#we're getting close to the end and this chapter…

[g00d--m0urning]

Final Destination: Your House (CH. 5)

(CW: panic attack, reader/player character throws up)

Everybody is back to normal now! Yay! Right? That's what you wanted, isn't it? RIGHT?

I've also decided to do more in depth one-shots of the characters apologizing after I'm done with the main story, so if anyone has requests for certain characters, ask away! I already plan on doing Abel, Celia, Daisuke, Dorian, Curt&Rod (request), Eddie&Volt, Skylar, and Tony, so no need to ask for them!

I also don't know how many more chapters I want to do, but I think we're nearing the end here, maybe three more chapters? I don't have anything planned, so we'll see.

You and Telly spend the day watching TV together; anything from Big Bang Theory to KPop Demon Hunters. Sadly, the dateviators don’t last forever, and neither does your ability to stay conscious. You left Telly with a hug and kiss, thanking him for the fun day.

The bedroom is silent when you enter, not even the Hanks make a peep, “Hey, sweetheart, come on over,” Betty coos, breaking the silence.

Your head whips up, throat going dry at the sight of her. You haven’t talked to her since movie night, and your nightmare lingers in the back of your mind. You shuffle over to the bed, sitting down next to her.

“There you are, honey,”  she pulls you into a side hug, running her hand up and down your arms, “You feeling ok?”

“Mhm,” you hum affirmatively, staring directly at the wall in front of you, “Tired, y’know? Long day.”

“Oh, of course, let’s get you tucked in,” she gently pushes you down, tucking you beneath the covers, “I’ll be here when you wake up, goodnight,” she kisses your forehead and you remove the glasses, laying frigid beneath the blankets. 

You can’t manage to fall asleep, no matter how hard you try. Every time you close your eyes, you feel like there’s ants crawling up your spine. There’s so many people in your room, people who can see you--and judge you--without you ever knowing. 

The sun is rising the next time you open your eyes, birds whistling right at your window the way they do every morning. You stare at the dateviators long and hard before deciding to forgo them, for now at least. You can’t bear to face any of them, especially not this early in the morning.

------------

The dateables are forced to watch you go through your morning routine without them: no morning chat with Kopi over coffee, no humming along with Miranda as you make toast, no belting out lyrics horribly with Johnny as you shower, not even a ‘House Homie’ acknowledged when you get dressed.

They can’t hold it against you, but it hurts. All of them finally got used to having you be able to live life with them and now that’s gone. 

------------

The glasses seem to haunt you every step you take, rose-colored lenses glaring back at you. You’re kneeled in front of the side table, debating the consequences of putting them on. Your hand juts back and forth, like playing a round of hot hands by yourself. 

Ultimately, you decide that it’s best to get it over with, forcing the glasses onto your face like you’re expecting them to shoot off in the opposite direction. The house feels…Normal, almost, but there’s this weird sort of tension that makes your skin crawl. 

“Morning, love,” Dorian smiles when you leave the bedroom, opening himself politely, like always.

“...Morning,” you parrot, side-shuffling through the doorway.  

Everybody greets you in their typical fashion when you pass them, acquiring hugs and kisses from each of them. None of them mention anything; not about the cuts, or why they've been acting strange, it’s just right back to normal.

You peek around the corner, stepping into the kitchen so carefully one might assume it’s a landmine field, “Good morning, my dearest,” comes from your side, making you scream a little. You hadn’t heard anyone approach.

Your blood runs cold when you see Daisuke standing there, a prim smile on his perfect lips, not even a crease of anger on his face, “Daisuke, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to break it, it just slipped out of my hands and I couldn’t stop it and I’m sorry.”

“Dearest,” he grabs your hands, stopping them from their flailing gesticulating, his facade flickering ever-so-slightly at the state your hands are in, “I’m not mad.”

You pause in your teary rambling, “What?” you pull your hands back, staring at him like he’s grown three heads. Last time you broke a plate, he banned you from dinnerware for two weeks, and he yelled. Which he apologized and made up for, but still.

“I’m not mad,” he repeats, not making a move to grab your retracted hands, “It was an accident.”

“Right, it was,” you agree, biting down on the inside of your cheek, “But--”

“No buts,” he says, waggling a finger at you, “now, I do need to go do inventory, but shall I see you later?” 

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, leaving you with a quick kiss and departing as silently as he arrived. You stand in the middle of the kitchen, taken off-kilter by the interaction. You’re snapped out of it when you hear a snicker, turning to see your duo of shady lovers.

“Not into the dirty talk, huh?” Curt teases, coming over to lean against your back, draping his arms over your shoulders. 

“What’s his version of dirty talk anyway? Telling you how naughty you are for not washing a dirty dish?” Rod piles on, smoothing out wrinkles from your shirt, “... Nothing? C’mon that was funny!”

“Sorry, still waking up,” you apologize, running a hand down your face. Curt’s weight over your back is usually comforting, but now it’s overwhelming.

“It’s all good, we’ll lay off the shade this fine morning,” they promise, leaning in to nuzzle against your cheeks. 

The contact raises goosebumps and not in a good way, “Thanks, I’m gonna.. Go,” you announce, squirming out of their grip, hurrying out of the kitchen.

You stumble through the house, feeling your throat close up. There’s so many people in this house, infesting every room, judging your every move. You barrel into the bathroom, tossing the glasses aside before hurling this morning’s breakfast. You make a mental note to make it up to Jean Loo later. 

The world spins, tears blur your vision, and your breath is coming in short waves. You can’t tell what’s going on: one day they love you, the next they hate you, and now they’re back to normal. You can’t handle the switch. Them hating you is fine, but the flip-flopping is tearing you apart. 

------------

Skylar is pacing, chewing on the ends of her hair, “What’s wrong with them? Why’re they freaking out?” she asks your back, wishing you hadn’t taken the glasses off. 

“I don’t know, they just came in here!” Johnny yells back, sweeping a hand through his hair.

“Maybe they do have a concussion, I could’ve missed something,” Farya suggests, looking through her notes of your diagnosis, “Plus, concussion symptoms can take up to forty-eight hours to present themselves.”  

“I don’t think that’s it, Farya,” Dorian interjects, looking over the woman’s shoulder at you, currently hunched on the floor, “They’re havin’ another panic attack.”

“But why?” Amir asks, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I don’t know!” the door snaps, glaring daggers at the mirror, “Who was the last one to talk to them?”

“That’d be us,” Curt and Rod make their presence known, faces devoid of their average smirks, “one second they were fine--said they were tired, but that’s it--the next they were running off.”

“What’d you say to them?” Dorian asks gruffly, looking at the pair like he’s ready to rip their seams.

“Nothing, we swear it,” they back up slightly, not wanting to be in Dorian’s reach, “they just freaked.”

------------

You pull away from the toilet bowl, leaning against the cabinet, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths. Your hand reaches out, blindly searching for the dateviators, tucking them into your pocket for safe keeping. 

You freshen up once you're calm enough, taking a second to look at yourself in the mirror. You look like shit: stitches in your forehead, a scrape on your chin, looking a total mess, feeling like it too.

The dateviators stay off the rest of the day, which you spend almost entirely on the couch. Part of you is tempted to put them back on, to converse with Telly or sit in silence with Koa, but you can’t bring yourself to do so. 

------------

Skylar is in Celia’s office, a couple others waiting by the door, “I don’t know what to do! First we avoid them, so we don’t hurt them: that’s no good. We go back to normal and now they’re avoiding us! Nothing is working!”

“Skylar, freaking out isn’t going to help,” Celia reminds, guiding Skylar to sit down, “We’ll think of something.”

“Has anyone tried, I don’t know, talking to them?” someone asks out of blue, compelling head’s to turn, finding Telly standing there, a lazy look on his face, “What?” they ask, shrugging at the onslaught of looks he’s receiving.

“Listen, they talked with me yesterday and you guys really hurt them, so maybe try apologizing instead of this bullshit,” they suggest, pushing off the wall, into a fully standing position, “But, seriously, what gives? You’ve all been acting wack since movie night.”

All of them pause to think about that, they hadn’t thought about apologizing, they didn’t think they did anything wrong. Everything they did was for your own good.

“Well, yeah. That documentary showed us how dangerous we are to the human,” Abel speaks up, fiddling with the brim of his hat, “you saw what I did to them.”

They all nod in agreement, looking between each other. This never would’ve happened if you didn’t pick that stupid documentary.

“What documentary?” Telly questions, thinking back to everything they’ve watched in the past days. Unless you’re cheating on him, nobody’s watched a documentary.

“The one we watched on movie night?” Skylar asks, confused by his confusion, “Finally Destined.. Or Final Destination, I think.”

Telly’s brows shoot to his forehead, looking at them like they’re stupid, because they are, “‘Final Destination’? You mean the horror-thriller movie that depicts the over-dramatic deaths of people because they’re being hunted by a supernatural entity?”

Realization washes over everybody, thinking back to the movie, “The movie isn’t a documentary? I thought most horror movies were based on true stories,” Celia asks, brows furrowing slightly.

“Some are, but definitely not this one,” Telly informs, grimacing at their foolishness. Of all the movies, Final Destination is the one that freaked them out? “This is great. You’ve all been ignoring the human over a movie. Who needs soap operas when you live in a house like this?”

“Telly,” Celia says his name warningly, shaking her head at them. 

“Sorry, it’s just… Wow!” he laughs, bowing his head to try and hide the fact, “Talk to them and remind me to never let you guys watch a horror movie again. I’m just glad we didn’t watch The Shining or poor Dorian would be trembling in his boots.”

“That’s enough from you, Telly. Thank you,” Celia waves him off and they shrug, walking back into the other room. 

A hush falls over the room; no one is confident to speak up. They hurt you over a movie, not even a movie based on a true story. How could this happen? Between all of them, someone should’ve been smart enough, but no one did. They were blind.

“They’ll understand, right?” Skylar whispers, but it might as well have been announced via megaphone in the quiet room.

Nobody has an answer for her.

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine Being Isekai'ed into KPOP DEMON HUNTERS. (part 9)

I'M BACK! Sorry I took a break! BUTTT we're nearing the end guys!(i think either one more big chapter or 2 chapters, not TOO sure) BUT DON'T FEAR! I DO HAVE EXTRA SCENES/BLOOPERS THAT WILL ALSO BE WRITTEN! Now, This chapter IMO does feel a little rushed but PLEASE ENJOY IT ANYWAYS. As always, my tag list is full. HAVE A GOOD READ! (Also thinking of covering Free as well XD)

Previous

The days following that were gruelling.

The idol awards were fast approaching and Y/N had spent the week buried in work for What It Sounds Like. Takedown was supposed to be released in two days, during the Idol awards along with What It Sounds Like.

The song required much more work than the other tracks she had previously worked on, from creating MIDI tracks to timing vocals and tuning harmonies. Everything was meshing together, creating a splitting pain in her head.

Just as Huntr/x was busy, the Saja Boys were also busy. Their influence spread faster than the black plague in the thirteenth century. Edits were being made, dance covers and even ships between the boys. (Y/N was blissfully unaware of the fact that there were a plethora of them shipping her with each of the boys, due to her permanent working status.)

The sheer complexity of layering, and the realisation that she didn’t have access to a crowd’s cheers, created a intricacy that Y/N was struggling to recreate.

‘Girls, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can get What It Sounds Like out in time with Takedown.’ Y/N said, pressing her palm against her forehead, feeling a dull ache.

‘That’s okay! We’re already winning so many awards with Golden!’ Rumi said cheerfully, voice crackling through the speaker.

‘I’m so sorry Rumi. Zoey and Mira too, I’m sorry to have let you down.’ Y/N closed her eyes, sitting down at her kitchen counter. She slumped over as the phone on the other end was passed to someone else.

‘No, it’s okay Y/N/N! Please don’t overwork yourself!.’ Zoey’s voice filtered through the noise of the dressing rooms. They had just finished taping another awards show where this time, they had taken a win from the Saja Boys.

‘That’s right Y/N. We care about you more than a performance. Do you need us to do anything? Re-record lines? Get you some food?’ Mira’s tone was calm but laced with an almost undetectable hint of concern. The girls were so sweet, she didn’t know how but, it seemed as if they were closer than before Y/N had transmitigated into this world into this character.

‘I’m alright Mira I promise.’ Y/N laughed, somewhat enjoying the girls fussing over her. ‘You guys did everything perfectly, there's just things I don't think I’ve gotten right so far. I just need a little more time.’

‘Alright, if you say so.’ Mira relented, with a soft breath. ‘But call us if you need anything okay?’

‘You got it Mira!’

The girls had said goodbye in union just as the elevator doors opened, revealing a mildly annoyed group of men.

‘Ugh, did you see the look those hunters gave us when they won?’ Beom grouched, taking off his shoes, placing them neatly on the shelf before running over to collapse on the sofa.

‘Welcome back guys.’ Y/N said, sprawling over her own marble counter top, her voice weak. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to eat or drink that day. It was just that she had completely forgotten due to the immense stress she had placed herself under. Unintentionally, work had come before anything else.

‘Did you work all day again Y/N?’ Jinu asked, his voice was similar to a wife’s soft, scolding tone.

‘Uhh…’ Jinu fumbled, walking over to the kitchen with a red neck.

‘I’m sorry honey, I’ll do better next time.’ Y/N mumbled into the crook of her arm sarcastically.

Jinu’s face flushed a bright red, as four glares found their way to his back.

Suddenly a voice from the television filled the comfortable silence, cutting through the entire apartment.

‘Hey, everybody.’ Rae’s voice began.

‘Our fan club just hit fifty million fans!’ Abel continued before Rae took over again.

‘We have to give a shout out to Huntr/x! We couldn’t have done it without their support.’

‘And to our fans?’ Min interjected, voice low and almost menacing, ‘Thank you, we really feed off your energy.

Y/N frowned, lifted her head as the boys hurriedly switched to another channel.

‘In other news, the amount of missing reports have tripled in the last twenty four hours.’ The news lady said, just before the boys shut off the television hurriedly.

‘What?’ Y/N said, tone eerily calm, eyes narrowing.

‘Um…’ Beom winced, looking at Jinu.

‘Abel. You promised me.’ Y/N said in a flat tone, nails digging into her palms hard. Her eyes were fixated on Abel’s face, painted with shame. His orange-brown eyes refused to meet Y/N’s. Abel could feel the sheer intensity of Y/N’s gaze, burning a hole into his side profile.

‘Darlin’ we aren’t the ones-’

‘I don’t wanna hear it. I’m going out. Don’t follow me.’ Y/N grabbed her keys off the table, pulling on her shoes and storming out of her apartment.

Abel was right, he had promised he would try his best. He also did say he himself wouldn’t take any souls, and in that aspect, she knew that was true. Yet, hearing his explanation wouldn’t make her feel better.

But, here she was, hoping that somehow, she would’ve made a difference. That she somehow had made it better, made a change.

A familiar rumble came from Y/N’s side. Derpy had appeared from a portal again, from the elevator floor.

‘I guess you can come with me.’ Y/N sighed, unable to resist the warm hearted nature of the blue tiger.

Derpy gave a happy grumble. Bumping their head against Y/N’s hand, prompting her to give Derpy it’s head pats as they exited the elevator doors. The sun already had begun to dip below the horizon, strangely enough the awards show was filmed during the day.

‘Y/N…’ A voice called from behind her, wary and soft.

‘What do you want, Rae?’ Y/N stood still, her back still turned to the tallest group member. She had only made it about ten meters away from the complex. Derpy circled Y/N, rubbing its tail along her back reassuringly.

‘You left without a jacket again.’ Rae’s voice was closer now, right behind her in fact. A toasty large jacket being placed over her shoulders. It smelt just like him, a warm, sweet, and elegant scent.

‘I don’t want to talk right now.’

‘Okay.’ Rae fell into step beside her, staying silent as he matched Y/N’s stride.

Y/N walked aimlessly, strolling until she found a park, abandoned for the day in the setting sun.

Derpy trotted happily along, pouncing at pigeons along the way.

Entering the ungated park, she made her way towards a swing set, sitting down on the left side, resting her head in her hands. Between her fingers, she could see the tips of white and yellow sneakers in front of her.

‘Rae…’ Y/N sighed, letting her hands fall limply to her sides.

‘Yes Y/N?’ He whispered back, bending a knee, gently lifting Y/N’s chin slowly.

‘I didn’t change your mind at all did I?’

‘No, of course you did. Y/N you’re so much more important than getting souls back to-’ Rae groaned, pain flashing across his face, stumbling backwards quickly. Derpy looked up from the potted plant it was messing with, eyes blinking unevenly.

‘Rae?!’ Y/N stood quickly in alarm. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, ‘m fine Y/N/N, Gwi-ma just didn’t like what I was feeling.’ Rae gave a weak smile, waving off her worries with a shaky hand.

‘Rae…’ Y/N stepped forward, fingers twitching, aching to check on the wincing man in front of her.

‘I’m fine, don’t worry.’ Rae flashed an unconvincing smile, beautiful nonetheless.

‘Is Gwi-ma still…’ Y/N trailed off, her gaze was wavering, filled with tears. She wasn’t one to cry normally, however today proved to be filled with emotions. Derpy gave an unhappy grumble, walking over to lay it’s large head on Y/N’s lap from the side.

Frustration.

Anger.

Disappointment.

Self-doubt.

All the emotions had reached a boiling point, now bubbling over. The entire situation felt like it was slipping out of her hands, like grains of sand trickling through her grasp. Y/N was sure that she had been placed here to fix things.

But if that were true, why did it feel like nothing was changing? As if she had done nothing to change the contents of the movie? Like nothing she did mattered.

