#a cord I had just looked at and thought ‘that’s a trip hazard’

[blamebrampton]

The duality of cracked ribs: this is fine, actually, it’s not that bad at all. (Moves two millimetres.) Arrrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!!!!!!!

[aspiringtrashpanda]

I'VE BEEN SO EXCITED TO POST THIS ONE AHHH! So, some may know that I'm currently working on a very long, very angsty fic that was inspired by the RAD Rangers event. I probably won't start posting it anytime soon, perse, but I thought today would be perfect for a little sneak peek! Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 18 Prompt: Past/Future Featuring Satan & Gender Neutral MC Additional tags: angst, time travel, reunion

The House of Lamentation was in ruin. 

Not a single sound left your lips as you surveyed the destruction just outside the untouched guest room door, the air punched from your lungs so swiftly that your vocal cords hadn’t time to react. You would have fallen to your knees in despair if it didn’t pose an active hazard, with chunks of brick and decorative stone littering the ground like tiny razorblades sparkling enticingly. The wall barring the kitchen had been knocked down, multiple gaps revealing the sorry state of the cabinets and appliances. Doors ripped off hinges and metal dented in a manner that would require immense strength, it was evident that a brutal fight had occurred to inflict such damage.  

A quick look to the left, and you were met with invasive ivy and the cloying darkness of the Devildom wilderness. Where you had expected to see the entrance to the hall that housed the living room and dining room, there was nothing but piles of brick, shattered mirrors, and singed strips of red carpet. The entire south side of the house was gone. 

It looked as though an asteroid had rocketed into the tombs below, ripping through the two levels and plummeting into the basement. The Devildom midnight stretched like an open wound, arcing from the rubble of the dining room through a bedroom above. The moon lit the remains of what had been your haven in a foreign land as you picked your way through the ruins, careful not to trip on rubble and debris. It became hard to breathe, your chest tight as you explored the halls. You wished to blame it on the dust, the dirt stirred after an unidentifiable length of rest, but you knew better. The lump in your throat was directly related to the shards of photos, of treasured vinyl records and expensive computer hardware. 

Chunks of an elaborate ceramic dotted with colorful stone sat in a murky puddle at your feet, the rest of Asmodeus’s prized bathtub halved and hanging over what was left of the second floor. Water dripped steadily into the stagnant pool. Drip, drip, drip. With each step you took, a realization took hold of your heart, squeezing it in a vice grip. 

Your bedroom—the guest room—was the only space untouched by the devastation. It was as though it had been predetermined, a boundary set, a no-man's-land.  

A memorial.  

You wanted to cry, to scream, to weep for your home. And yet, your mouth was so dry. From the trees encroaching on the interior of the house, a massive raven fluttered to a splintered rafter, cawing at you as if it demanded answers. You glared in response. Hell, you wanted answers, too.  

Wait, you had been woken by the sound of a door, hadn’t you? That meant that someone was in the house.  

You paused, straining your ears to make out any other noise around you. A beat passed. A second. Though not a sound was made, you had the distinct impression that you were not alone.  

Something familiar was breathing alongside you. An essence, of sorts, within what was left of the walls. You couldn’t place the energy, couldn’t put a name to what you felt, but you knew that someone was there with you. You had to find them. 

Tiptoeing towards the skeletal staircase, your gut told you to reach the second floor. You frowned at the state of the steps—the left side was out of the question. Clearly caught up in whatever had taken out the living room, little more than foundation and shattered marble remained. The right side, however, still seemed somewhat stable. 

You tried putting your weight on the first step. The stone failed to protest. 

Hesitation gripped your limbs. Was this worth it? You cocked your head to the side as you considered... If the staircase collapsed, would the injuries be fatal? 

Someone laughed, the sound bouncing down the destroyed hallways above. 

You steeled your resolve, choosing to race up the stairs faster than your worry could delay. Luck must have been on your side, for the house kept it together for every step, the sound bringing you to the north side of the building where there seemed to be less damage.  

As you crept down the hall, careful not to disturb the dust coating each painting and wall sconce lest you sneeze, the light laughter grew in volume. It was a careful sound. Something you knew wasn’t meant for your ears, and yet it warmed that iron grip on your heart.  

For the first time since you had awoken, you felt at home. 

When you reached the source of the sound, a room barred by a lopsided door knocked half off its hinges, you could taste your pulse at the back of your throat. Fingers trembling more than the leaves that bloomed above your bed, you carefully pushed the wooden panel blocking your path, your eyes instantly drawn to the hunched figure squatting in the center of the room.  

The person whispered softly, long fingers dancing over spines coated with sleek fur of varying colors. Five felines swarmed the man, their purrs melting into a rumbling roar within the four walls where they had learned to nest, to wait for their next meal. Luminous eyes reflected the candlelight that encased the room in a warm glow, muzzles parting to flash sharp teeth mewing in welcome.  

The silhouette before you stiffened, the door creaking at your intrusion.  

As you threw up your hands to the heavens, the man pulled himself to his full height, brandishing a weapon too close to a gun for your liking. Better yet, he had it pointed directly at your face.  

“...Satan?” The name spilled from your lips like boiling water evaporating into nothing.  

And Satan hesitated.  

At first, you hadn’t recognized him. Not in this shabby trench coat, not with this chestnut hair falling unkempt and overgrown into his face. But those eyes. Those sea green eyes you would recognize anywhere.  

It was funny how the Avatar of Wrath, who prided himself on hiding his true feelings, read like an open book. You watched him carefully, each twitch of his lips and flutter of his eyelids alerting you to the thoughts bouncing about his skull. The depth of the crease between his brows told you he was confused, conflicted, torn. You knew better than to confront him, to speak first. No, like the cats in his care, he had to come to you. 

So you stood there, with your palms out like a criminal, and waited. 

The candlelight flickered. An orange tabby cat mewled.  

Then, he spoke, “There’s been a murder on the train.” 

You faltered.  

The trigger clicked in warning, Satan’s glare narrowing into a look that you immediately recognized meant business. You had seen it many times before. When Beelzebub had emptied out the fridge for the fourth night in a row. When Lucifer had insinuated that Satan’s signature was no different than Lucifer’s himself. When Mammon had been falsely accused of murdering a medium on... 

The words exploded from your lips. “Only one version of events is ever true!”  

Satan raised a brow, the gun dipping in height as his arm went lax. He said nothing. 

You were never good with silence. “That’s what you said, right? On the train. It’s a line from some crime series. I remember, because you and Lucifer had switched bodies, and—” 

You expected him to lower the weapon and accept your identity. Perhaps he’d smile and heave a sigh of relief.  

You certainly did not anticipate the gun clattering to the ground, startling the cats lingering by his feet. One hissed in annoyance as it bolted into a shadowed alcove in an empty bookcase, the others fleeing beneath the bed frame. Your shadow stretched across the floorboards, waving with the candlelight, mingling in the shape of the other being mere steps away.  

A flash of wide eyes and the part of his lips in a shaky exhale was the only warning you received before you were pulled to Satan’s chest.  

 You felt his skeleton tremble beneath his skin, his fingers dig into the fabric of your suit as if he couldn’t quite believe you were tangible, as if he had to feel you to trust that you were real. The familiar scent of old paperback books and clove swam around you, dunking you into familiarity as his voice shuddered into your ear. “You’re really here.”  

He spoke so softly, as if afraid to shatter some sort of false reality.  

It almost scared you to ask, “Where would I be?” 

Pushing you away, he fixed you with a glare so concerned you wondered if you had spoken in some foreign tongue. “You disappeared.” 

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t considered a similar cause to your sudden appearance in the House of Lamentation from years ahead. A part of you understood that you were returning after being erased from that cell under Mammon’s lair. Still, the context was lost on you entirely, and so the surprise was genuine when you gawked, “I what?” 

“Disappeared. Vanished.” His hands flexed where they gripped your shoulders, a welcome weight reassuring that you really were there. Satan’s eyes burned with an intensity that had you expecting the worst. “You haven’t been seen in... How long has it been now? Ninety-five years? Ninety-seven?” 

A familiar voice snickered in the back of your mind, reminding you that tropes loved round, whole numbers. If what Satan disclosed was true, then the script would be foolish not to clean it up. You gambled, “A hundred years.” 

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

HEHEHEHE I CAN'T WAIT TO SHARE MORE OF THIS STORY. Stay tuned for future updates on it! OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

[monstrousroommates]

Holiday Plans (Monstrous Roommates AU fic)

So the thing is: Fireworks go boom.

(on Ao3)

------

There were raised voices in the kitchen, which was surprising. Thomas rose up out of his doze and headed over, more or less sitting on the kitchen pass through. All four of his roommates were gathered around the table, which had lots of pieces of paper on it, and Logan’s laptop to one side.  The paper proved to be a map of the surrounding area, from the looks of things printed off Google and patched together.

“-this does of course, not include people who have just gotten them somewhere and will let them off whenever they please.”

“Yeah but those are quieter.” Virgil countered. Patton whined uncomfortably, leaning against Roman. Roman was perched on the counter, and kissed Patton’s neck in response.

Virgil glared down at the paper. 

“We can’t do anything about those. So planning for them is out.”

“Barring weather conditions they’ll start here at eight forty five on the second, continuing here and here until ten at the latest.” He drew points on the map, and after a moment’s study, Virgil drew circles around them. 

“Again, the weather’ll change it, but that’s about the range.”

Thomas moved past them, and brushed up against Patton and Roman, letting them know he was there with a chill.

“Hello Thomas.” Roman said brightly, but looking in the wrong direction. 

“Over here.” Thomas corrected, pushing himself to become visible. “Sorry, went through you a little bit.” 

“So that’s what that was.” Patton gave a weak smile. 

“What’s going on?” Thomas asked. Over at the kitchen table, Logan and Virgil had changed pen colors, apparently, and were discussing the third. 

“Fourth of July plans.” Roman explained. 

“Ah, gonna find the best place to watch the fireworks?” 

Before anyone could answer, there was a sharp echoing bang somewhere down the street. Patton jumped and whined, fingernails looking at little dark and thick where he was holding on to Roman’s arms. 

There was a pause, then another bang. Outside there was a flash of light. 

“... firework.” Logan said after a moment. “Not gun.” 

“You’re sure?” Virgil asked. Logan nodded.  Now that he was looking, Logan looked a little strained as well, and Virgil was chewing on the cord to his hoodie. 

“Not quite.” Roman smiled at Thomas. “My beloveds do not care for fireworks. Logan is bothered by the lights, Patton is bothered by the sound, and Virgil hates both of them. Our last home was in the city, and the fireworks usually were set off at the edges, or more lost to the city sounds.”

“And assholes who shot ‘em off early got caught by the police. All cops may be bastards, but at least they knew a fire hazard when they saw it.” Virgil said grumpily. 

“We weren’t quite prepared for how… enthusiastic the area was last year.” Logan explained. “This year, I have made some charts, and Virgil is helping me estimate how far the sound will carry.” He frowned down at his map. “We’re in an overlap for no less than three displays- and four on the fourth itself, oddly enough.” 

“So I’m guessing no barbeque?” Thomas joked. 

“We will probably be leaving tomorrow morning.” Roman confirmed. “I quite like fireworks, but I wouldn’t want to leave them alone.” 

“You don’t have to.” Patton mumbled. “You could stay and have a blast.” he gave a weak smile. 

“Thank you, no.” He kissed the top of Patton’s head. “If I want to see fireworks, I’ll take a trip down to Disney.”

“Disney.” Virgil and Logan groaned together, and Virgil made another mark on the map, down at the edge. 

“I never thought it was an option.” Patton told Thomas. “When I was younger I just had to put up with it, because no one else seemed to have a problem.” 

“If we can’t find a good place, it’s going to be noise canceling headphones and a lan party this year.” Virgil grumbled. “I mean, fun, but I’d rather not be forced into it. But we don’t want to go too far, and we need someplace to stay. So it’s tricky.” he sighed. “I remember I liked the fireworks when I was a kid, but now it’s just too bright and loud.” 

Logan reached out and patted Virgil’s shoulder, staring down at the map. 

“Why don’t you guys go somewhere else entirely?” 

“Well, I’m still concerned about the epidemic, personally.” Logan pointed out. “Of the four of us, I am the most likely to contract a disease. Beyond that…” he shook his head. “It’s not as if we can travel far outside the United States in any good time. So anywhere we went we would be faced with the same problem. I think preparation like this is as good as it’s going to get.” 

“Last year of highschool, Logan and I went camping. We hiked for miles out into the wilderness.” Patton offered. 

“The stars were lovely.” Logan remembered. 

“Yeah, but you were so sore you could hardly walk back.” Patton gave a whine of concern. 

“We perhaps pushed too hard.”

“It took us twice as long to get back.” Patton admitted. “We ran out of food and I had to hunt. So even if we were near a big enough park, I don’t know if I’d wanna risk it.” 

“I should hope I’m in better shape now, with all the effort I put into physical therapy.” Logan huffed. “But I suppose it’s better not to take that risk.”

“I mean, I could probably carry you back, but I’m not a huge fan of camping in the first place.” Virgil said with a grimace.

“It sounds like you need an off highway motel. Most of those are further away from towns.” Thomas suggested. “If you had more time, you might be able to find like an island rental in the keys.”

“I vote that!” Roman said excitedly. “No fireworks for you and a beach for me!” 

“Yeah, sure.” Virgil said sarcastically. “You find one and I’ll put up with being on a boat.” 

Roman pulled out his phone and started typing, and Virgil rolled his eyes, going back to his intense map-marking with Logan. 

“Are you going to be okay Thomas?” Patton asked suddenly. 

“Yeah, I’m used to being alone.” Thomas admitted, flickering a little bit. He didn’t like it, but really, being a ghost lent itself to being lonesome.  From the expression on Patton’s face he felt bad about it. Logan and Virgil argued quietly about locations and populations. 

They were still at it a half an hour later, when Roman’s phone pinged and he looked at it.

“Ah-ha! I’ve got it!” 

“What?” Virgil looked surprised. 

“I put out some feelers- okay, Remy helped, and he and his mind-witch want to come as well.” Roman smiled brilliantly. “We have, should we want it, a private island for the week. With a nice little vacation home.” there was another ping. “Ah-” Roman’s shoulders shook as he laughed looking at the message. “Apparently it’s a summer home of someone Remy knows, and they go north for the Fourth. And it’s no longer optional. Remy says he’s going to show up at our door tomorrow. With a minivan.”

“If Remy’s willing to drive a minivan, it must be serious.” Virgil said with a straight face. 

“Ah well.” Logan looked at the map. “It was a fun mental exercise.”   He began folding up the map, and putting the pens into a cup. 

“We should go pack, I guess.” Virgil rubbed the back of his neck. “Sunscreen time.” 

“I wish you could come with us.” Patton told Thomas.

“Yeah. Me too.” he smiled, and faded out.

[ectoentity]

Warped Mirror

Decided to write something based vaguely on the “Spork AU” idea. Instead of Episode 1 Danny meeting Episode 50+ Danny, though, I was curious about a Danny who never became Phantom meeting one who had. This first part is just establishing Human!Danny’s world.

I’ll post it to AO3 when I have the rest of it finished.

---

Three kids stood before a giant machine in the shape of a door. It should have been humming along and glowing green, with a great hole to another world in the middle. Instead, it was cold and silent. 

“They spent years working on it,” Danny explained, “and then nothing. Mom and Dad have been moping in their room all day.”

Tucker looked around at the portal and the hodgepodge of computer parts attached to it. “It’s probably a loose wire somewhere. I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

“In the meantime, this would make for an awesome picture,” Sam said with a smile. She held up her polaroid camera. 

“Oh no, you’re not getting me anywhere near that,” Tucker immediately walked away from the portal.

“Come on! When they get this thing working we’ll never be allowed near it. Besides, it’s not like it’s going to do anything right now.”

“Then why don’t you get over there and let one of us take the picture?” Tucker asked.

“Because neither of you know anything about lighting or framing a shot. Please?” When she saw that Tucker was not going to budge, she looked over at Danny with wide, pleading eyes. 

He looked anxiously at the portal. So far none of his parents’ inventions had really worked, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t dangerous. Still, Sam was right. It was pretty cool, and getting a picture with the thing could be a good way to keep a memory.

“Yeah, okay, let me put on a jumpsuit in case there’s a live wire or something.”

Ten minutes later he was suited up in the white-and-black safety jumpsuit his parents had made for him. It wasn’t really a hazardous materials outfit - there was no full hood or respirator, or even goggles. It was made of something that was supposed to repel ectoplasm and certain chemicals that his parents used and was insulated against minor shocks, so it would have to do. 

“Oh, no no. I’m not taking your picture while you’re wearing that,” Sam announced. Danny was about to argue, but she reached over and pulled the sticker of his dad’s face off of the suit. “Now you’re good.”

Danny laughed. “Good thinking, Sam. Wouldn’t want to be immortalized in your photos with that on me.” He walked up to the portal. It was a massive piece of machinery, nearly six feet in diameter and deep enough to fit a car. He paused at the entrance. It was hard to imagine it as anything other than a creepy machine in the basement. If it had worked, it would have opened into a whole other world. 

Tucker, meanwhile, was watching while anxiously tapping a foot. He had expected Danny to give in to Sam’s pleas. He was so predictable and utterly clueless. One of these days they would both realize that they were both desperately crushing on each other and they’d-

There was something plugged into the wall. Tucker wasn’t sure what it was, but he had a bad feeling about it. 

“Hold up!” he shouted. Tucker went over and unplugged the cord from the wall outlet, and checked around for more outlets just in case. When he didn’t find anything else, he called back, “Okay, I think it’s alright now.”

“Good thinking, Tuck,” Danny’s voice echoed in the portal. “Hey, Sam, is this good?”

Sam set up her shot. “Looks great! Just hold there a second.” She counted down before the flash went off. The camera whirred and produced a polaroid. “Lemme take a couple more,” she said before swiftly doing so from slightly different angles. “That should be good!”

Danny started to walk out of the portal. Something caught his foot. He tripped and fell backwards, flailing his arms wildly in hopes that he would catch something. His right hand hit the side of the portal. It stabilized him for a second, but then the wall clicked. Danny stared down at his hand, a chill lancing up his spine. He hadn’t hit the wall. His hand was resting on a button marked “ON.”

“Oh my god,” he blurted.

“Danny? Are you okay?” Sam called. He could hear them both scrambling toward the portal. 

“I’m good! I just tripped!” Danny got out of the portal as fast as he could. “My parents put the on/off buttons on the inside! If Tucker hadn’t unplugged it…” All three teens stared at the portal. Danny could have died, just for tripping over a stupid wire.

Finally Tucker gulped and broke the silence. “Want to see if your parents can get it to work now?”

Danny shook himself out of it. “Yeah! I’ll go ask if they forgot about that.”

They all but ran out of the lab.

---

The Fenton RV sped down the street, ghost alarms blaring. In the back, Danny got his weapons together as quickly as he could with all the jostling and swerving. They’d let Dad drive; time was of the essence.

“A level six!” Jack crowed from the driver’s seat. “Maybe even a seven! How long’s it been since we saw one like that?”

“About four months,” Danny grumbled. He still vividly remembered when the town had been drawn into the Ghost Zone and besieged with an army of skeleton constructs. He was not looking forward to a repeat of that hell. The Fenton Blaster in his hands whined as he attached the power source. 

“We’ll have to be careful, Jack,” Mom cautioned as she always did. “We don’t have the Ecto-Skeleton this time.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t call in the Guys in White?” Danny asked. They might not be the best ghost hunters, but they did have a lot more firepower.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Danny! I’m sure we can take care of this before they even notice something’s happening. Besides, your mom and I are still dealing with the paperwork from the last time they showed up.”

Danny shuddered. He was extremely glad that he didn’t have to deal with that aspect of ghost hunting. 

His dad pulled up to the mall with a loud honk of the horn and squealing tires. Danny and his mom ran out, blasters held at the ready. Dad backed them up with one of the Fenton Bazookas. 

The mall was already evacuated. Some people milled around outside, anxiously talking amongst themselves. In the year and a half since the ghosts had started attacking the town, people had gotten frustratingly complacent about them. The invasion a few months back had shown most people just how dangerous they could be, but a stubborn few always were more concerned with getting good pictures than their own safety. 

“Make way!” Mom shouted. “We’re here to take care of the ghost!” The crowd at least did part for them. A few people shouted at them. Some of it was words of support. A few tried to describe what they had seen - it was green, it was wearing all white, it was terrifying. Only a few made jokes or jeered at the Fentons as they passed. That was annoying, but it was a hell of a lot better than it had been a year ago. 

The deserted mall was an eerie sight. Everyone had left in a hurry, leaving lights on and store music still echoing through empty halls. The Fentons’ footsteps seemed far too loud. The weirdest part was that everything seemed intact. When the technology ghost raided the mall he usually left trails of rubble and discarded packaging everywhere. The box ghost would leave piles of everything that he dumped out of his beloved boxes. Various other ghosts had attacked the mall in the past, and they almost always left signs of their passing. Why was this one different?

“Come out, ghost!” Dad shouted, his voice easily carrying through the empty mall. “Let’s make this quick!”

“Curious.” The voice was quiet, but had the same unnatural echo of all ghosts. Danny held up his blaster, but he couldn’t tell where the voice had come from. Beside him, his mom turned on her miniature Fenton Finder. It beeped alarmingly quickly. 

“Two o’clock!” Mom shouted as she fired. Danny was only a moment slower, trying to fire a little ahead. The blasts didn’t connect with anything. 

“I mean no harm,” the ghost said. Its voice was way too close for comfort. Danny turned to his right and shot where he thought it was, but he still missed. 

“What do you want?” Danny asked. He didn’t really care. No matter what their obsessions were, ghosts only ever wanted to spread chaos and pain. Still, sometimes he could distract them by talking back. 

The ghost appeared in front of them. It was tall, with dark, green-tinged skin and a lighter beard. Its eyes glowed a soft yellow. A white robe and hood covered most of its body, rippling in a nonexistent breeze. 

A green beam from the Fenton Bazooka blasted towards the ghost. Its torso split apart to allow the beam to go through it. Danny grimaced. It was so gross when they did that. He followed his dad’s lead and started shooting the ghost. The ghost blocked all of his and Mom’s shots with a series of small green shields. 

“This is entirely unnecessary,” the ghost huffed. It had the audacity to look bored. 

“Then why not just go back to the Ghost Zone and leave us alone?” Danny shouted, annoyed. He ran off to the side, flanking the ghost. It finally started dodging the ectoblasts. If anything, though, the ghost just looked amused. 

“Oh, I shall. First, though…” The ghost flung its hand out towards Danny. He winced, anticipating the burn of ectoblasts. He took a step back and his foot sank. With a shout, he fell into the glowing green portal that had opened right behind him.

[bnhabadass]

Pairing: Tsukishima x Reader Genre: Fluff Word Count:1100 Synopsis: Studying was never your strong suit. So instead of hitting the books, you urge your boyfriend to take you out for a midnight drive.

The text in front of you was unbearable. Of all the books you had to read for class, this was by far the worst. You felt yourself dozing off and time and time again would rest your head on the dining room table you were sitting at.

“Stop that,” Tsukishima said, not looking up at you from his own homework. He had meant to invite you over for a study date in hopes that you would get your homework done and, you know, pass high school. But if you were just going to fall asleep then there wasn’t any point in having you over.

“I can’t, Tsukki,” you whined. “You have no idea how boring this textbook is. It’s like the words are trying to torture me.”

He scoffed and grabbed the book from in front of you. “You’re just as bad as the freak duo,” he mumbled.

“Oi,” you scoffed. “I’m just tired and bored.” You watched as he grabbed a yellow highlighter and began marking up the text for you. “How long have we been studying?”

He shrugged. “A couple hours maybe.”

“See, that’s the thing.” You shot up from the table and walked around so you were behind him. “I can’t study for this long. I need a break, Tsukkiiiiiiiii.”

He didn’t move as you draped your arms over his shoulders. He just continued highlighting passages and writing out definitions he was sure you wouldn’t know. “You know, you can give yourself a break. You don’t need my permission. Go take a walk or get a snack or something.”

You huffed. “Yeah but it’s not as fun alone.”

He stuck his pen between the pages of your book and closed it. “Then what do you propose we do?”

You looked down at him with pleading eyes. “Wanna go for a drive?”

“It’s eleven at night,” he deadpanned.

“So?” You grabbed your keys from the table and slid the key ring down your pointer finger. “I’ll buy you something to eat.”

Sighing, he stood up, his figure towering over you. “I don’t trust you to drive at night.” He delicately slid the key ring off your finger and twirled it on his own. “But this food you buy me better be worth it.”

Excited, you threw on your jacket and raced out the front door, tugging on the handle to the passenger side much like an impatient child. “Tsukki!! Hurry up!”

Tsukishima, being the asshole that he is, was taking his sweet time slipping on his shoes and zipping up his jacket. You swear you saw him pause while walking towards your car, untie his shoe and retie it. “I don’t want to trip,” he chidded.

You rolled your eyes but when the sound of the car being unlocked went off, you jumped up out of fear.

“Don’t fall.”

You stuck your tongue out at him before going into your car and settling into the passenger seat.

Tsukki adjusted the driver’s seat for his long legs and put the key in the ignition. “So where do you want to go?”

“Hmm,” you thought for a moment. “Well if I’m buying you food why don’t you decide.”

He nodded and pulled out of his driveway. Tsukishima is a good driver. He’s steady on the road, doesn’t swerve or really yell at passing cars. No, he doesn’t have any road rage. “What music do you want to play?”

“Doesn’t the driver usually pick the music,” you asked, taking the aux cord.

“Well I can’t really choose when I’m driving. Besides, it’s your car.”

“Good point,” you said, plugging your phone in and putting your favorite Spotify playlist on shuffle. “So where are we going?”

His blank face turned upwards into a smirk. “It’s a surprise.”

You gasped in a mocking tone. “What’s this? The great Tsukishima Kei who hates fun is giving his significant other a what? A surprise?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he laughed, turning on his signal and switching lanes.

And you couldn’t help but laugh along with him. You missed nights like this, nights where it was just the two of you and you didn’t have exams to worry about. Nights where you would walk home with him after his practice and he would eventually have to give you a piggyback ride because you hate walking so much.

It wasn’t long before he pulled into a large, half empty parking lot. “We’re here.”

You looked out the window. “At the supermarket?”

“Don’t forget your wallet,” he remarked and you let out a huff.

The supermarket wasn’t too busy, as it was nearly midnight. A few people lurked around trying to buy late night snacks and other goodies. Tsukki kept his hand on your lower back as he walked you through the isles. He paused in front of one of the giant freezers.

“Seriously?” you asked. “Dino nuggies?”

“You said you’d buy me food.” A devilish smirk graced his face. “Now come on, let’s check out and go back to my place. We still have some studying to do.”

You grumbled and he bopped you on the head with the frozen cardboard packaging. Taking the package to self check out, you scanned it and paid.

Tsukki drove you guys back to his house. The cardboard was beginning to thaw in your lap.

“Did we seriously go to the grocery store just to buy dino shaped chicken nuggets?” you asked.

“That and one other thing.”

“Huh?” What other thing could there be? You had only bought the nuggets, nothing else.

“You know, that’s the first place we met.”

“No?” There was a question to your voice. “We met in class.”

“Officially, yeah.” He never took his eyes off the road. “But a few weeks before class started I saw you drop a carton of eggs at the store and slip in them.”

“You’re kidding, right?” You could feel yourself blushing. What's worse is that you remember the exact instance where you dropped the eggs and slipped in them trying to find someone to clean them up.

“Nope. I saw you and thought you were an absolute idiot.”

You giggled a bit. “You still think I’m an idiot.”

