#there's a song that inspired this entire fic

[annwrites]

punish

⸻ part i: august underground ⸻

| chapter one. |

· pairing: serialkiller!billyhargrove x fem!reader · type: part of a series · summary: tina, a classmate of yours from hawkins high, is dead. a young woman being found brutally murdered in the woods puts your small town on high alert, even if everyone is trying to convince themselves that it had to have only been an outsider passing through, because things like this don't happen here. you attend the funeral with a grieving nancy, who's distraught over the loss of her friend, and under such grisly circumstances, at that. and while you're reluctant to feed yourself possible faux comfort of it being a one-time horrid occurrence like so many others, you fail to fathom in your imagination who the killer just might be—and that his reign of terror over the town is far from over as the bodies begin to pile up...and that he's soon to set his sickening sights upon you. but it's not your blood he thirsts for. what he has planned...will end with a new face upon milk cartons across the country. one you never would've imagined would grace the 6 o' clock news with the headline reading...'missing', and the question inevitably becomes: will you be found? · tw: dead dove, murder, mutilation of a female body (only discussed, not recounted), stalking, obsession, misogyny, disturbing sexual themes · tags: sapphic themes & interactions (nancy wheeler & reader) · word count: 7.8k · ꒰a/n꒱: the title of this fic comes from ethel cain's song of the same name. likewise, the first part of this series is inspired by ethel cain's song of the same name as well. the work as a whole is inspired by the sharp objects tv series, true detective s1, as well as ethel cain's album perverts.

“Did…did you hear what he did to her body?”

You drape curls over either of your shoulders and ensure your black satin ribbon is positioned exactly-so at the back of your head. 

It’s not that you want to be ‘dolling yourself up’ for such an occasion, but you do think it’s important that you look respectable…out of honor for the deceased. 

You stand and pad over to Nancy, then seat yourself beside her upon her quilted comforter. 

Your eyes meet hers and you shake your head. 

“Is it…” You sigh. 

Of course it’s bad.

Nancy smooths the skirt of her dress nervously. 

“He…shoved a tree branch inside…” She trails off for a moment, then swallows thickly. “Inside her. It…came out of her stomach.”

Your own turns at the vision that’s now been painted within your mind, and your eyes well with tears. “It sounds sick, but I wonder if just being raped would’ve been a kinder fate. If she was alive when he…did that, I mean. I hope she wasn’t.”

You sniffle. “I really hope she wasn’t.”

The car is silent as Nancy’s dad drives everyone to the wake. You merely stare out the window while holding Nancy’s hand.

The two of you are frightened. Things like this…they don’t happen here in Hawkins. Such violence is entirely unheard of. 

You didn’t know Tina well, but Nancy had been friends with her.

She’s, in truth, been rather quiet about it all. Which you understand. There’s something about the discussion of horrific things that makes it feel like if you dare speak too much about it, that you’ll be next. That tragedy is contagious. 

But Nancy’s silence stems, instead, from grief. You think that it’s because it isn’t real for her yet: that Tina is dead. 

You’d questioned her about whether she truly wanted to come today; had assured her that if she wanted to wait—only wanted to visit Tina’s grave once she was laid to rest—that that would be completely understandable. But she’d insisted. Had stated that she needs to see her, so as to believe that it’s true: that she’s dead, gone…lost, and, by extension, confirmed your suspicions.

So, you’re coming along with her to say goodbye while you truly hope within your heart that Tina has found peace. And that whoever did such an evil, vile thing to her is soon caught, and is made to feel even a fraction of the fear and pain that she did in those terrifying final moments. 

They say they look like they’re sleeping.

She doesn’t look like that to you. 

No one sleeps so perfectly. 

Some people may sleep on their backs, but not with their hands clasped so-exactly over their…stomach. And not while dressed in their Sunday best. But you suppose such attire is required, so as to hide the violation beneath. 

Their hair isn’t smooth and parted so evenly over their shoulders. 

Women don’t go to bed with faces full of makeup. 

And people don’t sleep inside coffins in parlors that reek of lilies and gardenias, surrounded by countless people wearing suits and dresses as they cry over the loss of the one who’s been put on display for everyone else’s sake. For their comfort.

What a strange arrangement funerals are. 

One dies, and then is made into a spectacle for everyone else’s viewing pleasure. For everyone else to speak of and study while all one can do is lie there…unspeaking, unmoving, unseeing.

Funerals really do seem far more about the audience, and far less about the reason such an audience has been convened to begin with. 

You think you want to be cremated when your time comes. You should probably tell someone that, or write it down somewhere where your final wishes will be easy to find. 

And you should probably do so soon. 

Which isn’t to say that this isn’t going to turn out to be a one-off…occurrence, even if that sounds, somehow, crass to think. But if it isn’t…if there’s someone in town that now has a thirst for hunting young women, then it doesn’t hurt to think ahead. 

You begin to slowly look around then, wondering if he’s here. 

Some seem to think that maybe it was just an outsider passing through town. But you wonder if that’s not just a pleasant lie they’re feeding themselves to give themselves a false sense of security. So that they can play pretend that everything is okay. That they’re safe. That whoever it was got what they needed to out of their system, and all will soon return to normal.

They might as well just say it: they already want to forget. Want to turn a blind eye, and pretend like Tina wasn’t murdered in cold blood, then defiled during a fit of black rage afterward.

Nancy turns to you with tears slipping down her cheeks and your heart shatters at the sight. She opens her mouth to speak, then promptly shuts it before whimpering in pain. 

“Do…do you want something to drink, maybe?” you offer, unsure of what else to say.

She nods silently and you give her a small, forced smile before stepping away and heading toward the back of the room to a table that’s laden with various refreshments.

“She was a slut, yet we’re expected to sit here and listen while the preacher and her parents drone on and on for the next hour about how sweet and fuckin’ innocent she was?”

You blanch, and nearly drop the cup of ice water you’ve just filled for Nancy.

“Dude, that’s… I mean, the two of you went out, right? This is her funeral, Billy, so—” the young man speaking in reply seems at a loss for words at the cruel remarks which just spewed forth from Billy Hargrove’s lips so easily.

How can he talk about her like that? Of course it’s true that death doesn’t erase the terrible deeds one has committed, but in no way do you think that going out with boys and maybe messing around with them in the backs of their cars is that. As if he’s some pious little saint himself. He himself certainly garnered a reputation around Hawkins High, and not long after first gracing its halls, which, without quarrel, serves as indefensible proof otherwise.

What a fucking hypocrite.

You should say something.

But you don’t want to cause a scene.

Because, what if instead of getting him to shut up, it only serves to rile him up further, and he then loudly proclaims similar sentiments for all to hear? And then that is how today will be remembered.

You lightly shake your head while doing your utmost to tamper down your pounding heart that’s ready to fly into fight mode, and pour yourself a plastic cup of lemonade before returning to Nancy with drinks in-hand.

Billy watches as you step away, wholly oblivious to his dark gaze that’s now settled upon you. It has been for some time now, in truth. But one as innocent and naïve as yourself would never have a clue as to his infatuation. It’s one of many things he likes about you: your purity.

Sometimes he thinks it might be love...what he feels. 

Billy leans back against the edge of the archway which separates the foyer from the parlor and takes a sip of his spiked Coke before licking his lips and tipping the lip of his cup toward you as you take a seat beside Nancy Wheeler. “That’s the girl you get down on one knee and make a life for. Who you bust your ass to make happy and feel safe.”

He glances to Tina’s casket and sneers. “Not every set of lips is worth so much goddamn effort.” 

You remain still and silent throughout Tina's funeral service while Nancy cries quietly beside you.

You honestly feel like you might be sick, because none of this seems real.

Tina had been in the library where you work no more than a couple of weeks ago, checking out a new romance novel. And now...now here her lifeless corpse lies before you.

You keep expecting her to open her eyes, sit up, smile, and exclaim that the joke is over; you all played along beautifully, and everything is okay once again—you may all returned to your regularly scheduled programming now.

You don't want this to be real. Don't want this to be the new reality that Hawkins will be forced to live under the mourning veil of until a resolution comes to fruition, one way or another.

You don't know which theory you prefer, in truth: it being a mere passerby, meaning the threat has come to a finish just as quickly as it began, or that it's someone here, perhaps in this very room. At least that way, the perpetrator can be caught and brought to justice. Rather, so that Tina's family, as well as her memory can obtain as much.

