English for it, then it absolutely works. Some things don't translate well, and fans usually like learning more about their canons. I personally try to keep things mostly in English nowadays, though, but I slip time to time.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Star Wars. I was in the single digits age, and wrote an introspective ficlet on Luke and Leia's feelings about how the original trilogy's ending, sitting together on Endor to watch it all burn.
20. Favorite fic you've written?
...I don't know if I have one. I either tend to be proud or hate what I've written, depending on the day, my mood, wind speeds, and cats.
Currently I want to say Lost in a Moment, because I finished that recently and I had so many doubts about it so I'm proud I got through it.
Tagging... omg, anyone who still follows me all the way from FFXIII days and writes, or all the way from the Gundam Wing days gosh.
but also @seventhstrife, @rhystheceo, @teekettle, @adriannasharp @tunnelofdusk 🤭 ya'll suffer through my random selection because I know you guys are writerssss
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I have never consumed any ff7 media outside what you’ve talked about so here are my assumptions and thoughts on your au built around my very very very limited knowledge (pt 1):
Turks are a thing here. Is this like a post apocalyptic world where only Turkish people survived?
Or is this like a human classification type deal? Or a group?
Local small blond child is being raised by the best Turk. Is he the best at being Turkish or the best at being good? Very important. Ik one Turkish person and I hate them (derogatory x100) so this will affect my opinion of this man (?)
What tf is mako
Why is it in this child’s eyes
Are they mermaids? Have I missed their mermaid tails in fanart? Mako mermaid powers?
Is it magic? Fantasy crack? Secret government shit you shoot up in a back alley for a power up?
There’s a person (?) named Reno that’s probably rly fun to piss off
If angels exist here did Jesus? Did this Jesus have a sword?
Why does this Vincent person need to be tricked out of a box? Is he a cat perhaps?
Why is a blond child setting things on fire to wake someone up? A little extreme but it has spirit.
And why is the person in need of being woken up sleeping in a box? I’m not positive this Vincent isn’t a cat. Are Turks cats? Cat-boys?
The box was a coffin. A little dramatic considering he clearly isn’t dead. Like just get an eye mask fr.
He a vampire or some shit? Did they make him a vampire because he’s Turkish? Did they put him in a box because he’s Turkish? That’s rude
Oh there was a lock
If a tiny blond could break it I’m not convinced this Turkish cat couldn’t do it too
Whoever this hojo mf is I hope they know I’m watching their ass and am in full support of their murder
Who’s chaos and why are they in the Turkish cats head? Is this a naruto situation? Are they paying rent? Is this why Vincent was locked in a coffin?
Is shinra the government or something? An organization? The group of this hojo mf
There’s aliens now?
The alien is wrecking the world AGAIN? As in once the first timeline and now here? Or they wrecked it once already and are coming back for fun?? Do aliens not have anything better to do. So fucking lame.
If I saw an alien trying to wreck my plants shit I’d simply say “that’s loser behavior” and leave.
They’d be so stunned by my confidence they’d just have to stop
Ff7 is frankly just wild trying to explain to someone in general but in the broadest of strokes I can say that the Turks are basically spies/assassins/what have you for the evil uber corporation (Shinra) that is fucking up the planet. Mako is in essence the lifeblood of the planet that said evil corporation make into “renewable energy” (its not and is in fact just trying to heal the planet from the fucked up alien (JENOVA) thousands of years ago before he was banished to the timeout pit and unfortunately unearthed by you guessed it the evil corporation) and makes the very few people who don’t like die immediately insanely strong/fast/etc while also making their eyes glow. It’s weird to see on a child basically only seen by Shinras elite fighting force (SOLDIERs) and therefore worth mentioning a lot. Vincent was technically dead or at least was very much hardcore attempted murdered before being experimented on getting Chaos and a hand full of other murderous entities shoved inside of him by Hojo (evil scientist for evil company) who is basically the reason the alien was able to fuck shit up so bad in canon/the first time around in this au by implanting her cells into his unborn son. Vincent chose a coffin for a guilt/depression nap after he did and didn’t die a la a certain cat.
That’s the barest of bones not going into the whole eco terrorism weird soul bond mommy issues memory/identity theft and the cat robot… or the clones… or
Also the mind control there’s a lot of that too
Yeah it’s a lot.
#the elf talks#it’s a great game but the story is off the rails okay#I laughed really hard reading thsi#ff7 from an outsiders perspective is batshit insane and a delight to see#everything comes back to the alien the scientist and Sephiroths mommy issues tbh#if your confused that’s totally fine cloud spends 75% of it also confused and he’s the main character#you know when you get fully enmeshed in a fandom and forget how cray it is from the outside? yeah#vincent is dramatic but like also intensely traumatized#did they put him in a box because he’s Turkish took me out okay
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As a writer, can you see the appeal of self-shipping? I don't mean to be negative, but I just don't understand that concept. Like, I just got block because I wrote fics about Endeavor/Hakws and Sukuna/Yuuji by my group of fics writers.