“I do.” He pulled off to the side of the road and put your hazards on. Turning towards you, he cupped your chip between his fingers. “But you’re my idiot.” He leaned in to press a kiss to your delicate lips.

You stayed there for a minute, just kissing at the side of the road, hearing the cars brush by.

“Now come on,” he said, breaking away. “Let’s get back to work.”

[vvakarians]

Ch. 5 of Wolves Without Teeth is now up!

Beginning | Update | Rating: 18+  

Fic Summary:

Voices born of tragedy are always the loudest, and the blast that destroyed the Conclave at Haven birthed thousands. The only survivor --a seemingly insignificant Dalish elf-- proclaims innocence despite the blood staining their hands. They make a lofty promise to the world, an oaken branch planted for every lost life, and justice for all those affected by the newly created rift in the heavens. Nothing will stop them from leading all of Thedas back into the light, even on wings of death.

Chapter Summary: 

With Calliope mostly healed from the fight with the Pride demon, they think all will be well only to find out that their Mark has changed more than just their mindset, which comes at the worst possible time. But somehow they manage to meet with the advisors without too many ill effects.

V.  It’s still days before Calliope is able to slip from their bed and manage to dredge up enough energy to put their armor on. Artemaeus is on his earlier rounds, though it won’t be long before he walks in. Solas has already done his rounds, he mostly comes by at night when he thinks Calliope is asleep. Not one word is ever uttered between the two of them and he seems content for that to continue, confusing as that is to Calliope. The whispers pick at that concept -- perhaps he is avoiding them somehow. Did they upset him that badly on the trail to the Temple? His behavior is puzzling to say the least. Solas appears to be protective of them --as if he knows them but they can’t ever place him-- but when they try to catch his attention, his interest vanishes. 

They hum to themself as they slip on their tattered cloak, too deep in thought to notice the scurrying in the shadows of their quarters. Not until the sticky, wetness of something latching onto their wrist catches their attention. Pinpricks of terror make their hair stand on end and Calliope freezes, not daring to test the strength of whatever wrapped itself about them. Their heartbeat roars in their ears as they hazard a glance down, everything else forgotten but this. Though there is nothing to suggest anything ever touched them. Not a blemish, not even residue from what certainly was a slimy creature. When they push back the long sleeve of their tunic, there is nothing. Just their bare arm and--

What is that?

Ridges of their pale flesh seem to be jutting up slightly, creating a sort of ripple texture along the inside of their wrist. Welts the size of small coins dot along the back of their hand and palm, irritated and discolored. That terror turns into an icy panic as Calliope checks over the rest of their left hand, thrown from the need to stay frozen in place. A mirror was provided some time in the last several days so they could properly braid their hair back --something they had asked for to retain some form of control while regaining the use of their hand-- and they scramble over to it in a frenzy. There’s more than just the welts and ridges in their flesh; when they look into the glass their eyes are no longer a pale blue, they are a sickly, red rimmed green. Like the Breach. That damned thing that scars the sky and taunts them, speaks to them in their nightmares. 

That sticky sensation returns, creeping up the back of their neck while they raise their left arm up to the mirror. In  horror they watch as three of the innumerable welts slowly peel back the skin on heir hand, revealing demonic eyes that look back at them intelligently. Almost in a question. Throughout, the whispers have been silent; no buzz at the edges of their hearing. Now they rise to a scream that echoes and bounces off the inside of their skull. All nonsense, or perhaps every language on the material plane. Calliope does not know. Only that they feel the rush of being swallowed up by it, entirely consumed by whatever has trapped them here in this moment. Something that they can only later describe as other or eldrtich.

 Minutes or seconds tick by --even hours, for all they can tell-- before the door opens and startles Calliope back from the mirror. They don’t register who enters, glancing wildly at the figure and then back into the glass. Yet the eyes are no longer there. The sickly green of their own irises are however, as are the ridges and welts. Confusion replaces Calliope’s anxiety while they stare and try  hard to comprehend what the hell just happened. 

“Ser Lavellan?” 

Again, Calliope looks to the ill timed guest. There’s a face they recognize; chest length red hair that falls from beneath a deep purple hood, chainmail clinks on the outside of her robes. Leliana. It’s just Leliana. 

“I-- yes? Apologies, I think I must have spooked myself,” they murmur, still distracted but not enough to ignore her presence. 

“Do you need a healer? That arm doesn’t look good.” 

Self conscious, Calliope slips the thick woolen sleeve back over their arm and they shake their head numbly, “No. I--will speak to someone later about it. There’s no pain. It--seems that the Mark has made changes without my permission.” 

There’s a long, heavy silence between the two of them. It’s obvious Leliana is at a loss for words and Calliope is too in shock to say much, not even as they move towards the door. Stiff and unsure of themself. Perhaps Solas or Artemaeus will know more. For now they need  to not think of it and are grateful that the whispers fade to a soft white noise. 

“I came to see if you wanted to meet with the others in the Chantry. Do you think you can manage that?” Leliana asks, stepping to the side briefly for Calliope. 

“I will try. That is all I can do.” 

At least the cold is a welcome distraction this time around. Soothes rather than stabs them, though Calliope is sure that will change if they spend too long outside. The sun is high and bright in the pale blue green sky, the rift sealed but still puffed and raw --like an infected wound. They merely glance at it before narrowing their eyes back down at the muddy ground, careful not to sink too deep into the muck. Suddenly they are very thankful for the boots they were encouraged to take with them. Nice and soft on the inside, perfect to combat the freezing temperatures; wrapped with some cords that jingle with wooden and bone charms. A bit of home to carry with them. The sound comforts Calliope while they follow Leliana off to the large building just beyond the trail.

It’s a short walk, just a few minutes up a long dirt path that winds around a fire pit and various tents. Calliope prepares themself for another round of vitriol, unable to forget the guard who threw that rock. But nothing comes. In fact the people that do gather whisper amongst themselves in awe, or perhaps even reverence. Though that unsettles Calliope as much --if not more-- than the hate spewed days before. Why the change in tone? 

One of the group is another familiar face -- Varric. Laughter lines crease his cheeks as he watches Calliope approach; how he can be so jovial they’re not entirely sure. But it is a comfort to see, and even makes their mouth twitch into a small smile. Or a semblance of one. He doesn’t stop with the others and in fact begins walking in line with two of them; Leliana gives him a nod of recognition as he does so. It quickly crosses Calliope’s mind that he’s wearing a coat that seems much too large for him -- the puffs of dense wool obscures much of his face, and the blocky shape of the leather makes his movements stiff. A complete wonder how he can even walk in it. 

“Spin a story that convinced them?” he asks with a wink. 

“I think so. They found my tales of a nug tripping me and slaying a dragon in the process very compelling,” they respond tiredly, “I managed to slip in a bit about your gorgeous chest hair as well.” 

Varric laughter is a deep, resounding bellow that brightens Calliope’s smile by a fraction. Though they note a slight change when he fully looks them over, his unobscured eyes taking in the changes from when they last saw each other. 

“Kid, are you feeling alright?” 

“That seems to be the question of the day,” Calliope sighs. Their breath comes in clouds before them, “The Mark has made changes. I wish I could say I knew what was happening, but for now I think I’ll be fine.” 

“You should let Chuckles know, if he hasn’t found out already.” 

That gives them pause, it’s a good suggestion and begs the question--does he? Why has he not alerted anyone if he does? 

A frown spreads across Calliope’s face and they give a short nod, “I’ll let him know after the meeting. Though I’m not sure what can be done about it.” 

“Who knows, but for all his oddness he’s pretty good at keeping it in check.” 

Another comment that makes them think too hard. What does Solas know? If the Mark and the Voice are connected, he should know of that but has never said a word about them. Did he...know this would happen as well? Calliope swallows hard and pushes those thoughts out of their mind, thankful that the large doors of the Chantry have finally come into full view. It’s harder to worry about hypotheticals when something so big is looming over you. 

“I’ll keep you posted, how does that sound?” Calliope asks, glancing his way. 

“Yeah, sure. Long as you take care of yourself, kid, that’s all that matters.”

His voice is too soft when he responds, as if a great sadness has settled in his bones-- but Calliope doesn’t draw attention to it. Not yet. Instead they try on a bigger smile for him and gesture to his much too large coat. Throngs of people start to gather around them but Calliope is too busy with Varric, the others --and their growing anxiety-- can wait. He’s been nothing but kind to them. 

“If you promise to find a better coat then I promise to do as you ask. How about that?” 

Another bellowing laugh escapes Varric, so much so there’s a jingle from the golden ringed necklace that rests on his chest. Warmth floods Calliope when they hear that, their anxiety melts away for the moment. Though they can’t help but notice the large group around them in their periphery, ever whispering, looking. 

“Does it really look that bad?” 

“Oh yes, it makes you look like a walking box,” Leliana interjects with a smirk. Calliope startles when she speaks, having forgotten she was there. She’s always so quiet.  

Calliope’s smile widens at her response, however, “Someone had to have given it to him as a joke, right?” 

“I think it was a gift from Cassandra, so something like that.” 

“Ah, that would explain it.” 

“Alright, alright! I’m sure there’s a tailor around here somewhere. You two do your important meeting and I’ll fix this disaster of a coat,” Varric snorts, rolling his eyes with affection. A welcome sight as the throng stares and Calliope’s anxiety spikes to another unimaginable height. Both Leliana and Varric take notice quickly; the one ushering Calliope into the warmer, darker Chantry, while the other bustles through the crowd, breaking some of it up. 

Inside the old, creaking building there’s a sort of calm you only find among places of worship. Though it doesn’t feel nearly as ancient of a peace as Calliope is used to. It makes their chest ache, thinking back to the sprawling temple to Falon’Din that sat deep within the Graves. How much that single ruin felt like home. Here in the torchlight, hundreds of miles from their home, Calliope brushes their fingers along the stone walls of the Chantry and wishes to be back in that flooded sanctuary, surrounded by statues of their gods that have stood against the test of time. 

The once rich but faded golds and reds of Andrastian tapestries feel familiar but foreign at the same time.  Moldy furniture and dusty books surround them, old stained glass still shining brightly in the mid morning sun. Casting rays of colors all across the muddy floor. Their mother once spoke of these places, how they brought her comfort when the world was at its worst. Not because of the religion itself, but how gentle it was in those moments where no one noticed her and she could slip off without alerting anyone. There is a remnant of that here while Leliana and Calliope slowly walk across to another pair of large, ornate doors. Symbols of the religion embossed into the dark wood, a sunburst set into the seam where you would pull them open. Familiar but still foreign. They feel like they shouldn’t be here, even in the momentary peace.

That nasally voice from days before pierces right through the calm the moment the doors swing open and Calliope can’t help but make a face of disgust. This man again? Another shemlen who thinks he knows what is right and what is wrong, Creators forbid you tell him otherwise. Chancellor Roderick stands in his white, gold, and crimson red robes to the side of a large wooden table covered in maps, and what looks like small figurines. Curious, Calliope focuses on what that could possibly mean before looking around to the others flanking the Chantry man. All humans, it seems. Another man and two women, one of which is Cassandra. 

The other man has curly blonde hair, in a slicked back style that interests Calliope --they wonder briefly how he can keep it so neat and tidy in this weather. His armor bears the many sunbursts that can be found through the building, a mix of gold and cold steel. Rich red fabric and dark furs hang around his tall, muscular form. Though his complexion and under eye bags speak of illness, sunken cheeks and a listless gaze. Perhaps he has the Blight? 

“...Roderick, save your breath,” the man murmurs, catching Calliope staring as they enter the room. 

“Why is the prisoner continuously not restrained?” 

Roderick does not waste any time on saving his breath. 

“I’m afraid chains would not do you any good, Chancellor. Has Cassandra not told you I practice magic? I could simply look at you and you’d be a crispy husk,” Calliope rolls their eyes, eliciting a snort from both the new man and the aforementioned Seeker. Though the latter seems to think that much funnier than the ill human. 

“Andaran atish’an, Ser Lavellan,” another voice cuts through the Chancellors rebuttal. 

This time it’s the new woman, dressed in swatches of golden fabric lined with thick, lightly colored and patterned furs. Necklaces hang from her soft, tan neck and glint just as her brilliant smile does. Long, dark hair frames her face in perfectly set curls that are then braided to be kept out of her eyes. Honestly, she seems much too warm and gentle to be in this situation at all, but that is exactly why Calliope assumes she is. Never underestimate the sweet ones. 

They smile back at her when greeted in elven, and bow their head respectively, “Pleased to meet you, even under these circumstances.” 

There is a sound of derision from Roderick that has both Calliope and Cassandra looking his way with annoyance, the former feeling a coil of anger build in their chest. 

“What, do I offend you?” Calliope asks, raising a pale eyebrow at him. 

“These circumstances are of your own doing, of course you have offended me! The Divine is dead and here you stand, still alive.” 

“Shocking as it may seem, Chancellor, I did not kill your Divine. In fact I have been exonerated of all charges. Cassandra told me as much several days ago as I was recovering. While I don’t remember what made her change her mind, I’m inclined to think it was compelling evidence.” 

This time there’s another amused snort from the ill man and he looks up at Calliope, dark eyes sparkling a bit in the lamp light. 

“Careful, you keep prodding him and he might  explode.” 

Roderick once again opens his mouth, but quickly shuts it when Cassandra steps in with a scowl his way and a glance at Calliope. There is a brief moment where her expression turns from irritation to concern when she makes note of the change of Calliope’s eye color, which does make them wonder if they should wander about with their eyes shut from now on. 

“I believe we have some introductions to get out of the way,” the Seeker says, shaking the worry off expertly, “You know Sister Leliana, our Spymaster.” 

Leliana bows her head at the mention, smiling just a touch for Calliope who manages one in return. It’s the least they can do after her friendliness towards them. 

“Our Ambassador, Josephine Montilyet. She is an expert in keeping the peace,” Cassandra gestures to the woman full of warmth, and then finally at the ill seeming man, “This is Commander Cullen Rutherford, you would have met him at the Temple but we know how that went.” 

“I was nearly decapitated, apparently. Which I’m sure Roderick would have been pleased by,” they scoff, glancing away from Cassandra to watch the priest. He does nothing but stare right back, wrinkling his nose. 

“We are lucky you weren’t, otherwise we would not be able to do what we’re doing now,” Cassandra responds, cutting in before Roderick can get a word out. 

Something about that comment unsettles Calliope, makes them seriously consider the Seeker. She had said something about wanting them to stay, that there was danger following them possibly and they didn’t have anything on the Mark yet. Yet this doesn’t seem to be what she’s talking about. 

“I’m assuming we found something when we closed the Breach? What are we doing now?” 

A heavy silence descends upon the room like a thick blanket, extinguishing all sound so much so that the whispers come in loud bursts and Calliope’s pointed ears flutter uncomfortably. They wait for someone to say something, anything at all; nerves standing on end. 

“We saw a vision in the middle of a field of red lyrium that was at the center of the Temple,” Leliana finally speaks, looking from Cassandra to Calliope with a sharp gaze, “Someone or something was there doing a ritual, said that the Divine was meant as a sacrifice. Then you came out of the shadows to ask what was going on. That was when the Rift broke open.” 

A chill runs down Calliope’s spine, that familiar build up of anxious energy. Their eyes dart to the candles flickering just beyond the table, and one of them forms a tall pillar of fire before simmering back down again. No one seems to notice, not even Roderick who is barely paying attention to anything at all. 

“That’s good to know but that doesn’t answer my question. What are we doing now?” Calliope repeats, their gaze hardening. The whispers buzz in anticipation, shadows dancing in their peripheral vision. Once again there’s silence but it’s short lived. 

“The Divine created a writ in case her plan failed to restore peace between the mages and the templars,” Cassandra responds quietly, and taps a book on the table with a gloved hand. It is thick and old, filled with secrets Calliope assumes. 

“What does that mean?” they ask, shifting their weight nervously. 

“We are going to rebuild a group called the Inquisition, to find the Divine’s killer and end the conflict that led to her death. We could also use it to clean up after what happened with the Breach,” the Commander answers for her, and Calliope raises an eyebrow at those gathered around the table. 

“It must be invoked by both of the Divine’s Hands, and will be with or without Chantry approval,” Cassandra says, shooting a withering glance at Roderick who sighs. 

“You know how I feel about this Seeker-” 

“And I don’t care. This is the only way, you know that!” 

“We need to find a replacement for the Divine and quickly! None of this Inquisition nonsense will help us now.” The room descends into arguments and raised voices as everyone attempts to speak over the priest, who in turn raises his whine of a voice to disgustingly new levels. Anxiety and rage make the air thick, too hard to breathe, too hard to move in. From their spot at the other side of the space, Calliope watches that candle flicker once, twice, three times before it erupts into a roaring fire. All of their despair and nervousness centered on one singular wick that burns so brightly it lights up the entire room, banishing the shadows back to where they came. It’s certainly one way to get everyone’s attention. 

Their arguments dwindle into nothing as they scramble to get away from the fire just as it starts to fizzle out and become a smoking ember. Consumed, wax and all, by Calliope’s magical presence. Embarrassment washes over them at the sight but they manage to hold it together while each pair of eyes comes back to settle on them. Calliope finally breaks the silence, that slimy sensation threading through their skin as they say in almost a snarl, pointedly at Roderick --who had decided to argue.

“Create your Inquisition, we replace the Divine and find her Killer. Maybe get answers about what the fuck happened to my hand. Does that sound good?” 

There’s only a beat of silence before Roderick mumbles what could be a ‘yes’, easing Calliope’s volatile mood but not that horrific feeling of otherness wrapped around their wrist. 

“We--should get you in touch with a proper Enchanter, I think,” Cullen comments in shock. A blurting out of words, really. 

“There are mages here I can learn from, if it will soothe your fears, Commander Rutherford.”

“Perhaps we should take a recess? Cool down before we talk about our next steps.” 

It’s Josephine who speaks, light and airy. Unperturbed on the outside by what just happened but the tremble in her hands as she grips her important parchments says otherwise. Calliope doesn’t blame her. 

There’s a note of tiredness and defeat to their tone when they speak again, “I will get my magic under control, it’s been harder since the Mark. I’m sorry for scaring anyone. A recess would be good.” 

[prettywordsyouleft]

Band Sessions: Wonpil

Pairing: Kim Wonpil x reader

Genre: band au / university au / fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 2305

Index: Jae | Sungjin | Young K | Wonpil | Dowoon

“Careful, Y/N!” Wonpil called out, stepping over to your side and pulling you back before you bumped into a library trolley stacked with books. You blinked at your sudden change in place and then back at the obstacle your boyfriend had prevented you from knocking into.

Shooting him a grateful smile, you chuckled lightly. “What would I do without you?”

“End up with a lot more bruises,” he concluded, shaking his head.

Wonpil loved everything about you except that you were clumsy. Over the past two years of dating, he had learned all there was to you. And mostly it was all good stuff. You were the type of person who grounded him in his weaknesses and empowered his strengths. And he’d like to say he did the same for you, however, most of the time he was simply saving you from impending doom.

For all the good that came with you, you also attracted all sorts of chaos. He would never understand how or why but he had witnessed it enough now that you were a walking time bomb. If he spent an entire day with you and no accidents occurred to you, then it wasn’t a miracle. It only meant the next time was guaranteed to have more than one.

Despite your bad luck, you were rather upbeat about it all. “Thankfully you saw it before me!”

“How you didn’t is beyond me,” he remarked and you merely laughed.

“You’re right, I should have seen that trolley. Could you imagine the mess I would have made?”

Wonpil nodded, biting his bottom lip to hold in his sigh. He could see it all too well because he had seen it in the past. And all the bruises that you had gained from sending books flying on the third floor of the campus library.

If he wasn’t with you, he sometimes worried about what could potentially happen. You had an innate knack for tripping over your own feet, and so setting you free on the university campus full of other students and potential hazards could easily give him anxiety if he let it manifest. However, he had had to learn that it usually worked out for the better. You were naturally accident-prone and it wasn’t something he could protect you from.

Even if he tried his best to do so whenever he was with you.

Wonpil never wanted to treat you like a damsel in distress. In fact, he knew you’d hate it if he did. Sure, there were moments where you liked whenever he fussed over you after sustaining an injury, but for the most part, you had already lived over two decades on this earth and survived without him before you started dating. He had to believe that you would be safe otherwise he was certain his mind would implode from constant worry.

“So it’s band practice night, right?” you mentioned when you both left the study session you had been at the library for, giving Wonpil another one of your infamous smiles.

For all the trouble you could cause to his heart and mind, your smiles made up for it. That and the kisses you gave. After kissing him briefly, Wonpil nodded. “And for you?”

“I have a date with Netflix,” you proudly stated and Wonpil playfully gasped.

“A date?!”

“Lee Minho and Woo Dohwan will keep me company whilst you hang with the boys.”

“I’m feeling the need to cancel,” he teased before brushing his lips over your forehead. “So long as you know that when the date is over they remain in their world and you come back to mine.”

“Hm,” you pondered innocently, pursing your lips with your thoughts. Wonpil leant in to kiss them, mirroring the grin you gave him when he pulled back. “Will you come over when you’re done?”

Although he had shared a bed many times with you now since your relationship progressed, Wonpil always felt his cheeks warm up with the idea of holding you all night long. If he was honest, he wanted to do that every night. Nodding at you happily in response, you then squeezed him tightly into a hug before stepping away, his hand quick to reach out to stop your departure right away.

He didn’t want to part ways just yet.

“Good, well I’ll go home and enjoy my dinner and dramas instead of causing any trouble at the studio. Have a good session with the boys.”

“I won’t be too long.”

You smirked. “Take your time; I have a few episodes to catch up on.”

You pried your hand out of his and turned rapidly, losing your balance and he lurched after you, stopping when you righted yourself. You snapped your head to look back at him with a breathy chuckle. “I’m alright! Love you!”

“Love you so much you will end me,” he mumbled, watching you intently until you disappeared around the side of the building.

As Wonpil walked the short distance from the campus to the studio, he almost wished he had brought you along with him instead. He knew how dangerous that was. You had tripped over the cord to his keyboard in his apartment more times than he could count, and the instrument was up against a wall. Wonpil thought of all the cords to the equipment in the studio and shuddered. There was a lot of expensive gear in there that he wouldn’t want you to damage or hurt yourself on.

Even you were aware of how much it would be like testing fate. When he had invited you in the past, you had come up with multiple excuses in the beginning before admitting you didn’t want to ruin things for the band with your accident-prone tendencies. So you had never seen the band outside of performing at their gigs and usually it didn’t bother him. Wonpil had a short attention span whenever he was with you, and wouldn’t be very productive if he spent all his time staring at you instead of working as a team with his fellow bandmates.

Sometimes though, he wanted to just bring you along and deal with the consequences. And lately, that urge had been growing. With your official two year anniversary two weeks away, he wanted nothing more than to perform the song that he had written for you then. He knew he would eventually bring it up on stage but something special like a private performance really stood out to him as a desire he wanted to fulfil. Especially after the playful session with Brian’s girlfriend recently, Wonpil yearned to have you sit on the studio couch away from all the equipment and play for you.

Surely that would be easy enough to do, right? Throughout practice that night, Wonpil stared at the empty couch and then at the door. The pathway from both was relatively clear and if he assisted you to your seat, nothing should eventuate. That way he could play for you and protect the studio from any potential mishap as well. It was a solid plan and after discussing it with his friends, Wonpil headed over to your apartment after practice feeling excited by his thoughts. It would be the perfect gift for your anniversary, especially with the restaurant reservation he had booked for later in the evening.

By the time you opened the door to your apartment and looking more than ready for bed in your sloth themed pyjamas, Wonpil was confident. Nothing would go wrong because you would have him to make it all go off without a hitch.

When your anniversary arrived, Wonpil wasn’t worried about anything going wrong today. In fact, all he felt all day long in your company was constant adoration and equal levels of disbelief that he had nurtured something this beautiful with you. He couldn’t understand just how lucky he had gotten, even if you spilled your drink on his shirt – thankfully it was only water – and tripped over and landed into his side awkwardly as you walked towards the studio. Usually, these moments would make him feel as if a bad omen was looming, yet today Wonpil felt more in control. He had saved you from falling and he would keep everything safe at the band session as well.

“Are you sure about this?” you questioned hesitantly, your expression clearly showing your concern. “I mean, this place is pretty special to you all.”

“All the more reason to have you come by finally.”

“I’m scared I’ll break something.”

Wonpil shook his head and smiled with assurance. “You will be fine and cause no harm. I mean, you’ve already done two things today and we’ve survived through them.”

Despite his encouragement, you didn’t look convinced, clinging onto Wonpil’s side when he twisted the handle to the studio. Thankfully, due to the entire afternoon yesterday he had spent decorating, your nerves eased when you saw the balloons and banner in front of you. Eyes now welling with tears, you gave Wonpil a watery smile and he led you inside, right over to the couch.

“Happy anniversary Wonpil and Y/N!” Sungjin exclaimed and Jae let off a party popper.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” Dowoon mentioned and then Brian slung his bass guitar over his head.

“You ready to play, Pil?”

Nodding as he shifted across to his keyboard and turned it on, they agreed to play a couple of songs you already knew first. It was a great experience. You sat and clapped, loosening off from all your previous tension and Wonpil felt bolder with his triumph. It had actually happened. You had come to a Day6 practice and nothing had gone wrong. He hadn’t even forgotten his lyrics once and when they played the song he had created for you, it was the most magical moment he had felt within this room. Everything worked in harmony, the music filling the space was some of the best he had ever had a part in making.

And once the room fell silent after the last guitar strum, you were clapping proudly, wiping away your tears momentarily before clapping again. That’s when it all started to go wrong.

“Oh, you don’t have to stand, Y/N!” Wonpil mentioned as you got up from the couch, his mind flashing with panic. Before he could understand anything else, you had already sat down and he was… falling too?

He watched as the keyboard stand he had knocked in his hurry lost its balance and fell into one of the amplifiers in the room. He also tripped over a cord in the process and ripped that out, causing a screech of static to bounce off the walls. Brian and Sungjin covered their ears and Jae got a fright, backing into another amp and knocked it over and popped several balloons in concession. It was like a domino effect and even Dowoon’s station was affected in some way before the entire room fell dead silent.

No one moved for a good minute or two. And then there was laughter.

The five distraught men looked in your direction as you now helplessly held your stomach, waving a free hand in their direction as if in attempt to dismiss your amusement. You sucked in a deep breath to try and settle your laughter but it rolled through you some more.

“I’m sorry!” you wheezed, trying to catch your breath. “It’s just this is exactly… what I have imagined so many times… if I was to ever come here… and for once it wasn’t me who caused the chaos!”

Sungjin couldn’t help but chuckle, though his was darker and pointedly aimed at Wonpil still sprawled on the floor. “You’re right. It wasn’t your fault at all, Y/N.”

“I have to admit when we prepared for tonight this wasn’t what I was expecting,” Jae announced and Brian moved to help Wonpil up.

“It looks like all your fears about Y/N and this place only ended up coming true by your hand instead.”

He was mortified, of course. Head lowered as he tried to calm down from the various emotions coursing throughout, Wonpil eventually cast his focus around the room. It was in a right state but for the most part, everything looked like it wasn’t broken.

And then he glanced in your direction, sighing heavily. More bravely than he expected, given the turn of events, you stepped over to his side and gave him a warm hug. “I loved everything about today.”

“I messed up just now.”

You tried to stifle another laugh. “Is it bad that I’m kind of relieved? After all this time, it’s always me causing calamity everywhere I go. We’ve been together for so long and it’s the first time I’ve been on the opposite side of things.”

“I’m glad it made you laugh.”

“Will everything be okay?” you asked of the other members as Brian checked over the amplifier behind Wonpil’s station.

“It should be. And if I remember correctly, you two have a dinner reservation to make.”