Prison would be too kind a fate for him, whomever he may be.

They should bring back public hangings, you muse to yourself as you twine your fingers between Nancy's to give her a sense of grounding and steadiness as the pastor's speech draws to a close.

Billy leans back against his Camaro as he retrieves a lighter from his pocket, then sets the cigarette, which is perched between his lips, ablaze.

He watches as you tread quietly behind Nancy from across the parking lot, and as he focuses upon your angelic face—it resembles that of a pretty little porcelain doll; so fragile and easy to break—he takes note that you've been crying. Not at quite the same volume as your friend, clearly, but you have.

It makes you seem impossibly more beautiful, though. Hauntingly so.

He then ponders what your tears might taste like.

He groans and quickly palms himself over his pants at the thought of drinking them down—licking them clean from your supple, untouched skin—as you slide along his length while whimpering beneath him. From fear, overstimulation, or just the overwhelming feeling of being absolutely loved and devoured by him, he's not sure. In truth, any would do. Preferably all—simultaneously.

You have no idea how good he could be to you. For you.

You can't fathom the things he'd do just to make you happy. To keep you safe.

All he wants is a chance to show you.

He knows that in time, when things are just right, he will.

The languid summer air is sweltering today.

You shift uncomfortably atop the metal folding chair you're seated upon, then lift one of your legs so as to drape it over your opposite one, but know you won't be any more comfortable that way—your thighs will merely stick together; slippery with sweat they are—so you instead settle for once again crossing your legs at the ankles and folding your hands politely in your lap as you try desperately to focus on the pastor before you as he reads a passage from the Bible. The book of Psalms, you think, but aren't sure. The humidity settles over you like a heavy, suffocating blanket, causing your lids to droop and your senses to numb.

A sweat-soaked tendril of hair sticks to the back of your neck while a drop of perspiration slides downward, between your shoulder blades.

This isn't the right weather to be dressed all in black in, you think.

And then you lightly shake your head and force yourself to snap out of it.

Who thinks like that at a burial of all places? About choice of wardrobe?

Selfish, you think, mentally chastising yourself.

Eventually, the pastor, similarly to at the funeral home, steps aside, leaving an open opportunity for anyone who might like to give a few kind parting words to the gathered crowd, in honor of the deceased, a chance to do so.

Nancy shifts infinitesimally beside you, and you glance to her, only to find her already looking at you.

Her eyes flit between yours, almost like she's asking for some sort of silent permission or blessing—no, it's encouragement which she's wanting—so as to stand and say whatever it is which is within her heart.

You settle a hand atop her knee and give it a gentle squeeze while forcing a small, pained smile to your lips.

She swallows thickly, blinks, then nods just once before standing and making her way to the head of Tina's casket on uncertain limbs.

She reaches into her pocket and retrieves—with trembling hands—a crumpled piece of paper, which she proceeds to slowly unfold.

"We knew each other since we were six. And you were taken from us at eighteen. Twelve years we had to grow together and learn as friends. But a life shouldn't be quashed down to simple arithmetic—to mere numbers and decimals. To—"

Her lip quivers, but she quickly swallows it down, continuing on. "To dates carved into stone; from a specified start, to an unimaginable end. No, such dates don't show us the in-between. Words can try: daughter, sister, friend. But still it isn't enough. Plenty of us know it can never be. So, you live on through us instead. That's the phrase, isn't it? 'Survived by'. And you are: survived by everyone here. In our mind's eyes, our memories, our hearts, and our souls. We carry you with us, even as we lay your body down here to rest."

She lets out a quiet sob while rolling up the worn paper between her hands before clutching it tightly between them. "We love you, Tina. I'm so sorry this happened to you."

She makes her way back over to you, and nearly falls into her chair as her legs give out beneath her.

Her mom takes her into her arms as she begins to cry all the harder—as black tears streak down her cheeks, painting her face in a gesture of remembrance for the dead.

You silently mill about as Nancy and her mom, Karen, give heartfelt, tearful condolences to Tina’s family.

A cool breeze washes over your heated skin and you ease your neck back, watching as Spanish moss flits gently in the wind above you. The corner of your mouth tugs downwards into a frown at the sight of the ashen branch it hangs upon—all life now leached from it. It’s strange to consider: that a tall, sturdy, and strong oak tree is oh-so-slowly being drained of life by something so willowy and inconsequential.

There’s a term for Spanish moss, kudzu, and the like. Invasive species. An unwelcome outsider—or, in the case of kudzu, welcome, until it wasn’t; until it became too unruly to handle, and was thus left to swallow up every area it crawls its way across, completely uncared for—but too much of a parasite for any one person to know how to properly, or, rather, permanently, eradicate.

You suppose it serves as a reminder of how inconsequential you all truly are: people; humans. The house always wins. Nature, that is. It will one day reclaim all.

Maybe it’s supposed to be that way.

Time is a flat circle which envelopes and encapsulates everything. There is nothing here which hasn’t always been and won’t always be.

Perhaps one should take comfort at such a thought.

You glance around, wondering where your headstone will one day rest while attempting to envision your own burial and who might be amongst the crowd come to watch you become part of the earthen soil.

"You made a very beautiful speech, sweetheart," Nancy's mom states quietly from the front of the car.

"Thanks," she replies, barely above a whisper.

Her mom glances to the rearview mirror and catches your eye. "How're you doing, Y/N? You thirsty?"

She rummages in her oversized purse for a moment before retrieving a lukewarm water bottle for you from within, which she proceeds to hand back to you over her shoulder.

You take it from her and hold it tightly between your hands. "Thank you. And I'm...okay." You pause. "I guess. I don't know. I think...we're just—"

"Scared," Nancy interjects.

You nod.

The two of you grow silent again for a moment and you listen as the AC struggles to crank out cool air to combat the extreme summer heat which means to fight its way into the limited space of the car’s cabin.

“I know I’m not your old man,” Nancy’s dad starts, and you smile slightly, already sure you know where this is going to lead. “But I still consider you one of my own since our house has always stood as a sort of second home for you. I just want you and Nancy both to be safe. To mind the town curfew and always be looking over your shoulders. Alright?”

You glance to Nancy and she shakes her head with a grin. “Yes, dad.”

His eyes shift toward the rearview mirror and you give him a smile. “Yes, Mr. Wheeler.”

Nancy slides your hand into her lap. “You’re still…staying over tonight, right?”

You nod while giving her a small, playful nudge. “No, I just brought a bag over this morning because I’m slowly moving in.”

She snorts. “I’ll trade your parents Mike to get you all to myself.”

Her mom shakes her head. “Nancy…”

She glances to the back of her head with a sheepish look upon her face. “Just kidding.”

Nancy flops back onto her bed, then rolls her head to the side, watching as you peel yourself out of the black dress that clings to your sweaty skin, eager to be rid of it.

You try not to picture embalming fluid seeping out of Tina’s pores then, only for it to soak into the satin pillow which rests beneath her head from inside her locked coffin, staining it…what color is embalming fluid, anyway? For some reason, you imagine it as being blue. You wonder if that’s accurate.

You gently shake your head, sending the thought fleeing.

“What’s wrong?”

You glance to Nancy, letting your dress pool around your feet before stepping to the side. You then pick it up from the floor to toss in her hamper before going to shower. “Nothing. Just…today, I guess. I think I feel strange about being there.”

She sits up and her brows bow in confusion. “Why?”

You shift on uncertain feet and shrug. “I wasn’t close with her like you were. We were acquaintances, but barely, at that.  I guess I just feel like it wasn’t my place to attend today, maybe.”

She stands and pads over to you, then slips her hands into both of yours. “You were there as a sign of respect.”

Her eyes flit downward and you watch as her cheeks turn a soft shade of pink. Or perhaps it’s just the blush she’s wearing, causing the illusion of her pale skin warming. Her gaze meets yours once again. “I would’ve fallen apart without you today.”

She wraps her arms around your neck. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers, nuzzling against you.

You hug her back. “Me too.”

You take a step back and grip each of her forearms. “I’m here whenever you need me.”

She nods while stepping toward you once more, and she presses a firm kiss to your cheek. “I know.”