Before I was blocked some member criticize me by saying "how could you ship age gap like that, that is wrong in so many way". And I answered, "at least better like me than wrote self shipping like some of you guys. Gojo/reader and Sukuna/reader is just weird in so many ways". Then I was blocked.
Do you think I'm wrong?
I'll be honest, I don't see the appeal of self-shipping for myself. While I do have my faves and some I do find attractive that if you asked "would you marry Nanami" I would say yes so fast. But! Would I write fics of shipping myself and that character? No. Would I write x reader fics? No. I just don't see myself writing fics like that just as much as apocalyptic AUs.
But I don't think think every person who writes that material is a weirdo or writes bad stuff.
This is just my guess, but I feel like some people do it (write self-shipping fic) because it's just nice sometimes to imagine yourself with your favorite. Have that enjoyment, you know? I won't say that is concrete since again, I'm not a self-shipper so I don't speak for self-shippers.
Now, I don't care for those ships, just my own preferences, but I do think it's harsh they attacked you over your fics and you have every right to feel upset. Yes, people do have issues with those ships because of the age gaps (and other reasons), but I don't think there's room to judge if said people attacked you write similar things. Like, are they older or younger than the characters they ship themselves with?
It's like "I'm allowed to do this, but you're not".
It's like... okay, example I have used before in another post. It's like how some people complain about how canon will treat the characters badly like "Everyone is dying and suffering" and even go as far as to wishing bodily harm on the writer (y'all... just say you don't like it, that is just bejng extreme and you know it) then turn around and be the same people who will read and write fics that put the characters through worse. Those people know who they are.
I like a good angst fic or two. Hell, I'm dabbling in a bit of horror right now. But, damn. Bit much to get hostile towards someone.
If I don't see a ship fic I don't like, I'm moving on. Out of sight, out of mind.
They attacked, you responded. I do have to ask, if you don't mind, how long were you in this group for and did they already know you wrote those fics, like did you tell them? Or are they just finding out? Do themselves write age gap fics?
For now, I just think it's best to move on from that group.
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Castiel and Nath are (kinda) besties headcanon
I headcanon Castiel and Nath post-Love Life as actually being pretty close and almost seeing each other as family.
They're still bickering a lot, but while they used to pick a fight at every occasion before, they now stick to teasing one another (which started in campus life and love life). They think it's only fun and games and while some people might think they're being harsh, they're joking (most of the time) and on this matter share the same sense of humor.
Like they'll never admit it but they are slowly becoming friends and trust the other like no one. Especially because they have witnessed and helped each other in their most vulnerable moment(s) and know the other would have their back if anything happens.
They both have a couple of very good loving friends they trust and hang out with (Castiel and Nath mostly see each other during social gathering and they text only when it's necessary) but for some reason when they are really in trouble the other happens to be the one who help them and understand them the most (aside from their s/o). They have this weird "stop being a bitch and tell me what's really wrong so i can help." relationship, mostly because they don't sugarcoat one another.
So not really the "i love spending time with this guy we're having so much fun together" kind of friendship but more of the "I trust this guy with my life" kind of bond if that makes sense?
They're the Zoro and Sanji of mcl.
They also could be an interesting duo in a post-apocalyptic/zombie au.
They're always pretty much suprised to discover a new side of the other that they don't dislike. This doesn't mean they didn't truely hate each other in high school. They definitely did and used to be incompatible. But they're grown now and understand each others more. They know they're not "a match made in heaven" that's why they don't spend time together but they learned to appreciate what they have.
I don't think they would hang out just the two of them (not of their own free will).
However I like to think that one day, during the early stages of their "friendship", one of them had this extra ticket to a sport game (yeah they're older now, they do typical dad stuff) or any activity you'd like to imagine. Your Candy was supposed to go with him cause u two are married (or remained close friends) but you cancelled last minute. "I'm really sorry babe. You should ask Castiel/Nath, I think I remember him saying he would like to go one day. He'll probably enjoy it more than me anyway." "You're kidding, right?" You were not kidding.
You kinda forced him to ask cause he didn't want to at first (and you probably made the call too because despite being ~30 they both still have a ridiculously big ego).
They both thought this would be awkard and your husband/friend probably spent the whole day complaining about you putting him in this situation ("C'mon Castiel/Nath', you two aren't children anymore.") while the other (who said yes mostly to be polite to Candy) was wondering if he could still find a way to avoid the situation (but is still very much excited to see the game anyway).
In the end, they enjoyed their time more than they'll admit and ended up drunk as fuck in a bar afterward.
Candy teased her husband the day after cause he couldn't stop talking about "how much fun he had" while trying to pretend it was only because the game was really c o o l.
Now it has become their little habit to go see it together. They don't even talk that much when they're going, and rarely about personal stuff. They discuss strategies and random stuff like that just as two people who share the same hobby. But they really enjoy it.
"Enjoy your date!" Candy loves to tease her husband when he leaves to join the other.
So yeah I guess we could say they do hang out together in fact, but "it's only 'cause we both support the same team." right?! They'll always find a valid reason.