‘Y/N.’ Rae’s hands gently cupped the girl’s face, brushing a cautious thumb over her cheeks bringing the girl out of her spiral. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’

‘I just… I wanted to help.’ Y/N whispered, gazing into Rae’s searching, lavender eyes. ‘I thought that somehow I could make it so that you guys could be free.’

A single tear dripped onto Rae’s skin, as he brushed it away with his thumb.

‘Oh sweetheart. You don’t see it do you?’ Rae gently led her by the hand, walking back toward Y/N’s apartment.

Derpy happily followed, remembering the way back home. The tiger disappeared slowly, sinking into a portal. Blinking it’s goodbye, knowing that the two would soon follow.

‘You’ve changed so much. Jinu is cooking, Beom has empathy. Min actually puts up his hair at home and you’ve got Abel, completely wrapped around your finger. None of us have even thought about taking souls ever since meeting you.’

Y/N stared at the back of Rae, as he spoke, watching the way he kept his shoulders more relaxed than they used to be.

'Well, other than yours in the beginning.' Rae gave a quiet laugh.

‘And you?’ Y/N asked, voice almost getting lost in the gentle breeze.

‘Me?’ Rae paused, turning around slowly, Y/N’s wrist still in his hand.

‘You make me believe that there’s hope, that maybe one day, we can be normal again.’ Rae’s eyes flashed gold, his purple patterns glossing over his skin for a moment.

‘Or as normal as a demon can be.’ He smiled ruefully, going to turn back around.

‘Rae listen-’ Y/N reached forward, placing a hand over the man’s hand.

A fluorescence of colours, emitting from her fingertips, dancing across Rae’s skin, turning his patterns a bright white blue for a second before his human visage flashed back into view.

‘What in the world?’ Rae gasped, shakily letting Y/N’s hand go, bringing a hand to cup at his forehead.

His head had been muddled, a polluted sea of shame and resentment. And yet, in an instant, the sea of pollution had been cleared. A rush of clean water, pushing back the murky surroundings, leaving the clearest, pool possible.

‘How am I doing this?’ Y/N blanched, staring at her hands, looking extremely confused.

‘Was this you?’ Rae looked up, his eyes shining with wonder. His hands were shaking as he ran a hand through his hair. ‘I mean… Is this how Beom and Abel managed to be free of Gwi-ma?’

‘I think so. But, I don’t know how I did it? I don’t even control it.’ Y/N frowned, still staring at her splayed palms as if it would reveal all the answers. It hadn’t happened the first time she talked to Rae alone but now, she had changed his patterns. What was the difference?

When she had first touched Abel, all she remembered was feeling concerned for him. Y/N wanted to help him. With Beom, it had been wanting to comfort him. To let him know that mistakes were just that, mistakes. Y/N wanted Beom to see that his talent wasn’t borne from Gwi-ma, but rather, the demon king just helped give Beom a push.

And now Rae?

She wanted Rae to know that normal was subjective. That the norm perceived by society, honestly, wasn’t all that great. That to be who and what he was, was already enough.

Each one of these interactions had been sparked by a strong emotion on Y/N’s end. But was her emotions the only thing that caused this?…

‘Y/N do you know what this means?’ Rae asked, nerves abuzz from adrenaline. ‘This means we wouldn’t have to help Gwi-ma take souls. We could help those hunter things seal the Honmoon! We’d be on this side of the shield, with you.’ Rae was talking a mile a minute still flickering his gaze between Y/N and his own skin.

‘Rae, what if Jinu doesn’t feel that way? What about his memories? I couldn’t ask him to live with reminiscing about the worst parts of his history.’ Y/N shook her head, as her large apartment complex came into view.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. But, while she didn’t approve of Jinu’s deal with Gwi-ma. She understood where he came from, people were, after all, inherently selfish by nature.

‘Y/N, that’s for him to decide. Jinu’s…’ Rae hummed, waiting for Y/N to swipe her key card into the door.

‘He’s changed. He’s softer, even. He was the second last to join our group. For four hundred years, he was distant. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile at anyone but us since we found him.’ Rae continued, as the pair moved into the elevator continuing their conversation as the elevator whirred into motion.

‘I don’t know Rae, but I’ll talk to him. Maybe tomorrow tonight, I’ll speak with him alone?’ Y/N leaned back against the elevator handrails. Looking wistfully at the floor.

‘Sounds good to me!’ Rae gave a patient smile, patting Y/N on the shoulder.

As the doors opened, Y/N was met with not only the smell of barbecued beef. She was also met with all four of the Saja Boys who had not followed her out of the apartment. They all spoke together quickly, words crashing over each other.

‘Y/N I’m sorry. I should have tried harder. I didn’t-’ Abel rushed to say.

‘Y/N we can fix this! We’ll think of something!’ Beom said at the same time, rushing through his words. His usual handsome face was panicked, as if thinking Y/N was about to disintegrate and disappear from before his eyes.

'I should have said something. I'm so sorry-' Min got out, his violet hair tied up.

‘Y/N-’ Jinu also said, trying to explain himself, looking equally as desperate as the rest of the men.

‘Is something burning?’ Y/N raised an eyebrow, craning her neck to look into the kitchen.

‘Oh crap.’

Turns out, the boys had been staring out of the windows, trying to spot when Y/N would walk back. Jinu had begun cooking meat on a barbecue plate stove, one he had bought specifically for today. He had seen that Y/N was working hard for the past week and wanted to surprise her with a meal he knew would perk her right up.

Yet, when they saw Y/N and Rae making their way back home. The boys had abandoned the kitchen, to eagerly await their return. Thus, burning the expensive meat slightly.

Or as Jinu wanted to call it, charring.

As the night drew closer, the moon fully resided in the blanket of night. The stars doing their best to shine amidst the twinkling city lights. Dinner had been finished, leaving all six people feeling renewed and content. The boys had done the dishes while Y/N showereed and finished up her nightly routine.

Beom had whined, whilst being dragged away by Min by the back of his collar. They had to practice for their performance and they only had two nights to do it.

Jinu had insisted that the boys practise away from Y/N’s apartment, so that they were able to let Y/N get a full night of sleep.

While it was different, Y/N didn't see any issue with it. It just meant that they finally would go back to their own apartment and Y/N could rest easy, knowing the boys were in their own area.

However, something was amiss.

Due to the way she had been suddenly thrust into a stress and work filled weak, she had neglected to open her prized notebook. The one where the last few pages were missing.

The words and music sheets of Your Idol had been meticulously torn out of the book. As if they had never existed.

In Jinu’s hands, as Y/N tucked herself into bed, after finishing her night routine. Were a set of papers, familiar with Y/N’s hand writing.

–

‘You took the song from Y/N?’ Min frowned, his hair was still tied up with one of Y/N’s elastics. His perfectly arched brows drawn together in a pinch.

‘Well I took it after we did Soda Pop. But, now I want to use it to surprise her! We can deal with the background music ourselves.’ Jinu explained, looking down, sighing noticing the hesitant look in his friends eyes.

‘In the beginning, I took it because I wanted a guarantee that we would get a good song. But now, I want the world to see how great Y/N’s song writing is! I mean just look at the lyrics. They match us perfectly!’ Jinu’s voice and eyes were void of lies. It was true, he had no ill intentions in his actions.

‘Hm, we’d better explain to her right after the show then. Otherwise it may seem misguided. However, I am for the idea of surprising Y/N by performing her song.’ Abel nodded along, his knuckles propping up his chin.

‘I agree, as long as we specify in the beginning of the performance. Maybe we can make a quick announcement.’ Beom looked thoughtful, staring into the apartment across from their own.

Although he couldn’t see Y/N’s room from here, he could see the jumper he had left there, along with random items the other boys had left there. Y/N’s penthouse had become their home, more than their own apartment. Long had it been, since they spent more than ten minutes in the apartment they had bought. (With fake conjoured cash.)

‘Maybe we can say something along the lines of, “To our song writer and producer, we’d like to dedicate this performance to you. You’ve made us who we are.” Something like that?’ Min suggested, tilting his head, his chin between his thumb and index finger.

‘Yeah, that sounds good.’ Rae nodded, standing up to walk over to Jinu. ‘So, you gonna handle the music?’

‘Ah hah. I may have already finished it…’ Jinu rubbed a hand over his neck nervously, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘She really inspired me.’

‘You and us all.’ Min smiled, ruffling Jinu’s hair. ‘I’m glad you’re finally letting yourself express how you actually feel about Y/N.’

‘Hey… She’s a great friend!’ He whined, protesting against Min’s teasing tone.

‘Yeah right, friend.’ Beom snickered, rolling his eyes.

‘Uh huh?’ Jinu slowly advanced on Beom with raised hands and a playful smirk.

‘No, NO NOT AGAIN. Abel HELP ME.’ Beom screamed, running for his life.

‘Oh, Beomie!’ Jinu called out, racing after the youngest boy his eyes glowing a devious yellow.

‘Can’t help you there. I’m working with Rae to choreograph this number.’ Abel chuckled, listening to the music Jinu had provided on his phone.

‘NOO I’m SORRY I WON’T DO IT AGAIN.’ Beom screeched, flailing his arms as Jinu pounced on the younger man, wrapping his limbs around Beom in familiar stance.

‘Yeah? You gonna tease me again?’ Jinu held Beom’s waist with his legs, his hand tugging on Beom’s ear just enough for it to be uncomfortable.

‘NOOOOO I won’t.’ Beom wailed, writhing.

‘I don’t believe you.’ Jinu laughed, letting Beom go nonetheless, watching the man scramble away to his freedom.

‘JUST ADMIT YOU LIKE HER TOO.’ Beom yelled, escaping to go learn the choreo with Abel and Rae.

‘We’ve shared before. Wouldn’t be anything new.’ Min smirked, looking down at Jinu, extending his hand.

‘Don’t say weird things like that.’ Jinu flushed, grabbing Min’s hand to pull himself up.

‘Oh, you can give orders now?’ He raised an eyebrow, his eyes crinkling at the edges. ‘Don’t forget who's the oldest Jinu.’

‘W- whatever.’ Jinu’s entire face was bright red, steam practically pouring out of his ears. ‘Let’s go practice.’

Min snickered as Jinu walked back to the rest of the group, enjoying the reaction he had received from the younger man.

‘Y/N/N has no idea what’s coming for her does she?’ Min followed Jinu, as the group began to prepare for their stage against Huntr/x. Hopefully Y/N could deal with five demons men who were finding their way into her heart, slowly but very much surely.

--

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[hungermakesmonsters]

(It Is) What It Is

Chapter Twenty-Four

Plot Summary : When Billy Russo realises that there is a certain class of wealthy clients who refuse to contract with Anvil because of his playboy reputation, he decides to alter their perception of him. You’re just a down on your luck PA, just trying to get by so when Billy offers to pay you to pretend to date him, you can’t refuse. But the last thing you expect is for Billy to pull you into his secret world of lust and debauchery.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Very briefly mentions Billy's past/child abuse/SA in a non-graphic way. Also smutty behaviour. There will be smutty themes throughout the story. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.9k

A/N : 😅we're getting so close to the end now...

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN | CHAPTER SIXTEEN | CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | CHAPTER NINETEEN | CHAPTER TWENTY | CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE | CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO | CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Master List

Chapter Twenty-Four

You stirred and snuggled under the covers, fingers pawing at the warmth beneath your hand, until you heard a low chuckle and your pillow shook.

No, not your pillow...

You forced your eyes open and lifted your head.

Billy.

You’d spent the night pressed against him, your head on his chest, and your legs tangled with his. His eyes were closed but the smile on his lips told you that he was awake. It took a moment more, but you noticed where your hand was, where you’d been pawing. You dared to rake your fingers over the warm, soft skin at his side and felt him tremble again.

His eyes opened and instantly narrowed on you.

“That tickles,” he said.

You bit your lip, fighting back a smirk. “You stayed with me.”

“I said I would. Anyway, it’s my bed, remember?” He answered softly, fondly, as he reached and tucked your hair behind your ear. “It’s still early, you should go back to sleep.”

For a moment you expected him to pull away, to make some excuse to leave you to sleep alone but, instead he tightened his arm around you and closed his eyes.

You watched him for a minute, noticing the faint smile still clinging to his lips.

“I said go back to sleep, little dove.” His voice a sleepy growl that you could more than get used to.

One glance at the alarm clock on his side of the bed, told you that it was about the time the pair of you usually got up for work, but Billy had made it clear last night that he was taking a few days off to take care of you, and you - you didn’t want to argue, not when you were finally getting to wake up in bed beside him.

You lowered your head back onto his chest and snuggled close. “I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

His hand moved on you back, up and down, soothing you, lulling you back to sleep. If Billy answered, you didn’t hear it. 

A couple of hours later you were awoken by his fingers softly caressing your cheek, and there was no holding back your happiness as you opened your eyes and found him staring at you like he didn’t have a care in the world.

As you’d slept, your head had moved from resting over his heart to his shoulder and, now, your noses were almost touching. And, even though he’d woken you up, Billy showed no sign of actually wanting to get out of bed.

His fingers continued to gently stroke your cheek, it was almost enough to have your eyes closing again.

“You need to take your antibiotics,” Billy said reluctantly.

You gave a grumble and pressed yourself closer, burying your face against his neck. “Five more minutes.”

He murmured your name softly, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, but you didn’t want to let go, you didn’t want the moment to be over. You’d gotten to wake up next to him twice in one morning now, and it was everything you’d always hoped it would be.

Billy gave you two minutes before he started to pull away. You pouted and watched as he slipped out of bed and headed out the bedroom in nothing but his boxers. He wasn’t gone long but, while he was, you dared a peek at the clock and realised that it was almost 10am. He’d stayed in bed with you for most of the morning.

When he came back, it was with two mugs of coffee and the antibiotics you had to keep taking for another couple of days. He put everything down on the nightstand, then reached for you, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead, and not looking entirely happy about it.

“Well, nurse,” you said playfully, but with a voice still tinged with sleepiness, “will I live?”

Billy rolled his eyes and handed you your pills.

“You still feel like you’re burning up,” he said. “How are you feeling? Are you hungry?”

“I’m okay. Tired, but I’m feeling better,” you answered as you sat up and took your pills, washing them down with the water he’d left out for you last night. “I could eat though.”

“Pancakes and waffles?”

You nodded and reached for your coffee mug. “How did you sleep?”

He looked better than he had in days and you couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with the lazy morning he’d allowed himself with you.

“Fine, until someone started tickling me,” he grumbled, almost managing to sound grouchy about it.

You smiled and barely noticed that your eyes had started to track down his body, over his chest and the scars that littered it, and down to that spot of skin between his side and his abs. When you managed to drag your eyes back to his, you felt your cheeks warming.

“Are you worried because I now know your weakness?” You asked.

Billy laughed. “I think you know all of my weaknesses by now, little dove.”

You didn’t have a response to that, didn’t dare even ask if it was true. But you wanted it to be true. You wanted to know him that well.

He ordered breakfast and you silently lamented him pulling on sweats and a tee shirt, and hiding that weak spot from you. But, you got to spend the day with him; you ate together, then you dozed as he sat on the bed beside you, quietly working from his laptop, only sneaking out of the room when he needed to take calls or to get a drink.

It was the longest you’d seen him sit down and stay still, and you could already see the toll that looking after you was taking on him, the worry that etched his brow every time he pressed his hand to your forehead or woke you to have a drink and your pills.

So, when he finally closed his laptop and let out a sigh at 5pm, you shifted towards him, threw your arm over his waist, and held him tight. Billy didn’t say anything, didn’t ask what the hug was for, he just sank back onto the pillows and let you hold him until both of your stomachs started to rumble.

Then, after dinner, he helped bath you, and you spent the rest of the evening in bed watching Star Wars. At least, Billy watched Star Wars. You tried, but you found yourself drifting in and out of sleep in his arms.

The next day was pretty much the same, and the next.

You slowly got better, but there were moments that clearly rattled Billy, that had him almost ready to take you right back to the hospital; coughing fits, the exhaustion that had you almost falling when you tried to take yourself to the kitchen when he was out of the room, and the morning your throat was so raw that you could barely speak.

But he stayed with you and, even though you knew it probably wasn’t doing him much good being cooped up inside all the time, you didn’t try to convince him to leave. It was nice. No, nice wasn’t really the word for it. Nice didn’t really do it justice. You weren’t sure what it was, you just knew you didn’t want it to end.

Each morning, you woke up in his arms, your head on his chest or buried against his neck, your hand on his waist or his abs, legs tangled with his. And, more often than not, you woke to find his hands on you, fingers half tucked into the back of your pyjama bottoms or splayed across your stomach.

The morning your fever finally broke, Billy decided to take the day off work completely, as if he didn’t trust your temperature to stay down if he didn’t pay close attention to you.

After breakfast, you both laid in bed, sharing a pillow, his nose barely inches from yours. He looked so tired, but content, relieved even. You dared to reach for him, gently running your fingers through his hair. An eternity seemed to pass in silence, just staring at each other while your fingers slipped through his hair.

A strange thought struck and you felt your lips pull into a smile.

“What?” He asked, finally breaking the silence.

Your cheeks warmed a touch. “I was just thinking about how pretty you are.

You didn’t expect your silly comment to cause such a visceral reaction, but his breath caught and you felt him almost flinch beneath your touch.

Shit. What had you done? You pulled back your hand, only for Billy’s fingers to wrap around your wrist, ensuring that you didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” You asked and quickly added; “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The look on Billy’s face almost broke you. He seemed... devastated that he’d caused you even a second of discomfort. The fingers on your wrist slipped to your hand and he brought it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. 

“Then, what -” you decided not to finish the question because you didn’t want to pry, because you were scared that whatever it was would make him pull away from you if you did.