You’re currently leaned back against the foot of Nancy’s bed, amusing yourself with a hundred piece puzzle on the floor while she flits through glossy magazines atop her bed—her legs swaying back and forth behind her while Flashdance plays quietly on her box TV across the room that’s set atop her dresser.

All of a sudden, your view is blocked by the page of a magazine being hovered in front of your face.

“She’s really pretty,” Nancy states while hanging her head off the edge of the bed.

“Uh huh.”

She sighs irritably. “You’re not even looking.”

“I’m trying to figure out where this piece goes.”

She shoves the magazine further into your face until it blurs.

You groan before snatching it out of her grip.

“Hey!”

You lean your head back and blink at her. “I thought you wanted me to look at it.”

She merely raises a brow in response.

You glance to the page and take a moment to study a picture of Molly Ringwald. “She was good in Sixteen Candles,” you remark before tossing the object behind you.

Nancy then playfully rests her chin atop your head and you bite back a smirk. “You don’t think she’s pretty?”

You press the puzzle piece into place. “She is.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

You laugh quietly. “Someone’s in a better mood.”

She rolls onto her back. “Do you think that’s bad? To feel happy for even a second while Tina is…” She trails off.

You turn around while resting one of your arms atop the mattress. “No. Of course not. She’s…gone, Nancy. And forcing yourself to be miserable in some twisted attempt to ‘honor her memory’ won’t change that. Don’t punish yourself.”

“I know.”

There’s a knock at Nancy’s door then and both your heads turn in that direction.

“Yeah?” Nancy calls, expecting it to be her mom checking on the two of you.

You’re both surprised when the door swings open, however.

“Am I interrupting girls’ night?” Steve asks while hanging in the doorway.

Nancy sits up then and perches herself on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

He shuts the door behind him before coming to seat himself next to her. “Thought I’d stop by and tell you in-person.”

You turn around and gaze up at the two of them, and Steve gives you a gentle smile, which you return.

“Tell us what?” Nancy insists, now on-edge.

“There’s going to be this…memorial-type-thing in the woods tonight. For Tina.”

“The woods—” you start, before Nancy interrupts, speaking your very thoughts aloud.

“The ones where Tina was murdered ? Not those woods,” she says incredulously.

Steve turns more toward her while sliding one of his knees atop her bed and resting his hand against the small of her back. “I think it’s just people trying to change how they remember that place. Throwing it back in his face—what he did there.”

Nancy looks to you with tears shimmering in her eyes, so you stand and seat yourself next to her.

“No one who shows up there tonight will be going to honor Tina. They’re going to throw a bonfire—a party—in the woods so they can get drunk. Right on top of where she was…” She sniffles.

Steve’s eyes flit to yours and then back away so quickly you almost doubt it happened.

“I’m sure that’s why some will be there tonight. But I just thought that, for you, maybe it could serve as some small form of…closure.”

“We’re all under curfew,” you remind him.

He shrugs. “It’s not like anybody our age is going to be adhering to it. Not tonight, anyway.”

Nancy speaks up then. “My parents would never let me out of the house, even if I wanted to go. You know that. So I don’t understand why you’re even bothering with—”

He looks at her bedroom window on the other side of the room, which is shrouded in billowy white curtains. “Could just do like I used to in high school when I wanted to come see you.”

He looks at her once more. “But if you’d rather stay here, I understand.”

Nancy wipes a tear from her cheek and you feel mildly irritated with Steve at the sight of her renewed emotional distress. Before he showed up, the two of you had been having a pleasant evening—she’d finally been in higher spirits for the first time in days. And now… Now she’s mournful again.

“Do you want me to go?” Steve asks her quietly.

Nancy turns fully toward you. “What do you think we should do? Should we go? I don’t know if I can take seeing that: people tossing beer bottles and trash all over where she—she was… And just laughing and pretending like everything is fine, and—”

She begins to sob then and throws herself against you.

Steve shifts awkwardly atop the bed, then clears his throat. “Maybe I should go…”

“No,” Nancy whimpers. “Can you both just hold me, please?”

Steve sidles closer and envelopes her back with his chest.

Nancy lies her head upon your shoulder and you each hold her as she cries, just like she asked.

“Ow!”

“Shh, just go slow and we’ll be fine,” you insist while silently closing Nancy’s window until it’s open only a crack.

You turn back around and watch with a pounding heart—terrified that the two of you are about to be caught any moment now, that her parent’s bedroom light will flicker to life and you’ll be busted and banned from their house, even if the two of you are technically adults now—as Nancy climbs down the trellis on the side of the house.

Once she’s reached the ground, she and Steve both stare up at you as they beckon you down to them.

“This is so stupid,” you mumble silently to yourself before following along behind your friend, praying that you won’t come to regret this when the two of you wind up in handcuffs for disobeying town curfew.

Your head lulls to the side and you watch as street lights and storefronts flit quickly by the car window.

You hope there’s not a deputy cruiser just waiting around a bend in the road up ahead somewhere.

The three of you may not be underage anymore, but you’re sure that won’t much matter since you and Nancy are barely even nineteen. You glance to Steve then and immediately grow cold all over.

No one knows who it is yet.

Steve hadn’t been lying about this supposed gathering in the woods, right?

No.

He isn’t like that. He’d never hurt Nancy. Would never hurt a fly, you’re sure. But that’s what makes it all the more plausible, isn’t it: that no one would ever suspect someone like him. Someone so kind and straight-laced and…well, he’s just your regular golden boy, isn’t he?

Is this how things will be from now on? You suspecting every single man you pass on the street and in store aisles? Doubting any sense of safety or trust you once felt toward any given person because of the terrible unknown that now lies over everyone’s heads in this town?

You stare at the back of Nancy’s headrest, wondering if she’s now thinking the same thing. If it’s come to her yet: the terrible possibility that the two of you could be next—tonight.

You feel sick.

“How did you find out about this…gathering?” you ask worriedly.

Steve clears his throat. “Tommy told me about it this afternoon.”

You nod. “Who do you think it is?”

You stare at the rearview mirror, expecting him to look at you. Rather, you wait for there to be a tell. Some jerk of a muscle or sudden movement which will confirm your suspicions. You pray he does no such thing. Pray that you’re entirely wrong.

Steve shrugs. “I wish I knew. That anyone did so this can all be over. I mean, I have no idea who the hell would’ve wanted to hurt Tina to begin with. Especially like that.”

He flips his right blinker on. “Just makes me sick.”

You and Nancy stay close to Steve as you all draw nearer to the bonfire.

Nancy’d been right about that much.

You’d, luckily, been wrong. About Steve, that is. You hope so, at least.

Nancy loops one of her arms around yours and you rest a reassuring hand against it.

“Either of you guys want anything to drink?” Steve asks while tucking a curl behind Nancy’s ear.

“Water,” you reply.

“And a Coke,” Nancy adds.

He nods and makes his way over to a cooler while you lead Nancy over to a fallen log for the two of you to seat yourselves upon.

“This feels…” Nancy trails off and shakes her head. “I just keep thinking—wondering, rather—if he’s here. I’d give anything right now to be able to read minds—find him out.”

Her eyes meet yours. “Maybe I’d shove a broken beer bottle shard in his neck.”

She’s never been the angry, violent type, but you figure she’s entitled to being as much now.

“He deserves that and worse,” you say.

Steve returns with your drinks then.

An older girl with a teased strawberry-blonde ponytail takes a standing position before the fire—flames licking at the sky above her frizzy head of hair—and she raises the amber bottle in her hand high above her to gather everyone’s attention.

You watch as beer sloshes from the open neck before she lowers the drink to her side again. “So, we all came here tonight for Tina. To give a big middle finger to the sick fuck who did this to her.”

She clears her throat, and pauses, like she’s trying to remember—or figure out—what she’s meant to next say. “So, uh, I’ll just open the floor to anyone who might want to say a few parting words to her, or tell stories to keep her memory alive.”

The young woman steps away, swaying lightly on her feet, leaving an opening for someone to then take her place.

Nancy shakes her head gently beside you. “A drunk to kick us off. Great.”

You turn slightly toward her. “Do you want to start everyone off? You don’t have to, since you spoke at her burial. I mean, you don’t have to anyway…”

She gently shakes her head. “No, I’ll do it. It should be someone who knew her. And who isn’t already under the influence.”

You and Steve stay seated as Nancy takes the vacated spot of the drunk girl.