Again if your Candy is married to one of them, I can see Nath/Castiel visiting the couple just to have dinner and see the kid(s). When they get older, they send each other Christmas cards (ok right, mostly because Candy wants to, but they're glad the other wrote that he's doing ok).
And I definitely wanted Castiel to choose Nathaniel as his bestman during the wedding episode, I mean he almost did when he chose Amber! I don't know about Nathaniel's route tho.
Let's finish this post with this funny little sketch of Zoro and Sanji from One Piece made by @huanghying on twitter which makes me think of them a bit.
Anyway, Castiel and Nath' are secretely besties <3
#and i will die on this hill#beemoov#amour sucre#mcl#my candy love#castiel#mcl castiel#amour sucre castiel#amor doce#mcl candy#mcl nathaniel#mcl love life#mclll#mcl ll#nathaniel#my candy love love life#my candy love castiel#my candy love nathaniel#amour sucre nathaniel#amor doce nathaniel#amor doce castiel
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very informal thoughts on the more mundane villains I write (Avranc, Brodda and Lorgan)
mentions of bad stuff from canon ahead
anon who wanted to see this, I hope you do! I’m also going to go back to it tomorrow and finish any edits and additions as I can’t from mobile right now...
third and last time I’m reposting this. apparently Tumblr is once again doing the thing where it doesn’t let you edit things under a cut on mobile
Avranc
mundane evil at its finest. Bureaucratic, petty, and callous. Depraved indifference is the term I used in my recent meta about The Wanderings of Húrin and it’s the most accurate thing I can say about him. He’s well aware that he’s living in a nigh apocalyptic world and he’ll mistreat or even kill anyone he thinks has earned it.
His cruelty towards completely traumatized Húrin and callousness about Morwen’s death was surprisingly disturbing to me when I first read The Wanderings and it’s stuck with me ever since
Brodda:
I really hate this man! I’m not normal about it, either. If you’ve ever mentioned disliking him even in tags or comments you might have dealt with my overexcited responses. Sorry in advance/in retrospect. It will probably happen again.
Technically in my published stories he’s only in a few but he features heavily in unpublished stories of mine too. The scene where Morwen scares him away by looking is simultaneously one of the scariest and most amusing scenes in the entire book for me.
In one of those published stories Aerin says that his best quality is his long periods of absence and the kindest thing he does is ignoring her. That’s the highest character endorsement you’ll get from a reliable source.
The previous batch of Aerin headcanons and the next one has some less than fun facts about him.
What to say about him? He’s a mid level commander and violent sadist who accuses women of witchcraft. He often ignores Aerin because he gets bored of being cruel to the same people, hence her glowing character endorsement (my sarcasm as well as hers). He’s way too obsessed with his own dagger (hence the title of the story) He’s mostly fun to write when he’s getting stabbed by Morwen with it and the art I have of it is the best thing ever. Earlier last year I thought my dark!Finarfin was the worst character I’d write but I think even he isn’t as bad, if only because dark Arafinwë has more self awareness.
The BoLT version is interesting too because it puts his actions in an even more disturbing light when he’s acting against his own people. I tend to use a combination that has him originally from Hithlum but having left a couple decades before the start of the Narn. I have...thoughts about this including one of the most disturbing things I think I have ever come up with regarding Dagor Bragollach.
Anyways he’s an awful person and needs to stay away from Aerin and Morwen and just about everyone else on the planet. Currently I’m playing with an idea for a wip where Morwen does convince Aerin to flee to Hareth in Brethil and then finds herself accused of causing her vanishment by sinister means.
But I had to work out his character so much for Cut Your Hand As Willingly (semi published, it has its own tag which I’ll put on this post) that I’m not sure I could face writing him again.
Lorgan: Any visuals I have of him are based on the description of the governor from The Magnus Archives episode Foundations. He’s notable to me mainly for being the guy who Húrin yells at in The Wanderings. Well, one of them. I guess that story does have more than one instance of Húrin yelling at people.
He also apparently considered abducting Niënor. I don’t know exactly what version this was in, I actually thought I invented that in my brain but then two people completely unrelated posted about it so it’s somewhere in HoME. I have a post about it here. It’s kind of pathetic that he failed in this despite the family being actually cursed. Always a possibility for further exploration in dark aus He doesn’t appear in many of my stories except as a background character.
I don’t like him much either but it’s also interesting to imagine versions where he was originally of Húrin’s people too.
#the silmarillion#the children of húrin#the wanderings of Húrin#morwen#aerin#musing and meta#word ran among them#cw abuse#cut your hand as willingly
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for the flash fic, keeping in line with last night's question, thara celehar in the pirate au, like just whatever he's up to, also no pressure to do this if you would need to consult with someone else to do so
okay LISTEN i hope you jive with the idea of thara fleeing the ethuveraz to neighboring celvaz as a result of the wild fucking xenophobia/bigotry that's risen in the ethuveraz after the war that broke out over maia's disappearance, bc i was desperately possessed of the need to play with him accidentally getting tangled up with faeries. also this is long so i'm read more'ing
*
"The trouble is the house," said Colum Walsh. He was a rustic painting of a man, somewhat squat and hardy looking with the odd, rounded ears and brilliantly red hair of the Cel. He was of the age when one's skin begins to yield to life as the earth yields to the long-trod destiny path, and though I found his doddery ebullience and the volume of his voice to be tiring, I still found in myself a certain regret for the incontrovertible evidence of a life of sorrow and stress in this man's newly lined face. He was kind in a way that asked only for listening ears, and had I any power over the ways of the wider world, I would have wished for him a gentler life than it seemed he had lived.