Wonpil sighed. “Maybe I should-”

“No,” you said firmly, taking his hand in yours. “Whatever else happens tonight is meant to occur. It’s our anniversary. Let’s shake up the town!”

“Not too much!” Jae pleaded as Wonpil’s smile slowly grew.

So maybe you were a little dangerous to be around, given how accidents followed you wherever you went. And now Wonpil was certain he couldn’t save you from them all. In fact, he could cause them himself too. Yet, your hand was in his and as you both fare-welled his band members, he realised that this was okay. You’d no doubt have many more accidents in the future to navigate together.

And a whole lot more to laugh about in the future whenever you thought over the crazy memories you made together.

_________________

Next: Dowoon

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[twokinkybeans]

The Arachnoids: ROCK BAND AU [Starker] - Chapter 5: DENMARK DAYDREAM

READ “CHAPTER 5: DENMARK DAYDREAM” ON AO3

Find the masterpost with all the chapters linked here!

Taglist: @crystallinecrimsonmoth​​​ & @staticwhispersinthedark​​​ (Let me know if you want to be added!)

-

Chapter 5: Denmark Daydream

Peter nearly presses his nose against the small plane window as he tries to take in every single detail of the beautiful horizon. It all looks so small from up here still, but he knows they’ll land soon. He can’t believe they’re in Europe now. Europe. He never thought he’d ever make it here. 

Of course, he wouldn’t have been able to if it weren’t for the fact that The Avengers’ management is paying for their travel expenses and accommodation. He’ll be forever grateful for that. If it weren’t for that, they wouldn’t have been able to join this tour. The costs would’ve been too high. Most of the venues do have a small fee for the opening band, but not all of them and it’s not much.

“Peter, I can’t see shit. Move a bit, will ya?” MJ teases and Peter chuckles, leaning back slightly so both she and Ned can look outside as well. “Oh! That’s The Blue Planet Aquarium,” Ned informs them proudly. “It’s supposed to be a fun one and it’s super close to the airport.” “Do you think we have time for that?” Peter asks, frowning slightly. He’s never been on a tour before, but he’s pretty sure they’re not going to have much time off. “No clue, but if we do, I’m definitely goin’.”

“Dear passengers, we’re nearing Copenhagen airport. It’s…” Peter doesn’t listen to the rest of the announcement. He’s too excited and distracted to focus.  “Do you think one of those buildings out there might be the Royal Arena?” Peter asks dreamily. He knows it probably isn’t, but the venue is supposedly close, so who knows? 

Not soon after the announcement, they set foot on the ground after a long flight. Peter looks up at the sky. It’s a bit cloudy, but nothing too bad. The cold midwinter air wraps around him and he zips up his coat as he descends the airstairs. It’s been a good six weeks since they sealed the deal with the management of The Avengers and now, here they are. “Ugh, it’s so cold,” Ned mumbles as he too hides in his winter jacket. MJ pats his back.  “It’s only gonna get colder from here on.” “What? Why?” “We’re headed even further north the next couple of shows. Brace yourself!” She laughs cheerfully and jumps off the last step. 

They make their way towards the baggage reclaim area, laughing and joking as they pick up their bags, filled to the brim with clothes and stage gear. They decided to rent out drum kits on the go for Ned since dragging it along would be too much of a hassle, so thank God they don’t have to carry that with them now. All he brought is his control pad and a handful of drum sticks.  After they’ve gathered all their belongings, they make their way towards the attached hotel. Tomorrow, they’ll pick up the van to tour all the way through the continent for the other shows. For now, walking will do.

The walk is silent, each of them taking in the strange, new surroundings. “What time’s soundcheck again?” MJ asks. “I wanna take a nap, if possible. I’m thoroughly exhausted from that flight.” “What? How? Didn’t you sleep on the plane?” MJ shakes her head and Peter sends her an apologetic smile. “Soundcheck’s at three so you can definitely take that nap.” “Thank God.”

-

MJ crashed the instant she dropped onto the bed. Peter and Ned went to see the aquarium Ned had talked about on the plane. It wasn’t too big of a building, but especially the tropical species had been lovely to see. At each tank, there’d been lots of information about every single one of them. The presentation about overfishing, the effects of climate change and plastic waste on sea life and the coral reefs had been very eye-opening as well.

Now, they’re leaning against the fences at the control booth, watching The Avengers’ soundcheck. Tony isn’t as much of an asshole today, but he still takes his sweet time. The young, red-haired boy in the control booth gives him an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry,” he says, his thick Danish accent shining through, “-there’s not gonna be much time left for you.” “It’s alright,” Peter says and then sighs. He already saw it coming. It won’t be the last time it’ll happen. Ned looks a little more worried. He’d been hoping to try out his new drum kit to get used to it.

“MJ, do you think there’s time to practice by ourselves after soundcheck?” Peter asks for Ned, but the girl doesn’t respond. Instead, she’s smiling at the stage. Peter grins as he follows her gaze. While Tony is holding a monologue on how his voice overrules the sounds of his guitar, Harley is crawling around the stage to tape some of the cords to the floor. He tears some of the gaffa tape with his teeth and carefully sticks it to the ground. Tugging on the cables to make sure there’s no more tripping hazard.  “Em?” “-W-what?” MJ stutters, ripping her gaze away from the roadie. Peter nudges her playfully. “Earth to Venus, Earth to Venus-” “Oh, you!” She laughs awkwardly. Peter snorts, and right when he wants to make another comment, Tony’s voice cuts through.

“Having fun down there?” His voice is cold and irritated. Whatever the slightly good mood was that Tony was in, it’s gone now. “Uhm,” Peter stumbles. “Tony, it’s alright, don’t-” Steve tries from behind his drums, but Tony doesn’t listen. “Listen, funny guy,” he threatens. “You might be talented, and unique, but this isn’t your tour. Remember that, or we will send you home.”

Peter presses his lips together and nods curtly. The worst thing is that Tony is completely right. It’s rude and disrespectful to laugh through their soundcheck. Peter feels absolutely mortified and he wishes he could vanish. “Good. That’s settled then. Now that the spiderlings are quiet, let’s continue. Nat, play the intro of Endgame again?”

-

After The Avengers were done with their soundcheck, the guy in the control booth apologized once more for the lack of time. He did tell them there should be around thirty minutes left before the doors open, which was just about enough for Ned to become accustomed to his new drum kit.

Once they’re asked to leave the stage, Peter’s nerves come crashing down on him. “God, it’s really happening isn’t it?” He mumbles quietly as they leave the stage.  “Sure is,” a familiar, rumbling voice answers him. Peter freezes and looks up, only to find Tony laying on top of a set of large transport cases for all the equipment. His left leg’s dangling from it and he cranes his neck to watch the three musicians. “Europeans,” Tony says and he scoffs. “They always show up for the support act too. Seems you got yourselves a big crowd tonight, kiddos.”

“Are you purposefully trying to make us more anxious?” MJ asks and squints her eyes at him. “No, not really.” Tony sits upright and grins at them smugly. “Just stating truths here. It’s fairly different from US shows. Figured I’d give you a heads up.” “Well, it’s great Tony, thanks,” Ned says sarcastically and Peter looks at his friend in surprise. Ned doesn’t easily speak up like that, and Peter can’t help the proud feeling spreading in his chest. “You’re welcome,” Tony hums with a smile, very much not oblivious to the sarcasm but purposefully ignoring it.

“What are you even doing up there?” Peter asks to change the topic of this already weird conversation. Peter swears he sees a hint of insecurity cross the man’s face. But then, he can’t see it very well from down here. “Oh,” Tony shrugs. “Not much, actually. Relaxing before the show starts. I can actually see the entire space from up here. Nice job on the drums man, though, Peter your guitar playing was a little off.” “What?” Peter huffs out a breath. He knows damn well how he plays and he doesn’t recall messing up. He shakes his head. “I don’t have time for this, let’s go-” “No! Wait.”

Peter sucks at his teeth and raises his eyebrows at Tony. Why does he seem so desperate for the conversation to keep going? “The solo. In that song you played, what’s it called… Homecoming?” “Yeah?” “If you play the F on the D-string rather than the A one, it’ll be much easier and flow better. Especially ‘cause you play it so often.” Peter swallows and narrows his eyes. “Right,” he takes a deep breath. “Good one.”  “I can teach you some more if you wanna.” “Not a chance.”

“Guys! Guys, have you seen Tony, I-” Harley comes running in and stops dead in his tracks when he spots Tony on top of the cases. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Of course.” “Oh! Hi there, Harls!” Tony says cheerfully. It almost makes Peter smile. Almost. Is this Tony Stark opening up and showing a deeper layer of himself? “You know you have an interview right now, man! Why aren’t you there?” Tony’s face darkens at that right away. “You know why,” Tony pushes out grimly. Harley’s expression softens at that. “I do, but we talked about this. Please?” Tony’s face completely changes after that. The slight openness that had been there seems to have never existed at all. Tony’s face is harsh and unreadable. Peter wonders if maybe, all of Tony’s rude behavior is simply a mask he wears to protect himself from something. Anything. What could it be? Tony jumps off the cases and walks away without saying another word. “I’m sorry,” Harley apologizes to them before quickly rushing after the man.

Peter slowly turns towards his bandmates. “What just happened?”

-

Read the next chapter >> 6: Headstart Hero

[brideofcthulhu10]

Hi! Uh so Billy aka Dwayne and I have the same birthday (June 23). I don't really like my birthday because I've never gotten to celebrate. I haven't had a party since I was a kid and now I just always spend the day sad and with no friends. If you wanna write something with the lost boys celebrating Dwayne and reader's birthday together, I'd really love it. (No pressure tho. I really love your blog and hope you'll have a great day ✨)

Aw, I’m sorry to hear you’ve not been able to celebrate your birthday for such a long time. Hopefully I can give you a little taste of a great birthday with the boys, and a very special (belated) birthday to you from myself and all of my readers, you are an honorary Fang Babe which makes you a part of a community that’s there for each other! If you ever feel sad, I got my DMs open 24/7 if you ever need to just vent up a storm! All are welcome. 

Happy Birthday to You Both

Dwayne x Fem!S/O

Today was supposed to be special, yet the entire day everyone was so preoccupied with their own little lives that no one had even bothered to remember it was your birthday today. It was absolutely miserable. All the while your boyfriend Dwayne was currently tucked away at the abandoned hotel hiding away from the sunlight. Bursting into flames was certainly an occupational hazard. By this point the whole vampirism thing had come and gone, and while it did frighten you, nothing was more frightening than being without your dark crow.   

Rather than stay at home to be ignored you opted to go out for the afternoon, browsing shops for a special occasion. No, not yourself. See, as luck would have it, June 23rd also held significance to Dwayne. Marko, one of the younger members of the coven, had told you two weeks prior it would be Dwayne’s birthday as well. You had to keep your own secret. Not at their request, but your own. Overshadowing his birthday would be dreadful, you hated the idea of taking it from him. Besides, no one remembered anyways. 

Weaving through brightly lit shops, you pondered each piece wondering what would suit him best. Clothes were out, maybe a new skateboard? Just looking at the little white tags stuck to the back of them made you cringe. Okay, so that was out. You weren’t made of money. 

There was an old mystic shop selling a handful of oddities, somewhere called Madame Medusa’s Mystical Boutique. A few interesting necklaces caught your eye, but one seemed to be directly calling you. It was a crow skull attached to a leather cord, bordered by two carved red beads on either side. Two thick black feathers were wedged between the beads. Gently you slipped it off the hook, running your thumb over the chilled, smooth surface. 

“It’s a lovely item, isn’t it,” an elderly woman asked. Truthfully she startled you from behind the counter, almost making you jump a few good inches. 

“O-Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see-”

“Don’t worry dear, hardly anyone does,” she chuckled, tenderly plucking the skull from your hand. “Shall I wrap this up for you?”

“Oh- Well I wasn’t, I mean it’s nice but-,” you stuttered, but already she was shuffling towards the counter again. Boy pushy woman. You didn’t even know how much it cost, you weren’t exactly on a budget but you couldn’t be going on any big spending sprees.

“Hush now. He’s going to be waiting for you, somewhere nearby. I can guarantee that this is the one you’re meant to give him,” she insisted, wrapping the necklace under aged brown paper. 

“Yeah, I’m sure he’d like it but-,” you couldn’t help but trail off. How- How did she know?

The woman pushed the little baggie your way, giving a tender smile before she began to hobble towards a curtained room behind the counter.

“W-Wait, I didn’t even pay for it!”

She waved off your concern, looking behind her shoulder while she parted the curtains in her path. 

“Consider it a present from those who neglected you. Take it to him, you’ll see..” And with that she vanished behind them, leaving you stunned where you stood. Silently you glanced down at the small plastic bag, almost jumping in place when a dusty old grandfather clock began to ring through the store. One, two, three, four, five, six. Oh! It was already six o’clock. Crap the boys would be up any minute!

It didn’t take too long to spot the gang of vampires sitting on the worn, wooden banisters talking amongst themselves. Dwayne was just as eager to spot you, sweeping between the boys and lifting you up in his arms. “Happy birthday, princess,” He gushed, planting tender kisses all over your cheeks.

“How did you know? I didn’t-”

“My bad,” Marko spoke up. He leaned back from behind Paul to wave your way, as if he were waving a flag of defeat. Damn. You weren’t even sure how Marko figured out your birthday in the first place, there was just no keeping secrets from that guy! 

Dwayne set you down, although he carried a much more concerned expression this time. “Why keep it a secret in the first place, Y/N?”

You fiddled with the bag still clutched in your hand with eyes cast downward towards your feet hoping a good excuse could get you out of just admitting you’d rather play backseat. But, you didn’t. Not that you couldn’t come up with any excuses. Rather, you didn’t want to be sidelined even for your boyfriend’s birthday. It was yours too, and for the past several years it seemed like you were constantly being set aside so that other things could happen. Your sister’s wedding, that trip to Colorado your parents took, grandma and grandpa visiting, your brother’s soccer games- everything seemed to take precedence over the celebration of the day you were born. And worst of all is you never got your Sixteen Candles happy ending. No one would really recognize they screwed up. You wouldn’t be apologized to with tearful shock when your parents realized they forgot your birthday, your friends- if you could even call them that at this point- wouldn’t try to cheer you up, and there was no handsome crush ready with a birthday cake to make it all go away. It’s like Dwayne already knew your feelings because before you could get a word in he pulled you into a crushing hug. Your head pressed against his chest. Sometimes you forgot he had no heartbeat and instead only listened to him rumble when he spoke to you.

“Just because today is for me, doesn’t mean it isn’t for you too, princess.” 

Those words hit you harder than you anticipated. Your throat felt as if it were swelling, dry with each labored swallow, and a tight pressure squeezed the bridge of your nose. Inevitable tears eagerly rushed down your while burnt cheeks. 

Dwayne only held you in place. He never let go until you were the one ready to release him, wiping away those pesky droplets of emotion staining you. “Now, I was saving this for when we took you to the hotel…,” he began with his hand jammed into his jacket pocket, rustling around for whatever it was he needed. “But, I figure maybe you need it now.”

A thick banded ring of aged silver sat in his calloused palm, an oval cut of turquoise clasped in place by a weaving border. Veins of black and copper split through chunks of blue-green paths. Rather hold it out to you, Dwayne tenderly took your hand into his own to slip the hefty piece over your ring finger. It nestled perfectly in place and you couldn’t help but let out a breathless laugh, slinging your arms over his neck. He already knew what to expect. Iron arms engulfed your waist and lifted you up. His stubble scratched the edges of your mouth when you crashed your lips into his. The sensation was overwhelming. It wasn’t just that he got you this, it was what he had gotten you. 

Dwayne had often told you myths and lore on lazy nights when the hunting grew slow and the hours were long. Once you found yourself admiring a very similar cut of jewelry decadently adorned with many fine cuts of turquoise, finding your curiosity piqued when asking him what the significance was to all these pieces. Why was it such a commonly used stone in so much jewelry, especially with Native American tribes.

“From what I can remember,” Dwayne thought back at the time, leaning over you to admire the pricey baubles kept protected under a thick sheet of glass “, my grandmother told me that every tribe has always valued it. I mean, they all have their reasons. It’s a powerful gem that carries protection, life and strength. I’ve even seen it change colors depending on where you find it. I hardly ever saw it though when I was alive, even back then it cost a fortune.”

But now, through one way or another he’d remembered how you admired them from afar, yearning to have a ring like that of your very own. The one to five hundred dollar price tags always scared you off whenever you’d come to find them in stores- at least, the real ones. For once you didn’t care how Dwayne had acquired your gift. Gift! Oh!

“Oh, hold on,” You interjected between kisses with the little bag presented before him. “I um, got you something too. From that crazy lady in the mystic items shop!”

A warmth spread through your chest watching him lay the necklace over, the skull placing perfectly atop his many others. It suited him perfectly. 

The whole night was just perfect. You spent the entire time going on rides with the boys after they spoiled you for dinner, later dragging you to the hotel where you realized what Dwayne meant earlier. There were streams of colored paper hanging off the rafters and old piping, red balloons tied to the furniture, and a banner of paper reading out “Happy Birthday Dwayne and Y/N” written in big, red marker letters. You couldn’t even make a wish when they brought out a cake for the both of you. After all, what more could be asked? They had already given you the most perfect birthday you could have ever hoped for. 

[evilmuffinlord]

Better Together-Chapter 8- Party Rockers

On to chapter eight, in which a party is attended, friendships are forged, and one kidnapping is foiled.

Thank you to everyone who has been so patient with this fic. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get this chapter completed. Hopefully the next one won’t be quite as delayed.

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19985089/chapters/64346437

Or on FF.Net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13359634/8/Better-Together

Cover art by: https://mari-lair.tumblr.com/

Teaser below cut

“So, who’s ready to party?” Mina asked the crowd that had assembled in front of the school gate.

To her utter delight, the entire class had gathered there once school had let out. Sure, some looked bored, others hesitant, and Bakugou had needed to be physically dragged there by Midoriya, but they had all come in the end.

She’d honestly been expecting at least a few of them to skip out, given what they’d gone through that day. If she hadn’t been the one who had organized the whole thing, she would have been sorely tempted to. She’d put her all into the battle with Midoriya and Mineta earlier, and there was a very vocal part of her that just wanted to go home, soak her feet, and watch trashy T.V. for the rest of the evening.

But here they all were, ready to come out and have a good time with her. Her heart swelled with gratitude, and she promised herself that she would turn it up to eleven and be the best host of the best party that any of them had ever attended.

“I am!” Kirishima called, slipping into his role as ultimate wingman with ease.

“I must admit, I am rather excited as well,” Yaoyorozu said demurely. “I have never had the opportunity to visit a public karaoke parlor, especially not with friends.”

“Do you have strict parents?” Kaminari asked. “Or are there just no good karaoke places where you live?”

“Oh no, the movie theater we have at the house comes with a karaoke function. But neither of my parents particularly like karaoke, and asking one of the maids to join me felt rather disingenuous, since they would be obliged to participate no matter what their feelings on the subject.”

Mina took a moment to be absolutely blown away by the fact that Yaoyorozu’s family apparently had a private movie theater. It was obvious that the girl was rich, both from the way she acted and from the way she dressed, but that was another level of wealth entirely. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever met someone that well off before.

What she was sure of, however, was that she was definitely going to set up a girls’ night at Yaoyorozu’s place sometime. Now that would truly be an evening to be remembered.

“Well then, we’ll be sure to make your first time extra special,” Mina said, ignoring Mineta’s snort of laughter over the comment.

“My thanks,” Yaoyorozu replied.

“No problem!” Mina said, flashing her a bright smile. Then she clapped her hands together to draw everyone’s attention. “C’mon everyone! Follow me if you wanna have the best time ever!”

---

“You really know how to pick em Raccoon Eyes,” Katsuki said as they arrived at their destination.

Izuku would never say anything, but he had to admit the karaoke spot Ashido had chosen was a little… underwhelming. 

The building was a graffiti-covered concrete square tucked into a back alley, with only a small sign above the door to let them know that they had found “The Karaoke Cave.” The few visible windows were covered with thick paper to prevent any light from leaking in, and the door itself had seen better days.

Izuku was actually rather surprised to see so much graffiti, given the fact that they were still relatively close to UA. Most delinquents wouldn’t be willing to openly act out so close to the campus. He silently hoped that they wouldn’t run into the delinquents responsible. He had no desire to meet people that bold and rebellious.

“How about you try finding a place that will take a party of 20 students on short notice, and that we can still afford?”  Ashido said, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at Katsuki.

He grumbled a little, but didn’t say anything further. Ashido apparently took this as a victory, since she let a grin spread across her face and turned to face the group.

“Look, I know it doesn’t look like much, but that just means we have to make it fun for each other. So put on a smile, and get ready to sing your hearts out, because I’m making sure every one of you gets up on stage at least once!”

Izuku swallowed hard. He had been counting on blending into the background so he wouldn’t have to sing anything. It might still be possible for him to do that, but considering that Ashido was already looking at him and grinning evilly, he highly doubted it.

“You guys better be prepared to be awed!” Kaminari said, adopting a ridiculous pose that involved him crossing his arms in front of himself and extending his fingers into peace signs. “I’m an expert rapper!”

Jirou suddenly broke into a coughing fit that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter, leaning on Yaoyorozu for support. The reaction took a lot of the wind out of Kaminari’s sails, but did little to deter Ashido.

“That’s the spirit! C’mon guys!”

She led them into the lobby where a bored woman was in the middle of painting her nails at the front desk. 

“We have a reservation under—” Ashdio said, only to be cut off.

“Through the door over there, the third room on the right. You have it for three hours,” the receptionist said, not looking up from her nails.

Ashido deflated a little at the receptionist’s attitude. “Awww, you’re not even gonna let me say it?”

The receptionist shook her head, and finally turned her gaze towards them. “Nope. We get people putting down joke names every day, and I’m tired of it. If I hear one more person registering as the Donner party, I’m going to scratch their eyes out.” To emphasize her point, she flexed her hand and her meticulously painted nails suddenly lengthened and became razor sharp claws.

“Okaaaay,” Ashido replied, backing away slowly, “we’re just gonna go sing now.”

“Have fun or whatever. Don’t make a mess,” the receptionist replied, returning to her cuticles.

“Did you really put us down as the Donner party?” Uraraka asked, once they were a safe distance away from the terrifying worker.

“Nuh uh,” Ashido said, shaking her head, “I put us down as ‘Mina and the Chipmunks.’ I have no idea why she started talking about reindeer.”

“I believe she was referring to a different Donner,” Yaoyorozu said with a chuckle.

“Well that’s just confusing,” Ashido replied, pouting slightly.

Before their conversation could continue any further, they reached the room that they had rented.

To Izuku’s surprise, it was much more inviting than the exterior of the building would have implied. The room was large enough to house their entire class with only minimal squishing, and plenty of couches and chairs for everyone to have a seat when they weren’t singing. These were arranged around a large table that was covered in various menus and song lists. A pair of tablets were resting on it as well, with charging cords trailing off behind one of the couches and presenting a tripping hazard if they weren’t careful. Finally, a large T.V. took up most of the right wall, displaying the words ‘Karaoke Cave’ bouncing around on the screen while it waited for someone to use it.

“Whoa, this place is way nicer than I thought it would be,” Kirishima said as he stepped into the room.

“Yeah, I was kind of expecting a dump from the outside. Nice pick, Mina!” Hagakure said, dropping onto one of the couches. 

Ashido, for her part, looked relieved that everyone had come around on the venue. A massive grin was plastered across her face, and she was bouncing slightly as she looked around the room.

Izuku was glad to see her so happy. A part of him had been worried that she would take her loss during their mock battle earlier that afternoon hard, and maybe even hold it against him. Instead, she seemed to be just as upbeat as ever. 

“Yo, what’s with this song selection?” Kaminari called, brandishing one of the tablets over his head, “I haven’t heard of any of these.”

Jirou picked up the second tablet, then snorted when she saw what was on it.

“I bet you only listen to the top forty then. This stuff is old school. Like, I think my parents have a few of these on vinyl.”

“Perhaps they only feature songs that are in the public domain?” Yaoyorozu ventured.

“Maybe. Hope you guys like classics,” Jirou replied.

“Eh, I’ll make do. Now, let’s get this party started!” Kaminari said, picking up the tablet once more.

“Hold on a moment!” Iida said, loudly enough to grab everyone’s attention. It took a few moments for everyone to quiet down, which Iida took as a chance to move to the front of the room where they could all see him easily. 

“Given that Ashido was the one who organized this event, I think it is only proper that she is allowed to sing the first song. Assuming she wants to, of course.”

“I agree,” Yaoyorozu said, standing up as well, “If there is anyone who deserves to go first, it is the hostess.”

A chorus of agreement followed the statements, as well as some applause for the one who had brought them all there.

“Awww, thanks guys!” Ashido said, flushing a little bit at the applause. 

“Thank us by singing an awesome song!” Kirishima called.

“Now that I can do!”

Read the rest on AO3 or FF.net! Links available on my tumblr page if they get broken here again.

[honeymoonjin]

Cum! BTS part two - ot7 x reader smut

Please read part one here first.

Warnings for sexually explicit content: discussion of consent, voyeurism/exhibitionism, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, hitachi use, light spanking, dirty/degrading talk, cock ring, dry humping, attempted blowjob, handjob, ruined orgasm (m), orgasm denial (m), nipple clamps, BDSM, using a condom creatively, fingering, oral (f), doggy style, anal play (f), standing sex, sloppy seconds, technically an orgy/train, I think that’s it (phew!).  Sumary: an episode of Run! BTS in which the seven members compete to see who can make you cum first. This second part is 8.5k, part one was around 4.5k.

“We need to discuss new ground rules,” the producer says the moment you sit.

Almost instinctively, your legs tighten together uncomfortably. Yoongi, to your left, notices this and starts gnawing on his lip guiltily. The eight of you had been gathered around after the intense filming session the day before. You still felt wobbly and a little sore, though perfectly content. You knew the staff were concerned that it had gone too far, however, since they refused to even set up cameras before this conversation.

“Y/n, you were made aware of the safe word before filming. Why didn’t you use it?”

You shrug. “I was fine, honestly. I don’t think I realized just how much it would be until after you guys had already cut. But, if we’re changing this before we go again, could I please request something?”

“Of course,” Namjoon enthuses from your other side. “Anything that would make you more comfortable.” He looks tired. You had heard some of the make-up stylists for the boys whispering about how he had stayed up all night stationed outside your room in case you called out. You give him your brightest reassuring smile.

“60 seconds between orgasms is way too short if I’m going to be going for that long. I was thinking too, I don’t know if the fastest orgasm even suits the theme. Shouldn’t it be the most powerful orgasm, or most satisfying? I mean, it’s up to you guys, of course, but-”

“No, no,” Namjoon quickly interrupts, “what’s important is your wellbeing. How much time do you want between members?”

You’re a little taken aback by how forthright he’s being, but a glance at the producer’s small nod confirms it. “Uh, maybe five minutes? Even three would be okay, I know this is meant to be a competition amongst you guys.”

A soft voice from the far end of the meeting table pipes up. “Can I just say something? I know I haven’t had my turn yet, but I don’t think I want to take part unless I’m certain that Y/n is okay.” You crane your neck down to watch Taehyung biting his nails. “Yesterday was really scary.”

“Guys, I was fine,” you insist, “I appreciate your concern, but let’s just take this as a learning curve and move on. We still have five more people to get through.” A thought strikes you. “Wait, we don’t have to start from the beginning again, do we?”

“No,” the producer assures you with a wry grin, chuckling softly as you sigh in relief.

Yoongi, apparently over his guilt already, scowls at the news. “Dammit, I fisted her for nothing, it’s not even going to make a difference anymore.”

“Not for nothing, hyung!” Jungkook exclaims. “That was the best thing I’ve seen in years!”