Nancy clears her throat, then glances nervously to you and Steve before starting.

Sick fuck she’d called him.

She has no idea.

And the drunken cunt better watch it, or she’ll be next.

He shrugs slightly to only himself, knowing she wouldn’t be. Tina might’ve only been the beginning and the end, in truth. He’s just…not sure yet. There’d been something about it—the intimacy of being the only one present in her final moments; all that she could see, or hear, or feel—it’d been unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Something which had transcended this plane—empty and superficial it usually seems.

Or so he’d thought.

But to discover something more—something not typically seen by the naked eye—had taken ungovernable rage to achieve. Though, it had been calculated. Planned. At least in theory. But once they were there—just the two of them—in these very woods…it’d been a far heavier experience than he’d thought to prepare himself for.

The feeling he discovered… It was intoxicating. An absolute release and escape from the torment he’s been forced to endure and tolerate because he has no other recourse but to. Having absolute dominion over another and their bodily autonomy—over a woman—he’d be remiss to pretend at it having no sort of hold over him now.

But he’s sure that there must be another way to fill that void—to go about reaching that pinnacle again. One which doesn’t require that sort of repeated, bloody sacrifice.

It’s not that he sees human life as being sacred. He doesn’t. Not anymore. Not that he’s sure he ever did. But rather that he’s new at this and still yet unsure of himself. He can’t get cocky. Can’t allow it to swallow him whole. He needs to be cautious going forward. More cautious, that is.

He must take things in stride.

His vision flits to Nancy’s waifish form as he barely listens to the meaningless, mournful words leaving her lips.

He’s supposed to feel guilt. That’s what a normal person would be experiencing by now.

But he doesn’t. Not in the least. After all, she was the first to shed blood. To drive the knife of betrayal straight through him, leaving it forever lodged within his black, tarred soul. He was merely repaying the fact.

You feel tired. The warmth from the fire is gradually causing your body to relax and your mind to go hazy.

It’s been a long day.

You’d hoped to be in bed by now, but you know that you can always just sleep in tomorrow instead, if need-be.

You glance around, waiting for Nancy and Steve to return. He’d taken her somewhere nearby to relieve herself after finishing off her bottle of Coke once people’s condolences were through being paid. You don’t like being alone here, even if you’re surrounded by people.

You look so pretty tonight. What, with your skin all awash in a fiery glow and your heavy lids drooping sleepily over innocent eyes. You’re damn-near irresistable. Hell, you always are.

He likes how you don’t know it. That you wouldn’t have the first idea of how to use your body to your benefit against lesser men—lesser than him, that is.

He hasn’t always been so versed in salacious feminine wiles, but he’s learned. It’d taken quite some time to, but he inevitably did. And now—now he knows what he needs, as opposed to what he’d once thought he wanted.

He’s not pleased that you’re here tonight, however. You should know better. This isn’t you: a rule-breaker. Mischievous. But he knows who to blame for it: your presence in a place you ought not to be at to begin with.

Billy can tell that even now—even after earning himself a diploma and attending a nearby college—that little Pretty Boy Harrington still hasn’t wised up. He thinks…what? That if some psycho comes out of the woods, armed with God-knows-what, he’ll be able to protect you and Nancy both? He has no idea what he’s up against. None of them fucking do.

Billy smirks at the knowledge, and then he stands.

“This seat taken?” questions a baritone timbre to your right.

Slowly, you lift your head to gaze up at none other than Billy Hargrove. Your eyes trail downward from his smooth, tanned face, which is framed by golden-brown curls, to a sculpted chest advertised by a partially unbuttoned shirt, and then to blue jeans which cling to his muscled legs. You then proceed to follow his index finger—the rest of his hand is wrapped tightly around a bottle of beer—to the bit of empty wood next to you.

You glance across the way to where Nancy and Steve now stand chatting amongst themselves, then back to him, and you shake your head. “No.”

In truth, you have half-a-mind to tell him to piss off after the things you heard him saying at Tina’s funeral earlier in the morning.

You refrain, however.

It’s just like you to always keep your mouth shut when you have something to say.

You tell yourself you’re merely picking and choosing your battles. As if you’ve ever fought any to begin with…

He gives you a gentle smile, then seats himself next to you. Close enough that his thigh is now pressed up against your own. And fuck, if that isn’t enough to set his blood on fire.

He takes a drink, then tips the neck of the bottle toward you with a quizzical brow.

Unbeknownest to you, it’s a test. One which you promptly pass.

“No, thank you,” you reply while shaking your head, then lifting a water bottle for him to see.

He finds himself pleased with your response. “I didn’t know that you and Tina were close.”

You glance to Nancy across the way again before staring at the fire ahead once more. “She and Nancy were.”

He clicks his tongue. “I see. So you’re here for moral support, then?”

You nod.

He nudges you gently, forcing you to look at him.

“That’s sweet of you. The two of you’ve always been good friends, haven’t you?”

You nod yet again. “Since we were in kindergarten.” You look at him. “So all our lives.”

He studies you for a moment. “You looked really pretty—at the funeral.” He slides a feather-light hand down your back, not wanting to frighten you away like the skittish little fawn you are.

He knows it will take a patient, dexterous hand to reel you in and groom you properly—particularly for his own selfish wants and needs. That it will have to be a gradual process, even if he wants you all to himself now. Not later.

You shift beneath his gaze and he promptly removes his hand.

The two of you remain quiet for a moment, while Billy considers.

“You want to take a walk?”

Your head jerks back in Billy’s direction, sure that he can’t be serious. “No. I’m okay. Thanks, though…”

His eyes narrow slightly and he cocks his head softly to the side. “Why not?”

Your brows furrow. “Because it’s dark. And I mean…look where we are. The stretch of woods we’re in.”

He stands then and extends a hand toward you. “C’mon. You’ll be with me. I can keep you safe. Promise.”

He grins and gives you a wink that’s meant to make him seem charming. But the sight of his canines glinting against the firelight instills a different sort of sensation within you.

“I’m okay, Billy, really.”

His features shift. It’s so small a difference that you’re not sure you even trust your eyes—what you just saw. Perhaps it’s just the flickering fire playing tricks on you. Perhaps you’re just tired. Perhaps…

“There’s just something I want to show you. I think you’ll really like it.”

He’s always known you to be more amiable and submissive. He fights against his own bubbling displeasure at your disagreement.

His temper, at time goes on, is seemingly becoming harder and harder to keep a lid on.

You look to Nancy and fill with relief when you see she and Steve coming your way.

And then is when you stand, and he smiles, thinking he finally has you.

Until he’s promptly disappointed.

You keep your eyes trained on him, watching as his smile disappears at the company of your friends coming to join you. Encroaching on what should be his.

He’s so fucking sick of everyone and everything getting in his way.

Tina is only the beginning.

“Hey,” Nancy calls softly, coming to stand by your side. “You ready to head out?”

Billy steps closer to you. “I can take her home.”

All eyes come to focus upon him.

“If she wants to stay awhile longer, I mean,” he tacks on while shifting on his booted feet.

Nancy pulls you closer to her. “She’s staying at my house tonight. The next few, actually. So we’re headed to the same place. That’s nice of you to offer, though.”

Billy’s jaw flexes, but briefly. And then he relents. “You all enjoy your night, then. And be safe.”

He turns and circles the fire, gazing across the way into the deep, dark woods, feeling a familiar itch which he needs to tend to. Tonight. One of…self-gratification.

There’s few ways left for him to self-soothe now. Masturbation being chief among them. He’ll have visions of you to keep him company as he sees to his carnal needs this evening, at least.

He so anticipates when you will be the one physically helping him along, knowing exactly what he needs and how to give it to him by him only needing to give you a specific look, or a mere gesture.

He’ll train you so well. His perfect, innocent girl. He can hardly wait.

“What did Billy want?” Nancy asks with a sour tone while pushing bubbles around the bathtub.

You’d taken yet another shower yourself once the two of you snuck back into the house for the night—albeit a brisk one—wishing to wash the smell of woodsy smoke and mosquito bites from your body so you’d be clean when the two of you finally laid down to sleep. You’d both gone in through the front door, however, since the house was all dark when you got back, meaning everyone else had already gone to bed for the evening. No reason to risk breaking your necks climbing back up the side of the house and through a window again.

