#kill bill part 11

[nichmeddar]

charles leclerc

oscar piastri

KILL BILL P.11

Charles Leclerc x ex!reader, Oscar Piastri x reader

previous part

Hey… how y’all doing… I’m sorry this is like 5 months later 😭 , I was on a brief hiatus from this fic due to me writing myself into a hole… I still don’t know how it’s gunna end so I’m very open to suggestions.

••••••

MESSAGES

TWITTER

MESSAGES

TWITTER

2 MONTHS LATER

•••••••

TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee

@callsignwidow

@a-beaverhausen

@emryb

@c0deincrazy

@dontworryaboutitokie

@c-losur3

@chuxk-lerclerk

@silkenthusiasts

@ietss

@sp1rl

@destinyg237

@aliorasspace

[gorgeys]

purple tongues ★ mari ibarra x fem!reader

some couples measure their love in pictures, or flowers, or kisses.  you and mari measure yours in slurpees.

word count: 2700 warnings: maybe mari a little ooc?

a/n: this is barely edited so it's a little rough around the edges

also this is supposed to be the first part of that big mari fic i was teasing here. i started writing a part 2 with more snapshots of mari and reader's relationship in the future but it might never get done who knows.

missing my shayla sm 💔💔

it started the night before everything began.  the night before you left for nationals.

you and mari had ditched the bonfire party early on, mari claiming "this looks like a scene out of can't hardly wait, minus anyone fuckable."  instead, the two of you walked down the lonely, dark neighborhood roads, music fading out of earshot and hands brushing with each step.

mari filled the silence by making fun of everyone's outfits that night just to hear you laugh.  you filled the space by leaning into her side and finally grabbing her hand, which left mari's heart thumping against her rib cage.  until you both stumbled across wiskayok's only 7/11.

sure it was cramped and old and smelled like weed, but the way mari opened the door for you and drawled "after you, milady," made it seem like the fanciest place in town.  you laughed all the way to the slurpee machine, mari guiding you with a hand on the small of your back, where you both reached for big gulp cups.

"half cherry, half coke," you say, filling your cup to the brim.  "just like god intended."

mari scrunches up her nose in disgust, but it's more cute than anything.

"no, no, no.  see, you gotta get blue raspberry like a real adult," mari says as if she's enlightening you.

"yeah, right."  you roll your eyes, but your smile speaks volumes.

she grabs a few crumpled dollar bills from the back pocket of her jeans and throws them down on the counter like it's not even a question that she's paying for you.  then she tugs you by the hand out the door and finds a nice spot on the curb illuminated by the overhead streetlight.

she outstretches her legs and lazily leans back on one hand, the other bringing the straw to her lips.  she moans dramatically after taking her first sip.

"enjoying that?" you ask, glancing over at her with a raised eyebrow.

"oh yeah," she says, grinning back.  "a thousand calories and enough artificial sweetener to kill a horse.  nationals here we come!"

you laugh, the sound mari's come to love so much, before taking a sip of your own.

there's a beat of silence.  it's something mari used to hate, but has come to understand since meeting you.  she actually finds herself enjoying the quiet when it's shared with you.  still she's always one to break it.

"isn't this so much better than getting puked on by randy walsh?" 

you look over at her and grin.  because yeah, that had actually happened last year and she would spend the rest of her years teasing you about it.  but you also smiled because there was no one else you'd rather be with.

"yeah, it really is," you say, breathlessly and genuinely.

when mari turns and sees the way you're looking at her, full of love and everything she doesn't think she deserves, she feels like her heart might as well jump out of her chest and into your hands. because mari, whose first language is sarcasm and shit talking, somehow harbors a soft spot in the shape of you.

"don't look at me like that," she says, but her words lack the bite they usually have.  her eyes flicker down to the asphalt, a similar smile spreading across her face.

you lean in closer, lowering your face so she's forced to meet your eyes.  mari's the opposite of shy, so you can't help but take advantage of moments like this, when she's nervous to show how much she really cares.

"like what?" you ask, a teasing edge to your voice.  like you already know what she's going to say.

"like you love me or something," she says, trying and failing to sound casual.  she looks back up at you, leaning back on her hand with that easy smirk.

"but i do," you say, resting your cheek against your knee, still smiling up at her.

"obviously, you dork."

a breathy chuckle pushes past your lips before you cup her face in your free hand.  your lips meet hers halfway in a strong, sure kiss.  it's not perfect by normal standards --both of your lips are freezing and taste like artificial sweetener and you can hear boys shouting on the other side of the parking lot.  but in that moment, it feels perfect to the both of you.

when mari pulls back she grins like she's just won the lottery.

"i love you too," she says, the words rolling off her tongue more naturally than her own name.

you smile, reaching down and interlacing your fingers with hers on the pavement.  you don't have the guts to say it, but a part of you is thinking it: maybe this could be forever.

if you had known that was going to be your last taste of normal, you would have stayed there even longer, would've bought mari another slurpee, would've kissed her one more time under the neon sign of the store.  instead, you walked her home an hour or two later, kissing her cheek at the door and whispering how beautiful of a night it had been with her.

the next time you think about slurpees, you're a thousand miles deep in the canadian wilderness.  you're starving, borderline freezing to death, and you've just watched your closest friends die.

you're tucked under as many blankets as you could find, legs tangled with mari's beneath them as you try to keep out the cold of the approaching winter.  your faces are so close that you can feel her warm breath fanning against your nose, a welcome reminder that she's still there.  she can feel your hand trembling as it holds onto her arm and the way you stiffen each time a strong gust of wind enters the hut, as if you're waiting for something bad to happen.

you think she might be asleep until you feel her fingers start to trace your cheekbone.  her touch is so gentle you have to question if it's really there or if you're just imagining it.

"do you remember our last night?" she whispers.

you open your eyes, and from the way the moonlight reflects off of them, mari knows you do.

"i think about it all the time," she confesses.  "when i can't sleep, i just try to remember you that night.  how pretty you looked under the streetlight and how stupid i was for not telling you then."

your lips curl into a weak, sad smile.

"and how you threw your head back and laughed at everything i said, even when it wasn't funny.  and-and how everything felt perfect when you held my hand."

"mari..." you whisper, leaning forward so your forehead rests against hers.

"and how happy you were to just be there with me.  i'm scared i'll never see you like that again."

you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the tears start to swell.  you haven't cried in a while, but as every sight, sound, and taste from that night comes rushing back to you, you suddenly realize how much you've lost.

"i'm scared too, mar," you say, hand moving from her arm to her cheek.  "and i don't know what to say to make it better."

mari exhales, shaky and slow, like she's trying to keep it together for you.

"you don't have to say anything.  it's just...my favorite memory.  you're my favorite memory.  even if you do get that disgusting cherry coke mix that tastes like battery acid."

"shut up," you laugh quietly, pushing her shoulder.  it's a small, broken laugh that catches on the edge of a sob.  "it's so good and you know it."

"yeah, whatever," she says, smiling wider than you've seen in a while.

"i think i'd cut off my left arm just to have another one of those," you sigh.

"what?  slurpee?"

"yeah, that.  but also just...another night with you."  your hand's cradling her neck now, holding her like she's the only thing you've got left.

"tell you what," she starts, voice nearly breaking.  her fingers brush your hair out of your face.  "first thing i do if we get rescued, i'm taking you back to that place.  i'm getting you your battery acid slurpee.  we'll sit on the curb and you'll hold my hand and i'll kiss you so hard our tongues turn purple.  we'll rewrite the memory.  i promise."

a loose tear trickles down your cheek as you nod your head. 

"deal," you whisper.  then mari leans forward and kisses the tear away.

"i love you."

"i love you more," you say, wrapping your arm around her as she buries her face in your neck.

you close your eyes and you see that image of mari: laughing, carefree, straw between her lips.  and for the first time, you let yourself imagine what it will be like after you're rescued, when you get to see that version of mari again.  and it's the first time you have a semblance of good night's sleep since the plane crash.

and then it finally happens.  rescue comes even though a part of you had given up on it entirely.  and mari's there, holding your hand through it all.  from the hospital, to the anxious plane ride home, to seeing wiskayok for the first time in almost two years.

and then, just like she promised, you're sitting the passenger seat of mari's car as she drives you back to that 7/11.  it's a quiet drive, one where you're staring out the window and taking in the sights and sounds of the town that hasn't changed a bit since you last saw it.  and mari's fingers are tapping anxiously against the steering wheel while her other hand rests in yours over the center console like a lifeline, grounding you when everything feels like too much.

when she finally pulls into the parking lot and puts the car in park, you both just sit there.  it looks exactly the same way it did on that night: neon sign outside, too-bright fluorescent lights inside, and the kids with their bikes loitering around the entrance.  it was as if time had frozen that night, and the store had been awaiting your return all these months later.

mari exhales a heavy breath from beside you.

"you good?" you murmur, eyes never leaving the store.  this feels like a dream.  one you thought you'd never get to fulfill.

"yeah, it's just...a lot," mari says.

it shouldn't be a lot.  it should just be a random 7/11 in some random boring town.  but to you and mari, it's everything.

"i know," you say, squeezing her hand.  "we don't have to if-"

"no, i want to.  i've been waiting to.  it's all i've been thinking about for two years and now it's here."  she looks over at you and smiles.  "come on, let's go."

she gets to the door first and holds it open for you.

"after you, milady," she says, just like last time, except her voice is softer and more careful now.  it's a small but sharp reminder that you'll never get back the innocence you once had.

you don't throw your head back in laughter this time, you just smile, hand still in hers, tugging her inside after you.  the smell of weed hits you like a freight train, but for once, you don't mind.  you lead mari to the slurpee machine that's still in the same spot and you sigh when you see the flavors are exactly the same: cherry, blue raspberry, coke, and that weird sugar free green one that nobody gets.

"god, mar, i might cry," you say.  you expect her to tease you like usual, something about how much of a sap you are, but instead she releases your hand and holds your waist instead.

"me too," she says, resting her chin on your shoulder.  you spare her a smile over your shoulder before reaching for two of the largest cups.

"coke and cherry?" she asks.

"just like god intended," you say, pulling on the cherry lever.  mari watches you, no longer bothering to hide the fondness in her eyes.

she eventually heads for blue raspberry, telling you, "somethings never change."

"and i never want them to," you say.

"me neither," she says, looping an arm through yours and guiding you toward the unbothered cashier.

mari tries to pay but you're quicker this time.

"nope, i've had this debt for two years.  time to repay it," you say, sliding a couple crumpled bills of your own onto the counter.  you had been sure to grab them before you left the house just for this very occasion, so that, for once, you could be the one to take care of mari.

"it's two dollars, you idiot," mari teases before dragging you outside to the same spot on the curb under the same flickering streetlight.

the two of you wordlessly sit, knees brushing.  for once, the night air is warm and the sounds of wiskayok hum in the background and there's no weight on either of your shoulders, no fear.

"we're really here," mari says, leaning back on her hand like muscle memory.

"just like you promised."

"i didn't even know if we were going to make it out when i told you that," mari admits.

"i know," you say, elbows resting on your knees.  "but that didn't matter.  just thinking about it made everything a little less bad.  and now, being here, with you, it's better than i could've ever imagined."

she recognizes the way you're looking at her, like she hung the stars in your sky.  it's the same look you gave her that night, the one that made her heart jump and scared her a little.  except now she doesn't shy away. she melts right into it.

she lifts her cup in the air like it's something sacred.

"to making new memories," she says. 

you tap the rim of your cup against hers, making a plastic clinking sound.

"to us," you add. 

because that's what it's been all along, the two of you. and after everything, you know that's how it's going to stay: the two of you tethered, two halves of a whole.

you hold eye contact as you both take your first sips, until the slush hits her tongue and mari's eyes roll back in her head.

"oh my god, that's the best thing i've ever tasted," mari groans, dramatically throwing her head back in true mari fashion.

you can't even respond, you're chugging it so fast.  but then reality hits

"fuck!" you curse, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your palm against your forehead.

mari turns to you, smirking as if watching you suffer is her favorite comedy.

"brain freeze?"

"yep," you wince.  "battery acid's never tasted so good."

mari laughs, setting her cup down on the pavement.  then she turns her body fully toward yours, like she's about to say something immensely serious.  but there's still that mischievous glint in her eye that tells you she's got something up her sleeve.

"now, time to fulfill the prophecy."

you blink at her and the sudden tone shift.

"what?" you ask, giving her a concerned look.  "are you going all lottie on me?"

"no, dummy, purple tongues," she says like it's the most obvious thing ever.  "i gotta keep my promise, don't i?"

a breathless, free laugh escapes your lips.  it's been so long since mari's heard it, she thinks she might cry.

"you're so stupid," you say, though you're already leaning in.

she grabs your face with both hands, still cold from holding the cup, and pulls you into a kiss.  it's not stolen like it was before.  now it's slow and timeless, but still certain.  she kisses you like she wants to steal back every moment she thought she'd never get with you.  and you're more than willing to let her.

"love you," you whisper against her lips, her hands holding you firmly and not letting you escape her.

"love you too," she whispers back before kissing you so hard you get dizzy.

and that's how your favorite tradition is formed: you, mari, slurpees, and a whole lot of love.

[dandelionh3art]

Real Reasons why Gaddafi was killed

1. Libya had no electricity bills, electricity came free of charge to all citizens.

2. There were no interest rates on loans, the banks were state-owned, the loan of citizens by law 0%.

3. Gaddafi promised not to buy a house for his parents until everyone in Libya owns a home.

4. All newlywed couples in Libya received 60,000 dinars from the government & because of that they bought their own apartments & started their families.

5. Education & medical treatment in Libya are free. Before Gaddafi there were only 25% readers, 83% during his reign

6. If Libyans wanted to live on a farm, they received free household appliances, seeds and livestock.

7. If they cannot receive treatment in Libya, the state would fund them $2300+ accommodation & travel for treatment abroad.

8. If you bought a car, the government finances 50% of the price.

9. The price of gasoline became $ 0.14 per liter.

10. Libya had no external debt, and reserves were $150 Billion (now frozen worldwide)

11. Since some Libyans can't find jobs after school, the government will pay the average salary when they can't find a job.

12. Part of oil sales in Libya are directly linked to the bank accounts of all citizens.

13. The mother who gave birth to the child will receive $5000

14. 40 loaves of bread cost $0.15.

15. Gaddafi has implemented the world's biggest irrigation project known as the "BIG MAN PROJECT" to ensure water availability in the desert.

Your comments on this ...

[twopoppies]

The article is in Spanish, but it's a very trustworthy source from Argentina. That Roger was a fucking leech, hope he rots in jail

https://www. infobae. com/sociedad/policiales/2024/11/08/pesos-argentinos-para-comprar-droga-negocios-en-comun-y-dias-libres-el-oscuro-control-de-rogelio-nores-sobre-liam-payne/

This is so fucking disturbing. I know fans have had a bad feeling about Roger for a while. It sounds like they weren’t wrong.

Today, Nores is charged with abandoning Liam Payne and killing him , as well as supplying and facilitating him with drugs, in a relationship that sources in the case describe as “almost Maradona-esque, a friend of the champion , like those who surrounded Diego at his worst .” To charge him, Madrea and his team analyzed 800 hours of footage from the CasaSur hotel and opened Liam’s phone. In addition, they took a large number of testimonies, including that of Liam’s father, Geoff Payne.

Liam's father said the same thing that the courts were able to confirm through the analysis of communications and the comparison of other testimonies: that Nores, after meeting Payne in Miami at the beginning of this year, became the force that dominated his life. If the Payne family wanted to know how the singer was, then they should contact Rogelio. He was not just another friend of Liam's, under any circumstances. Geoff Payne himself said it: "Roger" was always the intermediary. "He is better than ever," he would have told the family when asked.

And this explains the charge of abandonment of a person. It is not about the fact that the businessman did not come to the singer's aid, but about the long road that led to the CasaSur hotel.

The businessman would have become a sort of de facto manager . Although they did not have a specific contract in this regard, sources in the case say that Nores operated as an "investment advisor" and that they had business in common in view of Payne's possible return to the world stage. For this, the singer's recovery from his addiction to drugs and alcohol was key. He just had to be detoxified.

Nores accompanied Payne in a deep detoxification treatment in the United States. There, a psychiatrist prescribed sertraline, the antidepressant that was found in the toxicology test on the singer's body. The specialist said it clearly: if you mix alcohol and cocaine with sertraline, the result can be lethal.

Then, another treatment in Spain was carried out, which also failed. So they ended up in Argentina. Payne was put up in a prestigious five-star hotel that was used to hosting big rock stars. They kicked him out of there. They even visited a local psychiatrist, who testified in the file. After the five-star hotel, they both went to the Patagones polo club with the singer's last girlfriend, Kate Cassidy, where the singer was photographed wearing a helmet and heels on a horse. They spent a few days there. However, Payne quickly became nervous and left the place.