You laugh. Although some of the members around him scold Jungkook for the comment, you’re grateful for his attempt at easing some of the tension. “I’m ready to get back into it, if everyone else is?”

“Don’t forget, Y/n,” Jungkook leans over and adds, “safe word is seagull.”

“No, it’s not,” the producer sighs, “Y/n’s safe word is red.”

Jungkook pouts innocently as he shakes his head. “I was talking about my safe word, producer-nim.”

--

Back on set, you fiddle absentmindedly with the tiny ribbon bow on the front of your panties as various crew members flutter and dart around the place, setting up lighting and audio equipment while a ticklish brush is swept over your face by an disinterested stylist.

You recoil when the soft hairs breach a little too close to your eye and accidentally bump into a solid object, hearing a low ‘woah’ behind you.

“Easy,” Hoseok soothes, hands pressing on your shoulders momentarily to steady you. “You’re meant to be weak in the knees after we’re done with you.”

“Hey, there,” you breathe out, taken aback by the brightness in his eyes and the way the light caught the golden sheen of his skin. Yesterday your interaction was somewhat brief, and you had had other things on your mind. Now, doing nothing but waiting around for shooting to begin, you were feeling a little unmoored under the full bore of his attention.

He huffs out a little air from his nose and gives you a soft smirk. “You weren’t wearing my pants this morning,” he comments.

Your cheeks flush at the intimacy of the comment. “I’m not sleeping in $2,000 Balenciaga sweats.”

“If you looked them up, you’d see they’re actually closer to three thousand.”

“Exactly,” you insist, “there’s no way I’m going to get those all wrinkly by sleeping in them.”

He lets his eyes slide over your form languidly. “You looked good in them,” he muses, “it’s a shame we don’t get to dress you up for this episode.”

You scoff, crossing your arms reflexively at his heated gaze. “Okay, Mister Nipple Clamps, what would you have dressed me up in? Leather?”

Hoseok laughs boisterously and claps his hand on your shoulder. “Hey, you’re the one that likes a little pain in the bedroom.”

“I never said that,” you defend in a slightly higher tone, giving him a cold glare.

“Oh, come on, Y/n, Yoongi’s hands aren’t that small, surely? Don’t worry,” he assures you lowly, “I’ll make you feel good.”

You swallow. The motion doesn’t go unnoticed by Hoseok. “You don’t have to bother seducing me, Hoseok, I’m apparently already going to have sex with you.”

He shrugs ambivalently. “Think of it like an extra part of my turn. The anticipation for what I’m going to do to you.”

“So, I should be starting your timer now, hm?” you fire back.

His tongue slips out to wet his lips as he smiles devilishly. “Every time you talk back to me, little lady, you’re just making it worse for yourself when I get my hands on you.”

“There are three others going after you, you know,” you mention conversationally, looking past him to watch the others join you, Namjoon hovering awkwardly behind Hoseok as he stands where Namjoon should be. “Don’t assume you’re going to have a lasting impression.”

He shakes his head disbelievingly, ready to retort, but Namjoon gently pushes him aside to second place. Down the line, as the pre-ordained order went, was Namjoon, Hoseok, Taehyung, Jin, and Jungkook. To your right were the contestants who had already finished; a very bored-looking Yoongi and Jimin.

Suddenly, as the cameras finally start rolling, Namjoon glances back at the table behind him and gasps. “Oh, fuck! I forgot I was stuck with the cock ring. Shit.”

You snigger a little, but mask it with a cough. You certainly don’t envy him. He picks it up and sighs, reluctantly placing a hand over the front of his pants to begin palming himself. You stare at him as he does this.

“What?” he cries out defensively. “It’s hard to get in the mood out of nowhere!”

“See!” You turn your head to the front of the line to see Jimin holding his arm out triumphantly. “It’s not my fault I took so long, it’s just that it’s hard to go first! Producer-nim, you should let us each take a minute off of our times to account for it. It’s not fair!”

A overdramatic groan of disapproval catches your attention. At the other end, Jin shakes the hair out of his face and twitches his nose in frustration. “You’re just making excuses! If I was next, she would’ve cum already!”

Jimin pouts and crosses his arms. “Producer-nim,” he pleads in a whine.

You bite down on the inside of your lip to try and prevent yourself from sniggering at their antics. The producer rolls his eyes fondly at Jimin, then turns to face the end of the line. “Jin, we’ll give you the choice. Either Jimin and Namjoon get to take thirty seconds off of their time-”

“I said a minute! Producer-nim, you’re too mean-”

“-Or, you have to take Namjoon’s place and go next without any time advantage.”

Both Jimin and Namjoon sigh out a huff of air when Jin stomps proudly forward and hip-shoves Namjoon down the line; the former out of frustration and Namjoon out of pure relief. You can see his eyes flickering aimlessly around the room, focusing on nothing as he ran some mental marathon to work out a game plan.

“Okay, is that all?” the producer drones tiredly. “Anyone else want to make the game even more confusing than it already is?” After a beat of silence, he nods. “Okay, then, Jin can start when he’s ready.”

You turn to the eldest and cock your chin towards the bed in question, moving over there when he gives you a nod of confirmation. As you settle yourself on the slightly-too-firm mattress, one of the staff members helps him plug it in to an extension cord running along the floor, taped down to avoid the tripping hazard. Once he’s finally done, he returns to the side of the bed, wielding the massager toy like a blunt weapon, and you eye him warily.

He waves his other hand at you, and you scoot up the bed, until your head rests quite comfortably on the pillows.

“You can start when you’re ready, Jin,” the producer reminds him, and you glance over to see the six other guys making themselves comfortable on the floor at the edge of the room. Clearly they weren’t so convinced that he’d be done anytime soon. Namjoon didn’t even look like he was aware what was going on at all as he absentmindedly swung the cock ring on his pointer finger and stared intensely at it as if it contained the secrets of the universe.

You suck in a breath and jerk back as a sudden swat comes down on your left breast, stinging slightly as the thin lace does nothing to absorb the blow. “Hey!”

Jin stares down at you with a frown, swinging a leg over your torso and straddling you on the bed. “It’s my turn, not his. Look at me.”

You stare up at him with wide eyes as he places the vibrator down beside you and reaches around to unhook your bra, slipping it off and throwing it rather violently in the direction of the others. Jungkook recoils and holds his arms up in self-defence as he takes a mouthful of lace, spitting it out and chucking it onto the ground with an angry blush, staring at it like he’s scared it’s alive. Another swat rains down, this time on your right, and with the cool air tightening your nipples, it smarts even more. “Ow! Jin!”

The oldest member frowns in annoyance, raising his hips up off you to slide your panties down. “What did I say?” he asks rhetorically. Before continuing, he looks up and around the room. “Where’s the camera? Ladies, this one’s for you.” He blows a kiss with a broad sweep of his arm before bending back down to you. You return his pout with one of your own, but it drops when he shuffles down your body to pull the panties off of your legs, and takes a nipple into his mouth.

The sudden stimulation of his hot mouth on you rips a weak whimper from your throat, and you feel the triumphant chuckle vibrate slightly against you.

Jin laves his tongue and mouth over your breast sloppily, practically drooling over you as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, letting the sensitive skin graze against his teeth. You sigh out his name, and he finishes removing your underwear, chucking the thin sliver of fabric in the same direction.

“Come on,” you hear Jungkook scoff, but you don’t dare look.

“Jin,” you pant again as he swaps breasts, the wetness cooling against the one he left behind, but as his tongue swirls around the taut bud, a hand comes up to flick at your other nipple and pinch it tightly, rolling it between a finger and a thumb.

Your eyes have fallen shut in bliss, and you’re so overtaken by sensation on your top half, that you don’t even notice something solid slipping between your legs and pushing against you until it buzzes to life, the powerful steady vibration lighting up your previously-neglected clit. “Ah! Oh, right there, yes.” Your hips automatically begin to rock against the massager in tight circles, wanting more, and you wind a hand in the thick silk of his hair, tugging him up so that his face rested over yours.

You cracked your eyes open just enough to see his salaciously smug smile before he dipped down and took your mouth with his. You immediately sigh out into the kiss, lifting one leg up not only to open yourself out for him, but to hook your ankle around his lower back and ass, pulling him closer like you would if he was actually fucking you.

His much larger body pins yours down with ease, leaving one hand free to clasp your chin, tipping your head back further and parting your jaw so he can plunge his tongue into your mouth. You whine into his mouth as he tilts the wrist holding the vibrator, slipping it up through your folds so that it’s pressed snugly against your clit, and rocking it in little motions that drive you crazy.

You’ve stopped contributing to the kiss, brows knit and mouth wide open as the pleasure wells up inside you, but that doesn’t stop him from pillaging your mouth as he desires. Every nip and tug at the skin of your lips has a shot of electricity running through you, and every slow swipe of his tongue has you wishing he was burying that mouth between your legs instead.

“Are you close?” he mumbles against your lips, the sound almost completely lost as he refuses to let up for even a second.

“Uh-huh,” you pant dumbly, becoming more restless underneath him as you chase your high.

He makes a noise of acknowledgement, and sits up from you. You whimper at the loss of his mouth on you, but then you hear him fiddling around with something. Before you even get the chance to open your eyes to see what he’s doing, the intensity of the hum between your legs skyrockets, and you tense up, arching your back and latching desperately onto his forearm as you’re pitched suddenly over the edge.

You’re unaware of your surroundings, letting the sensation completely overwhelm you like being underwater. Jin continues to rock the massager toy against you as you cum, finally letting up when your open mouth turns into a frown and you begin pushing his arm away, twitching under the overstimulation the high-speed vibrations were giving you.

“Time?” Jin asks breathlessly, and you laugh weakly when he’s given the best time of the group, a mere 12 seconds faster than Yoongi. Lucky you, to have gotten the experts early on. Fuck. At least you hoped they were the fastest ones.

You hum blissfully when you feel a warm palm cup your cheek, tipping your head up slightly. Your eyes flutter open to half-mast, and through the narrow slit you see a somewhat ruffled Jin with sex-mussed hair crouching at the edge of the bed with a small paper cup filled with water. “Hmm, so romantic,” you muse sleepily. Just like getting out of a wave pool and still feeling that rocking, your legs are suffering ghost vibrations, and you’re grateful that Jin has gone to get the refreshments for you. A new addition to the production set was a table with a water jug, some electrolyte drinks with the brand names sharpied out, and some snacks. You had a feeling, as you let Jin gently tip the cup to your lips, that you’d definitely be needing it.

Once you’re done, you feel some of the energy returning to you, and some clarity to. You push up off the mattress and sit up slowly, wiggling your toes experimentally. Jin gives your shoulder one last squeeze before he goes over to brag to his competitors loudly.

You glance over and see Jimin sitting in the corner with a glum disposition. You catch his eye and wave him over, noting that you still have a couple minutes left before it’s Namjoon’s turn. Speaking of which, the man looks devastated, but you’ll deal with him soon enough.

“Hey, Y/n,” Jimin mumbles, sitting heavily on the bed with a sigh. He hands you the wad of fabric he has balled up in his hand, and you realize with a warm flutter in your chest that he’s gone and collected your bra and panties. Gratefully, you slip it on, watching Jimin zone off gloomily. “Choosing the blindfold was kinda a dumb decision, huh?”

You fight the urge to laugh, reaching out to ruffle his hair fondly instead. “Oh, Jiminie, you did fine with what you had.”

He’s not convinced. “That’s just code for, ‘yeah, Jimin, you’re an idiot, why wouldn’t you choose an actual sex toy?’ You don’t have to try and protect my feelings.”

You shrug, adjusting your bra straps, even though you’re sure you’ll have to get naked again in, oh, just under thirty seconds. “Don’t worry about it, Jimin. If you think the millions of fans watching will give a shit about the actual competition, you’re delusional. Nobody ever bothers to even read the rules anyway.”

He looks up at you from under his eyelashes. “You think?”

“Of course,” you insist. “In fact, blindfold was probably a great choice. I’m sure the more of my face is covered, the better. They’ll be wishing it was them.”

He smiles softly, hopping off the bed hastily as Namjoon swaps places with him.

“Hiya, Joon.”

He looks stricken. “I wish someone bad had gone before me, now. I know I’m going to lose. I’m sorry.”

Your gaze is caught by the producer over his shoulder giving you the go-ahead. “Just do your best, Namjoon,” you say, leaning back down again, “you’ll be fine.”

Without making eye-contact, he shoves a hand down the front of his pants with red cheeks, palming himself so that he’s hard enough to get the cock ring on. “God, this sucks,” he complains, “why did I have to have the worst luck on this episode out of all of them? I’m gonna lose my good reputation.”

“And what’s that?” you reply in good-humour.

His cheeks flush darker, and his hand slows down as he regrets bringing it up. “I don’t know, Big Dick Namjoon?”

Although he said it quietly, the rest of the members hear as well as you, and you can’t help yourself from laughing, clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle to sound. The others hoot and jeer, but you regain your composure, clearing your throat. “Namjoon, if you have a big dick, you have a big dick. What’s the problem?”

He pulls his hands out of his pants and sits down fully in a huff. “Fuck, I can’t get it up with everyone staring at me, okay? And I’m a grower, not a shower.”

Your eyes automatically drop down to the already sizeable bulge in his pants. Shit. You bite your lip as you look at the time. “Okay, everyone, turn around,” you command. To the producer, you ask, “am I allowed to help? I know he’s not allowed to fuck me, but is a blowjob okay?”

Namjoon chokes violently on his spit, but you can see the way he relaxes slightly as the members grumble and reluctantly turn to face the wall. The producer gestures for the rest of the crew, except for two cameramen, to follow suit.

The producer turns back to you. “A blowjob is okay if Namjoon is fine with it, but it will still be counted on his time.”

You place a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. “Up to you, big guy.”

Taehyung and Jungkook snigger at the nickname, but to your surprise, Namjoon puffs up his chest a little and nods. “Y-yeah, I’d like that. If you’re fine with it.”

“Alright then, lie down,” you command. After he does as he’s told, you notice he’s already starting to tent his pants, and you grin at the sight, brushing your hand over it and watching him shudder.

Aware of time, you skip the normal foreplay and go straight to unbuttoning his pants and reaching inside. There’s barely any precum beading at his head, so you put your mouth on him without warning. You quickly regret the decision as he thrusts his hips up in shock, and his steadily growing cock slips down your throat. You pull off him, coughing and gagging.

“Shit, sorry, I’m so sorry,” Namjoon chants, collecting your hair behind your head so that he can see your face.

If asked, you’d say that you were just concerned about time, but in reality, it’s impatience that causes you to snap. “Fuck this,” you say, sitting up and wrapping a hand around him, the other forearm holding his abdomen down. With firm, efficient strokes, you get him to half-mast and then rip the cock ring from his limp hand, slipping it on before getting him fully erect.

He tips his head back and knits his eyebrows in frustration at the feeling of the ring, but seems more than content to let you take over. For someone who’s feeling a little camera shy, he’s probably much happier lying down with his eyes shut, letting you take what you want.

You slip your panties aside and straddle him, until your clit is rubbing against the edge of the cock ring. There’s a slightly thicker part on the front of it, and you think it might be a vibrator of some sort. Upon fiddling with it for a moment, you find a switch and turn it on, enjoying the sight of the muscles on Namjoon’s lower abdomen tense up violently as he lets out a deep sigh.

With one hand steadying yourself on the bed and the other holding his cock upright, you grind your clit against the vibrating cock ring. You’re still a little sensitive before, and the hum between your legs is far weaker here that what the hitachi could do, and soon enough you’re panting from the effort.

“He better not be fucking her,” Yoongi calls out grouchily. “It sounds like someone’s getting fucked.”

Quickly, Taehyung sneaks a glance. “Yeah, Namjoon.”

“What?” It’s Yoongi that speaks, but it’s all of the remaining members that are turning back around to sneak a glance at what’s going on.

“Hey!” Jungkook calls out. “That’s cheating! They’re not allowed to use his dick!”

Namjoon pants out a frustrated sob and puts his hands up to block his ears.

You speed up your efforts in the hope that he can be done with his turn soon. You know he’s already taken longer than Jimin by far. “It’s not,” you pant between desperately grinding, “penetrative, so it’s, fine. Turn, ah, turn back around.”

The youngest huffs and turns around with a scowl. The others do the same, and after what feels like an eternity, you feel yourself getting close. “Ah, okay, Namjoon, it’s almost over.”

But the leader still has his eyes clenched shut and his ears blocked, so you just ride the side of his cock until you reach a rather unsatisfying end, waving a hand at the producers to signal it as your hips come to a slow.

Once you get your breath back, you realize the vibrations are probably still causing Namjoon hell, so you gently rub his cheeks with your thumbs and peel his hands away. He opens his eyes, breathing shallowly, sweat matting his hair to his temples. “Is it done?” he asks weakly, and you smile fondly down at him.

“I’m gonna take it off now, okay?” After he nods, you reach down and slip it off as quickly and as painlessly as you can. The moment it slips past his head he swears loudly and a spurt of cum shoots up and over your hand. Almost instinctively, you wrap a hand around him and jerk him through his orgasm, surprised at the sheer amount of white coating your hand and his lower stomach, some even getting on the parts of his shirt that weren’t pushed up far enough.

When he comes down, it’s you that’s bringing him a cup of water, lifting his head up so he can swallow it down slowly. You clean yourself and him up with some tissues handed to you by a staff member, and begin dressing him again.

“Namjoon, are you still with me?” you question softly, relieved when he hums his affirmation. “If you were uncomfortable, you could’ve said red, you know. That safe word is for all of us.”

He arches his back a little to stretch his spine, becoming a bit more coherent. “I was fine,” he insists, “a bit nervous, maybe. I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry that I kinda took over,” you apologise as he sits himself up. “I figured you’d want it over with.”

He waves you off. “I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job. Now everyone is going to know Big Dick Namjoon is a pillow princess.” He holds a solemn gaze for a moment, before cracking you a smile to tell you he’s just joking.

You kick at his shins playfully. “Go on then, princess, send the next one over. I haven’t got all day.”

You dangle your legs over the side of the bed and lean back on your hands, appraising the group in front of you. Namjoon’s joined Jimin on the floor in the corner, apparently both men resigned to last place, Jin and Yoongi still puffing their chests out like the cat that got the cream. Taehyung and Jungkook look half asleep, and finally Hoseok is heading over to you, swinging the thin silver chain of a nipple clamp set ominously.

“You’re up next, huh?”

“The mood in this room has taken a hit, so I’m here to bring the sexual tension back up.”

“Is that so?”

He hums in affirmation and stands between your legs, glancing over to check up the time before staring back down at you. “Tell me, Y/n, do you like the clamps as they are, the natural weight of them pulling at your nipples just slightly?”

You shrug. “I’m not telling you. Find out for yourself.”

“Or do you want me tugging on them as I force another orgasm from your tired body?”

You can’t help your hips from shifting on the mattress and your tongue to dart out and wet your lips as his eyes darken mischievously.

“Good,” he murmurs, one long and delicate finger playing with the little tightener screw on one of them. You swallow at the sight. He glances up once more at the timer, then reaches down and unceremoniously tugs off your panties. You squeak a little in surprise, but by the time you react he’s already got your bra straps dangling off your wrists, and you automatically lob the bra away. “Get up on the bed properly,” he commands in a gruff voice, and you scramble to comply. “Hands on the bars of the headboard, you won’t like what happens if you remove them.”

You wrap your hands around two of the narrow but solid wooden posts and wait in anticipation, breathing shallowly in excitement.

Unlike the others, he doesn’t get on the bed with you, simply reaches out and grabs the nearest arm and leg and pulls you roughly to his side. You pick new bars to grab onto, but he takes one hand and spreads it further apart so that your chest is opened out fully for him.

He doesn’t even bother looking at you as he addresses you, focusing instead on loosening the screws on the clamps. “You will not speak, unless it is your safe word. You will not move, unless I tell you to. And you will not cum until I give you permission. Nod if you understand.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nod with lidded eyes.

He glances up, almost in disdain, and uses one strong hand to push your thighs open. A scoff. “I haven’t even done anything, and you’re already dripping for me. Four men aren’t enough for you, hm? They didn’t give you what you needed?”

Tentatively, you shake your head.

“That’s what I thought,” he comments, reaching out to scrape a fingernail over one of your already-stiff nipples. You gasp and squirm away from the roughness of his touch, but he grabs onto it and twists it roughly. “I asked you not to move, didn’t I? I guess it was pointless of me to give you instructions. This whole time, you’ve never listened to anything my brothers have told you, isn’t that right? My little whore doesn’t even know how to behave. Well,” he says lightly, pinching the other one and watching you writhe underneath his ministrations, “every time you misbehave, those clamps are going to get one turn tighter. That’s what you have to do to a slut that can’t listen. Let’s get them on now, shall we?”

As you feel yourself growing impossibly wetter, a thought strikes you. So far, he hasn’t seemed at all concerned about time. And you remember the last person who wasn’t in a rush was Yoongi, and you knew how that one ended. You watch with wide eyes as he slips the pincers over your left nipple, screwing it up until it stays on by itself, a pleasant pressure. He does the same to the other.

“Jesus, we don’t have all day, hyung,” Jungkook whines impatiently, “Tae-tae and I still haven’t gone.”

Hoseok turns around with an unimpressed stare. “If you want to bitch to me about time management, I’ll rip these clamps off Y/n and see how much you like wearing them.”

Jungkook’s face goes pale. “I’d like to revoke my statement. Please continue.” Taehyung silently cracks a smile and punches a very frightened Jungkook in the arm once Hoseok turns back to you.

“Now,” Hoseok announces, “there were two different times you closed your eyes when Yoongi-hyung had ordered you to keep them open.” You bite your lip as he gives each clamp a solid turn, the gentle pressure becoming more of a dull pinch. “Then you didn’t use your safe word when you probably needed to.” Another turn on each, and your fingers clench and unclench the bedposts, wanting desperately to reach down and stop him. “And of course, today you kept looking at us when Jin-hyung wanted you to focus on him.” The turns were becoming more painful now, and even though he had done nothing else, you were beginning to pant. “Worst of all, you took off the pants that I so kindly gifted to you.”

“Hey!” you blurt out before he can reach down. “That’s not fair, that wasn’t part of the ga-ah! Ow! Dammit!” With a dark glare in his eyes he tightens each clamp a turn and a half, the pain causing you to squeeze your eyes shut. “Fuck, I’m sorry!”

“Sh, sh,” he soothes, breath tickling your cheek as he bends down. “Use your safe word if you need, little girl. That’s the only way I’ll stop.” With teary eyes, you shake your head firmly. “Okay, then.” Almost playfully, Hoseok hooks a finger onto the chain between the two clamps and tugs down, sending jolts of shock straight down to your core. Although it hurts, you’re so turned on you feel like you could just about come untouched.

Since you’re not allowed to talk, you settle for pleading with your eyes and a pitiful whine to really sell it. Hoseok smiles down at you. “That’s a good girl,” he coos, “so desperate for me to take care of you. You handled your punishment well, hm? You want your reward?”

You nod feverishly, hands gripping the posts tight enough to make your knuckles go white as you eagerly anticipate his touch.

With a shit-eating grin, he continues gently tugging the chain with one hand, and reaches down, dipping two fingers into your soaked core with ease and curling up to find your g-spot, fingering you roughly and almost immediately sending you into the most powerful orgasm yet. You cry out, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as he takes your blissful high as an opportunity to give the chain a tight snap, the clamps being harshly tugged off your abused nipples. You sob as the blood painfully rushes back into them, putting an overwhelming heat into your breasts, but still he uses his fingers to temper the pain with delicious pleasure, his free hand gently massaging your sore breasts one at a time.

You can hear the slick sound of his fingers leaving you once you finally relax and come to. With no energy left, you’re once again grateful to the mindful eldest, who rushes over with some water even though it was Hoseok’s turn. You hear Hoseok thanking Jin, something you’re currently incapable of doing as you greedily suck in the cool water in the largest gulps you can muster. Jin wipes the drops that spilt over the edges of the cup and down your chin and disappears again, leaving only Hoseok, who continues to massage your breasts, avoiding the nipples which are blooming a dark red.

“You did really well, Y/n,” he soothes, “I’m sorry if that was a little intense.”

You shake your head weakly. “Good. Really good.”

He chuckles good-naturedly. “So maybe I’ll have a lasting impression after all?” he questions teasingly, calling back to your earlier conversation.

“Depends on your maknaes,” you reply in a tired slur. “Who knows, maybe Taehyung’s got some freaky tricks up his sleeve with that textured condom.”

You share a laugh with Hoseok, then let him and Jin help you off of the bed to stretch your legs a little. Instead of getting back into your sopping underwear, a staff member hands you a fresh pair, the exact same design but beautifully clean and smelling of fresh linen rather than sex. You shakily step into the panties, holding onto Jin’s shoulder for support, and once you’ve clipped your bra on, you hobble your way over to the snacks table, gulping some more water and having some of the food splayed out.

“Come on, snap snap,” Jin cheers once you’ve finished. “Taehyung’s next, and I for one cannot wait to see him fumble around with a ribbed condom for ten minutes.”

You roll your eyes at him playfully and walk back to the bed where Tae is waiting awkwardly with the famed silver packet. “You got a plan to use that thing?”

He nods calmly. “I’m not gonna be doing anything exciting, sorry, but I don’t think I’ll take as long as Namjoon-hyung.”

You glance over to the man himself, who has his cheeks stuffed with a chocolate chip muffin that he had snatched from the table. “Yeah, I think your leader is pretty content in his defeat.”

Taehyung grins crookedly, then takes note of the time. “Alright, I’ll get going now if that’s okay?”

You smile softly at his formality. “Yeah, go ahead. Where do you want me?”

He bites his lip. “Okay, so maybe I don’t have a plan. Fuck, how do I-” he breaks off as he fumbles with the packet, ripping the serrated edge and pulling out a rolled-up slip of clear, colourless latex covered in oddly placed bumps. “On your back, I guess. Could you stick your legs over the side?”

You obediently scoot down until your butt rests on the supported edge of the mattress, jumping a little at the warmth of Taehyung’s palm rests on the inner skin of your thigh. “Is that okay?”

Instead of answering, Tae just stares softly at the juncture between your legs as he slips off the fabric. Gingerly, he leans forward, but instead of the wet muscle you were expecting, the slightly firm tip of his nose bumps ever so lightly against your clit. You sigh out, letting your head tip back against the duvet cover and staring blankly at the ceiling. God, you were exhausted, and you still had two orgasms to go.

Luckily, Taehyung was in no mood to mess around. You felt the strange sensation of the condom sliding between your folds, tucked over three of his fingers. Your pelvic muscles twitched when it slid over your overly sensitive clit, and the chuckle Tae responded with blew warm air over your heat. His voice is low with lust when he addresses you. “Do you want the condom inside you or over your clit?”

You suck your lip into your mouth at the thought. “Inside, please.”

Your legs automatically fell more open as he complied, and the feeling of the uneven texture pressing into you, with the stretch of three fingers ensuring heavy friction, was heavenly. Up until now, you had only been treated with fingers, and, in Yoongi’s case, a whole hand. But now, the new level of pleasure came from the deliciously bumpy slide as the ribbing plunged in and out of you.

Perhaps more so than the other members, Taehyung seemed unconcerned with being particularly sexual or teasing, instead going straight for the kill. You clutched handfuls of the soft duvet cover to anchor you as his head dipped down again to start nibbling at the sensitive skin just around your clit, occasionally darting his tongue out to lick a flat stripe directly on top of it, his fingers thrusting impatiently all the while, curled up just enough to drag against that rough spot inside of you.

You felt your legs begin to shake, and the coil inside you tighten. “T-Tae, I’m right there, oh god,” you puff out, and he doubles his efforts, giving your clit a final, harsh suck to send you over the edge.