You rest your forearm along the side of the tub and shrug slightly. “He kept…asking me to go into the woods with him. He said he wanted to show me something.”

She sits up straighter then. “He what?” she asks, now thoroughly alarmed.

Your eyes flit to hers and she lies each of her warm, wet palms atop your forearm while proceeding to grip it securely. “Show you what?” she questions.

“We didn’t get that far. I told him no, and then you and Steve came over and we left. It’s just the way he was acting…the look on his face.” You lean back and shake your head. “I don’t know. Maybe I was seeing things that weren’t there because of the heat of the day, or exhaustion. Or maybe he’d just had too much to drink.”

She pulls the stopper from the drain and the tub begins to gurgle. “He’s never been one to keep it in his pants. Even today he was just looking to make another notch in his belt, I’m sure. I never understood what Tina saw in him.”

You fleetingly consider making her privvy to what you overheard Billy say about the girl in question at her own funeral, but decide against it. Nancy’s been through enough today.

You stand and hand Nancy a towel as she emerges from the tub, which she promptly wraps around her naked form.

“But you’d never be into someone like him,” she states while taking a smell step toward you.

You snort quietly. “He’s nice to look at, but, no, I very much doubt that.”

Nancy smiles. “Good.”

She’s most-certainly frightened.

Not that you blame her.

You know because, before turning in for the night, she set out an old star projector you haven’t seen since the two of you were ten or eleven years old.

You watch idly as various planets and solar systems make their way across the ceiling, stretching, then folding back in on themselves before circling around again and again.

Everything always comes full-circle.

You feel Nancy shift onto her side, and her hand comes to rest atop the crown of your shoulder. “I think I might take some flowers over to her grave tomorrow.”

You turn onto your side then as well to face her. “I’m sure Tina would like that.”

Nancy’s eyes flit between your own. “I always feel better when you’re here.”

You smile sleepily. “I’m glad.”

She glances away for a moment, and her expression changes to one that makes it seem as if she’s lost in thought. And then she returns her eyes to yours. “You never did answer me earlier.”

Your brows furrow. “Hm?”

“About if you think I’m pretty.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I doubt that you need me to tell you that you are, Nance.”

“But do you think I am?” she asks softly while moving closer.

“Y-yes, of course I do. Why?”

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, and then she does something entirely unexpected.

Nancy pulls herself flush against your body and proceeds to press her lips against your own.

The moment lasts for only that—a moment—before you pull away in shock. “Nancy, what’re y—”

“I’m sorry,” she immediately supplies while her eyes well with tears. “I just thought… That maybe you felt…”

She sniffles. “Please don’t be mad.”

You remain silent—your mind entirely blank.

You silently curse yourself for the sudden loss of words on your part. Because she’s staring at you expectantly, waiting for you to say something. Anything.

“It’s just…you’re with Steve. That’d be like—no, it would be—cheating.”

She nods slowly. “I know. I’m not…doing it to be unfaithful to him. I just… I’ve wanted to. For a long time. Especially today. Have you never wanted to…?”

“I’m…not sure. I don’t know.”

You suddenly feel doubtful toward yourself. Have you ever wanted to? Do you want to?

It doesn’t matter what the answer is. You won’t be inserting yourself into their relationship like this. You’re not that kind of person: a homewrecker, for lack of a better term.

She gingerly tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “He doesn’t have to know, Y/N.”

You stare back at her in disbelief. This isn’t the Nancy that you know. She’d never cheat. Steve has done nothing to deserve this.

“Nancy—”

“Just for tonight, please. Couldn’t we try?”

Try?, you want to say. Try what?

“Nancy, we’re both exhausted. You’ve been through a lot today. The past week, really. Let’s just go to sleep, okay? I’m not mad. I promise. Maybe I do feel…something. But you’re spoken for, like I said. And I don’t…” You shake your head. “Even if you weren’t, I wouldn’t want to risk ruining our friendship over something that could never last anyway.”

She winces.

And you fill with guilt.

“I think you know what I mean. No one would ever accept something like that. Not here. Not in a small town like Hawkins.”

Her chin wobbles. “I know. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry.”

You take one of her hands in yours. “It’s okay. I’m flattered, I think, if nothing else.”

She flushes. “Guess you know about my crush now…”

You begin to see recent moments spent with her in an entirely different light then. Like when you’d undressed after the funeral and she’d blushed at the nearly-naked sight of you. Or all the times she held your hand today. Or how she’d seemed even the least bit jealous about Billy having spoken to you this evening.

“Guess so,” you reply in a mere whisper.

The two of you grow quiet again momentarily.

“Could…you hold me?” she asks, while also preparing for rejection.

You give her a soft, reassuring smile. “Course.”

She wraps herself around you then while resting her head between your breasts. “Thanks.”

You close your eyes, ignoring your hammering heart, worried that she can hear it. “Welcome.”

It’s late.

And he shouldn’t be here.

Usually, when he wants to check up on you, he does so outside your house.

But you’re with her tonight.

So, here he sits across the street, staring up at Nancy Wheeler’s bedroom window instead.

He finds sleep difficult to find unless he’s looked in on you for the night. He’s made quite the habit of it for weeks on-end now. He’s just doing it to ensure that his darling girl is safe, that’s all.

Even if the only thing anyone in this town has to be afraid of now—most of all—is him. Especially a sweet young thing like yourself.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispers against the humid night air before turning his Camaro over and driving himself back home, ready to begin planning his next step.

· tagging list: @emilynissangtr @highsummon

[sukirichi]

PLEASE STOP COPYING FICS ‼️

I am by no means gatekeeping concepts or tropes. We all know that it’s normal to see the same tropes or AUs be used differently, and that is not plagiarism. However, I recently found a fic that was oddly similar to my old (and discontinued) Gojo x Reader series, Reckless. The CEO! Gojo is nothing new, and neither is an accidental pregnancy trope. The only reason I am concerned is because this Gojo series I found has the exact same themes as Reckless that consists of: a playboy CEO Gojo with a very notorious reputation, a poor reader who is an employee and asset to the company (someone who works closely with Gojo), reader getting knocked up from a one night stand with Gojo, reader with a seemingly dead/absent mother yet still in contact with her father, Gojo with a very traditional family who does not like reader, and Gojo with an ex he struggles to let go of - which are all elements of Reckless.

The first chapter of that Gojo fic is also eerily similar to my first chapter with the same flow of: YN finding out she’s pregnant and her friend being there for her, Gojo saying he’ll take responsibility because ‘they both made the baby’, YN having to move in with Gojo to take care of the baby, and both of them coming to a mutual agreement that their ‘relationship’ will be purely for the baby’s benefit. The flow of events and specific details about the characters’ backgrounds are too similar to mine.

Again, I am not gatekeeping concepts, just as how I’ve had other writers ask me if they could write their own stories or takes based off of the NAOYA’S TROPHY WIFE COLLECTION or the BONTEN HUSBANDS EXCLUSIVE, and I’m fine with that. I’m even happy people are inspired by what I write. But being inspired is completely different from taking someone’s story and posting it as yours. Please trust your own creativity and skills in writing. You can write amazing stories and have people love them without having to steal from others.

It’s sad to say this is not the first time I, and other writers, have been plagiarized. It’s even more upsetting to know that a friend of mine who has also written a Gojo series (that I’m sure you all know and dearly love) experiences the same issues with the same person. The fact that this is happening to many writers out there is disheartening. We work hard and pour a lot of love in the stories we create. None of us are getting paid for this, and we simply want to share our passions with others. So please, let us be kinder with one another and show love and support the right way. If you love a fic, you give feedback and rb/comment + show support to the writer. You don’t steal their ideas and play it off as your own because you liked it.