But you didn’t have to ask. Billy decided that he wanted you to know.

“When I was a kid,” he started softly, in little more than a whisper, “there was this... guy. He used to volunteer at the group home. He was always down to play hoops or stickball, we all thought he was cool, that he was one of the guys.”

You felt his hand squeeze yours as he spoke, and you didn’t even dare draw breath as your heart started to awkwardly pound in your chest.

“Turned out, he wasn’t exactly the good samaritan he was pretending to be. He got me alone one day, told me that I was pretty -” he gave a rough huff that almost sounded like a hollow laugh “- and when a grown man calls you pretty, you know nothing good’s coming.”

Your stomach tied itself in knots, words from weeks ago playing over in your mind; when I’m in control nothing can hurt me. Panic started to rage in your chest.

“I tried to fight him off - got him with a stick ball bat a couple of times - then he broke my arm, tore my rotator cuff. Made it so I couldn’t fight back...” he trailed off.

You didn’t ask if that was the end of the story. You didn’t want to know, didn’t even want to think about Billy suffering through it. Instead you found yourself staring at his shoulder, at a faint scar that you’d noticed before in passing but hadn’t ever given much thought to. You didn’t even realise you were crying until his hand cupped your cheek and his thumb tenderly wiped away your tears.

“I’m sorry,” you said, sniffling, “I shouldn’t’ve said it.”

Billy smiled softly and shook his head. “You didn’t know. Anyway, I - I kind of like that you think I’m pretty.”

It didn’t help stop your tears or the terrible thoughts that were roiling inside of you. If anything, it made you feel worse to know that he'd been through that but he was still trying to make you feel comfortable. 

“Hey,” he tried again, pulling you towards him, “it’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

You allowed him to pull you close and instinctively wrapped your arms around him, pressing your lip to his shoulder over that terrible, faded reminder of what he’d suffered through. His fingers pressed into your back at the gesture and you felt his chest shudder as he forced a breath.

“Is that -” again, you started to ask a question but thought better of it halfway through. This time you hoped beyond hope that your voice had come out too small, too muffled against his shoulder for Billy to hear, but you weren’t that lucky.

“What?” He asked, and you shook your head, not daring to pull away. “You can ask - I wouldn’t have told you if it was something I didn’t want you to know.”

Somehow that made you feel worse. You weren’t sure why, but now it felt like something was clawing beneath your ribs, desperate to get out, to get to him. Some savage part of you, that wanted to protect him the way you protected Seb, a part of you that wanted to maim and kill anyone that had ever hurt him.

He was letting you in, and you didn’t have to ask to know that few others had ever been allowed the privilege he’d just given you.

“Is that why you started going to therapy?” You asked, keeping your face hidden against his shoulder. “You said you were seeing someone about an old injury...”

Just the thought of all the petty, jealous thoughts you’d had made you feel sick now - you’d been angry that he might have been with another woman when this was what he’d been dealing with.

“It’s one of the reasons,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, just because he could. “I guess I just realised, these last few years, that I haven't really been happy. That maybe I’ve never been happy. But recently...”

Something sparked inside of you, urging you to pull back, to look at him.

Billy managed a little but reassuring smile as you rested your head on the pillow again, the tip of your nose to his. He stayed silent for a few seconds, either waiting for you to get comfortable or weighing his words and deciding what it was he wanted to tell you.

“I’ve seen people die,” he said, “watched friends bleed out in my arms and, yeah, I was sad but it never really upset me...”

He hesitated, and you tried to swallow the lump in your throat.

“I used to wonder if I’d even feel anything if Frankie died. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve just... I’ve always ended up on my own, one way or another.” His hand found your face again and his thumb tenderly caressed your cheek. “But with you... the way you’ve managed to make a place in my life, just the thought of something happening to you, losing you...”

You saw the same flicker of fear cross his face as you had that night in the Hamptons. You saw what you had done to him and you couldn’t stand it.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, automatically. You didn’t want to be a cause of pain or uncertainty for him.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “I shouldn’t’ve made you go to the Hamptons. You were exhausted, you -”

“That’s not how it works, Billy.”

“It made you more susceptible to getting sick,” his tone telling you he wasn’t prepared to argue. “The moment I got home from Vegas and saw you, I should’ve cancelled it and made sure you rested.”

“It was my choice to go, remember? I wanted to go and... I had fun. I was enjoying myself before I got sick.”

“You were?”

“Of course I was,” you answered, fighting back the urge to roll your eyes. “It was nice, and I enjoyed the time I got to spend with you.”

“I thought you were pissed at me...”

“I was annoyed and embarrassed by the gossip but I know it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t like you’d been going around trying to convince people that I was pregnant...” you said, still regretting the way you’d both reacted that night. “I just - I don’t like when you hide things from me. We’re supposed to be a team.”

“A team?” He repeated, his lips curving into a smile.

“That’s what you said. The night you asked me to move in; you said we were a good team,” you explained with the slightest shrug of a shoulder. “You and me against the world. I mean... if that’s what you want...”

There was a flicker in his eyes, something that you hadn’t seen in days, a possessiveness that had your heart beating a little faster and your thighs pressing together.

The half-asked question held more weight than either of you wanted to consider. It was too much for the moment, too much while you were still so sick, so weak.

But, still, Billy answered; “that’s exactly what I want.”

You moved slowly, angling your head and clearing the small distance between you, closing your eyes as your lips found his in a soft and testing kiss.

“Little dove...” he muttered in warning, his control quickly starting to fray around the edges.

You didn’t listen. You just kissed him again. It had been days, almost a whole week since he’d last kissed you, last touched you in a way that wasn’t some reassuring or soothing gesture. He was scared of pushing, scared of wanting while you were ill. So your kiss remained insistent against his lips, showing him that that you wanted and that he wouldn’t break you or hurt you.

When his lips finally parted and you felt the soft press of his tongue, you let out an eager sound against his lips, opening to him.

Instinctively, needily, you pressed closer to him, hooking your leg over his thigh. Billy moaned into your mouth as you moved, slowly rocking your hips against his, and quickly finding the growing hardness of his cock against you. Your hand slipped up his back, feeling the way his muscles flexed with each shift of his hips, and finding a tension that told you he was still holding back.

But, for the time being, you were content to kiss him slowly and lose yourself in lazy motions of your bodies moving together. There was no real urgency to any of it, you already had everything you wanted. Him. You had him.

There was no ignoring the fire that was slowly being coaxed to life inside of you, no pretending that your arousal wasn’t soaking through your pyjamas and his boxers. Just like there was no fighting against the pleasure that started to rise in you when every grind and press of his body created a delicious friction against your throbbing clit.

Billy kept kissing you, his moans mingling with yours between your lips. It felt like a weird fever dream to finally have this moment, to have him kissing you and touching you with no reluctance, no fear of being interrupted. It was everything the moment on the beach should have been, everything it would have been if you hadn’t felt so frustrated.

His hand squeezed your ass through your pyjamas, pulling you against him, leading your movements but still keeping the slow pace that you had set. Control, you realised. He was trying to find some small shred of control in what was happening, and you were more than willing to give it. 

No matter how slow and lazy your movements, it wasn’t long before something started to coil and build inside of you, a desperate ache that hadn’t been sated in so long. 

Six days. It had been six days since he’d last made you come. Six days since he’d spread you wide and devoured you like a man possessed. The memory alone had your back arching, and coupled with the way he was moving against you now -

Your head fell back, lips tearing from his as you came undone, your whole body shaking and trembling against his with the intensity of it all. Billy kept moving, kept pulling you into every grinding shift of his hips, dragging out your pleasure. And, all the while, he kept his dark eyes on yours, watching every flicker of ecstasy that crossed your face.

As the tremors subsided, he pulled his hips back. Before you could think to say anything, before you even remembered how to form words, his lips were on yours again. His tongue seeking yours with more need than before. You were about to close the distance and press against him again when his hand moved.

Fingers raked over the flesh of your ass and up to your hip, ghosting over your stomach before slipping down, sliding beneath the waistband of your pyjamas. Your leg remained hooked over his thigh, leaving you open to his touch.

Your eyes flickered open and you found him watching, even as he kissed you. You held his gaze as his hand moved lower, cupping you possessively before dragging the tips of his fingers through your folds. Again, your back arched, and you saw need flicker in his eyes. Want. He wanted you.

“So wet, little dove,” he groaned against your lips. “Have I been neglecting you?”

It was the same question he’d asked you that morning in the Hamptons only, this time, you dared to give the slightest nod of your head.

A rumble vibrated through his chest and, for a split-second, you dared to worry if you’d just ruined things. But it wasn’t anger that filled Billy, it was that familiar possessive dominance, and it had your heartbeat ratcheting up a gear. You’d literally only just come but, already, your body trembled with desperation and your arousal skyrocketed again.

And Billy knew - he always knew. 

He’d learned your body and its needs so well, and he’d learned how to satisfy you in a way no one else ever had.

A finger slipped inside of you and you keened, eagerly pressing your lips back to his. It felt like a lifetime and not six days, and after all the tenderness and comfort he’d offered you in that time, it made everything feel more real. The way he kissed you felt real, the way he slowly, teasingly, dragged his finger in and out of your body felt real.

You never wanted it to stop.

“Is this what you wanted?” He groaned against your lips, bending that finger, stroking your insides, finding that spot that made you see stars.

“Yes,” you gasped.

A second finger filled you. A reward for your compliance. Your head fell back and Billy’s lips moved to your neck, trailing reverent kisses along your skin. He kept that slow, measured tempo, his fingers bending with every few strokes, just enough to spark pleasure inside of you, but not enough to push you to the edge.

You dared to reach down, to brush your hand over his cock through his boxers, still so achingly hard for you. Billy’s fingers immediately stilled and his teeth nipped at your throat.

“Not yet,” he said in that dark, commanding voice that you didn’t want to defy. “This is all about you, my little dove.”

A shiver ran up your spine and you pulled back your hand, instead placing it on his hip.

Another sound vibrated through his chest as his fingers started moving again, glad that you were doing as you were told. As much as you wanted to touch him, to take him in your hand and stroke him until he was trembling as much as you were, you wanted to give him control more. Control was what he needed right now, what he’d been longing for all week as he’d watched you struggle with illness, feeling powerless to help you.

Billy had taken care of you, now you were taking care of him.

“Billy,” you gasped, just before his lips slanted over yours again and he devoured you in another all-consuming kiss.

Your fingers curled against his hips, nails pressing into skin, anchoring yourself against the urge to writhe against him and fuck yourself on his fingers. He knew what he was doing, knew how to drive you insane with want and need, knew how to make it so your orgasm would be life altering. 

“So good for me,” he breathed against your lips, “taking everything I give you.”

He groaned as you tensed and clenched around his fingers, his words and dominant tone only pushing your arousal higher.

“I know,” he continued, “I know exactly what you need.”

He did. You knew that he did. That was why this thing between you worked, because he knew you just as you’d come to know him, with a bone-deep familiarity.

(Yours. He was yours now. And you were his, even if you didn’t know how to tell him.)

His tongue slipped between your lips again, hungry and greedy, because he’d been longing to kiss you like this for weeks, swallowing down your pleasure as it escaped you in whines and moans. He had wanted this, but he hadn’t tried to take it until you offered it. He never took more than you wanted to give, never pushed, never got impatient.

All he’d ever done was take care of you, and you never wanted it to end.

The rhythm of his fingers increased and the touches against your sweet-spot turned more purposeful. More moans escaped you, getting louder and more desperate with everything passing second until another orgasm crashed over you.

This time he kept his lips firmly against yours, letting you gasp and moan into his mouth, as if he could taste the sweetness in the sounds and understood that no one had ever driven you to such heights before.

You pressed closer, held him tighter and, by the time it was over, you knew you never wanted to let him go. And he didn’t want to seem to let go either, even as his hand reluctantly slipped from your pyjama bottoms.  Then, everything slowed down again..

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and watched you for a moment as you panted for breath. That little look was enough to tell you that it was over. At least for now. And, while you were a little disappointed, there was no denying that it had left you feeling exhausted.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You were about to answer when he lifted his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean. The sight left you feeling like your brain was going to short circuit. And it certainly didn’t help you catch your breath.

Billy looked at you and gave a hum, prompting you to answer the question.

“I’m fine.”

“Fine? Wow, thanks, that sounds like a ringing endorsement,” Billy said, trying to hold back a grin.

An embarrassing snort of laughter spilled out of you that had him lighting up and grinning at you.

“What do you want me to say? That I can’t remember the last time I came so hard?” You felt your cheeks heating but you managed to force the words, wanting things to stay playful between you.

“That’s better - though if you can’t remember the last time you came that hard, then I’ve clearly not been doing my job properly,” Billy countered.

Your eyes rolled, but the smile on your lips mirrored him.

“What about you?” You asked, slipping your hand from his hip to ghost over the hard ridge of his cock through his boxers.

Billy inhaled sharply at the contact, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. But he didn’t pull you away and, when you saw a glimmer of hesitation on his face, you dragged your middle finger over him.

“Let me,” you said softly.

“You don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” you told him. “When was the last time you...” 

You weren’t sure why you’d started to ask. Probably because it felt like he gave far more than he got, and you wanted to change that. 

You wanted to change everything.

“A couple of days, I think,” he answered, slowly releasing his hold on you. “I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

The smile on his lips told you he was joking, but the words twisted something deep inside of you. It had been a couple of days because he’d been too focused on taking care of you to take care of his own needs.

Instead of answering, you slipped your hand into his boxers and took hold of him. His eyes stayed fixed on yours and, five strokes of your hand was all it took. He bit back a gasp as he came in your hand, a blush tinging his cheeks with embarrassment at falling apart so easily - not that you cared how quickly it had happened, you were just glad he was happy.

He let out a slow breath and slumped back on the pillow. You watched him, noticing the moment his relaxed state gave way to concern again. He grimaced and you pulled your hand from his boxers.

“I’ll - I’ll go get a towel,” he said, the pink on his cheeks deepening and reaching his ears.

Fortunately for you, and not so much for Billy, most of the mess had stayed in his boxers. He got you a damp washcloth before taking care of himself. And, by the time he got back, you were already half-asleep again.

You curled up against him, draping your arm over him and returning to how you’d been laid with him only twenty minutes before, nose to nose.

He looked at you with a content smile on his lips, watching as you struggled to keep your eyes open.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly, fighting against sleep, wanting to spend just a few more minutes talking to him, being with him.

“I’m thinking about the spanking I’m going to give you when you’re better,” Billy said.

It was a low seductive whisper, a promise between you not a threat. And it heated something inside of you that had only just started to cool. If you’d been feeling less tired, you would have pressed against him again and demanded more.

“Spanking?” You repeated, feigning meekness. “You’re going to punish me?”

Billy’s fingers ghosted over your cheek, brushing your hair away from your face. “You didn’t tell me you were sick, you didn’t trust me to look after you.”

You frowned but held his gaze, hating that you’d made him feel that way. Part of you wanted to argue, but you didn’t. There was nothing you could say that would change the way you’d made him feel over the last few days.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, “I never wanted to make you feel like I don’t trust you.”

“I know,” Billy answered. “But it’s my job to take care of you, little dove. And you didn’t let me.”

“I don’t like worrying you.”

“I know you don’t, but nothing you say or doing is going to stop me, so you might as well just tell me when something is wrong. Can you do that for me?”

“I can try,” was all you managed to offer.

“Thank you,” he said, then he pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose and pulled the covers up over you. “Now get some rest.”

A few hours later, you woke to voices in the penthouse. Light spilled through the crack where the door had been left ajar, no doubt so Billy would be able to hear you if you called for him.

You sat up slowly, straining to hear, trying to figure out who Billy was talking to. There was something off, something in the tone of Billy’s voice that set you on edge, even though you couldn’t quite make out the words. It was enough to have you getting out of bed, your legs shaky beneath you, but you managed to make it towards the door.

Bracing yourself with a hand on the wall, you peered through the crack and saw Billy sitting on the sofa with Frank.

“It’s not that simple, Frankie,” Billy said, running his fingers through his hair.

“Why the hell not?” Frank replied.

“Because I’m her boss, because it’d fuck everything up.”

They were talking about you. Dread coiled in your stomach when you realised that Karen had obviously told Frank.

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” Frank asked.

“At the end of this she gets a payout and I’ll let her spin the break-up however she wants to - any way that’ll let her keep her job and her dignity.”

Your chest started to ache, not entirely understanding what Billy was saying or why their conversation had gone in that direction.

“And you’ll just - what, Bill? - let her go?” Frank asked. “You’ll give her up because your arrangement ends?”

Billy seemed rattled by the comment and, instead of answering straight away, he knocked back a bottle of beer and took a long drink.

“Why’ve you gotta fuck this up for yourself?” Frank continued. “Whatever the fuck this is, you think I ain’t noticed how you’ve been since it started?”

“I don’t know if I can love her the way that she deserves,” Billy countered.

It felt like your heart was being shredded in your chest, like all your hopes and dreams were dying in front of you, even though you’d always known that this was going to end. You didn’t understand what he was saying or why. You didn’t deserve anything, you just wanted him.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“I don’t know anything anymore, Frankie. My whole fucking world is upside down,” Billy said with a sigh.

Part of you wanted to go to him, to - what, you weren’t even entirely sure. Apologise? Tell him you were sorry for making everything so complicated for him? Or maybe you’d rather scream at him, confess everything and tell him that he wasn’t the only one who was confused.

Did he love you? Did he want to love you?

You wondered if it was fair of you to feel what you were feeling; the longing, the disappointment, the endless emptiness. You weren’t supposed to feel anything at all, neither of you were.

“Just, think about it, yeah?” Frank said. “I think you’ve got something special here and it’d be a shame to throw it away.”