Thus, they arrived at the CasaSur hotel in Palermo on the Sunday before the death. Liam did not even have a bag. There, according to the testimonies and analysis that are part of the case of the prosecutor Madrea, Nores' control would have been much more evident, with alleged orders to the hotel staff to report each expense. Nores, this time, managed Payne's expenses , while receiving calls for each whiskey, champagne or tequila that the former One Direction member ordered, with physical money delivered at the reception. The evidence also speaks of "free days" when Liam could consume cocaine.

The day he died, precisely, was a “day off.”

Thus, Nores frequently returned to the hotel to top up the bill. Payne, meanwhile, insisted on the phone, asking for Argentine pesos to pay the dealers who offered him cocaine, with photos of the bags they offered him and the corresponding prices. The prosecution suspects that Nores had obtained cocaine for him himself, which led to the second charge against him.

Meanwhile, hotel cameras filmed Liam as he wandered the halls , drunk and with a distant look.

For the time being, Nores is free, with his passport handed over to the courts and a ban on leaving the country, while he awaits being summoned for questioning by Judge Laura Bruniard. Article 106 of the Criminal Code, which defines the crime of abandonment followed by death, speaks of “anyone who endangers the life or health of another, either by placing him or her in a situation of helplessness, or by abandoning to their fate a person who is incapable of taking care of himself or who must be maintained or cared for, or who the author himself has incapacitated .” Here, the alleged supply of narcotics plays a key role.

If convicted, he could face up to 15 years in prison. Given the amount of the sentence, the crime is not bailable.

[ckret2]

Chapter 58 of human Bill Cipher in a quantum uncertainty state between being and not being the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Everything you've wondered about how Bill survived his execution.

Let's rewind a couple of days.

####

Friday, 11:00 p.m.

"Welp," Mabel said, "I've got the rest of summer to try to get the whole story out of him! Goodnight, Dipper!"

Dipper's stomach flipped with guilt. "Yeah." The rest of summer. Mabel left for Portland in the morning. "Goodnight."

He lay down, pulled his sheet back up, and stared at the ceiling.

####

Friday, 11:04 p.m.

It took less than five minutes before the guilt won.

Yeah, no, nope, nuh-uh, Dipper couldn't do this. Not to his sister. He rolled over and hissed, "Psss, hey. Mabel."

"Hm?"

"Listen," Dipper said. "I hate Bill, okay, but I care about you, and also I think Bill might be part of a prophecy, so, because of that—I... There's something I need to tell you."

####

11:15 p.m.

Bill hadn't even had time to start dreaming before something dragged his mind back into the waking world.

There were white points of light as he passed through the hazy twilight of half-sleep. Those lights were his eyes. Lately, every time he started to wake up, he'd been seeing his eyes in the distance.

This time, there was one right in front of him, so bright it almost blinded him. He thought he could see something in the light.

He touched it.

And then he woke up, laying on his cushion bed as usual, watching as Mabel slid out of her room, crept near, and knelt beside him. She shook his shoulder. "Hey, Bill. Wake up."

And then he woke up—which was strange, considering he'd just done that—and stared at the dark inside of his hoodie.

He pushed back his hood. There was Mabel, crouched next to him, just like he'd "dreamed." Huh. Well done, Cipher, it seems you've just learned a new trick.

He tamped down his excitement; he could figure out what to do with this trick later. For now, he had a higher priority. "'Sup, kid?" He pushed himself up on an elbow, roughly flipping his hair out of his hood so it wouldn't keep tickling and choking around his neck. "It's the middle of the night." He yawned and mumbled, "Not that it makes a difference to me, but..."

"Shhh! We've gotta stay quiet," Mabel whispered. "I need to get you out of here. They're gonna kill you."

He sat bolt upright. "All right," he said. "You have my attention."

####

Dipper refused to say how, but according to him they'd synthesized just enough fuel for one shot with their fancy quantum whatever gun, and they couldn't make any more. They planned to execute Bill once Mabel was gone.

Mabel could just open a door for Bill and let him escape in the middle of the night—but that had dangers of its own. Bill would have to travel to a hiding place on foot—and his shoes were crap for hiking—his feet were also crap for hiking—and he'd only have until the adults started waking up and realized he was gone. Even if he kept moving all night, the adults would probably be able to cover the same amount of ground in a couple of hours, he'd probably inadvertently leave a trail a mile wide, and the forest's local supernatural population would definitely snitch if one of the Stans asked if they'd seen anything.

Plus, it wouldn't be very hard for the adults to figure out that Dipper had cracked and Mabel had helped Bill escape, and then everyone was in hot water.

They needed a way to cover Bill's escape to make it harder for the adults to pick up his trail, to give him as much time as possible to get some distance from the shack, and to delay Mabel getting in trouble. ("And Dipper," Mabel said. "Sure," Bill said unenthusiastically.)

But if they could, it would be best if they found a way to ensure the adults never even thought to look for Bill, Mabel never got in trouble at all, and the Quantum Destabilizer could never be fired again.

It was possible, Bill said. It wasn't guaranteed, but it was possible. They had a good chance. A very good chance. In fact, never mind, he'd decided it was guaranteed, they'd pull this off easily.

All they had to do was fake his death.

He knew a way.

####

11:45 p.m.

Dipper was stirred out of a drowsy near-sleep by the door creaking open and a couple sets of footsteps shuffling in. He rolled over and squinted across the room.

Mabel was quietly collecting craft supplies—pens, papers, her small starter sewing kit she used for repairs. Bill climbed into the loft to grab some musty pillows and blankets that had been stored for years in a cardboard box.

"Mabel?" Dipper mumbled.

Mabel put a finger over her lips. "Hey Dipper," she whispered. "You can go back to sleep, we'll be up in the loft."

"Doing what?"

"Scheme-y stuff. Don't worry about it." She flung her arms around Dipper, whispered, "Thank you," and ran across the room to grab her backpack and the height-altering flashlight.

Dipper glanced toward the loft. Bill was waiting at the top of the ladder, a dark vaguely-triangular silhouette, only his eyes visible as they reflected the dim light like a cat's. Dipper had had more nightmares than he could remember about waking to find Bill hovering in the dark above him.

Bill's gaze flicked from watching Mabel to staring at Dipper. They made eye contact. Bill didn't say anything.

Then Mabel climbed up the ladder, supply-stuffed backpack slung over her shoulders. Bill gave Dipper one last silent look, then turned away to follow Mabel to the back of the loft.

Dipper rolled over and tried to fall back asleep.

####

The plan was to create a dummy that looked like Bill to take the Quantum Destabilizer's shot in his place, while the real Bill got as far from the shack as the weirdness barrier around town would allow.

Bill told Mabel that the dummy didn't need to be complicated: he had an enchantment that could make it completely convincing. All he had to do was write out a spell and leave the paper over the dummy, and anyone who looked at it would be convinced it was really him in the flesh.

Similarly, sneaking Bill out of the shack didn't need to be complicated. They could shrink Bill down and stick him in Mabel's backpack, and all she'd have to do was come up with an excuse to get out of the car and set him free before they left town. 

The hard part would be the choreography of the whole thing. They needed Bill to put in an appearance that morning, to prove it really was him walking around; and then go somewhere that Mabel could hide him away without anybody noticing; and then ensure that nobody would see the Bill dummy until they were safely out of range, just in case. "The enchantment's pretty good," Bill said, "but the more people see it and the longer they get to look at it, the less potent it gets. And all it'll do is make the dummy look like me—it won't be able to walk and talk. It's best if the only person who gets a good look at it is my executioner."

The word executioner made Mabel shudder. It would probably be Ford, wouldn't it? She knew he thought he was doing the right thing. She knew it wasn't the first time he'd tried to destroy Bill. She knew she'd been fine with it last summer. She even knew that Bill would be okay. But all the same, she wasn't sure how she'd look at Ford the same way.

Once they had the dummy set up somewhere away from the family's prying eyes, they had to discourage everyone from trying to approach "Bill" until they were ready to kill him. And, ideally—just in case the executioner tried to speak to Bill or the enchantment otherwise failed—they should stage it all in a way so that no one would think Mabel had been involved in the escape plan.

The solution was obvious.

"I live to cause drama for no reason," Bill said. "I upset mortals recreationally. Can you act?"

"Can I act? Pshhh!" Mabel flipped a hand dismissively. "Maybe you were too busy badly impersonating my brother to watch, but last year I kind of staged an entire puppet show performing and singing as every character."

So it was a plan: they would stage a fight.

They were sitting in the very back of the attic loft, behind stacks of forgotten boxes and abandoned junk, beneath the meager light of the loft's window. Bill didn't need the light. He had a pen and paper and was writing out his enchantment's spell while they talked, long lines of inscrutable text. It was so dark that Mabel couldn't even see what language he was writing in, but that was fine; Bill had said that if she read his spell—if anyone read it—it would break the enchantment.

"Whoops," Bill said, "yeah, afraid I missed your whole show! I was too busy backstage trying to avoid your friends and looking for a way onto the catwalk."

Mabel shook her head in disapproval. "You would have liked it. There were live pyrotechnics and lasers and fog machines and a giant tentacle monster war and seventy-four songs and puppets!"

"I'll admit, sounds like a killer show. How about gore?"

"There was a whole song about my love interest getting his legs chewed off in the war," Mabel said. "The sock puppets don't have legs, but everyone knows your own imagination is a lot scarier than anything you actually see."

This kid could have a brilliant artistic career as a serial killer. "That's familiar. Is this war based on that 'cats versus the giant octopus' dream you keep having?"

"Yeah, and you'd have known that if you'd actually watched the opera! Too bad you missed the whole thing," Mabel said. "I guess you were just too busy being evil to appreciate the simple joys of a good, clean, non-villainous puppet show."

"Oh no, I can't believe my actions have consequences," Bill said flatly. "What would I ever have done if you hadn't enlightened me."

"Died, probably."

Bill glared.

"You know! Like you did last summer? As a consequence of your—"

"You shush."

Bill shoved Mabel away when she started to laugh, and held the enchantment up between their faces so he didn't have to look at her. He read his work over, then folded the paper in half and half again. "Hey, maybe you can put on an encore presentation sometime." Bill carefully inscribed four symbols in a square on the folded paper. "I promise I'll laugh at the jokes and fake cry at the sad parts."

Mabel shuddered. "No way. I'm never touching that show again. Too many bad memories."

"Awww, how come?"

Mabel stared at Bill.

Bill said, "Oh, right."

"Yeah," Mabel said coldly. "Thanks."

Bill shrank back. He leaned against a cardboard box, not sure where to look, drumming his fingers self consciously on the floorboards. Trying to figure out the right thing to say to make it better.

"Hey," he said. "If you ever change your mind about reviving the show... can I play the reverend again?" He grinned.

Mabel wadded up a paper and chucked it at Bill's face.

####

They agreed that scripting out every bit of the argument would make it sound too fakey; and anyway they were going to do this on no sleep and with no time to practice, if one of them forgot a line mid-argument it would ruin their entire plan. Bill said he was great at improvisational acting (which Mabel suspected was his way of trying to make "great at lying on the spot" sound good), and Mabel was a pro at getting into character for pretend games, so this should be easy. They just needed to choose a few topics they could realistically argue about.

So they started making a list of things that would totally infuriate each other.

"I can't think of anything that would make me furious," Bill said. "Outside of something serious like a murder attempt, anyway. I'm an even-tempered triangle! I don't sweat the small things!"

"You got sooo mad when I forgot to tell you about my Summerween plans."

Bill grimaced. "Right," he muttered. "That." 

Teasingly, Mabel asked, "Are you still grumpy I made plans?"

"I was not grumpy you made plans. I wasn't grumpy at all! I just would have appreciated if I'd known sooner, I planned my whole evening assuming I'd have somebody around to open doors—"

He saw Mabel's increasingly amused smirk, stopped himself, held up a hand, and said, "I'll save it for tomorrow morning."

Mabel wrote down the idea beneath four ideas she'd already scratched out. She'd temporarily removed the crystal from the height-altering flashlight so she could illuminate her paper while she wrote. "The concert will definitely come up tomorrow morning! And you can act like that's the first time you heard about it."

"Sure, no problem. We haven't talked about the concert where your uncles could overhear, have we?"

"I don't think so."

"Then that's perfect. I can pretend to be mad you didn't tell me." Bill forced a smile. "All right, your turn." He rested his elbow on his knee and his cheek on his fist. "I realize that, apart from the unfortunate meat suit, I'm the most flawless person you've ever seen—" he ignored Mabel's raspberry, "—but for the sake of argument, just imagine something you might get mad at me for."

"Um... insulting Dipper?"

"Now that sounds fun. But no, can't risk it, he'd be too tempted to jump into the argument," Bill said. "Besides, what if I said something you agreed with?"

"What! Why would I agree if you insulted my brother?"

"He smells like a sweaty ferret and when he has a crush he turns into a creepy little stalker."

Mabel laughed. "Yeah, he does. Okay, um..." She went silent for a moment, tapping the butt of her marker on the paper. 

She stopped tapping; and then quietly said, "I'd be so mad if I thought you were trying to keep me from hanging out with my friends."

"Oh, I could do that easily." Bill reviewed his wording, decided a human could take that as a threat, and quickly amended himself, "Could pretend that I'm trying to do that easily. You know I'd never, but hey, the adults here are ready to believe the worst about me—"

"You promise?"

"Sure I promise!" He processed the question after he'd already answered it. "Hold on—you think I'm the kind of person who would do that?" He was, but he didn't want her to see him that way.

She shrugged, looking down at her idea list again. "You've done it to other people."

"Name one!"

"Grunkle Ford and Old Man McGucket."

Oh, of course. That snitch of a backstabbing ungrateful ex-student, bane of Bill's entire miserable postmortem existence. Had to find as many ways as possible to make Bill look bad, didn't he. "All I did was tell Stanford that hick was a coward and a flake. I didn't make him do anything! If he agreed with me, that's on him." Bill crossed his arms irritably. "And Specs was a coward and a flake. Is it a crime to be right?"

"But you ruined their friendship on purpose, didn't you."

Bill tried to find a graceful way to wriggle around the direct accusation that excused his actions without contradicting whatever she might already know. "Did not," he said.

Mabel frowned at him.

Bill averted his gaze. "So! That's great. Trying to keep you away from your friends. Something I've never done to you but would be a really good thing to fight about. What else."

Mabel sighed and looked over her list again. She wrote something, scratched it out; started another line and scribbled it out; and then said in exasperation, "Your morals are terrible."

Bill had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep his sudden laugh from waking Dipper. "You've got too many morals, it's your biggest character flaw. How many does one person really need, two or three? That's an easy topic, arguments about morality can drag out for hours!"

"We probably only need to fight for like ten minutes, right?"

"Sure. List done! That's everything we need."

Mabel heaved a sigh of relief. She read over the list, glanced at the flashlight she was reading with, and said, "I should get extra batteries. It'd be the worst if we got you way out of the shack and then the batteries died while you were still small."

Bill wasn't sure about that. Being so tall for weeks on end felt awkward and wrong. His limbs were always in the way. He bumped into things he should have been able to slide between. The more time he spent in this body, the more he wanted to spend a month at the size and thickness of a greeting card. He joked, "Hey, I don't know; it'd be easier to hide..."

"Yeah, and easier to get squarshed." Mabel turned off the flashlight and picked up her backpack. "I'm getting batteries."

While Mabel was downstairs, Bill picked up her list to see what topics they'd found to argue about so far:

Weirdmaged

Making me think you were Blendin to get the

Kitten fists meow meow

Almost killing me

Not sharing Summerween plans

Trying to make me kill myself by

Ruining Glove Story

Insulting Dipper

Insulting Waddles??? (too lovable!)

Weirdm

Mabeland Isolating me from everyone

Spray painting your eyeball

Weir YOU'RE TOO EVIL!!

I'M TOO NICE!!! ♡

He reread the list, feeling his guts writhe and twist involuntarily.

Yeah. Those were all the things he'd decided not to bring up, too.

At least they were in agreement on what they didn't want to talk about. That was true friendship, right? Friendship didn't mean never hurting each other; it meant mutually agreeing never to talk about it again.

He read the list a third time.

####

A spare pair of Bill's black leggings and a pair of black socks would serve as half of the decoy body, stuffed with old bedsheets and half a pillow that Mabel had sized up with the flashlight so it was closer to Bill's actual torso size. For the time being, the top half of the decoy was constructed out of a flannel shirt; Bill would have to put in an appearance downstairs in his hoodie, and then they could quickly go upstairs and put it on the decoy to complete the look.

He'd miss that hoodie almost as much as he missed his own face. But it was a small price to pay for his life.