This orgasm is still powerful, but you feel so weak that you barely move, just moaning out and wiggling your hips beneath him wantonly, breathlessly congratulating him on a pretty great time, earning a solid third place.

Once more, your loyal waterboy Jin approaches with a fresh cup, but you can barely drink it, quickly ducking out of the room to go pee and clean yourself up before you return.

Finally, you’re on the last person to go, but you’re a little worried that that person is Jungkook. The butt plug he’s wielding is pretty small, a little pink one with a small, user-friendly handle on the outside for ease of insertion and removal, but what you’re concerned about is that he’s allowed to fuck you. Of course, you’d given your consent upon signing the initial contract, and you knew they’d all happily not do it if you were really uncomfortable, but that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was how fucking excited you were to finally be getting fucked, even after four other pretty intense orgasms today. It clearly said something about you sex drive, that even as your eyes struggled to stay open and your legs trudged under you as if you were walking through glue, you had been eyeing up the way that the outline of Jungkook’s cock was very visible, straining against the fabric of his skinny jeans down the right side of his thigh.

Earlier, as you were finishing off the drink Jin gave you, you had seen Jimin teasingly running a finger over and around the outline, as Jungkook half-heartedly batted his hand away. You were certain that the moment your dwindling break time ran out, he’d be well ready to go. You sat back on the bed, panties already damp again.

Taking revitalizing deep breaths, you watch Jungkook closely as he approaches you wth a cocky grin, shaking his head. You frown at him, but he just gestures for you to stand up. “Come on, this bed’s getting boring. Now that all the toys have been used, the table is free. Bend over it.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning in satisfaction as you hop off the bed and make your way over, jumping slightly as he gives your ass a little slap when you walk past him. As requested, you bend over the table and wiggle your ass at him.

“Man, I really made the right decision, huh? Look at you; you’ve had six other men get you off, but it’s never as good as a real cock, is it?”

You frown impatiently. Hoseok was better at dirty talk, and you just wished Jungkook would get on with it. “Hurry up if you want to win.”

You hear him laugh disbelievingly at you, rubbing a hand over your ass, grabbing a handful appreciatively. “Have a little patience. I’ve gotta get this in first.” By the way he collects your juices with a pointer finger before sliding up to your back entrance, you know what he’s talking about. Forcing yourself to relax, you whine as his finger breaches the tight ring of muscle and sinks down. He wiggles his finger inside of you and you feel your heels lifting off of the ground as your body begs for more.

“Shit, hyungs,” he calls out, “you idiots missed out. I can’t believe how tight she is. Maybe I should put the plug in her pussy instead and fuck her like this?”

Your walls clench around nothing and the muscles in your ass squeeze his finger at the thought. “Come on, I don’t care, just hurry up,” you plead, dissatisfied with the single digit.

Thankfully, he dips back down and slicks up another finger, sinking back inside you, beginning to stretch you out with scissored fingers. “Nah,” he ponders conversationally, “the plug is too small for her cunt, it’d probably slip right out with how wet she is. See, hyungs?” his voice grows louder when he stops talking to the camera and instead addresses the other members. “It’s all about strategy. They don’t call me the golden maknae for nothing!”

Yoongi huffs. “You haven’t even gotten started yet, and you’re almost at Hoseok’s time. Don’t act all cocky.”

“I’ll show you cocky,” he gruffly replies, before withdrawing his fingers. You sigh at the loss of contact, but soon enough a firmer object is being pressed against you, stretching you open.

Jungkook’s right; the plug is pretty small, even for your ass, and the pleasure comes from the way it jostles inside you as the youngest wiggles the handle playfully. “Seriously, anyone would think you didn’t want to fuck me,” you complain, “where’s your sense of competition?”

A ruffle of fabric and a solid hand on your hip is your only warning before Jungkook is driving into you with one merciless thrust. You cry out and rise up on your tiptoes again, but you can’t go far. He’s easily longer then the three fingers Tae fucked you with, and even slightly girthier too, and the stretch would be too much to bear all at once were it not for the fact that your abused pussy couldn’t be more prepared for him. Finally beginning to act like he was under a time crunch, Jungkook steadies you with one hand on your hip, and gives himself momentum by placing the other on your opposite shoulder, fucking you back onto him just as much as the thrusts into you.

“Fu-uck, oh god,” you moan out, grateful at the angle he chose, as every deep plunge causes his pelvis to strike against the outside of the butt plug and wiggle it around inside you. Your back is arched from his grip on your shoulders, and the extra pressure is pushing your front into the rounded table edge, providing the slightest tease of friction against your swollen clit.

You can’t help but pant as you’re taken exactly how you were hoping to be, and Jungkook’s so focused on fucking you with as much speed and depth as he can that the only sounds coming from him are groans and growls from clenched teeth.

With both hands keeping you steady on the table, you can’t reach down to palm at your tits or give yourself more clitoral stimulation, so you whine out. “Jungkook, so close, I need more.”

Without complaint, the maknae pulls out of you and hastily flips you over onto your back, before picking you up without warning. You squeal in surprise and wrap your arms and legs around him as he displays his strength, no doubt wanting to show off not only to his hyungs, but to the millions of ARMY watching. His brows are knitted in concentration as he lifts up your ass, lining himself with your entrance and dropping you back down, wasting no time before he’s using your hips to fuck you onto him.

This new angle means that your butt plug for the most part stays snug and still, but the increased proximity is making his pelvis grind right onto you, rubbing against your clit every time he speared you on his cock. “Yes, that’s it, oh, fuck,” you pant out dreamily, feeling the full wave of pleasure building inside you from your core outwards.

“Fuck, Y/n, you’re clenching so tight around me I can barely move,” Jungkook says, and reluctantly he tips you back so that you’re resting on the table, easing the stress on his leg muscles, and instead lifts your legs onto his shoulders so that he can plunge into you faster, a hand snaking down to keep rubbing at your clit. “Come on, cum for me, just one more, you can take it.”

Like on command, the drag of his cock inside you is too much, and you’re tightening impossibly around him, crying out his name in euphoric pleasure. He fucks you through the orgasm, chasing his own, and mutters a quiet swear as he pulls out and jerks himself off to completion, head tipping back as streams of cum land on the top of your stomach.

Once you catch your breath, and Jungkook has spent all the cum he has, the two of you come to your senses, Jungkook first. “Oh, shit,” he exclaims, “I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked if you were okay with me-”

Before he can finish his hasty apology, your hand dips down to trail a finger through his cum, collecting some of it on your finger. You send him a coy smile and he gulps, wide-eyed, as you bring that finger up to your mouth and suck the cum off, swirling your tongue and hollowing your cheeks. “You were saying?”

His mouth dangles open. “Uh…nothing?”

You chuckle and sit up, unable to stop yourself yawning, clapping a hand over your mouth as exhaustion takes its hold on you yet again. “Can you grab me a-”

“Tissue? Here you go.” You crack your eyes open again to see Jin with a cup of water as usual, and a box of tissues.

You laugh sleepily. “You know, Jin, if I didn’t know better, I’d assume this was you flirting.”

His eyes are bright. “Well?” You give him a shrug of confusion. “Do you know better?”

You shrug again. “Maybe let me wipe the other man’s cum from my body before you start wooing me.”

Jungkook, still hovering awkwardly beside you with his dick half-tucked away, lets out a gasp of offense. “I’m the other man? I don’t think I’m cut out to be a mistress, honestly.”

You scoff, cleaning yourself up. “You two are both dorks. Just let me get cleaned up and we can shoot the outro.”

--

“Good job everyone, good job,” Hoseok announces proudly, the group of you clapping to applaud the end of the episode. You all, thankfully, had been allowed to change clothes, which for you meant to hell with that fucking lingerie set, and into some real clothes. In some sneaky twist, Hoseok had managed to convince the stylists to make you wear his Balenciaga sweats with a plain white Gucci tee.

“Y/n, how did you find these past two days?” Yoongi leans over, adjusting the thick frames of his glasses. He seems completely separate from the man who bent you over and shoved his entire fist in you. You wondered how ARMY would react to that.

“Very fun, but extremely tiring,” you say to both him and the cameras, “I was really surprised by some of you.”

Jungkook and Taehyung snicker as Taehyung does a fist pump in the air. Whether it’s a seal of victory for himself, or a crude re-enactment of Yoongi’s turn, you’re not quite sure.

“I, personally, was really shocked at how Namjoon-hyung was so camera-shy,” Jimin mentions, “I hadn’t expected he’d be the one to struggle with that.”

Hoseok grins and claps a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “As we’ve learned from today, everyone, Namjoon prefers to watch.”

Namjoon laughs, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment. “I swear I’m not that bad at it in real-life. Please don’t be disappointed in me, ARMY.”

“What I found most interesting during shooting,” you butt in, “is how kind Jin-oppa is.” The other members make various noises of agreement, and the man himself smiles softly, cheeks puffing up. “I wasn’t surprised, because I know the guys are all so nice, but he was always very thoughtful. I don’t know how much will be shown on the main episode, but I really hope the editors put it in the behind the scenes. I think irrelevant of times, Jin is the winner of the title of best boyfriend for this episode.”

Hoseok nods strongly. “I agree, Y/n. Even when his temporary girlfriend was being fucked by other men, he still looked out for her.” He breaks his serious façade and cracks up at the look on Jin’s face.

“Hey!” the eldest cries out. “ARMY, when I date you, I won’t let Hoseok stick jumper cables on your tits.”

Hoseok’s mouth drops open in an ‘o’. “Seokjin-hyung, I think that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”

“Do you want to find out the winners and the losers?” the producer asks.

Jimin and Namjoon’s faces fall, and Jimin turns to latch onto Namjoon like a koala. “You don’t have to say the losers, we already know,” he murmurs sadly.

The producer laughs. “Alright, then, in first place is Jin, and in second place is Hoseok.”

Yoongi’s face crumples in annoyance as he loses his second place victory. “By how much?”

“You were third place by three seconds,” the producer replies.

He tips his head back in annoyance, then fixes an intense stare down the barrel of the camera. “I’m sure ARMY will agree with me that it’s about the quality, not the quantity. In that sense, I clearly won.” Without giving the other members a chance to defend themselves, Yoongi closes up the episode. “Run!BTS will be back!”

After a final chant of the title, the episode is over, and the credits roll.

[aion-rsa]

Insidious: Is The Further Real?

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“The Further is a world far beyond our own, yet it’s all around us, a place without time as we know it,” Elise Rainier (Lin Shaye) explains in the 2011 occult horror film Insidious. “It’s a dark realm filled with the tortured souls of the dead, a place not meant for the living.” Director James Wan saw the astral world through the eyes of fear. It was how he was able to evoke the most terror from the nether regions of soul and thought.

Horror films have made a spiritual ghetto out of the universe which lies between dream, sleep and death. They focus on the malevolent realm of incubi, succubae and the Red-Lipstick-Face Demon. The map to the Further is not limited to shadowy studies. Many mystical practices are divided into black and white magic out of fear and superstition, but there can be room for both.

Insidious starts off like a fairly typical haunted house movie. It opens shortly after Renai (Rose Byrne) and Josh Lambert (Patrick Wilson) move into a spooky new house with their three children. When the property progresses from ominous to hazardous, the family move into an even spookier house, fire their real estate broker, and contact an astral travel agent. The psychically gifted supernatural expert, Shaye’s Elise, explains the hauntings are not a feature of the multiple houses, but the results of a family member embarking on nocturnal astral projection missions which he believes are dreams.

The concept that the soul can leave the body during dream states is ancient. But for all the purported cosmic intelligence culled from out-of-body incidents, practitioners have found no way to scientifically measure if a spirit leaves or enters a body. It is a concept rejected by scientists but beloved by filmmakers and other artists.

In the film, the first person to put the notes together is Renai, the mother of young Dalton (Ty Simpkins), who falls into a mysterious coma early in the first act. Renai, who is a songwriter, experiences two initial contacts. The first comes in a box of missing sheet music. Musicians have always been pioneers when it comes to gray areas of society and spirituality, and rockers chose to embrace the Further. George Harrison melodically rhapsodizes about the extracorporeal aspects of certain Hindu practices in the Beatles’ song “The Inner Light.” The Moody Blues harmonize on the idea that “Thinking is the best way to travel” on their 1968 album In Search of the Lost Chord, itself a musical blueprint for transcendental journeying. Through sonics, these artists ventured happily into the transformative aspects of the Further. Among true believers, “the Further” is also called Liṅga Śarīra, Akasha, and prana. But it’s probably best known as the astral plane, a shallow tag in itself.

“The term ‘astral plane’ is a poetic description, at best, or more accurately a misnomer,” says Zeena, a Tibetan tantric Buddhist yogini, and iconic occult authority and artist. “When our consciousness pierces the veil of our ordinary, everyday scope of perception, there are infinite other realities one might experience, not just one ‘astral plane.’”

In Insidious, the paranormal hunting psychic Elise explains that Dalton is a “traveler,” who was born with the ability to pierce that veil.

“Everybody possesses the potential for astral projection,” Zeena says. “It’s a natural part of being human, just as many other metaphysical or paranormal experiences can naturally occur. But the ability to actualize it is relatively rare, and the effects from the occurrences vary greatly depending on many factors.”

Rebecca Halladay, an occult writer, scholar, and lifelong practitioner and witch, describes astral projection as “working on the Inner Planes of consciousness. In terms of ‘dimensions,’ this would be considered [fifth-dimensional] or above. Journeying is work within the physical, Earthly realm, which is [three-dimensional].”

Certain practices are believed to bridge these dimensions.

“Astral projection during deep states of unconsciousness like sleeping, fainting, or coma, could be achieved by a master of such techniques,” Zeena says. “For one who’s trained most of their life in the esoteric method of willed astral projection, and has become highly skilled in the ability to focus the mind under all circumstances, then deep states of unconsciousness wouldn’t impede their ability.”

The cinematic spiritualist doesn’t believe Dalton fell into a coma because he slipped off a ladder in a creepy attic. Elise believes the boy, being only a child, couldn’t tell the astral projection from a dream and had no fear about going too far.

“The Further looks like your surroundings, but a different lighting shade of it,” says Emi Rose, a psychotherapist and founder of Paragon Solstice. “You can see yourself.”

Rose finds that “Insidious depicts the astral plane in similar levels. It is similar in respect to the idea of a ‘physical’ mirror image of your waking life. Your surroundings around you as you sleep are remarkably similar. The difference is the state of consciousness you are now in can shape and change that experience that exists out of time and space.”

Because of the familiarity and relative comfort of these projected surroundings, Dalton gets lost in his adventures, leaving only a lifeless body behind. Elise, a veteran soul-traveler herself in the movie, is ever mindful of the dangers.

It all amounts to a very literal translation of eastern philosophical contemplations. The Buddhist meditation practice Maraṇasati is constant remembering that death can strike at any time. Thukdam is a Buddhist phenomenon in which a realized master’s consciousness remains in the body despite physical death. While this isn’t what is happening with the young Dalton, he is plugged into medical sensors which, during at least one frightening pop-up, flatline.

Practitioners and researchers are divided on whether it is possible to slip away and die during astral travel.

“There is a risk that could happen if done incorrectly,” Zeena tells us. Kristna Saikia, who is a metaphysics and meditation teacher and filmmaker, as well as a fellow astral travel facilitator, disagrees.

“No one dies in Astral travel,” Saikia says “There is a silver cord which is always connected with our etheric body. When you astral travel, you are always aware of what is happening in the earthly dimension with your body. It’s an intentional out-of-body experience. You can come back to your physical body whenever you decide.”

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In Wan’s film, tormented souls vie against demonic forces for the chance to possess Dalton. Possession is a horror film mainstay, and Insidious offers an interesting alternative arc to the usual spectral evictions enforced by Hollywood. But is it possible for an entity to take over a body during an astral trip?

“If done incorrectly, yes,” Zeena tells us. It is also something which can be done with intent. “In ceremonial magic, this is the entire purpose of entering the Inner Planes,” says Halladay. “During the Rite of Isis, the Priestess goes into the Inner Planes to invoke the Goddess Isis to bring her into the Earthly realm. Now can an entity ‘possess’ a physical being while on the planes? I would have to say it is absolutely possible.”

It turns out Dalton isn’t the only traveler in the Insidious family. He gets it from his father, who was terrorized by the spirit of an old woman during his childhood. Josh suppressed the memory, but Elise opens old wounds and new ones for the patriarch. She hypnotizes Josh, triggering his long-resting phantasmal dislocation, and sends him into the Further to find his son and bring him back.

Zeena confirms people can be guided through the experience, but insists “it’s a very delicate process requiring a qualified teacher from reputable metaphysical lineages that specialize in that. And even then, astral projection, or directing one’s consciousness, is not the main goal, but rather a way to gauge preparedness for more advanced training on the path toward spiritual enlightenment. When done improperly, the results of attempting astral projection simply for experimentation, entertainment, or curiosity can be disastrous.”

The film presents a cinematically dark alternative to the physical plane, a netherworld of unlocked doors and an overarching feeling of dread. Insidious doesn’t imply the Further is Hell, but it does look like one of the many highways AC/DC bypassed.

“They gave the darker energies too much power in the movie,” says Emi Rose. “In the astral plane, we always have a balanced choice to engage on a subconscious or conscious level. On a conscious level you can power your will, create scenarios.”

Josh’s first encounter in the Further is with the Crying Woman, not the most inviting of hosts. Citizens in Insidious’ cinematic spectral realm include the spirits of a family doomed to relive their violent deaths on a spectral loop; a long-haired, leather jacketed ghoul with a sex-fiend tongue; and a mischievous little boy. At its center is the Lipstick-Face Demon. It is tall with horns, pointed ears, snake-eyes, spidery fingers, and hooves for feet. Its skin is black as the night sky, its eyes are blacker holes.

“When one has a mind-expanding experience through any number of means, whether astral projection, meditation, or psychedelics, one encounters infinite types of beings,” Zeena says. “Recently deceased beings; beings we knew in a former incarnation but recognize in their new reincarnated state; celestial beings; demons and hell beings; mythological or magical beings; Buddhas and Bodhisattvas; Gods and demigods.” They’re all among the usual suspects.

But what you encounter is also contingent on who you call. “It all depends on the law of polarity,” Saikia says. “If you project fear, you will encounter energy vampires and evil entities.”

Halladay agrees that there are other entities in the astral planes, but says “I have never personally met other travelers, only those I have astralled with.”

The Red-Faced Demon never speaks in the film. It has, however, spoken with Josh’s mother, Lorraine (Barbara Hershey), in her dreams, which also appear to be of a special class: lucid dreaming.

“Astral traveling is a combination of Insidious and Inception,” quips Emi Rose. Inception is technically about lucid dreaming, Leonardo DiCaprio’s character Dom is technically-aided to enter dreams to steal information or implant ideas. It is often mistaken for astral travel, but not usually weaponized in the way that film presents it. Reddit’s rogue “Astral Army” community claims they combine astral travel and remote viewing to post out-of-body surveillance reports on popular conspiracy theory obsessions like Area 51.

The different practices are often mistakenly considered interchangeable, but are quite different. 

“With astral projection, one is sending one’s consciousness–either in part or fully–away from their body to a designated place or realm, in this world or others, for a particular purpose,” Zeena explains. “Remote viewing is when consciousness remains in the body but one can view anywhere else from afar. These two phenomena are also different from the involuntary experience colloquially known as OBE (out of body experiences), which usually spontaneously occurs in conjunction with trauma, near death experiences, or extreme stressors or ecstasy.”

In the overall arc of the Insidious franchise, the Further is much vaster than originally imagined, and the source and tool of mystical workings.

“There is a difference between Occultist practices and some, though not all, Esoteric Traditions,” says Halladay. “Occultists, past and present, generally accept astral projection as a regular part of their practice. Eurocentric pagan traditions do not make it a part of their regular practice.”

Though a fan of the film, Rose thought “Insidious focused too much on the shadow side of the astral plane. The movie portrayed the astral world as a scary dark place with only negative entities waiting to take over your body. So many more things occur in our dream world that we can conceive beyond bad scenarios. It is where we can conduct unfinished business, live out fantasies, replay or create scenarios, and travel to places we cannot do in our waking life.”

Late 18th century occult orders Golden Dawn and the Theosophists believed they could journey to other worlds, heavens and hells, and astrological spheres through etheric travel. In the 1999 book, Astral Dynamics, Robert Bruce calls it the “Real Time Zone,” and says it is the non-physical dimension-level closest to the physical. The New Age movement actively promotes the brighter, more enlightening aspects of the Further, to the point where the practice is on the precipice of mainstream thought.

Insidious isn’t the first film to venture beyond physical realms, but its ongoing franchise is proof the inner universe is expanding.

Insidious is streaming on Netflix now.

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[joy1579]

Can you expand more on the clumsy MC with Jumin? Because Hi! Guilty here! 😅 I have the coordination of a shoe .One time I almost lost an eye because I was packing groceries on my backpack and I took the sharp package quickly to close to my eye (got a cut on the eyelid instead, luckily), I felt 2 times on the shower, slip on the street and felt in various occasions (and from tall places in 2, one time chasing a cat) I even choke on my own saliva, if I'm still living is just luck I swear!

sure and no worries Hun same i legit managed to crack my glasses while they were on my face. if not for them i swear i’d only have one eye. as i was writing this i asked my friends about things i could add and all i got were “do you remember when you....” so yeah all of this might be based on things I've done.

clumsy MC part 2

jumin

-        when you broke your ankle stepping off a curb in heels he got rid of all your heels and made sure he had his arm around your waist ANYTIME there was a curb from then on (his grip makes it legitimately impossible for you to fall)

-        when you accidentally maced yourself the one time you went out with your sister, san’s body guards, he decided body guards where non-negotiable that way you didn’t need to carry personal protection

-        when you fell in the shower there was a 3-week period of showering together (he made it seem like it was something sweet and cute but you knew it was worry)

-        he legit does EVERYTHING he can to prevent you from getting hurt

-        he encourages yoga because it helps balance and flexibility both of which are supposed to help with clumsiness

-        he also read an article about how poor memory and slow response time can affect coordination so he asks if you want to do brain games and memory puzzles together (their actually really fun and it means a consistent date night with jumin so how could you say no)

Yoosung

-        when you fell off the weird scooter thing the doctor gave you for your broken ankle he was torn between angry that you where pushing yourself and sad that you where hurt and didn’t ask him for help (he gently scolds you before setting you up in the living room with everything you need and under his watchful eyes)

-        when you two are enjoying a vacation and you accidentally tumble into the hotel pool you grab for him on the way down and suddenly both of you are soaked laughing at each other’s soaked and surprised faces until the horror of the situation dawns on you. you dropped your phones (and his glasses) as you fell and now they reside at the bottom of the pool

-        when you trip, accidentally spilling the entirety of dinner across the floor and burning yourself in the process he’s rushing too your side only to slip himself and fall as well thankfully NOT burning himself in the process. you two spend the better part of an hour helping each other recover before you return to the kitchen and remember the mess that still needs cleaning

-        he doesn’t know how to become less clumsy so mostly he just tries to disaster prove the important stuff protective cases for his lolol figures, computer and phone. shatter proof or plastic dishes things like that

-        but most importantly he starts getting fluffy rugs and pillows so if you fall (at home at least) you’ll have a softer landing

-        he also gets really REALLY good at first aide he knows all the home remedies (partly thanks to him asking his mom) and starts slowly but surely creating a first aid kit for the both of you

-        you start calling him dr. yoosung because he tends to all your bumps and bruises and that makes the poor boi nearly implode the first few times

saeyoung

-        when he see’s you slam your hand in his car door by accident you swear you’ve never seen him move so fast. he’s got ice on your hand before you can even feel the pain. you joke saying you thought he’d be more concerned about his car than you but he’s definitely not in a joking mood and he scolds you for even thinking like that he’d give every last one of his cars away for free if it kept you safe

-        when rip over one of the cords for his many gadgets consequently almost giving yourself a concussion he saeran and vanderwood spend the rest of the night dedicating themselves to wire management and though saeyoung may never admit it without joking around it does make his tinkering and work much easier

-         when you two where having a tickle fight on the bed and you fell off the bed hitting your head on the counter of the bedside table he got you too the hospital in 10 minutes even through the drive normally took 35 minutes he fidgets the entire time you get stitches and it takes a while for you to convince him that 1: he didn’t hurt you it was an accident and 2: you aren’t mad or even hurt that bad you’ve had stitches plenty of times it’s not a big deal

-        he may be all fun and jokes sometimes but anytime you get close to ACTUALLY hurting yourself he gets right down to business

-        he knows it’s impossible to protect you from everything but if he CAN fix it he will

-        if he is even tangentially the cause he has a tendency to fall back into his old habits of pushing you away for your own good so you have to remind him that he’s the only one for you and explain that it probably wasn’t his fault anyway

zen

-        when you tumbled off the stage at one of his rehearsals and actually had a concussion he started purposefully positioning himself between you and ledges wether it’s the edge of the stage, sidewalk, or even the bed. thankfully his history with acting and stage performance means he has experience in blocking and being aware of where exactly you are compared to other people so it’s not too hard for him

-        when you crack your glasses (while they are in your face) he swears he saw his life flash before his eyes. you point out he wasn’t in danger and he says “i saw YOUR life flash before my eyes jagi!” he thanks the lord for your glasses where their to prevent what would have happened if you had hit your eye! of course he would have loved you anyway and called you his pirate princess. but there’s no way you could fully appreciate his beauty with one eye!

-        when he absentmindedly tosses you a water bottle for the first time and you fumble it accidentally soaking your outfit he gives you his signature jacket and apologizes so much you eventually decide to shut him up and the resulting flustered red faced zen truly is a beautiful sight

-        he wants to protect you as much as possible but he’s so used to his own grace and athleticism that he forgets you may struggle a bit more

-        - still he thinks you’re the cutest person in the whole world and may even think your clumsiness makes you even cuter!

Jaehee

-        when you barely managed to catch yourself but not the tray of dirty dishes you were carrying she rushed to make sure you weren’t hurt looking over your hands for cuts from the glass you were scrambling to clean she scolded you for not waiting for her to bring the broom

-        when you give yourself a pretty nasty burn while frosting a cake she physically pulled you to the sink to run your burn under cool water. after about a week patching you up she sneaks off to take a legitimate first aide course she wants to do everything by the book perfect when she’s taking care of you.

-        the valentine’s day dlc where y’all get locked in the storage room. yeah you accidentally broke that lock several times simply because of how often you tumble into it while trying to juggle boxes.

-        she adores how hard you work to make sure you don’t spill drinks or mess up cake decorations

-        she’s so confused by how you can have such a steady decorating hand and such shaky balance

-        whenever you’re feeling down about messing up something at the cafe because of your clumsiness she kisses your cheek and reminds you that you’re an amazing cook and the only one that can make those cookies that sell out within minutes (it’s a family recipe that you plan to teach her next valentine’s day)

Saeran

-        when you fell down the hill in the park he dropped the picnic basket to try and save you thankfully the food was only a little jostled and you were only a little scraped up. he still insisted and cleaning and bandaging your scrapes with the little kit he keeps with him (you’d be insulted but it’s come in handy more times than you’d like to admit)

-        when you fall into the rose bush in his garden he completely panics he’s afraid you’ll blame him for how hurt you got because OUCH! you assure him you aren’t angry but you would like some help with all the cuts pricks and thorns. after that he looks into roses without thorns and starts replanting you feel a little guilty until you see how excited he is to plant all the different type of thornless roses he’s found

-        when a stranger bumps you accidentally and you lose your balance tumbling down the stairs Saeyoung has to physically restrain him until he hears you sobbing and comes to his senses he rushes you to the doctor and waits anxiously while you get a cast. he swears he’s not crying but there’s a definite wetness to his eyes when he hugs you gently and promises he won’t ever let something that awful happen ever again

-        he’s pretty hyper vigilant simply because of his past but the longer you and he are together the more he turns the focus of his hyper vigilance from “don’t upset anyone because abuse” towards “potential trip hazard protect MC”

-        there’s not a soul out there that’s as gentle as he is when he’s trying to treat you. he’s mostly self-taught and it’s a lot of home remedies but the actually help a lot

[dvp95]

is that as good as it gets?