"So you've said," I replied, prompting him as I watched my feet on the uneven path we took through a thin copse of trees. I would have preferred the main thoroughfare, but Mr. Walsh was the concept of hurry made manifest, and so I had permitted him the use of his chosen shortcut from pub to our destination—which was, I saw at a glance through a break in the trees, a cottage of the Celvadeise style, bare stone with a gabled, wood-shingled roof and windows of a thick, untempered glass. From here, I could see that the garden though clearly once carefully cultivated, had sprung its bonds and sprawled into a mess of overgrown mint and rosemary and the odd native creeper.
"You know about brownies, of course," Mr. Walsh said, stepping over a jutting tree root with the unthinking ease of long habit, and crossing thence beyond the edge of the little wood.
"Hearth spirits of a sort," I said, taking a bit more care with the root myself. "Transactional, but loyal."
"Aye," he said. "Though I wouldn't call them spirits, really, if you'll forgive me saying so, mer. Language is tricksy with the Fair Folk, you know—they're so quick to offense, makes you want to be specific, you ken?"
I knew the sort, though I did not say so. Cels, I had learned, were wary of discussion of elves, and the more time I spent beyond the borders of my native Ethuveraz, the deeper my understanding went. It was a cold, tricksome, conditional land when juxtaposed with the heathery moors and rolling green of Celvaz, and its fiery and forthright people.
"Hearth fey, then," I said. "You believe your brownies have turned?"
We had reached the little gate at the edge of the property, and here, Mr. Walsh paused.
"It's the oddest thing," he said, his voice turning thoughtful. "Not unheard of, really, but it takes a foolhardy few months of neglect for one as old as this to go off, and I've not missed a full moon's offering or a solstice gift in... Stones below, it's got to be something like decades."
That was curious, I thought, and drew up beside him to study the house.
Only an hour ago, ensconsced in the warm, dimly lit pub at the center of Bisby Town, he had told me that his house had begun falling apart a little over a month ago. In light of the time frame, I had expected the scruffy garden, of course, perhaps a certain ricketiness of window boxes, a fallen shingle or two.
Colum Walsh's house, however, was on its knees in the creeper. The window sashes sagged apocalyptically, the broad paving stones of the little path rocked and cracked with marauding weeds. Far from the anticipated shedding of shingles were the signs of wood rot in the roof. From just this quick assessment, I guessed with a great deal of concern that the rot had extended into the crossbeams supporting the roof from the inside, and that the structure itself was likely in danger of collapsing in on itself. One window had clearly been covered from the inside with a sheet, for the panes had shattered entirely, and the one on the far side of the peeling sun-yellow door looked to not be far behind it.
Which was to say that it was the sort of disrepair that took years, not a single month.
I did not realize I was being studied in turn until Mr. Walsh spoke, a wry sort of amusement in his voice.
"That bad, huh?"
I cleared my throat, and took a moment to refit my tongue to the rounded burr of Celvadeise; though I had been in the country for nearly three years, I was still not what I would call fluent. It did not help matters that I could feel my Ethuverazhin slipping away under the constancy of this new language—a turn that bothered me far more than I liked—and so I had been taking some care to at least think in my mother tongue. And if I occasionally spoke Ethuverazhin to the cats that tended to find me wherever I was, well, that was nobody's business but my own.
"I can see what has you so worried," I said simply. With a gesture at the gate upon which Mr. Walsh had rested his hand, I continued. "May I see it closer?"
Mr. Walsh lept to action, swinging the gate wide and ushering me through with an excited trickle of words. We walked the perimeter together, him pointing out the myriad damages to structure and property alike while I, maintaining my silence, began ever so gently to expand my senses to the particular frequency of the Fair Folk.
To say it had been a surprise the first time a fairy spoke to me would be understating the matter significantly. For while I am nothing if not accustomed to the communion of spirits outside myself, it had never extended beyond the realm of the dead—and the recently dead, at that. I was not a maza, nor was I anything like the folkloric clairvoyants one used to hear about from the Barizheise sometimes, in the days before the Three Years' War.
I had been in Celvaz only a month, the first time, having talked my way (pantomimed, really, for I had only known a few interrogatives in the native tongue at that point, and, embarrassingly, the word for weasel) into a barter with a moderately forgiving farmer—maintenance work on his dairy barn in exchange for two meals a day and a spot to sleep in the hay loft. It was hard, dreary work, but I had begun to adjust to it and find new patterns to tread through my days.