"I don't know," Mabel whispered, inspecting the dummy with the flashlight from near the edge of the loft. "It doesn't look super convincing. It's kind of lumpy all wrong." She knelt by it and tried to poke the fake thigh into a slightly more convincing shape.

"Don't worry about it," Bill whispered, waving the folded paper with the secret spell written inside. "The enchantment will hide all that. As long as the dummy looks mostly human at a glance, no one will notice anything."

Mabel gave it one last worried look, but nodded and turned off the flashlight.

####

Mabel crept out of the office and eased the door shut. "Got it," she whispered, holding up a faded black umbrella. "Are you sure you don't want a better umbrella, though? Some of the spikes are broken and I think it's supposed to rain today."

"The other humans will be less likely to notice a broken umbrella going missing," Bill said. "Anyway, this one saved my life once. I'll take it."

"Then that's the last supply we needed to pack," Mabel said, sighing in relief. "It's still a couple hours until morning. Should we get some sleep?"

Bill considered it, and shook his head. "No. Better not."

Sleep scared him. Sure, he endured it when he had to—he had no choice—and, under the circumstances, although it was a close call, he grudgingly preferred sleeping to dying of sleep deprivation; but he kept it at bay as long as he could, sleeping irregularly, infrequently, and briefly. Knowing it was necessary didn't make the fear go away.

It was the helplessness of the whole thing—knowing that, once his mind had shut off, anything could happen around him, anything could happen to his body—and not only was he ignorant and defenseless, but he was also powerless to wake himself up any sooner than his tyrannical circadian rhythm dictated. He lacked even the power to think about waking.

If Mabel hadn't woken him tonight, he might have slept through his own death. 

He continued, "What if we sleep in and don't have time for the fight? I'd be doomed." Bill didn't even have the luxury of an alarm clock.

"Oh—good point," Mabel said. "So we should probably do something to keep us awake."

"Right," Bill said, wracking his exhausted brain for an idea. "Overdose on caffeine?"

Mabel was quiet for a moment. "If this works, it might be a long time before we see each other again," she said. "You'll probably have to keep hiding until Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan leave town in the fall. And by then summer will be over, and I'll be back in California..."

She was right. If they pulled off this plan, he might never see Mabel again. It wouldn't exactly be safe to ring up the Mystery Shack. Sure, sooner or later he'd find a way to restart Weirdmageddon, and then he could invite her into his gang... And she'd join, wouldn't she? Of course she would. He just needed a chance to talk to her about it away from the closed-minded killjoys in her family that were holding her back. But until then...

She groped through the dark to grab at Bill's sleeve. "Dance party? While we still can?"

"Sure, star girl." Where had this lump in his throat come from? "Sounds fun. Dance party."

####

5:30 a.m.

It was the first time Bill had danced since his death.

All Mabel had to offer was Sev'ral Times, upbeat kid's show soundtracks, unlistenable synthesized junk, and whatever was playing before dawn on the radio stations that could reach Gravity Falls; the stained yellow shag carpet and homely plaid wallpaper made him miss the dark smoky rooms and strobing multicolor lights of a real club; he couldn't risk drinking this early in the morning if he wanted to have a head clear enough for escape; and he never forgot that, outside of the living room, the halls were empty and silent.

But he'd danced to music that made his eye bleed and his memories howl and he'd danced to no music at all; he'd danced in millions of crummy makeshift dance halls and night clubs and dive bars that had tumbled into or been cobbled together in the Nightmare Realm; he'd danced when he was so brutally sober that time in all its sharp cruel clarity seemed to have frozen to turn a spotlight on him; he'd danced with his worst enemies and he'd danced all alone; and there wasn't any force on this planet that would stop him from dancing now.

After spending four songs in a row making fun of Bill for attempting to figure out how to puppet a human body into some approximation of a dance, Mabel asked, "What were dances like on Flatworld?" It made Bill internally wince each time he heard it called that.

But he welcomed the opportunity for a break; he leaned back to half sit against the living room table, breathing heavily, arms trembling. "Dif—difficult question." He had to pause to catch his breath. His lungs and muscles couldn't keep up with him; this body was too hard to keep moving, so inefficient, 90% of the fuel that went into it was wasted uselessly. It was already beginning to atrophy in the few short weeks he'd had it, muscles withering from days stuck indoors with nothing to do but sit and stare out the window. He'd been made of pure energy for so long that maintaining all the little systems to keep a flesh body energized—food, water, sleep, exercise, not too much exercise, oxygen—felt like a Sisyphean torture. "S'like asking—'what're human dances like'? There's a—lot of variety."

"You know what I mean!" Mabel was still half dancing, bouncing from foot to foot. Bill wanted that kind of energy. "How do you dance?"

Bill shut his eyes, seeing colors flash behind his eyes—gyroscopic, kaleidoscopic, shapes spinning and whirling in spirals. "I'd show you, but there's not enough room in here for me to do a cartwheel."

"Seriously, Bill."

"I'm being serious! Plus I can't float. It wouldn't look right in a human body." It would look better if he cut his silhouette out of a piece of paper, taped it over a flashlight, and projected the shape onto the wall. "Tell you what—as soon as I'm back in my real body, I'll show you how I dance, all right?"

"Come on, Bill! You're just trying to wiggle out of—"

"Mabel," Bill said, "I can't do those dances in this body."

Mabel's teasing smile faded. "Really?"

"Unless you know a way to dislocate my shoulder so I can slide my entire arm from one hip over my head and down to the other."

"Ew." Mabel grimaced.

"It looks cooler on a triangle." Bill smiled wanly. "But hey, I spent all day yesterday teaching you everything I know—you can teach me something. I haven't used a human body in thirty years! What dances are popular these days, I haven't learned anything new since the moonwalk."

Mabel's eyes widened. "You know how to moonwalk?"

"Sure! It's easy. I figured it out in Stanford's body."

"I don't believe you. Prove it."

Bill pushed off the table. "Oh, yeah? Are you ready to look stupid?" He effortlessly glided backwards across the floorboards. He pointed at Mabel's gaping face as he passed. "What do you think of that?"

"Show me how to do that and I'll teach you every dance I know."

Bill grinned. He loved deals that were unfairly biased in his favor, and he loved it more when he didn't even have to propose them himself. "You've got yourself a deal, Shooting Star." It would keep them occupied for the next hour.

####

6:32 a.m.

About fifteen minutes ago, Bill had warned Mabel that he'd just glimpsed the beforeimage of Ford crossing the living room in the future; and then they'd kept partying, wanting to get in every last second of joy they could before he arrived in the present.

But once Ford was no longer approaching but actually there, seeing his face was like a bullet to the head. Bill had been having so much fun, for a few minutes he'd almost forgotten that today was execution day. 

And it wouldn't be execution day if he had anything to say about it.

Bill demanded, "What's with the sour face?" (Ford's eyes were so dull, his expression so heavy; Bill had never seen him wear that look, not even any of the previous times he'd tried to murder Bill.) "Hey, am I not allowed to dance now?" He squeezed Mabel's hands tighter.

Ford just gave a tiny shake to his head and hurried past them, not even deigning to look at Bill, as though he were telling himself he'd only imagined he'd heard the voice of a ghost.

I know what you're up to, Bill thought at top volume silently in his head. But you won't do it. You won't do it.

He met Mabel's gaze. She gave him a tiny nod. Party was over. Time to get to work.

####

6:36 a.m.

Over the course of the night, Dipper had been woken twice by bursts of quickly-hushed laughter; three times by random bumps and thuds; once by Bill falling off the loft and Mabel's squeal of alarm; and several times by Mabel waking Dipper to ask if it was okay if she gave Bill Dipper's old shoes (so Bill could finally walk in the woods properly), his sleeping bag (so Bill didn't have to sleep on hard rocks under a single sad Pony Heist bedsheet), his "Edible Plants of Oregon's Blue Mountains" booklet (self-explanatory), and several other things he also said "yes" to without hearing properly. It had better be one heck of a prophecy that Bill was involved in, because Dipper was this close to just murdering Bill himself.

When Dipper went downstairs, he couldn't even look at Mabel and Bill—terrified something in his gaze would give the whole conspiracy away. He didn't even know what they were planning. Was dancing in the living room part of it? Was it some distraction? He'd hoped Bill would already be gone by now.

He couldn't meet Ford's eyes either, for the guilt of betraying his trust. He didn't deserve these scrambled eggs.

He couldn't meet anyone's gaze.

He really, really hoped Mabel and Bill had a plan. He hoped it was a good plan. Because whatever the heck they were up to—Dipper was afraid it was on him to prevent Ford and Stan from intervening too soon and finding out.

####

6:49 a.m.

After they'd escaped the kitchen, Bill glanced over his shoulder toward the stairs before Mabel got the attic door closed. "Do you think Ford noticed something?"

Mabel was already running across the room, retrieving her phone charger and phone to stuff in her backpack and pocket, making sure she'd packed everything she needed for her trip—everything except for Bill. "I wasn't looking. Did he?"

"I don't know." Bill flashed one last worried look at the door; but he couldn't afford to slow down, he had a dummy to finish. He hurried up the ladder, took off his hoodie, pulled on a tank top, tried to fish his pre-written enchantment out of his pocket in the same movement, and fumbled and dropped the paper over the edge of the loft.

Mabel had been checking her bag for the concert tickets when a paper fluttered down on her hair. She instinctively grabbed it and unfolded it before she registered the four sigils written on the outside and realized this was the enchantment Bill had said would stop working if anyone read it. She'd reflexively read the first few lines before she could stop herself. She froze. Her gaze jerked up to Bill, eyes wide.

Bill dropped down the ladder, snatched the paper out of her hand so quickly it almost tore, and immediately climbed back up. "I told you not to look." He carefully refolded it.

"Is that...?"

"It'll work," Bill hissed, with an insistence that said he wasn't sure it would work at all.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" He held up the dummy's pillow torso and yanked the hoodie on top of it.

When Mabel didn't say anything, Bill sighed. "Even if it doesn't—this only needs to work until we're on the road. They can't stop us then."

"Bill—"

He shakily inhaled, and then he raised his voice loud enough he'd be heard downstairs. "What do you need to spend all that time around those two brats for, anyway?! What, am I not good enough company for you?!"

They didn't have time to adjust the plan. They were in the middle of it, right now, and the guys expected to hear an argument. Mabel swallowed hard and raised her voice as well. "Not when you're acting like this, you aren't! You're a bigger brat than—than both of—and my friends aren't brats!"

Bill bit his lip, brows drawn in pain, eye squeezed shut, trying not to laugh.

Mabel chucked a sock at him, don't you dare. "You can't say I can't hang out with my friends, that's stupid!"

"I never said you can't!" Bill held the folded paper a foot above the completed dummy, the square of symbols face up, and tapped it twice so it hovered in place when he let go. "Hang out with your stupid friends, I don't care! But two whole days is ridiculous—!"

####

7:02 a.m.

"I THOUGHT you were my FRIEND!"

All three eavesdroppers cringed—Dipper hardest of all. His heart was hammering out of his chest and his t-shirt was at least 50% sweat by volume. Was this part of the plan? It sounded like an insane plan. This couldn't be the plan. It had to be the plan. He'd already prevented Ford from intervening, what if they were really fighting? But what if this really was the plan? 

"WELL! If you're gonna act like this just because I wondered what you're up to, maybe NOT! What kind of fun are you good for, you wouldn't even be into burning a house down!"

Dipper messed up. He'd actually ruined their friendship right before Bill was about to die and Mabel would be miserableand it was all his fault. This fight was real. They were furious. They hated each other—

####

7:03 a.m.

"OH YEAH, WELL—" Mabel faltered as she struggled to think of a fitting retort. "YOU WOULDN'T EVEN BE INTO—into—n-NOT BURNING A HOUSE DOWN!" She cringed at herself, struggling not to laugh.

Bill had been fighting the urge to laugh so hard that his face was turning red. "OHHH WOW, GREAT COMEBACK."

Mabel's voice went shrill with suppressed hysterics. "SHUT UP!" Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she socked Bill's arm. If he made her lose it when everyone was outside listening—

The door opened. "Hey—!"

They both rounded on Stan. "STAY OUT OF IT!" Mabel snatched up a discarded sweater. Stan shut the door just before the sweater hit it.

Mabel quietly wheezed, "Do you think he saw anything?"

"No, n—" Bill had to clap both hands over his mouth and nose to keep silent. Mabel wrapped her arms around him and smushed her face against his chest to muffle herself. They stood there, shaking, until the hysterics passed.

The stress was getting to them.

####

7:06 a.m.

"Fine!!" Mabel lifted the height-altering flashlight. "Then you can just stay here all weekend!"

Bill had on his backpack (Dipper had "agreed" Bill could take his) and was clutching his umbrella. He gave her a thumbs up; ready. "FINE!"

"FINE!" Mabel turned on the flashlight. When Bill was around four inches tall, she turned it off, knelt down, and offered her hand for him to climb on. She stuffed the flashlight in her backpack, carefully set Bill in a sweater nest (how had Gideon flung her and Dipper in a jar so cavalierly? she was terrified of snapping Bill's bones like toothpicks), zipped the backpack and gingerly put it on; and then Mabel was storming out of the room.

"Leave him in there," Mabel snapped, pointing at the door. She was shaking with fear. "He's in TIME OUT."

Dipper glanced nervously at the door, "Um..." He looked so worried. She hadn't had a chance to explain the plan to him.

Mabel glared into his eyes. She summoned up all her mostly placebic Twin Empathy Powers to beam her thoughts into Dipper's brain. Don't. Please don't. If you say anything you'll ruin it.

He raised his hands. "Okay, fine."

Mabel rushed past him to the stairs, trying to escape as fast as possible without jostling her backpack.

####

7:08 a.m.

Buckled into Mrs. Grendinator's car, voice shaking, Mabel said, "Can we just go? Please?" Now, before someone ran out of the shack and waved them down to demand Mabel explain where Bill had gone. Her hands were trembling in fear, clutched protectively around her backpack with its secret cargo. One of her best friends was in there. She couldn't let anything happen to him.

Mrs. Grendinator nodded. "Of course."

As they pulled around the Mystery Shack and toward the road, Mabel glanced toward the attic bedroom window, afraid the adults might have already gone in and discovered their trick; but no one looked back.

Now all she could do was hope the paper Bill had left floating over the dummy would do its job.

####

(Shoutout to the one person who theorized the size changing flashlight could be involved, I'd @ you but I don't want you to see this before you read the chapter. You may claim credit in the notes. Based on the messages I received, one person guessed Mabel got involved halfway through the fight, no one guessed she was in it from the start, and NOBODY guessed Dipper got involved.

For a fun time, go back and read last chapter and this one in chronological order via the timestamps!

But first I wanna hear all your thoughts.)

[bradshawshawaiianshirt]

the mummy | bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader au

masterlist

The year is 1927 and famed archeologist Bradley Bradshaw is running on whiskey and the last of his reputation. His best skill? Charming every woman in the room - until you show up with a sharp wit, zero patience for his ego, and a lead on finding the Lost City of Nefertari. No matter how intelligent you are, it'd be unheard of for a woman to lead an expedition, so you need a front man, someone with money and connections. Luckily (or unluckily) for you, Bradley fits the bill - even if he's more interested in chasing skirts than treasure.

Rumoured to be full of gold, jewels and one vengeful mummy, the city might kill you - or make you rich. The mummy is one thing, but can you both survive each other?

prologue

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

part 7

part 8

part 9

part 10

part 11

epilogue

---

A/N: Okay so I had this idea and I decided to just go with it and now I've got like 3 chapters written so let me know if it would be something you'd wanna read bc im so obsessed with the mummy lol

[sglossmin]

Muse | MYG pt. 12

Plot: What happens when the man you practically simp over in high school, is right now, sitting across you after almost 10 years of not seeing him? Worse? You're here for an appointment for therapy and he's your psychologist.

Pairing: SeniorStudent!Yoongi x JuniorStudent!Reader ---> Psychologist! Yoongi x Artist!Reader

Genre: Fluff, slight age gap, slice of life, a bit of angst, schoolmates to lovers(?) Switch POV

A/N 1: Available on WATTPAD (click here) now too!!

Comment your @ if u wanna be added to the taglist^^

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 11.5

The sun is up and it’s another day. But today is not just any other day—in fact, today is my biggest event. Sounds like a big deal, but it doesn’t feel like it. 

A week has passed since I blurted to Yoongi that I hate him. In the past week, I didn’t even have to try my best to avoid him. He was just… nowhere. Even when I go outside and we coincidentally meet, he’d run back to his house. To the point that I felt like he was avoiding me—when that was supposed to be my job.

It’s about 3 pm now—at least, the last time I checked. I lost track of time as I stared at nothing but the ceiling. I already have the vivid image of the painting that I’ll do at the event later in my head.

Then what could I possibly be thinking? 