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: teen & up

warnings: none

tags: memory loss, amnesia, fluff, introspection, established relationship, some gender-y discussion

word count: 9,101

sequel to still the best, more or less (which you can read on ao3 or here on tumblr) and so easy to come back into you (on ao3 and tumblr) and written for the lovely @intoapuddle​ <33333 happy belated birthday pal!

read on ao3 or here!

Phil loves his parents. He always has, even in the worst of the puberty-fuelled rebellion. Well, alright, 'rebellion'. There were a lot of long nights spent with a book and torch or his GameBoy under the covers, heart pounding in his ears as he listened for any sign of his parents coming to check on him, but he doesn't think that counts.

Even when things were at their hardest, he still loved his parents. He loved them when his dad kept asking after girls with absolutely no inclination that there were other things he could be asking in order to know his son better. He loved them when his mum pulled him aside and said his new hairstyle made him look 'a little girly, love'. He loved them when he was grieving for a friend and they didn't know what to say, how to help.

Right now, he loves them. Beneath the fear and the guilt and the anxiety and the frustration that's been his whole weekend, there is a solid bedrock of love and trust that will never crack.

"They keep treating me like I'm twenty," Phil complains, quiet because he isn't sure how thin the walls are in this new house.

"You kind of are. Like, in a way."

Dan's voice is so comforting, even with the swirling mix of emotions that Phil is dealing with right now. It helps to ground him, that soft, posh, sleepy voice.

"Yeah," Phil says. He rolls over, stretches out, because even a double bed feels too big without a second set of too-long limbs. "But it's like, they're not even acting like I'm an adult. Mum's been asking how I'm feeling every twenty minutes and dad called me 'kiddo' at dinner."

"They're doing their best," says Dan. He's five hundred kilometers away, on a different island entirely, but if Phil closes his eyes he can pretend they're just murmuring across the distance between their pillows.

"I know they're doing their best, babe," Phil sighs. "It's just that this was so easy for you."

Dan laughs. He doesn't have to be quiet the same way Phil does, nobody trying to sleep on the other side of his headboard, but he matches Phil's volume anyway.

"I'm sorry," says Dan. "Did you just say this has been easy for me? I'll have to refer you to my therapist."

Somehow, Phil smiles. He doesn't feel like smiling at all, so exhausted by the role he's been playing with his family, but Dan always seems to have that effect on him. "I mean, you just treated me like a regular person right out the gate. They're acting like I'm gonna break."

"Maybe you will. I've seen how you stumble on those cliffs."

Phil chuckles, low, and then sighs into the phone. He's getting more comfortable with having the flat rectangle between his ear and shoulder. "I miss you."

"Mm," Dan hums. It sounds like he's smiling. Phil has never wanted to be somewhere so desperately. "Miss you, stupid."

"Are we always this bad when one of us is away?" Phil asks. He wishes he was talking on an old landline, wants to twirl the cord through his fingers while he and Dan whisper to each other. It's better than what his fingers are doing now, which is reaching out on reflex for a warm, citrus-and-mint body that isn't there.

"Yeah," Dan says with unabashed simplicity.

"I'm glad," says Phil. He feels a slight itch under his skin, unsettling him, but he fights it down by repeating, "I'm really glad. Like... I'm glad I'll still feel this way about you ten years from now."

"You're such a sap," Dan says, fondness seeping out of every word. "Normally you just call me a rat and ask if I'm eating."

"Are you eating, rat?"

The loud bark of laughter down the line makes Phil's toes curl with happiness. He loves that sound, loves making Dan laugh in such an unrestrained way. "Yes, Phil, I'm eating. Probably not as good as you are, I'm sure mum's got you eating like a king."

It's still so strange to hear someone else call Phil's parents 'mum' and 'dad' - someone who isn't Martyn, obviously. From everything that Phil has learned about Dan over the past two and a half months and every tiny detail he's remembered, Phil is certain that the titles were something his parents insisted on. He doubts Dan would have just started saying them on his own, even with all the social grace he sometimes lacks.

That makes him feel warm, too. He's never exactly thought his parents would hate him for who he is, but. He hasn't been a hundred percent sure.

Phil doesn't think that anybody is a hundred percent sure that their parents will love them the exact same way if they bring home someone who's the same gender. He loves his parents, he trusts them, and he's still been terrified about letting them in on the life he was living at uni.

They know Dan, though. They ask after him every time they talk to Phil, call him whenever Phil doesn't answer his phone, tell him to think of them as 'mum' and 'dad'. Like he's part of the family. Like it's all the same to them what Dan is, as long as he's making Phil happy.

"You're sure you don't want to come up?" Phil asks, fully aware of how needy he sounds.

"Positive. It's important for you and your parents to get to know each other, like, as you are now. I'm afraid I'd just distract all of you with my wit and charm."

That's probably true. Phil huffs another sigh, anyway. He pulls a pillow closer to him, wraps an arm around it. "But I miss you."

"Christ, Phil," Dan says lightly. "You been drinking or something?"

"Am I not allowed to miss you?" Phil grumbles.

"Course you can miss me," says Dan. "I miss you when you're in another fucking room of the apartment, sometimes. I just haven't heard you say it so much since we first started dating."

Phil thinks that's a little unfair. It still feels like they are in that honeymoon stage of their relationship, to him.

He wonders how long it's going to take before his slow trickle of memories and natural progression of time team up to make him as settled in their relationship as Dan is. It's almost disheartening, knowing that Dan doesn't want him as desperately as he wants Dan. It's a different kind of want, of affection, and it's a kind that Phil has never experienced before. He's almost afraid to reach that point.

"I'll be quieter about it, then."

"Don't you dare," Dan says, and Phil laughs. The knot in his chest starts to ease.

"Should sleep," says Phil. "Mum wants to go for a walk before we eat breakfast, what the hell. Who walks?"

Dan laughs. "Be grateful Martyn isn't there, or the walk would turn into a hike before you could say," he makes a dramatic wheezing noise instead of finishing with a word, and Phil has to cover his mouth with a hand to contain giggles.

"You're so annoying," he whispers. He wonders if Dan can hear the emotion behind the words, the same way Phil has figured out that when Dan calls him stupid, it means 'I love you'.

"Yeah," Dan agrees warmly. Phil thinks, yeah. He can hear it. "Go to sleep, Lester."

--

"Oh, honey, you remember Mrs. Oliver, down the street?" his mum asks, bustling around the kitchen and waving Phil away anytime he tries to jump in and help. It's starting to get to him, a bit. He's not an invalid.

"No, mum," says Phil. He wonders if he sounds as annoyed as he feels. "I don't know any of your neighbours. I don't even know mine."

If he does sound annoyed, his mum breezes past it. "Right, of course. That's probably a good thing, to be honest with you, love - she's a right witch. Just last week..."

Phil zones out almost immediately. He loves his parents so, so much, but they have no idea how to act around him. His mum has been plying him with cakes and giving him neighbourhood gossip, doting like he's sick, and his dad has been watching him like he's a ticking time bomb.

That might actually be true. Phil had only clung to his composure by a thread when they decided to tell him, conversationally, about his dad's health issues. Just dropped the C word with no hesitation.

Being with his parents is nice, but he wishes he had Dan at his side. Even Martyn would be better than nothing. He needs something to dilute the smothering worry and death bombshells they've been putting in Phil's lap all weekend.

Phil has been counting down the hours until he can be back in the noise and bustle of London, far away from all this anxiety. He has never exactly been outdoorsy, and as much as he appreciates the beautiful views here, as much as he appreciates his lovely parents, he just wants to go home.

It's strange. By all intents and purposes, he should feel more comfortable around his parents than he does around Dan. He's known them his whole life, and twelve years isn't nearly enough to erase everything they know and love about each other. He hadn't known a single thing about Dan when he woke up in their shared kitchen, but. That doesn't seem to matter.

London isn't the only thing that feels like home to Phil. It isn't just the rolling hills and the sound of the sea making him unsettled, it's the lack of a big hand on the small of his back, guiding him away from a tripping hazard.

The itch hasn't gone away. Phil keeps expecting it to fade, the more he and Dan get to know each other as they are now, but it's still there. Persistent.

Growing up, Phil never expected to be someone that was scared of commitment. He'd always wanted what his parents had, after all, even after he came to terms with the fact that he might never be able to be married the way they were. Then, he actually started to try and date boys.

Phil doesn't fancy himself an expert on gay culture. He didn't join the society at uni or anything, has never read a queer theory book in his life. So he has no idea if this is, like, typical, but it turned out that gay boys - at Phil's university, in any case - weren't interested in dates. They only really cared about hooking up.

Honestly, Phil has never wanted anything more than he wanted to go on a proper date with someone he wasn't pretending to be attracted to, but it's always been easier to just act like those desires aren't there.

The idea of getting married, now, is terrifying instead of a pipe dream. He isn't sure when that happened.

Somehow, he'd become one of those boys who'd hurt him in the beginning, who called him the wrong name unapologetically or reminded him not to wake up their flatmates on his way out. He'd finally understood the appeal - he couldn't get hurt again if he didn't care again.

He doesn't want to hurt Dan, though. This self-built fear is his to deal with, something he's positive that 2019 Phil has long since gotten over.

"Mum," he says, cutting into whatever she's been saying about her neighbour while he sulks.

She doesn't seem very bothered by the interruption. She gives him a quizzical sort of smile as she mixes flour and eggs together. As if they need more bloody cakes in this house. "Yes, dear?"

"You like Dan, right?" he asks.

It feels like a pointless question. He knows the answer already.

Still, his mum doesn't laugh at him for asking. She smiles, more warmly, and leans her hip against the breakfast bar he's sat at. Phil's damaged brain supplies him with a hundred moments just like this one, watching his mum bake up a storm for no reason besides keeping her boys fed and happy.

"We love Dan," she assures him. Phil notices the 'we' statement, so caught up in the way Dan uses them as he's been. "He's a lovely boy."

"Even though he swears a lot?" Phil jokes weakly. He can't bring himself to ask the question he really wants to.

His mum gives him a look, like she knows exactly what he isn't saying. It's uncanny, how she's always been able to see through him. She'd had a blind spot, sure, but Phil can't put that on her shoulders when he'd done all he could to keep it under wraps.

"Daniel is lovely," she repeats, turning back to her mixing bowl. "He's a good man who takes care of you, dear, what else could we ask for? Besides, he's no worse than your brother."

Phil doesn't think that's true, exactly, as he's heard Dan come out with curses that Martyn probably doesn't know exist, but he isn't about to argue the point with her. Not when he hears the words she isn't saying.

They really don't mind. His mum and dad are happy for him, they have Dan calling them 'mum' and 'dad', after all. His brother doesn't bat an eye when his partner kisses him at the dinner table. They don't just tolerate this part of Phil's life - they embrace it. They embrace Dan, the man Phil had fallen in love with.

He doesn't think he's quite there. Not yet. He's never been in love before, so he's sure he'll notice when his feelings tumble into that.

"I miss him," he tells his mum's back, because he can say things like that to her now. That's not something he's going to take for granted, no matter how stressed they've been making him.

"You'll be home soon, love," she hums.

Home. Also known as the space where he slots his knees into the backs of Dan's and buries his nose against Dan's soft curls. He'll be there soon.

--

"How are you feeling, actually?"

Phil's dad looks up from the malfunctioning radiator and gives Phil a thin smile. "How are you feeling, actually?"

"Touché," Phil mumbles. He's not helping with the repairs so much as he's sitting on the cold cement floor and passing tools to his dad when he asks for them. He wonders who's going to do this sort of thing when he and Dan buy a home.

Great, now that itch is back. All he wanted was to know if this is something he should be learning how to do. They've probably got enough money to pay someone else to do it, Phil supposes.

Dan still hasn't let him look at his bank account or their joint account, which would bother Phil if he had any idea of how to handle money at all. His parents have taught him the basics of budgeting and investing, sure, but he doubts that they've properly prepared him at this scale. He's happy to leave all that to Dan for now.

"I'm feeling good, actually," his dad says. "Still kicking, and all."

"Same," says Phil. Neither of them laugh.

A quiet falls over them again as his dad works. Phil leans against the wall and tries not to get frustrated by the little glances his dad keeps sending his way.

He understands that they're worried. He'd be going out of his mind if this had happened to someone he loves. It's really starting to get to him, though, the undivided attention on his health when he is already so anxious about it to begin with. Don't they know that he's doing the best he can?

"Does it bother you that I don't know how to do this?" Phil asks. He wonders if he will ever be able to say what he means to the people he loves the most, to ask what is on his mind instead of layering it under something innocuous.

Being with Dan has been helping him with that, he thinks, but something about being around his parents always makes him revert back to a shy, uncertain teenager.

His dad hums thoughtfully and shakes his head. "No, you were never much into this sort of thing."

"And that doesn't... I dunno, disappoint you?"

"I could never be disappointed with you, kid," his dad says, almost incredulous with it. Like this is something Phil should already know. Like he's said it a million times. Phil can't speak for the past twelve years, but he knows damn well that he hadn't heard that enough, growing up.

"I'm just not," says Phil, scuffing at the floor with his socked foot. "Dunno. Not much of a man, I guess. I'm in my thirties, aren't I? I should be a man by now."

"You are a man, Philip," his dad says. "There's no right way to be a man."

It takes a lot to make him cry, but this conversation is getting to Phil in a spot he forgot was sore.

"Yeah," he says instead. "Need the torch?"

His dad lets the topic drop almost gratefully. Phil isn't sure if he's happy for that or not.

The frustration has been climbing up his spine all weekend. It's not exactly fair of him to be getting mildly annoyed by everything they've said, not when they're only trying to help. He takes a few deep breaths - in for four, hold for seven, out for eight, just like Dan taught him - and tries to pull a good mood back around him. For his dad's sake, if nothing else.

--

Phil has to get out of the house for a bit on his own, despite the chilly winds coming in like the waves and the lack of good cell signal.

He walks the same path he'd gone down with his parents that morning, pulling the fleece jacket tighter around his body. It's one of Dan's, something he'd smuggled into his bag and hoped Dan wouldn't miss.

The view here is unparalleled, really. Phil finds his breath catching several times, and only some of those are from exertion. He takes photos with his phone, because he's still clumsy with most of the controls, but he's figured out this one easily enough.

His phone doesn't have any social media apps on it, which he's not about to try and correct. Dan deleted them for a reason. So Phil opens his texts and sends a couple of the better photos to Dan.

The signal fails. The pictures don't go through. Phil wants to go home.

--

"This feels familiar," Phil says, grinning at his shoddy laptop camera.

"Does it?" Dan's voice is a bit distorted, his face more pixelated than Phil would like, but he's smiling so wide that Phil can't find it in himself to mind.

"Yeah," Phil says simply.

The sofa isn't very comfortable compared to the bed upstairs, but Phil had figured this would be better to not wake his parents up. He folds one leg under himself to try and find a position that doesn't make him feel hunched over his laptop like he's still a student.

Even through the mediocre quality of the webcam and internet connection, Dan looks good. He's wearing a wide-necked jumper and his curls are still soft and pushed off his face, like he hasn't bothered to do anything with them today. Phil wants to reach through the screen and run his fingers through them.

"Wonder why," Dan says in that teasing way he does when he knows something Phil doesn't.

Some days, that tone gets to Phil. When he's feeling anxious and frustrated with himself about all the things he can't remember, the last thing he needs is that tone.

Today, though, it makes him grin. He fiddles with the wireless earphones he's still getting the hang of and murmurs, "Tell me why."

"We used to do this for hours when I lived with my parents," says Dan. He messes with his curls to make them fall with more purpose, probably looking at himself in the screen instead of at Phil. "For, like, almost the whole first year we knew each other."

"You look fine, you dork," Phil says. He's watching Dan with an absent smile that, when he glimpses it in the corner of his screen, makes his breath catch. He's never seen that look on his own face before, doesn't even know what he'd label it as. Dan huffs a laugh, and Phil turns his attention back to him instead.

The lighting is low in Dan's room - in their room - but Phil can make out the warm colour of his eyes.

"You always think I look fine," says Dan, which doesn't exactly sound like a complaint. He leaves his hair alone, though. "Which is useless, since I know you have no taste."

"Is this about the carpet again?" Phil asks, exasperated.

"I just don't understand why you don't see the value of a good rug anymore," Dan whines. "It took me four years to convince you."

"Hardwood is cold on your feet in the morning and - you know what," says Phil, fighting back a laugh, "I'm not having this conversation again. We can duke it out when it's relevant, we aren't buying a house right now."

Dan grins at him. "I'll win."

Probably. Phil is stubborn, though, and he's not about to take everything Dan says about his changed tastes as fact when he could easily use that to win arguments.

"It's not relevant," Phil repeats. "You know what is relevant? I kind of remember Skyping you."

Dan is still and quiet for so long that Phil thinks he's frozen at first. Then he blinks. "You do?" he asks, voice careful.

"Kind of," Phil says, not wanting to get Dan's hopes up. He pulls a face, scratches at his jaw. "It's hard to explain. I don't remember doing it, I just remember that I have done it. Does that make sense?"

"No," says Dan, blunt as always. He smiles weakly. "Explain it to me?"

It's hard for Dan, Phil knows it is, but he makes such an effort all the time that Phil has, tentatively, attempted to do the same. He's not always comfortable talking about his innermost thoughts, since giving voice to things makes them more real. For Dan, he'll try.

"It's not like a flashback or anything," Phil says slowly. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing, but he also doesn't want to make Dan think he's still holding back. "That's not the way this has worked for me."

"I know," says Dan.

Phil traces shapes on his own knee, wishing he could be touching Dan instead. "It's more like... I just know."

"Right," Dan says, and Phil can hear the way he's holding something back. Disappointment? Excitement? "Kinda like déjà vu?"

"I guess so, except it isn't, like, disorienting. I just saw you on my screen and I was like, yeah, I've done this before." Phil feels like he's explaining this badly, like it's all coming out wrong. "I dunno, babe. I'm sorry it isn't more."

"You're," is all Dan says. He looks offscreen, takes a couple of deep breaths.

Maybe it's the familiarity of this whole thing, or the sound of Dan's shaky breathing in his ears, but Phil has the sudden certainty that he's looking at a Dan who is about to start crying. A Dan who has cried on Skype with him before, Phil knows that, too, somewhere deep in his gut.

"Hey," Phil says softly. "I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to apologise for," Dan tells him, rather more sharply than Phil thinks it intends to come out. Dan grimaces. "Fuck. Sorry. I'm not - I'm not upset with you, Phil."

"You look upset," says Phil. The physical ache he's been carrying around all weekend has intensified, makes him think he could swim back to Dan if it would shorten the distance quicker. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Dan considers it for a moment. That on its own is a step in the right direction, Dan no longer brushing everything he's feeling off with a joke and a kiss. Phil taps an erratic rhythm against his knee while he waits for Dan to make up his mind. Eventually, he shakes his pretty head. "Not tonight. Can we talk about it when you're home, maybe?"

That's progress. Phil has to remind himself of that every time they make a point to communicate, every time he says or does something that makes Dan freeze up for a moment.

"Of course," Phil says. "Talk to me about hardwood floors some more. You're still wrong, but I'll hear you out."

Dan looks relieved, and Phil doesn't let that get to him. Neither of them are avoiding emotional conversations outright. Phil can remember the way Dan likes his eggs cooked, even though he can't remember learning that. Dan hasn't even eaten eggs in the past couple months, on a vegan kick that Phil doesn't understand, but Phil knows exactly how to cook them to make Dan grin at him across a breakfast bar.

Slow progress is still progress, Dan's therapist says. Phil is inclined to agree with her.

--

Leaving his parents is bittersweet. Phil always wants to spend more time with them, knows he'll never quite grow out of the momma's boy phase, but they've been getting under his skin all weekend.

Phil does wonder if that's a regular part of being a proper adult, the desire to cling to gained independence, or if it's just him feeling smothered and wistful for Dan.

He gives them tight, lingering hugs anyway, makes them promise to come visit him before Christmas. He'll feel better about that, he thinks. Having Dan around makes it all so much easier that he can't imagine living a life without him, now. He fits into the places where the rest of Phil should be, allows Phil to settle into shape around him.

It's early when Phil gets on the plane, early enough that he gets to watch the sun rise until he's dropped back under the line of clouds that seem to permanently hover over England. The sun still hasn't peeked out by the time Phil unlocks his front door and lets himself in, juggling his bag and keys and wallet and proceeding to drop them all on the floor of the entryway. There aren't any echoing noises from deeper into the flat, so Phil thinks it's safe to assume that Dan is still dead to the world.

Sure enough, he finds Dan spread out in the middle of their bed, his bare back rising and falling steadily with sleep. The blankets are in disarray, half underneath him and half wrapped around his legs.

Phil smiles. It feels like something settles into place inside of him just looking at the expanse of Dan's skin. He undresses to his pants and doesn't bother digging around for something else to wear, not when there's some necessary snuggling to be done. The cool air makes Phil shiver, but only until he's set his glasses aside and crawled into bed, pressing himself along Dan's back with a kiss to his lightly-freckled shoulder.

London is chilly in November, but Dan carries a warmth with him that emanates from his very core, and it drags Phil into sleep easily.

He's home now. He can breathe again.

--

Phil stirs from hazy dreams when his heat source disappears, and he makes a little whine of a noise to express his deep displeasure. He gets a throaty laugh in response.

"Fucking drama queen," Dan's voice breaks into his half-asleep state. It's soft, just like the kiss that's pressed to Phil's hair. "I'll be right back, I gotta piss."

"Wait," Phil yawns, stretching out his arms in search of Dan. He doesn't want to open his eyes. "Coffee?"

"You little - fuck, fine, yes, I'll make you some fucking coffee. Unbelievable."

Phil must fall back to sleep, because the next time he's coaxed into awareness, it's by the smell of coffee and the feel of a mouth on his jaw.

"Mm," Phil hums, reaching out to blindly pull Dan closer and tilt his head for a kiss.

Dan chuckles, a gust of breath against Phil's face before soft lips find his. Phil runs a hand over Dan's back, sleepy and hesitant, because that's not something he's always allowed to do. This time, Dan makes a pleased sort of noise against Phil's mouth before he pulls back with a low, "Mm, yourself. Good morning."

"Hey," Phil murmurs. He squints up at Dan and grins, loose with the contented feeling of being home. "Missed you, pretty boy."

The laugh he gets in response is more of a honk. Phil is so endeared. "You can't even see me," Dan points out. He's not wrong, but Phil doesn't have to have his glasses on to know how pretty Dan is.

"It's not like I forgot what you look like," Phil says dryly. He lets his hand continue to trace shapes on Dan's bare back, since Dan doesn't seem to mind the contact.

"Maybe I grew a beard."

"Yeah. Because you can totally grow an entire beard overnight."

"Probably couldn't grow a beard if you gave me a month," says Dan. "I missed you, too, stupid."

It feels like Phil has been away for weeks rather than a handful of days. He can't get enough of the bumps and grooves of Dan's back, like he's never touched it before, and his whole being aches to be impossibly closer.

He kisses Dan's temple - at least, he thinks he does, it's a bit of a blur but at least Dan doesn't make a noise as though Phil has accidentally connected with his eyeball - and runs his thumb slowly along the ridges of Dan's spine.

"We don't spend a lot of time apart, do we," says Phil. It isn't a question, really. He knows they don't.

"No," Dan says, simply. "Why should we?"

Phil supposes that there isn't a reason. In the back of his mind there are always niggling fears, worst case scenarios chasing each other around until he's worked himself up, and right now those fears are trying to make themselves known. The codependency of it crawls over Phil's skin, making him itch.

He doesn't want to spend more time away from Dan, that isn't it at all. It just worries him that he doesn't know if he'd even be able to.

The weight of Dan on him is solid, the skin under his fingers so soft and warm, and that helps Phil feel grounded.

"Let me up, baby," says Phil. He needs coffee and maybe some food before he feels fully functional, even though this is his third time waking up this morning. He might have a problem.

Dan huffs - at the pet name or at Phil himself, it's unclear - but flops onto his side next to Phil anyway. He keeps his hand on Phil's thigh through their blanket and gives him a lazy grin. "You're less grumpy today. Happy to be home?"

"You've no idea," Phil says, sitting up against the headboard so he can cradle his mug to his chest and breathe in the aroma. "I love them so much, but it's not the same."

"I've got some idea," Dan says on a yawn. "You bring any cakes home?"

"Of course. What do you take me for?" Phil scoffs. He shoves his glasses unceremoniously onto his face with one hand so he can actually see more than the vague shapes that make up his boyfriend.

Fiancé, he guesses. Technically.

The smile that Dan shoots up at him is sleepy. His eyes are half-lidded and a little red, lashes clumped together by the moisture that wells up every time he yawns. He's just in his pants, like Phil, and he's not self conscious about it in the slightest. Once again, Phil is struck dumb by how beautiful he is.

"What?" Dan asks after a long moment of Phil just looking at him. Hints of dimples are showing around his mouth, like he's holding back a bigger grin.

"Nothing, you're just," says Phil. Adjectives bump against each other at the forefront of his mind, competing to be the most truthful without being ridiculously sappy. He can call Dan pretty or hot without issue, but a flush creeps its way up Phil's neck the moment he wants to say something like 'gorgeous', 'perfect'.

"Just the best thing that's ever happened to you, right?" Dan says, all performative sarcasm.

Yeah, Phil thinks. He doesn't say it. He doesn't think he can.

"Totally," he says instead, dripping his voice in the same irony as Dan's. He refocuses on his coffee, and Dan starts to scroll through his phone.

He leaves his hand on Phil's thigh, though. He's not usually the one initiating contact, always complains jokingly when Phil reaches for him too much, but Phil guesses that Dan has missed him almost as much as Phil has missed Dan.

Phil drinks his coffee and watches Dan's screen scroll through photos of people he doesn't recognise, places he's never been.

The scrolling stops on a face Phil does recognise with a jolt, just long enough for Dan to tap it twice with his thumb and move on. It's so strange to see Anthony Padilla look... old. He's not old, not really - Phil can't remember for sure, but he's fairly certain the Smosh guys are the same age as him - but Phil is so used to seeing him look a specific way. He's got an image in his mind of the way Smosh looks, of the way he looks, and it's like the screens and mirrors are lying to him.

It doesn't help that Phil sees a bit of Dan in the pose, the curly hair, the big sweater. He wonders what came first, wonders which of them looked at the other and saw something they wanted in themselves, or if they even did it consciously. By the time Phil thinks to ask if they know each other or just know of each other, Dan has opened a different application.

--

Being with Dan is too much, sometimes.

Phil has been very lucky in his life. He knows what it feels like to be loved unconditionally by his parents, his brother, a handful of friends, and how it feels to love them the same. The way that Dan loves him, though, is different. New. Something Phil didn't know could ever be directed at him.

Most days it isn't an issue. Dan loves him, and he's very fond of Dan, and they do all they can to meet each other in the middle of the gaping chasm where a decade used to be.

But there are moments when the itch gets so bad, when Dan's big hands and brown eyes get so intense, that Phil doesn't know how to handle it. Dan loves him so much that he projects it like an aura, enveloping Phil in the gentle warmth he manages to carry with him even when he's shouting obscenities at Phil over a game, and sometimes.

Sometimes, it's overwhelming. When it gets like that, the smallest things can make Phil feel like he's missed a step or five on a staircase he can't see the bottom of. It's not stifling, suffocating, upsetting. It's simply too much.