One of these rituals had been long, rambling walks past the borders of the farmer's land. The rolling hills went gold and purple with the sunset, and though I had never been one for the pastoral, I found in those spare, glowing minutes a kind of peace that had been absent from my life for as long as I could remember.
It was one of those evenings, the sun having just dipped below the horizon, though it still lit the sky with rich godfingers of colors for which I lacked proper names, when I tripped over a hummock of raised earth and toppled right into a faerie's burrow.
What followed was a dizzying flurry of curses I could not even hope to follow in a strange language, the startling prickle of something like static lightning washing over me, and finally, the extraction of a promise—an eventuality against which, I realized later, I had been thoroughly warned already.
You can see me, can hear me, can tread in the shadows I walk—and so you will help me and raise not a fight against me or my kin when we come in the night—or the day, for the Fey don't go away like they say is the way of the ones who burn up in the rays of the great glowing dawn. Oh, don't make that face, you try rhyming all the time, Mer Elf.
And so, to my great humiliation, I found himself to be a cautionary tale: Unwary foreigner pacted in service to the Fey.
And so, here I stood, doing my duty in the laying of my hand against the unreasonably cold stone of the decaying house.
Mr. Walsh prattled in the background, having not yet noticed my stillness, and I pressed all thought of him to the back of my mind as I sank into the immaterial essence of the place that spoke to the long presence of a faerie.
The brownie did not notice me at first, which proved itself a boon, as it gave me time to brace for the cacophony that crashed into me the instant I entered its awareness.
There were no words here, not at first—simply anger and a great deal more of that prickling which I had come to recognize as the particular maz of the Fair Folk. I took care to remain quiescent and let the storm of emotion wash over me, for it was not so different an experience from the communion with a person who had died in rage. And, in time, it passed, and the brownie drew back enough to observe.
I opened my eyes, and there she stood: golden brown skin, dark hair made lush with curls and tufty braids looped with beads and ribbons and tattered bits of lace. As with most Fey I had seen, her eyes were unnervingly large, a startling purple in her heart-shaped face. She grimaced at me in the way of a snarl, a neat rack of jagged teeth, sharp as vinegar.
"Who?" she asked, her voice a crackling thing, full of eons of cookfires stoked high.
Having learned my lesson, I bowed nearly as deeply as I would to the Emperor himself, and said, "I am called Celehar."
Those great eyes narrowed.
"The Witness," she said.
"Yes," I said. "I am here on behalf of the man whose home you share. He would like to know how he can regain your favor, madam."
*
It was not quite like awakening when I came back to myself, but I had no other word for it.
Time had passed in my absence, night settling fully around my ears and a chill creeping through the sturdy wool of my coat. I blinked, and found Mr. Walsh fidgeting from the seat he had taken on the crumbling garden wall. He jolted to his feet when I cleared my throat, his eyes wide, face a pale moon in the darkness.
"Mer Celehar!" he said, hurrying to me with outstretched hands. I allowed him to touch my arm before easing away.
"She doesn't like the milkweed," I said, sounding exactly as thirsty as I was; the single ale I had allowed myself at the pub had been hours ago.
"The... milkweed?" Bafflement was an unflattering look on Mr. Walsh, his eyes bugging out and mouth gaping to show a few missing teeth and the gold of what must have been an extremely costly filling.
"It brought butterflies last year," I said. "Monarchs. Her family has had a feud with their kind for..." I closed my eyes. "Oh, some long stretch of eons. She does not want them to come back."
Mr. Walsh blinked.
"Butterflies," he said.
"Butterflies," I echoed, and after a long pause, we were both helpless to do anything but laugh.
#thara celehar#cemeteries of amalo#witness for the dead#tge#the goblin emperor#maia's a pirate now#when i say this au is me running riot on kaddison's minimal broader worldbuilding.......#leyside#ask#prompt fill#the writing tag
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OC x Canon Week 2023 - Day 1: holding hands / apocalyptic AU / "if it wasn't for you..."
summary: not really a summary but this is based off that one scene from hunchback of Notre dame so :’> enjoy!
ship: IdiaVale (idia/gn!oc)
note: totally forgot this ship week was like. starting now. probably going to do little drabbles for it cuz I wana practice writing Vale.
@theocxcanonweek
Read on AO3
"I don't know how you could love a weirdo like me," Idia breathes out.
The comment was most likely supposed to be kept to himself as most of his dialogue was. It's said under his breath, barely above a whisper yet loud enough for the other person to hear it.
Vale is used to hearing the jabs he makes at himself. They're no stranger to it, although their words are kept bottled in rather than exposing them to the world. They get it, really, they do. But that doesn't mean they have to sit back and let those words manifest.
"Can I see your hand? Just for a bit?" Vale asks, holding their hand out.
Idia shifts his gaze over to them. He looks down at their hand and then meets with their eyes. Part of him feels as if he's done something wrong and he would believe that to be the truth if it wasn't for the lack of anger in their eyes. Those pools of amethyst aren't clouded with hate and are rather welcoming. So, he offers his hand to them.