“I don’t want to throw it away, I just...” 

You didn’t hear the low mutter that followed.

Taking a slow step backwards, you started to move away from the door, heading back towards the bed, even as their voices continued to filter into the room. 

It wasn’t fair to listen, to hope that he’d reveal his feelings when you didn’t even have the guts to tell him how you felt. But he’d said he didn’t want to throw it away, he’d told you countless times that he wanted to keep you in his life, that one arrangement could be replaced with another.

Ultimately, you were both feeling lost and confused, not sure about where things would go between you. You loved him, but maybe you wouldn’t be able to love him the way he deserved either, not when you had to spread that love between him and your brother.

Maybe it was better to just make the most of the time you had left with him...

When Billy came back to bed a few hours later, you immediately moved towards him, wrapping your arm around him and placing your head on his chest.

“Did I wake you?” He asked in the darkness.

“No.”

He pulled you closer and settled beside you, and you left minutes tick by in silence until his breathing finally started to soften.

“It’ll be okay,” you whispered softly.

“What will?”

“Everything.”

A/N : We're getting so close to the end now, only 3/4 chapters left! But, don't worry, there's still plenty of drama to come. Just trust me, it's all going to be okay 😅 Also, do we think that reader is going to use the knowledge that Billy is ticklish against him??

As always I love and appreciate every like/comment/reblog and keyboard smash of love. Thanks so much for reading! Hope you all have a great weekend!

If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! Otherwise new chapters will be posted around 7:30pm GMT on Fridays.

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[legendofzoodles]

If the Chain were kidnapped

Time sternly dads the punks into not being bad people. Has the experience and wisdom to pull an Uncle Iroh and get them to sort their lives out. Except Time doesn't actually have to say anything, just the mere presence of a strong father figure is enough to get the kidnappers to change their ways. That look in his eyes. He's not mad, he's just disappointed.

Warriors plays along. Weaves a sob story told so well it does lower their guard. In a couple hours he's safely secured their entire crime history, family backgrounds, and blackmail material for the authorities of this era to lock them away for life. Goal achieved, he suddenly completely switches up character, calmly thanking them for their time before breaking out his restraints and single handedly messing them all up.

Twilight: the silent type. Stares them down until they start sweating. His vibe radiates: “I supplexed gorons when I was a teenager. I'm not trapped in here with you, you're trapped here with me.” Before the kidnappers can start arguing about who has to stay in the room with him, Twilight just gets up, his restraints falling like wet paper, and walks out the door while they cower in the corner fearing for their lives.

Sky kills them with kindness. Starts with small shallow compliments which as they respond positively to and end up telling him more about themselves, letting his affirmations hit deeper and deeper until they're convinced to change their ways. To mark this new chapter in their lives he leads them to the nearest goddess statue to repent to his girlfriend.

Legend comes out of the gate tearing his captors a new one. But somehow, the insults cut a little too close to home. Next thing you know, they’re defending themselves, then explaining, then venting. Legend keeps calling them pathetic, but in a way that weirdly encourages them to keep going. So oddly, it becomes a group trauma dump session.

Hyrule: [positioned outside the room] Shouldn't we go in there and get him? It sounds like a fight's about to break out.

Sky: [equipping a clipboard and quill] No no, let him cook. He's making great progress.

With Wild the chain's rescue mission becomes trying to get him back on the team. Cuz you see, Wild's with the kidnappers now. Wasn’t even tied up to begin with. Just vibing in the corner eating all their food. His lack of any sense of danger or fear made them think he was a new recruit. He went along with it, and started assigning them nicknames and chore duties. Grandmaster reverse stockholm syndrome—they start following his lead.

Four plays mind games. Starts casual: “What’s your name?” “What motivates you?” “What’s your greatest regret?” By the first hour he’s ignited a civil war with members either fighting tooth and nail against their fellow men or suffering spirals of deep existential dread. There's a reason Four doesn't share much of what goes on in his head because this is the end result, and no one is having fun anymore. Except Four and his shadow.

Hyrule plays actual games. At first Hyrule just got bored and so interrupted their evil plan spiel offering to bet on how long it would take him to escape. However, that led to other bets being made, dumb challenges like how many rupees one can stack before they collapse, winner keeps their pile of the pool. He gets so into these games he completely forgets he was supposed to be escaping. And his captors forget he has backup coming.

Twilight: [knocking down the door] Hyrule! Don't worry it's okay! We're here to...wait, are you gambling right now?

Hyrule: [rolling dice] Wait five more minutes. It's my turn and I'm definitely gonna win!

Warriors: We didn't come here to stop one crime just to walk in on you commiting one!

Hyrule: One? [pulls out a near empty wallet]

Twilight: [turning to Warriors] He's bankrupted us.

Warriors: [face palming] I told Time not to let Hyrule carry the group travel funds.