He doesn't know how to convey that to Dan. How to explain the itch. So he doesn't.

In the days following his return from the Isle, Phil feels it more than he ever has. Something about being apart, even if it was only for three nights, has Dan clinging in a way that Phil hasn't experienced yet. Sure, Dan is cuddly enough, especially when they're curled up together in bed or on the sofa, but this is another level.

Dan has currently plastered himself to Phil's back while he washes the dishes, an arm slung over Phil's shoulder, lips pressed to Phil's jaw, and he's stayed there for nearly fifteen minutes while he chatters on about whatever's on his mind.

It's not the casual brushes of lips and fingers that Phil expects, that they both initiate every day; it's Dan planting his feet and staying in Phil's space like he never wants to leave it again.

That's scary. Never is a scary, overwhelming, too much word.

"Love you," Dan reminds him on his way out of the room, taking the overwhelming warmth of his aura with him. He no longer qualifies the statement with a 'you don't have to say it back'. Phil doesn't know if that's because he wants Phil to say it or because he thinks Phil has probably understood that by now.

The words get choked in Phil's throat the way they do every time. It's reflex, instinct, to say he loves someone when they say it to him. That wouldn't be a fair thing for Phil to slip up with at all.

Phil breathes deeply in the sudden quiet of their big kitchen and tries to calm himself from that missed-step panic.

--

"What are you doing?"

There's a note to Dan's voice that Phil doesn't recognise, not without turning around to see his face. It's sleepy confusion, mostly, and Phil doesn't think he needs to know what else it is.

"I'm snooping," says Phil. His hands pause in their rifling. "Or organizing, I guess, but snooping makes it sound more fun."

"It's five in the morning," Dan tells him.

Oh. That is a bit startling. Phil doesn't know what time it was when he gave up on sleep and got out of bed, but he's made it through a dresser and a half. He wonders if he's sorting things wrong, if Dan's got a system for the drawers like he does for their hangers.

Phil stares down at his hands, tangled with the loose socks in one of their top drawers. He feels weirdly disconnected from the physical sensation.

"You didn't come to bed," Phil says, the reason behind his earlier restlessness coming back to him.

"No, sorry," says Dan. He doesn't actually sound sorry, but Phil still can't figure out how he does sound. "I got caught up in this thread, I know I've read it before but I, like, forgot enough about it that it still fucked me up? There was this guy and he kept seeing these, I dunno, sticky notes, I fucking guess, in his own writing, and he didn't remember writing them, right, so he -"

"Cool," Phil says, probably too sharp. He isn't sure where that story is going, but he knows that it's hitting a bit too close to home as it is.

There's a beat. "Sorry," Dan says again. This time it seems like he means it.

Phil shrugs. "I'm not upset."

"No, you're not. Will you look at me?"

Honestly, Phil had forgotten about his physical form entirely. He blinks. After a moment, he takes his hands out of the drawer to turn and face Dan.

Dan smiles. He looks exhausted, sitting at the foot of their bed in just an oversized jumper. Probably some pants, as well, but the way his top hangs makes it impossible to tell for sure. His long legs are bare and crossed at the ankles.

"Are you wearing pants?" Phil blurts out, like his thought process is connected directly to his tongue.

He is reminded, ridiculously, of Cordelia Chase, and the way her speech and thoughts mirrored perfectly. Sure, he can't remember the PIN to his own bank card, but he can get a flashback to Earshot like he watched it last week. He wonders if Charisma is happy in 2019.

Phil's thoughts are ping-ponging so much that he almost misses it when Dan laughs and nods, rucking up the front of his jumper to show them off. "Yeah, you fucking pervert, I'm wearing pants."

The sound of Dan's laugh relaxes some of the tension that Phil didn't even realise he was holding in his body, and he gives Dan a tired grin.

"Oh, I'm the pervert?" he teases. He gestures behind himself, indicating the dresser he's half done organizing. "I'm not the one who's got a collection of women's underwear. Unless I am? Am I? You'd tell me if I wore women's underwear, wouldn't you?"

Dan's lips twitch, but he gives Phil a surprisingly stern look. "They're not 'women's underwear'," he says with little air quotes. "They're just underwear."

This seems like one of those things Dan can rant about for hours that Phil doesn't completely understand and has to make discreet Google searches to keep up with, but he's always willing to listen. Or, well, any time but five in the morning, he'd be willing to listen. He's sure Dan can rant about gender roles and normativity when they're both properly awake.

He's curious about this, though. He does his best to make sure that the curiosity is all that comes through, doesn't want to accidentally sound like he's being judgemental when he says, "So they're yours, then."

"Yeah," says Dan, simple.

"Is it a sex thing?" Phil asks, because apparently a distinct lack of sleep makes him tactless. He thinks of Cordelia again.

Dan doesn't seem bothered by the question. He shrugs, pulling idly at the collar of his jumper. "Sometimes. Not always. I dunno, Phil, not everything I own is from the men's section. I just buy things I like and wear them when I want to."

He says it like it isn't a big deal, but Phil isn't stupid. Dan doesn't do anything without overthinking it. Neither of them do, really, although they overthink in different ways - Phil's anxiety is what makes his thoughts race and his palms sweat at any decision he makes, while Dan will sit down in a quiet place and let all his thoughts tumble forward so he can try to sort through them.

It's so easy to picture. Dan in one of those stores Phil is always afraid to touch anything in, flipping through hangers with a bored look on his face. Getting his attention caught by something black and glittery on the opposite wall. Hesitating. Turning to Phil and saying, "Sometimes I wish I was a girl."

Phil realises with a little jolt that it isn't imagination alone. He knows in his gut that the exchange, or something like it, has happened before. He remembers the nervous look on Dan's face all too well.

"It's not weird," Phil says, to the Dan in front of him and the younger Dan in his mind's eye. "I don't fully get it, but that's okay. I shouldn't have said it was weird."

Something flashes across Dan's face, too quick for Phil to decipher.

"I know it isn't," says Dan. "But thanks."

He doesn't think that Dan has always known that. He thinks that there must have been a lot of bravery in the simple action of crossing a store. But it's five in the morning and they're both tired, rough around the edges with it, so Phil holds his tongue.

"In any case, your underwear's been sorted and folded," Phil informs him.

Dan rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "Folded, sure. I've seen you try to fold shit that's a hell of a lot easier than some of the pants I have."

"There's just not a lot of fabric to some of them," Phil admits. The material hadn't helped, since Phil doesn't think he's ever touched lace that isn't attached to a tablecloth at his grandparents' house. "I did my best."

"I'm sure you did," says Dan. He dimples up at Phil and reaches his hands out in invitation. The missed-step swoop in Phil's stomach doesn't come, so he just smiles back and steps closer, settles himself comfortably on Dan's bare thighs. "So, I was thinking about when you Skyped me."

It takes Phil a moment to try and figure out Dan's train of thought, see where the statement has come from, but he decides that it's useless. Dan could have been waiting to bring it up for days now and a tired Phil with no filter was exactly the opener he needed.

"Yeah," Phil says, tracing the bags under Dan's sleepy eyes with his thumbs. "What about it?"

"I don't think I'm being very fair to you," says Dan. "When you remember things, I mean. It's a good thing, and I was happy, I just."

He pauses, bites his lower lip.

"You just wish it was more," Phil finishes for him. A small pang hits him in the stomach when Dan grimaces and nods. "That's okay, you know. You're allowed to wish I was... him, again."

"You're not separate people," Dan says again, quiet.

"I kind of am," says Phil. "I hope you know that I - I want to be him. For you, and for me, because he seems like he's got a really good handle on this life thing and I've got no bloody idea what I'm doing, but I can't just. I can't make myself him. I can't even, like, guarantee he'll ever fully be here again."

Dan's inhale is shaky. He runs his hands up and down Phil's thighs in a show of comfort, although Phil can't tell which of them it's for.

"That's scary," Dan murmurs. His eyes are so big and warm and vulnerable, Phil almost feels like he shouldn't be seeing him like this. "That's really fucking scary, Phil."

"It's scary for me, too," Phil reminds him. He's got a bit of a tightness in his chest, anxious from the lack of sleep and too-serious conversation, and he tucks his face into Dan's neck to break from the eye contact. "I don't want this to be happening, you know? I kind of hate it. You're so - you're really good, Dan, you like. Deserve to have him back."

The room is quiet for a little while. It's dark in the safety of Dan's neck, and only the feeling of Dan's hands on his thighs keeps Phil grounded to reality.

Eventually, Dan says, "Thanks for saying that, but also, like. We've gotten through a lot together. I'm sure we can handle this if it's permanent. It's just one of those things that... we aren't going to know what we're doing right away."

You're home for me, Phil thinks. You're home, and that's overwhelming sometimes.

"You can tell me what we've all gotten through tomorrow," is what Phil says. He pulls back and presses his lips to Dan's cheek, because he can. "I think we should get some sleep."

"Alright, stupid," Dan hums, squeezing Phil's thighs and dimpling up at him. He's so beautiful that it makes something ache in Phil's chest, some weird combination of pride and want. "You'll have to get off me, first."

"Okay," says Phil.

It takes him another few minutes to actually leave Dan's lap. Luckily, Dan doesn't seem to mind.

--

Dan still doesn't think that having social media on his phone is a good idea for Phil, too easy to get overwhelmed by, but he's happy to sit back against Phil's chest while they watch tv and scroll through his own feeds. He shows Phil a lot of things that Phil doesn't understand, and most of it is just perplexing.

Some of it is viscerally upsetting, but Phil knows that Dan doesn't mean for it to be. Advances in technology are only cool to hear about until the wheel of worst case scenarios in Phil's head starts to spin. Maybe self-driving cars and robots that talk back are neat to think about in theory, but the reality of them makes Phil so, so anxious.

He hears Dan murmur, "God, she's getting so big."

So he looks. Then, suddenly, he feels like he is going to pass out. All the blood in his body rushes to his head and his eyes start to water, because. What the hell.

The girl in the photo isn't one Phil recognises. She looks younger than twelve - he isn't good at guessing ages, he'd place her between six and nine - so he guesses that's not very surprising. What's making his head spin is the man with her.

"Is that Ian?" Phil asks, blinking a bunch like it'll change the fact right in front of him.

Dan locks his phone immediately and winces, turning in Phil's arms to hold him close. "Yeah, that's Ian and his daughter. Are you okay? I should have warned you, I didn't even think."

"Ian has a daughter?" Repeating it doesn't make it sound any more true. Phil shakes his head. "I just watched him throw up in a girl's purse. Like, he just gave himself a concussion trying to climb out of a ground floor window. He doesn't have a daughter."

"Are you okay?" Dan asks again, softer.

No, Phil isn't okay. The reality is, of course Ian has a daughter. All of Phil's friends and family have lived a life that he no longer has access to. Every memory he has of Ian is so much clearer than the memories Ian must have of him, clouded by time and nostalgia. He wonders if Ian remembers the concussion and then thinks, don't be silly, how could he forget? How could he forget anything about Phil? How could Phil have forgotten anything about him?

"No," he says out loud, because Dan deserves to know the truth. "No, I fucking hate this. I hate it, Dan."

The laugh that's startled out of Dan is wobbly and wet, and Phil really wishes he wouldn't cry. If Dan cries again, Phil will desperately want to comfort him, and he wants this selfish moment of anger for himself.

Dan's voice isn't shaky when he speaks, though, his arms tightening around Phil and their legs all tangled. "Yeah, it really sucks, huh? She's a good kid, if that helps. She likes you."

"I don't know if that helps," Phil says, "but thank you for saying it."

He wonders what Ian thinks of Dan. How does his best friend feel about Phil settling down like this? Was it surprising to him or did it seem organic if you'd lived it?

It doesn't feel organic to Phil. He's getting there, he is, because Dan is wonderful and he wants to be around him all the time, but. Dan feels like home in a way that Phil doesn't think he's earned.

Slow progress is still progress, Phil reminds himself. He knows how to cook Dan eggs he doesn't even eat anymore, knows what Dan looks like when he's about to start crying on Skype, knows a thousand things that he's learned ever since he woke up on the kitchen floor.

It's progress. He has to keep telling himself that or he's going to lose his entire mind.

Dan's voice, quiet and empathetc, breaks into Phil's spiralling frustration. "Do you want to talk about it?"

No, Phil doesn't want to talk about it. He isn't okay and he doesn't want to make a big deal out of it in case everything comes tumbling out at once.

The itch isn't there right this second, but Phil knows how easily it comes on. He wonders if there's a way to get rid of it without Dan ever knowing its existence, wonders how his brother and parents and probably Ian are all so chill about this relationship when Phil himself feels like it's all-consuming.

He can't exactly get frustrated with Dan for not talking about his feelings if he just turns around and does the same thing, though. So.

"No," he says, "but I will anyway."

Despite his worries, Phil's words don't come tumbling out the moment he gives them permission. Instead he has to force them, stammering and avoiding Dan's big brown eyes as he talks about the way it feels to be thrust into a life he doesn't remember making, a life he doesn't feel like he deserves. He talks about the itch under his skin that he'd thought would go away if he just embraced the reality of being in a committed relationship and how it hasn't, really, and sometimes it feels even worse than it had when he first woke up.

Dan lets him talk. He's good at that, Phil thinks. He doesn't try to interject in any of the pauses where Phil forces himself to say things that have been on his mind for almost two entire months.

It isn't until Phil apologises that Dan's large hand is covering his own and squeezing.

"What on earth are you sorry for, stupid?" Dan murmurs. "I'm glad you told me you feel this way, because, like, it isn't the first time."

Phil blinks. He meets Dan's gaze, his heart pounding a bit at the sheer amount of affection behind those eyes. He turns his hand over to link their fingers together, holds tight like Dan is an anchor. "What?"

"I told you," Dan says with a sad little smile. "I know everything about you. Do you really think you never panicked when we first moved in together and a dozen times after that? Do you think I didn't? You're not the only one who was in love for the first time, Lester. I know it's been a few years, but I remember how it feels to be thrown in the deep end of feelings you can't get a fucking grip on."

The sheer relief at being understood washes over Phil, and he laughs.

"Ten years," he says, the same awe as always washing over him as he does. Right in this moment, it doesn't scare him the way it has been.

Dan's smile is still sad, but his eyes are twinkling. "Ten years. There's no part of your bullshit I can't handle by now."

"You're so annoying," Phil says. He knows that Dan can hear the emotion behind it, the same way Phil has figured out that being called stupid means 'I love you', but voicing his other feelings has made him brave and stupid with it. "I think - no, I don't think, I'm pretty fucking sure - that I, like, love you."

He's not sure what he expects. His heart is pounding and he waits for Dan to beam at him or cry or something else ridiculous, but Dan just gives him a little shrug.

"I know," he says, grinning. "I know you." He doesn't say it back this time, but that's okay.

Phil knows him, too.

[elialys]

Ten(too?) x Rose - How to Baby Proof Your TARDIS

This is a gift for @lastbluetardis​ as part of the Secret Santa (@dwsecretsanta​) exchange ^^ The title pretty much says it all. Don't expect anything from this except cavity inducing domestic pregnancy fluff. 

Writing this, I could literally not decide if this was Ten x Rose, or Tentoo x Rose in their new TARDIS a few years down the line. Whatever works for you, I guess :D 

 Happy holidays ♥

[READ IT ON AO3]

HOW TO BABY PROOF YOUR TARDIS

The straw that finally breaks Rose’s aching back happens that night, when she tries using the loo adjacent to their room, and the lid simply refused to be lifted.

No matter how much she pulls, huffs or puffs (with an increasing amount of loud cursing), the bloody thing will not budge, for reasons unknown to her. From what she can see, there is no obvious mechanism that she can snap off, and no Doctor around to tell her what he’s done – and more importantly, how to undo what he’s done.

The thing about being thirty-five weeks pregnant is that she needs to pee.

Often.

It also means that if she doesn’t get to do it in the proper place in the appropriate amount of time, there will come a point when her body will go ‘tough!’ and pretty much make her pee no matter what.

Which is why Rose waddles away from their bedroom, making her way to the next available bathroom as swiftly as she can manage in her state…only to find the toilet just as inaccessible.

Now, the other thing about being thirty-five weeks pregnant is that if she gets remotely upset (and the prospect of peeing herself in the next two minutes is definitely upsetting) she will respond in one of two ways: wrath, or tears.

That night, she does both.

The way she hollers his name is quite terrifying, even to her own irrational ears. For one thing, she sounds exactly like her Mum does on a bad day. She also sounds like someone about to commit a murder.

Wherever he’s been, the Doctor hears her call well enough. Unfortunately, she’s too livid and desperate by then to be impressed in any way by how quickly he reappears, nothing short of tripping over his own feet as he staggers into the small room.

His panicked expression only worsens when he takes her in, tearstained face and all.

“What is it? Contractions? Spotting? Vitamin deficiency?”

“I need to pee!” she barks at him, pointing at the closed lid. “Open that bloody thing up!”

“Oh,” he says, having the nerves to just stand there and blink for a moment, until her nostrils flare and she fixes him with a glare so intense that he startles back into action at once. “Oh! Of course, just a tick!”

“I don’t have a tick,” she snaps back, miserable, as big, fat tears stream down her face, along with an impressive amount of mucus from her nose.

His screwdriver is already out and buzzing away at the lid, soon leading to an audible CLICK.

“There you go!” he exclaims, bravely beaming at her, although there is unmistakable terror in his eyes, well aware that he’s mucked this up.

She points at the door, sniffling and swallowing down more gunk in the process. “Out,” she whispers, and that soft, furious word seems to terrify him more than any shouting.

He does not argue, swiftly leaving the room, having the decency to close the door behind him, allowing Rose to do her business on time – and in the right place.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice comes muffled through the door, and she has no problem whatsoever picturing him as he must be, pretty much splayed all over the wood, already self-flagellating for upsetting her.

Now that her desperate urge to urinate has been dealt with, she feels immensely better, and a lot more rational – as well as a tad embarrassed. How much crying, snotting and peeing can someone manage in a day, exactly?

“We’ve talked about this,” Rose reminds him thickly, blowing her nose with toilet paper.

“I know.”

“It’ll be months before she’s big enough to move around on her own, let alone find herself near a loo.”

“I know.”

Rose sighs, finishing cleaning herself up. She takes some time at the sink to splash cold water on her blotchy face, looking as blotted and uncomfortable as she feels.

When she opens the door, he’s moved, leaning back against the opposite wall. He looks like a puppy who’s just been kicked.

“Is that really what you’ve been up to all night?” she asks him, more softly. “Baby proofing the TARDIS?”

The Doctor doesn’t answer, but the way he ruffles the hair at the back of his head is telling enough.

To be fair, he’s been good for a long time. Months, even.

He’s been protective of her, obviously, and the way he’s been insisting on doting on her from the moment they found out she was pregnant has been both endearing and frustrating. She regularly gets annoyed with the way he seems to think she cannot perform simple task by herself anymore (including wrapping a towel around her own body after showering), but she cannot stay mad at him for long when he keeps on looking at her as if she was the most mesmerising being in the universe.

Unfortunately, he’s become more than protective and attentive, these past few days.

He’s become paranoid.

She’s partly to blame for it, as she’s the one who suggested they tried out one of those Lamaze classes her Mum kept badgering her about…which had not been a success.

They’d both felt terribly out of place amongst those cooing couples, especially after the Doctor told one of them that their birth plans involved taking Rose to the soothing waters of Lusthion III in the Tresush Cluster, known for their naturally numbing properties, at which point they all started looking at them the way most regular people did.

Awkward social interactions aside, the instructor made the mistake of reminding everybody that it was never too early to start making a checklist of their home, in order to determine what could be a possible hazard for their child.

The Doctor obviously took it as a challenge.

“Did you know there are three-thousand-six-hundred-and-forty-nine ways for a child to get harmed on this TARDIS?” he’d asked her a couple of days ago, once he was done with his thorough inventory.

He’d looked slightly crazed by then, having obviously imagined in great details how their offspring could get hurt in every single one of these ways.

“Is at all?” she’d antagonised him instead of thinking up something sensible to say that would have calmed him down. “Thought it would be more, to be honest, seeing how children can literally hurt themselves just by walking from one end of a room to the other.”

That stupid remark had put a fire under his arse, for lack of better word.

They both know from his constant blabbering of facts that Rose should have entered the nesting phase of her pregnancy by now. And yet, while she sometimes feels compelled to work on the nursery some more, the Doctor is the one who’s been reorganising the entire TARDIS for the last two days.

It hasn’t been all bad, as he did get rid or fixed some implements that had been a danger to them both for years – including loose wires and other exposed mechanical hazards.

Rose began losing patience a few hours ago, when he started putting carpet all over the floors.

“Carpet?” she’d asked. “Carpet?”

“It’ll be softer on her little hands and knees when she starts to crawl.”

How he could be so endearing and infuriating at the same time was beyond her.

“She’s still getting oxygen through an umbilical cord,” Rose pointlessly reminded him. “It’ll be a while before she crawls.”

“Well it’ll be softer on your toes, then. You’re the one who’s always complaining about having sore feet.”

That’s when Rose had gone to bed, too achy and uncomfortable to attempt to reason with him again, aware that there was nothing much she could do or say when he was in that mood.

She’s drawing the line at toilet lids, though.

She walks to him, now, reaching up to cup his face. “Doctor,” she tells him calmly, her own bout of hysteria having receded for the time being. “I need you to get it together. You can’t expect me to be the only sane person on this ship. ‘m way too hormonal to pull it off.”

He scowls at her. “I am fine.”

“Yeah?” she asks with a scoff. “How did you lock all those toilet lids, exactly?”

“Magnetism,” he explains at once. “I gave both the lid and the seat strong magnetic properties by tinkering with the spin of their electrons.”

She blinks at him.

“Ah,” he concedes, tilting his head. “I get how that could be seen as me being somewhat irrational.”

“Somewhat?”

“Fine. Unreasonably irrational, then.”

She trails her fingers from his cheek to his hair, shaking her head a little. “Look, ‘m not against you being protective and taking precautions. I love that you’re thinking about all that stuff, when all I can think about lately is how many fried pickles I can eat before it makes me wanna spew. But I almost peed my pants tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, swallowing hard.

She caresses his hair. “I know,” she says, before giving him a soft kiss, her protuberant belly pressing against his chest. “Can we wait until she’s born and mobile before we turn every toilet into giant magnets, though?”

“Sounds fair,” he says, briefly nuzzling her nose with his.

“You can make it up to me by feeding me,” she informs him.

“Ah,” he says again, tugging at his ear, before he starts wriggling out of her embrace. “Why don’t you…get changed first, eh? It’s a tad chilly tonight, I’d say you need another layer.”

As he spoke, he managed to escape her hold, slowly moving away from her.

“What have you done to the kitchen?” she asks.

Surely he knows better than to mess with her food.

“Nothing!” he splutters. “Much.”

She glares at him.

“Five minutes,” he tells her. “That’s all I need.”

“Fine,” she says. “But if I find out you’ve done anything to my pickles, ‘m moving out.”

She’s barely done talking that he’s dashing out of the corridor.

Rose follows with a waddle.

[spirit-of-the-void]

Echo Chamber (Vergil x Reader Fanfic) Chapter One

Author’s notes: Howdy fellow cryptids! Vergil’s time is here, and we’re starting off slow and steady

Chapter One

There is blood on your face.

The temperature was fresh, warm, the scent...strange. Metallic doesn’t describe it quite right, nor does blood have a particular odor no matter how much your mind claimed it had. Seeing all that deep, profound red created in effect that would never seem to go away. Maybe it was the fact that it was your blood, or maybe it was just how much of it had splattered on your exposed skin. Wearing shorts that day was probably not the best idea, which could be said about a lot of the day’s actions. Mistakes beyond anyone’s control had occurred, things moving too fast and too loud. The pounding of drums had halted, guitar riffs silenced by more screams of fear than one needed to hear on a given day. The tempo rising, above the concert hall rafters and ringing with a sound so profound you would never forget it. 

The sounds of death.

Why didn’t you run? The portal had opened right before your eyes, the sight of a demon’s hideous features a stark contrast to the delighted faces of the crowd. The riff on your guitar had halted first, fingers freezing and a cry of alarm ringing through the microphone. Every chance to bolt had come then, when the crowd had tried to scramble, screaming as creature after creature filled the empty space they left. Chasing, claws outstretched and teeth snapping. Security had fired bullet after bullet, but were quickly overpowered by so many writhing bodies of flesh and spikes. Your band had dropped their instruments, the microphone’s loud ring sharp on the ears as each set of feet scrambled to get off the stage, remaining employees leading the way to an entrance they could leave through.

So...why didn’t you run?

The sight of Pepper, tripping on the wire of Boris’ guitar, landing hard on her side just as a creature clawed up to the stage. Brown eyes wide with fear, curls half hanging over her face as the demon started scrambling closer and closer. There was drool dripping from its maw, dozens of beady eyes staring with such a hunger that nothing else seemed comparable. Seeing what the others did to the fans offstage, their bodies mangled and bloodied...save her, you had to save Pepper. No one else was close enough, you were at the end of the line--it could be done, there was just no room for hesitation in any capacity. So you didn’t hesitate.

Slow motion, why did it feel like slow motion? Maybe it was the adrenaline pumping its way through your veins, heart pounding louder than Walter’s drums and spurring you to act. Pepper had screamed, reaching for you just as the creature’s claws extended out, feet scrambling to be free of the cord tangling around them. Surely the stage manager and their crew should have taken care of hazards like that? Sloppy, a mess that could have been avoided, but you were in no place to point the finger of blame. The realization registered then vanished, eyes trained on your friend as you pulled her into a standing position, trying to run before the extended claws hit their mark. 

They hit something alright, but not what they were aiming for. 

In retrospect, you felt no pain. Which was odd, right? Surely it would have hurt, surely it would have been the worst agony of your life. A doctor told you afterwards that it was the adrenaline pumping through your system, almost like a protective barrier between you and the onslaught of pain. The only indication that something had been wrong was the fact that you had crumbled to the floor, vision spinning and Pepper flung forward toward the others just as they started running to your aid. What...was on your face again? Warm, red, metallic. There was a moment of dazed confusion, eyes gazing at your bandmates as they stared back with horror and screamed. Why were they looking at you like that?

Why couldn’t you get up?

Why was there red liquid on your face?

Your leg felt--what is that sensation? 

You couldn’t get up. Weakness came next, sweeping over just as your fingers started to shake. Someone was firing a gun--several someones as a matter of fact. It was all you could hear for whatever reason, like your head was filling with water and roaring like a raging river. Numb, all over. You lost focus on several things, eyes glassy as Kraven and Boris lifted you, screaming your name as they tried to get your body out of the line of fire aimed at the demonic creatures. Everything should have been loud, right? The screams, the bullets, your friends sobbing and wailing for help as they tied something tight around your left leg. What was happening? Stopping the blood, you were told later--this action is what saved your life from blood loss. It was Celine’s belt that had been strapped around your red-soaked thigh, the white color a stark contrast against so much crimson.

“Y/N…!”

Christ, you were so tired. Eyelids drooping, so hard to breathe...why was it so hard to breathe? 

“Stay with us--eyes open, look at me…!”

You couldn’t even lift your head, vision swimming as Kraven’s hands grasped your face. Why was he crying? Why was everyone crying?

“Somebody help us…! Please…!”

Your eyes flew open, a gasp leaving your lips and eyes staring at the ceiling of your room. 

The air was chilled from the air conditioner, low hum of it a small reminder of reality after something so...jarring. Breathe, I need to breathe--it had been over a year now, hadn’t it? Just over a year. Surely moving past something like this took time, but you weren’t the type to usually let things get you down so terribly. So used to being positive, so used to bouncing back...one step at a time, right? How ironic. A sigh left your lips at the thought, arm slung over to block out the light managing to hit your face despite the curtains being drawn to avoid just that.  Sunlight streamed from the windows, peeking through the cracks of your curtains in a defiant manner against the steps you had taken to keep the room dark. No avoiding reality for too long, the day loud and boisterous as always. 