Carefully, Vale pulls his hand towards them. His fingers are long and slender, practically all bone and no meat. Despite what most would think, his hands aren't as smooth, untouched by the definition of hard work. Because he does work, just in his own way and on his own projects. Vale has seen him work endlessly without a break on new tech, creating things to make life easier. If his fingers weren't dancing over a keyboard then they work working with tools to make his creation come to life.
His hands are cold as if little heat runs throughout his body. His hair may make up for it, but Vale finds the cool touch soothing. Especially once they feel his hands begin to warm.
"I'm not an expert on this, but..." they begin with a hum. Another slender finger touches his palm. It starts off light as a feather before brushing down the line of his palm. It causes him to shiver at how frail their touch seems to be. "I believe this is your life line."
"Is it short?"
Vale rolls their eyes.
"No." Idia huffs and they continue. "And this is your heart line."
"Wh-What about it?"
"I'm still learning, but I think it means you'll have a good love life. No bad endings for you," Vale chuckles softly before taking in a breath. "And guess what? I found a gamer line." Idia snorts. "But no weirdo lines."
It's obvious that there are no weirdo lines (or gamer ones to his dismay). Even if he doesn't know a thing about palm reading, he knows enough that those don't exist. All they're doing is messing with him. And if they were someone else, Idia would think that this is some plot to build him up and then break him down.
It's different with Vale. Idia can see the genuine look in their eyes, the way it shines with so much love and hope. Even if he wants to deny it, he can't find the words to. The look in their eyes makes him want to believe that it's true.
"You're just saying that..." Idia mumbles and turns his head away. He can't keep looking at them or else they're going to see his toothy smile and his flushed face. He forgets to try and hide his hair, although only the little embers at his tips flare into a pink.
"Maybe. But I don't think you're a weirdo."
Vale lets their hands intertwine and gives Idia's a light squeeze. It's not much, but it's a way of reassuring him.
"Fine. If I'm not the weirdo then you're definitely a weirdo for loving one."
#oc x canon week#twisted wonderland#twst oc#idia shroud#twisted wonderland oc#oc x canon#idia shroud x oc#ignihyde#vale
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12 Characters Meme
I did this on Dreamwidth (come say hi if you’re on Dreamwidth!) but thought I would transplant it here. Dreamwidth memes are great, it’s like an ask meme except you don’t have to wait for people to send you asks, you just do it.
From here.
The characters (themselves randomly selected) are:
Second Doctor
Eighth Doctor
Liz
Romana II
Katarina
Seventh Doctor
Nyssa
Donna
Mel
Ben
Leela
Jack
8 [Donna] and 4 [Romana II] get stuck in a lift. What happens? Romana has a sonic screwdriver and Donna has the phone number for building maintenance. They get out. And then Romana fixes Donna's memory.
Randomise a song by your preferred means (shuffle your iPod/MP3 player/iTunes/the internet). Pick out the line that best fits 2 [Eighth Doctor]? I got The Corries singing "Twa Recruitin' Sergeants." (I don't listen to the right kind of music for this, I don't think. Unless it was Jamie instead.) But "Over the mountains and over the main" is a pretty good fit for any Doctor, wanderer that he is. You could use the whole song (which is about how great it is to join the army because it allows you to avoid all of your responsibilities) really bitterly and ironically in a fic where Eight joins the Time War.
What would be your plot device of choice for a fic involving 11 [Leela] and 6 [Seventh Doctor]? Crossed timelines: Seven and pre-canon Leela!
Rec a fanwork about 12 [Jack]? Practical Mythology. From the stats on it probably everybody in the world has seen it already, but it sprang to mind because it is very good.
2 [Eighth Doctor] and 4 [Romana II] are now buddy cops. Do they make a good team, and is this bad or good news for nearby criminals? They make an incredible team. Nearby criminals are doomed. It won't last long, though; they'll have ethical differences and/or the Doctor will get restless.
Make up a summary for an apocalyptic fic featuring 5 [Katarina] and 10 [Ben] Ooh, this is not my usual kind of fic! I don't know what the moving parts of it are! ... oh, wait, can this be things like a zombie apocalypse? In that case:
The undead are rising. And they're hungry. Even the TARDIS isn't safe anymore when Ben finds that one of the Doctor's ghosts has returned...
1 [Second Doctor], 10 [Ben] and 8 [Donna] go on an epic road trip. Where are they going, who drives, and who gets left behind at the first stop? In the TARDIS? I assume the Doctor must be driving, and Donna sure isn't getting left behind so Ben must be. Perhaps they got lucky enough to find 60s England again.
In a coffee shop type AU with 9 [Mel] and 4 [Romana II], what would their establishment be called? I feel like they'd pick something a bit tacky and obvious -- Mel likes the obvious and Romana doesn't know how coffee shops are supposed to be called. It would be a cozy place to get strong coffee and sensible advice from intelligent women. Caffeine Solutions? Terrible pun.
If forced to choose, would you rather have an evening out with 1 [Second Doctor] or 11 [Leela]?
Probably Two. I'd love to do something with Leela, but only if it was an activity she wanted to do. Most of which I would not be any good at.