Him? No… I’m thinking of nothing in particular, really. Just random thoughts that have been running in my mind for so long.

But also, the call that I got earlier from an old regular client of mine back when I was still staying in America. He’s a nice guy and has real good eyes when it comes to spotting great artworks, if I must say. He called and gave me an offer to mentor some young artists that he sees a lot of potential in. It’ll be for a month and the salary is quite good too.

And if I were to accept, it would only mean I have to go back to America.

I really have no reason to accept or refuse—which only made it harder for me to decide.

Staring at the blank ceiling, my alarm started ringing. I knew it’s time to get off the bed and get ready.

But I really wanna rot in bed more…

I lazily got off from my bed—rolling off from it made me groan pathetically as I fell on the floor. Slowly, I went to the shower.  Not even bothering to take off my clothes, I sat in the bathtub and let the water flow. Once the tub was filled, I turned off the faucet. 

Letting out a sigh, I sank deep into the water as I let the coldness of it wrap around me completely. I held my breath and stayed still.

What if I just let myself drown in here? It'd be fun… like the old days…

Still submerged, my eyes were closed then an image of him flickered in my mind. The look of worry, the way he smiles at me—and the few times I caught him flushed. 

But not just him, I remembered Jimin's cries as he held onto me that day…

He's such a crybaby.

I also remembered Jungkook, Tae, Sana, Chaeyoung… my mom… 

All of them have been worried for me ever since the accident. Maybe… I was being too selfish. I have never asked them what they feel. 

Maybe I grieved so much that I turned a blind eye and made it as an excuse… because I'm too ashamed.

I was too deep in my emotions that I forgot I wasn't the only one suffering.

They are too.

Maybe it's time for me to be there for them. Give back the strength they gave—even though they never asked. 

Life might not always be great, but the little moments are. It's up to the person whether to find meaning and happiness—or keep the solemn silence in them.

I raised my head before I could even drown myself. Panting heavily as I chuckled, thinking how reckless I've been with myself for the past years.

“I can't kill myself now,” I muttered as I stood up and got off the bathtub. Taking off my clothes, I threw it in the basket—leaving me bare. I sighed while I looked at the mirror. My skin is glowing, so different from the Y/n back then. 

What changed? Nothing… But what came back? Simple, my will to live.

“I have a billion to get and a man to confess to.” I said while I stared at my reflection. My eyes that used to be dull and lifeless are now filled with passion. It wasn't anxiety anymore—but adrenaline  that fills me when thinking about the possible things that could happen. 

I dolled myself up for the evening, wearing the black, mid-length dress. I purposely chose to wear black since I'm going to paint after all. The dress features a structured sweetheart neckline and wide shoulder straps, giving it a composed yet feminine silhouette. The bodice is fitted, accentuating the waist before flowing into a soft, A-line skirt that ends around the calves. A sheer chiffon overlay adds a delicate, almost ethereal touch, while a subtle side slit offers just enough movement and intrigue. 

But of course, this whole outfit will be a waste if I ever accidentally splash paint on it, so I made sure to pack an apron. 

I paired my dress with a pair of wine red flat shoes. Tonight is not just about fashion, I also have to be comfortable too since I'd have to move a lot. 

I really wanted to do a low bun for my hairstyle, but I guess my hands are not for it. Which explains why I just did my usual soft waves, but this time, it's tucked behind my ear.

While finishing my makeup, my phone rang and I immediately answered it. I put it on speaker mode so that I can continue my makeup.

“I'm outside,” Jimin said through the phone. 

As I put on the eyeliner, I replied. “Just come in. The door's open.”

Soon, the door of my room flew open, revealing a grinning Jimin. 

He's wearing a sharp black tuxedo with satin lapels and a crisp white dress shirt, slightly unbuttoned at the top that adds a relaxed sophistication. His trousers are tailored perfectly too, elongating his silhouette. But honestly, I think the sleek black leather Chelsea boots is the one that completes his whole look.

“Oh my my my… No wonder you're taking so long,” He smirked as he eyed me up and down.

I rolled my eyes at him then sprayed the setting spray on my face to lock my makeup. “Just finishing actually. And you're not bad yourself. Wait—are you trying to match with me?” I teased as I took one more glance at him.

Jimin raised a brow and replied in his sassiest tone, “Excuse me?”

“You're excused.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms as he replied. “It's called a tuxedo and black is a common color of it. Besides, it's not like I own many things like this. Who would've thought that one day, we'd be attending an event like this.”

Feeling a sense of accomplishment, I smiled. “I know right…”

The second I'm done with makeup, I put my jewelry on.

I sighed, staring at the reflection of mine in my mirror. This is a high-end event and I surely look part of the kind of people who attend it. It's the power of makeup and being stylish, I guess.

Jimin stepped closer, enough for me to see his reflection in the mirror too. He grinned, both satisfied with our look. “Ready, Y/n?”  

“Yeah… I am.”

I didn't know it'd be this flashy when we got inside. With Jimin on my left and Mr Lee—the patron—on my right, we smiled through the camera.

The event is being held in Mr Lee's hotel—in the massive ballroom, to be exact. Multiple chandeliers hang from the ceiling, a bar lines on the side, the stage that was custom-built for me—where there was a large canvas and a seat already in place. Soft lighting and a small group of performers playing jazz music on the corner.

A crowd of more than fifty people watching my every move. As people kept murmuring, I was able to catch some of it.

“Oh gosh, she's prettier in person.”

“Modest, huh? Simplicity is beauty, I guess…”

“I'm really looking forward to her painting tonight!”

“I wonder what vibe she'll paint.”

“Wait—is that her boyfriend beside her?”

“No… it's her manager, I think?”

“Regardless, they both look hot. Their attires are matchy too!”

“I just hope she won't be a mess tonight, I heard she's kinda insane or something.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, a friend of a friend of mine has an intel. Seems like L.Y.V. was quite… cray-cray when she was younger.”

Their sudden mentions of weird things about me became louder in my ear. I did my best to shrug it off—not wanting to ruin the night.

After a short greeting, Mr Lee introduced me to everyone. 

“Mic test mic test…” He cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention. “Good evening everyone. Thank you for joining us for what we promise that'll be a wonderful night. 

For tonight… We invited someone special—someone whose work you’ve likely seen without even knowing their name…until recently. An artist who captured my heart—making me feel that I'm heard through her artworks. 

It is truly a rare opportunity to have her here. And if I must say, it's worth every penny.” He chuckled before glancing at my manager who grinned back at him. “I'm truly honored to be the host of her very first live performance. Please welcome, for the first time ever on live canvas… Ms. L.Y.V!”

Everyone applauded, and I bowed out of courtesy. I'm still not used to such a crowd praising me like this—especially since I haven't even started. 

After half an hour of mingling with the guests, it is my time now to perform. From what I researched, artists who had a live painting performed the way they wanted. Some were too exaggerated with their moves, and some painted just like a normal person would do. 

But anyways, what's even considered “normal”? Art is about how you express yourself—at least, that's what I think. 

Art can mean different things to every person. An artist could paint stars, and people would interpret it in different ways. 

Some would say that the stars are our dead ancestors—that when we die, we'll have a place in the sky, and we'll shine bright, making the people look up at us in awe. Some would say that counting these stars is like the meaning of life—meaningless and a waste of time. Then some would say that we are the stars—we all shine, but in different ways.

And I think that's what's cool with art—it's limitless.

“Your imagination is your limit.” It might be my favorite quote. It's from a snack brand I've always seen on TV when I was a kid. The way it was delivered in the most jolly way but it still hit something deep within me. It's been stuck with me ever since.

The musicians keep playing as I get started. Taking a deep breath, I held the brush and started painting the picture in my head. Starting with long strokes, the brush kissed the canvas. I mainly brought three big cans of paint—the primary colors—from biggest to smallest brush, and a couple of paint palette to mix the paints.

I heard from Jimin that Mr Lee likes cats. In fact, he adores my signature. Which is why I decided to do an abstract painting in a portrait form.

A cupid cat holding a bow, but with the arrow pointing backward—like he accidentally aimed at himself. While the other cat is playing on the soft grass and is already lovestruck. 

The time flies by and I'm nearly done—nothing dramatic happens while I paint. Everyone was either watching in awe or murmuring by the people beside them.

While finishing the painting, I noticed something odd. 

What the…

Anyone who'd ever look at this painting will notice it in an instant. Looking at the time left, I knew I'd have no time to “fix” it.

All I did was paint a grassfield with cats… How the heck did it turn out like this…

Anxiety crept in, and I could barely feel the brush in my hand. I just stared at the canvas in front of me as I felt the heat spread across my cheeks.

Oh gosh… This is just peak obviousness.

As I panic mentally, I felt a hand tapping my shoulder. I turned towards to see Jimin smiling at me.

“Hey, you okay? Are you done? You've been staring at it for the past ten minutes.”

I frowned and slightly pouted. “Jimin-ah…” I tilted my head, motioning towards the painting. Jimin looked over the painting and his eyes widened at the sudden realization.

But me nodding seems like a wrong move. The patron took it as a sign that I'm finished and walked towards us.

“Wow… As expected of LYV!” Mr Lee exclaimed and gestured to the photographers to take a picture. “But wait a minute… Is this a portrait of someone..?” He eyed me suspiciously.

Of course, he'd react like that… Would you want to have some guy's face on your house?

Ironically, the cat got my tongue. 

Sensing my embarrassment, Jimin chimed in. “Not just someone—but, cats!” 

He pointed at the supposed star of the painting, who had become just one of the accessories in the face of the man I tried my best to push away in my thoughts for tonight.

“Oh… I get it now! It's an abstract painting… When you look closely, you see a cat inevitably falling in love—since the cupid cat already struck the other cat. And the cupid cat… It might be accidentally? or he purposely did it? Like a suicide—but for falling in love…” he chuckled, eyeing the almost-dry painting.

“And when you look from afar, you'd see a man? Looking back at you in a oh so lovingly, huh? Perhaps, he was the cupid cat.” He joked, making everyone in the room laugh.

“Am I right, Ms Y/n?” 

When he looked back at me, all I could manage to do was nod and laugh along with them. “Y-yeah!… You really got the vibe I was aiming for.”

“You might as well propose to him.” Jimin snorted as he watched me drown myself with drinks—non-alcoholic, this time.

“Oh, come on. I swear… I've never expected it to turn like that. It's like—like my hand is moving on its own!”

“Well, you did great, regardless. Mr Lee's secretary already sent the full payment. It seems like he really loves it.” He grinned as he greeted the ladies who approached us from time to time.

My eyes narrowed at the obvious flirtations of the women. On the other hand, Jimin is a pro. He knew how to keep his smile and refuse politely.

“Why did you keep on refusing them? They're pretty and moreover—richie rich!” We both laughed at my statement. 

“Wow… Do you really think of me that low?” he said as he exaggeratedly pouted.

I frowned, confused at how it is connected with what I said. “What do you mean?”

“I'm your manager. It is my job to look after you. Not fling with those crazy rich people.”

I nodded, understanding what he meant. But me being me, I couldn't help myself but tease him—or else I'd tweak. “Ah… So you're staying on my side because it's your job, huh?”

He scoffed as he rolled his eyes at me. “Whatever lets you sleep at night, Y/n.”

The rest of the night went on with food and cheers. I noticed a lot of celebrities at the party too.

And thank heaven, because of my job—I was able to meet Choi Seung-hyun! T.O.P of BIGBANG himself! 

My teenage self would squeal her head off if I ever told her that. 

Other than the unexpected turnout of my painting… nothing weird happened. Everything went smoothly and now, I'm ready to sleep—with billions of won in my bank account.

(MYG POV)

“HYUNG HYUNG HYUNGGGGG!!!”

All of us turned our head to the youngest as he screamed while staring at his phone.

“Yah! Kim Namjoon, is the movie that scary?” Jin scolds the youngest who's still gaping as he stares at his phone.

We're in Hoseok's house tonight—doing a bit of planning for the trip. But everyone realized that we're all clueless when it comes to this stuff, so we just turned on the TV and watched a movie instead. 

“No… It's Yoongi hyung…”

I frowned, and before I could scoot over and see what's so intriguing about it, Namjoon shoved his phone right in front of my face.

“Yoongi hyung… She drew you on her FIRST LIVE PAINTING!!!” It seems like he lost his sanity with his last words. 

When he dropped the phone, I took it, and saw… my face. The way it was painted was subtle—like it's blending with the scenery. I also noticed the cute cats on it.

He clutched his head, wide-eyed. “Whoa… Hyung! That event was held by a crazy rich Mr Lee. If he doesn't like the painting… Y/n's career would be dead. But seeing the articles coming up now… She really did great.” he chuckled, leaning back. “Oh, to be someone's muse…”

“Wait—so she had been thinking about you all night? Hyung… She must really like you to paint you from memory.” Hoseok teased as he nudged my side.

I couldn't help but blush at the possibility.

“Or! She still hates you… I mean—look at the article. It is said that the figure of the man was the cupid cat. The cat was literally going to kill himself! See where it points??” Jin points at the cat and the arrow head—proving his point.

My smile dropped fast too. I really don't know what she feels about me. She's been giving me mixed signals. 

“But didn't Yoongi hyung give her enough space to ease her mind? Why would she still be mad?” Namjoon asked.

He's right… I've been doing my best to give her space. 

I mentally high-fived myself—thinking I did a good job.

“Are you sure you gave her enough space?” Jin asked.

“Of course! I practically run back to my house whenever we happen to go out at the same time.”

They all nodded, as if also thinking where I went wrong.

After a long silence, deep in thought,  Hoseok finally spoke. “Wait—Hyung… Weren't you just avoiding her?”

My eyes widened at the sudden realization.

“Wha—!”

Taglist:@choijay-07 @sanarin @yooforeaa @this-most-assuredly-counts @minniejim @amarawayne@peacenpigeons @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @rottingbedpost @emirawht@user3948388

[fromchaostocosmos]

Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, the Georgia Republican who has been criticized in the past for her dalliances with antisemitic tropes and influencers, explained her vote against a bill defining antisemitism by saying that the bill it rejects the “gospel” that “the Jews” handed Jesus over to his crucifiers.

But Greene, posting on X, formerly Twitter, laid out a different concern: that the bill threatened Christian expression. “Antisemitism is wrong, but I will not be voting for the Antisemitism Awareness Act of 2023 (H.R. 6090) today that could convict Christians of antisemitism for believing the Gospel that says Jesus was handed over to Herod to be crucified by the Jews,” she said. “Read the bill text and contemporary examples of antisemitism like #9.”

In her tweet, Greene posts two photos: One focuses on the portion of the bill that adopts as part of its definition of antisemitism the 11 “contemporary examples of antisemitism” in the definition of antisemitism composed by the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance. The second photo highlights the ninth example, “using the symbols and images associated with classic antisemitism (e.g., claims of Jews killing Jesus or blood libel) to characterize Israel or Israelis.”

Her fellow far-right Republican, Rep. Matt Gaetz of Florida, explained his no vote in similar terms on the same platform. “The Gospel itself would meet the definition of antisemitism under the terms of this bill!” Gaetz writes, and gores on to quote New Testament scripture that collectively blames Jews for Jesus’s killing

[entitled-fangirl]

Never been more thankful.

Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Joel finally gets to take Bill and Frank's daughter to the QZ to live with him. She finds out her fathers have passed away, and Joel has to pick up the pieces.

Words: 2,354

Warning: suicide, depression, cursing, overall sadness and angst

Author's note: This is kind of a part two to this, but it can be its own thing, too!

Masterlist <3

........................................................

Joel had never been more shocked than he was that day.

Frank had radioed Tess a few days ago, saying he needed Joel to come get her. 

Joel had waited for this day, but there was something wrong about this particular day.

Frank and Bill had taken Y/N under their wings when she was only 11. She was their pride and joy. Frank had always wanted a girl of his own, to be a father. Bill wanted Frank happy. That’s how it started, anyway. Now, Bill loved the girl as much as his partner.

She had grown to be quite the beauty. The woman was innocent and kind, caring and compassionate- everything Frank had wanted her to be. Bill took her safety into consideration every day. He never wanted for her to be fearful.

Their dynamic changed when Tess and Joel came into their lives.

The day Joel met her was the best day he had had since the outbreak. 

And since then, the two had been obsessed with each other. 

They sent notes back and forth with the help of Frank and Tess. They went to sleep every night thinking of the other. Sneaking kisses when the others weren't looking. And strange as it sounds, Joel had opened his heart. 

And he was so scared of breaking it again.

That’s why he left her in the care of her fathers. She was safest there, with them. It broke him to do so, but he did what he had to.

So, when Tess relayed the message to him, he was confused.

Bill and Frank were getting old, that much was true. Frank was getting sicker by the day, and Bill began to be too feeble to fix the things that broke. She spent her days taking care of the two as much as she could.

And Joel knew that.