[thetwilightroadtonightfall]

couldn’t bear to witness my own fate

[too-young-to-fall-in-love]

Into You - Ariana Grande

[wrongcaitlyn]

bc the last update apparently caused so much pain, here's a few excerpts from that abandoned dear reader one shot idea! i will clarify what songs/plot points mentioned in these tweets have changed, bc this is not spoiling anything that i'm *actually* planning to write in greatest of luxuries!

mentally ill @hatetheeastcoast

“My broken bones are mending” get it bc will is a doctor

|

replying to @hatetheeastcoast

ur mom @user4570824983085

The last news we have of him is him finishing med school last year, so he’s probably still doing his residency.

|

replying to @user4570824983085

mentally ill @hatetheeastcoast

SO??? HE STILL MENDED NICO’S BROKEN BONES

|

replying to @hatetheeastcoast

will solace fp @nico___AngeL56

pretty sure that one’s a metaphor my dude

GAY @nico___AngeL56

who wants to bet king of my heart is abt jason grace

|

replying to @nico___AngeL56

ur mom @user4570824983085

he’s literally said in interviews and on his acc that he doesn’t like ppl speculating abt his personal life pls stop

|

replying to @user4570824983085

GAY @nico___AngeL56

the song is coming out in like seven hours its fr not that big of a deal

|

replying to @nico___AngeL56

the graces >> @jasee25hsdfljs

coming out lol

#1 don’t blame me stan @swifttt_angels

nine years of back to back albums then disappearing off the face of the fucking earth and NOW THIS @nicodiangelo DO YOU WANT TO SEND ME INTO CARDIAC ARREST??!!!!

[not-a-real-fan]

Plotting a DCxAsoiaf crossover primarily to feed my Jason Todd obsession loosely inspired by details within the three references below.

My heart just wants to give my oc someone to arch her back and Jason needs someone to get his too. Im playing with the idea of Lazarus pits being gateways between worlds or realities and instead of being pulled out of the pit by Talia Jason is lost in the ruins of Old Valyria. This occurs at the point of my ocs timeline where she just happens to be in Valyria and coincidentally they stumble upon each other while sheltering from remnants of the Doom. There’s some scavenging and many allusions to the Bloodraven and such. Set in Westeros/Essos before the events of the book 266Ac-280Ac ish. I haven’t decided if I want to dive into the original plot or not but GRRM set up a massive world to explore and there’s plenty of story potential outside the primary locations.

Inspired by:

[the-kipsabian]

42!

[seventh-district]

Well, I grew up wishin' I could close off the way my dad did 'Cause that man never felt a damn thing he didn't wanna feel But I've burned too many miles tryna ride out all the sadness But you can't outdrive pain, someday it's gonna take the wheel Can't be alone but don't wanna get close to anybody Don't wanna bare teeth but don't wanna look weak, it's a tough spot But I'm afraid you'll walk away when the tears start runnin' But I hope not 'Cause cowboys cry too

thinking about Sam...

[shegoesbyjoy]

the other side of oblivion

ya girl is back at it again with another DE fic ✌️ 4,528 words, pretty heavy angst (with an uplifting conclusion), and features a healthy sprinkling of some of my favourite quotes from the game.

this was written rather obsessively over the course of 2 days, most of which fell in the early hours of the morning because i apparently Do Not Know how to maintain a proper sleep schedule when i'm inspired to write. bit of a different format than the usual as well, which was fun to try it out!

as always, love to hear your thoughts if you read it (tysm for reading regardless 💖), share if you'd like, and hope you enjoy :)

[banapricot]

When Jaskier hears about the elves’ failed revolt against Cintra, he pulls his journal out and starts writing a song about the mighty queen that fought off the treacherous elves. Then he looks at his lute, gifted by Filavandrel himself, and reconsiders.

He isn’t some random bard anymore - his name is widely renowned, his songs sung throughout the continent. He has influence, the kind that made the world forget The Butcher Of Blaviken with a couple of catchy choruses. 

Toss A Coin hadn’t done too much harm, as far as he knows, because the mention of the elves was vague and a little offhand, like it could have been a random group of bandits instead. The rough verses he jotted down just now are neither vague nor offhand. They tell the tale of a battle of far larger scale, one which resulted in the deaths of hundreds and will go down in history. It’s going to be at the front of people’s minds for a while, and the way they think of it will shape the public opinion of elves for decades to come. He can’t afford to be careless about his own depiction. 

Well, Jaskier certainly can, but the elves would be the ones paying the price. 

He rolls the idea around in his head, weighing the potential consequences of his actions for once. The next few days are mostly spent composing at the outskirts of the forest, only returning to the inn to sleep, eat dinner, and talk to other travelers about the attempted uprising. He finishes the song just after learning of the ordered massacre, the brutality erasing any hesitance he may have had, and plays at the tavern that night.

The tone is a mix of triumph and defeat, powerful but underlined with bitterness. The lyrics aren’t too blatant; The elves are framed as brave underdogs that attempted the impossible, Filavandrel as “the leader who rose against the lioness”, deserving of respect despite their failure, but he focuses on Calanthe’s strength and wisdom enough that it shouldn’t be dangerous to play anywhere outside of Cintra. It can’t be received worse than the ballads about Geralt originally had been, right? The audience loves it, so he figures it’s probably fine. 

[cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal]

i am mighty intrigued by "Scarlet Welly Boots" 👀

Ah! Scarlet Welly Boots is actually one of my Wayhaven fics. It's a collection of vignettes throughout the life of my Detective Raine Callaghan, examining how his life has changed and weathered several tragedies in the family such as the death of his father and disappearance of his aunt. It also functions as a character relationship analysis between himself and his stepmother, Rebecca Sinclair, a woman with a mysterious job in the government.

You can find chapters 1-6 here, and here is a snippet from chapter 7:

Down at the end of the drive, amidst all the trees and brush, Ciaran can pretend that he's alone. The Sinclair estate crawls with people, all staff that he's yet to learn all the names of. He doesn't know what to make of them, mostly. They scurry around the manor, doing various menial labor that Ciaran feels they don't really need to be doing, and occasionally greeting him or asking after his needs. It's weird. It makes sense to him now how Eoin was so lonely here. The Sinclair estate is on the very edge of Wayhaven - a car ride away from town proper - and filled with people paid to take care of the place. There's always someone wandering around and never anyone to have a real conversation with. It's oddly isolating. It doesn't help that Rebecca has mostly not visited since dragging him out here. Always on some job, or visiting Eoin in hospital down in Manchester where she'd had him transferred. The thought of Eoin makes his stomach twist in on itself, threatening to devour him. It's not fair. It's not fair that Ciaran is here, up and about, while Eoin languishes in a hospital bed. It's not fair that he's preparing for university while his brother remains comatose. It feels wrong. The whole world feels wrong.

[kindled-soul]

NOSTALGIA

As you mature and gain new experiences, improving yourself as you go, your work gets better and better. You learn from the past and use this knowledge to make a better present that paves the way for a better future.

What value, then, do old works have when asked to choose between it and its more current counterparts? 

In an impossible place, at an impossible time, a creator and their creation meet…

Why do people create things?

What drives them?

What benefit is there in creating and sharing?

Is it for themselves? For other people?

To please a superior? To reach a deadline?

How does one transcribe their most intimate feelings into their creations?

What makes them so comfortable to share their vulnerability?

Or does it mean nothing at all? Is it all just flowery words?

There might exist a reality where concepts and ideas are given physical life. They breathe, just like any other human. They have personalities, if you wish to acknowledge the embodiment of a concept as such. They walk, talk, and feel. They laugh, cry, play, fight, rage, despair, yet also forgive, love, and care. They live. They know who their creators are, of course. After all, they are alive because of these humans. However, none of them feel the need to ever meet their creators. No, that’s ridiculous. What purpose is there to meet their creators? They are content to simply live with each other, never once meeting the humans they owe their existence to. It’s not like those humans know about them, anyway.

This is how the oldest of a group of 13 sisters has lived. Formally named as Pentagon, simply called Penny by the others, she is the first of the albums from a Korean boy group called PENTAGON, her namesakes. She has guided the first 3 that came after her, teaching them what she knows and paving the way for them to find their own path. Nowadays, having such a large gap between her and the younger ones, she is content to be on the sidelines and watch the new albums be guided by those that came before.

Penny has never wished for more, never needed for less.

She is satisfied.

If you had the chance to meet your creator, what would you say?

What would you ask?

Would it be hard to believe these questions never crossed her mind before? Not once has she thought about confronting those responsible for her existence. What is there to gain? She exists, she lives, and, for better or worse, there is nothing more to be done about it.