What's your favourite pairing (romantic or otherwise) for 3 [Liz]? I don't really ship her with anyone, so I guess her friendship with the Doctor. Although I once wrote a drabble where she was Clare-from-Shada's doctoral advisor, and I do like that headcanon.
Write a snippet from a 8 [Donna], 9 [Mel] and 3 [Liz] pirate AU. ('Snippet' here meaning 'as brief as you like'.)
"Why do you want to be a pirate?" asked Liz.
Amy hesitated, her eyes darting between the three women seated at the other side of the rough wooden table. "Honestly? It's just a whim. The outfit looks good on me?"
Mel shook her head disapprovingly, and Donna made some notes on a pad of paper.
"Look," said Amy, getting frustrated, "you can't criticize--you're recruiting based on hair color!"
11 [Leela], 1 [Second Doctor], 12 [Jack] and 5 [Katarina] are on a talent show. Who wins?Leela has the most impressive talents, but the Doctor would take it seriously and actually try. (For once.) Jack might have some surprise talents, though.
What might 1 [Second Doctor] say to compliment 5 [Katarina]? I really don't know that much about Katarina. But I think she'd like to know that he remembered her and cared.
What would 10 [Ben] hate most about 2 [Eighth Doctor]? And what would 9 [Mel] love most about 10 [Ben]? Ben would be annoyed by the Doctor's vagueness and still not being able to get where he's trying to go half the time. I think Mel would appreciate Ben's practicality.
If you had to write a crossover involving 6 [Seventh Doctor] and 4 [Romana II], how would it go and/or what would the crossover fandom be? I've actually wanted to send Seven and Romana on a double date with Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane for a long time, but I can't write mysteries and it felt like it should be a mystery, so I haven't done it. But that's what I would do.
Go here to generate a random poem. The second line is now the title of a fic about 11 [Leela] and 7 [Nyssa]. What's the plot? The link is broken, so I used this one. I got Poe's "Lenore," whose second line is "Let the bell toll!- a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river." It sounds like a sad fic; it would pretty much have to be about someone's death. But maybe you could use the title for something like... bittersweet vignettes of both of their lives as aliens on Gallifrey in an AU where Nyssa stayed there in Arc of Infinity?
If 3 [Liz] and 9 [Mel] decided to get together and pull off a jewel heist, how would that go?
Mel is great heist team material and Liz would be good at organizing it. But they have some knowledge gaps. Can Mel rope in Seven and Ace? They're a ready-made heist team: hacker, mastermind and demolitions. And Liz would be their respectable-looking front-person.
7 [Nyssa] has got to save the world from 8 [Donna]. Is the world saved or doomed?On the one hand, Nyssa is not really the solo world-saving type; she's more of a team player. On the other hand, it depends what Donna is doing to the world; if it's something like she's accidentally causing the apocalypse by, say, turning left, and just needs it explained to her, Nyssa will be very good at explaining gently but firmly what she needs to do to fix it. If Donna were some kind of evil overlord, I think she would be able to catch Nyssa plotting against her.
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for the fanfic asks: 1, 8, 13, 20, 23, 25, 29, 43, 46, 72, 79 💚
1. Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?
most fics come to me in forms of dreaming while im trying to sleep, so yes. the one good thing about insomnia currently is that i get to rotate so many blorbos and scenarios in my head that i have a lot of content to write lol
8. Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.
i have like. one current wip in docs that i might work on again at some point so here. technically its not a spoiler since its the whole premise of the fic buuuut
13. Do you listen to music while you write? If yes, what have you been listening to recently?
pretty much always? i focus better when i have matching vibes, unless im having a sensory moment but usually then i cant really write either honestly. "puppet master" is my current playlist on loop, its just my two kip playlists combined into one to fit the mood of immortal fears lol
20. Do you prefer writing AUs or canon fics?
pretty much all my stuff in canon divergent on some level honestly, so i guess aus? not in a very obvious sense of aus but yeah. tho i do love me some extra sad aus too, post apocalyptic aus my beloved.....
23. Is writing the beginning, middle, or end of the story easiest? Hardest?
middle part is the easiest, ending is the hardest cause i either never know when to end a story or how to end a story like. i want to have that final impact and sometimes its so hard to pinpoint where that should be. middle is just a good flow usually if i get that far and thats where all the good ideas usually happen so its my favorite <3
25. What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?
probably the writing itself. like i can have a shit ton of good, even great ideas while brainstorming or outlining things, but usually the biggest things happen while im actually putting the words down. i really enjoy it when the story just flows and how it comes together. also i have discovered i absolutely loathe the editing part LOL
29. What’s something about your writing that you’re proud of?
personally i think i can bring emotions to life really well. be it happy or sad (mostly sad tho i love my sad depressed uncomfortable bitches), i feel like i have the words for them that fit
43. Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?