Wind is pretty good at playing the 'innocent grandma’s boi' shtick. Will get them to fawn over him, give him life advice, offer snacks, meanwhile he’s already stolen all their keys and is just waiting for nightfall. That said, if the chain don't arrive quick enough Wind's captors might indulge the boy and give him his first tattoo or piercing.

~~~

Thanks for reading! Some of these are more unserious than others.

Masterlist

Other headcanons: 

Parkour team

Honorary Gorons

How each member of the chain laughs

[harringtonfeels]

(Stuck in a) Sad Summer Daze - Chapter Two

fem!Reader x Steve Harrington | Ch. 2 word count: 5k | Fic post | Previous chapter

A three week trip from Indianapolis to sunny Santa Barbara, CA and back becomes an opportunity for you to reconnect with Eddie, Robin, and Steve, regain the closeness you never realized you lost, and see your friends in a different light. Some of them, more than others.

Chapter description: A fateful ICEE purchase helps you break the ice while you and Steve take the night shift. Featuring, the riveting landscape of Oklahoma, and a late-night sing-along, and a poorly-executed gas station transaction.

June 19th, 1992

Miami, OK | 6:45 PM CST

You agree on a short dinner when you make your first stop in Oklahoma. Robin parks at the pump at a Phillips 66, and you all get out to stretch your legs. Robin's driving made a remarkable recovery, eventually staying good enough for long enough that Eddie joined you in the second row and busied himself by trying to toss balled up pieces of wrappers down your shirt when you weren't looking.

Now, it's the end of Robin's shift and the start of yours. Steve and Eddie run to the Burger King next door and grab dinner for everyone, and you and Robin stay behind with the van, pumping gas and replenishing the snack supply.

You're lost in thought while pumping gas when Robin withdraws herself from where she was gathering the snacks in a more orderly pile in the second row. She walks around the back of the van and looks at you with those big Robin eyes. The concerned kind.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"What do you mean?"

The fuel nozzle clicks. The pump reads $20.00. You withdraw the nozzle and put it back where it belongs, tightening the cap back over the filler neck.

Robin frowns, and you realize she must think you're trying to shut her out. You're not, so you make a more honest attempt to humor her. "I've had a hard few weeks is all, and I got a little stressed earlier. But you didn't do anything wrong, Rob. I'm fine."

She hesitates for a moment, and then she says, "Are you sure? You've been quiet all day. I just want to make sure we're not making you feel left out or anything."

You close the door to the gas tank and lean against the van, brow furrowing. "Yeah, I'm sure. I don't feel left out at all. I've just got some stuff on my mind, that's all."

Should I feel left out? you begin to wonder. Everyone else seems to be reclaiming their footing in the group a little better than you are. Is there a reason for that?

Now you're overthinking it when Robin was just trying to tell you not to overthink it. It would take more than Zoloft to fix whatever's wrong with you, at this point.

She asks if you need to talk about it, and you're not sure where you'd even start if you wanted to. So you politely decline and strike up a conversation about how things have been going with Vicki, if she's still enjoying Columbus. Robin lets you change the topic with ease, although you can see from the way she glances at you out of the corner of her eye that she knows exactly what you're doing. She's nothing if not observant.

Dinner is uneventful. Eddie's set up a pallet on the floor of the van for Robin, and he posts up in the second row. He's got a bad back, and no number of blankets in the floor is going to protect him - although, having spent a while lying in the backseat yourself earlier, you're not sure the bench will be much better for him. If it bothers him, though, he takes it like a champ.

As you pull out onto the main road and navigate back to the highway, you give Robin a little credit. The van jerks and jostles, and she wasn't wrong - it's damn near impossible to tell where you're at in your lane.

"Steve, can you, like, adjust the side mirror a little?"

He unbuckles his seatbelt and leans forward, arm out the window to nudge the passenger side mirror. "Up or down?"

"Down."

He presses the bottom of the mirror gently. "Say when."

After about half a second, you say, "That's enough. And can you push it to the right a little? Yep, that's perfect."

While Robin was driving, Steve plotted out a few places that could be good opportunities to stop for gas. You wonder if he realized he was doing algebra when he calculated the number of miles it'd be before you need to stop for gas again.

It was 170 miles to Oklahoma City when you left Miami half an hour ago. Robin's quiet in the back, although you doubt she's asleep. She brought her Walkman and a couple of books - she told you all about the one she's already started before it was her turn to drive. You and Steve play games, making nonsense words out of the license plates and trading bumps when you see punch bugs. Within forty-five minutes, Eddie's snores are louder than the radio, even from the front seat.

Even though the conversation has been nothing but lighthearted, you're wound tight, and you're not really sure why. Until Steve finally says, "So what have you been up to in Indy lately?"

It's a broad question. Why does it feel like a trap?

You throw your hand up at the Porsche that just cut you off. They don't seem to notice.

"Uh, you know. Working and everything." You think hard on the last year or so since you saw Steve in person. "I guess that's really all I've been doing, is working. Saving up for a house, finding a house, closing on the house, moving into the house…"

"Wow," Steve says, and you can tell he means it. "That sounds like a lot."

"Yeah, it's… not easy when you're doing it all yourself."

There's a beat of silence. "You did that all yourself?"

"Well, I didn't want to pay a realtor."

"No, I mean—" He twists slightly to face you, seatbelt digging into his collarbone. "—did Jeff not help you?"

There's a beat of silence before you say, "Jeff doesn't live with me."

"Oh." Steve doesn't sound that surprised, but his face says otherwise. "I don't know why I assumed he did. Maybe 'cause you've been together for so long."

"He's living on campus," you say, and it's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth, either.

"Oh, yeah, what's he going to school for, again?"

You talk about Jeff for longer than you'd like, just listing facts but dancing around the truth. Oh, he's working on his Veterinary MD. Yeah, he's working as a vet tech right now. There's a lot you don't say. I know who I am. How I build a life matters less to me than actually building it. He knows who he wants to be but not where, or who with.

"What about you?" you ask, finally. "How's it going in Chicago?"

Steve shrugs. "Pretty good. Well, really good, I guess."

You raise your eyebrows at that - both due to genuine curiosity and thankfulness for having something to talk about that's not yourself. Or Jeff.

His grin is a little sheepish. "I mean, it's not Hollywood or anything, but they seem to like me a lot at work, so I got promoted to middle management." You mirror each other's grimaces at that, but Steve breaks into a self-deprecating smile. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Death to middle managers. Your subordinates hate you, your superiors hate you, and you hate yourself - I know. But the funny thing is, they don't. There've been a few issues here and there, but overall, I think people kind of… like having me as a manager. Or at least, better than the last guy."

"Huh," you say, trying to wrap your mind around it. "I guess you always did have a little bit of leadership in you - captain of the basketball team and all. And the kids - oh my God. You were so hit or miss with the kids."

When you laugh, Steve does, too. "Those little shits. It was always, 'Yes, Steve. No, Steve. I would never split the party, Steve. Oh, by the way, I'm driving your car into the abyss and we're all gonna die together against your explicit instructions, Steve.'"

"And Mike hated you so much, I swear, he would have done anything Robin or Eddie asked him to, as long as it didn't come from you."

"I hate to inform you that, in every group, there is always a Mike. You know, I still don't know what his problem was."

"You were dating his sister. And he thought you were an asshole."

"I wasn't an asshole."

You tilt your head to the side, and the corner of your mouth lifts a little. "You were kind of an asshole."

"I was not." There's a beat of silence, and that silence speaks volumes. Steve folds his arms across his chest and slouches against the bench seat. "Okay, maybe I was a little bit of an asshole."

"I think your level of asshole was directly proportionate to how much time you were spending with Tommy, Hawkins' Supreme Asshole."

"Asshole in Chief," Steve agrees.

"Archon of Assholery," you offer.

His nose scrunches. "What the fuck is an archon?"

"Can you guys shut the fuck up?" Eddie grumbles from the backseat, and you wince, shooting an apologetic grimace in Steve's direction.

You turn the radio down so softly you can barely hear it.

Steve's expression reeks of "I should be sorry, but I'm not," but you both grow quiet nonetheless, and you refocus your attention on not just the road ahead but also the scenery surrounding you.

To its credit, Oklahoma is a lot greener than you expected. Hopefully, that will give you something to pay attention to as you drive in silence.

Oklahoma City, OK | 9:52 PM CST

The sun set when you were passing through Tulsa about half an hour ago. The heat is starting dissipate, although only marginally. You've got a quarter tank of gas, and Steve just correctly pointed out that gas stations would probably begin shutting down for the night soon.

Robin hasn't made a sound in hours, and Eddie's snoring loudly enough to rattle the doors when you make it off the exit and coast into a gas station parking lot. The neon logo on the awning and fluorescent lights illuminating the gas pumps transport you right back to Starcourt, briefly. You get déjà vu like that from time to time, where the liminal spaces of your past all meld together into the inescapable Starcourt Mall.

If Steve notices you're a little off as you pull up to the pump, he doesn't mention it. He hops out and meets you at the front bumper, shoving his hands in his pockets as you both cross the parking lot. His voice cracks a little from lack of use as he says, "I think they're about to close. How much do you think that thing'll hold?"

You shrug. "Twenty got us, like, half a tank."

"Half a tank?" He rolls his eyes. "Leave it to Eddie to drive the biggest gas hog in America."

Smiling a little, you bump his arm with your shoulder. "Leave it to Eddie to be the only one with a car big enough to fit us all."

The door chimes as you open it, a little bell strung up on the doorframe. And it's a good thing, too, because you're seemingly the only people in the building. A gruff voice calls from a room in the back. "Coming!"

You and Steve split up - you toward the drinks, him toward the snacks.

"Grab me an AriZona Tea?" Steve suggests, peering over the shelving at you as you open a cooler door.

You throw a thumbs-up his way and grab a Sprite and a Mountain Dew for Robin and Eddie respectively. You reach out for a Coke, and just then, something catches your eye.

An ICEE machine.

Letting the cooler door swing closed, you pivot. You're on the prowl.

Just then, a bald, skinny guy with a full beard walks out of the back room. "Do you people have any idea what time it is?" he huffs, looking like he could use a cigarette.

You open your mouth to respond, juggling the two drinks in your arms as you reach for an ICEE cup from the stack.

"Looks like 9:55 to me." Steve's tone is bored, but you recognize the undercurrent - you'd recognize it anywhere. Hidden in the layers of his voice is a challenge.

You pull the lever to fill your cup with cherry, and the attendant groans. "I just cleaned that. You've got no decency, coming in here five minutes to close and making a mess."

"I'm not making a mess," you say, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. You've worked customer service before; you know how shitty people can be. But you never had this big a stick up your ass about a couple of people wanting to buy some drinks before closing time.

"She's not making a mess," Steve repeats, stalking toward the cash wrap. "If you're not taking customers, you should probably lock the door."

The attendant huffs and starts ringing Steve up. You're trying to move quickly, but the ICEE machine only dispenses so fast, and then you're extra careful to put your lid on tightly - that's all you need, is to actually make a mess. Ruin this guy's night and everyone else's, too.

Once the lid is on, you approach the counter and deposit your ICEE and the bottles in your arms.

"Do you two need anything else?" You wonder if he's always this moody, or if it's only at closing time.

"Thirty on three," Steve chirps.

You didn't come into the store at the last second for the purpose of being a menace, honest. But seeing the guy look like he's about to pop a vein has you coughing to stifle a laugh.

Steve generously drops two twenties on the counter before you can get your wallet out. The attendant gives him back all his change in quarters and starts the pump.

Outside, mosquitoes seem to swarm you, and you bat them away as you both make your way across the lot, back to the van. Moths circle around the overhead lights. It's still warm, not to mention humid, but it's not as brutal as it was in the daylight.

"Here, I'll put the snacks away," you offer as he opens the gas door and starts pumping. He hands you the bag, and you trot over to the passenger door, stuff the drinks in the cooler and set the snacks in the middle of the bench for easy access.

It's not until you reach into the bottom of the bag to put Steve's AriZona Tea in his cupholder that you realize you've made a fatal mistake.

There is no AriZona.

You look up at the door to the glass gas station doors just in time to see the grumpy attendant locking up from the inside. He must be able to tell you forgot something, because you hold his gaze for a moment and then he flips you off.

What the fuck.

Shutting the passenger door gingerly behind you, you bounce on the balls of your feet while making your way back around to the other side of the van.

"Hey, Steve," you sing.

"Yes, sunshine?" He draws out the syllables, singing right back to you with an expression that says I don't know what you're about to say, but I'm sure I won't like it.

You bite your lip and say, "I did something bad."

At that, he locks the pump handle in position and turns to face you, hands on his hips. "You forgot my AriZona," he accuses.

Cheeks hot, you try to defend yourself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I got so excited when I saw the ICEE machine, and then that guy was so rude and I—"

His brown eyes level with yours, and he inhales deeply. What if he's really mad? you think, but there's just a sliver of mischief in his eyes that tells you otherwise.

"Okay, so what?" He flaps a hand with half-hearted attitude. "You get your ICEE, which I paid for, and I get nothing until sunrise?" he snipes.

"No," you say quickly. "I still have some Coke in the cooler! You can have it. And I can give you some money for the snacks."

He pulls a face. "Shut up. That's New Coke, and it sucks."

"It's called Coke II now, and it's good!"

"Nobody calls it that, and it sucks," Steve insists with a huff. "Give me that ICEE."

"What?"

Steve takes a step forward that's actually closer to a lunge, hand outstretched. "I said, give me your ICEE."

"Steve, please," you beg, taking a step back toward the front of the van as he climbs over the fuel hose. Instinctively, you hold your ICEE behind you with one hand and put the other out in front of you to fend him off. "She's innocent. She did nothing wrong. Take it out on me, not the ICEE."

"Oh, I'm gonna take it out on you, alright." With a mischievous grin, he takes a step forward, and you squeal, rounding the front of the van.

The problem with Steve is that he's always been too fast for you. He's sure-footed where you're cautious, and he's got a wingspan much larger than yours. Of all the years you spent playing Capture the Remote, you've never won. And there's a lot more on the line than just remote privileges - you still haven't even had a taste of your beautiful, cherry ICEE. Your pulse thuds in your ears as you round the front bumper, heart pounding like a rabbit backed into a hedgebush with no escape.

Before you've even made it around to the driver door, Steve's on you, trapping you between his arm and the side-mirror. You could try to duck and run, but you know you've been beaten. You hold your beloved ICEE close to your chest, looking up at him like a deer in the headlights. Years and an unspoken web of tangled energy spans between you and Steve and your Capture the Remote days; you're not sure what the rules are for rough-housing with him anymore, or where he'd draw the line.

"Not the ICEE," you say, deflated, but as he leans in, you're forced to accept that your humble plea is futile. He pries the cup from your hands and wraps his lips around the bright red straw, and there he goes, depriving you of your one true love. You watch as he swallows, then sips again, then swallows, and then—

The buzzing of the fluorescent lights above ceases entirely, and the world is cast into darkness. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, but it evidently doesn't take Steve that long. By the time you can make out his outline, he's already passing your ICEE back to you and pushing himself off the fender of the van.

He hollers at the attendant, who's locking the doors from the outside. "Thanks, asshole!"

"Get a room, lovebirds," the other guy yells back. And then he flips you off. Again.

Steve rolls his eyes. "What is that guy's deal?" he huffs, then turns back to face you. His long hair casts shadows across his face in the barely-there streetlight. "You're sharing the rest of that with me."

It's not a request, but it doesn't have to be. You'd share anything with Steve if he asked you to, and you know he'd do the same. "Okay," you agree, finally taking your first sip of ICEE. You're honestly just grateful you didn't drop it during all your shenanigans.

The fuel nozzle clicks, and Steve takes a step back. "I'll take care of that. Start this thing up and get the A/C moving again, will you? Mm, wait, one more sip."

You do as you're told, and when you're back on the highway, you catch glimpses of Steve in the lights that illuminate the exit signs. His lips are stained cherry red.

June 20th, 1992

Shamrock, TX | 12:39 AM

You're forced to take back what you said about Oklahoma being green. As it turns out, about thirty minutes outside of Oklahoma City, it all turns to dirt, which, believe it or not, makes it pretty hard to stay engaged with your surroundings.

To be completely fair, the grass returns during the last thirty minute stretch of Oklahoma, but by then, the damage is done. Your ICEE is long gone, split evenly between you and Steve, and you're beginning to feel your eyelids droop as you pass the mile marker signs. You've been trying to be quiet for Eddie and Robin's sakes, and the lack of conversation is making the drive even harder. So when you see a sign for a rest area just past the state line, you take the exit.

Rest areas always feel a little spooky at night, so you generally try to avoid them. You only ever traveled long distances with Jeff to see his dad in Cincinnati. Since he seemingly knew all the 24-hour gas stations along the way from Indy, it's been years since you've actually stopped at one.

Your sagging shoulders lift a little when you see it. Under flickering fluorescents in a little building off to the right of the gas station, there it is: a vending machine. You're only a few yards away, and you'd know that aqua color anywhere.

AriZona Tea.

Steve ducked into the bathroom building a minute ago, and Eddie's currently rolling - literally rolling - out of the side door of the van. His curls are sleep-rumpled, and there's a red mark on his face from the seam of the seat upholstery. You can't help but smile a little. For all that Eddie puts on a fierce front, you like him best when he's a little silly.

You roll your shoulders and neck, stretching your stiff muscles, and you walk a loop around a solemn little tree between the two buildings to get your blood pumping again. You told Steve you'd drive until Amarillo, which is still about a hundred miles out. If you're going to succeed, you're going to have to get some pep in your step, so to speak.

Once you've had a couple minutes to stretch, you head over to the vending machine to peruse the wares. There's a pack of spearmint flavored Extra in there. The shock of mint always seems to help wake you up a little, if only for a while.

Extra and AriZona Tea it is.

You've got a handful of quarters in your pocket, so you count them out. A dollar for the tea, and seventy-five cents for the gum. And you've got a dollar fifty.

While you're staring into your hand, lamenting your poor fortune, a pair of hands grab you around the waist. "Boo!"

Spinning around, you attack your assailant with an open palm. Your hand connects with Eddie's leather jacket, and it's instant chaos. The clink of your quarters scattering across the ground is not far off from the sound of Sonic the Hedgehog losing his rings.

Eddie, however, is doubled over in laughter, one ring-clad hand pointing at your face. "Ohhhh my god," he wheezes between gasps for air. "I got you so good."

"You are such a fucking menace," you hiss, shoving his shoulder to get him out of your way. Kneeling in the dirt, scrounging up a bunch of change at a rest stop in Texas was not on your agenda, but here you are.

He's still laughing, but at least he has the decency to help you find the remaining coins, feeling around in the spot where the dirt patch meets grass.

"Do you have any quarters?" you ask him. "Call it penance for your crimes?"

"You should have seen your face." His dimples pop with unbridled joy. Then, he shakes his head. "Sorry, Princess. Only crisp dollar bills for me."

The machine doesn't take dollars, unfortunately, so you're screwed. When Eddie hands you back the last of your quarters, you turn to face the machine. Unfortunately, sometimes, sacrifices must be made.

You put your quarters into the slot and enter the code, watching with a frown as the product you purchased hits the floor in the machine with a clunky thud. Lovely.

"If you touch me while I'm getting this out of the machine," you warn Eddie, expression fierce, "I will kill you."

He raises his hands in exaggerated surrender. "Loud and clear," he says, taking a couple slow steps back. "I'll be in my bunk."

Your nose wrinkles at the insinuation, and you turn away, fetching the can and shoving your remaining quarters in your pocket.

About the time you turn around, Steve is leaving the bathroom. His eyes first land on Eddie, whose boots are thumping halfway down the sidewalk already. As you begin to make your way over, you see Steve glance toward the van, then back at Eddie. Concern paints his features. "Munson," he calls, "where's our fearless leader?"

You toss the can into your other hand, angling your arm such that he can't see your purchase, and say, "I'm coming."

Something like relief washes over Steve's face as his eyes land on you, not thirty feet away. At the same time, Eddie turns around to face you both, walking backwards as he hollers, "That's what she said!"