And yet…

Penny walks in an expanse of white. If she were to stand still for a few minutes, it would be easy for her to lose track of what is right-side up. She can’t quite remember how she got here. One minute she was walking around in the mall downtown, the next she blinked and is now walking in this void. Although, she doesn’t feel dead, so it can’t be the afterlife. Did she enter a forbidden place in the mall?  ‘I’ll never hear the end of it from Sunny if this is somehow one of those dreaded Backrooms…’

She doesn’t walk alone, though. Somehow, beside her walks along a man (a real human?) twice her height. He’s dressed very casually, a t-shirt, jeans, and rubber shoes. It’s as if he’s merely taking a stroll in a park. He looks ahead, face neutral, and hums quietly to himself. His hands stay in his pant pockets, only leaving when the man decides to adjust his shirt every now and then.

Their footsteps echo softly around them, filling in the deafening silence of the white space. Neither of them have spoken to each other, only giving each other a glance at the start before quickly looking away and walking forward.

Although Penny only got a quick glimpse of what the man looks like, she knows for sure that the man beside her is one of her creators. Lee Hoetaek, simply known as Hui, the leader of PENTAGON, one of Penny’s writers, walks beside her in the vastness of nothing. This man is one of the people responsible for the birth of all of PENTAGON’s albums except for those made during his enlistment period (although strangely, Fiona doesn’t apply to this). 

Penny still remembers how the boys were like when she first came to be. Ambitious, hopeful, eager to prove themselves.; they were young and filled with dreams. The man beside her now seems so different from the boy of the past. ‘He’s grown so much. 7 years is really such a long time,’ Penny wonders how much the others have also grown.

After a while, Penny pulls on her hoodie’s sleeves. How long have they been walking? Is time even a thing here? Her chest feels a little too tight, hands a little too restless. Will they keep walking aimlessly forever? Is there an end to this white space? She looks around her. There’s no telling how far they’ve walked now, if they have ever left their place of origin at all. Should she say something? What does she even ask?

This could all be just a very vivid dream. Perhaps she already made it home for the night. Everything feels so…real, though, for it to simply be a dream. Then again, if all this is just a dream, what does she have to lose in talking to Hui?

Penny opens her mouth, feeling her voice disappear. She stops and clears her throat, consciously avoiding Hui now stopping and staring down at her.

“How’s…,” her voice cracks and Penny wishes the void spontaneously summons a black hole. Still, she pushes through, “how’s everything? …with everyone?”

She hears rather than sees Hui shifting on his feet. He hums a bit before replying, “..what?”

Penny’s face cringes at their current interaction. Talking with others should come naturally to her. She stands up straighter and faces Hui, actually looking at his face for the first time. He looks even more tired now, but his eyes seem to have not lost their bright, ambitious glow, still so alive after some time. It feels weird, to see a grown man in the place of the hopeful young boy she grew accustomed to. Something squeezes in Penny’s chest. “How’s PENTAGON? How’s…everyone been? It’s been, well, it’s been seven years for me now.”

Penny isn’t too sure how everything works here. Does Hui understand what she is? If this is her own dream, perhaps he does. On the off chance this isn’t, well this would be very hard to explain. He doesn’t seem to be confused about what's going on, though. Maybe he is at least aware that this isn’t the same world he knows of.

Hui stares at her, what he’s looking for she can’t tell. He lets out an embarrassed chuckle and rubs his neck, eyes looking off to the side. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, “It’s been…a lot of things. Wow, seven years? It’s…a long story.”

He didn’t question her about anything she said. Humming, Penny turns back forward and takes a few steps forward. She looks back up at him, “We have time,” head nodding to the path forward.

He looks at her, to the space in front of them, and releases a breath. Shrugging, he starts up his pace again, “I guess we do.” Penny follows along beside him, both of them looking forward as they walk.

And so, Hui talks. Penny makes no move to interrupt him, despite already knowing the group updates from talking to the younger albums. She lets him tell the story from his perspective, as the person who had to live through all the times, even adding about things that happened outside of official PENTAGON business.

Hui talks about many things.

Their debut showcase; Their first concert; Their subsequent comebacks; The group's status as self-producing idols; The rise and success of Shine; Hyojong and Hyuna's situation; Their first comeback without Hyojong; The mess that came after that; PRISM World Tour; Jinho's enlistment stage; The two comebacks without Jinho; Their first win, four years after debut; His own enlistment time; In:vite U, the one comeback without him; Hongseok's enlistment situation; Each member's participation in survival shows; Everyone's individual projects, like Kino's Pose; Dorm life; Status on the younger members; His burden and anxieties as the leader; Universe; Their latest Japanese comeback

The contract renewal period. The younger members’ departure from CUBE.

Penny tenses the most at the last topics. Logically, she knew the boys had a time limit hanging above their heads, but it felt like it was so far into the future all those years ago. A selfish part of her thought that they would always make music together until they physically couldn’t anymore. They were so hopeful and bright-eyed way back when they first debuted. Penny didn’t want any of that to change.

Is she being unreasonable for being the tiniest bit bitter at the younger line for leaving? Maybe. After all, they said they left CUBE, not PENTAGON (though the line they walk is very fragile and dangerous). It hurts to not know how Yanan’s doing, though. Penny can only hope everyone around him treats him well.

She never thought that anyone would actually leave unless forced to by the management, much less the boys who promised each other forever.

But she can’t control their fates. She can only hear about it happening.

“I think…that should be up to speed, except of course all the other individual schedules the members have,” Hui finishes.

They walk in silence once again. Penny allows herself this time to process all Hui told her. Seven years sounds long in theory, but feels so fast. And yet, hearing all of this from Hui, a lot of things really has happened to them. Penny bites her lip and looks down at Hui’s shoes, “...but were you all happy?”

Hui hums, thinking about it for a few seconds. “I know they were. It was hard for everyone, but they all seem happy now.”

“How’ve you been, then?”

“Well, I’ve been ok. I’ll admit there've been some good and bad times, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. God knows how much I missed them when I was in Boys Planet.”

Penny lifts her gaze to look at Hui’s eyes. He must have sensed her stare as after only a few seconds, he looked down to meet her own gaze. “But are you happy, after everything?” Penny asks.

Hui looks back forward, seemingly lost in thought. After a while, he nods his head, looking back down at Penny, “yes, I am. I don’t think I’ll ever find better brothers to love this deeply.”

Penny nods her head and looks back forward, continuing their walk in silence.

If you had the chance to meet your creator, what would you say?

What would you ask?

Penny never had those thoughts cross her mind before. It was simply impossible and worthless.

But she’s here now, walking with Hui. Even if this is a dream, wouldn’t this be the closest interaction she has with him?

She thinks about what she would ask Hui, something substantial. She almost gives up until a question forces itself in her mind, getting caught in her throat. Her stomach briefly falls. Would this really be worth asking? She desperately tries to find something else to say, but her one question keeps hammering in her heart.

Defeated, Penny quietly sighs and opens her mouth, “...Hui?”

The man lets out a curious hum.

“You…you’re finally allowed to release your own songs, right? Release your own albums and all. So what do you think about the ones you didn’t produce?”

Hui tilts his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed. “Didn’t produce…for PENTAGON, you mean?”

“Yeah, of course, for PENTAGON,” Penny clears her throat. Her nerves start rising up. It feels suffocating. “Like me. Five Senses. Ceremony. You know, the first ones, when that company didn’t allow much freedom for you guys yet. What do you…think about us?”

Hui’s mouth forms an O and he hums again, “I don’t hate you, if that’s your concern. I think you guys are fine.”

‘“Don’t hate” doesn’t necessarily mean “like” either,’ the pit in Penny’s stomach only grew deeper. ‘Isn’t this enough? Wasn’t this what she wanted?’ The dread inside her clings to her heart, behind her eyes, inside her lungs. Penny steps in front of Hui, causing both of them to stop walking. She looks up at him, fists holding the sides of her hoodie, “so then it’s fine if people listen to us?”

Hui looks more lost, not understanding the reasoning for Penny’s questions, “why wouldn’t it be?”

Penny takes a deep breath. “Unis don’t include us in streaming parties, and I get it. It’s more helpful to you if they stream songs produced by you guys. I promise I’m not mad about that. I get it…” Penny’s eyes fall to the side, hands rubbing together.

Hui slightly leans down, trying to catch her eyes, “...but?”

“But I…I wanted to know…what you think. You know, you’ve produced so many things. You probably don’t have the time and care to think about the ones you don’t produce and that’s perfectly fine. It’s fine. I’m fine with it. You’re only human. There’s only so much you can focus on at a time. I just wish- just wanted to know what…we are to you. You know, we’re part of your discography forever but we’re not fully produced by you guys. What are we…what am I to you?”