hmmmmm i dont really know? i mean i have plenty of ideas sitting in my drafts and in my brain and stuff, but i dont really think i have a lot that i absolutely NEED to write. maybe that one bunnelope fic i wanted to do about a love potion gone wrong cause girls need to be gay or something
46. If you could only write one type of AU for the rest of your life, what would it be?
once again - post apocalyptic au my beloved. anything that takes place "after the world ends" in one way or another is my shit. gimme all the post apocalyptic hell i crave for
72. What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten?
basically every time someone says i nailed a character im writing for the first time. cause i take a lot of pride and put in the effort to try to give them each their own voice and i study my materials and yeah. ..hence also why im so hesitant so often to write about new people cause i am a perfectionist when it comes to characterization especially ajksdnkjasd
79. Do you have any writing advice you want to share?
this we discovered last week to be a really functional advice so: if you dont know how to start writing a scene, put someone in a room. make them enter a space, and start from there - why are they there, who else is there, what is their purpose in that space, what is that space?
also first drafts dont need to be perfect, everything can be edited in post, even after you post the thing if youre planning on doing so. hell some published novels have typos in them, let alone nonsensical writing and storylines. you dont need to be perfect, as long as you are writing
and obviously you are your own audience first and foremost. write for yourself yo fuck the rest (unless the rest are into it too then thats great but you should still write for yourself first and consider everything else second lol)
fanfic writing asks ~
#thank you for asking! <3#midnightpretenders0#i think thats everything im hungy i cant think lol#thank you bugs ily <33
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Hmm, how do you suppose a crossover with Adventure Time would work? I'm imagining, like, the trio somehow winding up on the Land of Ooo with Marcy being super stoked about being in a wacky cool fantasy world, but only for her to slowly realize in horror that Ooo is a post-apocalyptic Earth.
Ooo would be another really good setting for the Amphibia girls in my opinion. Granted I've only fully seen the show up through season... 5? So I'm probably missing a great deal of context.
I think the premise is largely the same, Marcy is moving away finds some artifact to try to keep her and her friends together. Dropped in Ooo. What that would be in this case I'm not sure. Maybe the Enchiridion?
What's neat about early adventure time is that, outside of the finales there is a lot less of a time pressure than say, Owl House or Amphibia. So the girls could each have a lot more solo adventures bouncing off the wide spectrum of characters in Ooo.
I think I would actually have a 'season' of the three of them all together in this world, really getting a chance to see both how their friendship grows and how it is very toxic. With tension slowly ratcheting up between Sasha and Anne. With the season ends with the reveal of Marcy having brought them to Ooo on purpose and the three of them separating for a time which coincides with the lich getting out.
There's a big fight Anne is more hurt than angry. Sasha is way more angry than hurt. Marcy ends up with a pretty big helping of both
Marcy would end up with PB for the time being, going on science adventures and learning candy magic. Which is a fun parallel with Andrias since while PB doesn't have any ulterior motives, she is still super immoral
Sasha would end up over with Marceline who they had met in an earlier episode and they end up jamming out for some time. Marceline being a much more chill source of character development than Grime.
Anne I guess would end up with Finn and Jake for a while? I don't know there's a lot of good interactions between them, but again I don't feel as prepared to tackle this whole AU
I think over the season, the three end up running into each other awkwardly over the course of other adventures.
Anne and Marcy both end up in the candy kingdom for some mission for the princess to help people, ending with Marcy promising Anne to find a way home for them and their relationship slightly patched up.
Sasha gets captured by the Ice King during a round of capture princesses and Anne and Finn are out to rescue everyone. Sasha is resistant to being saved since it means being in debt to Anne but changes her mind when Anne seems liable to actually leave her there if thats what Sasha chooses. It's a lot messier than Marcy and Anne's first touch point after the reveal but the bridge is mending even if its no where close to fixed.
Sasha and Marcy end up dragged into the whirlpool of their mutual immortal guardians whole... *Gestures vaguely to early season Bubbaline episodes* thing. Maybe the episode is about vampires or witches or something. The main emotional thrust is that Sasha has grown a bit and is the one that actually reaches out to Marcy who spends much of the episode assuming that Sasha is going to hate her forever. This shows both Sasha's growth as a character at this point and the possibility of reconciliation.
Finally in S3 of this vague idea of a fic the three are back together and actively seeking a way home Which I think is when we finally get some of the big wham moments of the series. When the trio come to realize that they aren't in a wacky other dimension. Whatever artifact dropped them here actually flung them into the future days before Armageddon. So we get this moment of Marcy realizing that she can never fix her mistake. And of Anne and Sasha grappling with the fact that if Marcy hadn't made that mistake they would probably all be dead by now.
I think its a moment and a scenario that really brings Adventure Time's tone and theme in really well. Where sometimes messed up junk happens and the characters have to learn how to cope with it. Where there isn't a nice little bow to wrap up an episode and things are just kind of complicated.
Following seasons would probably show the arc of the three of them dealing with the trauma of being permanently displaced in Ooo and making the best of it. Figuring out what they want to do with their lives now that this is their lives and not some wacky off year until they return to Earth.
I think the three of them pool the favors, skills, etc they have acquired from their time in Ooo and build a cool place for them to live more permanently.
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