You're certainly not the only group at this rest stop, and your cheeks burn as you glance around at the other cars occupying the parking lot. Some people are reclined in their driver's seats, some smoking at the table by the bathrooms. You feel a little bad on behalf of your group. Eddie could wake the dead, and his penchant for theatrics feeds into that in such a way that social restraint… well, it's not really Eddie's thing, putting it mildly.

Steve waits for you to meet up with him on the sidewalk before starting after Eddie. "You okay?" he asks. "You seem a little tense."

You shrug. "Just Eddie being Eddie." Quickly, you change the subject. With a grin, you reveal the AriZona Tea you just scored from the vending machine. "Got this for you," you say, placing it directly in his unsuspecting hand.

His brow furrows, and then he looks up at you, a slow smile spreading across his lips. You've always liked doing nice things for Steve in particular, and you're not sure why. Maybe it's that he always seems to truly appreciate it. All those years hanging out with friends who didn't really see him, parents who looked right through him, girlfriends who cared more about what he could do for them than the other way around.

For someone who, at one point, could have had any material possession he wanted, Steve always accepts gifts like he's never expected that someone might consider him at all.

"Thanks," he says simply, brown eyes shining in the dim, yellow light from the street poles. Then, he clears his throat. "Okay, so we made it to Texas. Want me to take over?"

You consider it for about half a second. "No, I'm okay. I'll get us to Amarillo, and then we can switch. But I don't care if Eddie and Robin complain - I'm turning the radio back on."

"No need," he says breezily as you part ways at the front of the van. He opens the passenger door, and you make eye contact through the rolled-down window. For just a moment, he rummages under the bench seat.

The ruckus rouses Robin - you can hear her asking Eddie where you are from the back of the van. Just as you're shutting the driver door behind you, Steve resurfaces with two tapes in his hand.

"Aerosmith or Queen?" he asks.

It's not contest. "Queen, obviously."

Eddie pulls a face at the mention of Aerosmith, and you can literally hear Robin scrambling to sit up. "Queen!" she agrees, expression equal parts sleepy and hopeful.

As you back out of your parking spot, Steve loads the cassette into the tape deck and cranks the volume. You can't help but smile at the new energy that swells throughout the van - it's a welcome reprieve from careful whispers and nodding off in the slow lane from boredom. Radio Ga Ga rumbles through the speakers, chorus launching just as you get up to speed on the highway.

Robin's voice is just audible above the stereo. She knows all the words, and so do you. You and Steve beat The Works to death after Steve graduated high school - so much that Steve's tape got worn out and he had to replace it.

When you glance over at him out of the corner of your eye, you can see he's already looking at you. The Works didn't get mass airplay in the United States, not like some of Queen's other albums did. It didn't even crack the top twenty of the Billboard 200. But Steve loved Queen, and as a result, so did you.

Your mind replays a buried memory of Radio Ga Ga blasting through the speakers of his Beemer, windows rolled down on the way to prom. Other memories come flooding back, as well. I Want to Break Free blasting through the headphones of his Walkman, your ear pressed against his like a couple of idiots hell-bent on sharing. Hammer to Fall echoing through his parents' near-empty house while you lounged by the swimming pool.

It's crazy to think there was a time before Eddie and Robin - or, at least, before their friendship. It's even weirder to think that you and Steve used to be so embarrassingly attached at the hip, and that now, you don't quite know how to find that groove again.

But you're going to. Your eyes meet Steve's as Tear It Up kicks in, and you know from the smile on Steve's face that you have to get your shit together. He's your best friend in the whole world, and it's time you start acting like it again, so you can see that smile again.

It starts with The Works.

[noirinth]

Random Deltarune Thought I had regarding Ralsei's Light World Forme and haven't seen brought up anywhere else:

So whenever the party splits up between dark world and light world such as in Chapter 2 when Ralsei sent Kris to gather the dusty junk ball and he stayed behind with Susie in Castle Town while they did this, and in Chapter 4 when going back through the light to make a quick trip to Castle Town to do solo Mike(s) Fight once again Kris leaves while Susie and Ralsei stick together in the Dark World so while not 100% concrete evidence it does seem to make it possible that whatever object Ralsei is they're in Susie's Possession and not Kris', so if Ralsei is Susie's where would that take us? It seems likely that the light world version of her axes are hairbrushes, so Ralsei probably isn't that.

Susie seems more surprised than what seems normal about Ralsei looking goat like at the end of chapter 1 than if it was something that completely "new" to her let's say even stuttering for a bit after the reveal, and we now know Susie and Toriel had a bit of encounter before the start of the game where she was Crying on the Gerson Memorial Bench and Toriel brought her to the diner to try and cheer her up, so what could be an object that would realistically pass from Toriel to Susie in that kind of interaction and ya know, last more than a few days.

Some kind of handkerchief perhaps? Would make sense in that situation, Maybe Susie holds on to it as a small reminder that things can get better.

Then combine that with what we know of Ralsei: Soft, Fluffy, Goaty, attempts to comfort; maybe it's even got some kind of white and green pattern?

It's like an assorted pile of coincidences that just kinda fit ya know?, like all the times you close your eyes and think of Susie and can then see where she is although that seems to be fuzzy on whether it just moves the player's perspective or if Ralsei and or Kris can also see what we're seeing at that time. Could be part of why Susie and Ralsei seem to get a lot closer than Ralsei and Kris. And since memories seem to effect Darkner's Manifestations in some way this could even explain why Ralsei looks like what a Dreemurr Kid would look like (Goaty) they even have somewhat similar glasses. And with Eram having some points suggesting it's actually the headband? I feel like there was something else I had thought of but I forgot it hopefully it'll come back later

[edupunkn00b]

Progression: Chapter 7, Traitor

Photo by edupunkn00b

Prev - Traitor - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

The Muse (and his twin) turn twenty-one. Written for @imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper's @dukeceit-week-2024, Day 7: Dive Bar. WC: 3287

The Muse paced the length of his room, a heavy tome gripped in both hands as he forced his eyes to follow the hand-lettered text. Since the Purge, volumes like these were a treasure and though the edges of his pants were ragged and frayed, his hair shorn short at the back of his neck to stop himself from yanking it out, he cradled the book like the precious rarity it was.

"’A girl likes to be crossed a little in love now and then. It is something to—’” he muttered aloud, shaking his head. He closed the book, slowly, carefully, just like Jannie had showed him and he stroked the woven cover. His feet stopped in front of the shelf and he scanned the other spines before swapping one for the other.

“‘And perhaps you might pretend, afterwards, that it was only a trick,’” he read as he paced, gaze fixed on the book as his body led him over the well-worn path. The carpet had begun to fade in long meandering strips, marking off the longest contiguous trails around the room.

The words wobbled with each step, or maybe it was Orwell’s text.

“‘And that you just said it to make them stop and didn't mean it. But that isn't true.’” His voice fell away as he continued to read for three more laps before making a gagging sound at the back of his throat and changing that book for the next on the shelf.

His mouth twitched as his fingers trailed over the embossed title of the next book. A hundred years, huh? "’El mundo era tan reciente que muchas cosas carecían de nombre, y para nombrarlas había que señalarlas con el dedo…’” The words flowed off his tongue, falling into little drops of honey along his path. Perhaps you only had to point at things to name them, but The Muse could name a thing to make it. “‘"Saca esos malos pensamientos de tu cabeza", le dijo. "Vas a ser feliz".’”

The Muse frowned and closed the book, not as gently as the first. “No, you won’t.”

The next book was no better. “‘She used to give me a thrashing every morning—’” 

Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope…

This one he slammed shut and shoved back onto the shelf, whispering a quiet apology before selecting one last volume. He started at the end, eyes dancing over the page. “‘This funeral wasn't about honoring truth, but about honoring a memory.’” 

He mouthed the words again and tried to imagine what the author might’ve sounded like. Sinking to the floor, he sat with the book cradled in his lap and continued to read. “‘‘It was about honoring the friend they had lost, whether they had lost that friend a day ago, or five years ago.’” A slow smile spread over his face as he flipped the slim book to the beginning to start at the start.

The Muse was on his third re-read when warmth rippled toward him from the hall, soft and wispy, smoke after you blow out a flame. He hugged the book to his chest and leapt to his feet. He’d nearly reached the door controls when Jannie spoke.

-”May we come in, Muse?”- The warm trickle turned into the comforting blast of the furnace, opening the oven on a frosty day. The scent of fire and vanilla, burnt sugar and those tart winter berries Papa Bear like to pick. Jannie was in a good mood, which meant the ‘we’ was him and Lucas.

“Fuck, yes, you can come in!” The Muse shouted and stepped back from the door, ready to fling himself at Jannie’s arms. The door panel lit up and, as Jannie stepped inside, he remembered the book just in time and laid it on the little table by the door before he threw himself at Jannie. “You’re here!”

A bubble of heat enveloped them, pushing away the sticky cold sadness just under the surface of Jannie’s skin. “Of course I’m here, Muse…” His voice was shaky, like he hadn’t spoken aloud in a while. He had to tell Jannie his trick, reading out loud to keep his throat limber and smooth and—

“It’s your birthday,” Jannie continued, one gloved hand carding through his hair. He wished Jannie would take them off. Maybe later. Maybe that was the plan, especially with Lucas here. Lucas always helped them both stay calm when, wait, it was his birthday already?

“It’s not my birthday, Jannie,” he argued, laughing, and pulled back, only a little, only enough to look into Jannie’s eyes. “My birthday’s not for another week, it’s…” 

His smile froze in place as Jannie’s hand slid down and over his cheek, the soft material of his gloves—his good ones, the old cotton ones he used to keep in that box in his dresser he and Ro had found—his gloves, they were soft but they caught on the thick growth on his jaw.

He’d shaved this morning. Hadn’t he?

“It’s… it’s been a week?” Jannie looked down and their little warm bubble shrank, ice fizzling on the edges.

“It has, Re.” Lucas stroked Jannie’s cheek, his bare cheek, the skin soft at the touch and glowing white hot so bright The Muse had to close his eyes. Static brushed his mind. When he opened his eyes, he was sitting on the floor, Jannie and Lucas in front of him.

Lucas’ eyes glowed softly.

“Where’s Ro?” he asked, eyeballs bouncing between the elder Mad Lads, waiting for one of them to speak. Jannie’s shield was strong and The Muse danced around the border, the tingle of static tickling his fingers with each little poke. “Can I see him, maybe just for…”

He couldn’t see past Jannie’s shield but his silence spoke for him.

“He’s not ready,” Lucas answered instead and gripped Jannie’s hand. Slowly the static eased and Jannie smiled up at him. Sad and small but a soft smile. A good smile. A strong one that wouldn’t break if he pushed at it.

The Muse nodded. “Yeah, I… I figured. Is he… is he having a good birthday?” The room grew brighter, daffodils and honeysuckle sprouting in the corners. “I… I was gonna make him something, I…” He blinked and looked around the room, a large box covered in red cloth he’d stitched together sat by the door. “Oh, I did make him something. Will you give it to him?”

Jannie reached for him, patting his arm through gloves and his shirt, too, too much between them to really feel it. “Of course we will, Muse,” he spoke and said, the words flooding his mind and raising it up, wind under wings.

He floated, a feather on the breeze. “But first, Muse, we wanted to do something for your birthday. Even if…”

Even if he couldn’t be with his brother.

“I’d like that. I’d really, really like that!” The Muse leapt to his feet, swaying slightly. If he hadn’t really shaved this morning, had breakfast not been this morning, either? His sink was empty, the stove cold and spotless. Maybe not. “Can…” What if they said no? A little lump of ice grew just above his stomach. “Can you both stay? I’ll make us something yummy and—”

“Actually, Muse,” Jannie caught Lucas’ gaze, eyebrows high in a question The Muse couldn’t help but hear. Not that he tried very hard not to listen in. -”Do you think he’s ready?”-

Lucas nodded and Jannie’s smile grew, just a bit. “We thought we might try something different.”

~

Luc's gentle touch still tingled against his skin, long after he'd turned his attention—and the focus of his power—to The Muse. Janus knew he'd been concerned, remembered the tight twist in his chest as they'd taken the elevator down to The Muse's rooms, remembered the icy spike in his gut when the Muse admitted he had lost an entire week. The warmth of Luc's touch spread through his skin, a whisper of reassurance.

He watched Luc's hands glow where he touched The Muse's temples, the deep amber bleeding out from between his eyelashes. After a long while, Luc lowered his hands and smiled at The Muse. “How do you feel, Re?”

“I feel great,” he smiled back and held out both hands, soft gaillardia blooming in his palms. They grew slowly, waving gently in a breeze none of them felt. He closed his fingers around them, gently and when he opened them, the flowers were gone. “I’m in control,” he grinned. “Look at that!”

Luc’s eyes glowed next to him. “You are,” Janus smiled. “Ready?”

“Ready!”

~

The trio flew the smaller transport north. Not far, just looking to get a little further from the hubbub of the migrated seaports and cities sprouting up around the new Federated Capitol Building. The Muse sat buckled in his seat, face pressed to the window as he watched the sun set over the lakes. Luc laughed from the pilot seat. “ still there, love!” He pointed at a flickering blip on the main navigation screen and grinned. “Still transmitting! I can’t believe they’re still open! Do you remember?”

Lucas shared a flash from their first visit to The Inn. Younger then, they’d danced together long into the night. In the dim light of the bar, surrounded by Powered and Traditionals alike, couples and constellations had drawn together and celebrated all they shared instead of clashing over all the distinctions carved between them in final throes of The Purge. 

Over”hearing” the shared vision, The Muse hummed in his seat. Under the heavy dose Lucas had used, The Muse’s eyes moved a little slower, his smile a little… Janus’ mind supplied the word dull but it was merely less sharp than it usually was. Less jagged. Softer. Like his face moved through water to change with the thoughts racing through his mind.

They landed smoothly, The Inn’s old system recognizing Luc’s old stolen—borrowed—transport beacon. “Where everybody knows your name…” Muse sang quietly, where he’d heard that melody was beyond Janus’ understanding. He barely remembered the old passphrase.

Luc grinned and lowered the ramp. “After you, ma cheri,” he murmured, offering an arm to The Muse in turn. “Ready to dance?”

The bar’s exterior hadn’t changed much. The faded, sagging awning was still there, though a closer look underneath revealed the old metal frame had been replaced by cheaper plexisteel. Bartered for scrap during the worst of it, Janus guessed. Same for the old glass window panes. He’d be nearly anything they’d been bartered in exchange for the licensing board looking the other way when the tumult had ended.

A rumble of heavy bass rattled the chipped sign above the door, beckoning them in with a simple, Welcome, All.

The Muse’s gaze went far away, seeing through the bar’s façade, seeing through his own façade. He grinned, broad and… spacey. “I like it here, Jannie.”

“I thought you might,” he nodded, the tightness in his throat and his chest easy to ignore. He opened the door and ushered them both inside.

“Hey! Haven’t seen you all in a long while,” Andrew called from behind the bar. “‘Fraid you’d… Y'know—” He made a cutting motion across his throat and pulled a face.

“Nah, we’re too bitchy to kill,” Luc laughed, leaning over the bar to hug the wizened owner. “You know that.”

“Glad to see it. You brought some young blood with you, too,” he said, coming around the bar to accept a long hug from Janus. “Well, even younger than you two,” he added with another laugh.

The Muse stiffened, eyes locked on Andrew’s face, reading him. He shuddered, knees twitching in the darkened club. Andrew didn’t catch it, but Luc did.

“This is Re,” he said and wrapped an arm over The Muse’ shoulders, fingers grazing the back of his neck. His fidget disappeared, the spiky energy pouring off him smoothing out at the edges.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, palm outstretched with a tiny green orchid blossom nestled at the center.

Andrew’s eyes widened and he took a half-step back. “Oh, he’s—” Features carefully schooled, Traditionals wouldn’t’ve noticed his fear.

But Janus wasn't a Traditional. “He’s with us,” he said, voice low. 

Andrew nodded slowly, looking between the three of them as he wrestled the flurry of thoughts spilling from his mind. Finally, he smiled, nearly genuine, and returned to the taps behind the bar. “First round on the house, then.”

“Water for me,” Luc smiled.

“How 'bout the D.D. special then,” Andrew laughed, and poured Luc a purple fizzing beverage before passing two glasses of beer to Janus.

The Muse grabbed his arm, spilling a bit of foam from one of the steins. “Can we dance first?” he asked, eyes bright.

“I was hoping you came here to dance,” a low voice behind them rumbled.

A cold itch crawled up Janus’ spine and he moved between the interloper and Muse. He was a Powered, a strong man like Pat, as far as Janus could tell. Very low Esper, which made it easy for Janus to prod, to see what beyond the typical ick of a bar pick up was hidden in the man’s intentions.

Looking just over Janus’ head, he smiled at The Muse. “Unless you’re otherwise occupied tonight?”

“Nah, I’m not with them,” The Muse laughed, taking the other man’s hand. “They’ve got each other to keep them company. Right?” he added with hopeful eyes at both Janus and Luc.

“Enjoy yourself, Re,” Luc said, threading his fingers through Janus’. -”He can handle himself, love,”- he added silently. -”Besides, we’re right here.”-

-”Yeah, Jannie,”- The Muse jumped in with a little dance of his shoulders and absolutely zero decorum. He blew them both a kiss and followed the man out onto the patch of carpet that served as a dance floor. “Happy Birthday to me!” he cheered when the song transitioned to a faster tempo.

Janus pointed to a table as far from the speakers as he could manage without putting any other tables between them and the dance floor. He sat facing the dancing couples and Luc settled into the seat closest to him. “He’s having a good time,” he said, nudging Janus’ knee under the table. “We're in a safe space. You can relax a little while."

"Perhaps," Janus nodded, a golden bubble wrapped around his worries. He sipped at his beer before the bubble popped. Setting aside all pretense or propriety, Janus locked in on the thoughts swirling around the dancing pair. He just needed to know.

The Muse was… nervous, but giddily so. Happy. Happier than Janus had seen him in years. Not since he’d been a child, playing with his brother or pranking teenage Virgil. Janus watched The Muse dance before nodding and taking another sip.

“He’s having fun,” Luc whispered behind his glass, nursing the purple concoction. “And look—” As the music slowed, The Muse took one of the man’s hands and traced colorful shapes against his skin. “He’s in full control.”

“Thanks to you,” Janus said, focusing on the man’s expression. He looked unsurprised. He'd probably clocked Muse as a Powered before he’d even approached them. The implications twisted in his stomach, cold and prickly. Luc’s hand on his forearm was warm, though, and after a moment he sighed, all but a spot of worry leaving him with his breath. “You’re right, he’s having fun.”

“He is,” Luc murmured, leaning closer to kiss his cheek. “Now,” he grinned and slid his now-empty glass into Janus’ hands. “Why don’t you get us a refill while I keep watch. We can take turns.”

Janus laughed and took Luc’s glass. “I see Andrew’s mixology skills haven’t faded with time.” He stood, then leaned over to swipe his own small kiss. “Either that or you’re just as cheap of a date as you ever were.”

“Bah!” Luc scoffed, one lovely hand pressed to his chest. “I resemble that remark!”

Still chuckling, Janus sauntered over to the bar, eyes forward but his thoughts stretched out toward the other patrons, the other dancers. To The Muse and his dance partner. The music had slowed, a steady, undulating beat that traveled up from the floor and through Janus’ shoes. He hummed, following the cover-of-a-cover-of a song that had been an oldie when he was still a child, young enough his Powers had not yet been discovered.

Look at the way… We’ve got an eye on what we’re doing Cause what would they say If they ever knew and so we’re—

“Lucas likes this mix, yes?” Andrew grinned from behind the bar, sliding over a full glass before Janus had even asked. Something itched at the base of his skull, fighting past the calm Luc had given him.

‘Re’s completely keyed in to your moods, love. If he can feel you scared, if he can feel you worried, he’ll feel like you don’t trust him and he won’t trust himself.’ 

Luc’s words had been soft. Certain. He shook his head and the itch grew. Luc’s refill cradled in his hands, he looked over his shoulder. Luc was blinking slowly, a crooked tipsy smile on his face. Janus whipped around and stared at Andrew. “What’s in this?” he demanded.

But Andrew wasn’t looking at him. No, he was staring past Janus’ shoulder at something on the other side of the bar. He followed the bartender’s gaze.

Just in time to see Muse slip outside with his dance partner.

“Luc!” he cried over the music and ran toward the door, sidling past the sudden surge of patrons crowding his path. -”Luc! Luc, let’s go!”- 

-”What’s wrong, love?”- The fuzziness in Luc’s response shattered his calm. He was closer to the door than to Luc, though, and he pushed through just in time to be hit with a wave of fear.

Muse’s fear. 

-”Muse! I’m coming!”- He stepped out into the muggy night air. The landing pad was lifeless, a few airskiffs and smaller transports like theirs dark and idle. He closed his eyes and a light bloomed from the dark alley next to the waste bins. Muse!