He knew in his heart what was happening, but he wished he was wrong. 

This is how he got here. Traveling to Bill and Frank’s to retrieve his girl. 

Frank had told Tess that Y/N didn’t know Joel was coming. And no one was quite sure how she would react. Perhaps she would be overjoyed. That’s what Joel hoped for. But he knew that wouldn’t be the case.

How could she be happy to leave her fathers to die?

Bill knew he was coming though, and greeted him on the porch of their house. 

Joel walked in, throwing his bag down by the door.

Frank smiled at the sight of Joel. He always wanted his daughter to be happy, and he hoped this would be her chance. Now, to tell her. “BABY GIRL…?” He called loudly.

Joel soon heard the sound of her steps on the staircase. 

She froze, her hand gripping the railing. “What… what’s happening…?”

Bill walked to the staircase, standing at the bottom of it. “Go pack a bag. Now.”

She nodded immediately, her eyes remaining on Joel. She walked upstairs, beginning to pack her bag. 

Frank looked over to Joel, “Thank you. Truly. She’ll be so happy with you…”

Joel nods, “I hope you’re right. Did you tell her?”

Frank tilts his head, “Tell her what, exactly?”

Joel smirks, “You two are killing yourselves. That’s why I’m taking her, isn’t it?”

The two lovers looks at each other, their eyes taking in the other’s reaction.

Frank sighs, “…yeah. Yeah, we are.”

Bill continues his thought, “…last thing we want is for her to be here when it happens. Figured we’d give her to you early. You don’t seem to mind.”

“‘Course not. I’ll treat her well, Bill. Promise.”

Bill nods.

She descends the stairs quickly, her backpack full. When she hits the bottom step and turns to Bill, “What’re we doing?”

Bill turned his body toward Joel. “You’re going with Joel. To live with him.”

Her mouth opens slightly, her eyes widening just a bit. “…what? But… I thought…”

Joel stepped toward her, “I know it’s strange. Just… trust us?”

Her eyes flitted between all three men, trying to gauge what was happening.

Finally, she nodded, stepping to the couch to put her boots on.

The three men continued to stare at each other as she did so, trying to keep the atmosphere calm.

Finally, she stands. She walks to Frank, kissing his cheek lightly. “I’ll miss you an awful lot…”

Tears finally pull into his eyes, “I’ll miss you more, I promise.”

She walks to Bill. Before she can even get too close, he’s pulled his arms around her tightly, slightly weeping into her shoulder. She lightly pats his back, “I’ll be back to visit… right, Joel?”

Both men look up to Joel to see how he would handle this.

Joel smiles at her, “yeah, sweetheart. We’ll visit.”

She lets Bill cry for a moment before he pulls her away. He places a hand on her cheek, committing her face to memory. “Joel will take good care of you.”

She nods, taking in his words. 

Joel picks up his own bag before picking hers up as well. 

She pulls away from Bill, walking to Joel who stands by the door. “I promise. I’ll visit. And… maybe radio..?”

Frank held a guilty look in his eyes, “Sure, baby girl. You can radio…”

It was only seconds before one of the men would spill the secret, and Joel wouldn’t let that happen. His hand gently grabbed her shoulder. “You ready?”

She nods, “yeah… I guess…”

She turns, opening the door, hearing a soft, “I love you,” from inside as she steps into her new life with Joel.

…

It had been about a week. Three days in the QZ. Joel finally got her settled into his makeshift home. She was beyond happy to finally be with him. To live the life others do. But, she missed her home.

She had tried to radio every day. And never did she get a response. It broke her heart that her fathers never answered her, and she didn’t know why.

But it broke Joel more.

He didn’t know what to say. What to tell her. He watched her eyes dull more and more each day. He had to tell her soon, or she’d become ill. 

So, he decided to rip off the bandaid. 

She sat in front of the radio, listening for a response like always.

He sat on the ground next to her. “Sweetheart…”

She turned to look at him with a heartbreaking look in her eyes. “Why don’t they answer, Joel? Do they…. Do they not love me anymore…?”

God, Joel would do anything to take that look away from her. “I… honey, they…” He couldn’t wimp out. Like a bandaid. Like a bandaid.

She sniffled.

Shit. He couldn’t do this. 

“Sweetheart, they don’t hate you. They would never ignore you or put you aside. I promise you that.”

She pulled her hand into her hands, “then what’s happening…?”

“I gotta tell you something, angel…”

Her head whipped back around to look at him, “…what?”

He took an agonizingly long deep breath, preparing himself, “Bill and Frank are dead.”

Her eyebrows furrow slightly, the rest of her face unmoving. He wasn’t sure what he expected from her, but it wasn’t this. 

Her voice was low, “don’t say things like that, Joel.”

Oh fuck. This would be harder than he thought. She didn’t believe him.

“I wish I was playing. I do. But… I’m not. Not about this.”

He saw the tears begin to show in her eyes. 

She pulled her legs to her chest, her arms wrapping around them with a small, “…oh.”

He sat by idly, watching her fight to hold everything in. 

And she did.

She reached forward, turning off the radio.

…

A week later, and Joel is at a loss. She was always so sweet. So bright. The very definition of sunshine.

And now? Well, she was different.

She stayed in their room, sitting on the bed. She only moved to eat. Her eyes always moved at a slow pace, much like the rest of her. 

And Joel didn’t know what to do.

He walked into their room, leaning against the doorframe, “hey, sweetheart. You hungry?”

Her eyes slowly looked over to him, and empty look in them. That was a much of a response as he was gonna get. 

“I have dinner out here. When you’re ready.”

Her eyes went back to staring at the wall.

He sighed, closing the door behind him.

…

They sat at the old table, the wood chipped and scratched.

They ate in silence, unsure of what to say to each other. 

Finally, Joel broke the silence. “Listen… I… I’m sorry…”

Her eyes remained on her bowl of soup.

He sighed, “…I just… I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you, sweetheart. Honestly.”

She remained unmoving.

“But I’m not gonna sit by and let you kill yourself. You need to eat. I’m tired of watching you whither away.”

Her eyes moved up to meet his. 

“I’m serious. Eat.”

She took a deep breath.

Joel was beyond frustrated now, “Goddamnit. Eat. Now.”

Her lips pull into a thin line.

“FUCKING EAT!”

A silence filled the room after Joel’s outburst. They were both slightly shocked at what came from his mouth. 

The tears in her eyes had returned. 

He heard a quiet, “Fuck,” before she quickly stood, rushing to the bedroom again and slamming the door behind her. 

Joel leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t sure what to do with the situation in front of him.

He stood, walking to the bedroom door and knocking on it.

“Go the fuck away, Joel.”

He sighed. That’s the most she’s said in a week. Maybe it’s progress. He’d take this over no words or emotions at all.

He opened the door anyway.

There she sat, on the floor at the foot of the bed. Her legs were pulled to her, her hands covering her face, brushing at the hair that laid in her eyes. 

He watched as her body racked with silent sobs.

He softly stepped to her, kneeling beside her. 

She pulled her head from her hands, letting him look at her.

Tears stained her face. Her eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks pink.

“You… you don’t get it…Joel…”

His hand moved up to her leg, grabbing her calf tenderly.

“Get what?”

She scoffed, “My parents died.”

He nods, pulling himself to fully sit down next to her. “…Yeah..”

Her eyes hardened, her voice turning slightly venomous, “…and you let them, Joel.”

He wanted to deny. Scoff at her. Even laugh at the thought. But it was true. He had. He let the only person he loves feel the harsh sting of death. And what for?

What didn’t he try to stop them? He couldn’t answer that himself. He wasn’t jealous. He didn’t do it to keep her. He honestly wished she could’ve stayed. There, she was safe and happy. Here? He’s practically killing her. 

But he hardened at her words, slightly defensive, “What? You think I killed them? They were grown fucking men, sweetheart.”

“You fucking took me so they could go kill themselves. I hardly call that an innocent move.”

His jaw clenched. 

“You listen to me. They fucking told me to come get you. They didn’t want you to see that. And by God, I sure didn’t fucking want you to, either. You can blame me all day, but I only did what I could for you. Think about that.”

They stared at each other.

Soon, she began to weep again. Only, this wasn’t a simple cry.

These were sobs.

She was finally breaking down.

She curled in on herself more.

But Joel wouldn’t let her stay that way.

He gently pulled her to him, bringing her into his lap.

She let him. Her hands grabbed at his collar, her face resting in his neck. 

And he let her cry.

It must have been an hour before she pulled back, her breath slightly even. “I… I’m so… so sorry, Joel.”

There she was. 

Her soft voice. The innocent look in her eye. Her sweet demeanor. 

He loved her so much.

He pulls into close, hugging her body tightly. “It’s alright, honey… It’s okay…”

She pulls back again, “it’s not. I… I shouldn’t have said those things… I… I’m a horrible person…”

He brings her close again, “no, no…shh… you didn’t mean it. It’s alright.”

After a while, her muffled voice comes from his shoulder, “…did they really say they… they didn’t want me to see them…?”

He clears his throat softly, “yeah. They really cared for you, sweetheart.”

He feels her breath completely evening out now, her body relaxing in his hold. He decides to continue. “You remember the first day we met? I sure as hell do… You were sitting so pretty at lunch. And… I thought Bill was gonna kill me for noticing so. But I didn’t care…. I vowed to myself I would do anything to see you again. It worked… and… God… you just happened to like me back. A pretty girl like you… I never would have thought that would happen to a guy like me. And here you are…

“Your parents trusted me enough with you. And they loved you so fucking much, girl…. I… I never told you about the day I asked Bill for you… It was about two years ago… After you and I slept together for the first time. I asked Bill if… If I could be trusted with you. It wasn’t a proposal, per se. More of a… a simple question. He, uh, He was quiet for a while. But then, he said that I was the only other person in the world he would trust you with. I think his trust was well chosen. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

No response.

He looked down as much as he could.

She had fallen into a deep sleep on his shoulder. 

He smiled, carefully maneuvering her into his arms. He picked her up and moved her to the bed, tucking her in and kissing her forehead.

He had never been more thankful for those two men in his life.

.........................................................................

[slut4smokemoore09]

Bo chow

(This is part 11 of my SIN series.)

The sun was just creepin' up over the trees when Smoke turned the key in the ignition. The truck coughed to life, headlights sweeping across the gravel path. Beverly stood on the porch wrapped in her shawl, arms crossed tight against the cold.

"You call me soon as y'all get there," she said. "And you make damn sure they ain't stitchin' him up without clean needles."

Smoke nodded, tugging his coat tighter around Sammie's slumped body. The boy sat pressed against the passenger door, head leaning to the side, half-asleep but hurting badly.

"I'll call," Smoke muttered. "Y'all lock the door behind me."

He backed out slowly, tires crunching. Sammie's breath fogged up the window beside him.

"Where we goin'?" the boy asked, voice like gravel and glass.

Smoke flicked his cigarette out the cracked window and kept his eyes on the road.

"To Bo Chow."

Sammie blinked sluggishly. "...Who?"

"You'll see."

Bo Chow's house was a ranch-style out past the edge of town, where the dirt turned red and the dogs roamed free. The yard was full of old tools, a rusted pickup with the hood popped, and chickens that scattered when Smoke pulled in.

The porch light flicked on before Smoke even got out.

Bo stood in the doorway, shirtless under a pair of brown suspenders, a rag over his shoulder, chewing on a toothpick like it owed him money.

"Well I'll be damned," Bo drawled. "That you, Smoke?"

"Yeah, it's me," Smoke called as he stepped out and opened Sammie's door. "I got somebody needs fixin'."

Bo stepped down barefoot like the cold didn't bother him one bit.

"Grace!" he hollered back into the house. "Get the room ready! Smoke done brought another bleedin' body!"

Grace Chow's voice came sharply from inside. "Tell him to wipe they damn shoes before they track mud in my house!"

"Yeah, yeah, woman," Bo muttered, then jogged over to help. "Who's this lil fella?"

"My cousin," Smoke grunted, lifting Sammie out of the seat with one arm and letting Bo grab his other side. "His daddy damn near killed him. Preacher."

Bo's face twisted up. "Lord... boy look like a hog got hold of him and lost interest halfway through."

They carried Sammie up the steps, Bo kickin' the screen door open.

Grace met them in the hallway, her hair wrapped up, hands on her hips.

"Jesus, Mary, and Moses," she said. "Get him in the back. Lisa! Fetch the peroxide and that needle kit from under the sink!"

Lisa Chow appeared a second later, all long black hair and pajama pants, eyes big as saucers.

"Lord... what happened to him?"

"Family business," Smoke said, already movin'. "You don't need to know the rest."

Lisa's gaze flicked from Sammie to Smoke and back again. She turned without another word and took off down the hall.

The back room was set up like a home clinic. Bo and Grace kept it ready for "special occasions," which, with friends like Smoke and Stack, meant it got used more often than not. A cot, a shelf of supplies, a bucket for bad nights.

Sammie lay down slowly, wincing every inch of the way. Grace got to work, cleaning up the worst of it.

"She ain't a real doctor," Bo muttered under his breath to Smoke. "But she done patched up every knife wound I ever got. Including the one from her."

Grace smacked his shoulder. "Boy, hush."

Smoke dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick roll of bills. "Here," he said, slappin' it in Bo's hand. "However much it take. Get him to a real doctor in town if it gets worse."

Bo weighed it in his palm. "You sure? This look like car-fixin' money."

"I'm sure."

Bo nodded. "Then it's done."

Stack showed up not even twenty minutes later. Loud as hell. His car skidded into the dirt like it was mad at the ground.

"YO!" he shouted before he even reached the porch. "Smoke! What the fuck goin' on?"

Smoke opened the screen door and leaned out. "Keep your voice down, dumbass. He's restin'."

Stack stomped up with his hoodie hanging halfway off his head. "Restin'? Bro—why Bev call me talkin' 'bout preacher boy got his ass whooped and blood on the damn couch?! What happened?"

Smoke motioned him inside.

Sammie was laid out, his face patched and bandaged now, eyes still swollen but open enough to see the room.

When he saw Stack, his lip curled faintly. "You... came?"

Stack dropped to a crouch beside the cot, staring at the mess of gauze and bruises.

"Damn right I came. You think I ain't gon' show up for you?" His voice cracked, just a little.

Sammie blinked. "Didn't think you cared like that."

"Man, shut up," Stack mumbled, looking away. "You look like a beat-up possum right now. Shit got me feelin' weird."

Smoke stood across the room, watching them, jaw tight, arms folded. His eyes never left Sammie's face. Blood still stained the collar of the boy's shirt. His lip was busted deep, and one side of his cheek had turned nearly purple.

"He went too far," Smoke said low. "He been goin' too far."

Stack stood up, fists balled at his sides. "Soundin' just like our daddy."

"No," Smoke said, voice dark. "Worse. At least our daddy ain't hide behind no pulpit."

There was a thick silence. Bo and Grace were in the kitchen, outta earshot. Lisa lingered by the door.

Stack looked at Smoke. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

Smoke's jaw clenched. "Ain't nothin' to think about. He blood... but so was the last one we had to bury."

Stack exhaled through his nose and nodded slowly. "He the older brother. That mean he worse."

Sammie watched 'em with a blank look, eyes glassy. He didn't say nothin'. Didn't have to.

Smoke crouched down next to the cot and reached over, tugging the blanket up over the boy's shoulders.

"You safe now," he said, voice quieter than Stack had ever heard it. "Ain't nobody gon' touch you like that again. And if they try... they ain't walkin' away."

Sammie's good eye welled up, but the tears didn't fall.

Stack kicked the floor. "So what, we lay low, get him better... then we handle it?"

Smoke looked over, eyes like black steel.

"Yeah," he said. "We handle it. Just like before."

[mostlysignssomeportents]

CDA 230 bans Facebook from blocking interoperable tools

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT (May 2) in WINNIPEG, then TOMORROW (May 3) in CALGARY, then SATURDAY (May 4) in VANCOUVER, then onto Tartu, Estonia, and beyond!

Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act is the most widely misunderstood technology law in the world, which is wild, given that it's only 26 words long!

https://www.techdirt.com/2020/06/23/hello-youve-been-referred-here-because-youre-wrong-about-section-230-communications-decency-act/

CDA 230 isn't a gift to big tech. It's literally the only reason that tech companies don't censor on anything we write that might offend some litigious creep. Without CDA 230, there'd be no #MeToo. Hell, without CDA 230, just hosting a private message board where two friends get into serious beef could expose to you an avalanche of legal liability.

CDA 230 is the only part of a much broader, wildly unconstitutional law that survived a 1996 Supreme Court challenge. We don't spend a lot of time talking about all those other parts of the CDA, but there's actually some really cool stuff left in the bill that no one's really paid attention to:

https://www.aclu.org/legal-document/supreme-court-decision-striking-down-cda

One of those little-regarded sections of CDA 230 is part (c)(2)(b), which broadly immunizes anyone who makes a tool that helps internet users block content they don't want to see.