Do you hate me because you weren’t allowed to produce your own debut album? Do I bring back bad memories of what you had to go through just to debut? How do you see me? Or is this why you never think about me? There’s so much Penny wants to ask, but she holds herself back.

Am I asking for too much? Am I being too selfish? Have I made you sad? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. If you allowed her, she would go on forever on everything she wants to say to PENTAGON.

What am I to you? What am I supposed to be? What did you want me to be? Why am I so unsure if I matter to you? Where are these questions coming from? She never had these thoughts cross her mind. After all, she is satisfied being in the background. She is content to watch everyone grow and mature.

She is happy.

She is…happy?

Would someone who is happy have so many ways to question their worth?

Penny has no doubt in her heart that she loves all the boys very dearly. She and the group technically were born together. She is very excited and delighted to see how each and every one of them has grown. But standing in front of Hui, Penny wonders if they ever saw her with even at least the tiniest bit of love they can spare.

“I just,” Penny continues, eyes dropping down to her shoes. “I wanted to know…if you love us…,” Can she be selfish, just this once? “...if you love me, just like you do for all the others.” Her voice drops down to almost a whisper, losing all the previous strength and courage Penny managed to muster.

Penny stands there waiting for Hui’s response, the silence around them rings so loud in her ears, like a thousand glasses crashing against each other. She can only focus on her shoes, refusing to move a single muscle. Why isn’t he replying? Why can’t he just say a yes or no? Why am I even here? Why is this happening? This is all so stupid. Why? Why me? Why? Why? Why?Why?Why?Why?

Just as Penny starts to spiral, Hui slowly kneels down in front of her. She startles, looking at him as he reaches to be on the same eye-level as her. His smile is small, gentle, eyes so warm Penny didn’t realize how cold she felt until she physically melted just by looking at him. He holds out his hands to her, and Penny slowly puts hers on them, her own head tilting at Hui. He holds onto her tightly and smiles wider.

How can one person be so filled with love it shows itself even through the simplest action of smiling? Just by looking into their eyes?

How can someone be so willing to surrender their heart for all to see? To open their heart for anything? To still have space to love even more?

Penny doesn’t know the answer to these questions. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to experience doing something like that herself. But she stares at Hui smiling at her, and she thinks that maybe someone like that can actually exist somewhere.

Hui stares at her a little bit longer, a nostalgic feeling finding its way into his gaze, and he opens his mouth, “Just because I didn’t make you doesn’t mean I don’t love you just the same.”

Penny’s breath gets caught in her throat. She prepared herself for rejection, for indifference, for maybe a very guilty expression. She was prepared to get her heart quietly broken. She never expected Hui to look at her with so much love, like a parent would to their child.

He pushes on, “It might seem so different now, with us being all self-produced now, but that will never mean I won’t be grateful for what you are in our lives. I look at you and I see how far we’ve grown, how far we’ve reached. But more than that, you also carry so much memories. You are our debut. There’s so much worth and weight in what you are.”

“But I’m stuck like this,” Penny whispers back. “I’ll never truly be one of yours.”

“And maybe you don’t have to be. Maybe the time just wasn’t right. We were too new to have a purely self-produced album. We were too young ourselves. But that doesn’t mean the memories and joy we felt during your time weren’t real, weren’t ours to cherish.”

Hui lifts his right hand and places them on Penny’s cheek. He uses his thumb to wipe away any tears he can catch, his smile somehow melting even more. When did she start crying? When did breathing become difficult? Penny bites on her lip, silencing any sounds trying to escape.

“Besides,” Hui softens his voice. “I’m sure there are plenty of Unis out there who are Universes today because of you. You gave us a chance to be the idols we are today. So please, don’t think that I don’t love you. And even if I didn’t, I’m sure there is someone somewhere out there who will fill in that love for me, even if you can’t meet them.”

Penny tries to get her breathing under control. There’s too much emotion to feel, emotions so different from what she expected to receive. After a few minutes, she sucks in a breath through her teeth and whispers back, “You guys have grown so much.”

Hui carefully pulls her into a hug, and whispers in her ear, “I’ll forever be grateful you paved the way for this to happen.”

A sincere person until the very end, her beloved leader. She throws her arms around him and hugs him back. If she’s hugging him tighter than he does to her, he doesn’t comment on it and hugs her back just as tightly.

Eventually, Penny pulls back and looks at him, staring at her with so much love and gratitude. It feels so warm. Penny finds the strength to smile back, “It’s been an honor to be a part of your journey.”

Hui stands back up and Penny goes to continue walking forward. She notices the missing footsteps beside her and looks back to see Hui going in the opposite direction. Oh, is their time up? Penny cups her hands around her mouth and calls out, “HUI!”

The man turns back at her, tilting his head with a smile. Penny waves at him with both arms, like one would do when watching a cruise ship drive away. “Good luck,” she shouts to him with a smile, “with everything.”

Hui smiles back, wider than the others she’s seen today, and raises one hand to wave back. After that, he turns back and continues walking.

Penny watches his back for a few more moments. Eventually, she turns back around and continues her own way forward.

Just like all those years ago, Penny can only watch and let him go his own separate way.

This time, though, it didn’t feel heavy to let go.

Soon, Penny hears voices coming from ahead.

“Sunny, get back here! I know you did it!”

“You can’t prove anything, dear sister!”

“Lor, stop watching and help me with this.”

“I don’t know, man. You seem to be doing just fine on your own.”

“Why was I assigned babysitting duty…”

Penny can’t help the grin that crosses her face hearing the voices of her other sisters. She runs the rest of the way, leaving behind nothing more than what would be thought of as a dream.

Will newer works always be more relevant than works of the past?

Can the same artist value their current work more than the previous?

Or maybe one can learn to love their past creations for what they were for the time.

Maybe there’s no need to compare the worth of one project to another.

Maybe one can simply give their love to anything and everything they have made.

Wouldn’t that make life even just a little bit brighter?

~~ End thoughts ~~

So this specific idea was inspired by multiple songs:

You Are - PENTAGON

The Greatest Wall - HUI & KINO

What Was I Made For? - Billie Eilish

With Universe - PENTAGON

for you - HUI

Me, while writing this: *shaking* “Would Hui even say that??”

Like of course I don’t know him personally so everything this Hui has "said" is all a guessing game

Doesn't stop the anxiety ૮₍˶Ó﹏Ò ⑅₎ა

I’ll be honest, I had no intention of actually fully writing out this idea because it sounds too…crazy and stupid. Like, why would anyone write about this?

But then October 9 came, then “With Universe” was released. I think I just needed to cope really badly back then.

It’s stupid. I've only known these guys for like 9 months and yet I’m so attached to them. So many things happened just as I was getting to know them and it's all been very confusing emotionally.

So this was basically my coping mechanism of a fic.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading this. Or cringed. Either works honestly.

[holdinbacksecrets]

manifesting writing a long namjoon fic 🙇‍♀️🕯️🕯️

[dreamofbecoming]

listening to of monsters and men and thinking about steve and robin moving to california after everything is done and dusted and starting a folk duo that accidentally takes off

thinking about the years they spend sharing shoebox apartments and working shitty retail gigs together and sleeping in the same bed not only because they can’t afford two rooms but because neither of them can sleep alone and no one else can stomach the nightmares, and one day they’re fucking around and robin’s got her trumpet out and they end up writing a song about feeling like your head is a haunted house and you’re the ghost, and learning to hold hands and walk the creaky stairs together, and they didn’t expect anything from writing it except to maybe exorcise some of their demons but someone convinces them to try it out at an open mic and maybe there’s an agent or a scout or something there and boom suddenly little talks is all over the radio

and so they keep writing and robin writes from finner and steve writes king and lionheart and they write sloom and mountain sound and slow and steady together and suddenly they have a whole record written and this isn’t where they expected to end up but they’re together and that’s always been enough

(also steve writes your bones about spring break ‘86 and it’s up to you if eddie survived and hears it and is like OwO or if he died and it’s a whole big angsty thing)

[deus-ex-mona]

it started as a simple song-inspired fic, how did it end up like this

[fragrantpines]

While I'm suffering from exams and clearing up backlog, send me a character from the tale of food and I'll assign them a song from my playlist + write a snippet for them