Janus ran, following the faint scuffling sound and the overpowering sense of panic. He staggered under the weight of it, heavy ropes tightening around his chest, squeezing his heart. His pulse pounded in his ears, a syncopated thud, his own layered with Muse’s. The bar door slammed open just as he reached the alley. 

“Jan! Jan, wait!” Luc called after him, heavier footfalls catching up fast.

A cry more animal than human pierced his mind and Janus dropped to his knees, both hands over his ears. Strong hands—Luc’s?—helped him up and together they followed the shadows in the alley. Leaning heavily against Luc’s side, Janus fumbled in his jacket for a light. Finally activating it, the beam bounced wildly until it landed on the man from the bar, doubled over and gripping his own head.

Muse towered over him, shirt ripped and eyes closed. He didn’t speak and when Janus reached for him, pain ripped through his mind until he pulled back, wrapping his mind in his own strongest shield.

“Please, Muse, no!” he shouted, fighting to be heard over the cacophony in his own mind. The man’s cries intensified and he began to bang his forehead against the dirty pavement. “Stop it! Stop, Muse, you’ll—”

And in the next breath it was over. Suddenly silent, the man slumped over. Deadweight. His head struck the pavement with a loud, wet thwack and Janus’ light trembled, illuminating dark blood seeping from his eyes in its shaky beam. Muse knelt before the man's body, shoulders shaking and a horrible high-pitched sound spilling from his lips.

Muse laughed.

[thetomorrowshow]

love is such a drag - ch. 8

chapter title: either Grian or Scar is the most oblivious person in the world and I'm really not sure which one

sorry about the long wait, please enjoy!

~

Technically, they aren’t allowed to do wheelchair races with the rental chair that Scar had gotten to try out. On its insurance, he is the only one allowed to operate it.

That doesn’t stop them from marking a section of the sidewalk with chalk and trading off turns with the chair to see who can get the best time.

“Go!” Ren says, and Scar speeds off, already easily the best at using the chair. Scar’s roommate, Cub, turns to Grian.

The speed at which sweat is suddenly rolling down Grian’s back should easily break a record of some sort.

He’s been avoiding Cub the whole time the four of them have been hanging out. After all, Cub is the only one of this group that has met Grian as—well, as Grian. And Ariana. Other than Scar that time or two, but Scar clearly hadn’t recognized him and Grian’s pretty sure Cub will.

Grian’s been on edge the entire afternoon. While they’ve been in a group, Cub hasn’t said a single word to him. All he’s done so far is vaguely stare at Grian. So basically, it’s confirmed that he knows. Even though he’s passing pretty well, if he does say so himself.

He put a bit of effort into this outfit. He’s gone for a full face of natural make-up and a short, butterfly-patterned skirt. That, paired with a pink jacket and his hair extensions framing his face, really just makes him look more like a girl and less like a drag queen.

But Cub has clearly clocked him, and now the two of them are alone together.

“He really likes you,” Cub says, eyes boring deep into Grian’s lying soul. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like someone this much.”

On the one hand, that makes Grian’s heart give a little flutter. He’s special. He isn’t just the next girl in line that Scar likes, he’s different from the others.

The rest of him floods with something akin to mortifying despair. Scar really, really likes him. He isn’t this way with every other person.

And Grian likes Scar a lot.

What is he supposed to do?

Well, right now he can at least tell something of the truth.

“I like him a lot,” admits Grian. “He’s . . . he’s so passionate, and funny, and such a good listener. He’s everything I’ve never really had in a boyfriend, you know?”

Cub raises an eyebrow. “Scar? A good listener? Hm.”

Grian nods. “Yeah,” he says. “He’s—I really like him.” He’s blushing now, so he cuts himself off before he says something embarrassing like how much he likes Scar’s eyes and the smell of his cologne and the feel of his lips.

“You were mumbling, what was that?”

“Nothing!”

It’s clear as day that Cub does not like him, and even clearer that he knows that Grian’s tricking Scar. If it wasn’t in the look in his eyes as he surveys Grian, it was definitely in his tone when he said hm.

“I don’t want him getting hurt,” Cub says. He stuffs his hands in his coat pockets, looking down on Grian like a stern businessman firing his intern. “So you aren’t gonna do that, right?”

Grian quickly shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“Good,” Cub nods. Then, awkwardly, he adds, “and . . . Scar’s a pretty chill guy. If you haven’t told him . . . something, you probably don’t have anything to worry about.”

Grian blinks.

Cub makes a face where his lips disappear into his mouth.

“Dude, that was only thirty-seven seconds! That’s your best score yet!”

Eager for a distraction from whatever is happening, Grian turns toward Ren and Scar, Scar still in the wheelchair, grinning ear-to-ear.

“Ari, your turn!” Scar calls out to him, accepting Ren’s hand as he helps him into the folding chair that they had set up on the sidewalk.

“I don’t even know how,” Grian protests. Ren grabs his hand nonetheless and drags him to the wheelchair.

“Give it a shot, dudette!”

Maybe this wasn’t the best day to wear a short skirt. Grian can only pray that it doesn’t flip up in the wind.

And then, because he can, Grian pulls away from Ren and leans down to Scar, kissing him quickly on the lips before pulling away.

“Kiss for good luck, yeah?” Grian says, hoping with all his might that he isn’t blushing as badly as he thinks he is. If Ren’s look of utter delight means anything, then he probably is.

“Y-yeah,” Scar stutters, looking like he swallowed his quick tongue as he stares dumbfounded at Grian. Grian tries his best to give him a little grin before sitting in the wheelchair, carefully tucking his skirt between his thighs with shaking hands.

“Um, one more?” Scar asks, his fingers tracing over his own lips. “For luck, of course.”

Grian snorts. “You can have one after I win.”

Now why does he go and say things like that?

(He doesn’t win, obviously. He doesn’t even know how to use the wheelchair.)

(He does kiss Scar again, though.)

-

“We’re in big trouble, guys,” Grian announces at large when he gets home, tossing his keys onto the counter. Mumbo looks up from washing dishes.

“A date?” he asks, the disapproval clear in his voice—which, okay, fair, but Grian really does not need that kind of judgment right now.

“More so hanging out,” he waves off. He toes off his sneakers without undoing the laces and leaves them right in the entryway, sure to annoy Pearl whenever she comes in and accidentally wedges one under the door. “It was fun, but that isn’t the issue. The issue is that I think his roommate knows.”

Mumbo’s mouth twists, his mustache bristling in ways that shouldn’t muscularly be possible. “How is that a problem?”

Unbelievable. Grian stops in his tracks, his coat still half off, and stares at Mumbo as incredulously as he can muster.

“Because he knows,” he says slowly. “He absolutely knows. And we talk about everything, so they probably also talk about everything, so Cub will immediately tell Scar.”

Mumbo stops washing the dishes, setting one last dripping plate into the dish drainer and turning off the water. One last bubble floats over to Grian, but pops before he can reach out to it.

Mumbo doesn’t stop there. He dries his hands with the towel hanging over the oven handle, taking his time to get every particle of water out from in between the cracks of his fingers and palms. He carefully arranges the towel back in its place, laid out as flat as possible, then spends a moment fixing his hair in the faucet’s reflection.

When he’s finally done micromanaging every little thing, Mumbo sighs deeply and rests his arms on the counter separating him and Grian, fixing him with an oddly tired look. “Okay? Then you don’t have to tell him. That’s kind of your whole deal, right? You don’t want to be the one to break the news?”

Grian shrugs his coat off the rest of the way, tossing it onto the couch. “That’s not true at all,” he says. Honestly, that’s so gross of an oversimplification that it’s barely the same issue. “Whether it’s me telling him or someone else, I’m still the one breaking his heart,” he explains. “If I can tell him, I control the narrative. It would be so easy for this Cub character to make me out to be a bad guy, and Scar would totally believe it!”

Another long Mumbo stare. If looks could kill, Mumbo’s wouldn’t. It would probably vaguely hurt, like the sun on a high UV day prickling against one’s skin or a shock from one of those trick handshake buzzers. Do they even make those anymore? Grian hasn’t seen one since he was a kid, and only ever on TV.

“Grian,” Mumbo starts after he’s had his fill of staring, “pardon me for saying this—do you honestly think you’re the good guy?”

That brings Grian up short, fully distracting him from his thoughts of old toy infomercials.

The good guy?

“Well, I—I’m not the bad guy,” he sputters. He isn’t! He’s just doing the best he can to make a bad situation sort of bearable. Is that a bad guy thing? Do bad guys kiss the man they have a crush on? Do bad guys go on dates with him just because they like him? Would bad guys risk everything to find where he lives to make sure he’s okay?

No. No, they wouldn’t do any of that. He isn’t a bad guy—he’s as much of a victim as Scar, if not more! Grian really, really likes Scar, so much that it’s put him in the worst position in the world as he tries to figure out what to do next. Scar just has to sit there for the ride, Grian has to figure out how to drive this thing.

However, with the way Mumbo keeps glaring at him with his vaguely-painful look, Grian has a feeling that he doesn’t agree with that assessment.

“You decided to lead him on from the beginning,” Mumbo accuses, jabbing a finger at him in all but the motion. “You kept it going for free food, date after date after date. You’ve had so many chances to tell him the truth and you didn’t take any of them. You—mate, you kissed him! You went to a Valentine’s Day dance with him and kissed him!”

“Well, I—” Grian has to defend himself from this traitorous turn of events, but he doesn’t even know what to say! It’s like every word has flown out of his body, replaced by the sound of static between his ears. “I—you told me to ghost him! That would’ve been worse!”

“It would’ve been better to abandon him than keep dragging on the kill for weeks!”

Grian scoffs. “Okay, that’s a little dramatic.”

“Is it?” Mumbo laughs a little, almost hysterically. “Is it? Dude, you’re literally like some sort of Sahara desert animal, a—a lion, wounding your prey one leg at a time until it can’t escape you!”

Mumbo pauses. “Well, that’s a bit insensitive of a metaphor,” he says, having the decency to look at least a little ashamed. “I wasn’t talking about—what I mean is that you could have ended this at any time and you’ve chosen not to. Have you even thought about how Scar might feel?”

“That’s the whole problem!” Grian says, voice rising as hot anger rises in his throat. “Of course I’ve thought about how Scar feels, that’s all I’ve thought about!”

That’s why he can’t tell him! He can’t break his heart like that, not after Scar’s so deeply enamored with him—with Ariana. He can’t hurt him.

Mumbo snorts. “Right. Because you definitely aren’t thinking about your own feelings or anything.”

No! He isn’t!

All Grian wants to do is grab a dish from the drainer and chuck it at—at the wall, or at Mumbo, or something. How dare—how dare he? Mumbo’s supposed to be on his side, he’s supposed to help Grian pick out clothes for his dates and commiserate about how hard this whole ordeal is, because last Grian knew he wasn’t the bad guy!

He doesn’t throw anything, though. He turns and storms into the living room, making aborted little punches at his side instead of hitting the wall. “You’re supposed to be my best mate,” he says, and to his unfortunate not-surprise, there’s suddenly tears burning under his eyes. So what, he angry-cries. That just makes him more tender-hearted. At least Mumbo can’t see his eyes, turned away as he is.

“Sometimes your best mate has to set you straight.”

“Yeah, well, neither of us are straight, so that doesn’t really work.”

Behind him, Mumbo lets out a frustrated sigh. Grian keeps looking at the living room wall, the glass sliding doors that lead out to their tiny balcony with the single dead plant sitting in a frozen pot on the railing.

The kitchen tiles creak. Grian doesn’t move, doesn’t let his teeth unclench. If this is Mumbo’s version of support, it’s working worse than a stretched-out bra with the underwire pulled out.

“I’m going to go study,” Mumbo declares haughtily. Finally, Grian turns, sees him standing by the front door, his backpack in his hands. “I’ll see you later.”

Grian doesn’t say anything. He watches as Mumbo sets down his backpack to take his coat from the hanger and swing it on, then pick his backpack back up and open the door.

At the last moment, he turns around, catches Grian’s eye. He’s angry too, Grian notices, his lips pulled in a tight line.

“Cub’s a good chap, by the way,” he says, almost begrudgingly. “But he’ll call it as he sees it.”

Then the door slams closed, and Grian is left alone with his anger and—and other, indiscernible feelings, all roiling together in one big pot.

And he still has to change out of drag.

Perhaps too aggressively, Grian tugs his extensions out of his hair, barely bothering to unclip them before yanking. How was it Mumbo’s business what he did about the Scar situation? Honestly, Mumbo should be glad he was asked for an opinion at all.

Not to mention, Mumbo’s been encouraging him! He helped him pick a Valentine’s outfit, and set up the plan with the study group, and helped him figure out Scar’s address. How on earth can he choose to get all high and mighty now?

“It just came out of nowhere,” Grian reasons aloud, shaking his head.

“Not really.”

Grian probably jumps two feet in the air, his arms going up to instinctively cover his face as a scream tears from his throat. He was alone in the apartment and now he isn’t—

Pearl is standing behind him, an empty glass in her hand. She raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

Grian just tries to get his heartrate down to something resembling normal. “Pearl! I—I didn’t know you were home!”

“You didn’t check.”

Hey, wait a second. “What did you say? About—about the thing with Mumbo?”

Pearl moves away toward the kitchen sink to fill her glass. “I mean, really, Grian. Mumbo’s kind of been against this the whole time. I think he was just building up the courage to tell you.”

Grian can’t pretend that doesn’t hurt. He flops down on the couch, doing his best not to hyperventilate from the heart attack he just had.

It isn’t so much the fact that Mumbo doesn’t agree that hurts, but more that Mumbo was afraid to talk to him about it. Did he expect Grian to blow up in his face? He wouldn’t do that!

Mumbo first was afraid of him, and then betrayed him. Or, rather, both at the same time. And man, it hurts.

“I don’t care,” he tries. Pearl almost chokes on her water.

“I do!”

Grian almost jumps again, his heartrate shooting right back up, as another head pokes out of Pearl’s room. A girl with curly red hair and freckles grins brightly at him.

“Who are you?” Grian demands. The girl giggles.

“I’m Gem,” she says, stepping into the living room and offering him her hand. “I like your breasts.”

“Thanks, I bought them myself,” Grian says reflexively, shaking her hand. Her grip is stronger than he’d expected, squeezing his hand like those people who grip food unreasonably hard and post pictures of it. “Why are you here?”

“We’re studying,” Pearl says. Gem nods.

“I’m totally invested in this whole thing now,” Gem whispers. “I have to give you my Snap, I need to stay updated on this. Please add me to your private story.”

Grian stares at her.

Honestly, maybe Mumbo wouldn’t yell at him if he sent him all his updates through Snapchat.

Maybe someone would finally give him useful advice.

-

“Hey, Scar? Can we talk?”

The good guy that he is, Scar is washing the dishes, the way he always does (even when it isn’t his turn!). He’s just gotten started after zero cajoling from Cub, but if he forgets while having this talk that’ll be on Cub’s head, not his own.

Scar shuts off the water and shakes the droplets off his hands. They used to have a towel hanging around here somewhere, but Scar used it two days ago to try and catch a stray cat and he doesn’t think anyone has replaced it.

“Of course, Cubby,” he says, turning around on his stool to face both Cub and Ren. They’ve been conspiring together on the couch since Scar used the restroom earlier, muttering secret plans in low voices and casting wary glances toward him whenever he looked at them. Now both of them look slightly uncomfortable, like this isn’t a conversation they think they want to have.

They’re probably going to ask him how he treats Ariana, aren’t they? Well, no worries there! He hasn’t done a single ungentlemanly thing toward her since they met. They have nothing to be concerned about in those regards.

Cub exchanges a secret look with Ren, before apparently deciding to take the lead. “Scar, how do you feel about . . . trans people?”

“Well, Cub, that depends on what you mean,” Scar responds, frowning. “Transmitter people? Translators? Transcribers? I think transmitter people sounds kind of like aliens, so I’m going to have to say I don’t feel great about them.”

Cub sighs. “Transgender people.”

Well, this is a little awkward, because Scar doesn’t exactly know what that is. He can gather that it has something to do with gender, but the prefix of trans isn’t clearing anything up. People who send their gender to other people? Can you send a gender?

“Now, I know exactly what you’re talking about,” Scar says. “But for the sake of Ren, could you explain what transgender means real quick?”

Cub blinks. Looks at Ren. Ren shrugs. Cub turns back to Scar. “You know, people whose gender doesn’t align with their bodies? Like, when someone who’s born a guy transitions to be a girl?”

“Oh, oh, oh!” Scar nods. He’s heard of that! Scott mentioned it once or something, and he can remember seeing stuff in the news about it. Really, Scar doesn’t know what the whole fuss is. Let people be themselves, and all that.

“So . . . how do you feel about trans people?” Cub prods. Again, Scar frowns.

“Well, once I meet a trans person, I’ll let you know!” he says graciously. He doesn’t quite get how trans people are different from normal people, but maybe they have an extra bellybutton or something. That would certainly be a detail he would have to consider in his decision.

Ren’s jaw drops. “Scar, I’m a trans person,” he says incredulously.

Wait.

What?

“But—” Scar glances between him and Cub, both of whom appear quite taken aback. “But you aren’t a girl!”

Ren barks out a surprised laugh. “Kinda the point, dude,” he says.

“You knew about Ren,” Cub insists. “You definitely knew.”

“I most certainly did not!” Scar retorts, his chest puffing up. “Wait, so—Ren, are you going to become a girl?”

“No, I used to be a girl,” Ren corrects. “You knew that!”

Scar shakes his head insistently. “But you’re so . . . Ren!” he says, trying to imagine Ren as a girl. He can’t make it work. “You’re a guy!”

“Tell that to my insurance,” Ren snorts. “But I appreciate the gender euphoria, my dude!”

“You knew that,” Cub repeats, still looking dumbfounded. “You brought Ren soup after his top surgery last spring break.”

Scar has no clue what top surgery is, but he does remember Ren getting a big chest surgery over spring break. He helped him out the whole time, seeing as Ren’s roommates had all gone home for the break. Scar practically lived in that apartment the entire week. “Wait, did you get your—uh, your things removed?” he asks, gesturing to his chest. “You had those?”

Ren is no longer laughing, back to matching Cub’s surprise. “Uh, yeah? Scar, my man, you gave me a sponge bath. You saw my bits!”

“I’m not the kind of man to pay attention to what another man has in his pants,” Scar tells him, turning his nose up.

“You literally knew me as a girl,” Ren continues. “Freshman year? I lived next door?”

And—

Hey, now that Ren mentions it, Scar does remember that one girl with the brown hair and the loud voice next door, False’s then-roommate. They had been pretty good friends until she stopped showing up and False started rooming with Ren instead.

Wait a minute.

“I thought she moved!” Scar says, just as astonished as the two of them. “You were her?”

A beat passes before Ren bursts into howling laughter, clutching at his sides. Cub still hasn’t stopped staring at him.

With a sudden intake of breath, Cub pinches the bridge of his nose under his glasses. He does that sometimes when Scar starts telling him about Disney. “Cool,” Cub says after he breathes out in a hiss of air. “Anyways—dude, stop laughing.”

“I can’t! Scar—he actually—”

“Anyways, the point is we wanted to talk about Ariana,” Cub starts, and Scar can’t help the way he immediately blushes just at the mention of his love’s name.

Nope, there’s no way he can convince them of his chivalry. He’ll start stammering and something inappropriate will slip out.

To save himself any embarrassment, Scar stands up, grabbing the walker set beside him (though he’d really prefer his cane). “Sorry, gentlemen,” he says, nodding to both Cub and the now-rolling Ren. “Speaking of Ari, I have to go call her.”

He doesn’t plan to do anything of the sort. He just needs to get away before anything untoward is said.

“Scar, wait—”

Scar strides away toward the bedroom as quickly as his legs will allow him and shuts the door, leaving Cub and Ren alone in the kitchen.

He really has no idea why they brought up trans people. How strange.

[emloafs]

chapter 11 of 'i'm wanting it back' is now posted!! featuring a meddling Miguel at his finest 😈

[separatist-apologist]

Still A Sunbeam

Summary: As a child, Elain Archeron is pushed into a pond by the heir to the Day Courts throne, Lucien Spell-Cleaver, and vows she'll never forgive him for it. But as an adult, Elain finds that if she wants out of an arranged marriage to a Spring Court prince, she will need Day Court's help. More is at stake than a decades-old rivalry, and when their home is threatened, Elain and Lucien will have to set aside old differences and work together

Previous Chapter | Read on AO3

Elain was brought to Nesta, standing in a little alcove that offered them the illusion of privacy. Nesta looked exhausted, eyes ringed with dark circles and her face paler than Elain remembered. She watched Elain approach, nostrils flaring and lips thinning.

“I don’t know which of you is worse,” Nesta hissed when Elain reached her. “Tell me the rumors aren’t true.”

Elain should have known Nesta hadn’t come to hug. “What rumors?”

There were so many possibilities, and Elain didn’t dare to admit to anything. Nesta narrowed her eyes, but said, “You killed a High Lord?”

“That was Eris Vanserra,” Elain said automatically, just like Cadmus had instructed. Nesta looked like living flame just then, like she might combust entirely. “I was only in the room.”

“That’s not what Killian has said. He’s frantic.”

“Why?” Elain genuinely could not fathom what would have Killian so worked up. If Eris wanted to hold Elain accountable, surely he would have called in the troops by now. 

“Because you assisted in killing a High Lord,” Nesta hissed, speaking slow as though Elain were simple. “Why aren’t you more concerned?”

“Because Eris Vanserra isn’t going to share any of the credit,” Elain replied snappishly. “And this is just another attempt on Killian’s end to drag me home. I’m not going.”