You sat up slowly in your bed, pushing the layers of blankets off and shivering at the cold air. It was just one of many steps meant to ground you in the moment, back in the present time instead of the memories plaguing your tired mind. You scooted to the edge of the mattress, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and yawning lightly in the quiet space. Another dream...you were starting to get used to them. This was the third night this week that the memory of that day came back, so clear compared to the time it had happened. Like watching it all from a video screen, one that was clear of the fear and energy that had driven the day’s events. You didn’t appreciate it, not even a little bit. Why couldn’t your head just move on from all that crap? It was making things so hard.

Regardless, you sighed, staring down at your thighs with a strange feeling of numbness. As always. Waking felt so disorienting sometimes, like the dreams you had were nightmares instead of a past event replaying like a cruel reel of film. Seeing the truth presented every morning was just another step in the process, wasn’t it? Acknowledging reality and building yourself up in kind despite how disconnected you felt from your own body. Because those were your thighs, weren’t they? Skin clear and smooth, still warm from sitting under your nest of blankets but slowly becoming chilled with goosebumps. You extended one leg, stretching the muscles of your calf and wiggling your toes experimentally--yeah, they responded to your brain firing off commands, felt real and functioned as they should.

Everything accounted for, on the right side at least. As for the left...well. 

Breathe. You will be fine.

You took a slow, measured breath, forcing yourself to acknowledge the lack of flesh on the other side, empty space in place of where your left leg had once been. How could it still feel so strange to look at, even after dealing with it for over a year? Your brain tried to disconnect the image from your head, telling you that it still felt the leg there despite how it was very obviously gone--the demon made sure of that. It’s disgusting claws had ripped it off right above the knee, relentless and unforgiving in its pursuit of flesh and blood. To be honest, you’d rather have lost a leg than died at the very least and luckily that was the case. Surgeries, physical therapy, and several months of recovery later...you were functioning again, making the best of a bad situation, right?

 At least...that was what you told yourself. Shaking the mental aspects of everything was a bit much.

You were determined to think otherwise, promising yourself that everything was fine as you pulled the sleeve onto the stump left behind. You were steady, right? Had been your whole life, cheerful and determined despite how some things had worked out. Pursuing music, joining the band, supporting them with every ounce of passion in your body...this was not the type of thing to break you down. But... convincing your stupid cranium of that fact was the hard part, wasn’t it? Another part of the process, one you tried to do as you slipped on the familiar chill of the prosthetic, making sure everything was secure and in place before rising to your feet. Balance found, head clearing, mind...getting there.

Learning how to walk with a new leg had taken some time, but...you had gotten used to it by now. Your steps steadied as you grabbed your phone from the nightstand, eyes carefully passing over the purple of your guitar leaning against a wall in the room. I wish it didn’t hurt to look at something that used to make me so happy. It was of little consequence as your foot padded on the hardwood leading to the stairs, each one taken carefully despite how little of them their were. Everything was like that now...careful. One foot at a time, eyes watching until the landing was met and the kitchen within sight. It was only then that you allowed yourself to glance at the time, phone screen lighting up to show six messages for you to read, and two missed calls.

You winced. Ah. Like clockwork.

The messages were from your bandmates,  two missed calls from your manager Mathius. You busied yourself with reading everything as you made coffee, breakfast consisting of a plain bagel with cream cheese and orange marmalade. Making something heavier would have kept you preoccupied longer, but you didn’t really have the motivation for it after having another dream of that day. Find comfort in simplicity for now. Munching quietly, reading the good morning texts from each friend with a hint of wistfulness and...guilt. 

It had been so long since you played anything with them...could you even consider yourself a member of Eidolon’s Fall anymore? At least they still seemed to think so.

“Hey kitten. Good morning--unless you sleep in today, then good afternoon. Call me when you get a chance.” From Kraven, lead singer and angelic vocalist. A very wonderful human being, charming in every aspect and one of the most supportive friends in your life.

“Sleep in till noon and risk me coming by to check on you. And If I do, someone is getting  a spankin’.” Celine’s message sounded vaguely threatening, punctuated by several kissing emojis and raised hands. Band bass player, and the one you knew the longest besides Boris. Which made sense, since they were siblings.

Boris’ message was next, a cheerful, “Good morning, sugar! How are you feeling?” With several hearts and sparkles. Trying to brighten your day, that was clear. Boris was always a ray of sunshine, you couldn’t help but smile. The two of you had learned how to play guitar together, and duel-played during most songs.

“Yo--just checking in on you, kid. Message me when you can.” Ah, there was the simplistic, gruff concern from Walter. Drummer, easily the oldest in the group just by a few years.

“Howdy killer, give me a call at your earliest convenience. And by that, I mean you’d better call me when you wake up. Worried about you.” Mathius must have texted when you didn’t answer the phone, checking in on you daily to see how everything was going.

Out of everyone, he was the one pushing the most for you to start playing music again--and why wouldn’t he? As the band manager, his job kind of relied on it. You didn’t blame him, but...that callback might not be coming, unfortunate for him. The constant questions and update requests were growing very...very tiring. The other band members were trying to give you space, not wanting to rush your progress or force you out of that comfort zone. They understood...they did. And you loved them for that.

The final message was from Pepper, and the hesitation was obvious. Simple and soft, you could almost read it in her voice.

“How are you doing? I’m here if you wanna talk.”

A sigh left your lips, fingers typing out each reply in kind to their messages. Promising everyone you were fine, challenging Celine to not make threats she wasn’t willing to follow through with. You grabbed a cup of coffee after adding a ton of cream and sugar, making your way to the living room and sitting down in an armchair to call Kraven. Mathius wasn’t getting a call back, but Kraven was your friend and he was easy to talk to. He didn’t feel the need to tiptoe around your feelings and emotions, keeping things straight and to the point while also acknowledging you needed time to recover. Through this whole recovery process, he had been a much needed support and loyal friend, so after another nightmare...he would definitely be the one to confide in. 

So you dialed his number, sitting back in the chair and lifting the prosthetic leg to stare at it while the dial tone droned on a few times. It looked as close to a real leg as manufacturers could get, with pants on it wouldn’t even be noticeable--leggings was pushing things, but you had gotten away with it. Technology was advancing every day too, you wouldn’t be shocked if in a few years there was a more streamlined, superior model to try out. Either way...you weren’t sure when you’d feel comfortable enough wearing shorts again. Which sucked, especially considering how many clothes you adored that bared your legs. But...every time you tried to convince yourself to wear them out, something in your head kept shooting it down despite all the reasoning.

Insecurity blows. I should not be insecure—I am a goddess, damn it. My body is a temple.

It was on that thought that Kraven finally picked up the phone, his smooth voice low and familiar, “Up before noon? What a change of pace.”

You rolled your eyes, sipping the coffee loudly and obnoxiously before you replied, “Its eleven thirty, smartass. And for your information, I never really sleep till noon--I wake up at ten and sit looking at memes for two hours.”

“Really? Thought you were avoiding social media.”

That made you wince, sinking down in the armchair as you thought about all the social media accounts you hadn’t posted to in weeks. You loved the small group of fans the band had, but all the worried messages were starting to feel...pressured. Going from “we’re rooting for you and love you” messages to “when will you be coming back? We miss you” messages. The guilt was just too much, and any excuses felt flimsy at best when you typed them out. And honestly, anything you could explain would only discourage people more--telling them that it was hard to play music after that night was just harsh, and adding the fact that you didn’t think you could play another concert was worse.

This blows.

“I don’t need to look at my pages to scout memes,” You quipped with a huff, gripping the coffee cup in one hand and balancing the phone on your shoulder, “And for your information, I posted something a couple weeks ago.”

If rolling eyes had a sound, that was what Kraven made in response to your statement, “And what a post it was! A picture of Celine’s cat, zero updates on your condition--how stimulating.”

He’s in a jackass mood today.

“Rude, Catsby is a very good boy,” You protested, staring at the empty cup of coffee in your hand before setting it on a nearby table, “You’re going right for my eyebrows already, slim? Are you and Boris fighting or something?”

That made Kraven snort a laugh, you both knowing full well that the two haven’t fought a single day since they started dating each other. Going on five or six years now, they completed each other in the best way and agreed on everything. It was almost disgustingly sweet, and you were a strange mix of happy for them and wistful about not ever having a love like that. Maybe someday, but you doubted it would be any time soon with how things had gone. Your head was still messed up from trauma, and until you did something about it there would be no dating anyone. Hell, even while in the band relationships had just paled in comparison to your passion for music, so thinking about romance felt...odd. It was definitely the depression talking, which you didn’t like.

Regardless...Kraven was talking again.

“We never fight--and for your information, I’m cranky because Mathius is up my ass,” Kraven complained, tone edging toward annoyance and anger, “And not in the fun ‘we need lubricants’ way.”

Ah. That made sense. As technical band leader, Kraven must have been taking on the brunt of the manager’s pushing and prodding. 

Which made you feel...guilty.

“Sorry…” You murmured, resting your chin on your knee and staring at a nearby wall, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” The vocalist firmly protested, sounding incredibly displeased at your glum tone as he continued, “You haven’t done anything wrong and I won’t have you feeling bad for it--Matt has always been the biggest dickhead in the west, and he’s just breathing down our necks for a new album ‘cause he thinks this year break is a bad thing. Some bands have taken longer so he can eat my ass--and not in the fun way.”

That made you smile a bit, just a tiny one. Kraven always had a way with words.

You pushed your hair over one shoulder, idly braiding some of the ends as a small gust of air pushed out of your lungs, “Yeah, well...he is right in a way. I should be trying more. But…” Hesitation bubbled forth, lodging the words in your throat as the night’s events came back. Blood, red, the sight of your fans in the front row mangled and…

Breathing exercises, dummy. Stop thinking about that stuff.

You swallowed it down a bit, the food and coffee on your stomach not settling well as you murmured, “I had another nightmare last night. Another...y’know.”

And he did. There was a pause on the other end of your call, Kraven’s breath slightly audible as he took in the tiny voice you used, the fear bleeding through the calm facade you tried to keep up at all times. With Kraven and the others...you could only afford to be vulnerable so much, at least in your opinion. So many of them had come from bad situations, and your life had eventually found the most stability of them all after your grandmother passed away.

You didn’t meet the woman until your teenage years, growing up alongside Boris and Celine in an orphanage, but she raised you after that and left behind a will in your name. What else could be done considering you were the only family she had outside of even older aunts and scattered cousins? You didn’t think there were any relatives that would be there to take you after your own parents skipped out to do god knew what, but the elder woman had found you somehow.

Her daughter, your mother, wasn’t on speaking terms with either of you, so...that stability was given to you and you alone. 

The group needed someone strong, steadfast, someone to keep them built up and motivated. That had always been your best trait, the ability to keep your chin up and help the others find their inspiration when they needed it. A motivator by heart and by choice. That hadn’t changed, had it? They still need you, but you just…

It’s hard.

“That night again?” Kraven murmured, voice low and soothing as you tried to gather your emotions, “Have you taken your meds? Called the therapist?”

Yes and yes. You weren’t foolish when it came to taking care of your mental health--no one wanted to get back to being happy and ready to play music more than you.

“Of course.” 

Kraven released a puff of air-- you could almost imagine him furrowing those brows and nibbling on his nails. The usual thinking expression your friend always wore in times like these. Whatever advice he decided to give, you knew it was coming from a place of kindness and caring, and generally the best advice to follow when it was needed. The vocalist had been a part of that memory, after all--his face was still fresh in your mind, one of the only times you had seen someone as steadfast as Kraven shed tears of any kind. But he was also the only one to bounce back first, putting plans of action into place and becoming the steadfast one when you could not. The others took a lot of time to pick themselves back up after that day--hell, you were positive Pepper still hadn’t come back from the events.

It was part of the reason why you were reluctant to go back to band practice, to play anything at all. The insecurity was one thing, living through the guilt from all your bandmates was another. Each one of them was trying to shoulder the blame of what happened on their own shoulders, which definitely didn’t fly by you. Seeing their looks of guilt and despair when you showed the prosthetic for the first time was...rough. Another piece of the puzzle as to why you only wore pants now, not wanting to make things worse. It wasn’t their fault, they had tried so hard to pick things up and make everything normal. But the mixture of trauma, nightmares, and that lack of your passion made quite the cocktail, and no one knew how to fix it.

But...everyone was trying, and that warmed you more than anything else.

“I think...you need a change of pace, kitten,” Kraven finally settled on his words, popping you back into reality in an instant, “Or maybe a safe way to face your fears. Have you maybe considered visiting Redgrave for a day, just to get over the residual fear?”

The very mention of it made you cringe, slinking down into the armchair with your shoulders hunched. It had been in Redgrave City when that concert had happened--a small venue, but in the worst place at the worst time. You learned later that the reason demons appeared at all was due to a mysterious structure--a tree, according to some--appearing on the edge of the city. That tree was gone now, inexplicably dying and collapsing after a months time and leaving the city to clean up and recover. Your band had been lucky that they were far enough away not to be sucked off all their life essence, those closest to the behemoth dying after attacks from strange roots. A year’s time made a big difference, some even gaining the courage to move back and salvage a life in the rubble and decay. But...you didn’t know if you could.

Your throat felt dry despite the coffee you had sucked down, prosthetic leg seeming like a heavy reminder at the very mention of Redgrave city, “I...I don’t know if I can do that, I…” You stood up slowly from the chair, fingers tight on your cellphone as you went to get more coffee from the kitchen, “What if there are more demon attacks? I don’t really feel comfortable with dying.”

Kraven snorted, “You and me both, kitten. But Redgrave only gets attacks closer to where that tree was, and even then I hear a demon hunting business has been taking care of all that.”

A demon hunting business? People had businesses like that? Is that normal?

You frowned, pouring out another cup of coffee and dumping a metric fuck ton of creamer into it, “That’s a thing? Thought the military took care of all that kind of stuff.”

 The rain of bullets from that night had not been lost on you, the sound was defending despite how muffled it had been by your swimming head. What were the qualifications to be a demon hunter? Did priests do that sort of thing? The only aspects of hunting demons your mind could think of was holy water and like...salt. Bible thumping nonsense, the sort of material you’d find in a cheesy horror movie they replay on movie channels at three am. You didn’t buy into all that nonsense, but if this was an official organization then who were you to argue it? The world was certainly becoming such a strange place, especially since the fall of the tree. Demon attacks had been a thing of rumors before that day, something you had only heard of and not experienced. It sucked that it couldn’t remain that way.

Kraven snorted at your disbelieving tone, the sound of him typing away on a keyboard following immediately after, “I just heard about it recently myself--Walter and I were discussing hiring a demon hunting group if we ever...well, when we go on tour again.”

The way the vocalist corrected himself, firmness to his tone...it made you feel guilty, one hand resting on the edge of your kitchen counter and gripping tightly. He had far more faith in you than deserved--no, you corrected yourself, eyes closing and a careful breath sucked through your nostrils. You would bounce back from this, you were better than this kind of negativity. 

“It’s absolutely wild--the business is called Devil May Cry, can you imagine?” Kraven sounded bemused, a loud cackle sounding from your ringtone as the link popped into your messages, “Bloody fuck, you still have that set up as my contact sound? Halloween was months ago.”

“First of all, our band is named Eidolon’s Fall, Kray. We have no room to judge what other people name their stuff,” Not that he chose the name, nor did you for that matter. That honor went to Boris, who decided to base it on the name of his first dungeons and dragons character. Cliche, but fun--You shrugged, bringing the mug to your lips and sipping loudly, “As for the ringtone, I like it too much to change it. Give me something funnier and I may consider.” 

“I’ll work on that.”

He sighed, but you ignored it, tapping on the link and blinking at the article that popped up on your screen. Telling of a business called Devil May Cry, members of said business seen traveling to and from Redgrave on an almost daily basis. They had played a big part in the clean-up as well, and were apparently now notorious for “odd jobs” and “demon hunting” due to the increase and normalcy of the creatures in everyday life. What a weird thing to capitalize on, finding a living in taking down monsters and cleaning up after the messes they made. You couldn’t formulate what kind of person would willingly hunt demons, but your mind continued to cling onto priests and things of a holy nature. Silly, but it wasn’t going away anytime soon. 

“Weird,” You commented, sipping more of the sweet, creamy liquid with a thoughtful expression on your face, “I’m jealous, Devil May Cry sounds like a really cool band name--like something an emo pop band would have. Or synth metal.”

Kraven chuckled, the sound warm and comforting from the phone receiver, “Boris would hate it--remember his face when Walter suggested the name ‘Hells Fury’? We would have hit peak cliche, I almost vomited.”

The memory made you smile warmly, the day very clear and welcome in your memory. It felt like such a lifetime away now, everyone younger and brighter then. Still learning how to maneuver through life, through music and everything that came with it. The band wasn’t famous per se, but it was popular in Redgrave and the surrounding areas, a small following remaining dedicated and steadfast since the first album. I love remembering those days, everyone was so...happy. You fought a sigh, carding a hand through your silken locks while the warmth faded away. That prosthetic leg was a heavy reminder, one that would never leave no matter how much you tried. A minor setback--we can keep walking forward.

You looked at the article again, tapping on a few links to see where they took you. The business didn’t have a website, but it did lead to an add in the local paper--very simplistic, old school. Who the hell actually took the time to read newspapers anymore when everything was so digital? The last human being you actually saw with a paper in hand was your grandmother, and she had passed when you were twenty years old.  You shook your head, sipping the last mouthful of caffeinated garbage while reading just what the article said--Looking to hire a secretary. If interested please call the number below or visit our headquarters on the edge of Capulet.

Underneath was listed a number and address, the whole thing incredible short and barely noticeable. Like whoever put it in the paper didn’t really care if someone saw. You felt a brow raise, a bit of interest sparking as you read over it again.

“Says they’re looking for employees,” You commented idly, setting your empty cup in a nearby sink and turning off the coffee pot, “A secretary, but the ad is super tiny.”

“Really?” Kraven paused, the silence ticking on for a few moments as you gathered the phone again. When he continued, it sounded like he had thought of something brilliant, “Why don’t you apply, kitten?”

You blinked, stopping in the doorway and staring at your phone incredulously. Sometimes it was impossible to tell if your friend was joking or being serious, but...he seemed entirely sincere in his suggestion, downright proud of himself for thinking it up. Meanwhile, you were wondering if he had lost every marble in his head.

“Is Celine in control of the group brain cell again?” Your reply was drier than a dessert, yet dripping with sarcasm as you leaned against the door frame, “And here I thought you didn’t loan it out for anything but special occasions.”

“Glad to hear your comedy is still as sharp as ever,” Kraven didn’t sound amused despite his comment, which was a shame. You were on a roll this morning, and he was having none of it, “I’m being serious--hear me out a bit. Working there on the side for a few months might give you some inspiration, yeah? A change of pace, some time out of the house...plus what better way to move past a fear of demons than hanging out with some people who hunt them for the hell of it?”

Hesitation became your close companion once more, bouncing around your cranium like a computer screen saver. Once upon a time, you might have been absolutely jazzed to meet some real life demon hunters if only for the musical inspiration alone. Because, christ, what a job to have. Unfortunately, such circumstances didn’t exist inside you anymore, especially considering how close to Redgrave Capulet was. Not to mention the danger facing said demon hunters on a daily basis--what was stopping demons from wanting to attack where they set up base? Could demons even form thoughts that coherent, hold grudges? Your ignorance was definitely showing, but you doubted there was a manual or guide on demons anywhere that wasn’t quoting from the bible or those really shitty horror movies again.

“I...don’t know about that, Kray,” You hedged, nibbling anxiously on your nails despite how hard you kept trying to break said habit, “Working at a demon hunting business seems like a really good way to get killed by demons.”

“As a secretary? In a building far away from all the fighting?”

 He was trying to poke holes in your logic--damn him.

An annoyed sigh left you lips, accompanied by a spike of aggravation, “I’m being serious, Kraven. I bet demons target places like that, and I just...I…”

Why can’t I just admit it?

Say it. Say that you’re too scared to risk that.

But...what if he’s right? This fear isn’t going away with you sitting at home moping about.

Kraven released a slow exhale, as if he somehow sensed exactly what your mind was doing. There was some jostling of his cell phone for a second, like he was repositioning himself while those wise thoughts gathered together. What were you supposed to do in this situation anymore? Recovery was so close, so tantalizingly close to your fingertips yet always out of reach. You wanted to go back to how things were before, to be positive and cheerful...happy. I was a cheerful person, damn it. I still am. Convincing yourself felt so hard now, like a weight resting on your shoulders and constantly whacking against the back of your skull like a nagging child. You found yourself looking at the prosthetic leg again, wondering why it was so difficult to accept despite all the hard work you had done.

You had nothing against prosthetic limbs--you could walk! You could still play your music, thank god. With time and effort, dancing could return too, maybe even running. And yet...maybe it wasn’t the leg itself bothering you--it was all the memories it contained, the trauma, the blood, the months of agony. Every other terrible event you had shrugged from your shoulders like dust, brushing it off and walking forward with your head held high. There were five other people there to support you, after all. But this time...things felt different, and no matter what you did that sensation wasn’t going away any time soon.

You wanted things to change. You wanted to get better.

“I know, kitten. I know it’s hard, and you don’t have to do anything that pushes you too far out of your comfort zone,” Kraven replied softly, soothingly. Reverting back to his gentle side at the sound of how distressed you had become, “But...sitting in that house isn’t helping you, is it? The therapy is only doing so much, and forcing the music won’t help. We...we miss you a lot, I just wanna help you break past this wall of fear in any way I can.”

Damn him for being right. As much as you loved your grandmother’s former home...it was rife with reminders of your own failure. Every piece of clothing you used to wear, every instrument and notepad you used for music and song writing. Even then, holding your phone close and staring across the living room you spotted one of the band’s CDs sitting on the coffee table. An old one, the cover showing each of you smiling and crowded in for a silly group photo when things were...better. More naive. When did seeing something that once made you so happy start to sting this much?

It wasn’t right. You hated feeling like that.

“...Okay.” You mumbled in response, sliding down against the wall and plopping on the living room carpet with a low thud. What was the harm in just stopping by, right? Even if you didn’t take the job, even if things seemed too strange you could at least say there was an attempt, ask some advice from the demon hunters themselves? Besides, if...when the band went on tour again after all this madness, having special bodyguards would be wonderful.

I must have lost my mind.

“Okay?” Kraven sounded confused, tone questioning at the heavy sigh you released.

“Yeah,” The hesitation still showed in your tone, but the exhaustion was slipping through as well. The culmination of months sitting in the house moping, of ignoring the instruments and dodging hangouts with the band. New excuses each time, all equally scummy, “I’ll check the place out, you dork ass loser. Hell, I have nothing going on today--even if I don’t take the job, maybe talking to some demon hunters will help? I’ll give them our business card.”

You still had fifty of them tucked into your wallet at all times. Mathius made sure of that, drilling it into your skulls that marketing was more important than anything else. Which you didn’t give a damn about--getting close to the cluster of fans Eidolon’s Fall already had was at the top of your priorities before all the tragedy started.

Regardless.

“...!” Kraven sounded surprised by your reluctant agreement, a gusty breath crackling through the microphone. You heard him start typing again, more than likely messaging the other band members about the situation and looking up things about Devil May Cry, “Do you want me to drive you there, kitten? I’ve got nothing going on today, Boris and I can--”

You rolled your eyes, slowly rising from the floor with a wince of pain. Getting up was a lot harder than getting down, that was for sure, “Don’t worry about it--I saw Boris posting about your date yesterday, the one you have planned for this afternoon? I can still drive fine enough on my own, you two have fun, damn it.”

There was no hiding things from you. Despite avoiding your own notifications and messages, stalking over your bandmates’ pages to see how they were doing was still valid and healthy. Maybe.

Fueled by boredom? Definitely. 

Kraven cursed at your words, muttering under his breath angrily, “That flighty little--”

“Hey,” You chidded him lightly, “Don’t be too mad at the boy, he’s easily excited and he isn’t a psychic.”

If he was, maybe things might have worked out a bit differently. Minus one missing leg, and with better security at the concert.

Kraven let out a gusty sigh, anger draining easy enough with just a little bit of reason. Besides, he couldn’t stay mad at Boris for any length of time for anything, “I know I know...If you’re sure it’s fine, just keep me posted at the very least. Message me when you get there and let me know how everything goes, okay?”

“Yes sir.”

You nodded despite the fact that he wasn’t in the room to see it, gripping the phone just a little tighter in your fingers. As teasing as you tried to sound, the anxiety was still there and ever present. Sure, this was a nice step in a new direction,  an opportunity to learn some useful things and make strides toward recovery. But that little voice of alarm at the back of your head would not shut up, and it was starting to grow aggravating. You were tired of moping, tired of sitting around waiting for your head to fix itself damn it. This is not who I am, this is not like me. What the hell was the point of letting something like this beat you, especially after all the other bad shit you dragged yourself and the others out of? Screw that.

So you stood, swallowing several layers of worry and residual fear as you said as steadily as possible to Kraven, “I’ll catch you later, slim--make sure to give Boris a kiss for me.”

I miss him, I miss all of you. But...I can’t come back to music yet, not until my head is on straight.

Kraven let out a low breath, his tone warm and soothing when he replied to you, “Of course, kitten. Keep me posted, please.”

“Of course. Love you.”

“As we love you, Y/N.”

You hung up with a tap of your finger, leaning against a nearby wall again to gather your courage as the remaining traces of his affectionate tone rang out. Silence was far less welcome, and you came to realize it was a lot easier to commit to things when Kraven was there to be your hype man, his steady voice like a beacon through the doubt. But...it was a lot harder when he wasn’t actually talking. If only it was that easy to get your musical motivation and confidence back--sitting in a room to jam while the band boosted your energy sounded like the ideal scenario, but alas...they had tried that. Positive influence just wasn’t putting a dent in the fear, which made you mad in an odd way. Prickling on the edges of aggravation and frustration.

The feeling persisted as you made your way up the small flight of stairs, flicking on the bedroom light and staring at your room. Lined with boxes on the far corner, the hidden contents of your various instruments and books making life a little less pressured when you got up in the morning. That purple guitar, however, remained propped against the wall--the only reminder you allowed. It’s smooth, purple surface made your eyes linger for a moment, hands remembering the feeling of holding it when music flowed into speakers and pounded through the air. The last time you held it...the guitar had felt so heavy, like a stranger. Especially after months of not playing due to physical therapy and stress.

If I tried to play now, I bet I’d be rusty.

“Why am I like this?” You muttered as you passed it by, heading into your closet to grab an outfit for the day. A pair of leggings, ones that hid the prosthetic well enough and a pair of boots that stopped at the knee. Tops were a lot easier, a simple tank top and jacket picked out and slung on before you headed back down to find your keys. Being fully dressed provided some semblance of normalcy, like a veil over the events that transpired a year ago. Legs looking normal, but each step still a little heavy on the left side. Standing too long would make you ache, and the stump needed time to breathe so you reminded yourself to do that when needed.

But that was of little consequence, at least when the anxiety got rolling again. The thoughts were loud when you grabbed your keys, pausing at the front door and leaning your head against the hardwood. You just had to stop by, right? Head into Devil May Cry and ask about the job, get a feel for it and see if they would be willing to talk a bit about demons as well. It all sounded so simple when Kraven was reassuring it, but...what now? How did you work through this many layers of bullshit?

By opening the door, and stepping outside.

And from there...we take our chances, don’t we?

Positivity in the face of trauma, right? At least that’s what you convinced yourself, squeezing the keys in your grasp before pushing open the door.

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