Enter the Knight First Amendment Institute at Columbia University and their client, Ethan Zuckerman, an internet pioneer turned academic at U Mass Amherst. Knight has filed a lawsuit on Zuckerman's behalf, seeking assurance that Zuckerman (and others) can use browser automation tools to block, unfollow, and otherwise modify the feeds Facebook delivers to its users:

https://knightcolumbia.org/documents/gu63ujqj8o

If Zuckerman is successful, he will set a precedent that allows toolsmiths to provide internet users with a wide variety of automation tools that customize the information they see online. That's something that Facebook bitterly opposes.

Facebook has a long history of attacking startups and individual developers who release tools that let users customize their feed. They shut down Friendly Browser, a third-party Facebook client that blocked trackers and customized your feed:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/once-again-facebook-using-privacy-sword-kill-independent-innovation

Then in in 2021, Facebook's lawyers terrorized a software developer named Louis Barclay in retaliation for a tool called "Unfollow Everything," that autopiloted your browser to click through all the laborious steps needed to unfollow all the accounts you were subscribed to, and permanently banned Unfollow Everywhere's developer, Louis Barclay:

https://slate.com/technology/2021/10/facebook-unfollow-everything-cease-desist.html

Now, Zuckerman is developing "Unfollow Everything 2.0," an even richer version of Barclay's tool.

This rich record of legal bullying gives Zuckerman and his lawyers at Knight something important: "standing" – the right to bring a case. They argue that a browser automation tool that helps you control your feeds is covered by CDA(c)(2)(b), and that Facebook can't legally threaten the developer of such a tool with liability for violating the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, or the other legal weapons it wields against this kind of "adversarial interoperability."

Writing for Wired, Knight First Amendment Institute at Columbia University speaks to a variety of experts – including my EFF colleague Sophia Cope – who broadly endorse the very clever legal tactic Zuckerman and Knight are bringing to the court.

I'm very excited about this myself. "Adversarial interop" – modding a product or service without permission from its maker – is hugely important to disenshittifying the internet and forestalling future attempts to reenshittify it. From third-party ink cartridges to compatible replacement parts for mobile devices to alternative clients and firmware to ad- and tracker-blockers, adversarial interop is how internet users defend themselves against unilateral changes to services and products they rely on:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Now, all that said, a court victory here won't necessarily mean that Facebook can't block interoperability tools. Facebook still has the unilateral right to terminate its users' accounts. They could kick off Zuckerman. They could kick off his lawyers from the Knight Institute. They could permanently ban any user who uses Unfollow Everything 2.0.

Obviously, that kind of nuclear option could prove very unpopular for a company that is the very definition of "too big to care." But Unfollow Everything 2.0 and the lawsuit don't exist in a vacuum. The fight against Big Tech has a lot of tactical diversity: EU regulations, antitrust investigations, state laws, tinkerers and toolsmiths like Zuckerman, and impact litigation lawyers coming up with cool legal theories.

Together, they represent a multi-front war on the very idea that four billion people should have their digital lives controlled by an unaccountable billionaire man-child whose major technological achievement was making a website where he and his creepy friends could nonconsensually rate the fuckability of their fellow Harvard undergrads.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/02/kaiju-v-kaiju/#cda-230-c-2-b

Image: D-Kuru (modified): https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:MSI_Bravo_17_(0017FK-007)-USB-C_port_large_PNr%C2%B00761.jpg

Minette Lontsie (modified): https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Facebook_Headquarters.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[ragde890]

The wait has definitely been worth it. This chapter is probably the best post-hiatus chapter we've had so far. Not only did Longhi go from generic bodyguard #19 to Isaac fucking Netero's granddaughter, but also any random bodyguard can become a relevant character now (or even Tserriednich's friends from chapter 394). Not to mention the Prince fathered by Beyond (or Princes, if Beyond's child is actually one of the Queens), who in case of being Tserriednich would make everything even more chaotic (and the possibility of the child being Tse is pretty high, seeing his resemblance to Netero when he was young).

Moving on to theories, Langhi is certainly assuming a lot of things which may not necessarily be true. One theory I've read and found interesting is that Beyond's Cursed Children aren't meant to kill the princes, but the Zodiac (which also fits the description of a group of +10 individuals). While perhaps too convoluted to be true (like the Chrollo-turned-into-Hisoka and Hisoka-turned-into-Illumi theories), it would certainly be interesting.

And the number of plots and subplots keeps growing. To recap, if I'm not forgetting any, we have:

The Succession War, involving the 11 princes still alive (12 if you count the fake Kacho created by the nen beast).

The War between the 3 Kakin Mafias, all of them chaired by relatives of Nasubi, the king of Kakin. We also Morena's plan, that could count as a plot by itself.

The Spider vs. Hisoka (a plot that has recently intertwined with the mafia war).

Bill's escape plans (the first involves Kurton, the second Pariston's help and the third Beyond's).

The Silent Majority murders.

The eyes of the Kuruta clan in possession of Tserriednich (Kurapika's original motivation for entering the Black Whale).

And now, the existence of Beyond Netero's unrecognised children that he can use to manipulate the war, and who are part of a plan he has been cooking up for more than 30 years.

This really recontextualises Beyond's famous words from a few years ago:

[wokecipher]

p. 1 // p. 2

OKAY- so, awhile back, I made an AU where Bill had kids (twins!), I did this because I thought it'd be funny, and it was supposed to be ironic and stupid.

It's no longer ironic... and I wanna share this silly (incredibly fucked up) AU!

These two are Anthony (they/them) and Tony (he/she/they). I call them the Tony twins. This AU is directly attached to my Family of Shapes AU, but long long after Euclydia is destroyed (mentioning this because Tony is a square, which might confuse some people? Bill's uncle is Tad here, that's why).

The other parent of these two is a shapeshifter named Mendax (it/its), who was preying on Bill at the time to gain information before essentially disappearing from existence before Bill ever finds out.

I have a lot of lore on Mendax, but it's not the focus here right now, so I'll get to it LATER... just know I think about Mendax and Bill's relationship often and they're very fucked up and toxic and not good for each other.

Now the below will be a lot of lore and information about the Tony twins and Bill during all this.

MORE ART AND LORE VVV

So! for anyone familiar with how I perceive Bill's family, they'd know Scalene having a messy, awful pregnancy, and ending up with debilitating postpartum depression is a huge part of it.

Bill is no better than his mother in this regard.

When Bill found out he was going to have kids, he felt angry, miserable, and was mourning Mendax as well (since it up and left before Bill even Knew about all this). Having kids felt like the worst outcome of the relationship and he never even wanted them in the first place.

(hey, it's that drawing I said I'd never reveal the context for!)

Bill doesn't want to be a parent, and having two kids over just one broke him further, mentally speaking.

He wasn't the worst parent, but good God, he wasn't a good one either. Bill was incredibly emotionally abusive towards both children but was dead by the time they were 11, so he hardly had a chance to be there in the first place. (The timeline was my biggest problem to figure out because Mendax left before humans even evolved on earth).

To fix the timeline, I decided he'd have kept the kids in a pocket dimension where time runs so slow that it basically stopped. Millions of years could pass, and it'd be hours at most in that pocket dimension. This is me just coping to make the timeline work, LMAO (but it's in character, Bill doesn't wanna forget about the two somehow and wants to be there when he can. He also wants to keep them both safe and away from anywhere someone could hurt them).

The kids were brought out for Weirdmageddon, though (before Bill was aware there was a barrier and all that).

So long story short, Bill dies, the kids are left alone in the nightmare realm with the rest of the henchmaniacs, and things aren't going well. One of the henchmaniacs (8Ball) turns on the two and tries to kill them (considering how willing he was to turn on Bill, and didn't seem against eating kids, seemed in character enough).

This led to Tony (the square) killing 8Ball in self-defense in front of the rest of the henchmaniacs.

Tony hides Anthony in the pocket dimension and tells them to hide, then leaves to go "handle" things on the outside. She ends up slowly taking over the henchmaniacs group and basically becomes the "New Bill".

Although she's entirely unfocused on humans or anything, and more focused on gaining power to be more like her dad.

Eventually, Anthony leaves the pocket dimension by the time Tony is in his 20s. Anthony was shocked, and still 11, and ends up getting taken care of by some of the henchmaniacs and Tony for awhile.

I have more art on this, but I've hit the tumblr limit of 10, so I'll cut this shorter and make the rest of the plot its own post.

Anthony grows up and becomes a right-hand man for Tony, but after millions of years, they become tired and traumatized from doing all of Tony's dirty work.

Anthony ends up killing Tony.

Tony had slowly become more abusive and cruel over the years, and Anthony just couldn't handle it anymore. They end up taking over Tony's place as the leader of the henchmaniacs... but they don't really do anything. Around this time, they make a deal with the Axolotl (or some related party), to repent for all their crimes. They hated what they had done for Tony and wanted to be and do better.

They end up failing to save or do anything for anyone and ends up in the Theraprism. Unlike their father, they make it through the program and get reincarnated.

I'm still unsure if they would meet with Bill there, if either would know the other was just some many rooms away. I don't even know if they'd learn either was at the Theraprism.

If they did meet again, it would... be awkward for sure!

If you guys would like to hear more about any of these characters let me know, weirdly enough my favorite here is Mendax even tho it's not the focus here.

[panicatthecourtx]

SP ASKS PART 2

1. What is your favorite OG seasons (ie seasons 1-13ish when they still did odd plots) weirdest plot gimmick? IE- Mecha Streisand, aliens, manbearpig, etc.

2. Get rid of 1 forever- Mr. Hankey or Towelie? Explain if you'd like.

3. Most memorable way Kenny has been killed in your opinion?

4. School aged background characters you'd like to see a resurgence of? Think of Bill and Fosse, 6th graders, DogPoo etc.

5. Do you prefer the old style of episodes without continuity or newer seasons with continuity?

6. Name a character (not a child) who used to be prevalent who you'd be glad to see return to the show more often? (Big Gay Al, Jimbo, Officer Barbrady- for examples).

7. Favorite vamp kid?

8. Favorite goth kid?

9. Explain a potential plot you'd like to see for an episode in an upcoming season. It can be vague details with current political/celebrity drama and the like.

10. Choose 1: episode focusing on the girls or an episode focusing on the alt kids(vamps/goths/emos)? Explanations welcome.

11. A game/activity you'd like to see the boys play/do? Not video games- just kids being kids to get away from the adult/tegridy focused plot.

12. Outside of M4, name a boy you'd love to see have an episode focused on them?

13. In contrast to question 1, name a plot gimmick you hope NEVER returns.

14. Name a one-shot character you wish they'd have explored more, not just brought back to the show, but explored their background/personality more?

15. PC Principal or Principal Victoria?

16. Pre-Tegridy Randy or Post-Tegridy Randy?

17. Which girl, outside of Wendy, would you like to see explored more into her life/personality/etc?

18. If a new game is created, choose one: space themed or medieval themed? Why? Explain a gimmick you'd like to see for your chosen theme if wanted.

19. If they did, would you be happy to see a Post-Covid spin-off or episodes relating to the kids as teenagers/adults? Not to replace the main show.

20. Favorite Panderverse design of the main kids?

21. Name your favorite mom.

22. Name your favorite dad.

23. I member, do you member? Name a scene you found memorable that others may easily overlook.

24. For some positivity- what is your favorite part of the South Park fandom.

[throneofsmut]

Bound In Flames - Part 11

Eris Vanserra × Archeron-Sister-Reader || WC: 7.5k || Warnings: Pretty gruesome descriptions of violence and injury and lots of killing.

Summary: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family's cottage and go through life changing experiences.

****

“How long has Wesley been in Summer?” You ask Raihn as you shift, settling into his side since he was curled up behind you. 

Not long. I’ve been tracking him for the past month—

You whirled, your eyes narrowed into slits, “Month!? He’s been here a whole month?”

Yes.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Because I wanted to track his movements, his habits before we did anything—before you did anything. Before you did anything reckless.

Crossing your arms, huffing, “Fine. But, tomorrow night I’m going to Summer. With or without you.”

All right, tomorrow night. Raihn agreed, knowing you would leave him behind if you had to. 

Settling further into him, titling your face up at the stars—at the night sky. “Raihn, let’s stay here for the night?”

As you wish, Sunshine. He moved, coiling himself closer around you, keeping you warm—safe. Why don’t you want to go back to the manor?

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

His body tensed, Who do I have to kill? 

“No one.” You sighed, “me probably.” 

What happened? His voice was calm, demanding, the way it always was before he killed someone. Which he had to do a few times when you were growing up, you’ve been hunted by Amarantha since you were in your mother’s womb. 

You turned to look at him, “It was my fault. I started it, I—“

I don’t care about what you did. What did the other one do? His blue eyes glinted with the promise of violence.

“Raihn, please… let it go. I’ve had a long day and I just want to rest.” 

He didn’t say anything for a long time, he just kept watching you. Fine, he relented. Sleep, you’re safe with me.

“Always am.”

You drifted off not long after, his steady breaths lulling you to sleep. 

**** 

The next morning, you made your trek back to the manor. Content to just listen to the birds and trees singing. It was almost as if in greeting as you walked through the Spring Court. Raihn said that they were happy you were walking among them as the heir of Spring. 

You were close enough to the garden that you heard Feyre’s tins and brushes clatter to the gravel. Close enough for you to scent her fear. 

Without a second thought you ran to her side, Raihn trailing close behind, as she stared at the fountain. 

No, not the fountain, but the head spiked to it. 

A bleeding High Fae male head—spiked atop the fountain statue of a great heron flapping its wings. The stone was soaked in enough blood to suggest that the head had been fresh when someone had impaled it on the heron’s upraised bill.

Instantly, your eyes scanned the area around you, taking in every detail, looking for any signs of movement. Nothing. Even when you tried scenting who had put the head on the fountain, nothing.

“Feyre,” You said softly so as not to startle her, her hand immediately clamped around your arm so tight you thought she’d break her fingers. 

You didn’t need to ask Raihn to check the perimeter—he was already gone as Feyre and you continued to stare at that still-screaming head, the brown eyes bulging, the teeth broken and bloody. No mask—so he wasn’t part of the Spring Court. Anything else about him, you couldn’t discern.

His blood was so bright on the gray stone—his mouth open so vulgarly. You took a step forward and Feyre tried pulling you back, but slammed into something—someone.

She whirled, hands rising out of instinct, but Tamlin’s voice said, “It’s me,” and she stopped cold. Lucien stood beside him, pale and grim.

“Not Autumn Court,” Lucien said. “I don’t recognize him at all.”

Tamlin’s hands clamped on her shoulders as you turned back toward the head. “Neither do I.” A soft, vicious growl laced his words, but no claws pricked her skin as he kept gripping her. His hands tightened, though, while Lucien stepped into the small pool in which the statue stood—striding through the red water until he peered up at the anguished face.

“They branded him behind the ear with a sigil,” Lucien said, swearing. “A mountain with three stars—”

“Night Court,” Tamlin said too quietly. 

You tensed. Fuck. 

“Why. . . why would they do this?” Feyre asked.

Tamlin let go of her shoulder, coming to stand between you as Lucien climbed the statue to remove the head.

“The Night Court does what it wants,” Tamlin said.“They live by their own codes, their own corrupt morals.”

Your hands curled into fists as you fought to keep your temper in check. 

“They’re all sadistic killers,” Lucien added. “They delight in torture of every kind—and would find this sort of stunt to be amusing.”

You dared a step forward, body moving on its own, but Raihn stopped you. Don’t. 

You blew out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Willing yourself to relax.

“Amusing, but not a message?” Feyre asked as she scanned the garden.

“Oh, it’s a message,” Lucien said, and she cringed at the thick, wet sounds of flesh and bone on stone as he yanked the head off. You’d both skinned enough animals, but this. . . Tamlin put another hand on her shoulder. “To get in and out of our defenses, to possibly commit the crime nearby, with the blood this fresh. . . ” A splash as Lucien landed in the water again. “It’s exactly what the High Lord of the Night Court would find amusing. The bastard.”

Rhysand. Your uncle. 

You gauged the distance between the pool and the house. Sixty, maybe seventy feet. That’s how close they’d come to them. To Feyre. Tamlin brushed a thumb against her shoulder. “You’re still safe here. This was just their idea of a prank.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. 

“This isn’t connected to the blight?” Feyre asked.

“Only in that they know the blight is again awakening—and want us to know they’re circling the Spring Court like vultures, should our wards fall further.” Feyre looked as sick as you all felt, because Tamlin added, “I won’t let that happen.”

You scoffed. 

He pinned you with a glare, “Do you not believe me, Y/n?” 