Nesta stared at her for a moment, blue eyes unreadable. “Feyre said the same thing,” she mused, more to herself than to Elain. “No one wants to return.”

“Why are you here, Nesta?”

“Because the rumors circling you are concerning. Shacking up with a Day Court Prince—” Nesta’s nostrils flared again, lip curling in triumph when she realized that must be true.

“Assassinating High Lords. Three of them are dead in the span of a day, and our family is at the center of all three. Not to mention Hybern is in Spring—”

“What?” Elain breathed, trying to recall if Lucien had told her that.

Nesta’s amusement died again. “Tamlin is a fool. His father had some bargain with their king—one that was broken when he died, and should have remained broken. But Tamlin…Tamlin invited their general in anyway, and has been giving them tours of the wall.”

“Why would he do that?” Elain demanded, heart frantic in her chest. There were defenseless humans on the other side of that wall. Not to mention, her family was centralized in Spring, left to the whims of Hybern. Maybe her father would be fine, but would everyone else? Nesta waited for Elain to have the same realization she must have had. 

“Because he truly believes Rhysand has kidnapped Feyre and is holding her mind, and nothing short of a thousand years married to her will convince him otherwise. Lucien Vanserra’s assertion that she was not spelled and quite herself didn’t matter. Tamlin is willing to sacrifice everything to get her back.”

“So what do we do?” Elain asked, stepping a little closer. “I could talk to the High Lord—”

“We need to go home,” Nesta said, reaching for Elain’s shoulders. “All three of us. We need to go back, and I can’t convince Feyre this is the right thing.”

Elain blinked. “You want me to…”

“To talk to her? Yes. I want you to tell her that Tamlin isn’t listening to reason. He needed to see her, hear it from her own lips.”

“And what then? What if he doesn’t?” Elain demanded, pulling from Nesta’s grip. “What if you’re right and he won’t believe her unless she marries him. Are you asking me to convince Feyre or that, too?”

“No. There will be no convincing her, not when—” Nesta pressed her lips together tightly, arms crossed over her chest. “If Tamlin can’t be convinced, there is still one brother who could rule. Killian has some sense, at least. He hates Amarantha.”

“You don’t need me for that,” Elain murmured.

“You’re the only one who has seen a High Lord die,” Nesta disagreed, eyes pleading. “And I can’t do this by myself. I don’t want to go back either, Elain. We have to. Spring has been our home and the thought of letting it fall…I…”

Elain knew if she told Lucien this plan, he’d intervene. He’d come up with a hundred reasons for her to wait, or for him to accompany her. She thought of her promise—she wanted to make things permanent between them. 

“How much time do I have?”

“I’d like to leave right now,” Nesta said gently, as if she guessed Elain’s thoughts. “It’s not forever. That mate of yours will survive a week without you.”

Elain didn’t bother asking how Nesta knew. Of course she did. She must have scented it the moment Elain walked into the room. 

“A week?” Elain questioned, sliding the ring on her finger in circles. Nesta nodded her head, though Elain thought it was smart not to make any promises. A week could become a month, or even a year if they weren’t careful. 

“What happens if Feyre says no?”

“Then we go back and you can explain to me exactly how you ended up in a room with the High Lord as his son murdered him.”

Nesta’s eyes glittered with promise—she knew Elain was lying. Elain didn’t bother to correct her, even as she thought the plan was awful. Beron had been seduced by a younger, prettier female and put in a compromising position. Elain very much doubted she or Nesta could tempt Tamlin into the same.

He likely would have heard the details, besides. The only person who was going to ever get close enough to Tamlin was Feyre. And if Feyre was smart, she wouldn’t agree to go back. She’d say no and stay safe in Night with the new High Lord and whatever friends she’d made. 

“Did mother write to you?” Elain asked, thinking of her things dumped wordlessly into Lucien’s bedroom. What kind of welcome was waiting for her at home?

“She did,” Nesta said, her voice laced with pity. “She is…unhappy, but not unswayable.”

“She’ll never approve of him,” Elain insisted, her voice thin and reedy. 

“It’s not her life,” Nesta said fiercely. “She made her choices with father, and you get to make yours, too. What male wants another male’s mate, besides? Killian thinks he will but the scent coming off you makes my hair stand on edge. Mother had a life planned for us all, and we’ve wrecked it.”

“Sorry about Atticus,” Elain murmured. Nesta had always been slated to marry him just as soon as she finished her studies.

Nesta smiled—a genuine thing that made her far more beautiful than she already was. “Why? The High Lord of Night did me a favor. Atticus, too, if we’re honest. I don’t think he ever wanted me as a wife, either.” 

“If we’re going to leave, we should go now,” Elain murmured, looking behind her sister toward the window and the rising sun. Lucien would eat breakfast and meet with his father before coming to look for her again. 

He’d understand, she reasoned. Lucien wouldn’t like the deception, but he’d understand. And he’d be careful, too. Rationalizing that if things went so wrong, Elain could take refuge in nearby Autumn, she reached for Nesta’s hand and began leading her through the palace. Her home. 

I’ll be back, I’ll be back, she chanted in her head. Careful to keep her heart rate steady so she wouldn’t alert Lucien that anything was amiss, Elain managed to get Nesta through the palace without much notice. Courtiers and scholars still fluttered through the halls, glancing her way before returning to their conversations. She was nothing interesting anymore—a princess, so commonplace most of them just barely inclined their heads. 

Later, when Lucien was looking for her, this moment would be cited. He’d know she left intentionally, that she avoided him to keep him from convincing her to stay. It would take no effort on his part—Elain didn’t want to be parted from him. Not today, not ever. Her vision still loomed heavy in her mind. Was she walking straight into it? Or had she derailed just enough that Lucien would honor their marriage vows, deception or not?

Elain simply had to trust that whatever Lucien swore he felt, he meant. That it would take more than one small act of defiance—one made to try and save her home from utter ruination—to sour his feelings for her. Lucien had said he would want her, bond or not.

And though it was so deeply unfair to make him prove it, there was no other choice. Elain stepped into the humidity and the bright light, tilting her head against the warmth while Nesta hissed in disgust. Elain closed her eyes against the cold wind of Nesta’s winnow, wishing that when she opened her eyes, she’d be back in bed with Lucien.

That she’d find this had all been a dream. 

Elain opened her eyes to a city made of moonstone and marble. If Day was burning sunlight, this place was glittering starlight. Elain had never given much thought to the Night Court, and never truly considered what it might look like. This, though, with its shining, clean streets and neat buildings lined up in elegant rows, was beautiful. 

There was no screaming, no pleading or rivers of blood. There was even sunlight, hazy up above and far colder than Elain was used to. She wished she’d grabbed a cloak on her way out. Nesta smiled for a moment, unbidden and bright before she caught herself and replaced that smile with a scowl. A male was striding toward them. He was handsome with his thick, dark hair that fell in waves around truly massive shoulders. Elain didn’t think she’d ever seen someone as broad and muscular as this person. Tattoos crawled up his neck, vanishing dark leathers conforming to his powerful body. Red gems glinted in the light, flaring with what Elain suspected to be excitement when he saw her sister. 

His massive wings, once tucked tightly against his back, flared out for a moment. “Hey, Nes. She came.”

“Don’t call me that,” Nesta snapped as Elain turned to look at her elder sister. Nes? 

“I’m Cassian,” the large, impossibly tall male told her as he extended a hand. “Elain?”

“Elain,” she agreed with a broad smile. “How do you two know each other?”

“We don’t,” Nesta insisted as Cassian, still holding her hand, replied, “I’ve been training her.”

Training her in what? Judging from the flush staining Nesta’s cheeks, it wasn’t just a sword. There would be time to untease all that later—maybe when Elain had Feyre to herself and they could giggle like they were children again, far out of Nesta’s earshot. 

“We’re here to see Feyre,” Nesta interrupted, spine impossibly straight. Cassian’s grin merely widened, as though he were used to these sort of displays and enjoyed them immensely. 

“Lucky for you, she’s at the town house with Rhys. I’ll walk you to her.”

“There’s no need—”

“Oh, I insist,” Cassian interrupted smoothly. “It’s my job to welcome your sister into our court.”

“Well. Welcome her, then,” Nesta snapped. Cassian’s grin was just as sharp, just as lethal as Elain’s eldest sister. Had Nesta met her match here? 

Cassian turned to Elain, sweeping into a half bow. “Welcome to the Night Court, Elain Archeron.”

LUCIEN:

“You wanted to see me?”

Lucien’s father turned from his place in front of the window, his study in disarray. “I did. Elain is with her sister for the day, and I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

Anything to pass the time, he thought to himself. Lucien was unreasonably excited that when he returned to his bedchamber later, Elain would be waiting with food. She was going to accept the bond and they’d have a private celebration. No one could take her from him, then. No matter where they went, no matter how they were separated, she would always belong wholly to him.

Lucien needed something else to think about while he waited or he’d be too tempted to track her down. 

“Of course.”

“I need you to meet with your brother.”

Lucien looked up at the ceiling, sighing heavily. “What has Eris done this time?”

“Nothing,” said Helion, turning to face his son. “That’s the problem. War is on the horizon and Eris has all but closed his borders. I thought we could count on him…but…”

But Eris was self-serving above all else. And if he felt the risk was too great to himself personally, he’d stay out. Just like his cowardly father. Lucien was trying so hard not to hate his half brothers, especially after what they’d done for Elain. He owed them for that—Eris and Cadmus could have locked Elain up and held a trial, could have used what she’d done as an excuse to march into Spring or Day, depending on their mood. 

And instead Cadmus had brought her home while Eris gleefully announced to the world that he’d killed his father and then pardoned himself for crimes of treason, all while sitting with a Day Court courtier on his lap. Presumably. Lucien couldn’t picture Eris putting Arina on his lap—that’s just what he would have done if he’d killed Beron and had his mate with him.

Eris probably had Arina stand at the foot of his throne in one of those dresses that buttoned to her neck, penciling in when they ought to have sex based on some ridiculous calendar of her courses so he was certain to get his precious heir. 

“I’ll go. I want to see Arina, anyway.” That was true. Lucien wanted to offer her an out if she’d changed her mind. He knew how overwhelming the mating bond could be and how heady an experience it was. Surely the fog would be clearing, her senses returning. Assuming she hadn’t done anything stupid—like accept the bond and married his brother—Arina could still come home. 

Even if she hadn’t, Lucien might try and smuggle her out anyway. He could always lie and say she’d run away. His parents would kill him for it, but Lucien thought it would be quite fun to steal Eris’s wife right from under his nose just as his father had done to Eris’s father. 

“Take your time,” Helion instructed, unaware that Lucien was itching to get back to Elain. Or maybe he did, given his eyes slid to the mating band on Lucien’s hand. “Keep that from your mother. You’ll break her heart.”

“She’ll get her big celebration,” Lucien promised, though he ducked his hand behind his back all the same. Disappointing his mother was one of the worst things he could imagine. “This was just for us.”

A soft smile slid across his father’s face. “I know the feeling well. Keep it to yourself.”

Lucien nodded, making his way back into the palace. He did go checking after Elain, unable to help himself. He wanted to tell her he was leaving without her, and that it had nothing to do with her abilities or skills. A servant informed him she’d taken her sister into the city and Lucien thought it was best not to bother them given how sad she’d been about her mother and father’s rejection. Maybe Nesta Archeron could smooth things over for Elain’s family so by the time he visited, everyone was on better terms.

Lucien dressed himself, unable to take his eyes off the still rumpled bed in the center of the room. Elain’s trunks were still scattered about, half opened with clothes spilling out. He knew when he arrived, all her things would be neatly stored, the trunks put away. Maybe, having spoken to Nesta, Elain would feel better about where she’d left things with her parents, too.

Assuming, of course, Nesta hadn’t come to drag Elain back home. Lucien wasn’t willing to entertain that possibility, twisting the mating band around his hand nervously. She was his wife—he could go into Spring and bring her back, kicking and screaming if he had to.

And Lucien suspected he would. If Elain went home under some misguided belief she needed to do right by her family, Lucien would flex his muscles as heir of the Day Court, bring that signed scroll with Elain’s uncoerced signature on it, and put her right back in his bed.

Shaking his head, Lucien shoved the thought out of his mind. Elain wouldn’t—she’d wanted to get married, and she wanted to accept the bond. She wasn’t going home, barring some unforeseen disaster. She was safe in the city, likely showing her sister all the best parts of Rhodes. He’d meet them for dinner if he was home in time and hopefully charm the eldest Archeron into loving both his home and himself, and then have Elain moaning beneath him before the night was through. 

It was too hot to have a jacket buttoned to his neck. Lucien opted for a hunter green tunic with a white shirt beneath. Lucien used gold sleeve garters right above his elbows in lieu of his usual armband, and picked out his nicest pair of trousers and a gleaming pair of boots. That ought to satisfy Eris and his ridiculous court would be looking for anything to pick apart—Lucien didn’t intend to let them find it in his appearance.

Still, for the moment he stood outside, the outfit was unbearably hot. Itchy, too. Lucien winnowed quickly before sweat could cling to his skin and make a mockery of him, landing on crunchy leaves just outside the Forest House. 

Beron is dead, he reminded himself. It did little for his crawling anxiety, especially when the guards surrounding the palace watched him, arrows pointed straight at him as he walked to the entrance. 

The smell of cinnamon and wet soil slammed into his senses, far stronger than it had ever been outdoors. Lucien frowned, already missing home. A guard was waiting in a crisp red and white uniform, beckoning for Lucien to follow after him. The palace seemed thinner than Lucien remembered—fewer courtiers meandering the winding halls, watching for something to gossip about later.

Absently, Lucien wondered if Eris hadn’t culled them. It was possible they’d also fled for another court, though Lucien wouldn’t fathom who would want Autumn’s set living within their walls. 

Familiar golden doors were thrust open when Lucien approached, though there was no Beron Vanserra sneering at him as he entered. No open insults, no hateful eyes. Only Eris, casually positioned in that wooden chair made of twisting branches. Arina was propped on his knee, crowned in a burnished laurel leaves and draped in a pretty, burgundy dress that cut far lower than anything Lucien had ever seen on an Autumn Court female. Rubies adorned her throat, a match for the pretty ring on her finger.

She shot upward the moment she saw him, gathering her skirts as she jogged the four steps to the wood floors. Lucien kept his eyes on his brother, waiting for that flash of anger his father would have given.

Eris merely seemed amused. Indulgent, even. Lucien didn’t know what to make of that.

Arina flung her arms around his neck, and Lucien, still testing her brother, hugged her back with a little too much intimacy. He caught Eris’s expression shift to irritation, lip curling over his teeth before he smothered it.

“Where is Elain?” Arina demanded, pushing back just enough to peer around him.

“Busy, unfortunately,” Lucien replied, scanning his friend for any tell-tale signs of bruises or other harm. “How are you?”

He expected Eris to jump in, furious at the insinuation. True, his brother stiffened on the throne, gripping the arms so tightly Lucien heard the wood creak beneath his grip. But he kept silent so Arina, bubbly and vivacious as ever, could say, “I’m fine. Don’t look at me like that—Eris could only dream of getting one good hit in.”

“I don’t dream of that,” Eris said, his first words since Lucien had arrived. “I am content to let my wife speak for me.”

Arina rolled her eyes with affection, looking over her shoulder as Eris stood. 

“He had to make such a show of it. Did you know he’s High Lord?” she teased as Eris rolled his neck before slowly making his way toward them. “He reminds us all no less than ten times a day.”

An affectionate smile spread across his brother's face, so at odds with the male Lucien was accustomed to seeing. What had Arina done to him? It was impossible to consider that Eris may have always been this way.

“Brother,” Eris said by way of greeting, sliding one arm possessively around Arina’s waist. Was Lucien also that obnoxious? Arina reeked of Eris’s scent, the bond between them nearly overpowering. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, a warning not to get too close unless he wanted his throat ripped out.

But Eris was keeping it together, given Lucien had just been rubbing his hand up and down Arina’s spine. 

“Have you come to ensure I’m not mistreating my mate?”

“Among other things,” Lucien replied, not bothering to deny it. 

Eris exhaled. “Spend as much time with her as you like.”

Lucien didn’t think he could stand to, though it certainly put some of his fears to rest. If Eris had things to hide, he surely wouldn’t hand her up on a silver platter. Not when the mating bond was still riding him so hard, at any rate. “It’s tempting. A sleepover, like old times?”

Lucien relished the growl that slipped past Eris’s throat. It was too easy to rile him up now. Arina poked Eris in the ribs, leashing Eris before he could do or say something that might start an incident between Autumn and Day.

“Why are you really here, brother?’

“You know why,” Lucien retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “This potential war. Father wants to know where you stand.”

Arina looked up at Eris, eyes wide. “War?” she asked. 

“How poorly you inform her,” Lucien sneered, earning a smack in the chest from Arina.

“Knock it off,” she warned, looking between the pair of them. “What war?”

“Maybe war,” Eris interrupted, pushing the words through his teeth. “As far as I can tell, Tamlin is merely giving Amarantha a tour of his home.”

“Of his borders,” Lucien clarified. “Why would she possibly need to know that? And ships are pouring in from Hybern in the dozens. I doubt it’s all goods for trade.”

“What do you want, then? A promise I’ll march with Helion if Amarantha decides to invade?”

“Yes,” Lucien replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Eris held Lucien’s gaze. “Fine. I’ll agree—on one condition.”

Gritting his teeth, Lucien replied, “What is it that you want?”

“For you to stay two nights. Here. With your brothers,” Eris clarified, perhaps guessing Lucien would merely waste his time hanging out with Arina. “Otherwise tell Helion he can get fucked.”

“Are you serious?” Lucien seethed, well aware his father would not be so forgiving if he returned home without securing this alliance all because he wanted to sleep beside his wife. Eris must have guessed, eyes sliding to the band on Lucien’s hand. 

“It’s time to put the past behind us,” Eris said, slinging his arm around Arina’s neck. She beamed, clearly loving this plan and wholly unaware of what a bastard her mate was. 

“Oh, Lucien, you should. Things are so different—you’d love it. Invite Elain to spend some time here, too.”

“I’m sure Cadmus would love to see her,” Eris added. Lucien swallowed the urge to beat Eris to death with his fists.

“Fine,” he gritted out. He’d write Elain and explain himself. “Two days, and you agree to support Day if Spring lets Amarantha use their territory as a base.”

Something dark flickered over Eris’s face. “And Day will agree to house any refugees from my court should she come over our borders.”

Lucien would need to talk to Winter, too, but it was reasonable enough. Extending his hand, he nodded.

“Deal.”

[smallblueandloud]

i can tell SOMETHING'S changing about my writing because i keep considering turning things into multichapter fics. i used to be SO firmly pro-oneshot, i didn't want to write anything that would have chapters. and now look at me, considering chapter breaks on something because it's a measly 7k

[brackenferns]

chapter 14 of my name is whatever you decide is up <3

She considers his sharp features, his clever mouth, the sweet scattering of beauty marks that she has mapped many times over with her gaze. When she puts her palm to his cheek, it's warm to the touch. "Larkin Gorm Garrett," she whispers. The rush of power is immediate—a warm certainty that floods her body, headier even than faerie fruit. She wonders if this is how the Folk feel every time they use their magic. She can't imagine why they would ever stop.

[doctorweebmd]

chapter 4 is 7600 words now. genuinely how does it get longer every time i edit, i delete SO MUCH

[feral-renaissance-cat]

I swear I am finishing this fic even if it drives me insane.

Special guest in this chapter! And I use a lot of dialogue from the actual episode because otherwise it would be nothing but descriptive paragraphs as I try to fast-forward through all the action and the original character dialogue was really good! And most importantly it's time for BOWLGATE!

[apocalypticpsiboys]

Even more chapters!! Ya'll are getting spoiled! Closing in on the end as well!

Chapter 21 is now up!

In which Claus and Ninten finally escape from Fassad's compound-- with the help of the Tazmilians, the Ultimate Chimera, and Ninten's powers … much to Claus's dismay.

Chapter 22 is now up!

In which more solid plans are discussed, truths are revealed, and confessions are told. Ness and Lucas share a quiet moment together, worried for their future.

[misslisamiray]

Oh, hi. I uploaded Chapter 11 of Down With the Rickness over a week ago on Ao3, ff dot net, and of course here on Tumblr, but I just realized today I didn't post the links. Sorry - between work at pays-the-bills-job being crazy more often than not, having four posts to work on for the social media part of my volunteer job, and then me getting sick, It. Has. Been. A. Week.

Anyway, here's the Ao3 link for Chapter 11! Ff dot net link will be up in a few minutes. Chapter 12 is mostly typed out and should be posted in a few days (barring real life throwing some bullshit at me to delay that happening).

Also, here -have this picture of me and Rick Bear from a few nights ago.