Turning your body to face him straight on, you pointed at his mask, “The mask on your face makes it fairly clear that you can’t do a fucking thing against the blight.” He stared at you—fighting to keep his temper in check to not upset Feyre more than she already was—you stared right back. Unflinching. Even as his claws slid free. 

Lucien splashed out of the fountain, “They’ll get what’s coming to them soon enough. Hopefully the blight will wreck them, too.” Tamlin growled at Lucien to take care of the head, and the gravel crunched as Lucien departed. 

Tamlin’s eyes didn’t leave yours until Feyre crouched to pick up her paints and brushes. He knelt next to her, his hands closed around hers, squeezing. “You’re still safe,” he promised to her again. And you rolled your eyes. 

Feyre didn’t say anything, her eyes flicked to you and then back down to her brushes—to her hands that were still shaking. 

“It’s court posturing,” Tamlin explained. “The Night Court is deadly, but this was only their lord’s idea of a joke. Attacking anyone here—attacking you—would cause more trouble than it’s worth for him. If the blight truly does harm these lands, and the Night Court enters our borders, we’ll be ready.”

“No you won’t.” You muttered as you turned to leave, following the way Lucien went. He stopped as he heard you approaching. The gravel crunching beneath your feet, giving you away.

“What?”

Nodding at the head in his hands, “Let me see it again.” 

“Why?”

“Lucien.” He lifted it so you could get a good look at it, he didn’t look familiar, your nostrils flared slightly once. Twice. “He’s from the Winter Court.” You said matter-of-factly.

Lucien’s brows furrowed as he looked at the head closer—examining it. “How do you know?” 

You stared at him, incredulous, “You can’t scent the faint hint of crisp snow on him? It’s barely there but it’s there.”

He sniffed once, twice, then he sighed, shaking his head, “No.” Then he turned his focus on you, his head cocked to the side, sizing you up. “Who-what are you?”

“Nobody important.” Certainly not the “Sun of the Night Court.” Certainly not the heir that was promised to save Prythian—to kill Amarantha. Certainly not Tamlin’s daughter. . . his heir. 

Lucien prowled closer until you were nearly chest to chest. “You are so full of shit,” he spat. “Are you a bloodhound or something?”

“Or something,” You shrugged—feigning nonchalance.

“You’re a bad friend.”

“I know.” Your voice came out quieter than you meant as you withstood his withering gaze. He stared at you for a few moments longer before turning on his heel going to get rid of the head as Tamlin asked. You just stood there, watching his figure disappear into the Western Woods.

Whoever was here is gone now and they covered their tracks. There’s not even a scent. Raihn said from wherever he was on the grounds. I can go out further if you want me to. 

No, I need you to do something else. Go to the Summer Court and watch Wesley. Don’t do anything, just watch him and the others, and I’ll meet you at the border of Spring and Summer after the sun goes down and we’ll go back together. 

All right, don’t do anything stupid till I get back. 

You mentally rolled your eyes at him. 

****

Making your way to the kitchen that was bustling with fae getting lunch ready. They all murmured greetings when they saw you. A fae male with a bird mask asked if you wanted something to eat before lunch was served or if you wanted something in particular for dessert. 

“No, thank you sir. But I’m actually looking for Alis.”

He flushed, bowing his head, “I am no sir, Lady Y/n. I am merely a humble servant—”

Shaking your head, “Doesn’t matter. At least, not to me. You treated me with respect so I did the same, sir.”

“Ben.” He said, a shy smile gracing his lips, “My name is Ben.”

You stuck your hand out, “Y/n—just Y/n. I hate being called Lady.”

Ben laughed but hesitated when he saw your hand, “La— I mean Y/n,” he corrected himself, “my hands are dirty.” And they were in fact covered in blood from a buck he was preparing for lunch.

“A little blood doesn’t bother me,” your hand was still outstretched towards him. Ben’s eyes flickered between your hand and his as if in a silent battle with himself. Then he shook your hand, laughing and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face, “What?” You asked him.

He shook his head, “You’re nothing like I thought you’d be, Princess.” You stiffened at the title—Princess. You don’t know what he must’ve read on your face because he quickly reassured you, “Don’t worry only Alis and I know. We knew your mother. . . she was always kind to us, as are you.” He whispered. 

You only nodded. 

“Alis is in her room. In the servants quarters in the East Wing of the manor.” 

“Thank you, Ben.” 

****

As you made your way to Alis’s room, more servants greeted you. Some with a nod, others with a smile. Once you got to the East Wing, you realized you didn’t know which room was hers. You stood in the middle of the hall, trying to listen for her voice, trying to scent her, shaking your head in frustration when you couldn’t. 

Then a sentry came out of a room, he had tan skin, tawny eyes and deep rich brown hair. He looked back into the room like he was speaking to someone and a couple seconds later a female’s laugh echoed into the hallway. His face broke out in a grin but when he saw me his brows knitted together and he whispered something too low for you to hear to the female inside the room. 

He shut the door and strode towards you. “Are you lost Lady Y/n? Your rooms are located in the—“ He stood less than a foot away from you now.

You were still looking around or trying to at least since the sentry towered over you and his brawny build seemed somehow bulkier in his armor. “West Wing—I know. Where’s Alis’s room?”

He turned and pointed, “Down the hall, take a left, first door on the right.”

You nodded. “Thank you. . .”

“Emmett.” He smiled.

“Thank you, Emmett.”

He bowed his head, “At your service, my lady.” Then he left. You followed his directions, finally finding Alis’s room and knocking. 

A few seconds later you heard movement behind her door before she swung it open. She blinked in surprise, “Y/n.”

“I need you to do something for me.” She stepped aside letting you in. “I need you to cover for me.” 

Her brows pinched together, her lips pressing into a tight line. “For how long?”

“Just until tonight.” 

“Tonight? What are—where are you going?”

“Out.”

She sighed, tilting her head back looking up at the ceiling as she shook her head, “Please don’t tell me you’re going to do something stupid.” 

“Of course not,” You grinned. 

“Reckless? Dangerous?”

“Well that’s still up for debate.”

“Y/n—“

“Alis, I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have another choice.” 

She was looking at you now. “At least tell me you’re not going alone.”

You shook your head, “Raihn’s coming with me.”

She didn’t say anything for a few minutes before sighing again and rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “All right, fine.” 

“Thank you, Alis.” 

“You never have to thank me, Princ—Y/n. I’ll always help you. . . Now do you need anything else?”

“From you? No. From the armory? Yes.”

She looked up at the ceiling again, “Cauldron, save me.” 

You laughed as you made your way to the door, looking back at her, “Thank you, Alis.” You drawled. “I appreciate you.” She muttered something you chose to ignore. 

****

It didn’t take you long to find the armory. It was located near the training grounds, not far from the manor. 

You just needed to find some fighting leathers, daggers, boots and anything else you might need. Yet, none of it would feel as familiar as the Illyrian fighting leathers or blades you’d been trained with when you were a child. But you’ve done more with less. At least you still had the two ash daggers that your fathers gifted you on the last solstice you all shared. 

There were no other sentries near or in the armory that you could detect except for two High Fae males that were currently sparring on the training grounds. They were too focused on each other to see you slip in through the door. It was bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside, probably due to a glamour one of the past High Lords placed. 

You couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face as you took in the entire armory. The wall directly opposite to the door had a small bench pushed up against it with shelves a couple feet above it. Fully stocked with different sized boots, fighting and training leathers. 

One of the other walls was full of different weapons: swords, daggers, knives, battle axes, bows, arrows and shields. The last wall had floor to ceiling shelves that held different types of armor: breastplates, helmets, gauntlets, belts and other accessories. 

You made quick work of filling an empty crate that was left near the bench with fighting leathers and boots closest to your size. Two leather gauntlets, a bandolier that could hold several daggers and a sword in the back, and a belt that could hold a battle axe. 

Both hands were braced on your hips as you looked at the wall with weapons, trying to pick which ones would be the best. You definitely weren’t going to pick a bow and arrow—it’s not your favorite for close combat. So that left only swords, daggers and battle axes. 

A simple battle axe caught your eye. The hilt was wrapped with black leather, there wasn’t anything special about the blade itself but it seemed to gleam brighter than any of the others. You picked it up, feeling the balance of it and its weight as you swung it. 

The Illyrian part of you so at peace that you hadn’t even realized you closed your eyes. Until you whipped around, throwing it, so close past two sentries heads that were walking in. The same two sentries that you saw sparring. 

They both chuckled and then one in the front spoke.“You missed,” he teased. 

You gave them a wicked smirk that always put others on edge and they visibly tensed. “Did I?” Your eyes flicked to the sides of their faces, closest to the door frame, where the axe was embedded. 

Both sentries reached a hand up to their faces in unison. To the matching slashes on the left sides of their faces—on their cheeks—that was bleeding. Their eyes widening before they let out amused chuckles. “Not bad, Lady Y/n.” The other one said. 

Still smirking, you dipped your chin and made your way towards the door, pulling the axe free before dropping it into the crate. And went right back to picking a few daggers. Some straight bladed ones and some curved all the while feeling the sentries eyes on you. Glancing over your shoulder at them, “Do you two need something?”

“N-no.” They said at the same time. 

“All right then.” You went on trying to find the right sword. They were all simple but finely crafted and well taken care of. Reaching for one when one of the sentries cleared his throat, making you stop. Turning around to face them fully. “Yes?”

The taller one of the two cleared his throat again, “We think we know the perfect sword for you.” 

You tilted your head taking them both in and you realize they both had the same warm brown eyes and gold hair. Cousins? Maybe even brothers. They seemed familiar and not just because you’ve seen them around the manor, but from before. “Why would you two want to give me a sword?” 

“It is yours by right.” The other one said. 

You didn’t respond, brows pinching together as you nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. 

Wordlessly the taller one of the two reached down and picked up the crated you had filled and walked toward the door. Only looking back to make sure that the other sentry and you were following him. You followed him back toward the barracks—where all the sentries stayed while on the grounds. Far apart enough that you didn’t look like you were all walking together. 

Once inside the barracks, a few other sentries greeted them, calling them “Bron” and “Hart”. Some simply nodded while others ignored them completely and perked up when they saw you. Walking all the way to the end of the hall and Bron—the taller one—opened the door on the right and you all entered a room. His room. 

He set the crate in his hands down on the bed that was pushed into the corner and got down on his knees, pulling out a trunk from beneath it. Hart went to his side and they both pulled several cloaks from it before finally pulling out a sword—your mother’s sword. 

You let out a shuddered breath as Bron held it with both hands. “Why do you have that?” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

“We were both there that day. . . we tried to help but we were too late. We looked for you for days to no avail. This”—he looked down at your mother’s sword—“was the only thing we found.” He explained. 

Hart’s voice was tight as he added, “Princess Rhaenyra was kind to us—a friend to us. . . Your fathers too.”

As if in a daze you took a step forward and grabbed her sword. You couldn’t stop the tears that fell down my cheeks as you held it. It was a beautiful sword. Slender and elegant made from Illyrian steel, with a black hilt, a gold cross-guard that was shaped as dragon wings with an amethyst the size of a chicken egg in the pommel. The entire sword had Illyrian runes carved into it for luck and glory. 

You looked at them both with a sad smile, “Thank you. Y-you have no idea how much this means to me.” 

They both nodded their heads and then placed their right hands over their hearts and kneeled. Then at the same time they spoke. “I swear myself to you. To ward you, Princess Y/n. I shall guard your secrets. Obey your commands. Fight at your side and defend your name and honor. With all my strength and give my blood for yours.” 

Confused, you shook your head, “Neither of you have to swear oaths to me. Giving me this sword—my mother’s sword is more than enough.” 

“Princess Y/n, it would be the greatest honor of our lives to serve you. The heir that was promised—the “Sun of the Night court.” Hart Replied. 

“Please, Princess, allow us this honor.” Bron insisted. 

“All right. But, never forget it is also my honor to have you serve me.” They nodded. “Now rise.” They did. And you gently laid your mother’s—your sword in the crate and went to pick it up but Bron’s voice stopped you.”

“Princess—“

“Please don’t call me Princess. The less people that know who I really am the better.” They both nodded again. 

“Y/n?”

“Yes, Bron?”

“Why do you need all of this?” He asked, gesturing to the crate.

“Because there’s something I need to do in the Summer Court.” 

“Would you like us to accompany you?” asked Hart.”

“No. No, it’s better if you both stay here. This is something I need to do alone.” 

They bowed their heads, “Of course.” 

**** 

By the time you made it back to your bedroom in the Manor it was mid afternoon and you didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep. 

Alis woke you up with a tray of cured meats, cheese and bread for you to eat. With a goblet of fresh water. 

“What time is it?” You croaked, your voice still thick with sleep.

 

“Late afternoon. The sun is going to set soon.” She said after glancing at the windows. 

You nodded. Raihn? Even your mental voice sounded thick with sleep. 

Yes, sunshine? He answered instantly. 

I’ll meet you at the border of the Spring and Summer court after the sun sets. 

Be careful. He said. 

You too. 

You ate in silence while watching Alis lay out the fighting leathers and weapons on your bed. She shook her head, “I don’t like this one bit.”

“What?”

“The idea of you going out. What if you get hurt?”

“I’ll be fine, Alis.” You reassured her. “I always am.” 

She grumbled her agreement under her breath making you laugh as she took the empty tray from you. She left, taking the tray back to the kitchen and with a sigh you got up to get dressed. 

Sliding on the supple yet tough fighting leathers, designed to provide flexibility and protection during combat. The boots following after. Next was the gauntlets, bandolier and then the belt. 

Alis came back in after you had already sheathed your sword on your back and the battle axe on your hip. Now you were sheathing your daggers into the bandolier—three curved ones and three straight ones. 

You were going to secure your two ash daggers into your boots when Alis stepped towards you, halting you mid movement.  She held two leather thigh sheaths that could connect to a belt, “I had planned to gift this to you on your birthday but it’s in a few days anyway.” 

You took it from her hands, taking it in. 

There wasn’t anything special about it—except that it was a gift from her—but you could tell it was high quality. 

She fidgeted, “I had it made for you—“ You cut off her rambling with a hug. She let out a surprised laugh before wrapping her arms around you too. 

“Thank you, Alis.” You pulled away, moving to strap them on and secure them to your belt before sheathing an ash dagger to each thigh. 

She tipped her chin and led you to the vanity where she braided your hair back away from your face. When she finished she met your gaze in the mirror and gave you an unsure. “It’s time.” 

And surely enough through the reflection of the mirror you could just barely see the curtain drawn window and see that the sun had set. You turned around in the seat, facing her, “What did you tell Feyre?”

“That you weren’t feeling well and that you were going to sleep through the rest of the evening.” 

“Good. Where’s Tamlin?”

“He was called to the border while you were sleeping. He’ll likely come back early in the morning while it’s still dark.”

You nod. “And Lucien?”

“Patrolling the grounds, he’ll be back in a couple hours,” she answers.

“All right.” You make your way to the balcony doors and open them, Alis follows closely behind but stops in the doorway. Your hands resting on the railing and without you looking back you say, “Don’t wait up for me.” Then without another word you leap from the balcony, slip past the sentries and made your way through the Western Woods. I’m heading to the border now, you tell Raihn mentally.

I’m already here. Be safe, sunshine. He answered. 

You jogged into the woods before stopping in a clearing. Waiting, listening in case anyone was around  or following you. Once you were satisfied you inhaled a deep breath and when you exhaled you shot through the trees. 

Even though the blood spell dulled your senses and blocked your magic, you were still more fae than mortal. In your fae form your senses were sharper—keener than a normal fae’s. More so than a High Lord’s according to your mother. 

Your clothed figure was a black streak through the dark and your blades gleaming like stars when they caught in the moonlight. The ground easy beneath my boots. Your immortal body gracefully leaping over rocks, fallen trees and branches, and dodging trees without even thinking. Without a doubt you let your senses guide you. 

The smell of oak and moss and living things, the open coolness of the mist passing like a path that you followed. Until you finally made it to the border where the courts of Spring and Summer met not even fifteen minutes later. 

Raihn stalked out of the shadows, moving towards you. “Tell me what you know.” A command not a question. 

He held your gaze, blue eyes glowing bright in the dark. They set up camp between Adriata and the border. Six soldiers are on watch a mile out from the camp and six other soldiers are sitting out around the fire in front of the tent. 

You nodded. “And Wesley?”

In the tent. 

“All right.” You only took one step forward before Raihn stopped you, blocking your path with his massive body. “You’re not gonna stop me.” And you went to side step him but he only got in your way again. “What?” You growled. 

There’s something else you need to know.

“What?”

I heard Wesley saying he got word that the “Son of the Night Court” was in spring and he was going to send scouts within the hour. 

Your face paled. “Fuck. They might not find me but if he finds Feyre they’ll take her.” Amarantha’s going to take her. Kill her. You shook your head, your blood now roaring in your ears. “Raihn, get back to Spring. If anything happens to her—“

It’ll have to happen to me. 

Without another word he nuzzled his head into your shoulder and took off back towards Spring. A white blur through the night, through the trees. You took a deep breath willing your head to clear, you needed to focus, Raihn would protect her. It took a couple more deep breaths before your nerves settled and your blood was roaring for different reasons. 

Even though you were only quarter Illyrian it was a dominant part of you. Powerful and intense like a storm gathering within you.  Before a fight everyone always feels a mix of anticipation and adrenaline wash over them—some embrace it and others fight it, either willingly or unwillingly. You always welcomed it. Instead of it clouding your senses it heightened them allowing you to focus in fights. Allowing you to fight with lethal skill and precision, excelling in every fight. 

You let the promise of revenge, bloodshed and death wash over you. Relax you. Letting your parents training take over as you unsheathed two daggers from your bandolier, the feeling of them as familiar as the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat. On silent feet you made your way to the camp's perimeter—to the first soldier on watch and faster than anything had the right to be you stuck the dagger into his throat and twisted. 

He died before his body even hit the ground. 

You did the same to the five other soldiers—four females and one male— that were on watch. Their blood dripped from your fingertips as you stalked closer to the camp. Standing on the edge of the tree line, you saw five more soldiers sitting around a fire—two females and three males—talking. They still hadn’t noticed you and you scented the air. Nostrils flaring slightly once, twice and you knew Wesley was inside the tent. 

Reaching behind your back you unsheathed your sword and moved. Prowling towards them, holding your drawn sword behind your back, the point upwards.

Sunshine. Raihn reached out to you, mind to mind. The manor is secure. Feyre was safe. You hummed your agreement mentally and closed off the bond on your side. 

You purposefully let leaves crunch beneath your feet as you neared them and they stopped talking. “Where’s Wesley?” You asked, your voice deathly soft.

One of the Hybern soldiers—a high fae female—tensed. “What do you want with Wes?” She asked as she looked around, no doubt wondering how you got through the soldiers that were supposed to be on watch. 

“Where is he?” You growled.

“What. Do. You. Want. With. Him.” She growled right back. 

“I heard he’s looking for the Sun of the Night court?”

Another Hybern soldier—a high fae male—flanked her, “You know where he is.”

“She is right here. Looking for him.”

Another soldier—male. “You’re not the son of the Night Court. You’re a mortal girl.” He spat, drawing his sword.

You shrugged, lowering your eyes, jaw clenching. “Semantics.”

They subtly shifted, giving another male soldier with deep brown skin that was holding a crossbow a clear shot at you. In one quick movement he raises it and lets the bolt fly. 

You knock aside the bolt with your sword. 

Then another soldier—the other female—rushes towards you and you parry her sword, stabbing her straight through the neck. 

You parry a second soldier's attack and slice his stomach. 

Whirling you stab a third soldier that tried rushing you from behind in the leg. He falls and the second soldier comes at you again, blocking his attack, with the blade of your sword pointed down. Your swords clash and then you twist your wrist and slice his throat. So deep his head is barely attached to his body. 

A fourth soldier charges at you and you block his blow and with your left hand you clamp down on his right forearm and bring your sword down on it. Severing his arm from his body. Grabbing his sword from his right hand before it even hits the ground and stabbing it into the chest of the soldier with the crossbow before he can reload it. 

Another soldier comes at you with his sword in one hand and a shield in the other. He spreads his arms as he raises his left, bringing down his sword in a wide arc and you duck. Then before he can bash you with his shield you spin and switch your grip on your sword so it’s horizontal and stab through the side of his neck. 

You prowl forward, right as the third soldier you had stabbed in the leg charges at you. With his arms raised and you drop to a knee and angle your sword upwards stabbing him through his ribs and into his heart and take his swords. 

The female soldier that you spoke to first snarls at you as your swords clash and you spin before striking another blow. She blocks it but with the other sword you stab her through her chest. Impaling her and pinning her to the ground. You take a step back and twist, decapitating her with one swing. 

You hear, heavy, sure foot falls as Wesley prowls towards you. Too caught up in slaughtering his soldiers to notice him till now.

He points his sword at you as he charges. You dodge two thrusts and then parry several slashes. You exchange several more blows. Then land a punch to his jaw and drive him back, pinning him to a tree with your sword pressed against his neck. His nostrils flaring—he’s scenting you. 

His eyes widened and then narrowed into slits.

“You remember me. Don’t you?” You growl. 

He only growls back and stabs you in the stomach with a dagger you didn’t realize he had. He knocks aside your sword. Then he spins and swipes dodging your blows, then he slashes at your back and you bring your own sword behind your back just in time to block it. 

You knock his sword away and bring your own down on his shoulder. He spins on his knee and slices your thigh with his dagger. You glare at each other. Then you side step him as he charges, dodging a horizontal swipe, he puts the dagger in his sword hand. 

The blades facing in opposite directions. You grab the blade of his dagger as it moves towards your hip and then in one quick motion he pulls it out of your grip. slicing your palm in the process. 

You surge forward raining down blows. Wesley blocks a blow with both blades. You rip the sword from his grasp and aim your own sword at his throat. He stands rigid, staring at you with nothing but hate. You toss his sword behind you and lower your sword. 

He lunges forward with the dagger and you knock it from his grasp with the pommel of your sword. And with your free hand you grab both his hands and in one fell swoop you bring down your sword in a brutal cut—severing both hands at the wrist. His blood, spraying your boots.

His blood curdling screams fill your ears and the forest around as he falls to his knees. Doubling over in pain. You laugh as his body obviously begins going into shock if the telltale sign of his hyperventilating is anything to go by. You circle around him—a predator about to make the killing blow to their prey. 

He whimpers as you force his head up with the blade of your sword under his chin. “Look. At. Me.” You say deathly soft. 

Wesley forces his eyes to meet yours. “W-we killed you. All of you.” His voice quivering from pain. 

You shook your head, a feral grin on your lips as you loomed over him making him flinch. “You slaughtered a mother and two fathers. . . but you didn't slaughter every one of the Blackfyre’s.” His face pale from blood loss seemed to pale further. “No. That was your mistake.” You taunted. “You should have ripped them all out, root and stem. Leave one dragon alive and the sheep are never safe.“ 

His body began to shake even more as he took in the murderous look in your eyes. The rage. 

“Do you remember what you said to me all those years ago?” 

He whimpered, shaking his head. 

You gripped his hair, tilting his head back, “I want words,” you snarled. 

“N-no.” He stuttered between sobs. 

“It was after you took a whip to my back. I could barely stand but I still tried slitting your throat and you dislocated my shoulder disarming me.” You let out a cold bitter humorless laugh. “You said,” leaning down to whisper into his ear, “you lack conviction” and then you tied me back onto the post and whipped me some more.” 

“I am so sorry. . . I was just a soldier following orders.” 

“And now you’ll die because you were a soldier just following orders.” 

You lifted your sword up in a high arc and Wesley squeezed his eyes shut, murmuring some type of prayer under his breath. Your sword's blade glinted in the moonlight before descending in a swift clean death blow. There was a devastating elegance to the motion but right as it was about land true—

“Y/n!” Lucien called. 

You pulled back the blow, barely a hair's breadth away from Wesley’s neck.  

He appeared from behind the tent, stopping a couple feet away from Wesley and you. He sounded terrified. It took you a moment to realize he was terrified of you. 

“Stop. . .” He pleaded, his voice hoarse. 

You didn’t want to stop. Not until Wesley was dead. Not until all of Amarantha’s lieutenants were dead. Not until Amarantha was dead. 

“Please, Y/n.”

 You looked up and saw his remaining eye was wide, his metal one whirring softly as he looked around. At all the soldiers you slaughter and at Wesley with your sword at his neck. You blinked once and you were in his head, seeing yourself through his eyes. 

Your eyes were clear but filled with feral satisfaction. There was still a hint of a wicked feral grin on your lips. And you were covered in blood from head to toe; some of it yours and most of it theirs. You blinked again now seeing through your own eyes. 

“We can take him back to spring. Let Tamlin deal with him.” Lucien tried reasoning and Wesley face shone with relief—hope—at the chance of mercy.

“No. Not good enough.” You raised your sword again. 

The emissary took a step forward. “This isn’t going to change what happened.” 

“I don’t care. He slaughtered my family.” You half growled—half whispered. 

“Can you forgive your enemies?” He tried reasoning again.

“The gods will forgive. My task is to arrange their meeting.”

And this time when your sword arced through the air, the blade struck true. And Wesley’s head fell to the ground near his severed hands before his body did too. 

You tilted your face up at the night sky—the stars, a small smile on your lips when you felt a soft warm breeze caress your face. Your eyes closed and it was as if your mother was doing it. You could’ve sworn you heard your parent’s voices in the wind. 

Just two more, Sunshine. Your mother said. Only Cahir and Amarantha are left, Sunshine. Your father Declan seemed to say. My brave sweet girl you’re almost done. Your father Callum reassured you. 

Just two more. 

“Two more what?” Lucien asked cautiously. 

You realize you must’ve said it out loud. “Go back to the manor, Lucien.” 

Distantly you heard leaves crunching beneath light footfalls in the trees behind you. You didn’t spare him another glance before silently making your way towards the noise. Scenting the air, you smelled a female. Her scent, a crisp and refreshing winter breeze, with hints of frost and pine needles.

It was familiar but you couldn’t place it, so you pulled your battle axe free. The weight of it was a comfort in your hand as you silently continued further into the woods. 

But it was almost too quiet so you waited for a minute to just listen. You could hear leaves rustling, a distant river, animals and then a heart beating rapidly. Not an animal's heart but fae. And it was all you could to grab the female by her throat with your free hand and slam her into the ground. 

Her hands clawed at the one you wrapped around her neck as she thrashed beneath you. But she stilled when she felt the cool metal of your axe press into her skin. It was dark but the moonlight let you glimpse pale skin, white hair and blue eyes. 

Your brows knitting together. “Viviane?”

“Princess?” 

“Why were you watching me?”

“I wasn’t.” 

Your hand tightened around her throat and you dug your axe deeper drawing a drop of blood. “Bullshit.” 

“I didn’t know it was you.” 

You slammed her head into the ground. 

“I swear I didn’t know,” she grounded out through clenched teeth.

“Liar.” 

“Fine. . . I needed to ask you something.” 

You stared at her for a couple more seconds before slowly letting go of her throat and getting off of her. “You needed to ask me something,” you repeat. 

“Yes.”

You cross your arms. “Well?”

“A high fae male from Winter was found in Spring territory earlier today.” The one spiked to the fountain. 

“What about it?” 

“Did he have a note on his person?”

“No.” 

“Are you sure it wasn’t hidden anywhere on his body?”

You suppress a shudder. “Yes.” 

“Y/n did you check? He could have hid—“

“There was no way, no place for him to hide a note. They spiked his head to the fountain.” She visibly flinched. “I don’t know where his body is.” I whispered and she put a hand up to her mouth, stifling a sob. “I’m sorry, Viviane.” 

She shook her head. “No. No. No.” Then she reached for me, her hands gripping my shoulders, “This is your fault.” 

Your eyes shuttered. “I know.” 

“No you don’t know!” 

You wrenched her hands from your shoulders, spinning and pinning her against a tree with your forearm. “Trust me. . . I know. I lost people too.” You say with lethal softness and she blinked, seeming to remember that was true. 

“I-I’m sorry Princess. . . about your mother and fathers.” 

You waved your hand dismissively, “I don’t need to hear this right now,” you only made it a step back towards the Spring Court before she stopped you. “What?” you spat. 

“Here.” she placed a silver dagger into your hand. It was elegantly made with a bright sapphire in the pommel. “For besting me,” she explained. 

You stared at it and before you could say something she winnowed. 

****

The trek back to the manor was miserable. You were sore, tired, thirsty and hungry. Not to mention covered in blood, it was dry and sticky, and you were still bleeding from Wesley stabbing you in the stomach. Your body was probably littered in bruises and minor cuts. 

Thankfully, none of the sentries said anything as you strode by with your chin held high, slightly limping. 

Bron was by the doors when he saw you and he took a single step before you halted him with a raised hand. Giving him a tight nod as you passed him. And you hoped Feyre was asleep by now.

You barely made it up the steps when you heard her. 

Feyre.

“Y/n!” She tried running to you but Lucien stopped her with a hand on her arm. 

“I’m fine.” You reassure her.

She scanned you from head to toe, her blue-grey eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “Are you sure? You don’t look fine”. 

You nodded. “I’m fine. I swear.”

“Please tell me that isn’t your blood.” 

“Not all of it. . . Most of it isn’t anyways.”

You felt him before you heard him—saw him. Raihn. His claws clicked against the marble floors as he made his way to you. Nuzzling his head against you, causing you to let out a hiss of pain from the wound in your stomach. You opened the bond on your side and felt his relief to see you were alive. 

I’m all right. You reassured him. 

He only let out a soft whine. 

You heard a loud, startled gasp from behind you atop the stairs. “Y/n?” 

Alis. 

Heaving a breath. “I’m fine, Alis.”

Her hands hovered over your body, her lips pursing, “You are certainly not fine.” 

You grinned at her. “I need another favor.” 

She placed her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed into slits, “What?”

“Can you get me something to eat and some water and bring it up to my room please.” 

She huffed. “Fine.” 

“Thank you, Alis.”

“But first let me help you up to your room.” 

No. I’ll take you. Raihn said. 

You waved her off. “Raihn will take me.” 

“Fine but let me draw you a bath first.”

“All right.”

Raihn lowered himself all the way down to the marble floors and you stepped over him so a leg was on each side and then he stood. Earning another hiss of pain out of you. 

“Y/n?” Feyre called again. 

Turning to look at her. “What?”

“What happened?” 

You looked at her before your eyes flicked to Lucien then back to her. “I can’t tell you. Not yet.” 

“Y/n.” 

“Soon, Fey.” You promised. 

For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 12

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[pfctipper]

thinking abt dick winters (as usual) but specifically the contemporary evidence of him in the context of damian lewis describing him as 'not without ego' and this post

aka i am absolutely fascinated that web’s main description of him is ‘big and hard and aggressive’

January 1945 letter from Johnny Martin to Bill Guarnere: 'Our CO is now Lieutenant Speirs from D Company. I think he’s the best one we've had yet'

Webster, Parachute Infantry (based on his wartime letters and notes he made in the late 1940s): 'A big, strong young man with sandy hair, he had won the Distinguished Service Cross in Normandy [...] Captain Winters jumped out of the ditch. “Let’s go! Let’s hear a little noise! Kill ’em! Kill ’em all!” [...] Our old Captain Winters, the medal-winner, who was big and hard and aggressive, seemed like the kind of man who would stay around forever. Now he was gone [as company commander]'

Speirs, THE OPERATIONS OF THE 2ND PLATOON D COMPANY, 506 PARACHUTE INFANTRY (101ST AIRBORNE DIVISION) IN THE VICINITY OF CARENTAN, FRANCE 11-13 JUNE 1944 (1948): 'The E Company commander, Lt Winters, was struck in the leg. He was not evacuated, however, and in spite of a stiff and painful leg, stayed until ·the end of the campaign'

speirs features a lot more than dick in parachute infantry, which is partly because of the parts of the war it spans, but probably not what you’d expect from watching the show and seeing how that puts him on a pedestal. also that webster and his particular brand of disdain for a lot of the military and its pettiness and regulations specifically really liked speirs but seems to have been fairly ambivalent about dick is interesting

plus there are dick's wartime letters to deetta in hang tough, where he comes across as. well. the top goodreads review appears to have mistaken it for a epistolary wwii romance novel and knocked off 1.5 stars for misogyny, and i think 'superiority complex' and 'temperamental' would just about cover the rest

so. clearly perceived as a good officer, but not exactly how he comes across in the show or the books. i think dick was absolutely not without ego ('I knew that I was a better man than most of the officers whom I had met, so I flirted with joining the commissioned ranks' in Beyond is a pretty good summation) and a very strong personality. as per ambrose, dick had the initial idea for band of brothers and presented him with folders of information he'd already prepared in anticipation that someone would want to write that book one day, led on collating most of the information from the other men, and along with lipton went through the book 'line-by-line' before it was published to 'correct' information provided by others

and i think that ego really informed both what is / isn't included in the show and how the audience was meant to understand what is included (the shaving scene in bastogne, the nco mutiny)

which in itself has very interesting implications for how nix gets portrayed in the show and in the books given that, by virtue of not engaging with ambrose and then passing in 1995, he's pretty much entirely invented based on information from dick. given that a lot of the show is serving dick’s ego, it’s interesting that nix’s characterisation doesn’t, really. he’s just kind of there

lots to think about. more exploration of egotistical dick please